The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

29.Back in Time

  There are a lot of things I dislike in life. And I do not just mean the massive, significant things like the Occultists. I mean the trivial things. Like how I absolutely despise dirty surroundings. I can’t sleep until the sheets are squeaky clean. In fact, I can’t sleep till I am squeaky clean. Other things to make to that list would be bullies, like Viktor and his minions. A word out of their mouth is enough to make my skin crawl. Similarly, I hate it when I am kept from certain things, like a whiny kid who is pissed on not being in on the secret. I dislike unwanted attention, fake facades and lady gaga. Hell, I hate the taste of anything not cooked by my mother. I dislike humid weather. I dislike not being exceptionally good at sparring. I dislike romantic movies and clingy people. And I dislike disappointing my father.

  I can think hundreds of more things to add to that list. As I will grow up, that list is only going to lengthen. I will begin to dislike my tight college schedule and the hefty hangovers. I will start disliking staying away from my family. I’ll start hating my job; my boss even more. I’ll start hating that I cannot afford the car that I so love, and hate it even more if I can afford it because I like to run. Even more, I’ll hate when I’ll continue to hide my therian nature from the human friends I’ll make. The list will go on and on. Maybe I’ll even start detesting things that are tolerable to me now.

  There is only and only one thing that I am absolutely sure I’ll never feel animosity towards.

  “That’s creepy.” I hear Neal’s voice from somewhere above me.

  I sleepily grunt, snuggling to the touch of Neal. From what I can feel, he is sitting right next to me as I snuggle even closer to his side. There is fabric of his clothes between our skin but that doesn’t stop his aura from overwhelming my senses. I can feel waves of his aura surpassing the fabric, humming into my senses through his side that my face is snuggled into, his thigh where my chest brushes it and his legs that I have taken the liberty to tangle mine with.

  Slowly coming out of oblivion I realize that Neal is referring to me snuggling him as creepy. I pull my head back, opening and squinting my eyes against the light in the room. I have to tilt my head to look at Neal’s face as he is sitting. He has ignored me after his comment. He is calmly sitting, very calmly considering a guy is literally hauling him in sleep. He has a book in hand that he seems to be reading. From my side I can see a bust at the corner of his lips that is visible to me and also the spectacles that are resting on his nose.

  “Why are you wearing glasses?” I say, my voice hoarse from sleep.

  Neal raises his eyebrows as he looks at me as if he wasn’t expecting me to wake up. He looks down at me, tilting his face sideways and takes in my sleepy and curiosity filled face. He forcefully sighs.

  “Well,” he says, adjusting the book in his lap, “I thought its time I put a cherry on top of my nerd status.”

  I roll my eyes. I let my head slump back against Neal’s side. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t even detangle his legs from mine. I quietly sigh, waiting for myself to fully waken up. I revel in his aura till then, side by side wondering about his busted lip.

  Busted lip.

  It takes me all of three seconds to get up into a sitting position, which is quite long considering my therian reflexes. When I look at the reason for my slowness; directly at my right arm which is in a firm cast, all the events come rushing back to me. I turn to look at Neal who is now watching me with his eyebrows raised above the thick frame of his glasses.

  I instantly frown when I notice his eyes.

  “Your eyes are rimmed red.” I blurt.

  “Yeah, well.” That’s all he says.

  I observe his eyes. Apart from being red rimmed, there is a noticeable swelling to them too. The angry veins stand out around his brown eyes as if he hasn’t slept a wink in days. The sharp reddish-pink glow to his conjunctiva suggests that he should be resting his eyes rather than reading.

  “What happened?” I ask. I take a moment to look around and notice we are in our allotted room inside the mansion. The light is turned on in the room and judging from the view of the window, its evening right now. “What day it is?”

  Neal sighs, closing his book. “It’s just the next day.” He calmly informs me.

  Just the next day. Just the next day of an occultist-free world. We actually did it. Or Neal did it, whatever. For that split second moment out there on the field, I was certain we’re doomed.

  “I can’t believe it.” I express my awe and as much as I am disappointed to be rid of Neal’s touch, I feel obliged to climb out of bed. I detangle my legs from his and pull the sheets back. Climbing out of bed, instantly I stretch my muscles while I sense a lingering dull ache. Nothing too significant.

