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Belos
As a rule, Hunter doesn’t generally do breakfast. He has early morning exercises to do, and places to be, and multiplication tables to learn, so he usually shoves a protein bar in his mouth and skips anything else.
But today. Today is a special day. Today he gets to eat with Uncle.
He’d been all snuggled in bed with his secret stuffed frog last night when he heard a knock on the door. A scout had been standing there when he’d opened it, with a written message he’d handed to the young boy. Hunter needed a few minutes squinting at the fancy script to parse out the meaning (he was only 5, and reading came slowly to him), but when he’d managed, a grin broke out on his face.
Uncle wanted to have breakfast! With him!
Hunter had difficulty falling asleep that night, much too excited to close his eyes. But when he finally did drift away, it was with the invitation tucked safely under his pillow.
The next morning, he’d combed his hair, made sure his little uniform was spotless, and took a few minutes getting his hand-flappies out in the privacy of his own room. Uncle didn’t seem to like it when he did that, so he’d get them all done now.
When Hunter is finally standing in front of the throne room, after waiting what felt like all morning before the appointed time, he has to bite his lip to keep from rocking back and forth. Uncle didn’t really like that either.
But finally, finally, the towering door to his Uncle’s domain creaks open, and he walks in, trying to imitate the way he’s seen some of the Coven Heads walk; shoulders back, wide strides, exuding confidence.
He doesn’t know if it works, but pretending helps him feel less jumpy.
On the far side of the room, in front of the dais, is a long table with a white table cloth, set with cutlery he can only see on his tiptoes. Seated very far away, at the head of the table, is his Uncle Belos, writing something on a parchment and looking down.
Hunter marches up the hall, and stops at the foot of the table, remembering almost too late to lock his hands behind his back so he doesn’t fidget. It’s a few long moments before his Uncle looks up, and Hunter can smell the warm scents of breakfast wafting around him. For once, he finds himself ravenous.
Then Uncle looks up, and Hunter breathes a quiet sigh of relief at the warm smile on his face. It was going to be a good day.
“Ah, there’s my favorite nephew. Are you ready for some breakfast?”
Hunter smiles a wide, gap-toothed smile. “Yes, Uncle!”
Belos scrawled one last thing and laid his quill aside. “Why don’t you have a seat, then?”
Hunter eagerly scrambled into his too-high chair, and settled himself on his knees so he could see things better.
“Go ahead and take some, Hunter. You’re a growing boy,” his uncle said, taking a sip of something in an opaque glass, and Hunter happily rushed to oblige. Every so often, when something was out of his reach, his uncle would float it over to him in a haze of red magic.
Hunter began to eat, trying to be slow and polite about it, as his Uncle served his own food.
“So, nephew,” Belos said casually, putting a griffin sausage on his plate, “What have your tutors been teaching you?”
The boy swallowed, and dove into an eager explanation of the coven system, military tactics, and the technology behind the branding gloves that made the coven system possible.
Every so often, Belos would ask a prompting question, and Hunter would answer it in stride.
And for a while, everything was well. A boy answering his uncle’s questions about school. Belos let the boy talk, and Hunter was excited to share his studies with his uncle, and prove that he was learning fast. He didn’t mention the reading difficulties he’d been having. He was working very hard on that.
But then Belos asked “And what have you learned about wild magic?”
And Hunter should have known what the right answer was. He knew what his tutors had taught him, that wild magic was evil and dangerous, and needed to be exterminated. What he shouldn’t have done was say what he’d learned from overhearing the scouts talk, or listening to the public library’s echo-mouses when he’d gone on a field trip. He should not have talked about how fascinating wild magic was, or that it really needed to be understood before it could be properly dealt with, or that he didn’t understand why just a few wild witches could be such a bad thing.
But Hunter was five years old. He hadn’t learned better yet, and, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, his tongue got the better of him.
Hunter was talking animatedly about plant magic and reaching for a grape from the center of the table when it happened.
“ENOUGH!” Belos boomed, his voice dark, barely restrained.
