The Things We Fear

Sometimes Marcus wanted to curse his smart mouth. For all he had a quick wit and a fast tongue, he couldn’t always control what came rushing out. He had spent years avoiding mention of that night. Dodging the subject. Literally running from the room. And now, in one heated moment, he’d accidentally broken a decade’s worth of avoidance. He’d hated hearing how he’d imagined it, and it was probably a nightmare, and being told by doctors that it was probably an early symptom of his insanity. Marcus had run from the memory of that night as much as he did from Cassius and magic. And here he had undone all that hard work himself.

Curse his volatile emotions.

Learning Cassius had wanted him to run. Hearing the man would prefer him to be gone. It was a lance to his belly. It tore something within him Marcus hadn’t been aware was there. Hope. The foolish hope of a child who, despite everything, still wanted to impress his biological father. That tiny glimmer he had thought died long ago had stubbornly buried itself so deep Marcus himself hadn’t been aware of its existence until Cassius had hit it with pinpoint accuracy and ripped the last vestiges of childhood naivety from him.

He watched as confusion set across Cassius’ face. As though the words Marcus had hurled in his direction truly confused him. Watched as the man slowly blinked, processing the words, and apparently still coming up empty. A wave of heat ran through Marcus. He was not insane. He had not imagined it. He knew what he had seen. Preparing himself to start yelling, he took in a large breath.

Cassius cut him off before he could begin.

“Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me sacrificing you? What have I ever done to indicate I plan to kill you?” The man sounded genuinely hurt.

It took a moment for Marcus’ brain to switch thoughts. He’d thought Cassius was about to deny that night, not that he planned to one day kill him. It made Marcus pause. What had convinced him? He remembers a deeply buried belief from being young, a knowing that one day it would be him on that altar. Maybe it was more context clues than facts, but Marcus had always been so sure in his assumption, he’d never thought to question it. Cassius was a bad man, and one day he would try to kill him. It was a core truth he had formed most of his life around.

Only using magic to protect himself and his family. Only learning as much as could keep him safe. Keeping as much difference between him and his would-be murderer as possible. They had all seemed like perfectly reasonable steps at the time. Despite Cassius’ tone, he was not convinced the man actually cared. The good reverend was a skilled actor. Faking a little emotional distress would be incredibly easy for him, but Marcus refused to fall for it.

“If I wanted you dead, I could simply stop paying child support, your family would be on the streets in no time.”

Marcus bristled at the potential threat. Cassius rolled his eyes, looking bored once more. As though Marcus was supposed to be entertaining him and failing miserably.

“It would be incredibly easy for me to arrange an accident to happen to you or pay someone to take you out if I wanted. Heck, with the level of devotion some of my followers have, I wouldn’t even have to pay them. I’d only have to mention in passing about wanting you gone and it’d be done by the next sunrise. Honestly, Marcus, it’s almost comical that you think yourself important enough in my plans for me to even want you dead. You’re a nuisance at best,” the man continued in such a blase tone, Marcus remembered exactly why he had started calling this man the devil.

His casual cruelty dressed as helpful or honest advice. The way his eyes dance with mirth, knowing he was tearing strips from his victim and acting oblivious to the damage he was dishing out. He hated him. Marcus hated him.

“Or you were,” he continued, Cassius’ voice suddenly changing, “until you actively became a danger within my territory,” the ice of his tone could have been used as a pick to stab the last lingering sense of ease from Marcus’ heart.

“Fuck y-you,” he wasn’t proud about stuttering the words out, but it was all he could say against the raging typhoon of emotions the man had stirred up.

Cassius scoffed. Turning away from Marcus to show how he little he cared for the boy’s words.

“I have been lenient with you long enough, son,” the word son was said with so much distaste, Marcus would have revelled in it any other time, “but no more, you are a witch in my territory, you will train and you will learn. Or I will go to your mother, and drag her into this darkness, you and your dad,” again said with such mocking it made Marcus want to punch the man, “have tried to protect her from.”

“So did you,” Marcus couldn’t help saying, not even entirely sure, why, but the man had landed too many hits and he wanted to get at least one back in.

“You were married to her, had a child with her, and divorced her, and yet you still kept all this from her.”

Cassius waved him off, as though the words were of no consequence.

“I am a man with needs. Every so often I try at the normal life, try assimilating into society. Your mother was pleasant enough. Eager. It was never meant to be more than that.”

Again with his casual dismissal of people. Like they were all simply play things to the witch, and he saw no reason not to indulge every once in a while. That the man was discussing his mother as though she had just been a fun pet he’d used made Marcus wonder if he had enough magic in him to set his father on fire the way he had the shadow creature.

