I should have known something was up when I realized at thirteen years old that my favorite comic book character was the Riddler. I didn't care that he was a villain; he was smart, he saw how everything fit together, and he had style.
Of course, he became a good guy later on in the comics. It did make me feel a touch less guilty for being a fanboy of a 'bad guy'. But, knowing what I know now I wonder if my extended family didn't have something to do with that bit of character development. Which is frighteningly self-centered of me, I know. I am merely another piece to the grand puzzle that rages around all of us, unseen by most.
Note to self: Stop with the dramatic retellings.
But still, ever since I graduated high school, it's like I've been tossed into a swirling vortex of Awesome.
But I'm way ahead of myself, here.
Around twenty, twenty-one years ago, Lily Cornwall was a single woman who was studying hard for her Master's degree in Library Science in Denver. She was a bit focused on her studies, so never really dated anyone steadily through college, but at one point she went out with some girlfriends for the night on the town. There, she met the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome stranger, who took a keen interest in her choice of academic field, and the two ended up hitting it off. Or so my mom thought; they had a one-night stand which left her pregnant, and the mysterious stranger, who said his name was Tomas, was never heard from again.
Still, Lily decided to keep the baby, and asked her parents for help in raising him while she continued her studies. She only had a year left, and she would try and manage things afterwards. Nine months later, Scott Cameron Cornwall was born. That, well, that would be me.
I could tell you that I rebelled against my mom's stance on intelligence and academia and went all out for sports, growing up into a hulking brute with wide shoulders and sports scholarships out the wazoo. But I would be lying, and lying badly at that. Really badly. It turns out that I could read almost before I could walk, and spent afternoons in the library mom worked at while she finished her shift, before we could go home for dinner. So, I did a heck of a lot of reading growing up, and my behavior in class and grades reflected that. Which meant I also got my ass kicked a hell of a lot, but them's the breaks.
So, instead, I really got into reading, and figuring things out. I liked mysteries, and puzzles and the like, because I liked seeing how things fit together: meanings of words in context being very subtle hints, along with patterns and possibilities. I started drawing my own conclusions and connections between stories I'd read, too. Like how one character arc in one novel paralleled something in an ancient parable I had read years ago. And since I had access to a library, I could usually back up my ideas. Sometimes, I'd even e-mail the authors to ask about it.
One of the authors took a real interest in the analysis of a then-sixteen-year-old smartass fan. Tom Aston was a mystery novelist who enjoyed modest success on the Times bestseller lists, and had a leaning towards wordplay and web-like plots as opposed to the murders and bloodshed of the more popular genre authors. At one point, during my senior year of high school, he asked me what I wanted to do with my life afterwards. Honestly, while I was way ahead in the race for Valedictorian of my class, I professed that I was a little short on real ideas or inspiration. I was a nerd; I liked reading and games and all the usual stuff, but I wanted more.
Heck, I explained it to my mom as well, but she never pushed me into anything. It wasn't uncommon for some young people to take a year off after high school. I didn't have the money to go around the world, but that would turn out to be…well, not much of an issue.
It started on the day of my graduation. I did the whole valedictorian speech, got the lambskin (paper, really, it's just an expression) and did the whole cap-tossing thing. As we were walking out, one of my teachers said there was a visitor asking for me. I was dumstruck, because it was actually the author guy, Tom Aston, who came to see me graduate. My mom? She was so, so happy to see Tom. She was so happy to see him that she ran right up to him and kneed him right in the Little Astons, in front of a crowd of a couple hundred high school students and their families.
Mom turned and grinned. "Scott," she said. "Come say hi to your father. But, be more polite than I was. I raised you, alone, better than that."
We actually went home after that. All three of us. There was a lot of talking, mostly between Mom and Tom, my biological father. He expressed his guilt, and offered eighteen years of backup child support. Mom told me later she only wanted to kick him two or three more times during the conversation. But, Tom Aston had an offer. He knew I was feeling down due to a lack of direction, and he said he needed an…apprentice. He actually used the word 'apprentice,' mind you. He said my intelligence could be harnessed into helping others.
I talked to mom for hours after Mr. Aston left. I wanted to go for it. I didn't hate her, and I didn't hate my father either. But I needed to think of what I wanted out of life, and who I was. That, she understood, and after another week with an actual nuclear family in the house, Dad took me to his place.
And that's when the whammy came about. Tom Aston, my father, was actually the Egyptian Diety of Knowledge known as Thoth. The reaction to the revelation went something like this…
"Wait," I said. "My father has a bird head."
"It's an Ibis, Scott."
"You have a /bird/ head."
"Does it disturb you?"
"I always thought my nose was a little big."
"Scott…"
"Okay, okay. So, what is all this about. Helping you? Is there a coyote with Acme inventions after you-"
"Enough!"
"Yessir."
In any case, to summarize, I was the half-human son of an Egyptian God of Knowledge who has a giant bird head. There are others like me out there; sons and daughters of the other dieties that most of the modern world considers myth. There's also the Titans, monsters and other agents. Thoth took a good year to teach me in one of his private sanctums in the physical world, while I studied and called Mom to tell her I was okay and tried to live a little. And Magic. The man taught me actual Magic. Not that I'm any pro, but it's…well, dude, Magic.
Recently, Thoth gifted me with an item or two to keep me safe, including this neat map from Uncle (Don't call him Uncle, Dad says) Ptah, and told me he needed an agent in New York City to keep an eye out on things that are happening there, so I've been relocated as a new student at NYU, studying literature. And maybe living life a little on the side.