The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

abstinence is going to be hard to continue. And so, I have been careful to not even accidently touch Neal.

  My self-defense thoughts make me completely ignore Neal for a while. When I actually come back to my conscious senses, I look up to find Neal standing still at his place, his mouth slightly agape, his hand extended in the same posture I have rejected, an inscrutable expression on his face as he stares at me. When I do nothing but gawk at him, he raises his eyebrows.

  I scowl at him, immediately defensive, “What?”

  Neal is taken aback by my tone. He slowly lowers his hand, his eyes flickering between his arm and mine. Neal is not a fool. It’s blatant that he has noticed my reluctance in even accidently touching him. I swallow the sudden nervousness.

  “Come on, let’s go.” I say, dismissing our awkward encounter. Neal says nothing and continues to walk too. The silence is not so pleasant anymore. So much for appreciating our lack of communication.

  A therian aura in the corridor we are about to turn into distracts me from my thoughts. But I quickly dismiss that too since therian auras in this place are hardly a rarity. As we turn into the corridor in which are room resides, we find our steps immediately halting.

  Mikhail Lichinsky, or the old man I have presumed to be Mikhail Lichinsky, has similarly come to a standstill at our sight. His face is stoic, something I am accustomed to around my father. His dark eyes, however, are much more piercing than my father’s. I did not think I will ever meet a person who can be more dangerous than my father. But watching my supposed grandfather stare down at me; yes, he is taller than me; is unnerving in a way that I cannot fathom. All the hatred that I have come to feel for this person is turning into unexplainable fear in his presence, under his scrutiny. It was only on the first day the man had set eyes on me; something to which I had reacted by averting my eyes. Right now, watching him stand impassively in front of us, all thoughts of my partner and the brief awkward moment we shared escapes my mind. All I can focus is, how much darker and more threatening the eyes of my grandfather are, even more so than my father’s.

  “May I have a word with you Josh?” He speaks, looking at me.

  His sudden request is out of the blue. It’s the first time I am hearing him speak and I can confidently conclude that his grey hair and the numerous wrinkles on his face do not at all affect his stance. His voice is deep and firm and doesn’t at all indicate his age. For a man this old; he has to be in his sixties at least; I expect the voice to be slightly gravelly if not exactly a quivering mess. But, no, Mikhail Lichinsky’s voice is as strong and as deep and as firm as someone who has just hit puberty. Of course, with a more threatening edge to it. As for his request, which sounds more like an order by the way, my rebellious side is instinctively ready to be a snappy and a quick-witted grandson.

  I have imagined this scenario numerous times in my free time and every time the scene fades away with me pointing out all the things because of which this man has no right on me, all the things that simply makes the both of us strangers. The scene ends with a dejected looking old man repenting over his failed relationship with his grandson.

  Coming back to the present, the scenario is much more different with me literally petrified at the spot under the old man’s gaze. The thought of being slightly disrespectful towards him makes me internally whimper like a frightened puppy. All I am able to manage is absently stare back at the man, who reflects many features of my father.

  “Err,” Neal breaks the too awkward air, “I am going to excuse you guys.” He says politely. I tear my gaze away from my grandfather and look at Neal. He nods at me, his face as impassive as my grandfather’s, yet, unlike my grandfather, Neal manages to convey million words of comfort through his staidness. Neal looks at Mikhail Lichinsky once, then turns around and departs back to the way we have just come.

  “Follow me.” Mikhail Lichinsky says as soon as the silence gets too awkward after Neal’s departure.

  Mute, I follow him. He leads me through the length of the corridor, towards the staircase. I realize he is intending to take me upstairs, probably to his chamber. Not that I know his chamber is upstairs, it’s just a guess. I turn back one last time as Neal’s aura steadily fades from my senses. He is standing at the other end of the corridor, surprisingly with Jennifer on his side. The sight of her makes me momentarily hesitate in my steps. I have noticed that she never approaches Neal when I am around. That means she has not accosted him since that party a few weeks ago because I hardly leave Neal’s side. At least inside the mansion, I don’t. The fact that she is probably avoiding an encounter with me regarding my partner just adds to her sneaky behavior, something I feel loathing derision for. She better not have more words up her sleeve to brain wash Neal. Neal catches my eye in the distance but soon turns them back towards his aunt as she gestures for him to accompany her. Without any acknowledgments, I turn back and start ascending the staircase.

