Cursed: Scarlet

Once, when I was very young, I loved my father. He was kind, and always brought me presents. He used to put on magic shows, with walking ice men and fire dragons and moving mountains and dust sprites, just for my amusement. My father, in those days, was kind and caring, entranced by his only daughter.

In those days, I looked up to him, and loved him, as any child would. Though, not long afterwards, he proved he was not worth my love. My admiration for him has not been lost, but I cannot love the man who practically signed my death warrant.

It was he who negotiated with Hades to tie me to Tristan. It was he who set up the wedding, though Morgana saw to the details. And it was he who commissioned the palace I was meant to live in with the husband he chose. My father wished to put me in a gilded cage, where I could be safe with someone to control me.

Though her part was no less great than his, Morgana, at least, fought against it. Though she was blind to the events before Tristan’s death, she still advocated for my independence. But it was to no avail. Somehow, he managed to trick me into signing my name to the proposal with my own blood, its silvery sheen binding me to the engagement.

Clearly he had my best interests at heart; he just didn’t pay attention to my actual interests. A few thousand years on, and he is still as stubborn and unaccepting of me as he was when I killed my fiancé. He may be capable of feeling regret, but he definitely cannot feel much else.

And if he kills this boy I really will not forgive him, I think to myself as Marcus slams a rock into Ian. Wincing, I look away, constantly aware of Morgana’s presence. I can feel her laughing behind me, probably because she’s listening in on every thought I have.

Sighing, I wrap my arms around my knees, the constant attacking and defending between my father and boyfriend almost comical. Then again, I’m so tired that falling on my face will send me into a fit of laughter. Rubbing my forehead, I send up impenetrable mental barriers, only stopping when Morgana sighs in frustration.

Only then can I think back to this morning, when Ian and I had fallen into such a comfortable routine together. I’ve never been this relaxed around another person in the entirety of my existence. In a way, it reminds me of the connections vampires and werewolves have to their intended partners. They know exactly where the other is at all times, can feel what the other is feeling and accept their faults so easily it actually makes my heart ache.

A dull thud forces my attention to the duel, but when my gaze falls on Marcus, I can’t help but laugh in relief. Ian has managed to turn his own attack on him, causing him to land on his rear end. If this weren’t so serious an event, I’m sure the other council members would be laughing too.

Morgana shifts behind me, uncomfortable in her stance. She’s also probably worried about Marcus, though her motives are questionable. Not that it’s my problem if my parents suddenly want to be together, my life is already enough of a human television drama as it is. What’s one more scandal compared to all the other problems anyway?

Then again, it is Morgana, and she loves to play happy family more than anything else. I guess it helps her to cope with her life. Not that her actions are anything of my concern. And you can get out of my head now, mother.

Her sigh of frustration makes me smile for about an hour, and then its midday once more. Ian and Marcus are still at it as I realise this must be a normal teenage girl’s nightmare. Her father discovering she has a boyfriend and then attempting to murder him.

If only he’d been as actively protective a few thousand years ago, when I repeatedly warned him about Tristan. But, as was usual back then, he didn’t. He still doesn’t listen to me, even when I have proof. I must be a psychologist’s wet dream with all my issues, I think, gripping my head in my hands as I cross my legs.

By mid-afternoon, my legs are draped over the right arm of my throne, and Ian is using telekinesis to throw things at Marcus, who has a giant ice shield which glitters in the fading rays. Yawning, I turn to Morgana, who has finally given up on me and is sitting on her own seat.

So now I’m flanked by Vladimir and Wilhelm, who are acting like school boys, making jokes and punching each other in the arm. No wonder Svetlana and Amelia avoid them at these gatherings, when they’re together, they are insufferable.

Speaking of insufferable…my gaze falls on Hades, who seems to be acting like the perfect concerned parent as he watches the proceedings. Hecate is wringing her hands, becoming ever more nervous as Marcus pummels her son.

At some point, my attention wanes, and I begin to daydream about bacon fried in vodka and other such delicious things. That is, until I hear a deafening crack and am snapped out of my reverie.

Ian is standing over Marcus, who has been trapped under a boulder. “Do you submit?” he asks, almost sounding bored, even in his triumph. Marcus nods, and Ian lifts the boulder from his chest before offering his hand to help him to his feet.

