by Kimbra Swain
“I’m fine. I still have a lot going through my mind about all of it. I wish I had written my questions down, but I was too tired after going out, then dealing with Meredith. As for her, I haven’t spoken with her this morning, but as of last night, she was not happy at all. I’m not sure why she has such hatred for you, and nothing I could say made it better.”
Her brow furrowed and she tensed up quite a bit. “Is there anything I can do to make it better? She really hates me?”
“I can’t think of anything. She’s been super emotional lately, and we aren’t dating. We are just friends. There is only so much I can do to assure her that you aren’t corrupting me or putting a spell on me.” I kept repeating myself on the dating thing, not that it mattered to Abigail. Probably only mattered to me.
“I can. I can swear to her that I’m not doing those things. I can swear on my power to make it binding.” This was a generous offer. If a wielder swore by her power it became an oath to keep her word. It meant that if Abigail’s motivations ever changed, and she did decide to influence me down a dark path that she would lose some of her power.
“No, that isn’t necessary. I think given a couple of days she will calm down, and maybe I can get to the bottom of why she’s upset.” This seemed to satisfy her, but I could tell it bothered her that Meredith didn’t like her. But she seemed to understand it better from Meredith’s perspective than I did.
“Okay. Perhaps if we start out talking about the training changes we need to make, then we can progress to the job offer,” she said, easing the conversation to a more comfortable topic for both of us.
We spent close to two hours talking about different scenarios and curriculums to start challenging our recruits more and teaching them to work together more, rather than to fight on their own. We both agreed that they needed to be able to hold their own in a fight, but learning to fight together was more beneficial. Finally, I felt like what I was doing at The Agency was less saving the world, and more like saving lives. And Abigail had opened those possibilities for me and for every student that would pass through these walls. I had the smallest bit of hope again.
The priest stood over me chanting in Latin. I didn’t know what I had done, but it was bad. They had me tied to a chair. I felt confused and scared. I was crying. They had repeatedly splashed me with holy water. They had my mouth covered. I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just my pants.
There were several priests in the room and a large fireplace blazing with flame. I couldn’t see the door, because it was behind me. I tried to scream, but only muffles came out. I struggled against the bonds, but the priest continued to chant the prayer of exorcism. I tried the best way I knew how to explain that I was just me, and not some demon.
They spent hours questioning me after one of the priest reported to the archbishop that my eyes had shifted colors. I’d seen my eyes do it before. It was just a trick of light. I was me.
I knew what the priests were doing. I’d seen them do it to others. They were trying to exorcise a demon. But I wasn’t possessed. They wouldn’t believe me. I struggled and screamed. The priest would switch out when one got tired. And eventually I gave up as well.
I was very tired. So very tired. I passed out in the chair.
I awoke and the room was quiet. Father Sergio stood before me with his prayer book. He had always been the kindest to me. He taught me to read. He taught me the Bible. He taught me everything I knew. His eyes were shadowed by pain and regret.
“Tadeas, son, can you hear me? “Yes, Father,” I replied weakly. I was starving. I was thirsty. I wasn’t sure how long I had been in the chair. Hours? Days?
“Son, please tell me what happened. Did you invite this creature into you? Did you accidently summon this demon to you? If you did, it’s okay. I just need to you explain it to me. We can get it out of you.”
“Father,” I cried, “there is no demon.”
“There is no need to lie, my son. I love you like my own. I want to help. Whatever it was you can tell me. I won’t love you any less,” he pleaded with me.
“No sir. I didn’t do anything. There is nothing inside of me,” I said.
He squatted down before me, “Tadeas, I see the creature in your eyes. I’ve seen it before in young men. There is a beast inside you. An unholy beast.”
I shook my head and tears ran down my face. “No, sir, there isn’t. I swear on the bible.”
He slapped me across the face. “You do not use God’s word to swear upon, Tadeas. You know better, my son.”
My cheek tingled from the palm of his hand, and I felt the heat of anger rush to my face. I felt myself strain against the bonds on the chair. I wanted to surge out of them, but something held me in place. I looked up to see my mentor holding his prayer book between us, and I saw his lips moving. I couldn’t hear him, but he too had started the chant. My blood pounded through my head, and all I could hear was its heavy cadence. I could smell his sweat. I could hear his heart racing. I could smell the embers in the fire behind me. A whole world of smell and sound rushed in on me.
I glanced down at my arms, and my hands seemed to fade in and out like a flickering candle. A wind shifted through the windowless room. I heard rushing footsteps behind me, and more murmured prayers. I heard several of those behind me say, “El Aborrecimiento.” I felt a white-hot burning sensation and the smell of burning flesh on my right shoulder.
