by Aiden James
“You wouldn’t dare report me!”
“Oh, yeah? We’ll see—hey stop it!” I smacked at her little umbrella buzzing around my head like an overgrown wasp.
And, so it went between us... sans the magic once we exited our property through the main gate and waved goodbye to our grandfather looking on from the front porch. But the playful verbal jousting continued as we quickly navigated the neighborhood streets to reach downtown. The square bustled with a throng of a few hundred Denmarkians eager to get the celebration under way.
A small line had already formed outside Tuttle’s Ice Cream Shoppe, and we hurried to join it before it grew any longer. By then, our masks were in place, and Alisia pointed to the ‘six-feet’ spacing markers on the pavement intended to ensure everyone stayed safe. It was so frigging weird to me, compared to the last time I was here.
“I’m glad they expanded the inside last winter, since otherwise we’d have to find a place to sit in the square,” said Alisia, as the line began to move inside. She pointed to the few small tables outside that were already occupied.
“Yeah, that’s good.” I hoped I didn’t sound disappointed, or worse, disinterested. But I could’ve sworn I glimpsed the profile of a guy hostile to us.
Was that Serafim Matei who just stepped inside the ice cream parlor?
“What is it?” Alisia asked, gazing at me worriedly before nodding. “Maybe it is him. But remember the truce? The Mateis can’t bother us and we can’t bother them.”
“I guess it’s good we have social distancing to help with that, huh?” I said. “If it is Serafim, he’s not wearing a mask.”
“Oh great... that would be just like a Matei to try and keep things tense in a small town like ours,” she fumed, standing on her tiptoes to try to see the front of the line.
“He’s already inside, if it’s him.”
“It is... and he’s not alone.”
“How do you know?”
“My guides just now told me... there are three of them.”
“Who’s the other two Mateis besides Serafim?”
Alisia shook her head. “Not sure yet.”
“Maybe we should come back later.”
“Hell. No!” she hissed. “We’ve got every right to be here, since the Albrights gave me a pass. And, knowing how our neighborhood guardians are supposed to check with the other constables to ensure our families stay separate, you can bet every penny saved to our names that Serafim and his companions have absolutely no frigging business being here!”
“That’s a lot of pennies, sis.”
“Geez, Bas—it’s just an expression.”
“Granted. However, if this threesome is already breaking rules by being here, then certainly, by all means they’ll smile and stand down politely once you show them your Albrights’ pass.”
Yeah, I rolled my eyes, though she didn’t see me do it.
“Just stop!” She turned to face me, and now I was the worried one, fearing some mortal bystander might see the blazing sapphires aglow in her lovely face. If this was actually October, the month of Halloween, it might not matter. But it would matter today. “Don’t be an ass, Sebastian!”
“Okay... but if things suddenly turn ugly, did you happen to bring a wand?”
“I have a utilitarian one in my purse, since they’re allowed.”
“Oh, that’s comforting.”
“What? Didn’t you bring a wand, too?” Her voice betrayed a hint of alarm... not good.
“No,” I said. “Mom and Dad told me that wands are like broomsticks for a convicted felon like me. Contraband.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not. For me, both items are off limits,” I said, struggling to not raise my voice. “That’s why I was so curious at breakfast about Grandpa’s comments on broomsticks. I guess I can ask the Albrights about that shit the next time I see them.”
“Ah, holy hell, Bas. Don’t look now, but here they come.”
The three mask-less Mateis were exiting Tuttle’s, and regardless of the fact none of them had seen me since they yanked Daciana from our last embrace, my mask didn’t hide my identity.
“Well, well, well... what do we have here?” Serghei Matei sneered. “I told you guys, I thought I smelled something rank. And, now we have the source... Radu scum!”
Flanked by his uncles, Serafim and Cristian, the trio snickered. Three identical faces, although Serghei’s much older uncles were nearly two centuries older than their surly nephew. All blonde and all with matching blue eyes and ‘piss-poor attitudes,’ as Dad is fond of saying.
