Paranormal University- Second Semester

by Jace Mitchell

  Claire felt Marissa grab her hand, but even that didn’t pull her eyes from the second Myther.

  A griffin.

  Marissa had been right. A bird-lion bigger than a man sat on the couch, its beak the size of Claire’s own head. Massive talons resided at the end of the front two legs, while paws were on the back two.

  Jack pointed at the cigar the griffin held in his talons. “I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke in places like this.”

  Like a human would, Claire thought, but still unable to talk. It seemed that no one else in the room could talk besides Jack.

  “This one,” the bird responded, gesturing with its other talon. Claire saw it held some kind of amber drink, like whiskey. “He has a smart mouth, doesn’t he?”

  “That’s the truth.” Frank closed the refrigerator and turned back around. “I told Bosephus to launch him off the balcony. Ye are welcome to do the same.”

  The bird brought the glass to its beak, where it drained some of the liquor into it. As it brought the drink back to the couch, it gave off a loud squawk. “Strong drink, you humans have over here.” It took a drag from the cigar, letting the smoke drift up to the ceiling. “And you two in the back, you’re the one holding weapons, I assume?”

  “We’re with the FBI,” Remington responded.

  Claire could tell by his voice that he saw this scene perfectly; he could now see Mythers.

  The serpent’s tongue slipped from its mouth again, flicking in the air briefly before going back in its oversized head.

  “Sit, sit,” the giant bird instructed. “Bosephus here is big on pomp and circumstance, as well as security. Ralph and I are a bit more trusting.”

  Claire looked at the other two couches opposite the Mythers. No one else around her moved, not even Remington and Lance.

  “You asked for the meeting,” Frank reminded them, gesturing with his beer to the empty couch. “Go on and take it.”

  Claire chuckled to herself, remembering Friday nights back home where she would be dropping chicken into fryers at the fast-food restaurant. Now you’re staring at a bird twice the size of you. Why don’t you try to make fried chicken out of him?

  She looked down at her feet and shook her head. Then she descended the short stairs and walked the short distance to the couch. She turned around. The rest of her team still wasn’t moving. “Hey,” she barked. “Snap out of it.”

  Claire sat down on the couch without looking at them again. She heard them walking toward her, and that was enough. “I’m Claire,” she told their hosts, turning her attention to them. “Sorry for that entrance. We’re just… Well, we’re not used to seeing beings like you.”

  The griffin raised the talon holding the cigar and waved it in the air. “Never mind. When I first saw humans walking around, I felt the same. You all move so slow it’s hard to understand how you get anywhere.”

  The griffin squawked at this, and Claire thought he must be laughing.

  The serpent, for its part, only let its long tongue flick out again.

  The rest of the group sat down on the couches, Marissa and Jack on either side of Claire. The agents sat on the couch next to them, and then Remington found his voice. “How did you two get here?”

  “I’m Griff, and this is Ralph,” the bird said, gesturing with the wing holding the liquor. “You’ll have to forgive him; he’s not much of a conversationalist. Sorta why I like having him around. I’m more of a talker.”

  Another loud squawk erupted from the bird’s beak.

  “Lord,” Jack whispered under his breath. “He’s gonna break my eardrums.”

  The bird seemed to not hear him. “I got here by accident. I’ve got this drinking problem, as Bosephus calls it. I was flying late at night, and the next thing I know, I woke up in an alley here. I honestly can’t tell ya what happened, but I’m not upset about it.” He raised both wings in the air, also gesturing to the room with his talons. “I like my new place.”

  He squawked his screeching laughter again.

  “Now that I’m here, though,” Griff continued, “I’ve taken up my same post as before. Griffins are meant to watch out for those who live beneath us. We’re guardians, and so that’s what I’m trying to do here. It’s why Bosephus and Ralph are both with me. It’s why we helped as we could with the vampires a few months back.”

  “That was you?” Claire asked.

  “Who else do ye think it was?” Frank asked from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, that was me. You all did a good job, too. So when Bosephus came to me saying you needed to talk about what was happening in Miami, I said, why not? You seem like good enough people.” The griffin’s talon shook the glass, ice clinking around in it.

  “Need more, boss?” the centaur called from the kitchen.

  “Sure, thanks,” Griff answered. The centaur’s large hooves plodded over to griffin, then he took the glass and left back to the kitchen.

  This is amazing, Claire thought. He’s got servants working for him, and he appears to be a bigger drunk than Frank.

  The griffin ashed the cigar into a small ashtray on the end table next to him. He looked at Claire. “That’s what you all are here for, right? Miami?”

  “Yeah, we are,” Claire answered as everyone else nodded.

  The centaur filled the glass up with more liquor and then carried it back to the griffin, who took it in his talon as deftly as if it were a hand. The griffin sipped it before looking back at Claire. “Ghosts aren’t something you really see a lot where I’m from. They’re not an everyday occurrence.”

  “Over here,” Marissa responded, “they’re the souls of the dead. What are they in your place?”

  The griffin swirled the liquid in his glass, looking at the amber substance. “The same, I suppose.”

