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Charles pushes a window open, letting in sunlight and fresh morning breeze. He doesn't remember what he has been dreaming about, but he knows for sure—it was a good one.
He taps his phone, kills an alarm, smiles when he passes Raven's door.
Downstairs he immediately starts making the breakfast, only a quarter of his attention is on the news, a volume significantly down for Raven's sake.
He is dusting sweet pancakes with cinnamon, a creative last-minute twist on a classic recipe, when his ears pick up exaggerated stomping down the stairs. He knows these footsteps. Someone has woken up in a bad mood.
"I've already made us breakfast," he calls out over his shoulder as Raven strides in.
"Thanks," she looks up from her phone, squinting at the sun. "Arghh, my eyes."
"Excited about the new day I see."
Raven sighs. She grabs the glass he put next to her plate.
"I was hoping that yesterday's thunderstorm, or whatever it was that took out power, torched the school," she sighs again, rolling up her pancake. "Guess what? It didn't."
"It's called compulsory for a reason. Besides, I might be in trouble if you don't attend."
"How much trouble are we talking about?"
Charles gives her a look, the mild one, and Raven, as expected, rolls her eyes.
Time flies by fast. He stops to pick up his car keys and sunglasses from the bureau by the door. Today, he has to be in the lab earlier.
"Raven, hurry up, please," he raises his voice, thinking that he needs to find the way to cheer her up.
She finally hops down, long loose waves framing her face. Charles looks at her, so tall already, but not awkwardly gangly at all. She is simply beautiful. Astonishingly so, he realizes suddenly.
"Ready to serve my sentence," she also stops by the mirror and says innocently. "Oh, look, I'm as tall as you now. How awesome is that?"
As a stretch of suburbs turned into a forest, Raven seemed to have warmed up for a chat.
"That counselor said I quote "you're welcome to join any after-school activities you like". I told her I can't, 'cos, you know, I'm in the middle of some intense soul-searching. There is a void I need to fill first and blah, blah, blah."
"That's very deep."
"I know. I googled "my purpose in life" before she called me in."
"Internet really transformed your generation," grumbles Charles under his breath.
"Charles. We're from the same generation."
"Are we? Well, technically yes," he turns to her, catches her smirk for a moment and a split second later her blue eyes widen in shock.
"Watch out!"
Charles grips the wheel and instinctively presses down the brakes. Terrified, he registers a glimpse of someone, a man in dark, right in front of the car. The pressure of an awful instant stretches for too long.
His head snaps back when the car hits the tree. An airbag explodes into his face.
The world comes into focus when he feels someone shaking him.
"Raven," he croaks, weakly trying to free himself from the deflated airbag.
"Are you fine? Are you alive? Oh my god," Raven is talking really fast, her breaths are loud and frantic. "Do you see him? Did we kill him?"
Charles tries to calm himself, also shaken to his core. He surveys the damage. They are fine. A bumper is wrecked, but… He twists his neck to peek over Raven's shoulder. The road is absolutely empty.
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She taps on the playlist, personally selected for a ride like this, and wipes the dusty seat of her bike with her sleeve. Thankfully, the car has been towed to a service station, so she shouldn't worry about maneuvering around it. She pulls up a garage door as quietly as she can and turns to face Charles.
"Aaah!" she shrieks, dropping the bike.
The movement dislodges one of her headphones.
"Why are you screaming? Oh, I see," Charles is saying. "I apologize for startling you. Do you mind telling me where you are going?"
"Charles," she hisses, opting for diverting. "I'm too young to die of a heart attack. Since when are you creeping around the house? And scaring unsuspecting victims? I thought better of you."
"I'm not," he begins indignantly, then pauses. "No, Raven. No side-tracking this time."
He crosses his arms. His eyebrows slope inwards—just like that time when he asked her to wait outside the principal's office. And this is how she knows that he means it.
"Look, I'm just walking this guy out," she picks up the bike.
"And where did you get the bike?"
"Come on, don't you recall? It came with the garage," Raven pats the saddle affectionately. "It was lonely, injured, abandoned in the dark, almost certainly jealous of your car. It finally melted my heart."
"Are you fine enough to go anywhere today? I thought you're still shaken after the accident."
"You've been shaken. I was thrilled. I skipped school, I've got amazing pictures from the crash site, I'm pretty sure everyone will be talking about it for, like, a month. Because nothing ever happens here."