“You two look almost adorable with your submissive face coverings,” Serghei continued. “Too bad they don’t come up to the eyes, since a week from now, I’m sure you especially, Sebastian, will be weeping.”
He laughed and mockingly dabbed at his eyes like the famed mime, Marcel Marceau. All the while my blood boiled.
“Don’t let him get to you, Bas,” Alisia whispered under her breath. “Please!”
She motioned to a growing crowd of onlookers who might otherwise mind their own business if I kept cool and took the high road of peace. But I feared it might be too late for that.
I removed my mask, since I wanted to be heard clearly. I also prayed in silence that this moment would be the very last time Serghei Matei and I would ever cross paths in this life. Further prayers for wisdom and restraint followed... although my rising anger seemed determined to intercept those unspoken pleas sent heavenward.
“I wish Daciana nothing but the best. May she be forever happy,” I said, feeling the flimsy mental bandages upon my shattered heart tear away with every word I managed to utter.
“Ahh, that’s so sweet,” said Serghei, while his uncles continued to chuckle meanly. “Tell you what, Sebastian. I am so very touched by this, and I bet my parents will be touched similarly. Please join us at the Episcopal Church next Saturday morning, as the wedding ceremony will be streamed live from Bucharest at six o’clock Central Time.... Of course, you will need to sit in the gallery, and immediately leave once the ceremony is complete. I believe that’s all the stench we can handle of you and your obnoxious clan, should they also decide to come. But to see you blubbering just might be worth it!”
More laughter at my expense, and I wasn’t sure what I’d say next, since I merely wanted to snap Serghei’s head from his neck!
“Drop dead, asshole!” Alisia moved to step in front of me, but I stopped her.
“Ooh, such kitty rage from the youngest Radu vermin!” Serghei laughed. “But, still so much stronger than the pussy older brother, eh?”
“Just leave, Serghei,” I said quietly. “And, as for your offer? The best of your clan no longer resides in Denmark, and although I wish Daciana supreme happiness, the wish is for her alone. The rest of your clan can bathe in dragons’ dung for all I care.”
My words seemed to catch him off guard, and I admit to a slight smile watching his haughty expression fade as if he struggled to fully comprehend the depth of my insult.
“Ooh, very nice, Bas!” Alisia cooed. “I do believe this ass-hat will struggle for days to fully understand how thoroughly he’s been served!”
“Oh, yeah? Maybe we should give your brother another ice cream baptism like the last time we crossed paths here!” Serghei’s eyes flashed with rage as he snarled the threat.
“I’d hate for you to waste your ‘pink bubblegum surprise,’” I retorted. “Now run along before your constables figure out you’ve been a naughty boy!”
“That’s it, asshole!”
Hard to say if Serghei’s intention was to dump the contents of a sealed container he carried inside a Tuttle’s Ice Cream Shoppe bag on my head. But in the very instant he took a menacing step towards me, I slugged him. Slugged him in the face, I should say, and hard enough for the bastard to leave his feet. He landed hard on his ass and twin blood streams trickled from his nostrils.
Had Serghei been a mortal, likely the rest of my mornin
g would’ve been spent explaining to a Denmark police officer or sheriff’s deputy why I put him in a hospital. But our kind—namely warlocks and witches—begin to heal from ‘normal’ injuries within seconds.
By the time my adversary got back to his feet, his broken nose had already healed, and he wiped away the blood on a Tuttle’s napkin before discarding it on the pavement. Meanwhile, a crowd steadily grew around us.
Great! Everybody loves a fight—way to go Bas!
If a fair fight between Serghei and myself was all I had to concern myself with, then I liked my chances. However, he and his uncles brandished ‘warrior’ wands—the tips of which glowed hotly. A deadly attack could ensue at any moment, and my kid sister’s utilitarian wand would prove useless in saving either of our lives.
Oh shit!
A terrible déjà vu fell upon me as this was almost exactly the fate I faced when confronting Serghei the last time. Only back then, my most treasured wand saved me in the nick of time.