  “But they’re our dead.” Claire leaned forward. “How are they over there, too?”

  Griff looked up, his eyes razor-sharp despite the alcohol he’d been consuming. “Or maybe all of your souls are already flying around where I’m from, waiting for a chance to come over. You humans are an awfully arrogant bunch, thinking that because you believe something over here that it’s automatically populated over there. Who’s to say everything doesn’t already exist elsewhere, and because of this tearing Veil, they’re finally crossing over?”

  Claire looked at Marissa, who only shrugged. She then glanced over to the FBI agents. Remington was still looking at the bird as if Remington might actually lay an egg. Lance looked shocked as well, although his usual countenance was coming back quicker than Remington’s.

  Despite everything they’ve seen, they weren’t prepared for this, Claire thought. We’re pretty much on our own right now.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jack spoke up. “Whether we create you or you create us. Right now, you’re here, and ghosts apparently are coming here, too. That’s what we need to focus on.”

  Claire nodded in agreement. “He’s right. If they’re coming, what do you know about them? How can we stop them?”

  Frank walked to the living room but descended the stairs. He held a can of beer in his hand. “I never saw any ghosts, not in me whole life, and I’ve seen a lot, Griff.”

  The griffin nodded. His talon brought the cigar to his beak, and he took a drag. He pulled it away casually. “I doubt most of our kind did over there. Griffins have a special viewpoint in the world, a special purpose. We’re meant to protect, and that means we have to see what others can’t. Just because you and a lot of others didn’t see ghosts, it doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  Jack grinned slyly. “That’s like a triple-negative.”

  Claire gave him a light elbow but kept her eyes on the griffin. “Look, what we understand is that the ghosts are being brought over most likely by human witches. What we think we have to do is stop the witches, because fighting the ghosts is futile. Does this line up with what you know?”

  The griffin was still for a moment, the squawking laughter from earlier gone. “Witches?” />
  Claire nodded, a slight chill moving across her arms. “You know what witches are, right?”

  The griffin’s eyes darted to the centaur. “Have you heard about witches? Have you heard that’s what is causing the activity in Miami?”

  Claire looked over her shoulder at the huge beast. It wasn’t fear, necessarily, that she saw in his face—but certainly apprehension. Bosephus shook his head. No.

  The griffin’s dark eyes fell back on Claire, although it was Remington who spoke next. “What’s the big deal? Witches…they’re not real.”

  “Not real?” Griff asked.

  “I mean,” Remington continued. “They’re real in the sense that people run around saying they’re witches, but that’s it. There aren’t any spells or voodoo or whatever else is supposed to go along with it. At least not before the Veil started tearing…right?”

  Griff brought the cigar to his beak and took a long pull on it, the ember on the tip turning bright red. He let the smoke out slowly as he studied Remington. “Witches are real, and depending on how powerful they are, they’re more dangerous than vampires or ghosts.”

  “Why?” Claire asked. We don’t have time to argue about whether or not witches exist.

  “They serve something dark, usually,” Bosephus commented from the left. “Vampires serve themselves. Ghosts are mindless creatures for the most part—or single-minded at best. Witches? They’re evil, or at least they can be.”

  “If witches are down there, then our problems are multiplying,” Griff mused. “I’d hoped it was just regular humans, like with the vampires—”

  Remington shook his head. “No. They weren’t regular. One of these was in a coven. She was a witch—Hannah.”

  The serpent’s tongue flicked out again. “No,” it hissed.

  Claire’s eyes widened as she looked at the speaking snake.

  “My friend is right,” Griff responded. “If she had been an actual witch, your troubles would have been tenfold with the vampires. Perhaps she was associated with them, but nothing else.”

  Claire looked over at the FBI agent. “Can we discuss the semantics of witches and their associates later? I’m not sure right now is the best time to do it.” She was trying to be as polite as possible, but Remington was actually trying to argue with a giant griffin about the dangers of witches.

  Remington caught her look and acquiesced. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He looked back at Griff. “So, what do we do?”

  The griffin cupped his drink with a wing, then stood, before going on all fours. He walked across the living room, up the short stairs, and to the floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto the city. His wings were vast, white, and beautiful.

  “I think soon Miami will be overrun. Already you can see that whoever is bringing these ghosts over, they’re losing control. The amount of deaths is increasing.” Griff paused and looked down at his drink, although he didn’t raise it to his beak. “Bosephus, didn’t we just hear about someone else dying last night?”

  “Yes, boss,” the centaur responded.

  “You all need to get down there and find these witches or Miami is going to turn into something akin to what you humans think of as hell.” The griffin turned around, no longer looking drunk or like a fun-loving playboy. He was deadly serious. “I don’t know how many ghosts exist, but there might come a tipping point where there are simply too many for humans to live in that city. When that happens, you will have lost Miami.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The overhead lights were off, and candles burned along the room’s edge. The room itself was adorned with a few windows, although the shades had been drawn. Marilyn and Tina stood in the middle of the room, a book open on the floor before them.

  A large circle drawn with white chalk enveloped the book, and both the witches stood outside of it.

