CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

Dave blinked at the room he was in. It was his old bedroom in his old house. The place where he spent a majority of his childhood; the other percentage went straight to therapy. Dave got up from his kid bed. It was way too short in his opinion. Only know did he realize how much he had grown up. It was a tad upsetting to be in this room. He missed being a child, and yet hated it at the same time. If he were younger, he could see his mother one more time. But this was the same house in which Damien used to dwell. You didn't exactly want to remember a place where your mom was almost killed.

Dave touched shelves full of his books. A lot of them sat timelessly, their covers torn or their seams bursting. There were some that still held his attention today—Hatchet and some of Harry Potter, for example. Dave fingered the globe on his desk. He checked out his used gel pens, which had been sucked dry of ink. Dave was a murderer when it came to writing supplies. He silently fingered the decayed posters on his bedroom walls. Dave even found some of his elementary school homework in the drawers, yellowed and wrinkled.

"Like your room?" a familiar voice asked.

Dave didn't jump or have his eyes widen. He knew who this was. He quietly turned around to face Gwen Stutler. She was wearing a light green t-shirt and a casual brown skirt. An apron with the words Kiss the Cook hung on her shoulders and around her waist. She still had the same short, brown, curly hair that seemed to make her brown eyes darker. His mother looked ten years younger.

"Mom." It was not a question.

"Hi, Dave," she greeted. "What are you doing here? I haven't seen you for years."

"I have college. And a girlfriend," Dave deadpanned. His voice was faint and almost resembled an echo.

"That's good news. Is she cute?" His mother wiggled her eyebrows.

"Ew, Mom, don't make that face." Dave turned, going back to his posters. "Yeah, she's pretty cute."

"Good to hear, Dave. Good to hear. Are you going to stay for dinner?"

"I can't," Dave mumbled. "Where's Damien?"

"Who?" For the first time since he'd been here, she sounded perplexed.

"…Dad." He had to force the words through his teeth.

Soft hands wrapped around his waist. A head rested on his shoulder. Dave didn't realize he was taller than his mother.

"I missed you, Dave," his mother said. It sounded like tears were filling up those brown eyes of hers.

Unable to help himself, Dave said in the same chocked voice, "I did too."

They let the silence hang in the air around them. Dave stared at one poster. He willed the drops in his eyes to stop gathering, threatened them so they wouldn't fall. He was probably a bad negotiator as he was a liar. The colors and the thick, sharp lines blurred, fusing themselves together. He hung his head and glared at the floor as the liquid ran down his face like cowards fleeing.

"Oh, honey," his mother murmured. "I don't want you to cry. Be a big boy."

"You're dead, Mom," Dave replied flatly. "How can I not cry?"

He could hear the soft smile in her voice. "But I'm here with you. Right now."

"Not for long. This is probably—forget probably—a dream or something my messed up mind created. As soon as I really open my eyes, you'll be gone."

"Davey, I'm with you at this moment," his mother said. "Isn't that important?"

"But it's not forever."

There was no long, heavy silence this time. His mother released him and walked around to wipe the tears away. She planted a kiss on his neck.

"You've grown up," she said, teasing. "You'd be a strong wooden post, if you weren't such a skinny thing."

"I'm sorry I can't gain calories properly," Dave told her, making jokes as well.

"It's fine; you're father had the same problem too, as a kid."

"Well," Dave said slowly, drawing out the word purposefully, "I heard living in the 1800s doesn't give you a lot of food options."

She chuckled. "You make the best jokes, Dave. Why didn't you use them?"

"I use jokes sometimes."

"I didn't mean it that way, Dave," his mother said, suddenly turning a shade sad. "I meant in the past few days. You've seen your family, yet you didn't try to make them laugh."

Fury boiled his blood. "Laugh? They had a ton of laughs, Mom, while they were plotting behind closed doors," Dave said sharply. If his voice was tangible, it could cut through wood cleanly.

"Family is family," she said firmly. "I know they aren't the best of relatives, but we support one another in our own way."

He refused to talk about Cyril or anyone else anymore.

