Blood Tied by Jacob Z. Flores Page A

nodded. “Neither can I.”
    “How could you not?” Pierce asked. He took the empty spot on the loveseat next to Dad. “Blackmoor isn’t that common a last name.”
    “True. But it’s not like we exchanged last names or anything.” He locked eyes with me. “And mine’s Crane, by the way.”
    Was he trying to piss me off? If so, he was doing a damn good job of it. I arched my eyebrow at him before glancing at my father.
    “My apologies, Oliver. I didn’t mean to offend.” My father refused to meet Ben’s gaze. “I’m evidently rattled and not thinking clearly.”
    “I guess we all know why you were really late today, don’t we?” Pierce asked.
    I glared at Pierce for that comment before looking at my father. He’d obviously not put two and two together, but thanks to my oaf of a big brother, he did. His even stare told me we’d be talking about this later. “Either we change the subject, or every single one of you will be spitting out rock.”
    That shut us all up. Oliver Blackmoor was the most powerful warlock in this room.
    “What’s your active power?” Ben asked. He leaned forward, clearly willing to change the subject. “Since warlock abilities come from an amalgamation of two different elements, I’ve always been fascinated with how that manifests in others.”
    “Stone,” my father answered.
    “So you draw your abilities from fire and earth,” Ben said. “Mine is earth-based too. Sand.”
    “Manipulation or dermal?” I asked. My father didn’t manipulate stone; he actually turned into rock.
    “Manipulation and projection,” Ben said with a grin. “I tap into earth and air.”
    I was impressed. That meant Ben could not only bend sand to his will, but he could create powerful sandstorms. That could definitely come in handy if we needed it.
    “What about you, Thad?”
    “Ice,” I replied.
    Ben turned to Pierce, whose fist crackled with blue electricity. “Got it,” he said. “You’re a living lightning rod.” When he turned to Mason, the hairs on the back of my arm stood at attention.
    “Mason hasn’t discovered his active ability yet,” I said before Ben could ask.
    “Really?” Ben asked. He didn’t sound convinced. “It’s unusual but not uncommon for someone your age not to have found his active power yet. Don’t worry. It’ll come,” he said with a smile.
    No one responded to Ben’s comment. They were too busy being shocked that I’d just lied, and they weren’t hiding it very well, either. They stared at me with mouths agape. Only Drake managed to school his face, even though his tilted head and pursed lips gave him away.
    The stigma of potential corruption might come with Mason’s rare shadow-weaving abilities, but that wasn’t the reason I’d lied.
    Although I couldn’t understand it, I didn’t want Ben to know.
     
     
    I DIDN’T have time to figure out why I suddenly distrusted Ben. Shortly after I’d stunned everyone into silence, my father announced we needed to finish setting up for the Samhain celebration.
    I set everyone to task. I charged my brothers with assembling our family’s altar in the library and Drake with hanging the remaining decorations still in boxes. Mason wanted to work with Drake, but there was no way I was letting that happen. Left to their own devices, they’d be sucking face and then running off to one of the many bedrooms.
    While I supervised the setup of the bonfire in the backyard, I asked Ben to help organize the offering table for the feast. He’d clearly wanted to work with me out back, but I needed space from him. His sudden appearance in my home still had me rattled.
    My dad wanted to help, but I made him go upstairs and take a nap. He needed his rest before leading us through the ritual.
    By the time the front doorbell rang, everything was ready. My father descended the staircase, offered me a smile, and then proceeded to open the door to let the Proctors and the Stonewalls inside.
    As usual, my father greeted