by Ana Calin
Power.
“The Lord Protector. I’ll never see him again, you say.”
“There probably will be occasions and events, but you’ll see him from afar.” I can feel him measuring me from the corner of his eye. “You’re not nearly interesting enough to warrant another personal meeting with him, I’m afraid.”
“What about the people who work for him, like Silas and the warlock. Do they get private audiences with him?”
“The Lord Protector is the highest authority in the mortal realm and the Flipside, and Master Aries and Master Maverick are his right and left hands. Of course they get audiences, but there’s always a good reason.”
“The highest authority in the mortal world and the Flipside?”
Gordon rolls his eyes like he has to explain to me the alphabet. “With all the time you spent in that library, I would have expected you to have learned more about the realms.”
“No, I know there are realms. I know that the world I knew is only one dimension of reality, and there are many other dimensions, like the Flipside, and Heaven and Hell, namely the highest and the lowest dimensions. What I don’t know, is who runs those other realms. Who is the highest authority there?”
“Well, it’s not rocket science. Some are ruled by archangels, some by fae, some by what you know as ancient gods, there are even realms ruled by enlightened humans, like the Buddha.”
“I see... It actually makes sense,” I whisper as I realize. “Death rules over the mortal realm because, well, we’re mortal.”
“Not only, Miss Reid, that’s a simplistic way to look at it. The portals between the realms must be guarded with an iron hand, because there are always evil forces that try to breach the membranes. Forces so great humans can’t even begin to imagine. Who could ever be better suited to fight all that than the Grim Reaper?”
Things run through my head, reports and articles, TV shows and entire books. “The haunted places in the world are they some kind of portals?”
“Not only the haunted places, but spots like the Bermuda Triangle and the Mariana Trench. Keeping those places in check is a permanent struggle. But we digress.” He angles his body to me, as if to make sure I get these things inside my head. “I hope it’s clear now that the Lord Protector is too much of a, how shall I put it so that you understand.” He circles his hand in the air searching for the term. “V.I.P, so to say, to deal with you personally any further. And even if he wanted to, by some absurd chance, he’s far too busy to indulge in meaningless meetings.”
“Gordon, I can’t help wondering—what about his more, you know, intimate needs? Wouldn’t he need to meet people for that?”
Gordon’s face lengthens like I’m some spoiled brat that dares too much, then he bursts into laughter. “The Lord Protector? Intimate needs? What do you think he is—a man?”
“He doesn’t have a penis, or what?” I retort through my teeth, irritated.
“Only in his human form.”
“Well, I heard it’s his favorite form, and even the one that feels most natural to him.”
The car comes to a stop just before Gordon can give me a reply to that last one. I curse under my breath. The butler gets out first, and holds my door open, but doesn’t reach in to help me out. Surely because I’m not worth such gentlemanly behavior from his part.
The air is crisp, fresh, thunderclouds looming above the dark trees, but right in front of us is something like an oasis. A green thicket like in fairy tales and, right in the middle of it, a cabin that reminds me of a witch’s gingerbread house.
I clutch the book to my chest as we approach, just Gordon and me, the car staying back on the dirt road behind us. The wooden door opens, and a man appears on the porch. He’s tall, raunchy, dressed in brown leather and full of buckles and belts, stashes hanging from his waist. Everything about him screams that he’s a man of the forest.
“Master Maverick,” Gordon greets reverently, stepping in front of me and taking a bow in front of the man standing on the porch. I stay behind the butler, clutching the book to my chest but keeping my shoulders stiff and square. Gordon might treat me like a second-rank creature, but I won’t play the part.
“I bring you Miss Lucia Reid, as commanded by the Lord Protector.”
Maverick fixes his attention on me. He gives me a once over as if to assess whether I’m wearing the proper attire for whatever he has in store for me.
“Approach,” he says in a gravelly voice that fits him perfectly.