"I think you're exaggerating our accident too much," Charles mutters.
She grins.
"I'm just welcoming adventure in my life, Charles."
"Alright, but, please, don't be late. It's getting dark soon," he cautions, patting her shoulder.
"Aye, captain," she salutes and makes sure that he sees her turning the corner to the fields.
She is certainly not going to the forest. Of course, not. Because she and Charles have only hallucinated a strange man, who popped out of nowhere. What else?
The fields are already bare and they look dull. She stops and looks around. Not a person in sight. If not for highway cars in the distance, she might have imagined that she's alone in the world. Raven looks back at the even rows of houses. Is Charles still standing on the porch? What if he is?
The loop road she decides to take is no good. It's bumpy as hell. By the time she reaches the forest road, her teeth are set on edge. She is cross with the road and she is getting jittery.
The shafts of sunlight falling on the road are still thick and bright. She can smell damp leaves and asphalt in the air. When she picks up speed and rounds another turn, she sees a car on the roadside. And peering into the forest with hands tucked in pockets of his grey running hoodie is Charles.
"Charles," she calls. "What a coincidence!"
It startles him.
He turns to her with wide eyes.
"So you've been thinking what I've been thinking?"
He hushes her to be quiet. You can take Charles out of the library, but you can't take the library out of Charles.
"I reasonably suspect I lost my wallet here today, when I was in the area," he says deliberately loudly.
Raven darts a look at the car and snorts. The driver is busy playing some game on his phone.
"Relax. He can't hear you. Wait, I meant to say something different. Who's this guy? Is this a taxi? You drove here after I left?"
"I did. Because we both know what we saw. Now, if you excuse me."
While Charles is knocking on the driver's window, probably asking him to wait or something, Raven props her bike by the nearest tree. She waits until he finishes and smiles when he comes up. It's suddenly so much easier to let that jitteriness go when he is around.
Forest smells less of dust and more of cider as they proceed.
"We will not go very deep, just enough to keep the road in sight," Charles pauses when they step over a fallen log and turns to look at her. "I have a pepper spray. For self-defense. I can give it to you."
"What? A pepper spray? I have a shocker," she demonstrates it to Charles, who appears speechless for a few seconds.
"Where did you get it? Oh, let me guess. It came with the house."
"No, jeez! I ordered it online."
Charles runs both hands through his hair.
"I regret I asked. Let's go look for that man before it's not dark yet. I can't stop thinking that I might have razed him by accident. And he might be hiding in the forest, alone and injured because I wasn't paying attention."
"Or he might be a serial killer. Or an escaped criminal. And we're in for the biggest adventure of our lives."
"I already checked in with the local public database. They don't have anyone of that height or built on the fresh record."
"But why is he hiding? And why the police didn't believe your ghost story?"
Charles winces, laughs a little.
"Who knows. Just keep that shocker ready and pointed away from me."
They stop by the slight ditch in the forest ground, which runs across their way like some kind of a trench. It's almost too dark now and Raven turns on a flashlight on her phone.
"This is it. Let's go back."
"Hold on, Charles. Have a look over there," she points to something silvery, just peeking out of the fallen leaves. It's right there, on the bottom of the trench.
"Careful, there might be snakes."
"Alright. We startle the snakes," hums Raven, picking up a branch.
She throws it down and suddenly the leaves in the trench whirl up. There is a vicious snap. When Charles grabs her, she clutches him in return.
"What the hell?!"
"There was a trap," he states, not quite as panicky as she feels.
"I know. We're looking at the same thing! Let's just go back."
"Unquestionably," Charles lets go of her. "We did what we could. Oh, he's here."
Raven feels that some force yanks her back. She is pressed to the stranger and his forearm is pressed to her throat before she can even blink. Something cold is expanding in her gut. She eyes a very pale Charles. Glances down at the shocker she has dropped.
"I remember you two. You tried to kill me at dawn," says the man with weird articulation.
It's like being pressed to a brick wall, realizes Raven. All her wiggling is futile.
"My apologies, sir. This is exactly why my sister and I have been looking for you," Charles' voice is heavy but smooth. "We wanted to make sure that we didn't do any harm."
The guy is nuts, thinks Raven wildly. The trap. The yanking part. How did he do that?
She tries head-butting him, but it's tough with the forearm crushing your windpipe.