Abruptly, Gwen made a gasping noise. Her brown lashes fluttered like butterflies as her lips moved rapidly. "Oh!" she said shrilly. "Silly me, I let my hours run away from me; Time will be furious with me."

"Who?" Dave asked, confused. He was positive his mom was referring to time as a person.

"Never mind that, Davey," Gwen said hurriedly, acting as if she were late for a bus. "I love you so much. Even when I'm not here with you, I still think about my children. I love you. I love Rachael."

"Rachael, she's dead, isn't she?" Dave breathed, his words running together.

"I don't know, sweetheart. I was watching from day to day, but perhaps she hasn't crossed over yet." She suddenly covered her mouth with a small, white hand.

The walls began to look dimmer, more lighter, like they were mere candles instead of concrete structures. Dave backed away, startled, as he saw the posters and every other object in the room burn into crisp ashes. These ashes were carried away by the wind coming from the open windows. Dave cried out as the bed sunk into the floor. The ground itself looked like the Persian rug that almost swallowed Balthazar.

The first thing he did was reach for his mother. "Mom!" he yelled.

"I have to go," she said quietly, looking down. She didn't seem to notice her feet sinking into the tendrils of carpet.

Dave instantly grabbed her and pulled her into a deep hug. "Don't go," he whispered in her ear.

"I love you, honey," Gwen murmured. "She was kind enough to let me do this. Listen, David, if you ever need my help, I want you to call for me. And I'll come."

Dave shook his head jerkily. She had used his full name. She had to be serious.

"Be nice to your father," Gwen said in that motherly tone she always used. "He's trying his best."

What? Dave thought, bewildered.

"I've got to leave now."

"No, you can't," Dave said, desperation touching his voice and lighting every nerve in his body on fire. Panic rushed in. "You can't go! You just got here!" His childlike instincts kicked in. Dave held her tighter.

"Oh, sweetheart," Gwen said. Unhappiness was evident. "I have to leave. But don't worry. You'll see me again."

A few more seconds passed. His mother made no move to free herself. The colors of the room fused together, leaving behind a horrible gray color. Dave never thought he would miss that room so much. Finally, he gave in, thinking, All good things come to an end, I guess.

"Bye, Mom," Dave muttered. His arms fell to his sides. He itched to hold her again and make sure she would never go. But he willed his hands to stay where they were.

Gwen turned around. Dave's eyes felt like they were being burnt. A glorious, thin shower of brilliant gold was filling the room. A wooden door was in front of Gwen, concealing some of the wonderful light. But it still got away. Dave had to squint just to see his mother.

Her head turned. Some stray brown curls had managed to escape from their hair band. "There are no such things as endings, David," she said, a smile playing upon her lips. "Just new beginnings." She winked at him, then turned once more to walk into the open door.

"Okay," Dave said weakly. The last remaining evidence of his mother's being was her retreating back. And then black shadows swooped down from the blackened ceiling, hiding his view of her ethereal form forever.

"Dave! Dave!"

There was no sunlight. No artificial light. No sparks at all. Dave blinked woodenly, feeling like a toy soldier. Numb and emotionless. He was lying face-first in something hard and cold. His right check stung.

"He's not here, Balthazar! Do something!"

Dave had to tell the voice to be quiet. He knew who it belonged to, and loved that person very much, but wished not to hear it anymore. He just wanted to lie in this place forever.

It hurt to get up. His protesting, sore muscles were no match for his somewhat reasonable mind. Dave pushed himself up with a large amount of effort. He could hear structures sliding off of his body and hitting the ground was an angry thud. He rubbed his back with one hand while using his other hand to balance himself. There was a pain somewhere in his back that made him want to fall into unconsciousness. Cuts seared on his arms. Discolored spots decorated his body from head to toe. Dave awkwardly held out his arms and looked down. One sock was completely shredded, literally hanging out like cartoonish paper strips. A lot of his clothes were torn. Dave resisted the urge to make pain-filled noises as he cringed and jerked around, trying to walk normally.

