by Namita Singh
questions, “To kill twelve occultists with one sword?”
Neal scowls at the floor, “I couldn’t sustain my astral form when I projected; therefore…I couldn’t bring about any major altercations. But to have the sword with me would be a start; since we are not sure if it’ll be useful in any of your hands.”
“You had enough time to make Josh agree with you to come here, but not enough time to just get rid of the witches?” Father muses, looking at Neal blankly.
Neal gives a dry look, “It doesn’t work that way. I cannot simply will for someone to stop existing or make them die just like that. It’s the situation that I can alter; it’s the decisions of the people involved that I can alter and that is what will ultimately bring effect on the people involved. And like I just said, I couldn’t sustain my astral form long enough to accomplish any of that.”
“You made everyone outside think that you can blow their insides with one thought.” Father points out, his face stoic.
“Because they don’t know how this thing of mine works.” Neal continues in the same dry tone. “It’s better they keep thinking that I am capable of blowing their insides with one thought.” He pauses, “Where is Aakir?”
“You’re not projecting with his help and changing anything.” I monotonously say, my voice quiet.
My quiet tone is enough threatening that Neal actually starts to look weary at my response. “I wasn’t meaning to….” he says, “I was just asking where he is.”
“He is in one of the chambers downstairs.” Father reveals. “Two people, one council member and one guard are a constant with him.” Father heavily sighs, rubbing his forehead, “He has been given permission to sleep only once in three days, that also for only a few hours, and frankly, I am worried about his health. I don’t know what fate he is going to face, but I am counting on you to distract the occultists from him.” He says to Neal.
My jaw automatically clenches at that, but I say nothing.
“…I think I can do that.” Neal quietly replies, looking thoughtful.
Slightly vague conversation flows; incoherent mumbling really, as if none of us know what is appropriate to speak now. Once in a while, father would try to make Neal reveal anything else that he may have conjured. But Neal denies; and though his reply is firm, his slight reluctance convinces me otherwise. I don’t know why he is lying, considering I have caught him once. But this time I don’t interfere, so Neal remains resolute with his response.
The tension is high and despite us projecting calmness, the worrisome thoughts are blatantly residing in everyone’s mind. I don’t say anything and my silence becomes noticeable by the second. Especially when Neal keeps glancing at me, as if checking if I am going to suddenly blow at him and when Father notices that Neal’s not really into whatever conversation they have lifted, he starts giving me the stares too. Mikhail notices the ever-growing tensed atmosphere and gets up from his chair, loudly clearing his throat.
“We should check up on what’s going on downstairs.” He says, looking at father. “And also check on Aakir meanwhile.”
Father simply nods solemnly. He looks at Neal, “I’ll get the scimitar.”
Neal nods to my father, giving me a quick glance. Father catches the exchange and turns to look in my direction as well. He quietly sighs, “What’s done is done.”
“Yes.” Mikhail adds, walking towards the doorwithout glancing at us, “Square things out. We don’t need you two quipping with the Occultists there.”
With that, he efficiently walks out, followed by my silent father. Neal awkwardly shuffles on his feet, glancing at me every so often. I just watch him, expressionlessly, as I know there is a lot to be said between us. Neal becomes fidgety, roving his eyes about the room and then catching my eye. He minutely flinches and averts his eyes to something else again. When the silence becomes so long that even I start feeling awkward with simply looking at him, Neal sighs. He looks back at the shut door of Mikhail’s room and turns back at me.
“I’ll say sorry but that will probably make me a hypocrite-”
“No shit.” I interrupt.
“-but,” Neal continues, unaffected, “you wouldn’t have ever agreed to come back here. It wasn’t righteous of me to change your will, but-”
“It wasn’t righteous of you to develop anything in the future.”
“-but,” Neal stresses again, indicating that I don’t interrupt, “I rather be done with the issue than thrive in anxiety.”
“You’d rather be impetuous than take a sane decision with a rested mind.”
Neal heaves a huge sigh and takes a moment to respond, “I don’t regret my decision to come here and I am not sorry for it. And I really, really do not want to fight over this.” He says with a tone of finality.