"We can all take a breath and discuss this situation like civilized people," continues Charles. "If you let her go, I assure you—"
"Enough," he says. "You can have this wiggling sister of yours back."
Finally, she is free. Raven falls to her knees, heaving exaggeratingly loudly. She clutches the shocker in her hand, while Charles and the forest psycho exchange words. She can't hear very well because of buzzing in her ears. With a bold twist, she turns, taps the voltage to the max and tases the man with everything she has.
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"Your drunk friend is twitching," observes the taxi-driver as he pulls up their driveway.
Raven gives a strained laugh from the front seat. Charles exhales sharply and quickly tucks cash into the driver's hand.
"Thank you very much."
"Armando," says the guy. "And you are welcome. Are you new to the town?"
"Yeah," mutters Charles, circling his arm around the man's waist.
He is trying to be gentle, but the man weights too much for someone of such a wiry build. Charles wraps his other arm around his shoulders. The man reeks of sweat, forest floor and something Charles can't name. Splendid and, sort of, expected.
"Do you need help?" asks Armando.
"Yes, please. Much obliged," huffs Charles with gratitude.
Together they half-drag half-carry the man into the house. Raven cleans up the couch in the living room, spreads a blanket there.
When Raven shuts the door after Armando, Charles slowly meets her eyes. It hits him full force.
"I can't believe it. We just kidnapped someone."
"We did our best. Leaving mister Forestman out there wouldn't be nice," Raven touches her throat and Charles feels awful.
To get busy Charles makes them coffee. He brings the pot into the living room, where Raven is sitting in the armchair. She drew all the curtains shut. The attention she is dedicating to watching the stranger is a rare look on her.
"Charles," she gulps. "Come, have a look."
He comes closer. Darts a wary look at the man's face. His skin is ashy, not in a healthy way. A few-days' worth of stubble looks lighter than dark strands plastered to his forehead.
His gaze falls on the strange dark clothes. A tight-fitting jacket and pants. A heavy, thick belt. Other than that, no seams that he can see. He touches the man's chest with his fingertips. There is something else beneath the jacket's coarse fabric. Something really hard. Like… plates. No wonder that the guy is so heavy. He looks him over with rising understanding.
"He's wearing armor."
"No, I meant his hand. See?"
Charles looks down at the said hand. It's hanging from the edge of the couch, twitching a bit. He frowns then. There is a faint blue light surrounding it. It's also visible under the man's skin. As if the light is pulsing in his veins.
The temptation is strong. Charles picks up the man's hand as Raven gasps behind his back. The light flashes brightly. Charles shakes his head to chase away a sudden dizzy spell. The hand slips out.
The man's eyes are open and he's looking right at him.
"Hello," Charles smiles nervously. "Quick recap: my sister didn't mean that, we brought you to our house, we still don't mean any harm."
The man groans a bit when he tries to sit up. Charles can tell that he is cataloguing everything he sees. His eyes are grey. Dilated and lost.
Then, everything must have come back and his expression turned blank.
"We were interrupted, so let me reintroduce myself. I'm Charles."
"Raven," calls out Raven.
They look at him until he succumbs.
"Erik," he says tightly. That odd inflection coloring his speech is there again. "No more questions."
Oh dear, he has plenty of questions. This is so unfair, Charles thinks. He glances at the man and berates himself.
Meanwhile, the man is done with watching Raven. Now he's looking at Charles.
Charles believes he notices a flicker of discomfort mirroring his own, but overall his new acquaintance is determined to remain unreadable. Charles has to break the silence when he feels a flush crawling up his neck. Being stared at so openly does that to him occasionally.
"Please, be our guest. It's the least we can do."
"You allow me to stay in your house?" he says with some disbelief.
"I don't see why not. Now, then, who wants a late dinner?"
"Or a shower?" blurts Raven from her spot.
"Raven," he chides her and adds helpfully. "The bathroom is upstairs."
"Shower?" the man asks slowly, and Charles gets the impression that he is just trying out a word.
"Yeah, that's a cabin with warm rain running from the ceiling," Raven chimes in, suspiciously giddy. "You should know what it is. Unless you're from the past."
Her eyes are saying 'got you'. The man, Erik, narrows his eyes. Charles can't miss the way his grip on the blanket tightens.
Without any words, he tries to get up. Luckily, Charles is there to catch him when he almost topples over.