It was the post-apocalypse here. Rubble, broken concrete, thick beams of steel and iron, a thousand gold and silver pebbles, bricks, stone littered the entire area around him. Lingering traces of thick smoke hung in the air, although he could breathe just fine. He did not look at the sky or the clouds. He did not see any buildings or streets. Strangers did not scream. Everything was almost silent.

Dave's mind had gone blank by now. He was shocked and slapped by the destruction. The destruction he had caused.

He had watched Damien and Cyril struggle in the ring of fire that had blazed the entire stone roof. Dave tried to intervene a couple of times, but was thrown dangerously close to the flames. That would explain his burnt sleeves and some blackened skin.

Dave didn't remember what happened, but he knew that he performed the Parasite Spell. It brought his mind back to reality with a jolt. That was right. He had torn out the Parasite Spell from the Incantus, and then went to the temple. When in that ring of fire, he had nearly forgotten about it. Dave had gave the page a few quick looks, threw it to the dancing flames, and ran to Cyril. He had slapped his uncle with such force that the latter was thrown to the ground. He had gotten down on one knee and used the spell. He could recall how it felt—energy, strong amounts of energy, racing through his veins and rushing at the victim at full speed while receiving purer power in return. It was the strangest, most exhilarating rush, and it was over in seconds. After Cyril, he ran towards Damien. He used the Seffner Wall on him. The extra magic obtained constructed the force within minutes, trapping the man successfully. Dave had felt smug when he took a step back and looked on as fire devoured the walls first, then his father.

Dave had blacked out.

"Dave!" Becky screamed. She was darting to him now. Dave held up a hand, although she couldn't have saw it from the distance she was at. Still. He just wanted her to go away. Get to somewhere safe. Some place where she didn't know her boyfriend, the oh so good Prime Merlinian, had killed two people.

Balthazar and Veronica did not heed his warning. They were at his side in a few short seconds.

"He's not dead," Veronica said blankly.

"Who?" Dave demanded.

"Your father. He's still here. I can sense it," Balthazar said, his eyes moving across the damaged area. "Ah! Right there."

Dave turned around. His body yelled in pain. He ignored it. He could see a hand, covered in ripped black cloth, rising out of the debris. Dave's heart stopped. He knew.

"Daddy!" he screamed. The anguish in his voice was echoed throughout the empty sky.

It had been so long since he'd called Damien "Daddy".

Dave hurled himself at the spot. He reached it in no time. Dave tripped and fell, but he was glad for this. It spared him the time of getting down on his knees. He immediately began to throw aside chunks of stone and concrete. Fluid ran free and dripped to the ground. Dave realized too late his fingers were cut by the glass. It didn't matter. Adrenaline and shock had numbed him to a point; there was nothing but emotion.

Dave's knees would have stung had he been able to feel them. He was like a rodent, scampering among trash to find something as precious as food. Dave threw aside a final piece of glazed stone. The blood leaked from his cuts and onto this stone. Dave tugged at the hand that did not move anymore. He said something incoherently. The hand finally twitched. Dave fell back as a tall shadow literally rose from the ashes. His father didn't look like he had any serious damage. There were minor cuts on his face.

Dave never thought he would feel so happy to see this face. He threw himself at the man and clung to him like he used to do when he was a toddler.

"I saw what the fire did," Dave said in a hoarse voice. "Why aren't you… Why are you here?"

A low chuckle. "The Seffner Wall had me completely trapped; only powerful magic will tear it down efficiently. The fire consumed me in my prison, but it was only when I crashed through the first floor of the temple did the magic in the fire break my safe box. I'm afraid to say Cyril was never good at casting pyrokinetic spells."

Dave nodded bleakly. He didn't hear half of what he had said. His father's black sleeves were even more darkened by crisp burns. Dave could smell smoke and pine on it.

"Dave!" Becky shouted. She was still running, but managed to catch up to him. Now she stood a few inches behind the two, hesitant.

"…Dave?"

"I'm… You okay, Becky? You aren't hurt?" He wanted to be urgent and care for her health, but right now, he couldn't. He was too numb, too cold. It was impossible to feel anything but surprise.