  “What happened to your eyes?” I ask after a while, still comprehending that we are over this. Done.

  Neal shrugs, cautiously watching me, “I was too near them. And I felt obliged to watch them detonating with my eyes wide open.”

  “Is that permanent?” I ask for his glasses, now concerned.

  Neal shrugs again, “I don’t think so…” he says, unsure.

  “What do you mean ‘I don’t think so’?

  “It means I don’t think so. My vision is not altered. I just feel strain.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t read.”

  “Maybe you should fuck off.”

  I roll my eyes, but a smile lingers on my face. It feels so liberating to quip without the burden of occultists on our head. I walk to stand by the nearby showcase, just to get the blood flowing in my legs. I turn to rest my hip against it and catch Neal watching me. I raise my eyebrow in question.

  “You seem very calm.” He comments.

  “Should there be a reason for me to be tensed?”

  Neal heavily breathes out at that, tossing the book aside and crossing his arms across his chest, “The First and Ninth realm members wanted to convict.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “I told them I’ll will them to combust just like their witches.”

  I laugh, but sober up quickly.

  “You know…” I begin, “You could have told us what you had planned.”

  Neal makes an extra show of distressingly sighing, “I knew you’ll pick it up to yap at me.”

  I stare at him, hardly amused.

  “Well,” Neal says when I don’t even blink an eye, “I don’t consider Ethan dumb. I was just being precautious in case he had a spiritual therian tailing us.” He offers.

  His explanation seems valid so I cut him some slack. “Okay…so where is Ethan? And the rest of those snobs?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Upstairs? I thought the first realm people would be gone with their tails between their legs.”

  “Yeah, they would be. It has just been a little…busy since yesterday. A lot of people got injured. The elders from both the realms have been attending to people. They did suggest incriminating us, or me, for the event, but as I said it took a little threat here, a little glare there and we’re cool.”

  “Eh, sounds good enough. When are we going back?”

  Neal smirks, “Take a breather. You just got up. You have a fractured arm and your dad and granddad are busy verbally fending off the idiots. Go take a bath or something. I’m going to text Aakir that you’re up.” He adds, bending over to pick up his cell phone from the tabouret.

  “Where is Aakir?” I ask, moving to pick out my clothes. Now that he mentions, I feel an overwhelming urge to take a bath.

  “In his room. Talking to Silvia half the time. He is being annoying.” Neal mutters, busy on the phone. Unlike his words, his tone actually expresses playfulness.

  This is good, I ponder while walking up to the adjoining bathroom. My sarcastic partner in his full form jabbing at my overzealous brother for his obsession with his partner, while my father fends off the annoying adults. This is familiar and normal and everything opposite of what I dislike.

  Pausing at the door of the bathroo
m I turn around to find Neal’s nose buried back in his book. He has propped up his knees, the book resting against his thighs and the sheets bunching at his feet. He is wearing one of his loose t-shirts and equally baggy sweatpants. There are faint scratch marks here and there on his arm. And of course there’s the busted lip (I’ll take care to enquire about that one) and his stinging eyes. Despite it all, Neal seems to be practically glowing as if a huge burden has been lifted off his shoulder, which probably has. He is relaxed, back in his own skin. And it doesn’t pass by my notice that it’s just not Neal who is breathing freely now. We all are, thanks to him.

  “Neal?” I call out to him, standing at the doorway.

  He doesn’t lift his head but merely moves his eyes up so they meet mine from above his spectacles. The movement is oddly geeky and it makes me chuckle internally.

  “Thanks.” I tell him in the utmost serious tone that I can muster.

  His eyebrows fly high, a movement very familiar to me. It is usually associated with his amusement, but this time he looks serious and surprisingly bashful as he lowers his eyes to his book and mutters a faint, “Yeah…okay.”

  I smile, always amused when Neal exhibits shyness. I leave him be and depart for a shower.

  Later, Aakir and I are climbing the stairs, both jesting like there is no tomorrow. The joy of surviving a dooming fate. I wish to speak to father, to enquire about our departure. My arm may be in a cast, but I feel absolutely healthy and as far as I can tell nobody seems to be seriously injured enough to