by W. J. May
She turned on the lights and made her way to the kitchen. The maroon walls could camouflage the redness of her cheeks. She almost forgot where the bandages were. Her thoughts were an array of metaphors and lines that tore and strained to rhyme.
A wind rustled her hair, and when she looked to the side something peculiar stood at the doorstep.
What the—? Atlanta froze, staring at the dark silhouette. His broad shoulders were filling the entrance. The door was open but he was standing behind it, almost in politeness, hesitant to enter. His cloak in rhythm with the night’s winds and his shadow stretching far behind him, he lifted his head and a part of his dark brown hair flickered from under his hood. His eyes were immersed in the shadows.
Who… Her thought never finished as something banged against the window, and she turned to see what was there.
A black bird, probably a raven, fluttered just outside, its eyes glowing red. It cawed and then flapped its wings before flying away.
The figure at the door remained.
Ice-cold fear race through her, and almost instinctively she reached for her weapon. Her hand closed on air. They’re freakin’ downstairs, she cursed, suddenly feeling very naked without her usual array of protective gear.
The silhouette shook, and she braced herself for an attack.
But it didn’t come.
Atlanta stood completely still. She shook her head and then she crouched, ready to protect herself, then blinked in surprise.
The figure was gone.
The door stood open and she hurried towards it, searching for the shadow everywhere, her eyes scanning the darkness around the house. When she found nothing, she shut the door and stood with her back against it.
What was that? She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, threatening to jump out at any moment. She tried to control her breathing, and after a few minutes finally found the strength to push away from the door and move back to the kitchen. Her mind was playing tricks on her.
She rubbed her hands, trying to warm them. The chill that raced through her, though, never left.
Chapter 11
The night passed as the voices in Atlanta’s head settled like dust falling from the wind. The figure that she thought she’d seen by the door slowly withdrew to the recesses of her mind and settled on being a figment of her imagination.
Yet the raven flickered at the forefront. She was too scared to say that she’d seen it out loud, though. She’d scoffed at Ryan when he’d mentioned it.
She double-checked that the door was locked and headed downstairs to Ryan. They talked for hours as the hands of time slowly made moved forward. She told him the grim details of what had happened at the Dome. How his subconscious beast took over, his red eyes glaring at her, and how he was a moment away from attacking her. Ryan’s body twitched as denial surged through him. He argued it hadn’t happened—it couldn’t have happened. And yet the bruises and chains on his body proved otherwise. They couldn’t understand how he could have been compelled, but as they continued to discuss it seemed more likely that it wasn’t a vampire who’d done the compelling.
But what?
None of it made sense.
Wolves couldn’t be compelled. Right?
Their ideas and assumptions began to dissolve when James came back later that night, his features twisted, oozing weariness and a certain air of anxious frustration. He sat down on the beige couch in the basement and sighed.
Atlanta watched her uncle carefully, fighting the urge to burst out and demand answers. “Uncle James?”
James gazed up at her with tired eyes, the look there a mix of sympathy and fatherly protection. It was clear that he was wrestling with something. Her uncle had spent her entire life protecting her, arming her with what she needed to survive in the shadows of Calen’s underworld, but always careful to keep her out of harm’s way. It was written all over his face, the conflict between giving her what she needed and trying to shield her from it at the same time.
Not anymore, Atlanta thought, and she held his gaze. He needed to understand that she wouldn’t let up. It was time she knew it all.
James coughed, ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. “It was a little over a century ago,” James started, looking at both his listeners. “Calen was mostly ruled by the vampires at the time, Marcus their leader. The werewolves were in shackles and locked away. It was unheard of, nature usually finding a balance so that neither of the two could truly hold power over the other. But the Vamps found a way to upset that balance. They discovered a way to enhance their powers, a way to give them the jump they needed to get rid of the werewolves.”
“How did they do that?” Ryan demanded.
James gazed at him for a moment, and Atlanta could see the sadness in her uncle’s eyes. “Drinking witch’s blood,” he finally replied.
Atlanta met her uncle’s gaze. Witches?
“The witches in Calen were mediocre in strength. They never sought any power. They existed among the people, hidden, and their sorcery went mostly unnoticed for years. The vampires’ lust for power drove the witches out to the forests around Calen, and it was there that they dwindled in number; yet their power increased. Adelaide was the mother witch, the enchantress, the most powerful of all witches. She’d been alive for centuries. Her ability to change her form made her invisible to the predators, and her great powers were obscured. In her possession for centuries was what the witches called ‘The Charm to Oblivion,’ a book that had the spells and runes written by witches from ancient times, passed down to the mother witch every millennium. Its sacredness bestowed upon her the ability to stay alive until time moved from one millennium to the other. She couldn’t be killed.” James’s voice settled down as he took a moment to sigh. His eyed rolled over to the top right corner of the room as he began contemplating the remainder of the story.
“What happened?” Atlanta whispered, needing to know yet terrified to hear the rest.
