by Gregory Heal
In no time they reached the flame, which floated about three feet off the damp, cold floor. Once they were near it, Victor extinguished his own light, leaving them with only the flame’s soothing glow. About the size of a basketball, the spherical flame gave off no heat, which seemed strange to Jen.
“Do as I do,” instructed Victor. As Skarmor walked up beside his master, Victor brought his hand closer and closer to the flame until it was fully engulfed. He didn’t seem to get burned. He turned to Jen and smiled, then muttered, “Ad Gaia.”
Immediately Victor and Skarmor’s bodies atomized as they turned into hundreds of specks of colored light and floated into the flame. Unable to fully comprehend what had just happened, Jen rubbed her eyes and tried to blink away her confusion.
“Vic?” Concern filled her voice as she waited for her echo to fade before saying, “Skarmor?” Finding herself completely alone in the cold, damp cave, she felt the claws of claustrophobia scratch at her throat. Stepping closer to the flame, she began to shake as a memory surfaced of when she was burned as a child. Not wanting to stay in this cave for much longer, Jen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After letting it out slowly, she cautiously reached out to the flame.
Wincing, she put her right hand into the fire and . . . felt no horrible sensation of burning. There were only slight tingles in her hand where the tips of the flame licked her palm, but other than that, nothing.
Remembering what Victor dictated before he vanished, Jen repeated, “Ad Gaia,” and she felt a pulse of energy travel across her skin as her vision turned white. In a heartbeat she was in another cave, except the entrance was on the opposite side, behind the waiting form of Victor. She could hear the steady roar of a waterfall in the distance.
“Whoa!” Jen stumbled, raising a hand to her forehead as nausea took over her senses.
“Easy does it.” Victor was there to steady her. “Inter-realm travel makes you a little dizzy, especially when you haven’t done it before.”
“Yeah, you can say that again.” After blinking a few times and getting her breathing under control, she looked around and said, “Hey, where’s Skarmor?”
A high-pitched caw echoed throughout the cave, reverberating off the rock walls. Jen looked up to see a small, colorful bird flying in a circle above her head. It dove to land on Victor’s outstretched arm.
“Wait . . .” Jen said unbelievably. “Is that . . . Skarmor?”
Skarmor chirped and fluttered in the air for a few seconds before hopping on his master’s shoulder. Victor laughed and tickled beneath Skarmor’s substantially smaller chin. “Indeed! To help conceal his true form, Skarmor takes the form of a halcyon whenever he and I travel to Earth.”
Jen walked up to Victor and little Skarmor. “He’s so cute! I love all of his colors.” She looked at the silver sheen of his breast feathers, which blended into the black and azure blue of his tiny wings. His beak was the brightest magenta. This time she petted him only with her index finger.
“He’s much less conspicuous as this common bird than a giant, supposedly mythical creature,” Victor joked.
“Yeah, I bet.” Jen smiled at Skarmor and stepped back. “So where are we now?”
“Eternal Flame Falls, New York.”
“Oh, really? That’s not too far from my parents,” Jen said.
Victor nodded. “We have to be careful. You’re more vulnerable than ever now, since the spell is wearing off.”
Alarmed at what Victor had just said, Jen grabbed his arm before he could start leading the way out of the cave. “What spell?”
Chapter Five
A soft light pulsed from a crystal ball in a corner of Malcolm’s lonely chamber. He noticed it almost immediately and closed the withered book, standing to his full height. A snapshot of the United States materialized in the crystal ball, as if taken from outer space, and a faint, blinking dot surfaced over a spot in the state of New York.
“The prodigal daughter returns,” he said aloud.
Before Malcolm fled from his confrontation with Victor, he’d placed a locator spell on Jen. Even though the ring’s presence gave off a reading, it was too faint to track unless a sorcerer knew exactly where to look. With this type of location spell, he could only track her if she was on Earth—and it looked as though she had finally returned.
