by Brea Viragh
“I’m so glad to see you have gotten chummy bonding over my life!” she exclaimed.
“On the contrary.” Morgan put his hands on his hips. “Brock has been rather close mouthed about the whole deal aside from the tiny piece he let slip about your search for Thorvald. I would have found out about your heritage anyway had he not woken early and given us a chance to talk. Trust me, I know my way around the subconscious mind. A little digging and I would have put two and two together sooner or later.” He appeared rather proud of the fact. “It’s what I do. I’m a scholar, you see, dating back to—”
Nasira let Morgan ramble on paying little attention, her mind focused on the strange and unreal situation. She felt like she was trapped in a funhouse where nothing made sense and there was no way out.
She took stock of the room, the antique furnishings and distressed oak floors covered with red runners. It was small. Clean. Kept tidy by a woman’s touch, she could tell, because no man would take the time to dust the light fixtures in the hallway, intricate pieces with curling vines of metal. Morgan didn’t exactly scream neat freak.
Weariness took hold of her and she couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped. Outside, the sun began to set over the horizon and she could make out the moon glowing nearly full and silver with a river of clouds around. How long had she been out? The last time she checked it was lunch.
Unexpectedly, a shiver ran through her, quick and cutting to the bone. An odd unsettled feeling she tried to ignore. Nasira frowned. “Who exactly are you?” she blurted out. “And don’t give me some crock story about being a professor. I know magic when I see it, and you, sir, reek of magic.”
Morgan blinked at her and took a moment to collect his scattered train of thought. “I think the better question here is, who are you?”
She slapped her hands on her knees, the sound rebounding across the silence of the room. “Well, apparently you already know!”
“You really are like them.” The similarity pleased Morgan immensely. “It’s quite amazing. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”
“I’m not interested in a huge reunion. I’m here to find my father and nothing more,” Nasira supplied, repeating her same statement from before. “As soon as I see him, I’m good to go home. Trust me. I don’t want to stick around here any longer than I have to.”
“Nasira really has sisters?” Brock posed it as more of a statement. He shook his head. “Incredible. I can hardly handle one of her. Can you imagine what it would be like with an entire room of them?”
“Well, now you’re blowing this out of proportion,” she blubbered.
“The Cavaldi sisters. Three of them, to be precise,” Morgan supplied. “Or rather, four now. Oh, and one brother. But I get the feeling she already knew about them. Have you experienced any strange visions lately?”
She let her head swing low, using her hair to hide her face. Like she was going to tell this stranger personal information. No way in hell she was telling Morgan about the woman in the car. Or her dreams with Bast. “Can you at least tell me where we are?”
“Oh! There I go again, manners out the window. I told you I work for Carthage College, yes? You’re in my house in Kenosha, Wisconsin.”
“Why are we in Wisconsin?” she asked, trying not to panic. When she was knocked out she was at a coffee shop in Chicago.
Morgan didn’t seem bothered by her slight hyperventilation. He walked around the room and adjusted a stack of books, his eyebrows drawing together when he took in the titles. “We came to a consensus and thought it would be best to convene in a place where the Claddium can’t find us. I’m sure we have a local chapter around here, but I’ve gotten quite good at cloaking my presence in the mortal realm. It’s given us the opportunity to regroup, although…we’ve lost a few of our members.” His tone dropped, along with his eyes to the floor.
“Members?” Nasira asked.
The house was quiet. Rich end-of-the-day sunlight filtered in through the windows and left the corners of the room in shadow. There were no muted sounds of crickets coming from outside, no comforting creaks of an old house shifting and moving.
Nasira tried to focus on the quiet instead of Morgan’s voice. Instead of the tight, panicked pressure in her chest.
Stiffness had her shoulders throbbing and she stretched them out, gritting her teeth against the ache. What she needed, she decided, was a good night’s sleep in her own bed. With no dreams. It was safe to say she’d had her fill of dreams for a while.
Brock smothered a grin at her discomfort. This was what she needed, he decided firmly. Something to jolt her out of her routine and shake her up. It had been too long since Nasira deviated from her routine and the neat and orderly life she’d decided on for herself.
Though he had no reason for it, he trusted Morgan. There was something about the man that helped put him at ease despite their less than normal start. Call it a feeling, a knowing, or as Odessa liked to say, the Sight. Once Brock accepted that he had no control and let his life unfold natural, he knew Odie was right. He knew he would end up traveling with Nasira, and he recognized they were on the right track and somehow this was the next leg on their journey.
He saw part of what Nasira went through, the emotions flashing across her face and the realizations going through his own mind. To have an entire life, something she hadn’t been a part of, thrust onto her-it was a lot to take in. She would have a difficult time processing and until she finally did there would be anger.
“Where are they, then?” Brock asked to fill the void with sound. “These sisters of hers. I’d love to meet them.”
“Out,” Morgan responded, tearing his gaze away from his books. “They should be back any minute. It gives us time to unwind before the storm hits. Not many days left before the equinox, you know. Take this time for calm and reflection,” he offered. “Anytime they are together it can be a little bit intimidating.”
