Free Fathomless by Anne M. Pillsworth Page A

began.
    â€œIt’s not that.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œOkay, it’s a little that. But what if I was going to get a mentor before they found out who my magic comes from? And then Marvell changed his mind because he’s afraid I’ll turn out like Redemption Orne? Or like Patience—she was even worse. She ordered her Servitor to kill people.”
    Head bowed, Dad seemed to chew over his reply. “Your uncle Gus would know the exact quote, but the Bible talks about the sins of the fathers being visited on the children only to the fourth or fifth generation. Sixth, tops.”
    â€œYou don’t believe that stuff.”
    â€œNo. I’d say the fathers’ sins aren’t visited on anyone.”
    â€œI’m not talking sins. I’m talking genes.”
    â€œOkay, genes. Helen would’ve told me if yours had evil overlord cooties.”
    Without wanting to, Sean smiled. “You think she’d tell you about overlord cooties?”
    â€œI think she’d tell me the truth about anything concerning you. If she and Marvell were afraid of your ancestry, they didn’t have to let you come to Arkham. Take what they said at face value—you just need to start over right.”
    â€œBut right for Daniel—”
    â€œDaniel’s a different person. Look. That last phone call, Helen wasn’t worried about you personally. She was worried about how Orne’s likely to keep chasing you.”
    â€œBecause, us being blood relatives, he could use me to get stronger?”
    â€œThat’s my worry. Him getting some kind of mental control over you.”
    Would a psychic bond with a human be as will-crushing as the bond the Servitor had forced on Sean? Maybe it would be worse. Much less impersonal, for one thing.
    â€œYou’ve got to be a lot more careful now,” Dad went on.
    â€œI know. They told me.”
    â€œDid you listen?”
    â€œTotally, Dad.”
    â€œYou’re going to keep listening?”
    â€œA hundred percent. Far as I’m concerned, Orne is so not an option.”
    Dad rubbed his lower lip. “And you’re not going to do any spells?”
    â€œWho’s going to teach me spells if I don’t have a mentor?”
    Someone knocked on Dad’s door. “I’ll be over shortly,” he called, then turned back to Sean: “Okay. Anything else?”
    An overhead flare jerked Sean’s eyes to the Founding . The sun had dipped behind the huge old oaks that lined Pickman Street, leaving the windows dim, except for Nyarlathotep’s crow. Its halo had returned, brighter than ever in contrast to the darkened glass around it. He blinked. It stayed bright.
    â€œSean?”
    He looked down at the screen. “No biggie, Dad, but your crow?”
    â€œWhat crow?”
    â€œThe one in the Founding . That Nyarlathotep’s throwing. Did you do something special to it?”
    â€œNo, just some repainting.”
    â€œYou didn’t paint it to glow, like you painted Mom’s brush, in her window?”
    â€œThat would have meant changing the original design. Is there a glow?”
    â€œYou know, halo-ish.”
    Dad sighed. “That could be a light leak. Do me a favor. Check the putty around the crow. See if it’s shrunk.”
    How could you have a light leak if there wasn’t any light hitting the glass? But Sean said, “Sure, Dad. Should I fix it?”
    â€œNo. As long as the glass isn’t about to fall out, I’ll deal with it when I come back. Anyhow, tell Eddy and Helen and the Professor hi for me. And don’t forget I’m here whenever you want to call.”
    â€œMiddle of the night, your time?”
    Dad groaned but nodded. Then he was gone.
    Sean hauled one of the library stepladders onto the dais, under the left window, and climbed. Nyarlathotep remained inert glass, didn’t try to grab him, didn’t even wink in recognition, and four rungs up, Sean