The way he spoke, the words Cassius used, this was why Marcus believed the man to be much older than he appeared. The idea made a suspicious amount of sense. The disregard for others. The lack of care for how many people regularly wanted to murder him, the implication that he would come in and out of society whenever it suited him. This was the most recent in a long line of clues that had convinced Marcus of Cassius’ much longer lifespan.

“You were an accident, of course. A happy accident, I thought at the time.”

Implying he no longer thought as much. Though this entire conversation had shown this already, Cassius simply enjoyed getting in cheap hits.

Marcus huffed. Refusing to be baited again. What should he care if the man thought him a disappointment? The devil had long been a disappointment to him. It might even make Marcus feel a little better. Being a letdown to an evil fuckface might possibly be his highest achievement to date.

“But my personal feelings on the matter aside, you are my responsibility, and if I wanted you dead, you would be dead. Put those foolish thoughts out of your head or we will not be able to work with one another, and then more drastic actions will be needed. If I have to turn your mother and bring her under my purview, I will.”

Marcus didn’t know how it happened. It hadn’t been a deliberate thought, but the crack of lightning that hit Cassius in the chest would have killed a normal man. Shame really. Cassius merely rose an eyebrow at him. Amused by his magic’s attempt to murder him. Marcus shouldn’t be surprised, of course, a man like this would react positively to violence.

“And that is why you need training. Were I anyone else, I’d be dead right now.”

“Were you anyone else, you wouldn’t have been dumb enough to threaten my mother.”

Marcus had not expected that to earn him a genuine laugh.

“No, that is true. Everyone in Breckon Heights knows my son and ex-wife are off limits. The protection extends to the boy as well, though if the wayward deputy were to die, it wouldn’t be much of a concern for me.”

The second bolt of electricity was on purpose and aimed much lower. Sadly, Cassius was far better protected than Marcus, and he quickly had to dodge as his own magic was thrown back at him. With as much dignity as he could muster, Marcus pulled himself from the floor.

“Don’t you dare threaten my dad,” he seethed through gritted teeth.

“Your dad,” the man scoffed, standing as he looked down at Marcus from across the desk. “For all you may wish it, that man is not your father.”

“No, he’s my dad. Trust me, there’s a big difference. As they say, anyone can be a father.”

It gave him a level of satisfaction he couldn’t quite quantify to see Cassius’ face turning red. It wasn’t often he landed a hit like that, but he would celebrate to look of loathing for years to come.

“I will not argue semantics with you. I am the one who created you. I am responsible for you. And you will show me the respect I am earned.”

“Oh, Cassius. I already am. Haven’t you heard? Respect it earned, and you’ve been found wanting.”

Marcus did not move fast enough to dodge the next bolt of energy.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

His mind felt like he was trying to shift through cotton wool. If kept bouncing back and blocking his thoughts from gathering.

“Drink this,” a straw was shoved in his mouth.

Obediently taking sips, Marcus tried to recall why he was aching from head to toe. Splurting the drink out when he remembered.

“You electrocuted me!”

“You failed to dodge.”

“Fuck you. That’s abuse you jumped up–”

A hand covered his mouth and Marcus’ arms were too securely wrapped in the sheets to push it away.

“The good deputy came by. Screamed a few things at me, before making demands and storming off. I can see where you got your penchant for dramatics. He seemed to be under the strange assumption that I did not care for you either. Whatever I have done to have you both form such a low opinion of me–”

Marcus overly exaggerated his scoff, still trying to free himself from the taut fabrics.

“I have no idea, but whilst I have you here, and you won’t be able to attack whilst your inert magic is more focused on healing you, I feel it is high time I correct a few erroneous assumptions you appear to have formed about me.”

If Marcus could have, he’d have thrown the water back at the man. Something must have shown on his face, as Cassius decided to put the cup down and remove the temptation.

“Now, given you are old enough and able to understand, I think it is finally time we discuss what it was that happened that night.”

“No thanks.”

“You are not in a position to refuse.”

“Them I humbly request you go the fuck away.”

“Request denied. I have humoured your behaviours for far too long. Truthfully, the act of parenting was a chore to me, and having other people perform the task and keep you happy and healthy suited me far better. I made the mistake of thinking once you were old enough we would sit down and discuss these things like sensible adults. When you reached out to me about the doctor situation, I thought we had made some headway, I see now that I allowed my pride and ego to overshadow the situation and failed to take into account that you were, and in many ways, still are, and irrational child.”

“Hey!”

“But you are sixteen now, and as you were the first to broach the subject, it is high time we properly talk about it. Especially, given we will be spending an inordinate amount of time with one another for the foreseeable.”

Marcus absently wondered if he wiggled hard enough, could he get the bedspread to choke him to death and spare him this entire situation.