by Inelia Benz
He could feel the morning heat enter his young bones and wished for dip in a cold river. Santorcaz was not it’s best in late summer, too many people, strangers, came to stay to get away from the heat of Madrid, but he had decided to stay there until autumn, long enough to work out a plan of action.
He had been working on the clue the Keeper had given him, it seemed rather odd, a small pink shawl with ribbons all around. It had to be an important clue on how to pass his test. All he had to do now was to find out what it meant.
He reached into his pocket and took out a little notepad and pen, “Spain, Keeper, clue. What’s the puzzle?” he read the words over and over. If he passed the test he would be able to keep the promise to his adoptive mother, Aeoife, all those centuries before. He would practice the Way of the Witch for 100 years and at the same time he would become Staff Holder, as long as the elders didn’t find out about him becoming a witch, which they wouldn’t as no elder in their right mind would become lesser than they already were.
The Way of the Witch was a craft unknown to Council Elders, it was alien, worked in a different sphere of reality, he couldn’t imagine any witch being more powerful than himself but if the Keeper said they were then he was sure they were.
The Keeper had appeared at the allotted time, but why had she given him a shawl? In the middle of summer? He wrote, “Shawl is for number 13,” then put the note pad away. The writing was coded and no one would ever be able to break the code. He kept several of these notepads. It helped him keep tags on all the important events in his life, which would otherwise disappear on a flow of centuries.
Looking in the mirror he noticed he looked much more respectable now, no more spots, probably due to all the sunbathing he had been doing at the local pool. He reached over to the girl who lay on his bed and stroked her thigh. She gave a little moan and smiled.
Owen could stay with her forever if he so wished, but it was time to get some serious library visiting done.
“You have to leave. Your husband will be waking up any minute now.”
“Is that the time? I have to go now darling,” she said jumping out of bed and pulling her clothes on.
He thought it a pity to have to have to leave Santorcaz, but there were no good windows to the archives in the small town. The best access places were forgotten corners of old libraries, not quite archives, they were more like lines of thought which had been recorded into the common human database of wisdom.
Mortals would shy away from these corners as it made them nervous, if they stayed too long near one they would get butterflies in their stomach and an uncontrollable urge to get away. If they persevered it was possible they would tap into the information, but other mortals would simply say they had gone quite mad.
He sat back to watch the girl get dressed, her bikini had left her breasts and buttocks white, the rest of her was a beautiful golden brown.
They kissed goodbye and promised each other eternal love, she then ran down the stairs and out of the old building.
He watched her jog across the plaza and down the street. He wasn’t looking forward to this departure.
“Forget.”
The girl slowed her pace, jogging in the mornings had been the best idea she’d had all summer, it tired her out though, she felt exhausted. She’d have a little lie-in before her husband woke up.
Owen left Santorcaz later that day. For the first two months he simply traveled the world having a whale of a time with the excuse of researching the meaning of shawls and their use in magic.
One of his stops was Brazil. He had a house there and staff who took care that the jungle didn’t take it over. He sent a letter of recommendation to his solicitors in London, introducing himself as his own grandson. He had given himself access to whatever was necessary for the next few months, which he planned to spend in London.
The plan had originally been to pretend to be his own son, but Harry Johnson, his solicitor, knew Owen as a ninety year old man. It would be more convincing to present himself as his own grandson. The less they questioned the better.
Traveling was great in this century, what would have taken him a year to travel half a century earlier he had finished in two months, one hour in one country the next in another. What mortals had been up to since he had gone into invisible mode was incredible.
Soon they would be as powerful as mages! He thought.
Mortal communication technology had jumped the light barrier too, Owen had discovered the Internet. It amazed him to watch the energy threads jump from one country to another. But surfing the electronic waves crashed a lot of servers, leaving him stranded in all sort of strange and wonderful offices, so he stuck to using the Internet the mortal way, with a computer.
It would have been much faster for him to do his research on an ethereal level but he didn’t want any other Elders keeping tags on him. Much better to do it on the physical level for as long as possible, Elders were well known for their incapacity to stay in their physical bodies for very long, most had the minimum physical presence needed to exist at all, their bodies kept on minimum metabolism just to keep themselves alive. It was one of the reasons why Owen liked it in the mortal universe, this was his territory.
He was also considered an authority in mortal matters, and he didn’t really know that much about mortals at all.
After much sex and some library research he found out that shawls were mainly for warmth, protection, love, invisibility and nurturing. Shawls could have many uses within magic, but it was an item mostly found within the confines of a witch’s cove, particularly a shawl like the one he now possessed, pink, soft and with ribbons on all four corners.
It was in London that he finally made a breakthrough.
He hadn’t been to London for a very long time. He usually stayed at a hotel, it was comfortable and anonymous. But for this visit he had decided to stay at one of his London residences. He would also contact old acquaintances, or as he told everyone, “his grandfather’s acquaintances.” He looked so young now that no one would recognize him.
