by Kimbra Swain
I knew that I was going to die. They were going to kill me. I saw Father Francis nod to one of them behind me. I tried to brace myself for it, and the flashing orbs above my hands grew brighter. Someone grabbed the back of my dress and ripped the fabric exposing my right shoulder, then a white-hot pain shot through my body. The pain threw my fear into over drive. I could smell flesh burning. And I screamed and magic surged through my body evaporating the bonds, and I leapt up out of the chair toward Father Francis and the whole world went black.
I woke to the smell of rain dripping down on my face. I jostled back and forth with movement like being in a carriage. I heard a kind strong, voice say, “Steady girl. You are safe now. Just rest.” I couldn’t open my eyes, but I did feel safe. I felt a warm hand on my arm. My shoulder felt like it was on fire. I drifted off back to sleep listening to the shuffling of the vehicle, and the pattern of the rain.
Slowly I opened my eyes and looked around the simple room. I laid in a soft bed covered by several blankets. I still wore my black dress, but someone had put socks on my feet. Next to me in a wooden chair sat a dark-skinned man with long black hair pulled back and braided. He slept. Or at least I thought he was until he said, “Go back to sleep girl. All is well now.” I reached to my shoulder, and felt a bandage there. The man reached over, pulled my arm back and his kind, dark eyes met mine. “Don’t go messing with that now. You’ll get it to bleeding again. It needs a little time to heal.”
“Where am I?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. You are safe. You rest.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“A friend,” he replied.
“Well, I figured that much,” I said.
He lifted his dark eyebrows and chuckled at me. “I am Lincoln. I am a friend of your grandfather’s. He will be here soon.”
“I don’t have a grandfather,” I said.
“Yes, girl, you do. Now rest,” he said. I shifted to my side to take pressure off my right shoulder and drifted off to sleep. Perhaps due to the trauma of the exorcism, my mind didn’t register what he had said. I didn’t dream. I just slept.
The moonlight accented the patio, but when she turned to me her face was dark. She put her hand on my chest and lightly pushed me away. I had invaded her personal space I guessed. Seeing that brand on the back of her shoulder, just threw me for a loop. Abigail Davenport was a rich, talented, beautiful wizard. She lived under her grandfather’s care. She had been for years. How did she get the same exorcism brand that I had? I saw her eyes cut to the doorway. She didn’t want to talk about it. I understood that completely. I didn’t want to talk about mine. I did not press the issue. I raised my hands in a surrender before me. She grimaced and simply said, “Goodnight, Tadeas.”
She bolted for the door, and I heard her footsteps across the hardwood floor to the tiled area in the hallway. I did not follow her. I just sat back down on the bench. I stared at the moon, but it gave me no answers. I made up my mind while in “my room” that I couldn’t work with her. It would seem that trust would be an issue, but it really wasn’t when I really thought about it. Her manner and presence demanded a length of trust. The fact that she knew everything about me down to the shaving cream I liked was downright creepy. But that wasn’t it either. I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but something just didn’t seem right. Maybe if I took a little more time, away from this place to think about it I would come to a different conclusion.
I stood up, and realized it was well past midnight. I decided to stay in my room for the night, and leave early in the morning. Perhaps before she ever woke up. I could sneak out. Tell George to tell her thank you for everything. This place was special. I could feel it. Peaceful and calming. I needed more of that in my life. Perhaps I could come and stay occasionally. Take Claude out and keep him exercised. I should really get out of the compound more, but she would always be here.
I opened the door to my room, and the moon illuminated it enough for me not to turn the lights on. I took off the pants and shirt. I folded them and put them on the chair for in the morning. One of these drawers had jogging pants in them. I pulled out a black pair with a white stripe down the side and a white t-shirt, put them on and climbed into the bed. Even the bed was creepy. It honestly felt like the same mattress I had back at the compound. I could see myself in my paranoia tearing the sheets off the bed just to see if the tag matched the one from back home. Home. Never once in my life had I called somewhere home. This could be home for me she said. A part of my life that was always missing. Someone who depended upon me. We could work together and keep the world safe.
