Chapter 7: Chapter 7 - Hopes

Corinne bounded down the stairs, entered the kitchen, and glanced out the large kitchen window over the sink. The window faced the backyard. It was Saturday, and that meant Dad, Donovan, and Uncle Sam would be outside training. They usually started around ten o’clock. Today, though, she could see Dad and Donovan had started training John early. She wanted to be out there, too. But Dad always said that only the Gifted should train. If vampires attacked a non-Gifted, a non-Gifted was a goner anyway.

But she had an idea to change all that. Corinne parked herself in her chair at the table and waited impatiently for Uncle Sam to come in the front door. She pretended to read a book entitled War in the Western World: a History of Tactics and Methods. She had already read it twice. She absently gnawed on her fingernails as she waited. Her mother had told her it was a disgusting habit, and for the most part Corinne had beaten it, but she sometimes slipped back into her old ways when she was stressed. Today was one of those days. She was finally going to ask for what she always wanted. Corinne only hoped Uncle Sam would say, “Yes.” He was hard to read sometimes.

Sam finally punched open the front door. He was merrily singing an old hunting tune called The Hunter and His Love. Corinne smiled as his full bass voice rang out.

There was a hunter and his love,

They loved each other so fervently.

They went into the lonely woods

To fight the witch so valiantly.1

“Uncle Sam,” she said, “Why do you sing so much but my parents don’t?”

Uncle Sam stopped singing for a moment and scratched his chin. “Oh, Corinne. How are you? Do you know where your mother is?”

“I think she’s working in the garden with the twins. You know how loud they are. This is the only place I can get some quiet. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh yeah, I guess I can wait to talk to her,” Uncle Sam said. “All right, well then, I guess in answer to your question: Sometimes people never sang growing up, and sometimes people forget how.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for the first group, the people who don’t sing, they grow up in families where singing the old songs isn’t valued. That’s your dad’s family. Your mom and I sang all the time growing up, but...something happened. She didn’t want to sing anymore.”

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Corinne leaned in. “What happened?”

Uncle Sam blanched. “That’s not my story to tell. You’ll have to ask your mother. Anyway, are your dad and Donovan out training already?”

“Yes, and John too,” Corinne began, checking her fingers from approaching her mouth, “Uncle Sam, do you remember that question I wanted to ask you?” She fought the urge to gnaw on them. She brought them to the side of her face instead.

“You sure ask a lot of questions!” Uncle Sam’s eyes twinkled. “What’s up?”

“You know, my birthday is coming up. Well, I know what I want for my birthday. I want to become a Chronicler.”

“Is that a question?”

Corinne rolled her eyes. Uncle Sam was always correcting her grammar. “How do I become one? Mom and Dad won’t tell me how to do it.” A little bit of guilt panged through her. Corinne did have a general idea of how to become a Chronicler. She didn’t like even coming that close to a lie.

Uncle Sam joined Corinne at the table. “Well, it’s incredibly difficult. Usually, but not always, they’re Gifted and have to go to a special school.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound too bad.” Sam shook his head. “More importantly, you have to already know Greek and Latin.”

“Fidem nemo umquam perdit nisi qui non habet,” Corinne said, smiling.2

Sam smiled, “True, but is honor something we’re born with, something we learn, or something we choose?”

He paused, slightly awestruck. “Where did you learn to speak Latin?”

“Homeschooled,” Corinne answered with a shrug.

“Okay, well, your parents want you to be safe.”

“You mean Mom wants me to be safe,” Corinne muttered and then continued, “But you just said that some Chroniclers aren’t Gifted. I’ve heard you and mom and dad talk. Uncle Sam, I can’t fight vampires. I realize that, but I want to help the family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Uncle Sam pursed his lips. “You do realize that it takes a long time to become a Chronicler, right? Many don’t make it through the training, and the profession is literally dying out. It’s not like there is high demand for what you want to do.”

“That was one thing Mom and Dad said to me. I still want to do it. We need to preserve our history, or we’ll forget it. Adspicere oportet quicquid possis perdere.”3

Corinne added this last part, hoping that would win Uncle Sam over. He was always a sucker for cultural pride.

“You know, my Latin is a little rusty,” Sam said. He stroked the stubble on his chin for a moment. “I agree. I think Hunters have forgotten too many things.” Uncle Sam paused. “I don’t think they’ll be happy, but they might accept it. I’ll talk to them. If they say yes, we can start looking at what you need to do to become a Chronicler.”

Corinne shifted back in her seat and smiled. She had not expected Uncle Sam to say yes so soon. “Really, Uncle Sam? Thank you so much. This will be the best birthday present ever!” She jumped from her chair and hugged him as hard as she could.

Uncle Sam returned the hug and chuckled. “No problem. Well, all right then, it’s time for me to get outside and show these young whippersnappers what’s up!”