Tales of Aradia The Last Witch Volume 1

by L. A. Jones

  These gorgeous people flocked together in close circles, and seemed to be completely isolated from the rest of the school. They were always whispering or nodding to each other as if they shared some sort of code.

  “It’s totally suspicious,” she whispered with a silly grin on her face as she drifted to sleep. “Pretty people who maintain exclusive cliques. Especially in high school. I smell something strange afoot.”

  Still, try though she did to talk herself out of it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something big. She felt surrounded by a "perfect" race of people who were a little too interested in her. She had troubling dreams of dangerous groups who all shared a deep, dark secret.

  Chapter Eight

  "Morgan!" the Sovereign bellowed. "Morgan where are you?"

  With her typical, mystical entrance, she puffed into existence. Seeing that the Sovereign was not alone, she showed deference. As the black cloud around her dissipated, she knelt at the Sovereign's feet. "You summoned, Sovereign."

  The Sovereign looked down at her and spat, "Rise, demoness.” She did. Gesturing to the vampire at his right, he said, “Keon of the Night Shadow clan has reported an anomaly in Salem, Massachusetts, in the United States. I wish to know if what he saw was the last witch."

  "As you wish, Sovereign," Morgan said nodding.

  The Sovereign turned on his heel and put his back to the pair.

  Taking a step forward, Keon asked, "What must I do, Seer?"

  He did his best to remain stoic, but feared what sort of response he would get. From what little he knew, most demons were beastlike hiddens, somewhere between sentient and animal. He had heard wild rumors about the creatures in his long life, but could count on one hand all the interactions he’d had with one. None of those interactions had ended well. Now he was at the mercy of the Sovereign’s pet demon Seer. He wondered if what he was supposed to do might traumatize him for life.

  Morgan glided towards him while Keon readied himself and did not stop until she was merely inches away. She then held out her long green arm and gestured to the wall to her left.

  "Do you see that mirror?" she asked in her usual raspy voice.

  Keon nodded.

  Morgan instructed him, "Go to that mirror and look into it."

  "Why?" the question was out of Keon's mouth before he could stop it.

  "It is a revealing mirror. It can reveal what you wish to show us so that we may see it for ourselves," Morgan explained.

  Keon nodded, walked to where the mirror hung, and looked into it. Morgan followed along beside him and placed her clawed hand on the mirror’s edge.

  Keon’s jaw dropped at what he saw: himself. This in itself revealed how special the mirror was, for like every other vampire, he cast no reflection.

  “It has been so long…” he whispered, and held up a hand to touch his reflection. Keon had been young when he was turned, making him an ideal agent for his post. He was tall for his outward age, and muscular, but not quite bulky. He wore his black hair in a ponytail and had a firm, square jaw. A sinister expression was more or less permanently etched on his face, showing through even his astonishment.

  Then the face of the mirror seemed to swirl like ripples in a pond. Keon’s reflection distorted and melted into a redheaded girl looking lost in a school hallway, wearing a light jacket, a purple shirt, and flower patterned boot cut jeans with sneakers.

  "Is this the girl you wish to show us?" the Sovereign asked Keon.

  Keon, both amazed and intimidated, merely nodded.

  "Morgan?" the Sovereign prompted.

  “Mmm…” Morgan breathed out a moan, but said nothing meaningful.

  The Sovereign growled in frustration and said, "What do you sense from her?"

  "Oh yes," Morgan replied, nodding slowly. “I sense a great deal in her. Strength and confusion. She has an old soul.”

  “That sounds about right,” the Sovereign said. “But is she the one?”

  "The substance of reality does not bend easily to our wills, my lord. In order to know who and what she really is, I must have something precious to her, and it must have her blood on it."

  “Keon,” the Sovereign thundered.

  "Trust in me and the rest of my clan," Keon replied. "We shall retrieve what you need. I have already stationed one of my subordinates observing her."