As I drifted off to sleep, I remembered the golden glow around her green eyes as she calmed the jaguar inside me. It frightened me that she had that kind of power over me. Maybe that was it, she could control me. I wanted no part of that. Learning to control the jaguar would be fine, but her controlling me. No, thank you.
A scream tore through the silence, and I bolted up in bed. Then another blood curdling in panic. I threw off the covers and ran to the door. When I walked out into the hallway, I heard it a third time. It was Abigail. I started to rush to the door, but a voice spoke from behind me.
“You best leave that be, Master Duarte,” George said. He looked haggard. He sat in a large chair next to a table. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands as she screamed again.
I wanted to tear through the doors, and kill whatever was in there hurting her. “Someone is in there. She’s in pain. We have to help, George.”
“No, son. She’s dreaming. It will stop in a minute.”
I started walking toward the double doors anyway. She whimpered inside the room. I felt that rush of sound hit me as my jaguar sense kicked in. Her heart pounded. She took heavy breaths. She shifted back and forth in the bed. I looked back at George and pleaded with him, “Please George, let me help her.”
“Sir, if you open that door, the wards on it will blow you to bits. The dream will pass, and she will rest again soon,” his voice sounded pained. He clearly cared deeply for her.
I shifted back and forth on my feet. I could hear her heart slowing to normal, and after a few minutes she was resting again. I walked back to George and sat in the chair next to him. “What is it?” I asked.
“A dream. A nightmare. A memory.” he said.
“How often does it happen?” I asked.
He looked at me with a steady gaze. He wanted to tell me something, but he hesitated.
“Please, George. That sounded awful. She seems fine now, but something awful happened to her.” I pleaded with him.
“Did you tell her, no?” he asked changing the subject.
“I did, but I’m still not sure,” I said.
“You answered her, but you admit that you aren’t sure?” he raised his eyebrows at me.
“I need to think on it more,” I said.
“Then that is what you should have told her,” he said and stood. He looked down to me. “I know that it is a big decision, and it isn’t one to be made in one day even though the both of you seem to want to make it quick and be done. The decision is far bigger than either of you could possibly understand at this point. I’ve said too much. Goodnight, Master Duarte.” He turned and walked away.
George, the retired angel had spoken. I looked back at the doors and this time I called my senses to me. She continued to rest, heartbeat and breath steady. I should have waited, and told her I needed more time. When I told her no, I saw her face, and I felt like a huge idiot. But I couldn’t tell her yes, either. I should have just asked for more time. I thought about George’s words, and how he changed the subject on me. Maybe he hadn’t changed the subject at all. Somehow because I had declined the offer, it triggered the nightmare. “Madre de Dios, los siento Abby.” I crossed myself and pulled out the gold crucifix on a chain that I still wore from my teen years in the church and kissed it. The necklace reminded of where I came from and that even a good man can do harm to another like Father Sergi
o did to me. Like they did to Abigail, too. When they tried to exorcise her demon, it traumatized her bad enough that she still had nightmares.
I went back in my room and lay in the bed staring at the high ceiling. I couldn’t sleep solidly after that, but I tried to calm my mind and rest. Eventually, I got up as dawn began to touch the sky with her rosy fingers. I went into the closet where there were more shoes than any man on the face of this earth owns and picked out a pair of running shoes. They were better than any pair I had, and comfortable. I put them on, and quietly went into the hallway. As I passed the sitting room, I looked in to see George sweeping the floor.
“George, which way is the boat house? Abby said it was about a mile and a half to it. I want to go for a jog before I leave,” I asked him.
“If you go out this way on to the patio just go the complete opposite direction from where the two of you rode horses yesterday. It’s closer to 2 miles to the dock. Just be aware that the protective wards end at the island’s edge. If you go on the dock, it is unprotected,” he said.
“Should I be worried?” I asked.
“No sir, I just felt like it was valuable information to have,” he replied, “Would you like breakfast when you return?”