Raven stays in the kitchen while Charles is helping the man upstairs. He can't be from the past, right? Charles expels that silly thought. However, he explains how taps work and what the toilet is and meets no raised eyebrows. Erik, or whoever he is, is really listening.
"I can lend you some clothes," he offers and departs quickly.
When he returns he finds Erik scratching off a light dusting of lime from the shower head. He's doing it standing in the tub, fully dressed. Charles is torn: an eager people-pleaser in him is flooded by embarrassment and an urge to apologize for poor state of bathroom fitments, whilst a different part is voting for faking ignorance.
"Erik, I'll put everything here," he wins an internal battle and dumps the pile on the corner shelf.
"How much time is assigned for the… shower?"
"You are so eco-friendly. This is the mind-set that will save the planet," Charles beams.
Erik's face shows nothing.
"Take as much time as you want," ends an exchange Charles, retreating from the room.
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Maybe, camping out in the forest was not such a good idea. Erik grits his teeth in frustration. Now, that no one is watching, he allows himself the luxury of letting go a little. His hand marked by the sword feels raw. As if tiny pricks of lightning are shooting through it. Certainly an honor he never wished for.
With his good hand he flicks the tap-thing on. Water bursts from the twisted tube under the mirror hissing and spitting. Erik shakes his head at the sheer lavishness of it. These Charles and Raven are probably well-acknowledged members of community. He thinks back to a ragged bunch living in the underbelly of this world and shakes his head. They are so different.
In the shower cabin, he leans onto the wall to hold himself up. He is angry at himself for being so weak, but he came to realize he is lucky that his mind and body withstood the transfer. Here, in the moment, he puts Charles' permission to use and merely stays under the hot stream.
His mission clothes need thorough cleaning decides Erik, and wearily picks at the soft pile left by his host. Erik saw enough men killed by less obvious traps to always be aware of one. Or did he? Thousands of images flicker before his eyes, but none of them stay. They dim, scaring him. His heart is pounding painfully. This can't be happening. Not his memories.
Erik grabs a white shell-like contraption to steady himself until a wave of pain subsides. He can sense that the throbbing in his marked hand has lessened too. Perhaps, this is the magic that is helping him adjust here. He sighs. There is probably not enough space for a new language in his head. After all, this is where all knowledge is packed according to wisemen.
His wandering eyes fall on the discarded utility belt. He starts feeling like he's woken up at last.
He has a plan now.
"You are back," Charles says cheerfully when he enters the room.
"Wow," gapes the girl, nearly choking on something she's chewing.
"Shall I heat up some food?" asks Charles carefully, standing up from the table.
That girl's coughing is the only thing that disrupts a long pause.
Charles frowns at her and finally says, "I take this expressive silence as a 'yes'."
Erik observes as he opens a tall metal cabinet. It lights up inside and Erik can see that it's stocked. A very curious thing. When Charles steps away, Erik approaches it with caution and puts a hand on it. He can feel metal vibrating under his touch. Like a belly of a huge beast, he thinks. Mimicking Charles, he pulls the door open. It opens smoothly, breathing out cold in his face. Light is on again. Interesting. Erik shuts it and opens it faster. Light's on.
Something chirms then and he looks up, discovers that both Charles and his fair-haired sister are watching him in silence.
"The great fridge mystery," laughs the strange girl, exchanging looks with her brother. "Been there, done that, man."
"Alright, let's eat," says Charles placing the plates on the table. "Here're some chicken wings, cheese, meatloaf is still good to go. Pancakes and chocolate tarts are for dessert."
He is saying something else, but it does not matter. The smell coming from food and the sight of it laid there, just within reach, slaps Erik hard. The realization how hungry he was, he is, makes him light-headed again.
Joining them at the table was a mistake, realized Erik later. What he mistook for spurge of wakefulness was perhaps his last bout of energy.
"Thank you for the feast," he blinks blearily.
His elbows dig in the table as his eyes shut on their own. This is not the plan, laments Erik. The plan was to make those two drink the forgetting juice, to gather supplies and leave.
Since he appeared in this world nothing, literally nothing goes according to plan.
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Raven stomps down the stairs in absolute fury. An urgent ringing of that blasted doorbell is driving her madder and madder by the second. And where is Charles? She strides to the door, tears it open and growls 'what'.
An albino kid under an umbrella freezes with his mouth open.