Now that we’re close enough, I can feel this man is wrapped in power. His eyes are so dark they seem like coals under his furrowed black eyebrows. The scowl seems to have formed a permanent grimace on his face, and the strong square jaw gives him a downright fierce air. He’s got the olive skin of a gypsy, a three-day beard shading his features, complete with a perfect aura of Dark and Dangerous.
“So you’re my mentor.” It sounds stupid, but I don’t know what else to say. Should I hold out my hand, introduce myself, like I would in the mortal world?
“Please,” he says. “Step inside.”
At least I get to put distance between Gordon and myself. Maverick stays outside for another few moments, talking to Gordon, but their voices fade when my eyes rise to the interior of this house.
Vials and colored bottles with potions line the wooden shelves along the walls, plants and charms hanging from the beams, a corner nook full of leather-bound books, and holy crap—a skull and a crystal on a support of silver hands on the counter by the window.
I’m completely taken with the crystal. I walk slowly to it, placing the book on the wooden table. Maverick is still talking to Gordon outside when I stop with my face above the crystal. The globe reflects my face and, if my imagination isn’t playing tricks on me, the faint bluish light it’s been giving off now starts to glow red. It’s like a pool of blood spreading over the crystal globe, and my reflection against it slowly morphs to the point that it doesn’t mirror off the crystal’s surface anymore, but it seems to have entered it. It sinks to the center, red mist floating around it.
It’s still my face, and yet the eyes turn pale as death, the hair fire red, mingling with the red mist. She opens her mouth, small spirals coming out of it, like spells. It’s three of them, three bundles of small coiling hieroglyphs. The spells fly, circling the woman. Her pale eyes blast wide, and a deep sound funnels from her to me—the Red Witch.
The room tilts, but a second before I hit the ground strong arms catch me, leather squeaking. It’s Maverick. He scoops me up and sets me down on a chair, cursing under his breath.
He presses a hand to my forehead, and energy trickles into my body. Moments later I’m fully back to myself, realizing he’s got a herb plastered to his palm and pressed against my forehead, one that smells strongly of pumpkin spice.
He pulls a chair out and sits down, searching my face, allowing me to gather my thoughts.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“What’s your name?”
“Lucia.”
“Surname?”
“Reid.”
“Who’s President of the United States?”
I tell him.
“All right, you’re fine.” His shoulders relax. “What happened, why did you black out?”
“I—” My eyes pan over to the crystal. “The globe, it drew me to it. I couldn’t resist, I walked closer, and then I saw...” My voice trails off.
“You saw something in that crystal?” It seems to surprise him.
“Why, is it special?”
Maverick gets up to his feet, moving his bulky frame in brown leather to the counter. He sets a kettle on the hearth, and picks up two wooden mugs that he squashes plants into. His strong workman’s fingers move expertly with the delicate herbs. I can imagine those hands and those strong arms handling whole tree trunks and rock boulders, strength just oozes from him.
“The Lord Protector said that you had fortune-teller DNA, which isn’
t uncommon for humans. But that crystal, it’s not the kind that any fortune teller can use, even if they are trained witches.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore, Mr. Jones,” I manage. “Apparently there’s nothing special about me, yet I managed to open a portal to Hell. Now I see things in a crystal globe that not even greater witches can see in. What in the world is happening to me?”
He places a mug of steaming tea in front of me, and my shoulders slouch, my hands cupping the mug. The minty herbal scent soothes me, and Maverick taking a seat with me makes me feel strangely at home. Strangely safe to speak my mind.
“I give up,” I say, face over the mug, steam rising from it and coating my face in a hot mist. “If men as old and wise as the Lord Protector, Silas and yourself can’t make sense of what’s happening to me, how am I ever going to?”
“You’ve never had experiences like this before? I mean, like strange things happening in your life, aha-moments or something of the sort?” He picks up his own mug, and rests back against his chair with an ankle resting on his opposite knee. The leather pants hug legs so muscular they seem made of rocks. I study them from under my eyebrows while keeping my face over the mug.