Jumping up, I turn to leave the amphitheatre, until Marcus calls out to me: “Scarlet, wait a moment?” My back stiffens, and I can feel all of them looking at me. Turning slowly to face my (less than adoring) audience, and I shrug.

“Speak quickly, I have other matters requiring my attention father,” I say, feigning boredom and keeping my face an emotionless mask. Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, he walks over to Ian and shakes his hand.

“Well met, Adrian,” he says, his eyes shifting from me to Ian before he lets go and walks towards me. “I have things to discuss with you,” he says as he grabs my elbow and steers me to the exit. “Let’s go to the villa.”

And all I can think is, his name means ‘the dark one’, how could I not know this? Were they keeping this from me all along? What else are they hiding? What is he hiding? Questions float around my head as Marcus and I walk in silence, his hand finally falling to his side as we reach the stoop of the house with its many French doors.

He leads me to the ‘day parlour’, a ridiculous invention of humans from a few hundred years back that I still fail to understand. Then again, humans in general are impossible to understand, let alone their reasoning. Sighing, I cross my arms and lean against the wall as Marcus pulls on a shirt that has miraculously materialised. The door closes at a flick of his hand, and I hear footsteps from the hallway.

The door opens to reveal Morgana and I groan audibly. “What is this, an intervention?” I ask, glaring at both of them. She flashes a weak smile to me before sitting on a sofa near him. Marcus does not even look at me as he walks to the window, staring out of it as he leans against the wall with one arm raised. “Seriously, what the hell have you two got planned?”

“Should I tell her?” Morgana finally asks, after what feels like years of silence. Rolling my eyes, i watch Marcus turn to her and they share a glance. Yep, they’re definitely up to something, I think as silently as I can before childishly cussing in my mind. They both wince and glare at me before Marcus sits down.

“Scarlet, dear, why don’t you sit down?” Morgana says, gripping his hand for dear life. Sighing, I walk around to the armchair and plonk down, with my legs open to show off my jeans. She sighs, but begins to speak, a furrow in her brow. “There have been a few reports, with disturbing news.”

“What sort of news?” I ask, lacing my fingers together to stop my hands from shaking. She looks at Marcus before speaking again, in an obvious effort to remain composed.

“Tristan has escaped the realms of the dead, but that is not the most disturbing,” she says, her other hand turning white where it rests on the arm of the sofa. “According to Hades, the number of demons leaking through to the human world has risen dramatically. They are bolder, killing humans in broad daylight; it is all we can do to keep the humans from discovering the true causes of the deaths.”

Keeping my face completely emotionless, I turn my gaze toward the window, pretending to be calm while I fight the rising tide of guilt and anger. My dreams, it appears, have all been true, my first victim has returned from the dead to kill his own brother as well as me.

The look of concern on Morgana’s face, though, is what surprises me the most when I focus on her again. Marcus has not moved his head or shown any indication of surprise as she’s spoken, evidently, he is the one who investigated the rumours and killings.

Getting up, I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and adjust my leather jacket. “So this time around, you two decided to believe me. It’s nice to know that you’ve learnt from your past idiocy,” I say, walking to the outer door and resting my hand on the handle.

“There is not a day that goes by that I don’t regret what happened to you,” Marcus says, finally looking up. Slowly, I turn around to face him, overcome with shock. He gets up and reaches for me, but I back away, resting against the cold glass panes. “I regret everything that happened, especially ignoring you when you told us your visions. Scarlet, I know it is too late and I have taken too long in saying this, but right now, I beg of you to find it in your heart to forgive me.”

My body turns numb as cold travels up my spine; the shock of hearing him admit to a mistake is too great. Instead of speaking, I spin around and open the door, running through before he can stop me and flashing into my tower.

Leaning against the desk, I can barely process a thought as the shock; grief and anger wash over me, vying for control of my body. Letting go, I stumble to my drinks cabinet and pull out a hundred year old bottle of whiskey, before collapsing in an armchair.

Not bothering with a glass, I pull out the stopper and take a large gulp. The liquid burns my throat, but I don’t care, taking larger and larger sips. Before long, my head stops spinning and a relaxing numbness takes hold of me.

Sighing, I let my arm rest on the arm of the chair, my grip on the bottle never faltering. I always feared this, his escape. For five hundred years, I looked over my shoulder, expecting him in the shadows. After a while, I grew complacent, trusting in the seven barriers of Hades’ realms.