And Hunter, shocked by the sudden interruption, jerked, his arm catching a glass and tipping it tumbling to the flagstone below.
It broke with an almost musical crash.
“Do NOT speak on what you so clearly do not understand, boy!”
“U-uncle, I’m sorry,” Hunter stammered, not altogether sure what he’d done but sure it was something. “I didn’t mean to–”
“And now look what you’ve done,” Belos said, rising to his feet to look down at the boy, his arm still frozen outstretched.
Hunter’s wide magenta eyes did nothing to the man.
“Is this what happens when I serve you at my table, Hunter? Are you unable to control yourself?” Belos wore no mask for once, but he might as well have from the blank look on his face.
Hunter’s stomach flipped. “N-no sir, no sir, I’m sorry, I can control myself,” the boy said, desperate to cut his uncle off before things got bad.
Like they had many times before.
Belos’ nostrils flared, and Hunter realized for the first time that his uncle was already angry. Very angry.
It was too late. Hunter’s heart sank, and his eyesight started to retreat into a distant haze. Not this again.
“Clearly not,” Belos said, and the disgust was plain in his voice.
Hunter pressed himself against the hardwood back of the chair, his heartbeat growing faster and faster as he witnessed warning signs in his uncle. Jaw flexing. Fists clenching. Lifting his chin so his eyes darkened, looking at Hunter like the dirt on the hem of his robe.
Hunter was in so much trouble, and he wanted to cry. This was not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to have a nice breakfast with his uncle who loved him, and he would be good and not upset him, and everything would be fine, and nothing would be his fault.
But instead, he’d been careless and clumsy, and he’d made his uncle angry, and now he didn’t know what would happen.
But he was so, so scared.
Tears started to gather in his eyes, and Hunter bit at his lip to send them, and the urge to flap his hands, away. Not right now. He couldn’t do this right now.
His uncle sighed. “Clean it up.”
Hunter glanced up at him and relaxed a little. Oh. That wasn’t so bad. He’d have to be extra good so his uncle would forgive him, but cleaning up was a light punishment. Comparatively.
“Yessir,” he said quickly, and slipped out of his chair for the hidden door of the janitor’s closet where he could find a broom.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Belos voice floated after him, strangely distant.
Hunter turned, fidgeting with his fingers. “To… To fetch a broom, Uncle.”
Belos sat down, pulling his papers and quill in front of him. “Did the broom break my glass, Hunter?”
Hunter frowned. What did that mean? Hadn’t Uncle seen him knock it off the table? How could the broom have broken it? “...No, sir.”
Belos hummed. “Who broke my glass, boy?”
Hunter looked at the floor, feeling that he was missing something. Shame grew hot on his cheeks. “I-I did, sir. I’m sorry.”
Belos picked up his quill. “Well then. If you broke my glass, careless as you were, then you’ll have to clean it up.”
Through his fear, his pounding heart, Hunter was confused. He was trying to clean it up. He needed a broom. What was Uncle getting at? He furrowed his brow, trying to parse out what was being asked of him.
But he took too long thinking. Belos grew impatient. And Belos snapped.
“You idiot child! Pick it up with your hands!”
Hunter’s lip trembled. The glass? Wouldn’t that… hurt? “But, Uncle-”
“Do not make me tell you again, Hunter. Go atone for your misbehavior before I decide to stop being so lenient with you.”
Hunter realized he was right. Who was he, just a little kid, to question his Uncle? He was just doing what was best for the boy. He was stupid, stupid and willful to hesitate now.
But even with those thoughts running through his head, Hunter’s feet dragged under him as he moved back to the shards of broken glass. The haze in his eyes grew stronger, and he felt his head buzzing, like it was full of firebees. Hunter felt very far away.
“Yes Uncle Belos.”
Belos dipped the quill in ink, breakfast forgotten and growing cold. “Perhaps this will teach you to be less careless. I hope you can learn the lesson this time. I’d hate to have to repeat this.” Belos never looked up.
“No sir, I swear I won’t do it again.” Hunter, with tears dripping off his nose, dropped to his knees and started gathering glass, trying to avoid its sharp edges.
