by Mac Flynn
There was one oddity among all this eerie normality that was situated in such an obscure location. The main road led through the town and wound up a small hill at the rear of the town to a steppe. The sole building on that flat area was a plantation-style house. Its clean white walls and two-columned porch shined against the green of the forests that lay around it. Those three wide floors stood near the edge of the steppe and towered over the whole of the lower plateau. It was as though the very windows were eyes that watched the inhabitants in a never-ending vigil.
I shuddered and wrapped my arms around me. Vincent moved to stand beside me. His lips were pursed as his eyes swept over the area. My eyes flickered to him.
"Still have a bad feeling about this?" I asked him.
He nodded without looking at me. "Yeah."
I looked back to the town. "Me, too. Let's get some supplies and-" The world spun around me and everything doubled. I clutched my forehead and stumbled to one side.
"Leila!" Vincent cried out. He caught me in his arms before I fell off the path.
"I'm. . .I'm okay," I replied. I tried to stand, but the world wouldn't hold still. "Just. . .just a little dizzy."
"It could be the fever returning. Let me carry you," he insisted.
I was too ill from the spinning to argue. He swept me into his arms and carried me and our small supplies down the hill to the little hamlet.
The houses on the outskirts of the town were a mile away from the crest of the hill. We reached them in ten minutes. My eyes were focused once more and I studied our surroundings. The houses were of similar design, what with two floors and a large yard. The back yards were surrounded by fences. However, there were signs of decay. Buildings were left unpainted and the yards of many houses were choked my weeds.
Vincent headed for the main road. We reached the street and met our first inhabitants. It was a young woman in an elegant skirt and white blouse. She had brown hair and bright, piercing eyes. Beside her was a young boy of ten with sandy hair and alert eyes. The boy wore a pair of slacks with a white polo shirt. The collar was stretched from tugging. He carried two bags in each hand and hung his head. The boy's attitude reminded me of Vincent's pathetic demeanor.
The woman jerked to a stop and narrowed her eyes at us. She looked from me to Vincent, and her gaze softened. A wide, friendly smile slipped onto her tense lips. I wondered if the frown from before wasn't more honest than the smile.
"Can I help you?" she asked him.
"We're looking for a doctor for my friend here," Vincent explained.
She looked down at me and turned her nose up. "You can inquire at the House," she suggested.
"The 'House?'" Vincent repeated.
She half-turned away from us and nodded at the grand mansion. "We call that building the House. You can find a doctor there."
Vincent smiled. "Thank you for your help." He trotted past her, but stopped when she spoke again.
"However-" Her eyes flickered over us and fell on me. Her lips curled back in a sneer. "-I won't guarantee he can do anything for her."
Vincent froze and half-turned to her. "Why wouldn't he?"
"For obvious reasons," she sniffed. She stretched out her hand to the young lad. "Come along, Abraham."
The boy hesitated. His large, soft blue eyes fell on us and he looked about to drop the bags.
"Abraham!" she snapped.
"But Miss Ferox-" She snatched his hand and dragged him forward. He dropped half the bags.
"You clumsy boy!" she snapped as he scooped up the bags. "Don't drop the bags, and don't forget again!"
He cringed. "Yes, Mother. . ."
She grabbed his hand tight and together they strode away.
"Touching mother," I commented.
"Perhaps she's just irritable today," Vincent suggested.
"Yeah, maybe." I winced and clutched my head.
Vincent returned his attention to me. "We should go see the doctor."
I glanced up at the stately mansion and its winding driveway. My head swam and I felt nauseous. "I. . .I feel fine."
Vincent looked down at me and frowned. "You look horrible."
I glared at him. "You're not too good-looking yourself."
He shook his head. "You're pale, and I bet you can't stand on your own, can you?"
"Do you think you can muster enough werewolf from inside you to climb that hill with me?" I countered.
He pursed his lips and strode forward. "We'll find out."
