Once I was old enough and trained in the use and safety of guns, I thought he'd relent and at least take me on a guided tour of the place. No such luck.
But now, now I was about to find out the truth, and that knowledge sent pinpricks of nerves over my skin. There are moments in life when you just know that what's about to happen will change everything. This was one of those moments.
I rubbed my hands together, forcing warmth back into them despite the heat of the early evening. "Dad, what's going on? Is this another training exercise?" I asked, though I knew the answer in my bones. My parents have always wanted me to be prepared for anything and everything and, from the time I was little, had often set up impromptu tests to see if I was mastering the skills they spent time teaching me. As I grew, those tests got harder, more unexpected and mysterious. But nothing like this.
"No, sweetheart. The time for training is done. Now, we can only hope you learned everything you needed to." With those cryptic words my dad brushed aside leaves and branches and dirt that hid the door. He kept his left hand clenched, and I realized he was holding something small and dark, but I couldn't tell what it was. Using a key he kept on him at all times, he unlocked the door and pulled it open, triggering an emergency light.
Shadows danced beneath me as I followed my dad down the ladder. Once inside, I prepared myself for something extraordinary, but was disappointed to find that it was fairly typical looking. Canned foods, extra water, guns and ammo, three cots, blankets… all the basics for survival for whatever apocalypse my parents imagined would occur. "Why didn't you want me in here?" I asked.
"Because of what you might find," he said ominously.
I picked up a can of beef stew and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
He chuckled, almost sounding like my normal dad. "Not that." He opened an electrical panel and flipped some of the switches. "Stand back," he said.
I took two steps back, and then my breath caught in my throat. The wall in front of us began to open, revealing a secret room.
There were weapons laid on tables to either side of us. More guns, but also swords, knives, a javelin. Weapons I recognized from books but had never seen in real life. Weapons that had been polished, sharpened and well cared for.
Between the tables, to our right and left, were two large steel cases, each embossed with an intricate tree with the carving of a hand in the center.
My father walked to the one on the right and placed his hand in the carving. It fit perfectly, and streams of light began to form around his hand, filling the crevices of the carving like liquid, pooling out until it filled the whole tree. Once each leaf glowed with the light, the case began to unlock, clicking and moving through a series of internal gears until my father could pull the front panel open.
Inside, silver (according to Evie) armor polished to a high sheen adorned a mannequin roughly my father's size and shape. The armor was covered with a design of elegant, stylized branches.
"My old armor," my father said, almost to himself. He slid his free hand over it with care, the other still clutching something hidden, then began taking the armor off the mannequin.
I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to fit this new information with what I knew of my mild-mannered father who crunched numbers for a living. "Dad, who are you really? What are you really? Because clearly you're not just an accountant." I stared at his armor as he undid another clasp. "Unless the definition of business wear has changed."
He chuckled again, and the familiarity of that sound helped me to breathe easier, if only just a little.
"I am an accountant, Scarlett. But I wasn't always one. There's more to me than that."
His palm opened, revealing what he'd been holding. A black ring, ancient-looking, with small spikes lining the inside. He set it down on the table next to me and began putting on the armor. I focused on the ring, fascinated by the jewelry that looked more like a torture device. I touched it and cut myself, a pool of blood forming on my finger. "Ouch! What on earth?"
My dad looked down at the ring. "A Token of Strife," he said.
"What's that?" I asked as I watched my dad transform from normal guy to something out of a comic book. I ticked off everything in this room that made no sense to me, adding it all to a list of things I would find the answers to, no matter what. I pressed a button on my e-Glass, giving Evie the alert to record and photograph whatever she could. Someone was going to tell me what the heck was going on.
"It means an old argument is to be settled, one way or another," he said as he finished putting on his armor. He picked up the ring again and looked at it, his eyes distant and sad. Then he slipped it onto his finger and grimaced in pain as the spikes bit into his flesh. A small trickle of blood ran down his hand.
I watched in shock. "Why did you do that?"
He looked up, surprised, as if he'd forgotten I was there. "Sometimes pain can serve as a reminder to finish what we start."