"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."
Thanks, Dad, that explains everything.
He hooked the last piece of his armor, his helmet, to his side. "I'll explain more later, but right now, I need your help."
He walked to the very end of the room where one more case stood, this time with two handprints on it. He put his hand in one, then looked at me. "Place your hand on it," he said.
I did as instructed and once again everything began to glow, spreading over the design until all the crevices and carvings filled with light. The locks shifted and moved with the sound of old metal being woken up.
I pulled my hand away and stared at it. "This was made for me?"
"No, for your mother," he said. "But you're close enough genetically for it to work."
The case opened, revealing a solid piece of… glass? I ran a hand over it, marveling at the beauty, even in black and white. This wasn't glass; it felt like crystal. A huge rectangular crystal box, taller than my dad, and several feet deep. It was carved with more intricate designs, and I could almost make out something within the crystal. "What's in there?"
"A weapon," my dad said. "One we must protect at all costs." From under one of the tables he pulled out a furniture dolly and placed it at the base of the case, then switched a lever that lowered the crystal box out and onto the dolly.
"Neat trick," I said, and I realized my parents must have built all of this themselves.
"We need to get this to the truck." He put his helmet on top of the weapon.
I thought about the entrance to our bunker, how we'd have to push this huge mass of crystal up to the surface. "Seriously? No way we're strong enough."
"You're stronger than you think," he said. "And your mom will be here to help."
My mom? The petite schoolteacher?
But I didn't argue. Instead, I pushed and he pulled until we stood under the open door. "Climb out and wait for your mother."
When I reached the top, she was already there. "Mom, I think Dad's lost it. He wants us to move this giant crystal box out of here, but it must weigh a ton."
My dad had already pushed it the rest of the way so that the top reached the opening. "Ready, ladies?" He called from below.
"Ready," my mom said, gripping it on the right side. "Get the other side, Scarlett. There's a carved handle."
"Mom, there's no way we can lift this. It's solid crystal." I felt like I'd stepped into the Twilight Zone and somehow my parents had been replaced by lookalikes from another planet. Maybe this was all a dream and I'd wake up and things would be back to normal.
My mom sighed. "Please just do as you're asked without arguing. Please."
I moved to the other side and found the groove in the crystal where my hand fit. She'd see soon enough this was all a waste of time.
"On three," my dad said from below. "One, two, three!"
I pulled with everything in me.
And, by the Orders, the thing actually started moving. It startled me so much that my hand slipped, and I dropped my end.
My dad grunted and my mom centered herself to grab both sides, her body draped over the top of the weapon as her muscles flexed and she pulled the box out by herself.
I scrambled to help, belatedly, and assisted in getting the tail end safely on the ground as my dad climbed the stairs with the dolly.
I stared at my mom. Shocked. Amazed. Speechless.
She didn't even look at me, just helped my dad get it on the dolly again. Like all of this was totally normal. She looked at my dad with a serious expression. "Are you sure?"