by Gregory Heal
“Don’t play coy with me, babe,” Alex said. “Surely you know of the Halostone. It’s the only one of its kind.”
“And my eyes remind you of it?” Jen smiled. “That’s very sweet. What does it look like?”
“Ha-ha, I think you know.” Even though he gave a quick chuckle, Jen could see a different look in his eyes. He wasn’t joking.
“No, I don’t, sweetie,” Jen responded, becoming slightly irritated. “How about you tell me about it?”
Alex let out another chuckle as he reached into his pocket and pulled out two rings. “Well, it’s an oval, purple stone as big as your palm . . .” He slowly slid the rings onto his fingers as he spoke. “And it holds the world’s most powerful dark sorcerer and his magic.” He looked up, straight into Jen’s eyes. All joking and flirting were gone.
Jen had never seen Alex act this way before. It was as if he’d become a different person. An uneasy feeling began to coil in the pit of her stomach. Feeling she should keep up the conversation, she commented, “A dark sorcerer, huh? That’s pretty scary.”
“Oh, you have no idea. He’s the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever seen, but he’s trapped in the Halostone.” Alex grabbed ahold of her wrist, none too gently. “And now, Jen, I want you to tell me where it is.”
A jolt of panic rushed through Jen. She tried to tug her wrist free, but his grasp only tightened. “Alex, what are you doing? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
What’s gotten into him?
“Come on, Jenny.” He tugged harder. “You’re a Lancaster. I know you know.”
The evening had taken a quick turn, and now she was desperately thinking of how to get away from Alex. “A Lancaster?” Jen raised her voice. “You’re hurting me!”
“Maybe I’ll ease up if you’re more cooperative.” He squeezed harder.
With her free hand, Jen slapped Alex hard across the face. Not expecting the hit, he released his grip. Jen shot up off the couch and ran toward her balcony. Panicking, she tugged at its sliding door, but realized it was locked as cold sweat erupted from her skin.
“Come on, come on, come on!” Jen pleaded as she fumbled with the lock.
Alex felt his jaw, moving it from side to side as he stood up. He scoffed, incredulous, and clenched his fists. His rings began to glow a sickly orange, and suddenly Jen couldn’t move. It was as if she were gripped with paralysis. Alex lifted his hands and Jen started to rise off the ground, all while invisible chords tightened around her body.
“Tell me where the Halostone is!” he yelled.
Jen could not speak. She could barely breathe. She was so frightened beyond belief that she couldn’t even find the breath to scream for help. She felt a warmth on her chest and managed to look down to see her ring start to glow a soft purple.
Alex noticed it, too, and twisted his hands like he was turning doorknobs. Jen felt the pressure slowly crushing her.
“You can tell me.” He was eerily calm now. “I’ll give you a biiig kiss.” A hideous smile spread his lips as he walked over to Jen, who was now levitating four feet off the ground.
The ring on her necklace shone more brightly. As the invisible chords constricted further, Jen began to lose consciousness.
Suddenly, she felt a warm burst of energy expel from her chest and slam into Alex. Caught unaware, he was thrown back fifteen feet, hitting the small of his back on the edge of the coffee table. With the wind knocked out of him, he lay there groaning in pain.
Almost immediately, the constricting pressure on her body dissipated and Jen fell to the ground in a heap, too weak to get up and run. No longer under Alex’s spell—for that’s what it was, she realized, a spell, some kind of magic—she breathed deeply before doubling over, clutching the right side of her chest. Swaying, the ring lightly tapped her on the chin, dangling just below her eyeline. Weakly grabbing it, Jen’s surprise compounded as she noticed it was pulsing, from light to dark purple and back again.
What the hell is happening?
Sloughing off his daze with a quick shake of the head, Alex picked himself up and walked closer to Jen. “No one can save you or the world from Lord Ferox,” he snarled.
He clenched his fist and Jen could see the two rings start to illuminate again. She crawled backward until her back bumped up against the closed balcony door.
“Help . . .” she whispered weakly.
