He patted the bed between us, and I placed the book where he directed.
Belial peeled back the cover and hooked his fingers beneath several pages, sweeping them back. At first all I saw was a blank page, yellowed and spotted with age, but not so much as a drop of ink.
Then, magic began to bleed out from the crease in the middle. Bright, white and blinding.
It grew, spreading to consume the entire book, and I squeezed my eyes closed.
A second later, my feet slammed into hard ground. A hand slipped into mine, our fingers intertwining, and when I opened my eyes again, Belial and I were standing in an unfamiliar room.
It was a child’s room, with model airplanes hanging from the ceiling and superhero posters plastered to the walls. A young boy no older than ten was sprawled out on the floor drawing in a sketchbook.
The door across the room opened and a woman poked her head inside. Her curly hair and glasses were familiar. I’d seen them in enough pictures to know she was my grandmother, and she looked a lot like my father when she smiled.
“John,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Did you wash all the dishes and put them up?”
His dark eyes popped up from his drawing and he grinned from ear to ear. “I knew you’d be tired after work and I didn’t want you to have to do them.”
“Oh,” my grandmother said, a little wobble in her voice. “Oh, I love you Johnny. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.”
The door clicked shut and my dad was left staring at the spot my grandmother had been with a twinkle in his eye.
The scene shifted, the child’s room replaced by a classroom. Four rows of kids were sitting quietly as a teacher with a bald head and a goatee was passing out graded tests. The disappointed murmurs told me that nearly everyone had done badly.
When the teacher got to my father’s desk, he paused and smirked before placing his paper down.
“Congratulations, Mr. Carver,” he said, his smile widening. “Another perfect score.”
The glowing pride in my father’s eyes as the teacher handed him his flawless test score warmed my heart. He’d done well in school. That was something I hadn’t known before.
More images appeared. My father’s first car, his first home run, his high school graduation. I watched them all, drinking in every detail I could, learning about the man I never really knew.
The memory changed again. This time, we were standing in a park. It was summertime, the grass and trees around us vibrant and full of life. The familiarity made me a little homesick. This time my father was college age, wearing jeans and a collared shirt. He was walking arm in arm down a worn path with a petite, raven-haired woman that I recognized as much as my own reflection.
My mother.
My father beamed as he looked down at her. Happiness exuded from him. He was so content, so in love. And she looked like she’d just been swept off her feet by prince charming, her cheeks blushing as she laughed at something he’d said.
They stopped in the middle of the path when my father stooped down to pick up something—a black raven feather. He handed it to my mother, who took it with a smile I’d never seen her wear before.
The corners of my eyes prickled, but I didn’t have time to cry before the scene was changing again.
Their wedding. Buying a house. Finding out my mother was pregnant.
When a hospital room appeared, my chest clenched and I gripped Belial’s hand to keep from falling over. My mother was asleep in the bed, which had my heart dropping to the pit of my stomach, until I saw my father sitting in the chair next to her. He was a few years older now, the stubble on his chin making him look much more like the picture that hung in my mother’s living room.
Swaddled in his arms, wrapped tightly in a pink blanket was a baby.Me.
“Dad?” The word escaped automatically as I stared at his familiar face.
He was slowly rocking back and forth, lightly rubbing his fingers over my jet black hair as I slept, a look of unbridled joy on his face. I stepped closer, dragging Belial along with me, and stopped right in front of him, soaking in the sight. I’d seen similar pictures hoarded in the bottom of my mom’s closet, but this was completely different.
“My little Rayven,” he whispered, careful not to wake my mother. “You’re the best thing I’ve done in this life, you know that? I love you so much.”
His words hit me, a suckerpunch to the gut, and the tears I’d been holding back began to fall.
“We can go when you’re ready,” Belial’s deep voice assured me in my ear.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