Why did his lessons always have to hurt so much?
A while later, Hunter was finally allowed to cart the glass out to the waste receptacle and be excused. He sat on his bed, his little hands held in front of him, dripping red blood. He finally let himself sob.
Later, he would promise himself he would do better. Convince himself he’d deserved it, that he must have if Belos had done it to teach him a lesson. He would rinse his shaking hands from the blood, and try to make sure he had no glass shards in his palms, and try his best to wrap up the worst of the cuts with scraps of his baby blanket. He didn’t have a first aid kit yet. He had to use his teeth.
But for now, Hunter sat on his bed, five years old, and shook with sobs.
Camila
Hunter could not stop waking up early. It was a Coven habit he could not seem to break. Rain or shine, 8 hours of sleep or 2, he would blink awake in the early pre-dawn. It was hazy in the basement, the barest hint of light filtering in from the tiny window at ground-level with the house.
For the first few weeks, Hunter had laid stock still in bed for hours every morning, until he heard voices or movement from the others. He did not want to be caught alone in the house and be accused of going where he didn’t belong, or stealing.
He would never steal from Ms. Camila. He grew almost sick at the thought of being thought a thief by her. Not after everything she’d done for them.
As time went on, however, he’d allowed himself the quiet luxury of sitting in the living room. He wouldn't eat anything, no matter how his stomach grumbled, but at least he could stretch out and read one of the many fascinating books in the Noceda household. He’d gotten the sense that the living room was for general use, and he’d witnessed Ms. Camila specifically tell Amity she could wander the house if she couldn’t sleep. Get a snack, Ms. Camila had said, or watch some tv.
Hunter would touch neither the TV nor anything in the kitchen. But he started sitting in the peace of the living room, and after a few days, he’d start putting on a reading lamp for himself.
And then one morning, as he sits reading book 3 of Cosmic Frontier, he has a coughing fit. He held most of it back, burying his face in his hoodie and covering his mouth. He contained it, mostly.
But when he finally catches his breath, he realizes he’s in desperate need of water.
He freezes, bent over on the couch, his hand over his mouth to stifle any errant coughs. Would Ms. Camila mind? They seem to have an endless supply of water from the sink, so it wasn’t like he was taking anything irreplaceable.
It’s just a glass of water, dumbass, he reasons at himself, chest catching as he chokes down another cough. Hunter is desperate, and he tells himself that he’ll wash the glass and no one will know any better.
So he slips into the kitchen, navigating by the moonlight from the wide windows, arm still over his mouth. He fills a glass of water, slowly, and sits down before he drinks it. He downed the water in seconds, drank a second glass, and set the glass on the counter while he searched for a sponge.
The light flips on.
“Hunter?”
Hunter jerked, and whipped around to see Ms. Camila, her hand still on the light switch. She’s wearing a robe over pajama pants and a worn t-shirt with faded writing on it, blinking at him through her glasses.
Hunter swallows. “Ms. Camila! I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” He tried in vain to calm his beating heart.
She yawns. “No worries mijo. Everything ok?”
He grips his arm. “Yes ma’am. I…” you did it idiot, now own up to it. “I was getting a glass of water, I was just cleaning up after myself.”
She smiles. “Ahh, I see. Water is always good.” And without another word, she bustled into the kitchen, opening the fridge and gathering eggs, butter, and bacon.
Before Hunter could process, she’d picked his glass up and filled it again, handing it to him. “Why don’t you sit down? I can make us some breakfast.”
Though it was a question, Hunter clung to it as an order. He needed it to be an order. He sat down, taking a small sip of water and then folding his hands in his lap. He watched Ms. Camila turn on the stove, place a pan on the flame, and put a pat of butter in the pan. He heard it start to sizzle and heat up, smelling the rich scent in the air. His stomach grumbled.
“How do you like your eggs, Hunter? Or do you?” She asked, filling up the tea kettle at the sink.
Hunter straightened in his seat, perched on the very edge. He should have hated eggs, but honestly, he was just happy the ones in the human realm didn’t taste sour like the ones he was used to. He could eat nearly anything in the human realm.