My body surged again against the restraints. I screamed, but no sound came out of my mouth, only a deep frightening roar. And my mentor’s eyes shot open, he fell to his knees, but never stopped his chant. The world around me began to darken. Father Sergio looked like a ghost to me with a thin white light silhouetting him. Faint lights shown behind me casting shadows across the priest. And behind him a dark figure stood in a black cloak. I could not see his face for he tilted it down, and all I could make out was shadow. I tried to warn the Father, but his eyes were locked on mine. I could not produce any sound other than whines and growls. Tears streamed down his face. His voice crescendoing steadily and forcefully. He held a golden crucifix on a chain up to me. I wanted to grasp it. Hold it. I had faith. They had taught me. I felt God had a purpose for me. But then the figure approached him and lifted his hands. I couldn’t breathe because every muscle in my body constricted, I dug my nails into the arms of the wooden chair. Long boney fingers protruded out of the demon’s black cloak and his eyes burned like tiny fires. He said a singular word, “hodéezyéél” and I blacked out again.
I awoke in my own bed in the monastery. Father Sergio slept in a chair next to me. My head pounded, and I had a terrible burning sensation on the back of my right shoulder. They had branded me during the exorcism. I knew I’d have a cross shaped scar on my shoulder. I’d seen them do it before to other wayward-possessed people. I tried to rise up out of the bed, but I had no strength.
Father Sergio woke up and put a firm hand on my chest, “No son, rest. It’s over now. I will get you some food and water.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he replied, “but the demon is gone.” He got up and headed toward the door.
“I saw him,” I said.
He stopped and turned back to me, “Who did you see?”
“I saw the demon behind you. Right after they branded me.”
I saw grief in his eyes, “I’m sorry that had to be done, but you are a son of the most-high God. We marked you for Him. Right after that the demon left you.”
“That’s just it, he wasn’t in me. He stood behind you. I thought he was going to kill you.”
“No son, that was you. Had you broken your bonds, you would have more than likely killed me. I’m sorry this happened to you. We need to find out how the demon got in you in the first place. You’ve always been a good boy. We will have to pray, and hope that He gives us the answers we seek. I want you to wear my crucifix for protection.” He laid the golden necklace in my hand.
Father Sergio’s complete belief in His G
od had always strengthened me. I had seen the other priests and very few of them truly lived the lives that you would expect them to live. But Father Sergio did. In this case, in my gut I knew he was wrong. That thing wasn’t in me. The fight inside of me wanted to kill it. Whatever it was. I wanted it dead. I would find it, and I would kill it before it hurt my mentor or anyone else.
“Hungry?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Look, you don’t have to go to my house. But I swear to you all rights of hospitality. You will not be harmed in any way. In fact, I think you will like the place. I’d really like to show it to you. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a guest,” I hoped to lay it on thick and convince him, “If not we can take a ride back up to Boulder and find something. But seriously, I’m done with cafeteria food.”
He laughed, “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
“I’d never get used to it. I’m a stuck up rich girl.”
He shot a look at me as if he was astonished I’d admit to such a thing. Well, at least I knew somewhere inside of him, he thought that of me. I had no time to let it bother me. We had more important things going on in the world for him to get hung up on my money. “I’m joking,” I added.
“Hmph,” he grunted. “Where’s the portal?”
I pointed to the closet. I got up and walked that direction. He remained seated. “Oh, good grief, decide what you are going to do,” I had hoped that came out playful and not tedious. He got up and walked over to the door. Before he could touch the door knob I grabbed his hand. “Wait. I have to program it to accept you.”
“What?”
“Yeah, the zap it would have given you isn’t much harder than static electricity. It’s just a warning, but it wouldn’t be survivable if you tried to go through the portal without my permission.”
“A taser door knob,” he stated, “How nice.”
“I’m going to cast a spell on the knob, it will glow for a moment then you can put your hand on it. It will code your DNA to the knob allowing you to use the portal as you wish.”
“I’m going to put my hand on your glowing knob,” he said in the most serious tone. I had to look up to him to see if he was joking, and saw his eye glint with a smile.
“Men,” I muttered and rolled my eyes. I took a breath and muttered the word, “Clavem.” The knob began to glow and he timidly reached for it. “Oh, don’t be a baby,” I said. He wrapped his hand around it, and it pulsed for a moment then winked out.
“Why would you give me access to your home?” he asked “Who else can use this door?”
“Second answer first, you and I. And first answer last, because I hope that once you decide to work with me, you will consider it home, too.” That sounded like a proposal the way it came out, “I mean, um, well, uh, never mind.” I put my hand on top of his and turned the knob and stepped through the glittering portal to my home. I had embarrassed myself trying to be cute. He stepped through the portal in a full roar of laughter which died off the moment he took a look around. I composed myself and said in a formal tone, “Welcome to Casa del Sol, my home. You are always welcome here anytime you wish. Any needs that may arise will be afforded to you. Please consider my home, your home as well, by my power I swear it. May your troubles be less, and your happiness be more each time you pass through this door.”
“That is the strangest offer of hospitality I’ve ever heard. Worst marriage proposal as well,” and he erupted in laughter again.
“Laugh it up,” I said and started walking down the hall toward the formally-dressed older gentleman waiting for us. He kept laughing but followed me down the hall. George raised his eyebrows at me in question. I just shook my head, and he smiled and turned to Tadeas, “Master Duarte, welcome to Casa del Sol. I am George, the Watcher, of this estate. I am at your service.” George bowed to him formally. This caused Tadeas to cut back his laughter.
“Thank you, Mr. George,” he looked over to me and started to giggle again.