We followed the main street sidewalk and passed small shops filled with clothes, trinkets, and barbershops, but no food. Other people mingled with us, and many stepped aside and stared. Adults and children cast suspicious glances at us, and more than one kid dashed into a side street to avoid passing us.
"You get the feeling they don't like us?" I whispered to Vincent.
Vincent's eyes swept over the street. "They don't seem to be too friendly, do they?"
We reached the hill and Vincent started up the slope. The driveway was a quarter of a mile. At the halfway point Vincent noticeably slowed. I looked up into his face and noticed the strain at the corners of his mouth and the sweat that pooled at his temples.
He noticed my scrutiny and smiled. "I guess my body doesn't know I'm a werewolf right now," he huffed.
"I can get down," I suggested.
"No, you stay there," he persisted. He grit his teeth and pushed on.
We reached the flat area that held the mansion. The grounds were impeccable with their plush rose beds that wound a path from the road around the side to the front doors. The grass was green and the wood siding was freshly painted. A black car sat at the end of the pavement and faced the house.
Vincent found renewed strength and hurried around to the front. The path of thorns forced us in a wide arc in front of the house so we had a full view of its majesty. The windows glared at us and the columns stretched to the top of the second floor just below the full-sized attic. We stepped onto the porch and one of the doors opened a crack.
A man of thirty peeked his head out. He had brown eyes and his long brown hair was wrapped in a tail that trailed down his back. His attire mimicked those worn by the young boy with the added touch that he was barefoot. Those piercing eyes studied us as the woman had studied us.
"What brings you here?" he questioned us.
"Please, we need a doctor," Vincent called to him. He leaned to one side to try to catch a glimpse of the interior. "Is the owner at home?"
The man smiled and opened both the doors. The interior was a dazzling display of ostentatious taste. All the walls were painted white and the floors were a white marble. A staircase to the left wound its way up a wall to the second floor. Pedestals with busts stood along the walls below paintings of forest landscapes.
"It is said that a friend in need is a friend indeed, so you are welcome to my home," the man invited us.
"Then you're the doctor?" Vincent guessed.
The man crossed one arm over his waist and bowed. "That, and many other things."
"My friend, she's gravely ill," Vincent told him.
"I'm not that bad," I argued.
The doctor strode forward and placed his hand on my forehead. His lips pursed together and his eyes flickered up to Vincent's face. "She has a slight fever, and suffers from malnutrition. Bring her inside and I'll see what can be done."
CHAPTER 4
We followed the man through the doors and to the right. An archway led into a large sitting area with horsehair furniture.
"Put her there," the man instructed, indicating a long couch. He himself strode over to a wheeled cart and poured a few glasses of clear brown liquor.
Vincent knelt in front of the cushions and set me upon them. I faced the archway and behind me was a large mantel with a crackling wood fire. To my left lay an oak coffee table, and opposite the table stood two chairs that matched the couch. Vincent put our bundle of supplies on the floor close beside me.
"Don't treat me like I'm
a child," I growled. I tried to sit up, but he pressed me against the cushions.
"Because you're as weak as one," Vincent returned.
"Hopefully that state need not last long," the man commented. He turned to us and held a glass in each hand. "This will calm your nerves while I administer a better examination." He strode over to us and handed Vincent both glasses. "One glass is for you, and the other for the patient after her exam."
"I'm fine," I insisted.
Vincent scooted over and the man knelt close to my head. "You're pale, your heart rate is-" he checked my pulse, "-quite fast, and as I said before, you have a slight touch of fever. I would hardly call that fine. By-the-by, I don't believe I've caught your names."
"Mine is Vincent, and this is Leila," Vincent told him.
He smiled at me and bowed his head. "A pleasure to meet you both. My name is Dean Celo, and if you haven't guessed I am the healer and mayor of this fair town."
"You haven't proven the healer part," I retorted.