“Prepare to die—both of you!”
There wasn’t time to escape the trio’s deleterious firepower. Worse, there would likely be mortal casualties, too. Left without any other recourse, I took a step with the intent to launch myself at Serghei, fully expecting to be obliterated before I made it into the air with a leap intended to knock him back with a powerful leg kick. I could tell Alisia was thinking along similar lines.
But in the nanosecond between that leap into a barrage of lethal wand shots, something kid-sized flew past me. A blur, really, and the next thing I knew, Serghei’s legs flew out from beneath him, and his wand was snatched from his hand. At the same time, two additional ‘blurs’ took down his uncles.
When the initial shock of what just happened subsided a moment later, a short portly man stood with one foot on Serghei’s chest while holding an ornately decorated wand against his neck. Two other taller men subdued Serafim and Cristian similarly.
All three men were blondes with brown eyes, and the taller ones looked like twins, with chiseled handsomeness. The shorter dude kind of reminded me of a blonde Danny Devito, but with a full regal hairline. All three were obviously warlocks, and powerful ones at that.
“One is a wizard like Adrian,” Alisia whispered.
“That’s Wizard Attila von Stroheim?” I asked incredulously. “But Adrian—”
“Never gives me the credit I deserve!” said the diminutive wizard, addressing me without taking his gaze off Serghei. “And, we will talk in a moment, Sebastian. In the meantime, what have we talked about previously, Serghei? Must I assume you wish to be permanently sentenced to Bajenie this very day? Hmmm?”
His accent was thick, and I remembered my father’s brief mention of the wizard and his two cousins—obviously his companions at present—hailed from Austria. For the first time I can ever recall, a Matei was seized by fear. Serghei emphatically shook his head while whimpering.
“No, no, Wizard von Stroheim—please no!”
“Perhaps all three of you would do well in Purgatory,” von Stroheim continued, motioning to Serafim and Cristian. “In fact, it makes the best sense to dispatch you all now and then explain it all to Valerian when I get time this evening. How does that sound?”
Serghei’s uncles joined him in pleading for “one more chance at mercy.” Alisia and I traded amazed glances, having trouble reconciling what we knew about the Mateis compared to what we were witnessing in the current moment.
“This is the last time for mercy,” Wizard von Stroheim warned. “There will be no more chances. Am I clear?”
Did he really need to ask? I thought Adrian’s prowess as a wizard was unmatched anywhere west of Wizard Ninnius’ territory. Now, I’d have to rethink that assessment—no offense to my uncle.
After the Matei trio scurried away, piling into a gray Land Rover before speeding off to their side of town, Wizard von Stroheim turned his attention to Alisia and me while his companion warlocks swiftly moved through the square, performing a standard ‘forgetting’ spell to cover up the mess I had unfortunately participated in.
“Oh, it wasn’t your fault, Sebastian,” said Attila, alerting me to yet one more person enjoying full access to my thoughts. “It was bound to happen at some point, now that you’re back home. We’ve been expecting it, as well as the opportunity to finally meet you.”
Honestly, I didn’t know what to say in response.
“Say nothing, dear boy... for now,” he said, chuckling warmly. “We have much to discuss at our headquarters across the street. Come... follow me.”
Chapter Nine
Our planned ice cream fun placed on hold, my sister and I soon stepped inside one of the nicer boutiques in the square—one with a spacious apartment upstairs.
Previous to the EEC’s appointment of a ‘constable governor’ in Denmark, this place had been a Hallmark gift shop that had closed almost a decade ago. Alisia and I had stopped by here once, thinking the place might still be open, since display racks and card wheels were still full of merchandise—although my sister’s keen eyes could tell the products were from the early years of the twenty-first century.
But now? Well, I guess the Elders Council decided to make a good impression on the Denmark Chamber of Commerce by giving the entire building an expensive facelift—including touchups to the historical façade of the building that dated from the late nineteenth century.
“Think of it as a fine art gallery,” Attila explained as we invaded the main floor.