"Someone carried me out before the ceiling could be destroyed," she explained quietly. "Dave, you're bleeding all over your clothes… We need to get you to a doctor."

"And what will you tell the mundane doctors, fool girl?" his father asked sourly. "Go leave before any other humans come along. I can hear cars in the distance."

"I can't leave," Becky said in the same hostile yet sullen voice. It sounded like she wanted to say more, but didn't.

"You can't leave him with me, you mean to say," Damien corrected coldly. "I'm leaving, girl. Don't follow."

"It's Becky," she answered in an equally icy tone. "And we're leaving, you mean to say."

She called for Balthazar. Dave couldn't hear cars or sirens, like his father could. His ears blocked out a lot of sounds, but received ones that were closest to him. He could sense Damien touching his shoulder and his cheek, but didn't feel the touches on his skin.

Dave heard Balthazar. "Dave," he said. "We'll get you to our house. Veronica's a skilled healer."

Dave was beginning to lose consciousness. Whether that was from magic or health means, he had no idea.

"Dave! Balthazar, he's closing his eyes! Is—"

His eyes flew open. He had picked up the words "kill" and "father" in the same sentence.

"You're going to kill him?" Dave said slowly. It was meant as a question, but it came out like an unmoved statement. Suddenly, he added in a bigger voice, "You can't kill him."

"Dave, no one… We…"

He didn't know who spoke and did not care. "Stay away from us!" he shouted. His mother, she was gone, and now they were going to take away his only living parent.

And then he went blank.

He awoke. Dave was, once again, tucked away in bed. Not his bed, of course. So far, after a long, tiresome, emotionally-draining experience, he had been knocked out exactly two times, and had been put in an unfamiliar bed—only the angels knew what had occurred in those beds prior to his coming—two times.

Dave honestly didn't care. He just knew he had wound up in a bed again. He listened to soft waves crashing onto rocks. It wasn't a particularly large noise. it was actually pretty soothing, like his father's lullaby. In the past few days, however, they had been anything but soothing.

Dave's head lay on the pillow. He was on his side. He stared at a large glass window. The white curtains were drawn back, tied by bronze tassels, to reveal a dark sky with gray clouds. The moon was an enormous silver orb, giving off enough sparks of light to view the scene. Dave could see the rough outline of a sheer cliff face and the black waters before it.

He felt a sudden spasm in his left leg. Dave threw off the thick covers immediately. He was a little surprised to see nightwear on, even though he shouldn't have. Dave ignored the clothes and checked the bandages wrapped around his leg. It ended at his knee. Dave's fingers were suddenly all over his face. He realized there were some bandages there too.

Dave prepared to stumble out of bed, but was interrupted.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Damien said quietly.

The lights were thrown on. Dave blinked against the harsh lights. He tried to remain dignified and serious while looking at the man sitting in a chair in the corner.

"Where's Becky? Balthazar?"

"I suppose I rank below the human girl."

"Be serious. I want to know."

"What do you want to know? Your girlfriend and the others are somewhere else. I have no idea of their location, but I know they had no way of following us."

"What! I was supposed to go with them," Dave said indignantly. "How come I'm here? I don't even want to see your face."

"That's not what you were saying before," was his father's inaudible response.

Dave realized he had been a little off at the scene of the temple. His face turned red when he recalled the words he'd thrown at Becky and the others. They weren't so bad, but it was out of his character to say such things, to protect his father.

And he called Damien "Daddy". That was the ultimate embarrassment.

"I think you should lie down," his father suggested, "so I can tell you everything."

Dave did not protest. His head sunk into the pillows. He waited for Damien to go on.

"You were very upset at the destroyed temple," his father continued. "I knew you had to come with me. Human doctors could patch you up, but they weren't right for you; you needed to be looked at by someone with your blood. Letting you go off with people I weren't familiar with—"

"Oh, please," Dave said, the heat flooding his face. He wasn't humiliated, but angry now. "I wasn't going off anywhere. I could barely stand. And besides, they're good people; trustworthy." He laid a lot of emphasis on that word, just so it would get on Damien's nerves.