“Just don’t even look at me,” I said. By this point, seeing him genuinely laugh, even at my expense made me happy. I had never seen him laugh like that before. I just prefer to share the laughter not be the subject of it.
“Miss Davenport, lunch is laid out in the dining room,” George said, and turned to lead us there. I turned to follow him and felt Tadeas get close behind me. He lightly touched my arm.
I turned to look at him and while he was still trying to hold back a laugh, he offered an apology, “Sorry. It just struck me as funny.”
I bit the edge of my lip, a bad habit when I’m nervous. “It’s okay. I’m sure it sounded weird to you. It's a traditional Irish blessing,” I turned away from him to continue to follow George, “You have a nice laugh. You should use it more often.”
He quickened his steps to walk next to me. As we walked I cut my eyes to him, I watched him as he admired the classic Spanish decor and features. The chateau looked Spanish on the outside too, even if we were technically part of France.
“Where are we exactly?” he asked.
“On an island in the Mediterranean. It’s completely warded. You can’t see it from the sea, and ship captains avoid the area out of instinct, the wards we constructed around the place are only for keeping supernatural beings and monsters out. The portal and a ferry are the only ways to reach the island. The workers who tend the vineyard take the ferry back to Italy each night.”
“Vineyard?” he asked.
“Yea, I’ll give you the grand tour after lunch. But you saw the picture of it on my laptop,” I saw the realization hit him, that the elaborate house picture on my laptop was my actual home. We turned into a large gathering room with windowed doors that opened up to an outdoor tiled patio with inviting seats and a view of the courtyard and fountain. Across the courtyard were the stables and just beyond that you could see the vineyard. He walked toward it and stood staring out the one opened door. Sheer curtains flowed inward as a breeze caught them and blew a fresh breeze through the room. He stood frozen taking it all in. I walked up beside him, “Everything okay?”
He snapped out of his stare, and said, “Um, yeah. It’s nice.”
Nice is something I guess. He must not be impressed. “Come. Let’s eat, and I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“Yeah, sure,” he shrugged it off. I paced away toward the adjoining dining room. I had instructed George to make sure the dishes were light, but I could tell that he went all out. I reached the table and two settings were laid out. They weren't big dinner settings with all the various silverware, but it was close enough. Both plates were covered with cloche, and the table had several different offerings besides whatever was under the plates. Tadeas walked up to the head of the table and pulled out the chair. He motioned for me to sit.
“No that’s fine, you can sit there,” I said.
“This is your home, and I’m just a guest. Please sit.” I did and he took the place to my right. I lifted the cloche to find pan-seared scallops and a light lemony angel hair pasta. There was a basket of warm breadsticks, and small salads.
“Do you eat seafood?” I asked. I had come across far too many people who just didn’t have the taste for it.
“Yes, this looks great,” he replied. I couldn’t tell if he was being polite. I looked across the room as George entered holding a pitcher of lemonade. He poured each of us a glass.
“Master Duarte, is the meal to your liking?” George asked. Tadeas only nodded because he had a mouth full of pasta. “Very good. Miss Davenport, is there anything else I can do for you at the moment?”
“No, George, thank you.” George exited the room. I hadn’t taken a bite yet. I tried to gauge Tadeas’ opinion of the meal. I didn’t know his tastes very well. It’s hard to observe what people eat sometimes. Especially when 90% of their meals are what they are served from a cafeteria.
“Why does he call me that?”
“Call you what? Master?” I asked. He nodded and continued to eat. I guess h
e enjoyed the meal. “Well, he’s technically employed by me, but I couldn’t fire him even if I wanted to. He’s been here longer than me. He prides himself on the service of those who enter this home. He watches and knows things. And for whatever reason, which he hasn’t explained to me, he has called you Master Duarte since the first time I told him about you. If I had to guess, he considers you already a part of this household and holds you not in the esteem as a guest, but as the master of the house.”
“When you say Watcher, you mean with a capital W, right?”
“Yes, he is a Watcher. He does not interfere or meddle in affairs, but will offer advice and from a being who has been around longer than my grandfather, I can guarantee it is the best advice you’ll ever get,” I said, “He is very important to me, and I am blessed to have him in this house.”
“How do you get your own Watcher?”
“I’m not sure. He came with the house. It belonged to my grandfather. He gave it to me after…” I trailed off. We were about to enter territory I wasn’t comfortable talking about. He looked up from his food. When his eyes met mine, he looked concerned. “I needed somewhere safe to be, and this was the place. He never lived here. He just owned it. I love the place. It’s peaceful.”
“Somewhere safe,” he repeated my words, “Why did one of the most powerful wizards on the earth need a safe haven? Or is that something you aren’t ready to talk about?”
“I haven’t always been what I am today. We all grow and learn throughout our lives. And the safe part isn’t something I’m ready to discuss.” So much for the open book. I added, “but I will, if you want me to talk about it further. I did promise to answer all of your questions.”
“It’s not necessary. I wouldn’t have you discuss something that caused you pain and would cause you pain to speak of it again.” Outside of losing Lincoln. It was my greatest failure and pain. And I didn’t want to talk about it. “You have horses?” he asked changing the subject.