He motioned to all four corners of the ground level’s expanse. Expensive looking framed paintings covered the walls while others were displayed upon bronze easels similar to what one might find in the world’s finest art museums. A few immense frameless paintings hung in midair, suspended by wires hanging from polished steel rafters roughly twenty feet above the floor’s gray marble tiles.
“And, upstairs are our living quarters.”
He pointed to a gorgeous walnut staircase leading to the second floor. Likely original to the building, along with the faded image of a Victorian-era barmaid gracing an exposed brick wall adjacent to the staircase. Wizard von Stroheim smiled in delight as both my sister and I couldn’t hide our amazement. And, yes, we’ve certainly been exposed to much fancier venues in our time. But excluding our home and a handful of other structures, neither of us expected to find something this lavish in the center of a mostly modest rural American town.
“You like?” He beamed.
“Yeah... it’s really cool what you’ve done to the place.”
He and his cousins chuckled, trading knowing looks that made me briefly wonder if there was some secret surprise stashed here.
Hopefully something chic, and not a ghoulish item like a mummified corpse... unless it’s a Matei!
That thought drew an immediate elbow nudge to my side from Alisia.
“Actually, that’s quite funny!” Attila commented on my latest silent musing while motioning for us to join him at a large mahogany desk that bore exquisite carvings along the legs and front portion—perhaps also original to the building from an earlier age. “Indeed, Sebastian, this is one of the Porter desks from the old Denmark Bank & Trust that was torn down in the 1950s. So, even though it isn’t original to this establishment, it fits... at least I feel it does. Please, have a seat. Both of you.”
He motioned to a pair of plush leather chairs while he sat in another similar chair on the desk’s other side. Alisia eyed me curiously as we sat, prompting me to wonder if my thoughts weren’t telegraphed to her as quickly as they were being snatched up by Wizard von Stroheim. This silent interaction with my sister preceded a rare moment when I managed to divert an embarrassing thought to another, before it lingered long enough to be discerned by her, as well as by our host. More about that in a moment.
A beautiful watercolor sat on the edge of the desk, featuring a woman dressed in the baroque style of the late eighteenth century. My instant admiration for the painting, and a query brewing about the imagery’s familiarity, r
eplaced an inappropriate silent question about whether the wizard required a booster seat, since we faced him at eye level.
See? A mental ‘foot in mouth’ moment was successfully avoided. Or, so I hoped....
“The painting was done by an obscure artist from the early 1700s, although the name used at the time isn’t an alias I’m particularly fond of,” Attila advised, obviously noting my fascination with the portrait. “Copies of this piece have since enjoyed some commercial success, and were distributed worldwide during the latter half of this past century. I have always loved it for its simple beauty and honesty in capturing the pure essence of the mortal depicted. She has never lost a special place in my heart.”
“You make it sound like you created this painting.” Alisia chuckled. “It is beautiful, and it’s having a calming effect on my brother.”
“Huh?” I shot her an annoyed look, despite the observation being spot on.
“Well thank you, Alisia. And, yes, I did paint it,” he said. “I was just a young warlock at the time, and I have never used magic to assist with my artistic endeavors.”
“Wow, so you did this naturally... I’m impressed,” I said. Truly, the intricate details pointed to the talent of a master artist. “Do you still paint?”
“Thank you, and yes... I still prance around here with a palette sometimes.” He motioned to the collection surrounding him. “Many of these works are mine, although not all of them. But it has made the façade of operating an art gallery an honest one, instead of merely a ‘pretend cover’ for our assigned presence in Denmark. Or, at least it’s as close as possible to honest.” He laughed.
“Well, at least you’ll have a nice fallback career if you ever get tired of being a wizard,” I deadpanned. “So, what do you wish to talk to us about?”
“Actually, it involves mostly you, Bas,” he said. “No offense intended to Alisia, but my cousins—Klaus and Karl Hausner—join me in the belief that you’re the target to receive the ‘Vulpe’ or ‘Sorin’s’ double-ring.”