With a flick of his cloak, Malcolm ran out of his room, sliding his rings on as he went.
Chapter Six
Victor’s words echoed in Jen’s ears.
The spell is wearing off . . .
“What spell?” she repeated.
Victor sighed. “We can’t talk about this right now, Jen. Malcolm is probably tracking us.” He took her arm to lead her out of the cave.
“No,” she said forcefully. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain.” Jen hugged her arms to her chest, but Victor still didn’t let go.
He ignored her comment, now pulling her as he made his way into the crisp New York night.
Skarmor chirped, frantically flapping his little wings to keep up.
“Let go of me, Victor!” Jen couldn’t help but be reminded of when Malcolm—her Alex—had grabbed her on her birthday. Trying to find a handhold in the curved cave wall with her free hand, she said, “For me to trust you, I need you to tell me everything!”
A flash of lightning briefly lit up the sky, shortly followed by a roar of thunder. Its echo was still reverberating throughout the cave when a few raindrops fell. In no time, the slight drizzle turned into a downpour.
At the mouth of the cave, just before the rushing waterfall, Victor let go of her, exasperated. “Fine. I’m getting too old for this anyway.” He spun around on his heels to face her.
Jen took two steps back, holding the spot where Victor had grabbed. She looked him square in the eyes and said, “Don't ever touch me like that again.” She could feel the warm buildup of tears. It took everything for her to not break down and cry.
A loud thunderclap roared in the distance, reverberating throughout the cave.
Realizing what he had inadvertently done, Victor closed his eyes in shame. After pursing his lips, he said, “I’m sorry, Jen. I didn’t mean to hurt you . . . it won’t happen again.” It looked as if he was fighting back tears as well. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time.”
“Then tell me what this spell is and who put it on me.” Jen crossed her arms again and started tapping her right foot, waiting for an explanation. When none came, she repeated again: “What spell?”
“Okay,” Victor said, realizing he had to make up for his treatment of Jen. “To protect your identity, your birth parents cast a temporary warding spell around you so none of their enemies could track you down and harm you.”
“A warding spell?” she asked.
He nodded. “Good until your twenty-first birthday. Now that warding spell is finally wearing off. The power of that ring around your neck”—he pointed at the Ring of Lancaster—“isn’t helping either. I can feel its power getting stronger each day.”
Jen looked down at the ring and clasped it in her hand.
Warding spell?
Why did my birth parents put it on me?
Where did this ring even come from?
Finally, she found her voice and asked a new question that had just popped into her mind. “Who would possibly want to hurt me? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“It’s not what you’ve done, Jen. It’s who you are—your heritage. Almost fifteen hundred years ago, your ancestor Genevieve was the sorceress responsible for locking away the most powerful dark sorcerer, Lord Ferox, during what is known as the Great Battle. Afterward, there were factions of brainwashed sorcerers that still pledged allegiance to Lord Ferox and his new world order. These warped followers—Dark Watchers, we call them—have been waiting for the resurrection of their dark lord for centuries, and they have vowed to find and release him with the Ring of Lancaster, the totem that was used to lock Ferox away—and thus the only one that can re
surrect him—which now hangs on your necklace.” Victor had to shout to be heard over the rushing waterfall.
Jen stood there silently for a few seconds with her arms still crossed. That was the first time she’d heard the name of one of her ancestors, and she was startled when she realized how closely it resembled her own.
Maybe this isn’t too impossible to believe . . .
Finally, she asked, “You won’t let them take my ring, will you?” She clutched her necklace so tightly that she felt the ring’s edges digging into her palm.
Victor hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder. “I promise.”
Jen wiped a stray tear from her cheek, feeling a little better. “Is Malcolm one of these . . . Dark Watchers?” Jen still had feelings for Malcolm—or at least for the version of him she’d grown to know, Alex—but she kept telling herself that he’d only acted like he cared about her to get close to the ring.