“How about strange things to which you had no explanation, maybe creepy occurrences?” he continues. His deep grating voice is a bit more accommodating now, as if he wants to make it comfortable for me to share.
I sip from the tea, sinking into memories.
“My life before Halloween seems so far away. Like, I don’t know, I was the same consciousness but in someone else’s body, in someone else’s life that I merely witnessed, but not played an active part in.”
“That’s what mortals are, in many ways,” he says. “Witnesses of their own lives. Waiting to be liberated into something grander.”
“How would you know what humans are deep down? You never experienced mortal life.”
“As a matter of fact, I did. It’s one of the reasons why the Lord Protector chose me as your mentor.” He nods to the book resting on the table. “As you probably already know, I come from a long bloodline of warlocks. Unlike Silas or the Lord Protector, I haven’t been around for thousands of years. I carry many centuries in my veins, but they are encoded in my genes rather than unfolding in a long, eventful movie of a life lived.”
He leans over to the counter—this hut is so small he doesn’t even have to get up—, picks up a clay bowl that any collector of antiquities would pay a fortune for, and places it by my mug. Then he drops a bunch of herbs that smell green and fresh in it.
“Start crushing those into the bowl.” He tosses over a small wooden tool. “Then make a paste out of it.”
I inspect the items. “I don’t get it. What are we doing now?”
“Consider you’re learning the alphabet of magic—since I understand you have no experience with it.”
“None whatsoever.”
“So you never even had a fascination with witchcraft or an interest in the arcane?”
“Not at all.”
His naturally scowling eyebrows rise a little. “That’s strange. People with magical talents usually display an interest in magic from an early age.”
“Not the first strange thing about me, is it?”
I set the tea aside and start working on the plants, knowing I’ve got the warlock intrigued, and feeling satisfied about it.
“In fact,” I continue a bit smugly, “I hated it when my brothers and sisters forced me to watch Halloween movies with them. Like—” I glance at him as my fingers work the herbs, my fingertips now green and covered in a pasty layer. “I mean no offense, but most of the witchcraft they portray in movies is, you know, bad. It does bad things to people. And for some reason even the thought of harming a human being hurts me, even if that person is, I don’t know, evil.”
“Why don’t you tell me more about that?” Maverick nudges, polishing a knife.
“What more could I say about it? I just don’t like the idea of people getting hurt.”
“Did you ever see or experience something in that sense that stayed with you?”
I tap into my memories, and tell him. And then I tell him more and more about my life while he listens like the calmest shrink. Soon I have a whole line of bowls with crushed herbs in front of me, and I’m polishing charms that I lay like sparkling treasure on a big patch of sack material. It feels good, working with my hands and diving deeper into my past, remembering the most incredible things.
“So you have no memory of your biological parents?” Maverick inquires.
I shake my head no, polishing a silver skull. I hold it up, inspecting it closely. “I always wondered when I saw skulls in Halloween movies—what are they for?”
“Well, in those movies they’re most definitely nothing more than props, but in real witchcraft we use skulls for séances. Real human skulls, preferably of powerful witches or warlocks of old.”
When I look at him fascinated he gives me a wicked grin that sends a shiver down my spine. I can feel the man has dark powers, and it unsettles me.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of summonings and séances,” he says.
“I have, but—” I swallow. “The idea alone gives me the chills.”
“Like it or not, you’re gonna have to engage in them. There’s no way around that at the Academy. Silver skulls like this one, well, you might not have to work with those. They’re used to summon the undead, demons.” He leans towards me, and I lean back, uncomfortable with the shivers rolling down my spine. Maverick’s expression hardens. “The Lord Protector commanded me to help you get acquainted with these things, but we have a long way to go.” He looks me up and down like he assesses merchandise. “In the state you are now, you wouldn’t survive a week at the Academy.”