  Keon could only see the Sovereign’s chin and nose slowly rise and fall under his cowl.

  "If you wish," Keon further proposed, "we can snatch her right now and bring her to you. Or snuff her out and end this now.”

  “You will do no such thing,” the Sovereign replied. He was quiet, almost whispering. Keon had never felt such fear or intimidation before.

  “It will be as you command.”

  "Keep her under constant surveillance and report any unusual activity to me directly. When it is opportune, snatch something that meets Morgan's criteria. Be absolutely certain no one notices you doing so. Am I understood?"

  Keon nodded. The Sovereign jerked his head toward the exit, and Keon left the throne room. He turned sharply toward Morgan, his meaning clear. She, too, disappeared.

  Coming forth from the shadows, Rome said, “If I might be so bold, my Sovereign, I rather liked that ferret’s suggestion to put her down now.”

  “Finish what you failed to complete two centuries ago?” the Sovereign replied.

  Rome, only mildly chastised, went on, “I understand if you don’t entrust such a task to a Night Shadow. He and his clanmates are clowns. I would be honored to take the assignment. I would not fail you twice.”

  “No, I imagine not.” After a brief decision, the Sovereign explained to Rome, "If she were anywhere else in the world, perhaps, but not in Salem. Of course that is where she would surface. By now, other hiddens will have noticed her. If she disappeared, questions would be raised."

  "You need not answer those questions," Rome insisted. "Your word is law!"

  "True," the Sovereign acknowledged. "And I became Sovereign by taking only necessary, calculated risks, Rome. Right now, she is impotent against me. One whisper of protest, though, could incite a rebellion, and I will avoid that outcome.”

  Rome nodded. “As a girl in high school, she is controllable, but as a martyr she could damage your standing.”

  “You pick up slowly,” the Sovereign said, “but you can learn. Vampires follow me without question,” mostly, the Sovereign thought, but left that part out. “Other hiddens still question my rule. Many factions do not yet accept me. If I make any move that they find suspicious..."

  "You are above them, Sovereign," Rome protested. “Your power is vast, and not merely political. You would win any war. I would ensure that.”

  "No doubt, but when we start my war of conquest, it will be at the time of my choosing," the Sovereign concluded with an evil and handsome grin.

  The Sovereign lingered for hours, studying Aradia's reflection. Until Morgan wiped it, the image would remain in the mirror like a newly painted portrait.

  A slight, whooshing displacement of air betrayed Morgan’s return.

  “I did not bid you come.”

  “No, you did not,” Morgan replied with uncharacteristic simplicity. For a while longer, the Sovereign ignored her.

  "It's hard to believe," the Sovereign said finally, still staring at the mirror, "that this little thing is the sole survivor of her people. Look at her. I have faced and defeated far more powerful looking creatures than her, including witches.”

  “You underestimate her strength,” Morgan replied. “Her power. You cannot feel it as I can. She has great potential.”

  "Tell me about it," he commanded.

  "You should not underestimate her, for if there is one thing I sense, it is that she is anything but impotent against you." The Sovereign was not surprised to learn that Morgan had been eavesdropping on his conversation with Rome.

  Morgan braced herself. She expected an inevitable, furious outburst from the Sovereign for her imp
ertinence. Surprising her, the Sovereign instead chuckled and kept his eyes locked on the mirror.

  After studying it for a while longer, he said, "I need not explain myself to you any more than to my servant Rome.” Whatever she is, last witch or not, I’ll not act until I know how she will be most useful to me. If I decide to crush her, my action will be swift, decisive, and impossible to withstand.

  "Hey, did you hear?" Everett asked as he sat down at the table a few days later with excitement dripping from his voice.

  "You were talking? Yup, I’m not deaf, I heard that," Aradia quipped.

  “My mom’s deaf,” Everett replied quickly.