Eventually I get out of the chair and flash up to the roof of my tower. As I take another swig of the fiery liquid, I stare out over the ocean, reminded of those first days of my engagement, when Tristan was kind and gentle. He was the epitome of a doting fiancé, always bringing me flowers and small tokens or jewels.

Granted, it took all my energy not to throw the things out the window in disgust and keep a straight face, but it’s the thought that counts. In his case, those little thoughts were meant to keep my attention off the cruelty of his actions towards everyone else.

When I caught him beating one of the elf servants, though, my mind became set in regards to him. On the night before our wedding, I overheard him speaking through a chalice of what looked like human blood. Needless to say, I had no idea how to even tell the council, let alone go through with the wedding.

All through the months of our betrothal, I’d had dreams that disturbed me. However, when I told Morgana, she brushed it off as wedding jitters. Everything I told my parents was actually brushed off and forgotten when they decided had ‘jitters’.

***

About a week had passed since I killed Tristan. In this time, people had been acting as if I were made of glass, ready to break at any second. I could not sleep, I could not eat, and my powers were waning considerably. I sat on the roof of the palace for hours on end, staring at the pavilion on the island in the lake.

After three days of just sitting there, though, Declan came to get me. When I didn’t respond to him, he put his left arm around my shoulders and the other under my knees and carried me to my rooms. As he gently lay me down, I snapped out of my reverie and began to fight him, trying to get up.

He and another guard restrained me while Morgana read from a book of spells, forcing me into a deep sleep. For three hundred elven years I was trapped in my own mind, frozen in time in that room until the grief had left me. Until even my rage disappeared.

All the while, Declan guarded me as fiercely as any dragon, refusing entry to everyone. He stayed by my door until the day I opened it myself. He ate meals there, and washed there, sleeping in a pallet my mother had set up. Which probably explains why Serena hates me so much, he loved me more than he can ever admit to.

On the exact day of the spell’s casting, at the exact second I was forced into the realms of sleep, I opened my eyes. I couldn’t remember my name, or where I was, only that I was a prisoner in some wicked queen’s spell. The bed had grown thorny, being an elven bed; it grew while it was used, with millions of roses dotting every open space.

Sitting up, I felt outraged at being in a dress. In most of my dreams, I’d run free in a pair of leggings, through fields and mountains. I’d felt so happy then, that waking up brought tears to my eyes. As I slipped off the bed, I remember feeling light-headed as I gripped the post.

The thorns pricked at the soles of my feet as I walked to the door. It too, was covered in vines, so I burnt them off without thinking about it. Transfixed by them, I opened the door without truly thinking about it, only to be attacked by Declan in the form of a hug.

He didn’t even flinch at the sight of me, so glad was he that I was awake. As he called to the other guards, I leaned against the door, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of memories. When he turned to me once more, I’d collapsed on the floor, holding my head in my hands and crying.

That’s when my mother showed up, and all hell broke loose…

***

When I tired of my memories, I flashed into my bedroom and crawled on top of the covers, still holding the wonderful bottle of wonderful whiskey. At some point I sank into unconsciousness, only to be plagued by nightmares.

The same nightmares Morgana had hoped to save me from have returned. Visions of Tristan, his neck twisted at an angle, my hands covered in blood, or him shoving a sword through my back again and again.

No matter how many times I wake up, when I doze off, the same dreams haunt me. Everything blurs together until all I can see is blood, and flashes of pale skin. Dawn finally breaks, saving me from my own mind. The bottle lies abandoned on the floor beside my bed, where I can see it as I stretch out my arms.

Fighting off the urge to yawn I walk into the bathroom and turn the shower to full blast, heating the water with magic. Eventually, I tired of being half-burnt alive, and freeze the water slightly. As I regain my clarity of thought, I climb out and dress magically, imagining my clothes as I wish them and waiting as they appear.

Much to my detriment, I find an unwelcome guest in my sitting room when I walk down the stairs. Morgana is standing at the large window, dressed in her usual white Grecian gown and flower-ridden hair. Groaning internally, I do my best to feign nonchalance as I walk past her to my kitchen. Directing various appliances from my position against the counter top.

She is still standing there when I walk back; gripping a mug of coffee and a bowl of some sugar cereal I vaguely recall ordering. When I sit at my make-shift dining table, she turns around and floats toward me. That’s another one of her quirks, when she’s feeling overwhelmed, she levitates. Couldn’t expect anything less from the Queen of the Fey, I guess.

