Wild-born by Adrian Howell

Author:Adrian Howell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy, paranormal, magic, young adult, supernatural, telepathy, esp, psionics, telekinesis

Chapter 10: Everything that Matters

We had driven for about half an hour up a narrow dirt road from the edge of the university town. There were a few patches of snow here and there. The bottom of the hill was all forest, but the trees tapered out near the top, and I imagined that if the hill was properly covered with snow, it would look like the back of a circus clown’s top-bald head. Cindy parked the SUV near the top of the hill, about forty yards away from where a lonely redbrick house sat facing the dirt road. There was a rusty red pickup truck parked in the driveway.

“You two stay in the car,” said Cindy as she got out. “Mark’s truck is there, so he’s probably still home, but I’ll go knock on the door and make sure.”

“Why can’t we all go?” I asked.

“Because I want to introduce you properly,” Cindy said simply, which I took to mean that she wasn’t sure how Alia was going to react to Father Parnell after not seeing him for so long.

Cindy stepped up onto the porch and knocked. A minute later, the front door opened and Cindy stepped inside. I couldn’t see the person who opened the door.

Alia tensed up when Cindy disappeared into the house. I felt a bit nervous too. After all, it was only two days ago that I nearly had my head blown off by a couple of priests or rabbis or monks or whoever they were. I started to wonder whether Cindy’s decision to leave us in the car had been prompted by her fears about Alia or about me.

The front door opened again. Cindy came out with a thin, blond man wearing a short beard and round glasses. He looked about the same age as my father. Alia opened her door and got out of the SUV, so I followed her.

“Is that Alia?!” exclaimed the man as he came closer. “My, how you’ve grown!”

Alia did remember him, probably because there were just so few people in her life. As soon as she recognized him, she sprinted up the road and jumped into his arms. I breathed easier. Anyone Alia treated like that could be trusted.

Carrying Alia in his arms, Father Parnell walked over to me and said, “You must be Adrian. Uh… nice bear.”

I glanced down at the teddy bear on my pink sweatshirt and grinned sheepishly.

Father Parnell chuckled and whispered, “Cindy once gave me a strawberry-patterned apron.”

I laughed.

“Nice to meet you, Father,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Please. This is my home, not my church. Call me Mark.”

Father Parnell, or Mark as he insisted on being called, turned out to be a gentle and kind man. He did not pester us with church teachings or quote the Bible to us. His manner was quiet and subtle. Aside from the fact that he was almost as good a cook as Cindy, he reminded me a lot of my own father. When he was at home, he often spent his time reading silently, sometimes from his Bible, sometimes from other books.

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