  Marilyn was tired of waiting, and after seeing the Richard fellow, she’d decided she would wait no more. Tina had agreed.

  She only hoped Richard, The Five, and The Following would be ready for what they were doing down here. She hoped that they would take advantage of the chaos, and do as she had told them—create strongholds.

  Marilyn looked at Tina, but the other witch only stared at the open book.

  The Book of Shadows. A book that had been passed down for centuries, and was now in Marilyn’s hands. It was turned to the middle, and across its pages was ancient handwriting written in black ink. Most people wouldn’t be able to understand the lettering. It was written in a language that only the trained eye could read.

  The Book of Shadows was thought to be a myth by many people, and only a few copies had ever been made. To hold one was to hold power.

  Tina said nothing. She knelt.

  Marilyn followed her lead. She went to her knees, making sure she was outside of the white circle. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small knife. She flipped it open. Blood would need to be spilled here; the book called for it.

  The writers of this never knew about the Veil, Marilyn thought. They thought only of this Earth and the possibilities here. What’s beyond the Veil?

  A smile grew across Marilyn’s face.

  The possibilities are endless.

  Marilyn had her own ideas about the Veil and what it meant, with apparitions and ghosts and every other Myther. She didn’t know if the Following agreed with her—or what the hell the group thought was happening.

  Marilyn knew that ghosts lived in this realm, but she also knew what a lot of people thought of as ghosts weren’t actually that. Just silly people believing a shifting house or a falling plate was paranormal activity.

  That belief, though…

  That’s where the real power comes from, she thought as she looked at the open book. Each time some idiot over here thought of a ghost, it somehow turned up on the other side.

  Marilyn took the knife and drew it across her hand. Pain and blood bloomed on her palm. She passed the knife to Tina without looking at her.

  The other witch took it and repeated the action on her own hand.

  The two witches moved their bleeding hands inside the white circle, careful not to scatter any of the chalk. Marilyn lifted her cut hand, turning it so the palm faced down, and let the blood fall to the dusty wooden floor. Tina did the same.

  “And now, Dark One, we ask for you to look upon us with favorable eyes, and to heed our call,” Marilyn whispered, reading the ancient words from the book’s pages.

  The blood splattered to the floor, the pain hardly noticeable now.

  Tina spoke next, although she wasn’t reading from the book. This is where the change came from. It wasn’t from this world they were drawing from, but on the other side of the Veil.

  “We humbly ask that the spirits we call be set before us, and the ones that exist elsewhere exist here. We ask that the Veil be ripped and torn. We ask that the dead be brought forth.”

  The candles flickered across the room as a silent breeze rolled through.

  Marilyn read again. “We spilled blood here, which shows our dedication to you, Dark One, and our dedication to the ones we call forth. Bring them now, and let us breed your chaos.”

  The pages on the book started to flip as the wind picked up speed. Now a low howling like a sad wolf could be heard.

  The shades drawn over the windows started to clack against the glass.

  “How many?” Tina asked, turning her head to Marilyn for the first time.

  Marilyn’s own eyes were wide as the pages flipped before her like some unseen hand was angrily turning them. She’d never seen this before, not in all her years of witchcraft. “Quiet now. Quiet,” she chastised Tina. To speak could invite ruin and undo everything that was happening.

  Both witches watched as the candles flickered and the wind picked up its intense howling.

  Seconds passed, and Marilyn felt the hair on her arms standing on end as if an electrical current flowed through the room.

  The candles across the room all extinguish
ed as one, and the book slammed shut. The wind stopped blowing, and the shades stilled. The room was silent except for the soft pitter-patter of blood hitting the floor.

  Marilyn closed her hand into a fist and brought it to her lap. She turned to look at her partner, barely able to see her in the blackness.

  “How many?” Tina asked.

  Marilyn’s lips slowly formed into a smile. “Not enough.”

  Miami was a wild town that Friday night, although not in the way people usually thought of it. Of course, there were the usual parties and raves. DJs populated the city, and people hung out on the beach all night. Everyone in Miami had heard of the Veil, the tearing, and Mythers—whether or not they believed in any of it.

  The city of Miami was a party town, as well as a vacation spot.

  People expected things to get crazy, although perhaps not like it did that Friday.

  Outside the building Marilyn and Tina occupied, at approximately ten PM, car alarms started ringing in the street. One person had been walking along the sidewalk, and when he was later questioned by police, he swore he saw no one—not even when three car windows shattered at the exact same time.

  “No one was there. No one that I could see, anyway.”

  The police officers wrote it down, although they didn’t believe him. They thought the young man was in on the crime, but they couldn’t pin anything on him.

  The wave of weirdness spread out from Marilyn and Tina’s building.

  Three blocks away, a lady named Fran was watching television, hoping to go to bed soon. She was in her mid-fifties, single, and generally a nag. She had the TV turned to Law and Order. She’d seen almost all the episodes, but she just couldn’t get enough of them. Fran watched it every Friday night.

  She had already seen this episode, and the pull to go to bed was a lot stronger than usual.

  Until the television turned off.