When she sits, uninvited, I pretend to be engrossed by the little pieces of supposedly nutritious cereal floating in milk. I can feel her eyes on me as I chew, ever so slowly, taking in the circles under my eyes and the way they droop.

“Telling you was a mistake, it seems,” she says at last, breaking the silence. She plays with a flower from her hair nervously, trying to find the right way to say ‘we thought you’d go off the deep end again, which is why I’m checking up on you.’

“No, I have a right to know that my formerly dead fiancé has returned with a demonic army most likely to end my existence. Oh, and to meet his long-lost half-brother who I happen to care for,” I say, leaning back in the chair and crossing my arms, She sighs, and looks away, but I can hear her thinking, she’s mad again, why must I always infuriate her?

“You infuriate me because you are always hiding behind that mask of dignity and refinement, mother,” I hiss and her head whips around. “You should really put up better mental barriers,” I say, before taking a long sip of coffee. “Then again, I learnt how to wing my way past them a few thousand years ago, so it won’t really help around me.”

The mask cracks long enough for me to see a flicker of regret before she hides again. No wonder Marcus avoids her, for an Elemental, not being surrounded by the other person’s emotions is like being covered in a fluffy blanket of nothingness. The thought comes unbidden, but I hide it from her.

“I didn’t know…” she whispers, and then looks up at me. “When did you realise you could do that?” she asks, taking my hand in her own, which usually gave her a stronger link to someone’s mind, but I block her out, enjoying the shock in her eyes.

“Well, it was around the time I moved out, you remember that, don’t you?” now I’m just openly provoking her, poking the bear with a stick. “The day after I woke up from my enchanted…nap. You have to remember that one, I mean; you basically locked me in a tower for three hundred years.”

She cringes, and lets go of me while I smile venomously at her. “I don’t forget things, mother dear, and neither do you. So let’s cut to the chase, what do you want, other than to examine me for madness?” I glare at her openly, the triumph at one-upping her barely contained. It may be childish of me, but she deserves it.

“We are holding the binding ceremony this evening, at midnight exactly,” she says, barely louder than a whisper. “The council has come to the conclusion that he is too powerful for us to bind, so it will be your responsibility to transfer his magic to the stones.”

A cold sensation creeps over me again, I’d nearly forgotten about that little fact in all the chaos. Nevertheless, knowing that I had to drain him of all people would probably break my heart, if it even survives that long.

Sighing, I get up, and wave the dishes into the kitchen. With another wave of my hand, I pull out three books from my shelves and set them on the table in front of her. The pages turn all at once to the sections I want before I turn them to her.

“You had a scribe document every moment of that day, and he put it in this book,” I point to the one with the dark blue cover. “This book details the exact spell and how to set it up,” I point to the book covered in bottle green swirls, a water-stained tome written by a mage. “And this book contains my memory of the entire ordeal, in detail,” I slam the dark red tome on top of the others forcefully and look at her.

“I made sure that I knew exactly what you all did to me, so that my hatred could be backed up with facts for when you told Ian,” she shrinks in her seat, but I continue. “You could have killed me, all of you, yet you went ahead with it. And then of course, there’s the Sapphira debacle, when my darling half-sister tried to steal my powers. I don’t care that it was a fake gem, but the fact that you all stood by and refused to punish her is what turned me against the lot of you.”

“Now do you understand? You are risking his life to save who? A bunch of mortals who don’t know we exist? Let him be, mother, he deserves this after the life he has had, will have,” shutting the books, I walk away from her and gesture to the stairs. “Feel free to leave.”

Not waiting for her, I motion for a book and sit down, ignoring her completely until she leaves. Only then do I allow myself to think about the consequences of my own binding. The pain was unbearable, and it felt almost unending, I don’t want to put him through it.

Sighing, I turn my attention back to the book, and will time to move slower than usual.

***

“How could you? How could you do this to me?” I screamed at Declan, at my mother, at Cassy. My thoughts were spinning and my emotions were out of control, resulting in my arms being covered in freezing cold blue flames. The tears burnt their way down my face as I raged at the people I once trusted.

All the while, they tried to calm me, trying to bribe me with ale and cider if I would just stop with my outburst. Instead, I set Morgana’s dress on fire and nearly scratched my way through Declan’s cheek muscles as he tried to hold me.

