The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

either. To end the finale, Jennifer has been non hesitant in expressing that even the Occultist believes the vaticinator to have only a female partner. How can the council even expect us to discuss the issue with an already pre-decided Occultist?

  But more than anything else, I wish I have the soothing aura of my partner around right this moment. I haven’t realized just how much habitual I have made myself of Neal’s aura. It is practically impossible to imagine more than a few hours without the pleasant calming effect. The thought of not able to sense his aura is actually making me more and more anxious. Above everything, I yearn to hear a sarcastic remark from somewhere, in a self-assured, overtly confident voice of my partner with the same somehow popping out and saying that it’s all a bad joke.

  Through my glumness and inability to respond to my mother, I notice that my family has gathered inside Mikhail’s room. I do not know how come I am sitting on the couch where I am, but somehow I am sitting here, looking at blurry faces of my family members, whose voices are too far away for me to grasp. I clutch my skull, feeling the sudden need to bang my head against a wall, just so I can concentrate on what the others are saying. Does Neal’s aura help me with concentration too? That’s unlikely. But considering how helpless I am feeling, I will probably believe every negative thing happening to be due to Neal’s absence.

  “But calling the witch seems to be the only option!” Is the first thing I hear my concentration snaps back into place. It’s Aakir who is speaking, looking almost bewildered with the development of events.

  “That can be arranged.” Mikhail says, for the first time sounding solemn. “But you all need to leave this Realm first. I’ll see what to do about Neal. Don’t worry about it. You all need to leave.”

  “I am not leaving without him.” I realize it’s I who speaks.

  Everybody turns towards me, eyeing me like they are noticing me for the first time and are actually looking sheepish as if they do not want me to eavesdrop. Makes me wonder how long exactly I have been zoning out.

  “I was not asking.” Mikhail says.

  I eye him up for a moment, the room eerily silent. I lick my lips, frowning, “And I wasn’t asking for permission either.” I say slowly.

  “Josh.” Father, who has been standing next to the window, gazing outside in deep thought, says in a stern voice at my retaliation. He doesn’t turn around to look at me. He simply says my name firmly, hinting that I shouldn’t be using an uppity tone. But I am not using an uppity tone. I am simply stating a fact. And why should I anyways take orders from a man whom I have never known before this day?

  “…Grandfather,” I say, the word absolutely foreign on my tongue, “wants us to leave this place. Why? Because of that psychopath? That’s understandable and I am not against the judgment. I am just stating that my partner is of higher priority than a man who is having a field day by teleporting and wasting our time.”

  “You wouldn’t call that a field day when he has your neck snapped backwards. And believe me, the moment he has you cornered, he will not hesitate.” Mikhail says to me.

  “What did you do to him?” I ask.

  Mikhail, who is almost as stoic as father, maybe even more, looks completely taken aback by my question. He is surprised because I have asked such a question or because I have taken such an odd timing, I do not know. If it’s the former, he shouldn’t look so surprised. I may be tensed and more than half of my mind may be devoted to my partner, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the psychopath man is driven by vengeance. Moreover, Pleve has indicated more than once that Mikhail’s plight is due to his own hands.

  “Josh.” Father speaks. He has turned around, but his glance is not harsh. Even his tone holds softness, as if he is warning that I am stepping into a sensitive zone.

  “It’s alright.” Mikhail interrupts his son. He looks at me, unwaveringly watching me. “Around forty years back, more or less, I had made a wrong decision regarding a treacherous event in which Jermaine was involved. I used to be the sole leader during those times; the council system not yet developed. The accusation and the presence of proof got Jermaine convicted by me. Jermaine is made to live as the undead under the Occultist’s wing. He blames me for his horrid, undead life and most of all, for the loss of his hierarchy.”

  I hesitate. I look at my father, who is watching me while he stands next to the window. Terry uncle and my mother are seated next to me and I notice that my mother is running her hand through my hair. Rufina aunt is standing at a little distance away from Mikhail, with Aakir by her side. The elders look almost dejected at listening to the story. Aakir is however looking up in rapt attention, hearing the event for the first time, just like me. I look at my father.