Raven tries out a serious Charles impression: folded hands, knitted eyebrows and all that. She doesn't realize that something is amiss until she feels a distinct drought whoosh by, alarming goosebumps all over bare skin. Shit, she thinks. She is in her panties and a top. Because she was asleep, damn it. Now the kid must be getting an eye-full.
She gulps it down, squints at him coldly, another flash of anger granting her cool.
The white kid clears his throat. He's wearing black sunglasses beside hiding under the umbrella. Also, it looks like he dressed himself blind. These flared jeans are asking to be burned.
"Um, miss," he speaks in a cracking voice. "I'm… I didn't…"
"Look, I don't wanna talk about Jesus or Apocalypse in the morning. And probably ever. I thought you guys don't do house rounds anymore."
She shuts the door and turns around when the doorbell rings again.
Raven inhales. Very deeply. She congratulates herself on opening the door slowly.
The kid is clutching his stupid umbrella in both hands.
"Miss, I'm awfully sorry," he begs. "I really need your help."
Raven tilts her head, suddenly aware of sunlight spilling on the porch. She takes in the umbrella kid with a rising interest.
"What help?" she asks almost sweetly.
"I'm looking for one man. I really, really need to find him. He's tall. Er, pale… Um, likes black."
"Okay. Good. You know this description is so… descriptive."
The kid smiles a little, perking up.
"No, I didn't see anyone yesterday. No one. Sorry."
Before she shuts the door one last time, the kid is shaking his head and muttering something under his nose.
With bated breath, Raven counts ten seconds in her head. She then tiptoes to the living room window and peeps through the gap in the curtains. The kid is found kneeling right on the pavement by their mailbox, his huge umbrella swallowing him up like a tent. Raven shrinks away from the window when he gets up, dusting his ugly jeans. She has no idea what she just saw.
She doesn't notice Charles curled under the blanket on the couch until she almost sits on him. Charles is not a tiny kid he used to be, but he can still blend in pretty well.
Raven spots ear-plugs and a sleep mask, which is an evident answer why she had to wake up so early on a Saturday. However, it doesn't taper off all of her irritation.
"Wakie-wakie," she shakes him.
After he tries to twist away and pulls the blanket up to cover his face Raven hits him with a cushion. It's an emergency, damn it.
While a ruffled Charles is rubbing the sleep from his eyes Raven is talking. Somehow she started walking in circles around the living room and didn't realize it until Charles spoke up.
"Did you get this boy's name? The man's name? Where is he from?"
"No!" she turns to him. "Does it even matter? One—we found a strange guy and he stayed the night. Two—a strange umbrella kid turns up asking about him. You don't need to be Sherlock to spot a connection."
She whirls around and almost jumps back, since Erik is standing right behind her and she didn't hear anything. Again.
"Good morning," Charles calls to him.
"Not so good," she grumbles.
"I agree," says Erik and Raven smiles to him. Suddenly, his gorgeous looks are not the only thing that makes her forgive him for the grabbing incident.
"Was he alone?" asks Erik sharply. "Did you see anyone else? Maybe, across the street."
"I don't think so," she says. "Chill. Told him I didn't see anyone."
"Guys," Charles clears his throat. "Why don't you both go get dressed?"
She totally forgot about it. Erik, too, appears unfazed. Well, Charles' baggy shorts look good on him. Perhaps, everything does, she thinks absently.
"And, Erik," Charles also can project sharp when he wants. "I think we need to take a new look at your 'no questions' policy."
There's some undercurrent that she fails to understand. She abruptly feels excluded and she hates it. The way Charles looks at Erik reminds Raven that he is older. Not so much in terms of actual age difference. He just has layers, like a wise old cabbage.
She pictures it in her head and laughs out loud.
Now she has their attention again.
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Charles raises both eyebrows when Erik comes back to the living room with a tray and two glasses of water.
Raven snaps a picture of him with the tray and grins to herself.
"What was that?" asks Erik immediately.
"Back up. I was telling Charles that if I were hiding, I'd try to silence people I've come into contact with. So I recorded a video of myself telling the whole story while you were busy putting back your gear. Now I have the picture proof too. It's on the cloud. We will never forget you."
"Where is this 'cloud'?" Erik's voice literally cuts through the air.
"I don't understand how it works. Charles does, I think. I only know that this cloud is," she pauses for dramatic effect, "everywhere."
Erik's glare is intense. Charles can swear that even the tray is vibrating under the force of it.