When my emotions finally subsided, I sat numbly while he held me, even with his frostbite –ridden arms and bleeding face. The vacant stare returned to me as I was moved to a different set of rooms. I could barely hear them speak; everything was muffled, except for Declan. It’s difficult for him to be quiet, even under normal circumstances, in a temper; people can hear him all over the realm.

Somehow, my adoptive brother became the anchor I clung to in my darkest hours, his steadfast belief in me the only thing keeping me relatively sane.

***

The hours pass slowly, and I eventually tire of my books. So I get up and decide to go harass a punching bag instead. When I flash into the exercise room, though, someone else seems to have had the same idea. Whoever this is has some serious anger issues, I think as I walk further into it.

Only to sigh in frustration and knock a sword off of the rack. He turns around, his face lighting up momentarily, until he remembers what he did. The smile fades, and I look away awkwardly, crossing my arms self-consciously. He backs away from me and picks up a towel, wiping away the sweat.

“I meant to thank you, for all the help you gave me,” he says, breaking into the awkward silence with a hammer of politeness. I ignore him and pick the sword up, putting it on its place before turning back to him. Even covered in sweat and stars know what else, Ian manages to look exactly the way he did when I met him, young and apathetic.

“I don’t know why I did it, but you can’t undo the past right?” I say, walking over to the other bag while warming up my muscles. I can feel his eyes on me, but I ignore it and start kicking and punching with all the strength I can muster. He turns back to his own as a silence falls.

When the light fades, I collapse on the floor, closely followed by the boy I’ve spent a year of my life protecting. Purposefully looking away from him, I stretch out on the mat, cooling down my muscles and ignoring him all in one easy movement.

He lies beside me, calmly waiting for me to speak, to move, to do anything really. But I don’t, and let him stew away in his own little mind to avoid telling him for a few more minutes, to stop myself from ruining his life any sooner than need be.

He’s taken completely by surprise when I sit up and kiss him, right there, all sweaty and nasty smelling. My right hand rests on his cheek lightly until he encloses it gently with his left. His other hand finds mine and he threads his fingers through.

When I finally pull away, my eyes meet his and I’m suddenly guilty for what I have to do to him tonight. I open my mouth to tell him, but close it again. I’m at a loss for words, and he knows it, but he just sits and waits for me, calmly and expectantly.

“I- um, how can I put this?” I pull away from him, and cross my legs. “The final ceremony is tonight- as you probably already know and I- I- I have to bind your powers. They are forcing me to put you in extreme amounts of pain. Ian, I don’t want to, you have to understand, I really don’t-“

“I know,” he says quietly, interrupting me and throwing me completely off guard. “Hecate told me, she thought I should know, because it won’t matter to the proceedings. She’s making up for lost time, I guess.” He shrugs, and takes my hand again, kissing my knuckles one by one.

“I’d rather you did it, than one of them,” he says, leaning closer to me. “I don’t trust anyone else as much as I do you with my life, Scarlet.” Blankly, I stare at him until he pulls me close again, stopping only when our noses are touching. “I know you suffered at your own binding, I read that book that day you were lecturing Gabriel.”

He read the book, he actually read it. Oh my stars, what must he think of me? No one has read that book but me in the entirety of my existence; i hid it too well between the…Shakespearean books of sonnets. That explains so much.

Holy mother of a duck is the only answer I can come up with. He could have read every single thought I ever had in there, but he miraculously finds that particular section and that particular book. Yep, fate hates me, definitely hates me.

“Scarlet, are you in there?” he asks, waving his free hand in my face. I blink and focus on him again, shocked and a little in awe. I nod once and back away from him a little.

“Y- You actually read it? You went through the details of my worst memories and you didn’t tell me?” he looks ashamed now, and I don’t care. “When did you take it? Because you sure as hell couldn’t have finished it in the three minutes I spoke to Gabriel.”

He looks away, hurt, but I don’t care. “I took it that day, before I left your tower, I put it back that night, though,” he says, still avoiding my glare. “I just- I wanted to know what they would do to me, what to expect. I know you never had that luxury, but you can’t blame me, Scarlet, you were just as scared as I am.”

“I guess I can’t hold it against you forever, but I can sure as hell try,” I say, getting to my feet and walking away from him. He calls my name, but I can’t hear him over the sound of my heart beating its way out of my chest, I can’t even feel myself flashing back into my tower, I just wind up there.