Alex laughed. “No one can hear you, Jen.”
He took one step closer to her but stopped when a figure walked through the door . . . without opening it.
Did he just walk through my door? The one I had closed, locked, and dead-bolted shut?
Clenching his jaw in mild frustration, Alex paused to look back at the intruder. A middle-aged man stood at the opposite end of the apartment. He was wearing a thick, deep navy cloak, and grasped a long silver staff almost as tall as him.
“Well, look who it is! Welcome, Victor,” Alex spat, dripping sarcasm.
“Let her go, Malcolm,” the man—Victor—demanded.
“Now she knows my real name,” Alex said. “Thanks a lot.”
Alex’s real name is Malcolm? Jen thought, too shocked to move. What is going on? She could feel herself hyperventilating. She became light-headed as the room spun all around her.
“Let her go,” the man repeated, this time more forcefully, as he stepped farther into the room.
Alex—Malcolm—pretended to think. “Hmm, I don’t think so. She has something I need.” He turned back to Jen, pinning her to the floor with his gaze.
“She doesn’t know anything about this,” Victor said. The staff silently switched to his opposite hand.
“Then why does she have the Ring of Lancaster?” Malcolm shot back.
That was the last thing Jen heard. Tunnel vision swept over her and her hearing first became muffled then completely muted. The last thing she saw, incredibly, was Malcolm shooting Victor with a bolt of lightning. The blast seemed to sprout directly from his fingertips, or maybe his rings, and hit the older man straight in the chest, sending him crashing through the door and out into the hall.
And then, only black.
Malcolm turned back and noticed that Jen had lost consciousness. He smiled and walked toward the front entrance. Looking out into the hall, he stepped onto the splintered doorway, making sure Victor was not underneath.
“I have always been quicker than you, Mystra,” taunted Malcolm.
“Always the first to initiate a fight,” came the reply, seeming to echo from all around.
“Don’t talk down to me!” Malcolm yelled. “I’m not your tenderfoot anymore!”
A sudden arctic breeze hit Malcolm, sending him stumbling back inside the apartment and into the sofa. His muscles spasmed from the subzero spell.
“R-r-really?” Malcolm stammered, visibly shaking. “A bit of a chilly breeze? That’s the best you can d-do?” He slowly stood up.
In the blink of an eye, Victor appeared ten feet away, facing his former tenderfoot. “The colder you are, the slower your body reacts.”
Victor’s next three spells came in quick succession. He pointed his staff at his former student and a bright flash of light exploded in front of Malcolm’s eyes, blinding him; a jolt traveled through his body, electrifying all of his nerves; and a darkness swallowed his senses, disorienting him. Malcolm’s cold muscles were still too stiff and slow to allow him adequate time to block and counter with his own attacks. Panicking, he threw an escape spell and vanished in the blink of an eye.
Victor stepped to where Malcolm had stood, finding only wisps of smoke.
“Coward.”
He turned to the sleeping form of Jennifer Smith. She looked to be in a peaceful slumber, but Victor could sense that her mind was in torment. At only twenty-one years of age, she was about to embark on her most harrowing journey—a journey that would not only test her, but also those she loved.
He swirled his silver staff high above his head and Jen’s apartment returned t
o its tidy setting. Crouching down, he gingerly picked her up and vanished into thin air.
That night, for only a few brief seconds and for the first time in over a millennia, the full moon shone purple.
Chapter Two
Jen awoke with a throbbing headache on a soft bed. The room was dark and the only light came from its one door, which was slightly ajar. Her first thought was that she was in her bedroom; she let out a sigh and whispered, “It was only a dream . . . thank goodness.”
Jen had the sudden feeling that she wasn’t alone. Squinting, she barely made out a figure standing just inside the doorway. Jen blinked, trying to clear her eyes and her head.
“Dad? Is that you? You won’t believe the nightmare I had.”
The figure walked closer to the bedside and said, in a voice that most certainly wasn’t her father’s, “Rallumé.”