Ignoring Dave, he said, "I wasn't going to let you go, and I wanted to look at your injuries myself. Magical transportation was used; it's quite useful, when you know how to control the speed and place. This is the house I brought you to. I tended to your cuts and bruises, then put you here. Is this your second time waking up in an unfamiliar place?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. What happened to Becky, Balthazar, and Veronica? What about Modessa, Rue?"

"I told you I had no clue. But if I'm guessing, I think they went off to one of their homes to sort things out and wonder if it was a good idea not to stop me."

"You make it sound like you're a villain," Dave said wearily.

"You seem to think so," Damien retorted quietly.

"Of course I would," Dave snapped. "There are lots of things you did to make me think that."

"Don't you find that even a little ironic?" Damien inquired. "You dub me a villain, yet you had the…the audacity to perform that spell on your uncle."

"What other options did I have?" Dave asked, not really wishing for a reply. "If he lived, he would keep coming back. He doesn't like Becky. I was afraid he'd do something to hurt her."

"He wouldn't," Damien said. "I would make sure he wouldn't."

"You're a liar," Dave said simply. "You tried to kill my mother, you let Rachael die, you don't care that I almost died—"

"You think I tried to kill Gwen?"

Dave shrunk. He waited a few seconds to gather up enough courage to say something back. In a more leveled voice, he said, "Yes, you did try. I saw it in the kitchen. When I was little, don't you remember?"

Damien's mouth opened sharply, but then it closed shut. So did he eyes. He massaged his temples, making an understanding noise. He seemed to be processing some kind of information.

"Ah," he finally murmured. "You think it was me in the kitchen that night."

"I think? I know. I remember seeing it all."

"No, you don't know. You did see everything, but you never knew who it was."

"What do you mean?" Dave demanded.

"It was another man disguised as me," Damien said slowly, his eyes wandering off in the other direction. "A Morganian with no living family. I should begin at the start. I lived in the 1800s, as you know. I met a young girl there. Her name was Clarice Addams. She was the daughter of a Merlinian couple who had been helpful to the community. I used my middle name when speaking with her. I didn't want her to know I was a Morganian. Thankfully, no one at the time was aware of my last name. So I was safe. Or so I thought.

"I came in contact with a Morganian. It was a simple run-in. He recognized me right away, but wasn't interested in business or anything like that. Well, at the time, he wasn't. Cyril knew him, and vice versa. My brother had been stupid enough to tell him I was planning to marry Clarice. I had already purchased the ring. The Morganian said if I were to marry her, I needed to get to her parents, and leave my old life behind. I was willing to become a plain farmer who used his magic to grow herbs, like I had told Clarice. The Morganian struck up a deal: he would make sure my background and home fit the lie and in exchange, I would help him in the future, if he ever got in trouble.

"I knew immediately something was wrong. He was a suspicious fellow. I refused his offer. I left to think about marriage plans. The next day, I went to Clarice's house. She was very anger. Very, very angry. She threw things at me and accused me of killing her parents. I had never been so confused in my life. For a moment, her rage convinced me I truly had murdered them. I tried to apologize, tried to make her believe it couldn't have been me. I wasn't sure of myself. She then told me she knew my real name, and how I'd lied to her. With that, Clarice Addams walked out of my life.

"It was only later that I found out it was the Morganian man I'd talked to who had changed himself into me. He had went over to Clarice's parents' house and murdered them, then stole their precious belongings. It made me sick that I had even spoke to him. I was pathetic. But not vengeful. I didn't bother to sought out the Morganian.

"I went to my brother. I said I wanted a new, better life. To really leave behind my past. He was reluctant to agree. Cyril was used to good times and chases. He was used to the magical world, and didn't understand why I would want to leave magic behind. I said I didn't. I just wanted something to live for. He was my only living sibling and knew we needed each other. He agreed to help me.