James fixed his sight on Atlanta and began again. “Your great-grandfather, my grandfather,” he told her, “was leading the forces of the Druids into Calen. They came in knowing that the greatest surge of supernatural existed in this city. Also, Colin’s grandfather was an old friend of your great-grandfather, and he sent for help from the Druids. The Druids came to Calen with only one goal: the freedom of the werewolves. By then the vampires were weaker than before. It seemed…peculiar. Marcus had disappeared, and without their leader they were scattered.”
“Serves ‘em right,” Ryan muttered, and clamped his mouth shut when Atlanta shot him a warning look.
“Some still fought,” James continued, “but were mostly overpowered by the combined Druid and Werewolf forces. The Druids were experienced in slaying vampires. They knew their weaknesses, and their blades ran through them as one Druid would take on three vampires at a time. They knew nothing of what was hiding in the forests. They couldn’t possibly foresee the malice that the enchantress Adelaide had prepared. The fires in Calen towered high above the clouds when the green mist came. It fell from the forests and engulfed the city. The common people stayed in their homes, locked themselves in their basements, and dwelled in fear of the carnage that was eating the streets.” He sighed, as if looking back at the carnage through his own eyes. “No one expected what happened next. How could they? Everyone knew who their enemy was, whether vampire, Werewolf, or Druid. But when the mist came, something dark broke free.” James stopped, his head sinking.
He looks tired, Atlanta thought to herself, and a part of her wanted to tell him to stop; that it was okay. He didn’t need to continue. The recollection seemed to be taking a peculiar toll on him. Still, she needed to know. If we’re going to face whatever’s out there, he needs to tell me everything. “What happened?”
“The land where the Dome now exists had been a palace with towering, ten-yard walls surrounding it. Some of the Druids and Werewolves had been cornered by the Vamps in the palace. Then the strangest thing happened. Throug
h the ancient windows of the palace, those inside witnessed black, tar-like liquid falling from the skies. It fell upon the vampires around the walls, dissipating them completely. Their ashes remained on the bricks of the walls and their fangs became nothing but dust in the wind.” James sucked in a sharp breath. “When they all looked up, they saw the source of the liquid. Bat-like wings, eyes narrow at the corners, stretched to the bottom of their faces, sharp teeth that pushed their lips back into a menacing grin.”
“What where they?” Ryan asked when James paused.
“They were the gargoyles, the same ones that are now statues around the Dome. They rained attacks over the Dome until the Vamps were all destroyed. Many of the werewolves fled with the Druids on their backs, yet a lot of them were engulfed in the flames of the gargoyles’ burning breath. That was the moment when everyone knew that there was a new enemy, an adversary nobody was prepared to face.”
Atlanta glanced at Ryan and flinched at the expression on his face. His eyes were aflame with rage, as if he were living the story her uncle was telling. She could see his muscles ripple with the desire to lash out. She reached out and touched his hand, and when he looked at her his tension eased.
“What about Marcus?” Ryan asked, after giving Atlanta a slight smile. “Where was he in all this?”
James leaned back and cleared his throat. “Some of the vampire elders roamed the city looking for him. It was strange that their leader would desert them in a time like this, and nobody understood what was happening. They finally found him the forests, frozen. His fangs protruding, his eyes open, and his mouth silently roaring with wrath. He was taken back to Calen, and the moment he exited the borders of the forests he was able to move again.”
Atlanta stared at her uncle, unable to wrap her head around what had happened. Gargoyles? Frozen Vamps? Who could do this? Witches? They were nearly powerless, weren’t they?
“Marcus was told of what had happened to the city, the werewolves being set free and the war that set Calen aflame. He gathered all the vampires and prepared to take the city back, yet before he could he was faced with a threat that he could not have expected, even darker than the gargoyles…” James paused and rubbed his temples with his hands. He slowly looked up. “What Marcus didn’t know was that Adelaide had used his blood to create a hybrid more powerful than any being warring in the streets of Calen. It had the form and body of a vampire, coupled with magical powers that gave it an advantage over both vampire and Werewolf. She made more than one. They could compel anyone, even a vampire if needed. So, in a matter of seconds, the remaining vampires turned against each other.”
Ryan snorted, but James cut him off before he could speak.
“The same happened in the ranks of the Werewolves and, suddenly, the line between friend and foe had disappeared. Werewolves were slaughtering Druids, and turning against each other. It—”
“I was told a different story,” Ryan cut in. “I was told that the night the Druids came to Calen was a time of alliance and peace.”
James nodded. “It was a night of alliance, but not peace. The battle with the Vamps soon ceased. Marcus reappeared at the court where the Druids and the heads of the packs were trying to uncover what was happening. His race was less than half its size, and their power undermined by the hybrids. It was at that moment that the warring races grouped to fight the one force none of them could face on their own.”
“Why?” Atlanta whispered. “Why would Adelaide do this?”