A soft light filled the room, slowly brightening, to show the man who had walked through her apartment door. He was still draped in the same flowing cloak and holding his gleaming silver staff. What had his name been? Malcolm? No—that was Alex’s real name. Her boyfriend . . .
I guess we’re broken up now, though.
“How are you feeling, Jennifer?” he asked.
Startled, her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, causing Jen to throw off her covers and spring off the bed. She set her sights on the open door, which was behind the man.
What’s his name?
But once she stood up, her right side split in hot agony. Yelling in pain, she crumpled to the floor and crawled back until she bumped into the back wall.
“Whoa, little lady, settle down. I’m not going to hurt you.” The man set his staff aside and raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.
“Who . . . who are you?” Jen stammered, still reeling from her blasting headache.
“My name is Victor Huxley. I was the one who stopped Malcolm from hurting you.” His smile was friendly and soothing, framed by a thick salt-and-pepper beard. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, but his crystal-blue eyes seemed to dance with youth. His hair was parted down the center, falling in thick waves to just below his ears but above his square jawline.
Still grabbing her side and watching Victor like a hawk, Jen tried to calm her breathing, tried not to break into sobs. Balancing on the wall for support, she slowly stood up.
“Wait—it wasn’t a nightmare?” Jen asked, growing more concerned. She inhaled sharply and said, “I think my ribs are broken.”
“May I see? I’ve broken many bones in my lifetime.” Victor offered his hand, but waited for her approval.
Jen looked deep into Victor's blue eyes, searching for any signs of malevolence. When she sensed none and felt another stabbing pain shoot through her chest, Jen dropped her hands to her sides and nodded.
“Here, sit back down.” He led her back to the bed and picked up his staff. Once Jen was situated, Victor said, “Take a deep breath. You’re going to feel very warm.” With his staff hovering a few inches over her broken ribs, Victor closed his eyes and faintly hummed.
The orb on top of his staff softly glowed as Jen began to feel her chest comfortably heat up. She inhaled again, slower this time, at first feeling stiffness from her bruised ribs; but as she continued to fill her lungs, the pressure alleviated and she somehow felt better. Entranced with what Victor was doing, Jen continued to stare at him until he opened his eyes and dropped his hands.
“Now how does it feel?” he asked.
Jen gingerly felt the areas of her ribs that had shown the most pain, but she felt not even the slightest discomfort. She stared up at him incredulously. “How did you do that?”
Victor grinned. “This might come as a shock, but I need you to keep an open mind, okay, Jennifer?” When she didn’t respond, he continued, saying softly, “I am a practitioner of one of the five mystical planes, called ‘Mancy planes,’ that surround us all.” He stood up and walked to a small counter she hadn’t noticed before.
“So . . . you’re a wizard?” Jen asked, half skeptical because she’d always thought they were fictitious, but half impressed because, well, he did just heal her broken bones.
“Sorcerer,” Victor corrected. Putting down his staff once more, he took a goblet from a shelf and began making some sort of drink. “Many people mistake wizards and sorcerers as being one and the same when, in reality, we are very different.” He put the utensils away and walked back toward Jen, offering a bubbly drink. “This will help with your headache.”
She took the goblet and swirled the liquid around. “A potion?”
“Advil,” he said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes modern medicine is just as good as potions . . . and more convenient.” He winked. “Potions usually have a long list of ingredients that typically aren’t just lying around.” He turned back to the counter to clean up. “Eye of newt, dragon’s blood, goblin hair, pollywog tail . . . the list goes on and on. Advil’s only a quick stop at the nearest pharmacy.” He looked back to find Jen cautiously staring at the contents of the goblet.
Picking up on some wariness, Victor went to Jen and gestured to the goblet. “Here.” Jen handed it to him and he took a sip. “I wouldn't dream of harming you.” With a kind smile, Victor gave Jen back the goblet.
“Thank you.” Jen started to feel more relieved. She cupped the goblet with both hands and and took a sip. Afterward, she asked, “Do you have a wand?”
