Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

and to hell with the Campbell inheritance and traditions. What did it ever bring you but blood and heartbreak?”
    Finlay’s hands clenched into fists as he fought to hold on to his temper. He’d been here only a few minutes, and already it was all going horribly wrong. Adrienne was as angry as he’d ever seen her, and his children were on the brink of tears. He made himself unclench his fists and took a deep breath to calm himself.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It was just… a bit of a shock. Why didn’t you tell me any of this, Addie?”
    “Because I knew you’d react like this. I was hoping that once you’d met the children, you’d take it better. I should have known this was a bad idea. You only see the children as extensions of yourself.
    Someone to follow in your bloody footsteps. And what’s all this crap about them leading the Family?
    You’re not the Campbell; Robert is. His children will lead the Clan, if any will.” “I could have been the Campbell if I’d wanted. My father was the previous Campbell. The position was mine by right if I’d wanted it. I just chose not to.” “Because you didn’t want the responsibility. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself.”
    “I care about Evangeline! I’d die for her!”
    “Death,” said Adrienne. “That’s all you know about, Finlay. Dying for someone is easy. Living for them is much harder. Would you change your life for Evangeline, for your children? Give up who you are, what you’ve made of yourself, for them?” “I don’t know what you mean,” said Finlay.
    “No, you don’t. That’s what’s so sad. I think you’d better leave now, Finlay.” “What?” He gaped at her. “But… I only just got here. You can’t just throw me out. I didn’t mean to shout. I was upset. Don’t do this to me, Adrienne. There was so much I wanted to say. To you, to them.”
    “I think you’ve said enough. It’s not for you: home, and family, and children. You wouldn’t know what to do with them. You’d break them without meaning to. You always did play too roughly, Finlay.”
    “Addie… please. Don’t make me go. You know how much this means to me!” “Do I? I thought I did. I hoped I did. But I don’t think I ever really knew you, Finlay. There were so many yous to choose from.
    But in the end I think they were all just masks, faces to show the world so they wouldn’t see the real you.
    So they couldn’t hurt you. Maybe Evangeline got past the masks. I don’t care enough to try anymore. I think you’re trying to die, Finlay, searching for death like a lover, and I won’t let you take the children down with you. It’s time to go, Finlay. Leave now. Please.”
    And faced with his wife’s cold, implacable voice, and his childrens’ tears, and words that cut him like knives, he’d turned and left. Walked away from all the things he’d thought he wanted. He shut the front door behind him, knowing he could never return. Because there were some fights even he couldn’t win.
    The children weren’t his future. He didn’t have a future. He’d always known that. He’d just tried to
    forget it for a while, because he wanted to so very much. He walked home alone in the middle of the crowds, and people in the streets saw his face and hurried to get out of his way.
    Diana Vertue, now only occasionally Jenny Psycho, was hard at work again in the computer-records section of the newly established Esper Guild House, in the Parade of the Endless. The Houses existed to train, succor, and politicize espers, and to provide sanctuary for those in need. Diana didn’t feel at all in need of protection or succor, and she had no interest in esper politics, but she did need access to the esper underground’s extensive computer files. Over the past few centuries the underground had built up a massive database on the theory, practice, and history of all esper abilities, a library of knowledge far more extensive than anything available anywhere else. And Diana had a lot of questions she needed answering.
    Though if the esper underground had known exactly which questions she was pursuing, they would undoubtedly have moved heaven and earth to keep her far away from their computers. So Diana hadn’t told them. She hadn’t wanted to upset them.
    There was a cautious knock at the door, and then it eased open just enough for a servant’s head to peer carefully in. People in the Guild Hall had learned the hard way not to