The Cursebreaker's Son

Javier Emsworth bit at his nails, then lowered his hands when Dad frowned pointedly at them. He started cracking his knuckles, and got through one hand before he noticed the couple at the next table looking at him in mild horror. Javier reached up to start a small braid in his hair, wincing when his hands brushed his fauxhawk, and remembered Dad had insisted on cutting it himself before he went to work that morning.

Men do not have long hair, Javier.

Dad had always been particular about how Javier behaved and presented himself, and now that he had been eighteen not even for a day, Javier could tell that he’d gotten off easily before now.

Javier lowered his hands to rest folded on the table, bobbing his knee and hoping Dad wouldn’t see it, or at least wouldn’t call him on it. Not out loud and in public.

Men do not fidget, Javier, he could almost hear, despite Dad not saying anything, even with his eyes.

Lifting one hand to scratch his head, Javier noticed with surprise that it was actually very easy to get to the bit that itched, and he didn’t have to worry about messing up the direction of his hair.

Javier looked at his father. He was sitting calmly, a thoughtful expression on his face, as he took in the restaurant around them. He was incredibly put together, in a navy suit and tie, without a single blond hair out of place, without a single muscle out of place in his whole body. Every part of him was exactly how it should be.

He was everything Javier wanted to be. Or rather, he was everything Javier wanted to want to be.

Javier looked at his reflection in the mirror lining the wall, and grimaced. His bright orange shirt was wrinkled, and his eyeliner had smeared a little on his left eye. With his black hair artfully messy, Javier thought he looked nothing like Dad.

He kind of wanted to, though. Javier liked how he looked; had cultivated his image as carefully as Dad had cultivated his. He looked like a teenager, like a rock star, like himself. But some days, he wanted to look like a CEO, like someone people trusted with their money, like Dad.

A waiter wearing his customer-service face came with their drinks; Javier’s coke and Dad’s Heineken. Javier looked at Dad in surprise, but didn’t say anything. Javier grinned his thanks to the waiter, who looked surprised. Apparently grins weren’t appropriate in a fancy restaurant.

Javier sucked on his straw, enjoying the taste of childhood.

Men do not drink soft drinks, Javier.

Javier started fiddling with his leather wristband. His eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a celebration; he was an adult now. And indeed, his dad had taken him out to this fancy restaurant for dinner, but it felt almost grudging.

Although, Dad was drinking alcohol.

Maybe he had expected Javier to order a beer as well, so he could have his first drink as a man with his father. Javier gave a mental shrug. His first drink as an adult wouldn’t be any different from the beers he’d had when he snuck out with his friends. He was sure the hangovers would be the same, regardless of age.

Javier again looked at Dad, and his fingers stilled for a moment.

He knew that Dad disapproved of nearly everything he said and did and wore. But he also knew that Dad viewed them all as small rebellions, little ways that Javier was trying to get back at him. And maybe it had started out that way; Men don’t wear wristbands so he’d worn more. Men don’t paint their nails so he’d painted them in bright colours instead of black. Men don’t cry in front of others so he’d watched The Fault In Our Stars with his friends, and they’d all bawled together.

But slowly, by breaking away from the build-a-son Dad had constructed and nurtured, Javier found himself. He began to realise what he liked (milkshakes and motorbikes and drawing) and disliked (rules and maths and martial arts).

And he realised the one thing about himself that would be the ultimate disappointment to his father.

Men do not love other men, Javier.

Dad had never said it, but Javier had watched and listened. Of course he had. Dad’s mouth tightened when anything LGBTQIA+ related was on TV. He moaned about Biden winning the US election (damn liberals!). And he talked often about grandkids and ‘Javier’s wife’.

Javier could feel his sense of self shrivel up inside him a little more every time.

But maybe it was time to tell him. Maybe today, tonight, right here and now, Javier would come out to Dad. Tell him he was gay, he was really thinking about asking someone out, never really wanted biological kids, or even adopted kids.

Let Dad know exactly who he was, and fuck the consequences.

Javier drummed his fingers gently on the table top, and the soft, rhythmic thudding distracted him for a brief moment.

‘So how was work, Dad?’ he blurted out.

‘It was good, thank you for asking,’ Dad replied. ‘I just got a report about the Packer’s investments, and had to…’

Javier already regretted asking. As much as he wanted to look like an accountant, he didn’t like maths or dealing with money or sitting in an office all day. It sounded like torture.

Javier blinked when the same waiter came to take their orders, and picked a meal at random. The menu looked like Russian roulette anyway. He also ordered another coke, and Dad ordered a glass of red wine.

Javier looked up to see Dad frowning slightly at the waiter, who was on the other side of the room but still sneaking glances back towards him. Javier blushed.

Eager to distract Dad, he said, ‘Thanks for taking me out, Dad. This is a nice place.’

‘You are most welcome, Javier,’ Dad said, taking a sip from his wine. ‘The Packers speak highly of it, so I thought we would try it for your birthday.’

Javier looked around at the bedecked tables spread far apart, at all the posh people dining quietly, remembered the menu with its options of quail and duck and caviar and salmon mousse, and then looked back at his reflection again. He didn’t belong here.