He didn’t have many mortals he considered friends, and even less so immortals. But he held Harry Johnson in high esteem. Harry had been one of the few mortals he had ever trusted. He remembered Harry as a studious young man, his father’s pride and joy. They had become relatively close in those days. Now Harry was old but still working and still in charge of the O’Neil Estate.
The old man was delighted to have news of his friend Owen senior, especially to know that he was still going strong in Brazil, married to a young beauty queen and doing very well in all respects.
“What ever happened to Owen Junior, your father?” Harry asked.
Owen took another sip of his tea, he should have thought of all this before coming, it was an oversight he wouldn’t have made had he the body of a fifty year old.
“Dad, passed away in a racing accident, broke Granddad’s heart, but he has me now, so the inheritance is safe.”
“Take after your grandfather don’t you. You have as much tact as a bull in a china shop,” Harry said laughing to himself.
Owen could never quite get Harry’s little personal jokes, but it was good to be with him again, he hadn’t expected to find him alive and looking so fit and well.
“It’s obvious your grandfather holds you in high esteem looking at these figures,” the old man said holding the letter of recommendation he had received from Owen Senior a few days earlier, “the house in Oak Place, the European portfolio. Tell me young man, what are you going to do with all of this?”
“Well, make it grow Mr. Johnson, that’s what all the O’Neil’s have done and always will do.”
Harry Johnson smiled and leaned back, if there were any doubts in his mind about the boy’s identity this dispelled them immediately, the young fellow couldn’t be more like his grandfather if he tried. Their physical resemblance was astonishing too.
Without further to do Harry had the keys brought over from the safe.
&nbs
p; Owen signed the appropriate paperwork and left immediately.
He went straight to Oak Place. The house had been closed for many years, the protection he’d left in place still held but the years had taken their toll, it needed refurbishing. Harry had mentioned this at the meeting; he had paid a visit to Oak Place personally as soon as Owen’s letter had arrived. He had also arranged to have a team of builders and decorators come and work in the place the following week. Owen trusted Harry too much to protest at the building plans and now realized he had been right not to.
He had his luggage brought over from the hotel and settled down in his study, the only place untouched by time or dust.
He spent the first few hours strengthening the house defenses and feeling the country and its people.
There was one person he absolutely had to visit while in the British Isles this time.
Avoiding a visit with Aeoife, his mage mother, would be tactless.
Owen planned a little visit as soon as he had the time. He would sort out his house out first and then arrange to visit her.
He knew Aeoife was either in England or in Ireland. She didn’t like to travel much, less change residency. He had to tell her about the interview with the Keeper, although he was sure she knew all about it by now, but it was common courtesy to let her know he was on the case. He also thought it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to ask her if she knew anything about the Thirteenth or shawls. Although she wouldn’t tell him anything even if she did know about them. It was her job to teach him the Way, not to sort out the test for him.
As soon as he figured out the Shawl matter he would definitely look her up. He had decided to pursue investigating shawls rather than the number thirteen due to the amount of data attached to the latter. It would take years to sieve through it all. It would be nice to have something which linked the two, but so far nothing had come up.
London was getting colder and darker as autumn took hold of the city. He had only been in the city for a couple of weeks so far but time seemed to drag forever among the rushing crowds of suited up men and women, mobiles always at hand, briefcase on the other. There were a lot of tourists as well, this was new, he remembered when tourism was something the English did elsewhere, not something others did in England.
“The library is now closing sir,” said a mortal woman over his shoulder, “oh, that’s beautiful, may I?” She added, looking at the shawl.
He thought of turning her into ash, then thought of seducing her. She looked at the shawl with overwhelming tenderness, which then made him think her input on the matter might prove very useful. He nodded for her to go ahead.
“It is so beautiful, just what I was looking for, is it a present for someone? Or is it for your own child?”
“Excuse me?”
“The baby shawl, who is it for?”
“Oh, it’s mine. I mean, I see…” he said and felt a heavy knot in his stomach. A baby shawl. “It’s for a friend, he just had a baby, well, his wife had it… I mean.”
“Pink, a girl I see. Could you tell me where you got it? Mine is due in May and I have been looking for a shawl like this for months now. It would have to be yellow of course, although I am hoping for a girl, one can never be sure.”
“It’s a boy,” he said looking down at her belly. It wasn’t a good idea for him to be copulate with a pregnant mortal. Babies had a way of absorbing energy that other mortals did not. Pity, she was quite attractive, smelt delightfully too.
“Funny, that’s what my husband said too, a boy.”
“Yes, well, I better get going,” he said tearing the shawl from the mother to be and folding it neatly into his briefcase. The young woman mumbled the library’s closing time and went onto the next table to hush the readers out of her domain.
He opened his briefcase and stared at the shawl for a few seconds. Did this mean he had to have a baby? Why would a Keeper want him to have a baby? And what did a baby have to do with the number thirteen?
He hoped against hope he didn’t have to have thirteen babies. It would be difficult enough finding a mother for one, but thirteen? The Council would expel him no questions asked.
