been over ten years, and I just wanted to let you know that he will more than likely look exactly the way you remember him.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t really thought about what Jocelyn would look like, though now that Alex mentioned it I suppose I would have expected to see a few wrinkles or some gray hair. I could have told Alex not to worry, as I had no intention of seeing Jocelyn at all, but with Ryland in the next row now wasn’t the time to reveal that little tidbit of info. “Good to know,” I said. “Thanks.”
He nodded and turned to go, but I stopped him, “Wait, so… how old is he?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Go for it.” How bad could it be?
“I don’t know his exact age, but I do know that he was born in England somewhere around 1800.”
“1800!” I squeaked, remembering at the last second to keep my voice down. “You’re telling me that my father could be over two hundred years old?”
“Didn’t you ever wonder why he has a name like Jocelyn?”
“So, that used to actually be a guy’s name?”
“Oh, yeah. In fact, it wasn’t adopted commonly for women until the last fifty years or so.”
“Two hundred! Eww! How long do you all live?”
“Depends on the person. Full Holders are the only ones who have any alteration in their lifespan, and the more powerful ones can live anywhere from five to eight hundred years. Most of us only go to about three hundred or so.”
“Three hundred?! How can you say that like it is no big deal?”
He shrugged with a smile. “I’m used to the idea, I guess.”
“Wait, OK, so now I have to know, how old are you?” I asked, bracing for the answer.
“How old do you think I am?” he countered, his smile turning wry.
“I don’t know, one hundred and four?”
“One hundred and four! What about me screams ‘old man’, may I ask?”
“I don’t know, so younger?”
“Yes, younger!”
“I probably shouldn’t guess again…” I said, trying not to giggle.
“Good lord, I’m twenty two!”
“So no old folk’s home then?” I was laughing outright, and even Alex was smiling in spite of himself.
“Excuse me sir, but you are going to need to take your seat,” said a slightly annoyed flight attendant who seemed to come out of nowhere.
“Sorry.” Alex turned to leave as the attendant walked back to the service bay. “One hundred and four, really?” he whispered, glancing at me before stepping out into the aisle and returning to his seat.
6
I’m not going to throw up, I’m not going to throw up, I’m not going to throw up…
My newfound mantra was endlessly circling in my mind as we bumped down the road towards St Brigid’s Academy. Two plane rides and a two and a half hour van ride were apparently all my motion sickness-prone stomach could handle, and all I could do was pray that we arrived at the school before I made an ass of myself by getting sick all over everyone’s luggage. If I’d thought that asking Taron to drive a little smoother would actually accomplish anything, I might have tried it. However, considering that Taron and I hadn’t gotten off to the friendliest start, nor had he spoken even a word to me since leaving my house that first day, I didn’t figure he’d be in the mood to help me. Actually, I was afraid that he’d get a kick out of my discomfort and would do anything he could to make it worse – which as the driver, he could easily have done. So, I simply sat as still as I could, forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, praying to the stomach gods.
“We’re here,” Alex called back to us from the front passenger seat.
“Whoa, cool! Check it out, Becca!” Ryland gushed over something I dared not open my eyes to see. I rejoiced inwardly at our arrival, but refused to move a muscle until we had come to a full and complete stop.
“OK,” Alex said happily, as the van finally came to a halt, “everybody out!”
Ryland hopped out as soon as the door slid open, but I hung back a moment, taking a few deep breaths of the cool misty air pouring in the open door.
“Welcome home, lads!” a strange male voice greeted Taron and Alex. A decidedly Scottish voice. I looked out the open door to see a heavyset man with dark hair and a long black coat clapping Alex on the shoulder.