"Over the years, I forgot about magic bit by bit. I still used it, of course, but only when I needed it. If I was going to be a regular male, I was to learn how to get on without magic. Cyril met a woman named Alexandria. They married. Jealousy consumed me and overtook my days. How could he fall in love while I could not? And I wasn't even hurting anyone, when he was killing young girls for blood.

"Finally, I settled in a nice house in New York City. I had a new job as a lawyer. I met Gwen at law school. She wanted to become a lawyer as well, but wasn't so good at her studies. I was enamored with her instantly. It is a feeling I cannot explain. It would took other words. I proposed to Gwen and she easily quit in order to marry me. I didn't believe a woman would give up her dreams for marriage. She was so young…

"But Gwen wanted to marry. She was energetic and beautiful, but always yearned for the role of a good mother. She wanted to raise children, mainly. It was her dream. That's why she used to work at daycares. Anyways, we wed.

"Rachael came. Then, you. We had a very good marriage, in my opinion. But then the Morganian man came along. He had been in town, trying to con a young magical couple. He saw me at the train station. I had seen him too, but didn't know if it was truly him. I reminded myself I wasn't going to return to that life. I had children and a wife to think about; and I wasn't even certain if this was the same person.

"While I was out working late, he snuck into the house by magical means. He disguised himself as me, as he did so long ago. He wanted revenge. I later learned, after the experience, that he had been involved in a battle with the Clarice's cousins. It left him bitter, furious. He knew so much about me. It still disturbs me, how he took so much time to learn about my life and what I planned to do with Rachael.

"He struck Gwen down. I came home and she told me about what occurred. She could tell the fake Damien was not the real Damien.

"So now you know what happened."

Dave didn't know what to say or do. This was too much information to absorb. Dave felt sadness linger in his heart. So it wasn't Damien. And it wasn't fair of him to accuse his father like that. His mother had been attacked by a crazed, vengeful man, and Dave couldn't protect her. No one expected a young kid to be capable enough to defend his mom against a Morganian. But still.

"David?"

"…Yeah?"

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know. Physically or emotionally?" Dave mumbled.

"Both."

"The emotional health would take too long to describe. Physically, I'm all right. It just hurts a little."

"Do you have any questions?" Did Dave imagine the wariness in his father's voice?

"Yes. What was the reason for you being in the box of sand…thingy?"

"Someone from the magical world thought I was still participating in acts of cruelty," Damien answered. "And so they locked me in. Rachael, she's another story. She was like Cyril, doing bad things."

"Rachael! What happened to her!" he demanded.

"She is dead," Damien said quietly. He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry. She died as soon as her head met with the concrete. She didn't feel any pain, I think."

"But she can't be dead! She's a sorceress, she's got training!"

"She wasn't very skilled, David. She knew spells, but not of enough level to be called a professional sorceress."

"Don't you care? Your daughter just died!" Dave shouted. He didn't feel unhappy or sad. He was ashamed to admit he didn't feel anything about her death. Rachael was mentally insane. She almost killed Levy.

"Calm down, David. There was nothing I could do. Yes, I am very upset. It's not obvious, but I do feel that way," Damien told him in a low voice. "But she was out of touch, I believe. Did she not attempt to cut Levy's throat?"

"…What happened to Levy?"

"The girl named Rue Carver took her. She regained consciousness. Modessa gave her some money and directed her to a church in Oxford. Levy is going to stay there for as long as she needs to; it serves magical people who need help."

"But she never said goodbye…" Dave was struck by a slight feeling of betrayal.

"She left a letter. I was going to give it to you after your questions were answered…"

"Give it to me now," Dave said, his mouth turning down in a grimace.

"Not now. Right after," Damien said firmly. "I promise."

Dave glared at him. Minutes passed. He finally decided it was worth arguing over. He would get his letter eventually. For some odd reason, Dave was believing everything his father said.

"Where's…Cyril?" The words came out of his mouth unexpectedly.

