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The only thing he wouldn't do is go to church with me on Sundays. Which bugged me a lot.Everything else was brilliant. Until November. Our first real fight. He wanted me to come home with him for Thanksgiving dinner. In Los Vegas, Nevada. I wanted to spend it with my family in Reedville — the first holiday season without Gran-gran. The first without Lisa. There was no way I was going anywhere but home — with or without him. It's not that I blame him for wanting to go home for the holiday — I understood that completely. I just didn't get why he wouldn't just accept that we weren't spending this holiday together. The fight we had the night before I left was just mean-spirited and bitter.I got home around dinnertime Wednesday, was greeted by my parents and siblings, and nearly quit school right then. I sat down to one of my mother's terrible meals — she's easily the worst cook of the family — and got caught up on the latest news. When Mom asked, though, if there was anyone 'special' at. He bent a knee, and seized the mace lying between them with his left hand. "I feel..." he said, though what he felt, he did not say. Meeting McAllister's eyes, the other touched the mace to the blood from his ruined face.He drew breath, and screamed in triumph and exultation. The other stood then, injuries and bruises forgotten, stood and threw his arms wide. To McAllister, it seemed as if a dark change ran through the man. A ripple of black fire suffused the tissue and bones, and erupted into a gleam of wit and intelligence in the other's eyes. McAllister shivered involuntarily."Karsu did not understand what he had," the other said, then, silently, to McAllister. "I am become one much like you. Still, the change rushes through me."McAllister waited to hear no more. Having closed the distance enough, he cast the fine net of the feathery aether he formed in his left hand, drawn from his internal fire. He cast it as a fisherman casts a net, with a sidearm flick of the wrist spinning it.
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