The last word carried weight, he knew. Brock motioned to where Nasira still sat. Her eyes wide and her head still shaking no. “Sounds like this one.”
“Any other time, your involvement would have seemed like a strange coincidence. You showing up where you did and when. I might have even proposed a more sinister hypothesis. Now,” Morgan scratched his head, “I don’t see anything as mere chance. You’re here for a reason.”
“I’m getting a little tired of hearing it,” Nasira confided.
“Stay put and I’ll go make some snacks for us. It helps, you know. We’ve a lot of explaining to do and you’ll need something to busy your hands.” He stared at his own like he wondered at once what to do with them.
Nasira found her body unwilling to move as Morgan exited the room with a loose-limbed stride, his long legs cutting across the space quickly.
Alone with Brock. Again. She kept her pitch low to not be overheard. “What are we doing? We can’t stay here. None of this is going to help me do what I need to do. Let’s make a run for it while he’s in the other room. Do you have my suitcases?”
“The car is still parked in the lot in the city, but Morgan grabbed our bags for us.” Brock’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute. You can’t honestly want to leave? This is what you wanted. To find your family.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m supposed to find Thorvald! Not waste time gossiping with sisters I’ve never met. Don’t you think this is a little odd? The whole thing has gotten out of control and I—”
“And what, Naz? You want to bail because things didn’t go smoothly? They didn’t proceed according to plan?” Brock watched her bristle.
A flush rose. “That’s not true.”
He strode to the nearest bookshelf and ran a hand over the details of the spines. The den was cozy and comfortable. A veritable arsenal of things to throw should Nasira decide to take her frustration out on him. He turned his back on the books, determined to defend them from her searching hands should things take a turn for the worst.
“You can’t stand when things get a little me
ssy. It’s always been this way with you. You would rather change your entire way of thinking and being than risk leaving something on your list uncrossed.”
“Brock, shut up.” She leaned forward, her fingertips gripping the couch cushions.
“It’s how you were with me, and I won’t let you walk away this time. Staying here, meeting the girls, is important.” He shot a finger to the ground. “We’re staying and seeing this through. From what I understand, and granted it’s not a lot at the moment, your sisters are in trouble. Your family is in trouble. Which means you and I are here to stay until we get this mess sorted. I am not going to let you turn away because of your bitterness.”
“I’m not bitter!”
Nasira sputtered for a better response when Morgan returned from the kitchen. “I don’t know how you like it but there’s some cream and sugar on the tray. A little tea and some finger sandwiches.” He stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I didn’t make them. You’ll come to see I may be a god, but cooking is not one of my acquired skills. I can burn water if given the opportunity.”
“You’re a god?” Nasira couldn’t quite wrap her head around the concept. Hadn’t Bast said something about the God of Dreams? It couldn’t be Morgan!
“Well, if you need any help in that department, I’m a single dad. I know my way around a kitchen pretty well,” Brock offered.
The thought warmed Morgan’s face even when the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you. We had a great chef staying with us, my girlfriend’s sister’s boyfriend. Convoluted, I know. Elon was a hell of a guy. He’s…we just don’t know He disappeared some weeks back. Please help yourselves to whatever you want. I’ll text Karsia and tell her to expect guests when she comes home.”
Nasira wondered at the intelligence of accepting anything from this stranger but ultimately took the cup and a tiny triangular sandwich. Things were not progressing the way she’d planned. Not by a long mile.
Then she thought about this Elon character and whatever mysterious circumstances surrounded his disappearance. If her sisters didn’t like what she had to say, would she be next? The bite of food she swallowed went down like a cactus. Sticking in her throat.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but try to relax,” Morgan continued. “This is a safe place. We’ve made sure of it. No one will find us here.”
“The Claddium?” she asked with evident sarcasm.
He nodded. “The community that patrols magic users across the world. Think of it like a smaller, more powerful version of the federal government, with branches across each region of the United States and Europe. Not something to be feared normally. Then again, these are extenuating circumstances...” he trailed off.
“Normally?”
“I’ll let Karsia explain,” he finished. “She’s a much better storyteller. Which seems odd considering I’m the God of Dreams and I teach for a living.”
“You’re what?” Brock exclaimed.
“Somehow what you’re saying doesn’t make me feel better. It means you can kill us and no one would know.” Nasira gave voice to her distress even though she did not think Morgan was the one to fear.
“There are bigger players to worry about than anything or anyone in this house. Trust me.” Morgan glanced toward the clock and noted the hour. “Everything will be clear in due time.”
**
There had been times in her life when she’d wished for siblings. Someone to share her thoughts with, to curl up under a blanket with and tell stories late at night when sleep refused to come. She had cousins in Boston she rarely saw. Aunts and Uncles in Egypt she didn’t know on a personal basis.
The tiny void inside of her remained. The one she could never fill despite the family a phone call away or her mother in the next room.
Now there was not one, but five new people to share herself with, of her same blood. More than she ever hoped. She would never be lonely again, which instead of filling her with joy left her with a strange hollow feeling. Unsettled. Like she was thrust into a play where she was supposed to know her lines and found she had nothing to say. She couldn’t remember any of it.
