Free Witch Eyes by Scott Tracey Page B

or twice, but then immunity sets in.” He looked over his shoulder—not quite at me, but at least in my direction. “Why do you think he only treated you with pills?”
    I didn’t like the caustic tone he had. “At least someone was there when I needed him,” I said, matching it tone for tone.
    Another one of those faux smiles. “Why are you here, Braden?”
    “I thought you wanted me here,” I said, confused at his ambivalence. “Lucien said—”
    “Lucien says a great many things. I’m asking why you are here.”
    Why had I come? “Because someone was going to come for me. Catherine Lansing, Lucien says. And she was going to kill Uncle John to get to me.”
    I didn’t miss the flare in his expression when I mentioned his brother’s name. No love lost there. “Ahh.” I couldn’t quite decipher the emotion that flashed across Jason’s face before he turned back to the window. “And she already tried to kill you once today, I heard. That was sloppy.”
    “Sloppy?” My body started to warm as the anger took hold. “She tried to have me killed and all you can say is that it’s ‘sloppy’?”
    “No,” he said, his tone cold. “I meant your reaction was sloppy. I’d almost be embarrassed, if I didn’t remember who’d been left to train you.”
    He held up his left hand and passed it over the windows. The view of downtown clouded over, and sidewalks and traffic appeared. An illusion. One that I couldn’t have come close to matching. I could veil myself from most senses; that wasn’t too difficult. But to actually bend light to create something that wasn’t there, like a hologram—that was infinitely more difficult than what I did.
    It was the sidewalk a few blocks away, where I’d been pushed into the path of the bus. And as I watched Jason’s re-creation of the event on glass windows that were now some sort of mystical television, I saw how everything must have looked to outsiders. The little girl, the push, the way I’d stumbled in front of the bus, and then the way I’d gone flying back without the bus even touching me.
    He held up his hand, and the image froze. “Don’t you think the spell would have been much more effective if you’d channeled all that energy away from you? Instead of letting it throw you around?”
    I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “You’re critiquing my near-death experience ?” Asshole, thy name is Father.
    “Don’t be so sensitive.” He dropped his hand and the illusion faded. “If I’d known you were so poorly trained, I’d have—”
    “What? What would you have done?” I snapped. “You don’t know anything about me.”
    “I know everything about you,” he replied, his tone going colder, if that was even possible. Another wave of the hand, and our log cabin in Montana appeared in the window. The view circled the building, stopping once there was a glimpse of movement at the rear of the house. Uncle John was on the back porch, rocking in that chair he loved.
    “You’ve been spying on us?” This was all too insane to process. The infamous Jason Thorpe was my father. He knew exactly where I’d been all along. And he was also some sort of stalker freak slash magical badass.
    “I don’t know what he was thinking,” Jason said. “If you can’t even control your powers, how in the world are you going to eliminate her?”
    “Eliminate her? I just want her to leave us alone.”
    “Don’t be naïve,” he snapped. “You can’t possibly think it’s that ea sy.”
    “This is crazy,” I announced. “I don’t know what you think I’m here for … but he’s wrong. I’m not going to be some pawn in your vendetta or whatever.”
    “Braden!” he snapped.
    “Jason!” I retorted. “God, someone tried to kill me and the only thing you can say is ‘well, sorry kid, but your magic sucks.’ You’re like some kind of psycho Little League parent.”
    “I don’t know who you think you are,” he said tightly, “but that tone is