Her uncle continued, as if he hadn’t heard her speak. “The next day, a young witch came to the Druids and offered her help to get rid of the hybrids. She’d escaped Adelaide’s claws a long time before and had been in hiding. The Druids escorted her to the palace, where she began working on an enchantment that would lock the hybrids away forever. With the help of Marcus the hybrids were drawn into the palace, where they were outnumbered by the Druids. The battle that followed was one of the worst in Druid history, easily overshadowing the previous days of fighting in Calen. The witch was able to trap the hybrids behind a magical door, the same one we saw back at the Dome.” James sighed, looking at both Atlanta and Ryan as their mouths hung open in overwhelming shock. “Peace was established between the families, and the Druids became the protectors of Calen. The door was hidden behind the walls of the palace, and soon the palace was made into the Dome.”
Atlanta stared at the bookshelf beside the couch where James was sitting. Her eyes gazed at a maroon- colored book on the shelf, and her mind slowly took in the details of the story. She exchanged looks with Ryan, swallowing the tale, their minds racing at the thought of the hybrids.
But it made sense.
If Louis wasn’t murdered by a Werewolf, it was only a hybrid who could have been powerful enough to take him down. It also explained Ryan’s attack, and what happened at the football field earlier.
Still, the mere thought of it made her shudder.
Hybrids compelled him, she thought to herself as she fixed her gaze on Ryan’s eyes. She suddenly remembered something her uncle had told her back at the Dome. “Wasn’t the door closed when you checked?”
“It was, as it has always been,” he said, nodding. “Nothing could have escaped.”
“But if it wasn’t a hybrid that compelled Ryan, then how do we explain all this? Could there be other hybrids?” she asked as she frantically waved her hands around.
“What about Adelaide?” Ryan interfered. “You didn’t mention what happened to her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” James replied, pushing himself off the couch and walking towards the them. “No one’s heard from Adelaide after what happened to the hybrids. She most likely left Calen, disappeared to some other city, and continued with her wickedness elsewhere. However, until a while after the Insurgence there was still a readiness for the attack of another hybrid. The witch who helped the Druids told them that Adelaide had one hybrid with her wherever she went, a guard of sorts. And after the hybrids were locked up and she disappeared, all feared that she would return with her hybrid to try to disturb the peace again. But years have gone by without anything happening. Everyone’s forgotten about Adelaide and the havoc she wreaked.”
Atlanta swallowed. She knew deep in her gut that what her ancestors had feared at that time was probably what they were facing now. Adelaide’s hybrid, or hybrids, was probably the one who’d killed Louis and the one who’d compelled Ryan to attack them at the Dome. She was about to voice her concerns, when her uncle’s eyes widened.
He stared at a distant point, his mouth opening and closing, and then he slowly turned to her. “The people in the field earlier that day, they weren’t after Ryan,” James said. “Ryan was compelled for the same reason they were. They aren’t trying to randomly disturb the peace. They’re actually after…”
“The witch who helped the Druids,” Atlanta interrupted, suddenly feeling the familiar chill race through her. “Who was she and where did she go?”
James acted like he hadn’t heard her. He turned around and looked to the other side, and for a moment it seemed like he wasn’t in the same room as them.
“Uncle James!” Atlanta snapped, her voice growing louder and more shaken.
He replied almost dismissively, with a voice so low it was as if he was giving the question no importance. Yet the answer he gave sent a surge of overwhelming shock down Atlanta’s bones. “The witch is Beatrice,” James replied.
“Who’s Beatrice?”
“Your grandmother.”
Chapter 12
What?! My grandmother?
The words hit Atlanta like a spell that froze her blood. She’d never seen her grandmother before, yet James had told her stories about her. When Atlanta was young, flailing and falling onto the floor of the training area in the basement, her uncle would pick her up and tell her a story about the one Druid who drove all evil from the city. Yet, as Atlanta grew up, she’d started to think that the stories about Beatrice were a myth created by Jame
s for the sole purpose of inspiring her to get up on her feet, and to encourage her to keep training.
Beatrice would also be James’ mother, she thought to herself as she stared at the ceiling.
She suddenly remembered all those instances where things out of the ordinary had happened around her uncle. When she was younger she climbed up a tree outside the house, chasing a squirrel that had been eying her all day through the window. She remembered when she flicked the branch of the tree, her foot had slipped and she fell. She remembered closing her eyes, waiting for the sound of bones cracking, her head curled up in her arms. But nothing happened. Her feet had never touched the ground. She had hovered above the ground for at least five seconds, and in her head those five seconds were like an eternity.
It wasn’t an illusion, she thought to herself now.
If James’ mother was a witch, then her uncle must possess some sort of power.
How had she not realized it before?
It made perfect sense; he saved her from the fall that day. The image grew more and more vivid in her mind as she went through the events at the Dome. She recalled how James was on the floor, unconscious behind her, then suddenly being propelled like a missile towards Marcus and Ryan. She remembered the green glow that surrounded her, and how the next thing she could remember was being in the basement of her house.
“He used magic to transport us,” she muttered to herself as she rolled off the bed, her mind in another world completely.
“Well, I wouldn’t say magic.”
Atlanta yelped and turned around, her heart skipping a beat.
James was standing at the door of her room, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. It seemed like he had been standing there for a while, and she had been none the wiser.
“It was more of a reaction, an instinct to protect,” James continued.
“What else are you keeping from me?” Atlanta asked, too tired to be angry, yet frustrated enough to skip pleasantries.