"Cyril survived. Well, not survived, but unharmed. You didn't perform the spell correctly. You just blocked some of his arteries. It was a good try, though. I rescued him because I wasn't going to get rid of the my only brother," Damien said crossly. "I washed away all those unpleasant memories. He doesn't remember anything that occurred during his visit in New York. All Cyril knows is that he came to New York to get groceries for his wife. I also rearranged his mind to believe I was never imprisoned, and that Rachael died by accident. He wouldn't care if he knew he caused her death anyways. I also destroyed the clock. He shouldn't bother anyone anymore."

"Hold on," Dave interrupted. He held up a bandaged hand. "You mean to tell me that Cyril's been programmed to believe he went all the way to New York from God knows where just to pick up groceries for his wife?"

"Alexandria's a picky woman," Damien said.

Dave collapsed deeper into the pillows. "Fine, whatever. As long as he's out of my life."

"He is. Anything else?"

"Yeah…" Dave couldn't think of anything else. Then, a question popped into his mind. "Why did you save me? Why didn't you just leave me? I tried to kill you."

"I didn't want to kill anyone. I just wanted to leave my prison and reunite with my family. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Just tell me why you didn't do anything," Dave said, switching questions immediately. "I mean, how could you have not known Cyril wanted that clock?"

"I knew he wanted our heirloom," Damien said. He paused. "I didn't realize he wanted it to control the city. If he did, he would get to do a lot of things while the clock worked its magic on the perimeter. I thought he wanted to help me be with my family. Our family. I wanted to see you children so bad… After so many years…"

"But Rachael said all you did was talk about me." Dave flushed, a little. "And not about her."

"I was saddened by the thought she was still a Morganian. That she hadn't gone to college or fallen in love. She had wasted all her life being a Morganian. I couldn't bear to be in the same room with her; yet I still had affection for her."

"So you love me because I'm a Merlinian?" Dave asked, confused rather than annoyed, as he should be.

"I love you because you're my son, David," Damien said, eyes glittering. "I'm pleased you haven't ruined your own life. You seem very happy, being with these people. Not that I entirely trust them. Or that human girl—it'll take time to get used to her."

"You married a human. I like a human girl. What's the problem?"

"I only believe she'll get hurt if she's too involved with magical business," Damien explained shortly. "It's not pretty, being a Merlinian…or a Morganian. Either way, you're bound to run into bloodshed. But if you're happy…then I suppose I'll have to deal with it."

"So…now what?" Dave's head spun with possibilities. He'd never been so happy in his life, at this point. He would get to be with Becky, have his apprenticeship with Balthazar, be a Merlinian…and no one in his family would ever bother him.

And his father would be with him.

"This house is the one I planned on sharing with Gwen," Damien told Dave. He got up from the chair and walked over to the side of Dave's bed. He seemed to look into his son's eyes. "But she died… We never got to share it. But I get to share it with you. I was thinking Rachael, you, and I would live here after everything was finished. It turns out only you'll get that pleasure." The corners of his mouth turned down grimly.

"Hold on," Dave said. "I have an apartment. With a roommate, who's also my friend. I can't just pick up and move like that… Are we even in New York?"

"Yes, we're in New York. More or less close to NYU. The house is built on a cliff right above low waters. You can still drive your school and your girlfriend's house… It's not that far, David."

Distance didn't matter to Dave. "But why can't I stay in the apartment?"

Something close to pain rippled across Damien's face. "You don't want to stay, do you?"

"No, no! I want to live here…with you… But I just want to make sure why you want me here."

"Because you're my son. And I haven't seen you in so long. Rachael is dead. You're my only child now. I don't want you to be so far away from me…even by a few yards." His voice broke.

Dave squirmed. He immediately said, "All right, I understand. I just wanted to know… So I'm staying here, then?"

"I have to get all your things here, don't I?" asked his father.

"That's right. I'd like to know how I can explain this to everyone else."

"It's possible," Damien said, with a small smile. "They'll be shocked, but I'm sure they understand."

"I have to thank Modessa, Modesty, and Rue too…"

"That'll be done," Damien said. Then he added hesitantly, "David?"

"…Er, yes?"

"…I certainly care for you. I do love you. Don't think of me as a stranger. Could you do that for me?" Damien's eyes plead with him.