  “That’s why you left? Because Jermaine wants to take his revenge on us?” I ask him.

  “Yes.” Father answers, “It took two attacks, but eventually it drove me out of the Realm. Escaping the risk of encounters became essential once I discovered my partner.” He nods at mother.

  “You could have told me.” I mumble, averting my eyes towards the floor.

  “It was not my story to tell.” Father says. “Besides I would have liked if you just believed your father and grandfather to be heroes. Of course, the added obliviousness, to not know anything bad, would have been a nice bonus too.”

  I sigh, “It’s time you oldies realize that being oblivious doesn’t keep us youngsters happy.” Seriously, do none of them realize that we may just handle the situation better if we actually know the whole situation?

  “We are quite prideful too, son.” Father says.

  I hesitate again, “I don’t see anything that hits your pride.” I tell him honestly.

  “He is talking of me.” Mikhail says impassively.

  “No.” Father speaks instantly, “I talk of both of us.”

  “You did what you had to do to keep our legacy going on.”

  “But I still left you behind.”

  “I wouldn’t have joined you even if you would have dragged me. And I wouldn’t have let you stay even if you begged. Stop demeaning yourself.” Mikhail orders.

  “How can I?” Father questions, “My absence has made idiotic people like Pleve have a mouth the size of Texas.”

  I feel mildly surprised to see a hint of irritation on my father’s usually stoic face.

  Mikhail sighs, “I do not care what people, who do not know the whole story, say. And I thought you’re better than someone who is interested in the gossips of the world.”

  My father subtly rolls his eyes at the jibe, taking me by surprise. He is oddly reacting like how I react during our subtle arguments.

  “So,” I interrupt their banter, “Your decision to convict Jermaine was wrong?” I ask Mikhail. Making wrong judgment can hit the most hard on people who rely confidently on their intuitions. And Mikhail is one person who doesn’t seem the type to consider the opinion of others while making a decision.

  “Yes.” He replies, admitting his wrongdoing without shame.

  I scratch the side of my temple as a moment of silence falls, “I’d love to know what conspired, but my mind is occupied with Neal at the present. What are we doing now?” I ask, dismissing the topic.

  “You’re doing nothing. All of you gather everyone and leave, at once.”

  “I said I am not leaving.” I repeat.

  “Josh,” Mikhail says, looking at me with tired eyes, “I will take care of Neal’s situation. Now that you know about Jermaine, you should make your family your priority.”

  “The family can leave. I am not going anywhere.”

  Mikhail raises and drops his hand in exasperation. He turns away, running a hand down his face, mumbling something about ‘teenagers’.

  “Supposedly,” my father begins, “We do not leave. What is our course of action in regard to Neal?” He asks Mikhail.

  Mikhail heaves a sigh and turns towards his son, “I intend to summon the witch, obviously.” He mutters. “And for that none of
you should be here, because Jermaine is inevitably going to turn up.”

  “Summon the witch?” I ask rhetorically, “That’s your master plan?”

  “Josh.” Father says sternly, making me shut up momentarily.

  “Do you have anything up your sleeve?” Mikhail challenges.

  I stutter for a moment, “Calling the witch is not going to solve the problem. Not if whatever I have heard of the witch is true. She will not even listen to us. Besides, you heard Jennifer. Even the witch is convinced that Neal cannot have a male partner. Why would she even listen to us? She won’t even count it as a case. Why would she give up on the fortune teller-”

  “That is the only way to access Neal.” Mikhail emphasizes. “It is not the best option, but we cannot exactly start looking for Neal at the corner benches of the parks. We do not have another option.”

  I hesitate, “Where is Neal?”

  “You mean where the Occultist stays?”

  “Yes.” I meekly nod.

  Mikhail huffs, “Nobody knows where the Occultist remains. Why do you think the witches are summoned? They cannot exactly be approached by knocking on their front door.”

  A heavy silence endows after that. If possible, I feel myself sink even lower. The constant hand movements of my mother slowly start to escape my notice, but I harness my attention, refusing to zone out and wallow in my depressed thoughts again.

  “If we know where the Occultist lives…then?” father raises the question.

  Mikhail eyes