  “You’re not ever going to let me live down that anti-depressant thing, are you?” Ever since the medication comment, which she’d successfully kept from becoming a disaster, whenever Aradia had said something even the slightest bit sensitive, Everett had replied that either he, or a parent, or a friend, or a pet, or somebody in his life had suffered from it.

  “Nope!” Everett said cheerfully. “But seriously everybody, did you hear?”

  When nobody bit, he went on, “I’m talking about the unsolved murder. The hardware store guy that was killed."

  "Oh yeah. No blood, two puncture wounds on the neck. The Vampire Murderer. I read about it in the paper."

  "Felix, you must be the only person our age who still reads the newspaper," Calvin grumbled.

  "Well, get me an iPad like yours for my birthday and maybe I’ll think about switching to something electronic," Felix replied.

  Calvin opened his mouth to argue, but Everett cut him off. "Anyway," he said, dropping his voice dramatically. "I heard on the news, the police are thinking about declaring it a 'cold case file.'"

  Aradia's ears perked up a bit. Rhonda asked Everett, "What is a cold case file?"

  "A case nobody can solve," Calvin explained.

  Everett expanded, “The odds are that they are never going to solve the case, which means whoever killed that guy will probably get away with murder!"

  “The odds are also good,” Aradia contributed gravely, “that whoever committed the crime lives right here in Salem.”

  "You mean there’s a murderer among us?" asked Rhonda, voice shaking a bit. She hadn’t really followed the story as it broke or considered the implications until just then.

  Everett nodded.

  Calvin said, "I don't see how this is really such a big deal."

  "I do," said Aradia.

  The others had not heard Aradia sound so serious before. They’d also not seen her directly contradict Calvin, which tended to lead to arguments.

  Calvin raised an eyebrow and said, "Yeah? By all means, please explain."

  "If someone got away with murder, it will make them think they can kill again.”

  Aradia usually liked to do her homework right after school. It was only her second week, and she was still working out her new routine. Salem High was only a short detour on her dad’s drive home, so the timing seemed to work pretty well so far.

  Her favorite place to get her work done in Arizona had been underneath the basement stairwell in the gymnasium. She generally didn’t have to face other students and their ridicule there. Of course, her dusty, creepy hideout had only given them more fodder for which to ridicule her. Hindsight’s twenty/twenty, Aradia thought with a mental shrug.

  She figured she’d try a more public setting this time around, and after wandering aimlessly, she found herself at the football field. Bleachers to sit on, plenty of room to spread out, and maybe some cute guys to stare at. This could work.

  So there she was, taking notes on her bio reading and listening to the football coach as he yelled at the players. De Sylva coached Track and Field and Cross Country, but not Football. Football was coached by a gruff man in his early fifties named Stan Gardner.

  Coach Gardner was as much a stereotype as Aradia had ever seen. Proud American good old boy who had been the star quarterback when he had attended Salem High, he’d gone on to play college football and do fairly well. When he failed to get recruited to the NFL, he’d returned to his high school alma mater to coach. He’d been at that for about twenty-five years or so. By now he was pretty much an institution in the small town.

  The students grunted and heaved through their various, torturous drills. It provided good background white noise for Aradia as she did her work.

  After a while Aradia checked her watch; her dad would be arriving soon. She’d finished her Biology, World Studies, and English readings. She had already completed her Latin homework during Study Hall, and so far she hadn’t been assigned any homework in her 2D Art or Personal Fitness classes, which only left Algebra to do at home. Not bad, she assessed.

  When she was almost finished packing up her books, she suddenly felt very uneasy, and turned to the field just in time to see the quarterback slip and fall. At first the other players laughed, but when the QB did not get up, they stopped what they were doing and hurried over to assist.

  At first, Aradia just watched as people swarmed around the kid. He was still conscious, which Aradia took as a good sign. She thought about getting involved, but the coach and sports nurse the school kept on hand were both on the scene, so she kept her distance for the moment. With help the boy got upright, but when he tried to stand on his own, he screamed in pain. Aradia grew more alarmed.