It was all an act. And I was falling for him. Why is it so hard for me to let go?
Malcolm’s betrayal continued to devastate Jen; when they were together, it had felt so real, so right. His smile, his humor, his tender touch . . .
Victor looked to the ground, crestfallen. “Yes, Malcolm is a Dark Watcher. His lust, his greed, to become the most powerful sorcerer has driven him to darkness. He believes the only way to obtain true mastery is to learn from Lord Ferox himself. I . . . I have failed him.” His last words were barely audible over the waterfall. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat and, remembering his task, said with more urgency, “It’s only a matter of time before more Dark Watchers latch onto your location. We have to get to your parents now.”
“Fine,” Jen said, somewhat satisfied with Victor’s explanation. Her many other questions would have to wait, but for now, she still trusted him.
Victor started to turn, then caught himself. “Jen, I’m ashamed of my actions earlier. Can you forgive me?”
Jen dropped her hands to her sides and nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Apology accepted, Vic. I’m beginning to realize how close your past is to my situation.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and rocked his staff back and forth.
“And that makes me appreciate your help even more.” She rubbed his arm consolingly.
“I’ll do my best to keep you safe. But for that to happen, we must keep moving.”
“Right.”
Victor turned toward the cave’s exit. It seemed as if he were looking through the waterfall. “Here. Grab my hand and say your parents’ address,” Victor said.
Thunder rolled around them. Jen reached out and wrapped her fingers around his large hand. It felt strong . . . safe. She knew, in that moment, standing with him behind a waterfall that led to a portal to another world, that this man would not let anything happen to her.
After taking a deep breath, she spoke the street address, and in the blink of an eye they were gone, leaving the Eternal Flame to silently burn through the dreary night.
Chapter Seven
Dinggg-donggggg!
The doorbell rang inside the Smiths’ cozy Wanakah home overlooking Lake Erie. The rainstorm had already blown through, leaving a cold wetness that seemed to suck the heat right out of you.
Richard Smith made his way down the carpeted stairs of his two-story home and peered into his front door’s peephole. His eyes lit up and he immediately unlocked his front door. Making sure he wouldn’t wake up his wife, Richard hugged his daughter tightly and stage-whispered, “Jenny Jasmine! What are you doing here?”
Jen squeezed him back. “Hi, Dad! Did we wake you?”
“Oh, not at all!” He released her from the hug. “I was up reading.” His smile faded when he looked at the man who was with her, and a flicker of recognition flashed across his eyes. “Victor . . . ?”
Victor greeted him with a nod. “Richard.”
Jen searched her father’s face and cast a confused look behind her at Victor, raising a finger. “Wait . . . you two know each other?”
Jen’s father pursed his lips, still looking at Victor. “It’s time, isn’t it?”
Jen found herself in her father’s study, waiting with Victor on her favorite couch as Richard went upstairs to wake up her mother. She waved at Skarmor, who, at the request of her father, was perched on a low-hanging branch outside. He raised a wing—his version of waving back—as he hopped up and down on the branch. Giggling, Jen turned her attention back inside to see Victor trying to get comfortable. He had set his staff down in the foyer, so he was awkwardly trying to find something to do with his hands as he waited, but he only succeeded in making Jen laugh.
“So how do you know my parents, Vic?”
Victor finally clasped his hands together and rested them in his lap. “Let’s wait for your parents to come, if you don’t mind.”
Silently nodding, Jen anxiously bounced her legs up and down. She looked away and found herself recounting so many fond memories that she had made in this very room, whether it was from family game nights, weekend coffee talks with her mother, or rainy days curled up with a good book. Her heart was filled with such nostalgia that she couldn’t help but smile as she looked around at the Norman Rockwell paintings hanging on the hunter-green walls and the classic models of boats and cars accenting each bookshelf.