Finally, Erik dumps the tray on the table and sits on the couch, as away from Charles as possible.
"Your magical machine is devious," he grunts. "Be it as you wish."
Raven gasps.
"Charles, did you hear that?"
"I'm right here," he says and sighs. "I've been trying to tell you that your approach is way too aggressive. And invasive."
He looks at Erik sideways, notes that he's staring at the palm of his right hand.
"Erik, I'm sorry. This is a very fluid situation. I was wrestling with the decision too, while you were, presumably, putting something in our water."
That gets Erik's attention.
"It makes you forget the preceding day," he looks up. "I am thankful for your hospitality. But I must leave. And you must forget that you ever saw me."
"You mentioned 'magic'," probes Charles. "What does this word mean to you?"
"Charles is an alchemist himself," speaks Raven proudly.
"Is this true?"
"I am not. I'm doing my post-graduate on evolutionary genomics."
Raven gives him a dry look.
"All right, from a different perspective, I might be called that."
Erik is contemplating something.
"Since I touched that sword I couldn't focus properly for a while," he says suddenly and extends his hand.
The pen holder Charles earlier pushed to the edge of the low table is floating up in the air. Being floated up—he dumbly corrects himself, feeling overcome with joy and wonder. One pen flies up from the holder and is hovering in front of Raven, just out of her reach.
"Awesome," Raven whispers loudly, while Charles is digesting it speechlessly.
"In my world, there are many people with gifts. Not all of them are good for battle," Erik huffs, putting the holder back smoothly. "Among them, the sacred sword, Lightblade, is passed from generation to generation. Wizards make the wielder their Champion. The one who commands the Lightblade has the strength to fight the forces of evil, to stop their spread and the swell of their number. Once a sword holder dies, another one is chosen by the sword."
"You have the power to move things with your mind. A question. Is this the gift you've been born with?" asks Raven.
"Not exactly to both," Erik says. "But yes."
"Oh, amazing. And the super magical sword has chosen you, right?"
"Right."
"Only I don't see it anywhere," Raven makes a point. "Did you lose it in the forest? Or, wait, did you get separated and you are on a quest to get it back? Sorry, it made more sense in my head."
Erik's brow is furrowed. He clenches his right hand into a fist.
"You can't lose Lightblade because you're one with it."
"It merged with you and therefore it's probably responding to your emotional state," guesses Charles. "You were sick the night before. Granted, you look much better today. Is it because of this sword too? Hold on," he pauses to put his thoughts in order, "if this object is capable of accumulating and storing memories of its own, it must have pushed your nervous system into overload. Is this why you speak our language? This is magnificent."
"I don't understand everything you're saying. You may truly be the alchemist," Erik turns to him. "Can you make me more forgetting juice? I'll pay."
"I could try," Charles nods, excitement prickling under his skin.
"Come on, Erik. You need to think of the different name for this potion. Maybe something from Harry Potter, because yours is unbelievably dull."
The doorbell rings. All of them turn to the door in silence.
Charles gets on his feet. Erik follows.
Never before had the act of opening the door thrilled him so. He swallows a lump. Last look at Erik, sliding in the corner by the door, fills him with some measure of reassurance.
He opens the door and there's a thin, sickly-looking boy Raven has mentioned. He is holding a black umbrella and supporting a really old silver-haired lady in a blue bucket hat. The wrinkles on her face are so deep that they look brown. Startled, Charles realizes that her eyes, so peaceful, are opaque, unseeing.
"We know that the relic wielder is here," says the lady gently. "Will you let us in, young man?"
Erik chooses to step up in the doorway, putting his hand on Charles' shoulder. His touch is warm enough that Charles feels it through his T-shirt.
"I took every evasive maneuver. How did you find me?"
"That's a secret," she smiles.
"You're a stubborn kind," observes Erik and he and his hot hand retreat back.
"Welcome," Charles holds the door wide open.
The blind lady occupied their second armchair. As for the boy in sunglasses, he insisted on standing by her side. He desperately struggled with ogling Raven and not being caught.
Seeing that Charles is aware of what is going on, he is doing a poor job.
"You've made friends so fast," says the lady. "You are worthy, indeed."
Erik snorts at that, somewhat derisively. Charles notes the change in him with regret. Erik was rather animated, in his own way, just a few minutes ago.
"It's like I'm dreaming," mutters Raven, squeezing her eyes shut. "A wise old lady in a weird hat, a young valet, a mysterious knight… But I know this is not a dream."