He chuckled. "No, but I'm one of those healers who performs miracles very slowly. Besides, you seem to have a rather tricky illness. Might I venture to guess you came here via the mountain path?"
Vincent started and his eyes widened. "How did you know that?" he asked the man.
"Your friend here has a very curious tattoo here on the back of her neck." He tilted my head to show Vincent. The world spun around me and I bit back a groan of nausea.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you discomfort," he commented as he released my head.
"What does that mean?" Vincent wondered.
"It means you met a rather unfriendly person in the woods, or she met you and disliked you a great deal," Celo commented.
"You mean Glenna?" Vincent guessed.
Celo turned to him and nodded. "Yes."
"Then you. . .would you believe us if we told you she was a witch?" Vincent asked him.
He smiled and gave a nod. "Very much so. In the past some of my people have had-well, we'll call them interactions with Glenna. Very few of them ended peacefully, and some were very similar to your own experience."
Vincent winced. "You mean they were cursed, too?"
Celo pursed his lips. "Yes, or killed. Your friend seems to have Lady Luck on her side, however. Your curse is called the Wasting Curse. It's a terrible spell that dooms its victim to a slow, painful death by illness. The illness often kills its victim within days and no normal method of healing can stop it. That would mean you only just escaped from Glenna's clutches."
"How many days does it kill?" Vincent asked him.
"Usually two, but sometimes three," Celo answered.
"No exceptions?" Vincent persisted.
Celo smiled and shook his head. "I have known of no exceptions."
I flickered my eyes to Vincent. He'd told me we left Glenna three days ago, and yet here I was alive and somewhat well. Definitely not on the edge of death.
"Fortunately, you have reached me early enough that I can treat her," Celo continued. He stood and walked over to the arched entrance. A cloth cord hung from the ceiling, and he pulled it. "I'll need some time to prepare the medicine, but it should be ready within a day."
Vincent stood and nearly spilled the untouched glasses in his hand. "But isn't she in danger of dying?"
"Not in that time expanse, and a little food and rest will help her against the curse," he suggested. "As it is, I'm sorry you had such trouble with Glenna. I'd be curious to know of your adventures with her."
"How do you know so much about curses?" I questioned him.
He smiled. "You're suspicious. That's understandable considering your unique circumstances, and I'm not referring to the curse."
My eyes narrowed. "What circumstances?" I persisted.
A servant entered. The man wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath. "Would you please bring us some turkey sandwiches, and fetch me my tome?" he requested. The man bowed and left.
"What circumstances are you talking about?" I repeated.
Celo turned back to us and strode over to the coffee table. On the top lay a few papers. He pushed through them and picked up one of familiar type and heading. Celo held out the front page for us to see.
My eyes widened. The top story showed a picture of me, and another of Vincent. The headline read Fugitives Still At Large.
"Fugitives?" Vincent read aloud.
"It's quite an interesting read," Celo commented as he handed the paper to Vincent. "You two appear to be wanted criminals."
I climbed onto my arms and snatched the paper from Vincent. The lead paragraph run thusly:
Police are still searching for two persons wanted in the bombing of the Legenda Labs. One of them is Leila Ulric, former employee of Fama Front Report. The other is Vincent Mortale, a temporary resident of the city. Authorities have not said what evidence points to their involvement, only that they are the leading suspects in the terrorism. There is a $5,000 reward offered for any information that leads to their whereabouts.
"Shit. . ." I murmured.
Celo chuckled. "That is quite the understatement."
My eyes flickered to Vincent. "Have you ever been to Legenda Labs?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't sound familiar."
I tossed the paper onto the table and looked to Celo. "So what are you going to do now? Turn us in for the reward?"
He shook his head. "No. I admit the thought had crossed my mind, but now that I've met you face-to-face, you needn't fear the motives of my people nor me. We only wish to help."
"We're fugitives. You know that, so why help us?" I questioned him.