We stare at each other for another extended moment. Then I avert my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose as I sense an unwanted headache coming on. When I look back up, Neal is standing in the same position; observing me.
“Is this,” I eye him sternly, “some sort of revenge because of the kiss?”
Neal’s lips part in surprise and it takes a microsecond for his face to express indignant surprise, “What?” he snaps in a much louder voice than we were previously using, “No.” he firmly says.
I wait a moment and then rephrase my question, “Is this because….because I made you drink the repellant against your will?”
This time it probably takes less than a microsecond to wretch a reaction out of Neal. But this time the reaction is far surprising as well. Neal’s face turns bright pink at my question. More astonishing is that the blossoming of his cheeks is accompanied by unexpected bashfulness, as if I have said something to cause great embarrassment to him.
“No.” he says quietly, firmly, his eyes averted. “And…I don’t consider those two things separately.”
Great, now I am blushing. We may have cleared our differences regarding this whole ‘repellant drinking/kissing’ issue, but none of us have bothered to focus entirely on the ‘kiss’ part of that whole issue. Granted, the two things are inseparable as the kiss was used to force the repellant down his throat.But it was a kiss nonetheless, even though the repellant is what the major fight was upon. Neal is right to not separately consider the kiss or give it any weightage; because the result of that kiss has been the main event; the kiss itself held no importance per se.
But in my mind, the two things are as separate as day and night. And both have been equally important.
The realization that I am giving too much thought to the ‘kiss’ part of the whole issue deepens my blush.
Gosh, this whole issue has diverted my mind from the main topic that was on the horizon.
“Sorry.” I mutter, averting my eyes. I don’t know if Neal will even begin to understand what I am apologizing for. It has come to my notice that out of the two of us I tend to make big deal out of smallest of issues which ends up resulting in the awkward air like the one at the present. In my defense, I have been severely brain washed by Evan, who had been insistent in persuading me to just accept my apparent gayness only because I have a guy for a partner.
“I punched you.” Neal blurts, making me look at his pink tinted face. He clears his throat and begins in a much calmer tone, “I punched you for…that. So, I guess, we got even at that point. I didn’t…I am not doing this as some kind of a rebel against you or anything.”
I nod slowly, “Okay…good.” I mumble.
“Good…” Neal echoes, “We are good?” he hesitatingly confirms.
“No.” I say, rolling my eyes and looking somewhere else. The awkward topic of our kiss may have subjugated my intense anger to the point that I may not shout at him right at this moment as I had been planning. But that doesn’t mean that I am going to ignore Neal’s impulsive decisions and his ignorance to have me informed of them.
“So…we’re going to fight?”
Unintentionally, my lips quirk into a half smile at his innocent question. I end up sighin
g, my anger deflated because of other distracting thoughts.
“Neal, I just want to clear out one thing.” I speak up, my voice calm, “And I don’t care how girly that makes me sound, but I seriously don’t appreciate it when you keep things from me.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, I know. I get it.”
I hesitate. “Cool.” I mutter eventually.
For a few seconds, both of us awkwardly look about us with our lips sealed.
“So,” Neal clears his throat, “I had a favor to ask.”
…I really don’t like the tone he has used.
“Yeah?” my tone comes out dry.
“Don’t look weary…I just need you to trust me on this one.”
“…Right.”
Neal gives me a dry look but then reforms his stance and begins anew, “Don’t interfere during the meeting with the occultists.”
“What are you planning?” is my instant my reaction. I have made out that he has not revealed everything about what he has conjured up and I am quite certain that lack of my involvement during the proceedings is one of the requisitions for things to go the way Neal wants them to go.
Neal shrugs, his lying ‘posture’ switched on. Don’t even ask me how I can guess if he is lying or is about to lie.
“What?” I stress when Neal doesn’t reply. My tone reflects my annoyance.
Neal huffs a breath as if he was already expecting my reaction. He looks at me for a while and then quietly utters the word which would soon