“No, George. I’m gonna run, get back and get out of your hair. I have overstayed my welcome, I think.”
“That’s not possible, Master Duarte. But as you wish. Have a good run,” he said returning to his sweeping.
I went out the double doors to the patio. The fountain splashed water lively, and the sun just started to peek above the horizon. I turned opposite of the arched corridor from yesterday and took off in a sprint through a green field with a small well-worn path. After a moment, the path turned into a cobblestone road large enough for a vehicle. I turned and followed it toward the rising sun. After about 7 minutes, the sun was up, and I could see the boathouse and dock not far away. I didn’t see a boat, but after the way Abby explained it, there wouldn’t be a boat today. It was Sunday, and the workers were probably getting ready to attend various worship services or mass. Perhaps preparing a meal for the whole family around lunch time. I knew the things that families did, and for a short time I had a family. A traditional one. From infancy until six years old, I lived with the Garcia family in Antigua, Guatemala. They were devout Catholics, and we attended mass every Sunday. As an infant, I was christened by Father Sergio. My parents loved me. They were unable to have children. We did not have much. I could use the cliché about how we had plenty of love, and it would seem trite. However, it was the truth. Just after my sixth birthday, they took me to the church on a Monday. I asked why we were there. My father shushed me, and my mother cried. Father Sergio came out to meet us in the entry to the large Cathedral.
“Well, hello Tadeas. It is good to see you, son,” he said, “Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Garcia.”
My parents greeted him, and my mother bent down and hugged me. “Tadeas, my beautiful boy, I love you,” she said through tears.
“I love you, mama. Why are you crying?” I asked. My father put his arm around her as she stood up.
“You be a good boy, Tadeas,” my father said.
I started to cry. I didn’t know what was happening. Father Sergio put his arm on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I promise to take very good care of him.” I looked up to him with tears in my eyes. My parents turned and left me there.
I screamed, “Mama!” I could hear her crying outside the door, but Father Sergio held my shoulder tight.
“Come with me, Tadeas. You are going to be staying with me for a while now. I’ll show you to your new room,” he spoke kindly.
“I don’t want a new room. I want my momma!” I cried straining against him and reached for the door.
“Son, please come sit here with me for a minute,” he gently guided me to one of the wooden pews and sat me down. “Your mother and father love you very much, but your heavenly Father needs you to stay here and help me for a bit. Do you think you can help me? I am going to teach you about God. One day you can be a priest like me.”
I cried. I just wanted my mother.
After a few years, when I was old enough to understand, he told me that my parents were struggling to get by. They were afraid I would starve if I stayed with them. They brought me back to the church. Father Sergio kept his promise. We had school every day, and I learned to read. I learned about science and art. All from the Catholic Church's perspective, but it was a good education. At some point in my teen years I had learned that the Garcia’s moved closer to the coast in hopes of finding more work. They both died in 1902 when an earthquake struck the country, and many people were left homeless and died.
As I reached the dock, I stood at the island’s edge and took in the sea. Some of us from the compound took a vacation to the beach in south Texas a couple of years ago. The water of the Mediterranean seemed much bluer than the Gulf of Mexico. Light waves splashed along the dock and seawall. A small boat house sat on the shore. The house weathered by the wind and sea looked sturdy. I closed my eyes and listened to the ocean. Then I noticed it, a thrum of power just ahead of me. I could feel the ward protecting the island. It was strong. I wondered what it was like to step through it. George had mentioned its presence, and that I had nothing to worry about. I stepped out onto the dock and the smell of salt air assaulted my nose. The ward not only protected the island, but kept the smell of salt water out. How cool. I stepped back onto the island to feel the change again. I laughed and stepped back on the dock. It was a good thing no one was around or they would have reported me as a lunatic. Or been horrified by my lack of dance skills. The pier was quite large, so the boat must be huge. I could just imagine Abigail having some expensive yacht that ferried vineyard workers back and forth to the mainland. I’m not sure how long I stood there enjoying the sun and the water. What I really wanted to do was take a swim. Maybe next time. If there was a next time. I looked down at my watch. I had been gone longer than I intended. It was almost 7 am here.