A faint shuffling of footsteps issued from the ceiling, forcing Jen out of her thoughts. She knew without a doubt that they were from her mother. Now Jen could hear the footsteps quickly descend the staircase, which was just out of sight. Before her mother entered the study, Jen heard her call in a sing-songy voice:
“My Jenny Jaaaaasminnnnnne!”
“Hey, Mom,” Jen greeted as she stood up to hug Beth Smith. “Sorry for waking you.”
“Oh, stop it.” Beth brushed Jen’s comment off with a wave of her hands. “I wouldn’t want to miss a surprise visit by my daughter.” She did a double-take when she saw Victor stand up. “Vic? My goodness, how are you?” Beth wrapped her arms around him before he could respond.
“I’m doing okay, Beth.”
“What brings you here?” Beth asked, but she seemed to answer her own question as she looked from Victor to Jen then back again. “Something’s wrong.”
Richard entered from behind and said, “I just put up some coffee, it should be done soon. Any takers?”
“I think I’m going to need some.” Beth rubbed her husband’s arm. “Thanks, hon.”
Richard winked. “Why don’t you all sit down?” he offered; then, to his wife: “I’ll pour you a cup.”
As he walked out of sight and into the kitchen, Beth joined Jen where she had been sitting on the couch while Vic found a spot on a corner loveseat.
“Mom, there’s something I need to ask you,” Jen said, hoping her voice wouldn’t break.
“Anything, Jenny.” Her mother smiled as she caressed Jen’s cheek.
“Here it is, one scalding-hot cup of joe for the lady!” Richard said as he came back in and sat down next to his wife after carefully handing the steaming cup to her.
Jen took a deep breath and rubbed her thighs nervously as she mustered up the courage to ask the single most important question that she had ever asked. “Mom . . . Dad . . . am I adopted?”
Both of her parents seemed to sag their shoulders simultaneously and exchanged sympathetic looks with each other. Beth placed her cup on a coaster after she took a sip, and waited for Richard to start.
“Jen . . . you are our daughter and a part of our family, and that will never change, but . . .” He trailed off as he looked at his wife for support.
“But yes, you are adopted,” Beth finished.
Jen felt the air get sucked out of her lungs as she let the truth finally sink in. “Why . . . why haven’t you told me this before?”
Richard glanced at Victor before reaching out and taking her shaky hand. “We wanted to—so badly—but we promised your birth parents and Victor that we would protect you. For that to happen, we had to keep you as
far away as possible from the world that you were born into.”
Jen sniffled, taking her hand back. “Then you know who my birth parents are?” She couldn’t bear to look her parents in the eye; she knew if she did, she wouldn’t be able to hold in her emotions. So instead, she played with her fingernail cuticles. After Jen counted to ten, she looked up to see her mother weakly holding her head in her hands and her father consoling her by rubbing her back.
Finally Richard spoke. “We met your parents, Charles and Jocelyn Lancaster, a year before you were born, when your mother and I were living in Arizona. As luck would have it, they were at the table next to us at this nice restaurant in Grand Canyon Village called . . .” He snapped his fingers, momentarily forgetting the name.
“El Tovar Dining Room,” Beth said, pulling a tissue from her pocket.
“Ah, yes! El Tovar . . . thanks, sweetheart.” He put his hand in hers and squeezed. “They have the best sautéed duck breast.” Richard licked his lips. “But anyway, I spilled my water and ran out of napkins, so I asked Charles if he could spare one from his table. He agreed, and next thing we knew, he and his wife had joined our table. Instant connection, wasn’t it, Beth?”
“Yes, it was great,” she said, wiping away tears with a tissue. “As dinner was winding down, they asked if we knew of any good hotels for the night and, well, Rick and I felt comfortable in offering them our guest room. So we got to know them better over a glass of wine before we all were so tired we reluctantly called it a night.” Beth somberly smiled at the memory.
It was Richard’s turn to chime in. “Now, our neighborhood was very safe back then—still is—but that night, around two in the morning, we had a break-in.”