“I’m alright with whatever is most convenient ma’am.” He doesn’t want to be a bother. He barely even processed that she’s making him breakfast. Wait. Should he have said no?
She hums. Hunter can’t tell if he’s upset her or if she’s just thinking. “I’ll fry up a few, if that’s alright with you.”
Hunter’s not sure if he’s supposed to answer that, but before he can, she rummages in the fridge and retrieves a bowl of… what did Luz call them? Blueberries?
Camila sets them down right in front of him. “Luz said you liked those in the store the other day, so I stocked up. You can snack on them while I finish breakfast.” And she was gone, putting toast in a mini oven.
Hunter was short-circuiting. Luz had remembered that he liked blueberries? And told her mother? And Ms. Camila, who certainly had much more important things to do than think about Hunter, had spent extra money? On him?
He felt a little sick, and he bit at his lip to keep from rocking back and forth. Keep it together, keep it together. She was already doing so much for him, and with her going out of her way like that, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever be able to repay her.
Hunter sank into himself, his mind calculating debts that he’d need to remember. He knew he didn’t deserve such kindness, at least not yet. He’d never been good enough to receive it from anyone else.
Camila cooks, and Hunter frets, and the sun starts to peek over the horizon, dousing the kitchen in golden light. When she asks him to grab a few plates, he’s on his feet to obey in an instant, desperate to help. He sets the table to perfection, and she gives him a smile. A tiny weight lifts from Hunter’s chest. He did one thing right, at least.
Ms. Camila sets down two mugs of mint tea, (this wasn’t the first time she’d made him this tea, he must have been too forward in admitting he liked it, he thought dismally), and beckoned him to sit.
She serves them both toast, eggs, and bacon, puts sugar in reach, and they sit across from each other at the little circular table as Hunter wrings his fingers out of sight.
He waits. He can’t eat. Not yet. He needs to know he’s not missing any hidden messages. He needs to know that food is for him. Thankfully, Camila notices his hesitation.
“Go ahead and eat, mijo. You must be hungry.”
“Yes ma’am. Thank you for providing such a generous breakfast,” he says reverently, and slowly picks up a fork. He’s looking down respectfully, so he doesn’t catch the thoughtful look Camila throws his way.
But all she says is “Of course,” and sips her tea.
They eat in silence at first. Hunter is used to only speaking when spoken to, and Camila is only downstairs because she couldn’t fall back asleep.
Well… and because she had a gut feeling that she should head down the stairs, at this awful hour. Lo and behold, Hunter had been there, and she realized that she had an opportunity to spend some time with the teenager. He’d been overly polite and guarded with her since the kids had arrived, and there was a nagging voice in her head that said there was a reason for that, and probably one that broke her heart.
So she sits, and takes a bite of toast, and thinks. She thought about the kids, working hard on the portal, having movie nights, and excited conversations about that series she and Manny had adored.
Oh! That’s it!
“So Hunter… how are you liking those Cosmic Frontier books?” She asks, and prays it will work.
At first, Hunter is taciturn; this is the first time he’s been alone with the owner of the house for so long, and he remembers all too well that she is the adult and he is the inferior and he shouldn't ramble too much. He’ll get careless.
But as the sun brightens and warms the room, and the food fills his stomach, and Camila asks the most thoughtful questions, he finds himself talking louder, talking longer. He finally puts down his fork to indicate the size of a ship with both hands, and Ms. Camila is looking at him with genuine interest.
Hunter told himself he wouldn’t ramble. He didn’t want to take up too much of Ms. Camila’s valuable time. But finally, finally, here was someone who understood exactly what he was thinking about this series that was becoming all too important to him.
So he didn’t see his water glass, sitting on the edge of the table. He didn’t think to tone it down when he swung his arms wide in an excited gesticulation. Ms. Camila was laughing at his antics, interested right along with him. He didn’t even feel his knuckles brush against the glass.
He didn’t notice until the glass shattered on the floor. Until it was too late.