He should be at a burger joint; Grill’d or Boss Burger Co or Hungry Jacks or something. He should be wearing jeans and a hoodie, or a leather jacket; not black slacks and a shirt with a collar. He should be hanging out with his friends, people who actually knew him, not sitting here awkwardly with Dad, trying to both start and avoid conversation.

The waiter brought their second round of drinks, but this time avoided eye contact with both Javier and Dad, and retreated quickly back to the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, Dad raised one hand and flicked his fingers. The noise of the restaurant, quiet as it had been, ceased.

Javier leaned back in his chair, unsure of what had just happened.

‘I didn’t bring you here just to celebrate your birthday, Javier,’ Dad said. ‘There is something I need to tell you, now that you’re a man. Something about me, and something about you.’

Javier opened his mouth. To stop him, to ask him what was going on, he wasn’t sure.

Nothing made it out.

‘You think my name is Stuart Emsworth, and yours is Javier Emsworth. You are correct, mostly. I am Steward Emsworth Cursebreaker, and you are Javier Cursebreaker. We are the last living members of the Cursebreaker line, a noble family of magic wielders.’

Javier stared at Dad.

‘‘Cursebreaker’ is not an acceptable surname anymore, so we improvise each time we have to create a new birth certificate. Mine says ‘Stuart Emsworth’, because I was to be the steward of our people, and Emsworth is the name my parents gave me. When you were born, I named you Javier, because you will build up the house of Cursebreaker once more. And as I have carried Emsworth as my surname, so you also carry it.’

Javier’s brain started processing, then made a horrible grating sound as connections were missed.

‘For generations, we have been living under the radar, living quiet lives and surviving. We do not draw attention to ourselves, and we do not tell anyone our secret, do you understand?’

Javier nodded slowly.

‘However, the time has come for us to not just survive, but to thrive.’

Javier sat for a few minutes. He couldn’t stop staring at Dad.

Their meals arrived, and Javier didn’t look away.

He supposed Dad must have seen the waiter coming and dropped the sound barrier, or whatever it was, for a few moments. Sound swept in for the ten seconds it took the waiter to approach, place their plates in front of them, and leave.

Dad dug in.

Javier slowly looked down. He picked up his fork.

He took a small bite of what was likely beef. He was sure it probably tasted good.

‘If we are the last members of a really important bloodline, why hasn’t everyone been having kids like rabbits?’ Javier asked. He took a sip of his coke. ‘Why don’t I have siblings? Why don’t you have siblings?’

Before he finished the last question, he knew he’d made a mistake.

Dad’s face froze. He put his fork down on his plate.

‘I had siblings. Two sisters and a brother. They died.’

Javier blinked. ‘I had aunties and an uncle? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because they were killed, along with your mother. That’s also why you don’t have any siblings or cousins.’

Javier pushed back from the table so hard he broke through the sound barrier. He could hear the other patrons dining, but only as a low buzz. He looked at Dad, desperate for him to grin and say ‘syke’, desperate for none of it to be real.

Dad’s face didn’t change. The sad fury still danced there.

Javier cautiously pulled his chair back to the table.

‘You never talk about Mum, either,’ he said, very well aware that this was a very sensitive topic he was pushing. And oh shit, Dad had magic. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea...

Javier’s throat started to close up. He could feel his heart throwing itself against his ribs.

Javier was about to backpedal, to take it back or change the subject, when Dad spoke again.

‘These are all stories that I should have told you years ago, but you didn’t need to know then. Now you do. I will tell you, all the stories. Just not now. Tonight is about learning that all this exists, so you can begin to wrap your head around it all. So you can understand your place in it.’

Javier tilted his head to one side. ‘My place?’

‘Yes,’ Dad replied. ‘Your place. ‘Cursebreaker’ is not just a name; it is a responsibility and a calling. It is our heritage. Passed from father to son, mother to daughter. And it is up to us, up to you now, to keep it alive.’

Javier felt the blood rush to his face, then drain just as fast. He felt lightheaded, and woozy, despite not having drunk any alcohol. He rested his elbows on the table, and his head in his hands.

He was the last member of a dying race. If he didn’t have kids, the Cursebreakers would die with him. Even if he adopted kids, while they would be his kids; they wouldn’t be whatever he and Dad apparently were.

He would have to have kids. Biological ones.

There was no way he would be able to come out to Dad now, not after everything he had learned. No universe where being gay was a good thing; something to be celebrated.

Desperate for anything—even a single strand of spider’s silk—to hold on to, Javier asked, ‘Can you prove it?’

Dad glanced around the room quickly, then held each of his hands palm up. In the centre of his right one, a tiny whirlpool formed, and in his left, a tiny fire-tornado spun.

They disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

Javier’s last hope squawked as it was violently crushed. That was not something that could be faked.

‘We will begin your magic lessons tomorrow, before school. I hope you remember the karate you learned. It will come in handy, especially when we get to combat magic.’

Javier choked out, ‘Combat magic?’

‘Make sure you are up and ready to train at 5 o’clock,’ Dad continued. ‘In the evenings, we will go over our history.’

Javier glanced up sharply. He opened his mouth, then stopped.

Dad wouldn’t care that his art club met two nights a week. Or the painting competition he was going to enter next month. He was pretty sure Dad didn’t even know he was in an art club.

Javier mumbled, ‘I understand.’ There wasn’t anything else he could say.

They finished their meal in silence.