"I don't think you're a stranger. You're my father. I just didn't know all this stuff about you," Dave mumbled, feeling his face go red.

"Good. It's too late. We need to talk in the morning," Damien murmured, checking the clock above the bed. "And you need to go to sleep."

"So I can go to Balthazar's tomorrow, right? And Becky's?"

"You never needed my permission too," was his father's answer.

Despite everything that had been said and happened, Dave slept soundly for the first time since the experience.

Dave clutched the journal in his gloved hands. He released a deep breath. He looked at Damien and said, "Do you think I should do this, Dad?"

It had been a month since the incident with Cyril and Rachael. Balthazar had had a hard time accepting the entire situation, but with Becky's support, Veronica's guidance, Dave's pleading, and his father's firm promises, he eventually came to an agreement with Damien. Dave would train with Balthazar and stick to Merlinian tendencies, but he would live with his biological father and try to live at least a somewhat average life. At least Damien was getting used to Becky. Although he wished he'd stop calling her Rebecca.

Dave had read the letter from Levy. He wasn't upset. To his great surprise, he was relieved. He was glad Levy had gotten out alive and she'd found a place where she would be accepted. Where she wouldn't be abused. Levy had even started to drink animal blood.

"Like the Twilight vampires," she'd told him over a phone conversation. "Except their vampires are prissies."

Modessa, Modesty, and Rue had found them therapists, much to Dave's chagrin. He was actually fine with family counseling, but it was a pain. Modessa and the young girls were specialized in this business. They had found therapists for tons of families with Merlinian or Morganian kids. They knew what they were doing. So Dave trusted their judgment on Annabelle Chancy, the Merlinian woman who'd become a family counselor. Dave thought she was friendly and understanding. His father seemed to accept her. So far, he and Damien had been to a few sessions, where they tackled some less important issues. Dr. Chancy warned them some emotional sessions were coming, but they could relax for now. Dave even begun to dub Damien as "Dad" again. It was hard to say the word after so long, but it was getting easier by the days.

Dr. Chancy had told the two they needed to get over the past to begin a new, healthy relationship. That's why Dave and Damien were at the edge of the cliff, where the deep waters churned.

Dave repeated his question. "Do you think I should do this?"

"You should. Dr. Chancy says we have to get over the past. And you aren't obliged to hold Gwen's journal. You don't need it. You know she was happy in those years."

"But would she have wanted us to throw it into the ocean?" Dave wanted to know.

"I'm not her. But I have a feeling she'd want us to do what we needed to in order to get this relationship," Damien said.

Dave looked at the battered journal. He actually did want to let go. He wished she was here to tell him…

"I'm gonna let it go," Dave said after exhaling sharply.

"Do it," Damien said softly.

The journal was released from Dave's hand. It fell into the waters with a splash. The waves lapped it up happily. Dave thought it wasn't at all sad, but different. Like his mother's journal was receiving a safer home. At the bottom of the ocean, no one could disturb her pages of emotion. And that's how Dave wanted it to be.

They stood for a while until Damien said, "I think I hear the phone. It is probably Rebecca."

Dave stared at the clouds. They began to form a strange shape. Dave gasped and stumbled back. The image winked at him.

"That was a good idea." And then the clouds resumed their normal shape and the only sounds were the ones of seagulls and waves.

Dave turned around and walked towards the house. For a moment there, he thought the clouds had looked like Gwen.

Perhaps she was right about those new beginnings.

I personally grimaced while typing the ending. I think it was a tad cheesy. Or is that ending-a-fic jitters? I don't know.

I'm so pleased I finally finished this fic! FINALLY.

Thank you, everyone, for your reviews, whether they were unsigned or signed. They all mean a lot to me, and I always smiled whenever I got one. Thanks for following the fic and reading the chapters! Thanks for reviewing, for faving, or adding me to any kind of list on there. I truly appreciate you guys.

You gave me a lot of confidence and advice! I'm grateful for that as well!

So thanks a ton, everyone. Virtual snacks for everyone, wink wink.

-TracedScars