  The coach helped him hobble to the bench at the sideline and let the nurse inspect the injured area. His ankle, Aradia noted.

  “Looks like a sprain, Jayce,” the nurse, whose name Aradia hadn’t learned yet, declared. He went on, “Sit out the rest of practice. If you still can’t stand on your own, I’ll call your folks and drive you to the ER myself.”

  Aradia watched as a couple members of the team approached the injured quarterback. He snapped them away like an irritated crocodile. Some leader, Aradia thought sarcastically. After that, the other boys stopped trying, shrugged, and left him as they finished their practice.

  Strong leader or not, he didn’t deserve to suffer needlessly. He had his head buried in his hands and was shaking it vigorously when Aradia approached.

  "You okay?" was the first thing Aradia asked him.

  The boy whipped around to face her, and immediately regretted it. He’d also banged his head on the way down, and the rapid turn made his forehead throb. "Who the hell are you?"

  He had short blonde hair which was glistening with sweat. His face was sharp with a pointed chin and a nose that was almost triangular. His green eyes blazed and his face was currently twisted with a combination of pain, anger, and, Aradia suspected, fear.

  Aradia was taken aback by his rudeness and also at how cute he was. This school! she thought. Is there something in the water here? This boy, however, wasn’t one of the preternaturally good looking ones. So far as Aradia could tell, he was just regular old all-American cute.

  She ignored his snappy response and continued with her attempt to help. "My name is Aradia. Are you okay?"

  "Do I look okay?"

  "No, but that's why I am asking," Aradia stated matter-of-factly.

  The boy peered at her bemusedly.

  After a brief standoff, he went with, "Well, it’s none of your damn business."

  "What if I paid you a penny for your thoughts?”

  Jayce stared blankly, not seeing where she was going.

  “Would that make it my business?" Aradia expanded on her last question, smiling.

  Jayce sighed and asked, "If I tell you, will you get the hell out of here and leave me alone?"

  "Probably not, but maybe," said Aradia bluntly.

  The boy sighed and said, "I just found out that I sprained my ankle.”

  “Are they sure?” she asked.

  “Look at it,” he replied. She complied. His ankle was already swollen to the size of a small grapefruit.

  “Oh geez,” Aradia said without thinking.

  “Yeah,” Jayce agreed. “It’s definitely sprained, or worse. I’m not walking this
off. There is no way in hell it will heal in time for the homecoming game.”

  “And that’s a big deal,” Aradia said, trying to follow the thought process as closely as she could.

  Jayce scoffed at her. “Yeah, yeah that’s a big deal. It’s going to be the first and most important game of the whole season.”

  Aradia squinted a little. He was holding something back, she could tell. “Why’s it really so important to you?”

  Jayce turned his eyes back to his ankle. “I won’t be able to play for my dad. He works and travels a lot. He can’t make it to most of my games, but he’s going to be there this Friday."

  He began to breathe heavily as soon as his explanation was done. Holding back tears, I bet.

  Aradia considered the situation. Distractedly, she said, "Bummer."

  The boy raised an eyebrow and snapped, "Really? That’s what you have to say? Who the hell even says 'bummer' anymore?"

  Aradia shrugged and said, "But that's what it is, isn't it? Your injury and your entire situation."

  The boy thought about it until finally he sighed, and nodded his head in agreement. With a sorry laugh he said, “Yeah. Bummer.”

  Aradia came to a decision. She knew how her parents felt about her use of her abilities in public, but she couldn’t let Jayce miss out on playing for his dad. Trying not to draw too much attention to it, she positioned herself between Jayce and her backpack. She reached in as if she was rummaging, but she closed her eyes, focused, and hoped nobody noticed the white light as she summoned.

  Turning back to him, she said, "Let me look at your ankle."

  The boy drew back until Aradia explained, “I think I might have something that will help."

  "I can’t use steroids you know," the boy pointed out sarcastically.