Hunter froze, mouth open, at the sound of the crash. He glanced down at the glass, and then at Ms. Camila, as his heart began to race.
Stupid, stupid boy! Why did you have to be so careless? Control yourself!
“I’m so sorry, ma’am, I promise, I promise it was a mistake, I swear won’t do it again.” You’ll have to be taught a lesson.
Camila watched Hunter’s face fall, and stood up to check on him. “Oh, of course it was, I know that, cariño. Are you ok?” She walked around the table, and stopped in her tracks at the look on his face.
His eyes were enormous, pupils tiny and tears forming. His lip was trembling and she swore she could hear him start to hyperventilate.
“Hey, hey Hunter, it’s ok. It’s ok, just take a deep breath.”
And maybe she knew. Maybe she noticed that he did poorly with questions and well with statements. That he faltered at choice but worked hard to please. She didn’t like it, but if it would keep him from a panic attack, she would, just for a few minutes, tell him what to do.
Hunter obeyed. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he took the slowest, most measured breaths he could manage. Slower and slower, deeper and deeper, until his breathing felt almost normal. In his head, an image of Gus, counting fingers and breaths, flashed in his mind.
His stomach felt like a pit.
Vaguely, as he calmed, he became aware of Ms. Camila kneeling a few feet in front of him. Worthless boy. Clean that up.
Despite the pain of tensed muscles, dispute the knot of tension in his stomach, despite his horrible apprehension at what he deserved next, Hunter forced himself to look up at the woman.
“I’m so sorry for destroying your property, Ms. Camila. I’ll clean it up now.”
Camila was taken aback by the quick shift from shaking, almost crying boy to dead-eyed, standing soldier. “Oh! It’s alright, love. Why don’t I go grab the…”
She trailed off. Because on the other side of the table, dropped onto his knees, protected only by thin pajama pants, was Hunter. Picking up glass. Piece by piece.
Hunter knew this part. He had retreated in the haze, feeling distant, body moving automatically. He had to learn his lesson. He had broken the glass, so he had to clean it up. That was the consequence of breaking other people's things. As he piled glass into one hand, he felt the sting of the first cut in his index and middle fingertips. That will be a pain to clean. But he deserved it. He was ready for this. Ready to learn this lesson, and hope it would be the last time he had to.
But this time, someone interrupted him. This time, someone broke through the haze.
“Hunter.”
It was a strong voice, feminine, commanding. Not cruel. Never cruel.
“Hunter, look at me.”
That was an order. He’d obey that in his sleep. He looked up, into the eyes of Camila Noceda, his hands full of glass.
Why were her cheeks wet? What had he done wrong this time?
“Put the glass down,” she said, voice steady despite the pain in her eyes.
His brow furrowed. He was so lost. He could never get this right. Wasn't he supposed to clean up his mess? And, because he’d never been able to curb the habit, because he lived and breathed curiosity though Belos had done his best to beat it out of him, and maybe a little bit because there was a tiny voice in his head whispering ‘She isn’t like him,' Hunter said,
“But…” and trailed off.
But Ms. Camila just nodded at him, smiling gently. Waiting for him to finish his thought.
“But, ma’am… I have to clean up,” he said, desperate to figure out what the rules were when he’d thought he already knew them.
She nodded, as if she knew what he was saying. “In a moment, we will clean up, together. But we have tools for that. I don’t want you to use your hands, Hunter, you’re getting hurt.”
Hunter swallowed. Here, he knew the answer to this one. “But I have to learn my lesson.”
Ms. Camila was crying. Titan, he’d made her cry, he was in for it now.
“No, mijo. No lesson. You haven't done anything wrong,” she said, voice wet. “Nothing at all.”
He faltered. He swallowed again, his throat dry. No, thick. His throat was thick with tears and he was barely holding them back. He didn’t understand. “But I…I broke your glass.”
She gave a faint smile. “Just a glass. It doesn’t matter to me. You are much more important than any glass, Hunter.”
Hunter’s lip trembled, his eyes darting around the room. He didn’t know what to say. Important? He wasn’t important, especially not to her, she’d barely met him. He was a drain on her time and money, that’s all.