  Thoughts of Neal escape me as I observe the broad shoulders of the old man walking in front of me. I have to admit that despite the old age Mikhail Lichinsky has a voluminous, healthy built. As a matter of fact the age wrinkles and gray hair are probably the only things that give any indication of his age. Through a series of corridor, we end up in front of enormous double doors. Like every other door in the mansion this is similarly built in mahogany wood with various historical imbrications forming its frame. Somebody is a fan of the renaissance time. Or maybe, just maybe, this mansion has taken its origin during those old times.

  Mikhail opens the door, which makes a clang sound as they slide wide open. The old man walks inside, motioning for me to shut the door behind me. I comply and step inside his room. The room is similar in size to my and Neal’s room. The whole length of one wall is covered with a huge bookcase which is not surprising considering my father has his own library as well. The windows are panoramic as opposed to my room’s modest windows. Everything else is built up in plain taste but with the addition of the infrastructure of this mansion the room looks quite opulent. It almost reminds me of Neal’s room in his house back in Latvia.Only, this is larger in size.

  “Sit.” Mikhail says, gesturing towards one of the regal couches in the corner.

  I comply. The air feels tensed to me. I wish Neal is around, so I can calm myself with the help of his aura. Mikhail walks to the nearby small table which I can only assume to be extemporaneous dining table with only two chairs around it. He picks up the jug that is on the table and fills a tall glass of water. He grabs the glass and looks at me, thrusting the glass in my direction.

  “Thanks.” I say quietly, shaking my head to let him know I am all good.

  Mikhail minutely shrugs and drains the water in the glass himself. He picks up the chair then and brings it right in front of me, two steps away, placing it with a dull thud there. Nonchalantly, he settles on the chair, facing me while sitting straight right in front of me. I awkwardly shuffle a little, the scenario oddly reminding me of my viva voce examinations in school.

  “You haven’t been talking to your father.” He states, unfalteringly staring at me.

  For a fleeting moment I feel irked that my father would go and bawl to his father about his kid. But then I hold back my thoughts. My father may not be very expressive or talkative but that doesn’t mean I do not know him well. And I can almost assuredly state my father is not at all the kind of person who will discuss a matter pertaining to me with anybody else, not even his own father. Father is not the type to discuss such personal problems anyway. Also, again, I am sure my father takes my silence as some sort of a temper tantrum rather than a serious threat. Which is kind of true to some extent, to be honest. Because angry at him or not, I cannot imagine my future without my father at my side, even if mute. And that makes me wonder how my father has conjured the courage to leave his own father behind when he left this realm. This Realm being weird or not, a home is always one’s home and a father is always one’s father.

  “Why did he leave this place?” the
question, the conclusion of my jumbled thoughts, slips my tongue involuntarily. I immediately shut my mouth, regretting my forward curiousness.

  “For his own safety.” Mikhail answers without hesitation as if my question is insignificant. “And for the safety of his then building family.” He pauses, “Is that all why you’re not talking to him?”

  “Safety from what?” I counter.

  For a moment, Mikhail only stares at me, making me realize that I probably shouldn’t counter back in such a tone. I internally squirm for a second.

  Mikhail leans forward, his palms resting on his knees.His spine, despite him leaning forward, manages to look absolutely straight, “If I had an option to keep Nikolai oblivious of the ill luck our family has endured in the past, I, too, may probably choose that option. Nothing is better than living your life in peaceful, blissful ignorance.”

  “But-” I start.

  “But.” Mikhail thunders, immediately making me shut up, “But you’re not completely oblivious. Nikolai doesn’t discuss his disposition with you. But I have guessed that he doesn’t enjoy your curiosity so much. Nikolai has done things in his life that I cannot be more proud of; but I do not always support his decisions. And