“Which is why you’re supposed to protect her there in the beginning,” Silas’ voice fills the room. I jump from the chair and hurry to him, as if his presence can protect me from the warlock’s heavy darkness. He must have slipped something in my tea in order to make me feel comfortable with him and tell him about my past. Which I now regret, it makes me feel exposed, naked, like I’m in his power somehow.
The warlock turns slowly, planting his legs apart and folding his thick arms across his chest, grinning in defiance at Silas with his chin up.
“The Academy isn’t some posh private school, demigod, and you know it. If your protégé is to survive there in the long run, she’s gonna need hardcore magical training—if she even has what it takes to handle it.”
“People will know she’s a protégé of the Lord Protector. With you as her mentor in addition to that, I expect her to be safe.” That’s almost a warning from Silas.
The coals in Maverick’s eyes seem to crackle with fire.
“The Headmaster won’t like this. He resents favors and favorites, this won’t sit well with him. All these protection measures might put her in worse danger than if she’d received an invitation to join the Academy. And with all those children of famous witches and warlocks fighting for a spot, and the endless waiting list, things might get ugly.”
What the hell?
“I repeat,” Silas says, unfazed. “That’s why she will have your protection in the early stages.”
I grab Silas’ arm and draw closer to him as he and the warlock stare each other down.
“Tell the Lord Protector I now have her life essence,” the warlock says, and motions to the rest of his hut. “Her energy is all over the place, the herbs she crushed, the gems she polished, the air she breathed in and out. I’ll bottle it all up and test her essence at the witching hour. I’ll then communicate the result to the Lord Protector, and we’ll take it from there.”
Silas winds an arm around me, and guides me away from the hut, but I can still feel the animosity between the two men.
“There’s bad blood between you two?”
“Let’s not talk about that,” he grunts through his teeth.
He leads me deeper into the forest,
away from the green thicket and into the thick, dark tangles of the thorny trees. And while I feel protected with Silas’ strong arm around me, I can’t help but shiver.
“This place gives me the chills,” I whisper in the darkening evening. A wolf howls in the distance, and I push myself into Silas’ side, feeling the hard edges of his body pushing through my cardigan.
“It is an enchanted forest.”
“If I have a choice, I don’t want to see that Maverick guy again. He gives me the creeps.”
“I understand.” Silas squeezes me to him, making me feel warm and safe under his arm. I breathe in his fresh, green scent, the scent of a demigod, which sends my senses in a spin. “But the Lord Protector will force you to come back. You weren’t even supposed to return to the mansion tonight, the warlock wanted to keep you with him, probably use you at the witching hour. But when Gordon informed the Lord Protector I couldn’t accept it.”
“Why not? I mean, would it have been dangerous?”
Silas bends down his head, his pretty lips pressed together, his fair eyebrows furled.
“I don’t think it would have been necessarily dangerous, because he’s got strict instructions from the Lord Protector to take care of you. But rituals at the witching hour aren’t, well. It could add to whatever dark depths you have that enabled you to open the portal. It would have made you even darker.”
I smile, my heart delighting in his interest in me. “You like the person I am now so much?”
His big protective hands wrap around my shoulders. I gaze up into his beautiful angel face with his blond hair waving down to his broad shoulders. I love that he’s so much taller than me, and dressed in white his chest seems so broad. I’d love to put my hands on that chest, let them stroke their way down to his abs, feel the creamy fabric mold the contours of his fighter body.
“Listen, Lucy.” His voice ripples through the night. “Tonight Maverick is going to dive deep into your essence, the essence that your breath, your touch, your voice, your scent, your hair, your words left inside his hut. He’s going to bathe in it, and he’s going to know you better than you ever knew yourself. He will have a meeting with the Lord Protector afterwards to tell him all about you, and he’ll have more data than any investigation services in the mortal realm could ever gather. He’ll even know why you like the taste of chocolate more than vanilla.”