“Wait a minute,” I said out loud to no one in particular. When we left Colorado yesterday at lunch time, we arrived here off the coast of France… at lunch time. The portal must be more than just a locational portal. It must have a temporal shift on it as well. Manipulating time lined up close to the top of the TCAs restrictions of magic. No wonder no one could come through the portal except whomever Abigail allowed to go through. I had a few questions about that portal. I had a lot more questions about everything.
I didn’t know how long Abigail would sleep, but I wanted to get back and leave before she was up. I couldn’t do that though. It would be rude. At the very least I should thank her for her hospitality. The rules of hospitality required me to do it. I was going to be a sweaty mess by the time I got back. And damn, I need a haircut.
I started running back to the main house, and planned what I would say to her before I left. Maybe ask to have more time to think it all over. I didn’t want her to get her hopes up, but George was right. Go figure. I should have asked for more time. Maybe a little space too. I pushed her to come to class with me tomorrow, so much for space, eh? As I approached the house I saw no evidence of anyone moving around. I entered through the patio doors and smelled bacon. I loved bacon. I decided quick shower, bacon and goodbye. I could do this.
After a luxurious shower, in probably the biggest monstrosity of a shower that I’ve ever seen, I felt clean and relaxed. I admit that I turned every knob and pushed every button in that shower. It had 5 shower heads. Definitely, a man shower. I toweled off and looked for the clothes I left in the chair. They were gone along with the sweaty ones I just took off. Dammit George. I went into the closet. It’s not like I lacked clothes here. I picked out a really cool looking pair of jeans and a black tee shirt. I started to put on my old combat boots then noticed the brand-new Belleville tactical boots on the shelf. I put them on without ever thinking twice. I looked at my old boots, and said, “Sorry boys there are some new kids in town.” I smiled at
myself, and headed toward the smell of bacon. I walked into the dining room, and there was only one plate. A mound of scrambled eggs sat beside 4 or 5 pieces of perfectly cooked bacon along with toast and a cup of coffee. George watched me from the other end of the room. I looked up at him, “Abby doesn’t drink coffee.”
“No sir, she doesn’t,” he smiled and walked out of the room. I devoured it all. George refilled my coffee and brought a second helping of bacon.
“Thanks, George,” I said.
“You are most welcome, sir,” he replied with a slight bow. “Will you be leaving this morning?”
“Yes sir. I was going to wait for Abby to get up and say good bye, but if she is sleeping in, she deserves it,” I said smiling at him. But then I realized that look, “Out with it, George.”
“She is down stairs, sir.”
“What’s down stairs? I didn’t get the full tour of the house yesterday.” He hesitated to tell me. I couldn’t blame him. I haven’t been a very good guest. I did try to kill her yesterday, “Never mind George. I get it. She doesn’t want to see me.”
“I don’t think she knows you are still here,” he said.
“Oh? How’s that possible?”
“You were outside the wards when she looked for you this morning. She didn’t sense you here, and she went downstairs. I thought you were going to leave anyway without saying goodbye. I didn’t tell her otherwise.”
“George, you lying to her?” I asked astonished.
“Hmph. I do not lie. I am bound to non-interference,” he grunted. “She has an office downstairs and a vault. She’s in the office. I’ll show you the way if you’d like.”
“Um, I dunno. I don’t want to interrupt her.”
“Master Duarte, I would never let you interrupt her unless I thought she needed to be interrupted,” he stately flatly and started walking to the sitting room. I took the cloth napkin, wiped my face and hands quickly, and followed him. He passed down the hallway to the staircase that led up to the bedrooms, but instead of going up, he went around to the side. He put his hand on the wall and a door formed. A warded door. He reached down and opened the door. There was a staircase going down. It made a 90-degree turn. I couldn’t see the bottom. He waved toward the steps. “She’s down there. Good luck,” he smirked and walked away.