He chuckled and raised his glass to Vincent. "Aren't we all fugitives in this weary world?"
Vincent cringed. "I guess. . ."
"That doesn't answer my question," I pointed out.
Celo shrugged. "Let's just say I would rather reporters not swoop down on our little paradise and pry into our business." He strode over to one of the chairs opposite me and took a seat. "Now tell me about your adventures on the mountain. I'm very curious to learn why Glenna would place such a powerful curse on such a lovely young woman."
Vincent cringed. "I-"
"We'd rather forget about it and try to leave here as soon as possible," I spoke up.
"You needn't leave so quickly. I would be glad to host you in my own house for as long as you wish," he offered.
"That's very kind of you, but we really should be going," Vincent insisted.
"We just need to pick up some supplies and we'll leave after the cure," I chimed in.
Celo smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid that can't be done. You see, we have only one store and the owner is currently ill. He won't be able to supply you with what you need."
I raised an eyebrow. "Can't anybody else manage the store?"
"He's very careful of his business, and in our little town he's the only one needed to run the store," Celo explained. The servant returned with a tray full of sandwiches. The man placed the tray on the coffee table and stepped back out of our little circle. "Won't you have some? Much of what we eat comes from we ourselves raise and grow, so the sandwiches are quite healthy."
"Thank you," Vincent agreed.
Vincent set the glasses down and took up two sandwiches. One he passed to me. I eyed the dark-colored bread and white meat. There was no time to warn Vincent about eating before he took a bite.
"How do you like it?" Celo asked him.
"It's delicious," Vincent spoke through a mouthful of food.
I pulled my sandwich away from my mouth and glanced down at his empty hands. "Aren't you going to have any?"
"Not at the present. I prefer my meat with more life," Celo replied. He looked to his servant. "Will you have two bedrooms made up for our guests?"
"Is there a hotel we can stay at?" I asked him.
He turned to me and blinked. "There is one in the middle of the town, but wouldn't you be more comfortable here?"
"We wou
ldn't want to inconvenience you," I explained.
Our host smiled and shook his head. "It wouldn't be inconvenient at all. This large house can be rather lonely at times, and I'd appreciate the company.."
"We'd much rather stay there," I insisted.
Celo leaned back in his chair and chuckled. "I can see you're a woman who knows what she wants and is stubborn enough to earn it. However, if you insist on staying elsewhere then I must insist you take your meals here."
"With the store closed it'll be hard for us to do otherwise," I pointed out.
"The store-oh yes, yes, I see what you mean. We do have a restaurant, of course, but I'm sure you'd like to save your funds for a rainy day," Celo commented. He leaned forward and tapped the newspaper. "Especially since I doubt you have much money to spare."
"We have some," I evasively answered as I set down my untouched sandwich. My head, and the world, no longer spun, so I swung my legs over the couch.
Vincent choked on his sandwich and dropped his untouched glass of alcohol onto the floor. The glass shattered on the wood floor as he grasped my arms.
"You shouldn't move!" he insisted.
I frowned and brushed aside his arms. "I'm fine. This death curse is overrated."
I stood, and our host's smile widened. "It's quite extraordinary how you're weathering such a curse. Most people would be writhing in agony by this point."
"Maybe your assessment isn't quite right," I suggested.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "That's not possible, but I'd like for you to come by later this evening. If not for dinner, than for me to examine you more closely."
"We'll come back," Vincent agreed.
Celo smiled. "Excellent. Let's say six o'clock?"
Vincent nodded. "We'll be there."
Celo stood and bowed to us. "Then I will you not farewell nor goodbye, but a 'we'll see each other soon.'"
"Yeah, sure," Vincent returned.
The servant led us into the grand lobby and opened one of the front doors for us. We stepped outside into the mid-afternoon of the chilly autumn day. I paused at the end of the walk that lay closest to the overlook. Beneath us was the small hamlet, and beyond that was the highway.