He collected his notes, which included many subjects so as to disorient any elder who might be spying on his research, put on his coat and left the library.
It was already dark outside. He hated London in the autumn, but not as much as he hated it in the winter. He felt a few heavy raindrops fall on his face and wondered what would look good and cover his head at the same time, hats were out of the question these days. He’d have to look into something called hoodies.
Chapter 4
“Oh dear Mary Mother of God, Jesus Christ all mighty, please let it not be true! Not my baby girl, not Jennifer,” Esther Stone shouted, then held her face in her hands and sobbed.
“There, there Esther, it’s not the end of the world you know,” Mrs. Crow said tapping Esther gently on the arm and leading her to the sofa. “We all got here this way. Nothing wrong with a baby.”
Esther very rarely lost her composure, she had lost it the day her mother died, the day she married Jennifer’s father, and now.
Her baby girl, all the plans they had for the future, dashed. She had sacrificed her own life to give a better one to her only daughter, so she could have a real life, a real chance in life, a real education. Now this. It was the end of her world.
“Please mom,” whispered Jennifer, but she couldn’t look at her mother in the face. She simply stood there, by the door, holding her bag with all her strength, the worst was over, she thought, the worst was over.
“Here, drink some of your tea, it’ll make you feel much better,” Mrs. Crow said to Esther, she knew for a fact a cup of tea worked wonders on shattered minds and hearts.
“My baby, oh dear God, Jennifer,” added Esther putting the tea back on the coffee table, she wasn’t about to be comforted with a cup of tea, not over something this serious.
“Mum, it’s alright, I’ll cope.”
How could she cope, Esther thought, Jennifer was but a baby herself, always pampered and protected. Maybe that was it. Maybe she had over protected her, maybe she should have been harsher, and maybe she should have allowed her to see all the misery in the world, misery caused by irresponsible men.
Now her girl was all alone in the world with a baby to raise.
“What about the father? What has he to say about this?” She asked.
The father was gone. Had paid his bed-sit, packed all his possessions and gone. Not a word or sign from him since. Nothing.
“I’m sure the boy had his reasons,” put in Mrs. Crow.
“He had reasons alright Mrs. Crow, you know what men are like. It’s just so typical, use the girl for their dirty deeds and leave when the baby comes along.” Esther spat out. It was all so common, and her daughter had fallen for it.
“You were meant to go have a better life than this Jennifer, remember? How will you do that with a baby in your hands?” She said to her daughter, her Jenny, her pride and joy. “And how are we going to afford this baby? The shop hardly turns over enough to keep us fed and clothed.”
“I’ll get another job mom.”
“A job? Who is going to give you a job here Jennifer, an unmarried mother.”
“When Daddy left you, you got a job mom.”
“Yes, but we got married first, then he left.”
Mrs. Crow knew what Esther was thinking now, what would people say? If word got around about this unfortunate event there might be no customers left for the shop to keep going at all. After all, most of Esther’s clientele were young mothers. Upright, married mothers with legitimate children.
“We could send her to London, I have a friend there who is looking for a housekeeper,” the old woman said, “that way Jennifer could have the baby and come back when it is all over.”
“Yes mom, London is big, and Mrs. Crow tells me her friend has a really big house, I could clean and cook and in the evenings I could go to night scho
ol…”
Her mother got up and took Jennifer into her arms, “why didn’t you tell me about the baby earlier?” She said realizing all this had been discussed before, “oh, my baby, why didn’t you come to me first?”
Jennifer hadn’t even realized her condition until Mrs. Crow had pointed it out, let alone thought of telling someone about it.
“Now Esther, you know I’ve been around for a long time, these kinds of things can’t exactly be hidden from me. Of course Jennifer was going to tell you, she’s your daughter, it’s just better this way, better to have someone who can look at things from the outside,” Mrs. Crow said to comfort the grandmother to be.
Esther’s mind changed gear, it was the twenty first century, and her daughter didn’t have to suffer this fate, not these days.
“What about that ship that takes the girls out to international waters?” she said.
“An abortion?” Asked Jennifer.
She had thought of it, she had planned it when she found first found out, when she was angry and upset at Sean for not saying goodbye, for not saying anything, for stealing her ring.
“I can’t have an abortion mom, I love… I love this baby,” she said. She loved the baby, Sean’s and her baby.
“Oh, my poor baby, he really got to you didn’t he. The bastard. He has to answer for this, we’ll get the Garda to trace him, no one can vanish into thin air these days, and they have all those computers. They can trace anyone.”
But Mrs. Crow had already gone to the police, filed a missing persons report.
The old woman led Esther back to the sofa and insisted she take the cup of tea this time.
“So, no abortion, you will sacrifice your life for a silly mistake,” she said sipping her tea, “oh Jennifer, why didn’t you take precautions? You are an educated girl, I always told you what to do in those circumstances, a condom, go on the pill. Why didn’t you protect yourself?”
Jennifer felt embarrassed. She had done the right thing. It wasn’t her fault.