A/N: O'Dark Thirty Revamp.
I lied, this is nothing like the first chapter of O'Dark Thirty. Maybe if it was I would of gotten in published sooner...sorry...
Chapter Song:
Haunted by Holly Brook
~o0o~
"We could get a chill, on haunted hill
Where the saddest parts inside my heart
Can live in the past, leave me at last."
~o0o~
A chilled breeze danced across the top of the cliff, catching the light blonde hair of the 12 year old Welsh girl that sat atop it.
The scent of the Celtic Sea embraced her, wrapping her in warmth that was nearly impossible the northern body of water. The warmth wasn't physical, of course. No, that was ridiculous. The warmth was that of safety, of familiarity. She grew up on the western coast of Wales and had shared the sea with the eastern coast of Ireland- where she now sat on the wet grass of a tall cliff that was decorate with a surprisingly well kept castle. While there a few cracks and fallen stones in the courtyard and outer barrier, the main structure was still perfectly intact.
She had to hand it to the crazy, red-headed wench. The woman knew how to handle "ruins".
Sighing, Agatha fell down, resting her body on the lush green as she watched the tempestuous waves of her darling sea tell stories of an approaching storm.
Her mind's voice laughed cynically. That silly sea. The storm has already come. It came quietly, blowing in from the very cliff on which she lay, sneaking a simple note into her bedroom.
I know. And I'll help. Meet me at the arch.
She knew the arch without question. It was a rock formation on the risen shoreline across town. When she was younger and snooping through the storage, she came across of few water colors created by the hand of her long deceased father. There were some of town, some of her infant self, and a few of the coast she had never been permitted to visit. Her curiosity, however, had over taken her. So on the days when her bruises were too severe to hide and her mother withheld her from classes before parading off to wherever she went for 12, 13, 14 hours, the little trouble maker wandered to the forbidden spot.
Maybe she should have questioned the note. Maybe she shouldn't have gone to the arch. But, for whatever reason, rebellion ceased her heart and mind.
An escape. An escape was finally here. She could finally be rid of the awful people others considered her parents. She could finally be free of the blood and bruises. She could finally be free of her hell.
Another bitter laugh rang through her mind.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire, right?
She had met the author of the note- a young, red head woman of Irish decent- and greeted her with silence and judging eyes.
The woman had smiled patiently and returned the harsh greeting with a much more pleasant, " 'Lo, doll. You quite alright this evening?"
Agatha didn't respond. Not verbally- of course, being the mute she is- and not physically. She stayed rooted in her spot as the stranger watched her with kind, green eyes. Then, the woman held out a pale, slightly freckled hand.
"Come now, child." She beckoned softly, her motherly smile still in place.
Gingerly, an optimistic-yet skeptic- Agatha stepped forward and gently rested her hand in the woman's open one.
In a moment's time, they were within the confines of a stone building.
Confused, terrified, Agatha ripped her hand away and stared in disgust at the woman. She hadn't a clue what just happened, but she didn't like it.
The woman seemed to expect this.
"I understand you're upset, darling," She began kindly, "And I understand why. I will explain all when you feel you are ready. Until then: I am Laviana, and this-" She motioned around the what seemed to the foyer- "is your home."
Three days later, lying in wet grass, Agatha knew what had happened. She couldn't wrap her brain around- not while still sane- but she knew the truth.
Magic.
You couldn't be a child during the turn of 21st century and not have some kind of precursor to the knowledge of magic. For most, it didn't exist beyond the realms of pages and films. She was no exception to this…not until four nights ago.
As illogical as it was, three days and four nights of pondering had turned up that the most unreasonable, childish explanation was the only sound one.
How else could someone transport themself and another across a sea and into a home in a split second? They couldn't.
Not unless they had magic.
Her next "logical" conclusion was that Laviana was some sort of witch. With this came a minor panic.
Witches- or something of like- were real. So what else was? Were demons, werewolves and other evil creatures a reality as well? What about fairies and unicorns, or Cyclopes and dragons? Were undead creatures like, vampires and zombies, members of this reality?
And then the most important, most petrifying question came to mind.
What would Laviana, a presumed witch and known user of magic, want with her? Why was she suddenly part of this world? Was this going be some kind of "Chosen One" crap? What on Earth justified pulled a blissfully ignorant twelve year old from her known world and tossing her into a brand new- and much more dangerous- one?
A single pellet of rain splashed against her pale cheek, drawing her attention to the darkened sky. Fast moving, gray thunder clouds- cumulonimbus if her old science teacher was right- had overtaken the already dim skies. The foreboding sounds of thrashing waves were drown out by vicious and ominous rumbles of deep thunder.
Writhing winds whipping around her, Agatha stood and began walking back to the castle- her new home.
The door opened before he could knock.
"Children," His Godmother greeted with a wide smile, "Demetri."
"Miss Ní Arailt." Demetri greeted formally, bowing slightly as a practiced sign of respect.
Laviana laughed it off and ushered the three- himself, his sister and Demetri- into the castle.