"Oh, dear, you know more than you think you do. And keep your eye out for somebody special," says the lady meaningfully and Raven sits up straight.
"You can see the future," she whispers in awe.
This might be taken straight from the fortune cookies database—makes a mental note Charles. Erik has evidence to support his claim. This woman's story is much more difficult to check. But no one seems to share his reservations: Raven appears ecstatic and the pale boy is nodding seriously.
"This is the Oracle," he says with aplomb.
"Nice to meet you all," says Charles placatingly, smiling. "How about explaining what is going on?"
"Not so long ago I had a terrible vision. I saw a tear in the sky, the earth split apart: the armies of invaders tramping down the world, hunting and devouring our kind."
The Oracles' voice is reverberating wonderfully. Charles absently wonders whether this is another superpower or just an oratory skill polished to perfection. Raven, though, looks convinced.
"I assume, devouring is not a figure of speech," Charles needs to make sure.
"No, it's not," speaks Erik. "And 'no' to you," he addresses the blind lady. "You brought it on yourself. Furthermore, you brought me here against my will, be it by mistake or intent. I cannot join you: I will not."
An abrupt silence falls. Charles senses Erik's resentment as if it's his own. Acid bile rises up in his throat on hearing it.
"I apologize for it, sword wielder," the Oracle says. "We're fighting the common enemy. I've lived enough, seen enough to doubt that your arrival was merely an unfortunate incident. I believe you are our chance to win this battle."
"I have also seen enough prophets. I know when someone is trying to manipulate me," Erik grimaces. "Who else knows where I am?"
"Your concern is noted. I asked Caliban not to involve anyone else. Did you tell anyone, dear?"
"Um," the boy in sunglasses stutters slightly. "I… I did not."
"Would you like a drink? Water? Coffee?" Raven offers abruptly. "Milk for the kid?"
"I'm not a kid," rumbles the boy as the Oracle chuckles softly.
"Yes, please, dear," she says. "Just water would be nice."
"Okay. I'll take these glasses to the kitchen. For a refill. Be right back," she winks at Erik, picking up the tray and marching out.
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two days ago
He is falling into the swirling blue light. His mind is everywhere at once. Seeing portals is not the same as to be sucked into one. Nauseous, insides twisted in shock, he braces himself for the impact, tightening his grip on the Lightblade. He won't go down like that.
Bright light dispels as he lands on his feet, bending knees for balance and instinctively letting his body fall into a stance.
His glance lands on a bunch of oddly dressed people, who are gaping at him foolishly. Erik slowly turns around and discovers that he is standing in the middle of a circle formed by all kinds, it would seem.
A pale tall man with a scar, a red-head, three hunched bearded men, who look like triplets, a surprisingly pretty blond girl and a woman in a ridiculous blue hat.
He can't see much in a dimly lit cave. Though it doesn't look like the dark realm, land of monsters and chaos, decides Erik. And then they start talking. Loudly, insistently. His head begins to hurt. He doesn't understand a word.
"Be quiet, stop talking," he rasps, while his ears fill with noise and he feels so much pressure squeezing around his head he's afraid he might be going blind.
Grinding his teeth, he swirls the blade, whirling around the circle. The maneuver makes his vision swirl, but it also makes everybody draw back and shut up.
Erik feels his heart pounding.
When he hears a single voice he turns to the small old woman, the one in a ridiculous hat. And though words don't make much sense to him from the start he slowly begins to understand what she is saying.
"What is your name, sword wielder?" she is asking.
"Oh god," he hears behind his back. "Who is this? Why is he holding the sword?"
"We brought another problem upon ourselves," grumbles someone on his right.
Someone is also shushing whoever is talking.
Even if Erik had been willing to talk, he's heard enough. Some would-be wizards screwed up and brought him here. He looks down at his feet. He's standing in the center of the flat stone platform with spiraling pattern winding out. Cracks are running all over it.
"Open the portal back, wizards," the words come out strange and harsh, but he is understood. This is what matters.
"We can't," exclaims the blond girl, twisting her hands desperately. "We have been preparing for this ritual for years. The seal is ruined now."
She probably means the stone platform he's standing on.
"Fine," Erik says dryly. "What realm is this? I'll find a way to make my own."
"Please," calls out that old woman again. "Stay. Let me explain."