Yet she was still there, looking at him with kind eyes, no sign of a cruel joke to be found.
“Hunter,” she said, and the command was gone, “will you please put the glass down?”
Hunter sniffed hard, and slowly put the shards back on the tile, letting them fall from his hands. He felt so, so lost.
“Any shards in your hands?” She looked worried. Hunter couldn’t fathom why she’d be worried about a disrespectful brat like him.
“No ma’am.” He knew from experience what that felt like.
“Then come and sit for me, ok?”
And Hunter rose, and sat in the chair, and left the broken glass behind on the floor.
After sweeping the glass into a little pile, Ms. Camila pulled out a first aid kit and nudged aside some plates to put it on the table next to the teenager.
Hunter’s nose feels clogged, and he bit his lip to keep any tears from slipping out. He was grateful she would let him tend to his injuries, and not leave them raw. He knew it was a kindness on her part.
But the glass was still on the floor, and he was nervous. He didn’t realize he was flapping his hand until Ms. Camila said,
“You ok, mijo?”
Hunter froze, and stopped his movement even against the drag he felt, desperately wanting to get the energy out.
“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry.” He swallowed.
Camila paused in opening the first aid kit, a few band aids in hand. She looked at him with concern. “You don’t have to stop, honey, and you don’t have to apologize.”
Hunter squinted, trying to ignore the sharp burn in his fingertips. Wait… she…“You… you don’t mind if I…” he trailed off, lifting a hand in question.
Ms. Camila shook her head, picking out a tube from the kit. “Of course not, sweetheart. I’ll never be upset with you for stimming.”
Hunter tucked his hand under his legs, trying to suppress the shaking. “For… what?”
Camila tilted her head. “Stimming. It’s something a lot of aut– a lot of people do, to feel better and self-regulate.”
Other people? Hunter had never seen anyone else flap their hands like him, and Belos had made it seem like such a uniquely Hunter-sized flaw.
Camila went to the sink and returned with a warm wet paper towel, and held out her hand. “May I?” She asked, and Hunter realized she was… trying to do it for him.
“Oh, I can do it, ma’am. It’s nothing.”
Hunter tried to look her in the eyes, he really did. But he couldn’t manage to do it. He was bracing himself, had been bracing himself for days and months and years, for the harsh hand on his face. He was waiting for her to snap at him for contradicting her.
“I know you can, but I’d like to do it, if that’s alright with you, Hunter?” she said, and his eyes shot up to her, just like that.
She was sincere. Patient. Waiting for him to do… something.
Oh. She was asking his permission. That was new.
She wanted to.
But she was letting him decide.
Hunter gripped the chair seat beneath him with his uninjured hand. “Ok.”
And Camila took care of him with practiced ease and gentleness. She cleaned away the blood, stopped the bleeding, disinfected the site, added a cream, and secured band aids with medical tape. By the time she was done, the pain had faded to barely noticeable, by Hunter’s standards, and he couldn’t help but think about all the messy patch-up jobs he’d done on himself, and how none had ever looked as clean or felt as secure as this.
And maybe… maybe he liked how gentle she acted. Some part of him shouted in his head, telling him it was all an act, that the other shoe would drop and he would break her kindness to bits. He didn’t quite believe that anyone could be like this all the time.
But Camila never swore at him, or called him stupid. She never raised her voice. She even paused when he closed his eyes to catch his breath, quietly assuring him that it was ok, no one was upset, he’d done nothing wrong.
Hunter didn’t quite believe that this was real. But he was drawn to her warmth like a moth on a moonless night.
Ms. Camila was putting supplies back into the first aid kit when she asked, “Do you… have brooms in the demon realm?”
Despite himself, Hunter let out a quiet huff of a laugh. “Of course we do!”
She paused, seeming to consider her next words. “So… why did you try to pick up the glass with your hands?”
She caught the look on his face, and quickly added, “I’m not at all angry, love, I just… am wanting to understand.”
Hunter looked at the glass still in a pile on the floor, and thought back to other times he’d broken something. He shuddered.