"Gracious," She commented as she took one last look at the sinister sky, "So what have you three been up to?"
"Werewolf near Limerick," Jane said nonchalantly as she removed her cloak, "We were aiming to cross St. George's Channel before the storm came in, but the pup took longer than expected."
Ana nodded and took her cloak, ushering for his and Demetri's as well.
"Well, just for everyone's information," She began as she took the two other cloaks, "I've taken on a new charge. She's a bit timid, so don't go 'round actin' the maggot or I'm tossin' ya on your bum, 'right?"
Demetri and Jane agreed to her demands without question and stocked off, wandering around what could very well be considered their second home.
Alec, however, stuck around for a moment, smiling up at his auntie before hugging her softly.
She returned the affection- as he knew she would- and kissed the top of his rain pattered head.
The thirteen year old pulled away and kissed the woman's check before darting up the stairs, following the scent he had caught the moment they walked through the threshold of the castle.
Vanilla and evergreen- the new charge. Laviana had told them not to frighten her, but she didn't say anything about maybe, kinda stalking her, a little bit. Besides, it would only scare her if she caught him and considering how many times he's gotten the upper hand on Demetri, it was safe to assume that a silly little baby-witch wouldn't catch on.
The soft scent was most prominent in one wing, he had noticed. One hall, actually. He had stepped through the archway from the third-floor stair landing and listened for a heartbeat.
The tiniest, quietest Bu-dum could be heard above him. Almost directly, actually. He thought of the stairwell and was reminded of the small tower that topped it. So she was in the tower. Perfect.
With a wicked smile, the boy followed her scent down the hall, finding the door behind which the strongest concentration of that cookies – and – forest aroma was held.
Softly, he opened the solid oak door.
Inside, a nearly empty room was waiting for him.
The only furniture was a tall dresser, a bed and small night table.
Both the table and the dresser were adorned with books and unlit, but previously used, candles. He recognized a few of the title- Grimm's Fairy Tales; The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe; The Da Vinci Code- but most of them either he hadn't heard of or the bindings were covered in duct tape. Atop a small pile of unidentified novels rested a small, leather-bound pocket journal.
Never one for minding another's privacy, much to the dismay of his often targeted sister, Alec opened the little book and read the first entry.
I've never before found use for this, because never before had any events been so novel as to call for a written memorial of them. Tonight, however, after the average eating-and-beating of the evening time, I came to my room to find a tiny piece of some kind of parchment lying on my bed. "I know. And I'll help. Meet me at the arch." The largest part of me is tumbling over the idea. Sneak out and meet a complete stranger? What if it's a setup, a way to get me in trouble and justify more harsh beatings? What if I'd be leaving a life a physical abuse for one of sexual abuse- either by whoever left the note or by being sold into some kind of pedophilic sex trafficking ring?
But another part of me knows the internal struggle is no use.
I am going to go. This could very well be my only chance and, while I'm no gambler, I'm going to take it.
I'll wait for them to tuck in before packing my bag-
Alec looked around the room and saw an old, canvas backpack nestled between the bed and nightstand.
-of only the most essential things. I only pray this go well. If this is a trap, or if I get caught, I may very well be dead. I wouldn't put it pass them.
Luckily, he thought, it did go well.
Closing the journal and returning it to its place, Alec left the bare room and wandered back to the stairwell.
He wanted to see this girl- whether to size her up or just out of morbid curiosity, he didn't know. Following the steady heartbeat, he traveled up the winding, stone stairs. As he neared the open archway the marked the tower, his senses were bombarded with the scents of vanilla, pine and Irish rain and the sounds of a thunder storm, a pouring sky and a calm heart.
Silently, he stepped into the stone arch.
Her back was turned to him as she sat atop an ancient, stone seat and peered out the open window. Considering the season, he had to assume she was cold. She didn't seem to mind it, though. More did she mind getting wet, it appeared, as a gust of wind sent a sheet of rain through the opening and into her. The girl didn't even flinch.
Instead, she brushed some of her blonde hair behind her pale ear. From his angel, the action gave him a descent profile of her young face.
Silver eyes- far too wise for her youthful appearance- were lined in thick, dark lashes. A small, snub nose sat delicately in line with angled cheeks and a plump upper lip pouted over a slightly less-full lower one.
She was only a child, probably about his age, but she looked much older. Mature beyond her years. Maybe it was the seen-too-much shadow over otherwise striking eyes; maybe it was the elegant incline of her cheek bones, he didn't know. All he knew was that she was beautiful. Damp, and cold, but beautiful.
The woman- child- sighed quietly and slowly stood, wiping the rain from her face.
Before she could turn to him, Alec dashed down the stairs. At the bottom, his sister was waiting for him, arms crossed and eyes scolding in a way only an elder twin could manage.
He knew she knew what he was doing. And he knew she didn't approve, seeing as it indirectly went against an order.
He put on a mask of innocence and shrugged his shoulders, causing Jane to roll her red eyes like the elder twin she was.
So whatdaya think?