***

I spent a night packing what I wanted into a small bag, mostly my books, focusing on my feelings of betrayal to fuel me through those hours. When light broke over the horizon, I used the vines that were my curtains to sink to the ground, growing them until they were a safe distance from it before dropping down and regressing their growth.

I ran along the streets of the realm, heading for the gate closest to me, trying to put as much distance between myself and her lies. After a while, I can to a standstill beside the oldest of the gates, the one heading to Ireland. Resting for a moment, I’d leaned against a tree, still keeping a look out for any followers.

Silently, I opened the gate with the right words and slipped out, forcing it to close when I got out. I walked briskly to the edge of the clearing until I felt the gate open again. I hid behind the nearest tree, peeking over a branch at the newcomer.

The well-toned muscles and white blond hair managed to turn my blood cold. Declan had followed me from the palace, for reasons I didn’t completely understand or care for. I could hear him walking closer to me, tracking my energy.

Unsheathing my sword, I came out from behind the tree and pointed it at him. “What are you doing here?” I asked the tip of the sword next to the base of his throat. He sighs and tries to knock it away; but my strength hadn’t faded, making us an even match.

At least I kept something; I remember thinking, if not my dignity. Unfortunately for me, Declan did not even know how to fight fair, let alone hold back. So I wound up on my ass, completely frustrated and crying silently while he apologised profusely.

Eventually, we got up and I wiped away my tears. The rest, as humans say, was history. We spent decades travelling around the human kingdoms, learning about their history and generally acting like the love-struck teenagers we were.

As time passed, we grew more irritable in each other’s company, and eventually separated about around the time that Pharaoh was stirring up trouble in what is now Egypt. So Declan went back to Etherea, and I headed to the deserts of the middle continent.

***

As the dusk fades and the night begins its reign, I begin to dress, mechanically reaching for one of my many pairs of black jeans, and a black shirt with a pair of boots I bought at the turn of the twentieth century. Sighing, I tie my hair back at the nape of my neck, anticipating the night ahead.

When I’ve brushed my hair for the thirtieth time, I get up slowly and pull on a leather jacket covered in silver zips. Taking one last look at myself in the floor length mirror, I flash out of my tower and onto the small lawn near the villa.

Pacing back and forth nervously, I wait for the other council members to come out. After an hour, my mother appears, dressed in a shimmering gown-like garment and her customary diadem for important events. She almost runs towards me, frowning.

“Scarlet! We’ve received news, about him,” she gasps as she reaches me. “The demonic energy has reached the town about a league from here. We’re strengthening the shields around the school right now, and Ian has been moved to the villa for Hecate’s peace of mind.”

I just stare at her, numb once again. “H- how is this possible?” I stutter the words out, gripping a nearby statue for support. Tristan is coming…he’s going to kill me…he’s going to kill Ian…I have to hold him off somehow. Plans start forming in my head, the ceremony left at the wayside. “What can I do to help?” I ask, looking up at her suddenly.

“Y- You can raise the shields here, as you are familiar with them,” she says, taken aback at the forcefulness of my tone. “Scarlet-“ she calls, I’ve already started on my way to the crystal in the middle of the property, the fuel for the shields, but stop at the sound of her voice. “Be careful, please, just be careful…”

I nod once and turn back to my intended destination, the wind rippling through my hair as I run as fast as I can to the crystal. Reaching it, I call up my energy, and begin chanting a protection spell I learnt from a few monks during one of my ‘rehabilitation’ stints in an Asian monastery.

With that done, I flash into the villa’s dining room, the most obvious choice for a command centre. Mostly because the table is inlaid with a magical map that changes with the human world. It also has a handy feature that allows you to zoom in on specific areas and watch them in real time, sort of like those digital maps humans have, but better.

Marcus and the others are standing around it, staring at the ever-nearing demonic army. Clearing my throat loudly, I walk over to them and snap “What are you lot waiting for, the army are nearly on the front porch!”

In a creepy, almost choreographed motion, they all turn to me. Their faces vary from worried to completely devoid of emotion, causing me to panic. “What in the name of all that is unholy is going on? You five are the most powerful magic wielders in the known dimension; surely you would have a plan by now.”

“It’s Adrian…he’s gone missing,” Hecate finally mumbles, wringing her hands and glowing faintly. Numbly, I stare at them, processing the latest bad news in as many hours of a horrible day. This isn’t even near over yet…