There's something in her pleading voice that strikes a chord.
Erik slowly turns back, weighing his options. His head hurts less, but thinking clearly is difficult. The hand clutching the sword starts to burn and he stifles a grunt. Suddenly, the sword just flashes bright and dissolves right in his hand. It takes a lot to keep his face motionless. He is not used to it at all.
"We started off on the wrong foot," she says to him meanwhile, smiling.
"Does the manner of walking influence your magic?" he is confused.
She huffs a laugh, waving him closer.
"Come here, young man. I'll give you a tour."
Everyone else leaves the cave from the exit hidden behind the huge stalagmite. She grabs his elbow tight, as if afraid he might run. In the dim light provided by odd globes hanging from the stalagmites she looks ancient. This is also when he understands that she's blind.
They take the stairs cut in the stone. Well, Erik takes. The old one is hanging on his arm. There are quite a few turns until they come out and the biggest and the most inhabited cave he's ever seen spreads in front of his eyes. He quickly turns his head around. Odd light globes are hanging from the high ceiling everywhere. Erik can see windows and doors cut in stone and winding stairs connecting them. People are walking there, talking, carrying things. It's a real underground village, it seems.
"We have a hydroelectric dam to thank for all this. Everyone in the town thinks it's out of order," she says. "I trust you to keep it a secret."
"You realize that I don't know what you mean?"
She pats him on the hand, chuckling.
Too soon, they have attracted a crowd. And a noisy one at that.
"Oracle, who is this?" asks a lanky boy with some dark contraption over his eyes. He turns back to the crowd, shushing everyone.
Surprisingly, it works.
"I heard you failed to summon the amulet."
"We did not," chuckles the woman. "This young man has it. The amulet didn't come in the shape we expected. It's in his possession and we should respect it."
"But what about your vision? You know that they are looking for us, right? We need amulet's protection," grinds the boy. "You," he blindly turns to his right and sticks up his chin. "Surrender the amulet. You'll be well rewarded."
"He's to your left, Scott," calls out a voice from the crowd and the flustered boy shushes it too.
"Yes. I am indeed to you left. Is this some blind community?" asks Erik incredulously. He's slowly losing his patience.
"Scott needs his glasses because it's difficult to control his power," says the Oracle. "Don't be harsh on him."
The cacophony begins. Erik feels rage pooling in his gut. He raises his hand with determination. It flashes blue, silencing the crowd.
"So you have gifts, but you don't want to fight?"
"You don't know who you're talking about. We can't win without the amulet," says the same blond girl from before.
"I have seen people accomplish great things with less," Erik remarks. "Instead of turning your magic into a weapon you used it to steal."
"How dare you," the lanky boy lashes out, trembling.
"I'm sorry, we can't let you go now," the blond one says.
Erik smirks to himself. He reaches out to feel it, the metal protecting the boy's eyes. It's difficult. More than ever before, but he tugs it up despite a spike of headache.
With the burst of red power comes his escape.
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After they decided to split up and cover different sections, Raven was glad that she has got to stay with Erik. She then solemnly declared Erik in charge of pushing the trolley along the rows of detergents and softeners.
What does it feel like to him she wonders from time to time. Can the person with magical powers be enticed by the colorful display of multi fragrance hand sanitizers?
"So," Raven drawls while Erik is sorting through hedge clippers.
It has been bothering her a tiny bit.
"I take it you are not angry with me for tasing you in the forest?"
"No. I understand. You attacked me unannounced when your brother distracted me. Great job."
"Dope," she says and bites her lip.
Damn, she hopes this guy stays.
Meanwhile, Erik picks up the largest clippers. "How many of these can you afford?"
"I don't know," shrugs Raven, "but here comes our cash cow. Let's ask."
"Who?" frowns Erik, looking around wearily.
Charles is pushing his trolley with veggies towards them. He is on his phone. His eyes find them and he smiles apologetically.
"Yeah, sir. No, I can do that. Thank you for reminding me," he pointedly looks at the hedge clippers Erik is holding. "Alright. See you. You too."
Raven can't help but notice that Charles is less composed than normal. This exciting day tired him out too.
"No, you can't make such traps around our house. This is not a war zone, for god's sake," Charles is saying, exasperated.
Erik is replying something calmly, while Raven is grinning.
She doesn't remember having that much fun in a while. And all it took was almost running over the guy from maybe the past, maybe another dimension.
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