“My uncle said… said it was the only way for me to learn my lesson.”
“Oh,” Camila responded, and she sounded choked up.
He shouldn’t have said that, that was too much, Hunter had to fix this. ‘’It’s alright ma’am, the cuts always healed fine!”
He heard Camila take a breath. “Hunter,” she said gently, and suddenly he wanted to cry, “I’m glad they didn’t get infected but… he should never have made you do that, sweetheart.”
Hunter bit at his lip, glancing up at her. His head swirled. She couldn’t be right. That would mean… that would mean…
“But I made a mess!”
She drew up a chair and sat next to him, her hand open on the table. “Everyone makes messes, cariño. It was an accident. That's not a crime, or something to be punished for.”
And he felt the tears swimming, like he was some sort of child. “...It’s not?” came his voice, cracking.
Camila looked at him, so serious. “Never, my love.”
“Oh,” he said, and looked down. He felt numb, despite the tears threatening to spill over. This was too much new information. He thought he had the rules down. He thought he knew what to do. Instead, it turns out the rules could change.
And yet, through his weary thoughts, a new one formed. That maybe this change was for the better. Maybe even new rules were worth it if it meant he could be around such kindness for even a little longer.
And then an ugly thought sprouted. She’ll be kind as long as you obey. But don’t mess this up, because then she’ll really have reason to punish you.
Hunter had an insatiable curiosity. That was what he had always been told. He wanted to know things, no matter how he was punished for it. Hunter had never been able to curb his tongue.
So he blurted, “What if I did it on purpose?”
Camila tucked her hair behind her ear. “Hunter,” she said, almost cajolingly, “I know for a fact that you did not do that on purpose.”
Hunter was not panicking, not yet, but he felt desperately frantic. She hadn’t answered the question.
“But what if I did?” he insisted.
Camila considered this. She knew that Hunter was no longer asking about the glass. He was asking what would happen if he disobeyed her…’authority.’ He was trying to figure out the limits. He was trying to decide how afraid he had to be.
“If you broke something on purpose, or” she glanced over at him, and decided to expand to speak what she thought was his language, even though she hated the word, “did something disobedient on purpose, then I would ask you why.”
Hunter blinked, temporarily shocked out of his panic.
She would ask??
“People don’t do things for no reason, Hunter,” she said gently. “I’d want to know why you did what you did, because nine times out of ten, when people ‘act up’” she put it in air quotes, “It’s because they need something and don’t know how to ask for it.”
Hunter thought, really thought. He remembered, ages and ages ago, throwing a rock to get Belos’ attention. At 10, making his own Golden Guard uniform to impress his Uncle. Not so long ago, disobeying orders to go rogue and prove he was worthy of his position. The more he thought, the more he realized that he always had a reason.
But all he said was “Oh.”
Camila smiled. “I know that’s a lot to take in, honey.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine.” His eyes were far, far away. But he wasn’t hazy, either.
Camila sensed a stopping point. He would need time to process on his own before she could get further with him. Pushing now would not help.
She glanced at the clock. It was barely 6:30.
“Well,” she said, piling plates, “The others won’t be up for a while yet. Did you know there’s a Cosmic Frontier tv show?”
And this time, when Hunter snapped to attention, she could see the glee in his eyes.
“What??” he squealed, and then self-consciously slapped a hand over his mouth.
Camila moved over to sweep up the last of the glass, erasing his mistake just like that.
“We could watch a few episodes, if you’d like?”
Hunter beamed at the thought, but his face quickly fell. “But… we should probably wait for Gus.”
Camila laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you won’t mind watching them again.” She put on a sly look. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said, and winked.
“Deal,” Hunter said seriously, and jumped to his feet to clear the table before Camila could process the quick shift in the boy once again.
There was a voice in her head that begged to hold the boy, to ask him everything, to tell him he was perfect and whoever had hurt him was wrong. To give him everything he’d been denied for so long, and deserved his whole life. But there would be time for that.
Right now, what he needed was Saturday morning tv and some hot cocoa.
Right now, Hunter just needed to be a kid.