It wasn’t a normal meeting, she thought, stuffing another sandwich into her mouth. This one was weighted. Not a reunion but a call to order. A meeting of the war council to determine what button to press. What time to set the doomsday clock to? She didn’t understand much, but she knew enough to be worried.
Worried and frustrated that no one would tell her the whole tale.
They waited for another half an hour until a key sounded at the door. Nasira remained on edge, thinly veiled anxiety causing her hands to tremble and her heart quicken. When the door opened she had no idea what to think. Blood pounded in her head at the sound of feminine declarations, low and harsh.
“Morgan?” The voice was high and sweet and lovely.
The man’s eyes lit up as though someone flipped a switch within him. It changed the angles of his face and Nasira finally realized how handsome he was. She watched him melt from someone invisible to someone important.
“We’re in here,” Morgan called.
“We?” the woman asked with a chuckle. “Does this have anything to do with the surprise you mentioned? Please tell me the Claddium did not find us and you did not invite them in for some of your cooking.”
“Nothing like that, my love.” The answer was aired with a wink in Nasira’s direction. “My cooking hasn’t killed anyone. I swear it.”
The first sister rounded the corner and stopped short, her gaze widening in surprise. Nasira stared at her. Unable to speak. Her shock real and sharp.
This was a person who radiated loveliness. A woman of sheer and unadulterated beauty. She possessed the sweetness of a summer peach, with freckles patterning out from a small nose and across cheekbones reaching to the sky. Reddish brown hair cascaded down past her shoulders and oddly colored green, blue, and amber cat eyes stared at Nasira.
“Oh, hello.” She smiled automatically and walked forward with her hand outstretched. “I’m Karsia.” Nasira found no words, staring at the proffered hand. “It’s okay. I’m not going to bite you,” Karsia continued.
Her eyes were too large, her skin too pale. Nasira took her in feeling more like an outcast than ever before. Eventually she shook Karsia’s hand and tried to ignore the small spark of recognition coursing through her. The absolute certainty. Yes, this was real. A sort of cosmic joke, but real just the same.
Family.
Karsia stared at her a moment more before rising to touch Nasira’s face. Run her fingertips over her golden skin. Lingering at her temples.
“You have my eyes,” she whispered. “Why? Who are you?”
“I think you already have your answer, dear heart,” Morgan answered jovially. Too pleased with himself.
“Pleased to meet you,” Nasira answered by rote. Pleased when she didn’t stammer. Then she cleared her throat and straightened her spine into a rigid and unyielding line. “My name is Nasira and I’m—” She’d no more than gotten her name out before the girl crushed against her in a hug.
She let out a slow exhale in an attempt to release some of her pent-up anxiety.
“This is amazing,” Karsia breathed, her nose level with Nasira’s collarbone. “I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah. Neither can I.”
“Did you know you smell like cinnamon? It’s like your skin was bathed in it!”
“I had no clue.” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice and stiffness from her arms.
Karsia eventually released her, leaning back to memorize the curves of her face. “You look like him,” she said softly. She traced a finger over Nasira’s nose then down to her chin. “Here. And here.”
Nasira jerked back. If only everyone would stop staring at her! “Who can say for certain.”
“Trust me. If I had a picture, you would be able to see it. Clearly.” Two sets of footsteps drew closer as the other sisters joined the crew. Karsia motioned with h
er head. “Astix, and Aisanna.”
The other women came around the corner and stopped. Deer faced with the headlights of a semi-truck. They looked at her and their expressions ranged from curious to suspicious. Their eyes narrowed in unison as they studied her.
Oh, lord. This was it. This was really happening.
Nasira wished she hadn’t come, wanting with everything in her to sink through the floor and be done. It was a horrible thing to think, even worse to admit, but it was the only thing on her mind. There was no turning back, she reminded herself. She wasn’t a fool to think she could turn back the clock on the decision she made to find her father. It was impulsive and half planned but it was on her list. And she refused to let it go unchecked. Especially not when Bast herself came down from wherever gods and goddesses lived to tell her in person.
But the doubts. Oh, the doubts, they plagued her and turned her worry into a horrible clawing beast ripping at her insides. What if they didn’t like her? What if they told her to leave and never come back or told her their father wasn’t interested in getting to know a child born of infidelity.
All three women shared the same coloring and features, although the tallest of the three had a softer look, lighter hair, and the one had two golden loops pierced through her nostrils.
It wasn’t the coloring or the family resemblance that got to her. It was the deep and visceral knowledge that she was meant to be here with them. And damn if it wasn’t painful.
She’d summed them up in an instant, the oldest sister neat in a baggy shirt and jeans, the middle in leggings and a worn black leather jacket, the youngest shooting her a glowing smile.
Nasira tried not to hesitate when she stepped forward. “Hello.”
Without hesitation, Karsia hurried up to her and once again drew her in for a hug. A light kiss on the cheek. “Welcome home.”
Nasira didn’t know what to do with her hands. They gripped Karsia’s shirt automatically. Her smile turned toothy.