Victor chuckled. “Again, strictly a wizard thing. Sorcerers are born with a nexus, an innate power that lets us access one of the five Mancy planes. Wizards, on the other hand, aren’t born with any powers, but learn to cast spells using wands. We sorcerers do use totems to help concentrate our powers, though. Many of us forge rings—like the one on your necklace.”
Jen touched the ring on her chest as Victor continued to explain.
“Others choose different totems like swords, bows, knives, whips”—he picked up his staff, which was leaning next to the front door—“staffs. The item a sorcerer chooses usually has a special meaning to him or her.”
“So girls can be sorcerers, too?”
Victor chuckled. “Of course!”
Jen drank a few more sips. “Why did you choose a staff?”
Victor was silent for a moment. “This particular one belonged to someone very close to me.” He became somber, but for only a split second before cheering up and adding, “And it helps me walk. Crickety knees.” He wobbled his legs for emphasis.
Jen returned the smile Victor gave her. Finishing off the contents in the goblet, her head already feeling better, she changed the subject. “So how did you know I was in trouble, Victor?”
“Call me Vic, please,” he said with another smile.
“And I go by Jen. Only my grandparents call me Jennifer.” She winked, tucking a few curls behind an ear.
“You’re making me feel so old,” Victor joked, clutching his heart with his hands. “To preserve my youth: Jen it is.”
Jen giggled. “Deal.”
His cleaning done, Victor turned back around and looked directly at her. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you for some time, Jen.”
“Who’s ‘we’? There are more like you?”
“There are many. We call ourselves Light Seekers, and together we form the League of Light.”
“So you’re a part of a . . .” Jen hesitated. “A magical society?”
“It’s a secret society of sorts. The religions we practice do include sorcery and alchemy. Some label us a cult because of this,” Victor said, “but I promise you they are mistaken.”
“Oh!” Jen perked up. “Don’t alchemists turn lead and other metals into gold?”
“Someone knows her history.” Victor raised an eyebrow, impressed.
“I do pay attention in class every now and then.” Jen smiled again, then wondered out loud, “Vic . . . you said that you’ve been watching over me for a while. Why?”
He took the empty goblet from Jen and placed it back on the counter. Victor was sile
nt for a few minutes, seeming to gather his thoughts. Finally, he spoke.
“You come from a long line of powerful sorcerers, Jen . . . and the League of Light has vowed to protect you.”
Jen laughed. “You can’t be serious! My family is the most normal family that has ever walked the Earth. I mean, my last name is Smith. If that’s not ordinary, I don’t know what is.”
“You are everything but ordinary, my dear.”
He looked at her in a familiar way that made Jen ask herself if she had met him before. She blushed and averted her eyes, looking at the blanket that was covering her. She smoothed the creases out when she remembered something that her boyfriend had said to her.
“Alex—um, sorry, Malcolm—said that I’m a Lancaster . . . ?” She trailed off, hoping that Victor would explain that puzzling piece of knowledge.
Victor opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. As Jen looked at him pleadingly, he leaned on the kitchen counter, slightly rocking, his fingernails softly tap, tap, tapping against its granite top.
Jen guessed he knew why Malcolm had said that to her, but it seemed like he was carefully planning what to say next. Maybe she had been too trusting so far.
He finally replied, “Your last name is actually Lancaster. Smith is your adopted family name.” Victor looked over his shoulder at Jen, watching her face shift to a look of disbelief.
Jen’s eyes dropped to the floor. She furrowed her brow and looked back up at Victor. A flurry of questions zipped through her mind.
I’m not really a Smith?
What else have they been keeping from me?
Is Tyler really my brother? What about Mom and Dad?
What’s happened to my perfect life?!
“I’m so terribly sorry that you had to learn your true heritage under such poor circumstances, Jen.”
Jen finally found the breath to spit out some of the questions swirling in her head. “I’m adopted? Who are my biological parents?”
Victor let out a long sigh. “It’s been a trying past couple of days for you, Jen. I think you’d better have this talk with your parents. Get some sleep, and then I’ll take you home.”
