NOTE: This chapter takes place in the first-person under Elijah's point of view.

Chapter 10 – Welcome to Hawthorn

2015

My name is Elijah Cross, it's a pleasure to meet you. A bit about me – I work as a travel consultant, so I have seen quite a bit of the world. I was born in eastern London, England on November 15, 1985. I came here to Los Angeles with my parents when I was eleven, and I've been here ever since. I am in my office Mondays to Fridays, nine to five, and have been here for the past six years, working my arse off to get a promotion. I hate my boss. He's a cunt. I just don't understand why he prefers the newcomers over me, letting them climb the ladder before I even get my foot on a rung. I love when I travel for work, but about eighty percent of the year is spent dealing with clients. I love my weekends off. I usually spend it in solitude anyhow, listening to Stevie Nicks, Selena or Seal. Call me a fruit for my music taste, but I think they are all classic.

Another thing about me, I keep to myself a lot. I have never even had a girlfriend. I think they're just scared of me, or maybe it's me in that I do not open up easily. I do have a scary gaze – I have light blue eyes, and dark brown hair, neatly combed especially for work. I've always had a deep respect for women, though. Don't even get me started about sex – I'm still a virgin. I'm thirty years old, like that film of the same title. I don't even talk about it with people because I get laughed at. I was laughed at in high school about it. I suppose that I am waiting for just the right woman to come along, that fate brings us together in the best way possible. Selena, one of my favorite singers, sings about love and devotion. I am so drawn to her songs Dreaming of You and I Could Fall in Love. My heart breaks with joy every time.

I have seen a particular woman in my dreams for most of my childhood. I love my vivid dreams when I sleep. I am not sure if they're prophetic, but it would not shock me because I have had these other abilities since I moved to Los Angeles from London. More on that in a moment. The woman's name starts with an M, and she is beautiful. I still dream of her time to time. She has golden hair that frames her face, a sculpted face with high cheekbones, the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen, and she is slender. She is often in red and wearing jewelry. She exudes power and authority. I love a woman in charge. I consider myself a decent excuse for a man, but I would love to worship a woman and do anything for her to keep her happy.

As I mentioned, I've had abilities most of my life. I cannot explain how or why I have them. I just do. I can move things with my mind, I can set fires without a match, and there was one time I was trying to run away from idiot bullies trying to give me a wedgie and I ended up right behind them as they chased me about. I also have this inner knowing, an intuition if you will. I not only have vivid dreams, but sometimes I feel like I am walking out of my body. The morning after, I feel like I just rose from the dead and the entire day, I am trudging through my work. There is something else I can do as well, and it manifested early in my life. I was five and our poor dog Diablo got hit by a car. The person who hit him didn't even stop to see if he was alright. He just drove on. I cried over his body, and imagined him as though he were running around, jumping about like the playful pup he was. Then I felt a tongue on my face. His wounds were healed over. He was alive. When my parents asked if he was alright and really hit, I lied and said to them, "no, he didn't get hit."

More recently, my life took a drastic turn. It all started when I saw the news while having my lunch break in the office break room. I remember what I had; a baloney sandwich with mustard, lettuce and ketchup. I looked up at the TV and saw the anchor speak.

"This just in at 1:30, reports of a missing girl near the Long Beach area have been circulating the area. The parents of thirteen-year-old Kiesha Wilkins reported her missing this morning after not being home for two days. Shawna Healey has more on the story."

That was when a photo of the missing girl appeared on screen. She was African-American with cornrows and beads. It broke me to see the mother crying for her missing, dead daughter. Yes, I said "dead" because I knew deep down that she was. Just looking at her picture, I could barely detect her life force. In fact, an image began to come to mind as to where she was. Long Beach is near water, and I could perceive her laying there on a bank. I got up, I put away the rest of my sandwich, and left. I had roughly 45 minutes left of my break, but I got out of the building as fast as I could, into my car, and I drove, letting my intuition guide me to where the girl's body was.

I was correct in my convictions. It took me a little bit to find her, but I knew I was close when I got the whiff of death just from ten feet away. It was on a bank under an overpass near the harbor. I covered my nose and approached her, her brown skin having turned a sickly pallor, her eyes closed with water coming from her nose. I knew I had to do something. She could not have been dead for long. I leaned down and looked around me before I laid my hands on her chest. I focused, imagining that the girl was alive, breathing, with a beating heart and sufficient brain function. I even wondered what happened to her, but I needed to focus. It was like the day Diablo got hit by a car and I unwittingly revived him. This here, however, was all intention. She seemed to spring back to life within minutes, and I felt a little bit dizzy. I leaned back on the rocks, and the girl looked at me.

"Where am I?"

"I… found you. You were unconscious," I told her. I could not just say I revived her. She would not believe me.

"How?"

I shook my head: "you need to go to the police, love."

"But they'll find me and kill me," the girl said worriedly.

"They will not, Kiesha," I said.

Her eyes just widened at me with confusion: "how do you know my name?"

"You were on the news during my lunch break." That was the truth. "In all seriousness, love, you should go to the police to tell them what happened to you. I'll even drive you there. I don't give a rat's fanny enough about my boss when I return."

She agreed to go with me, and she sat in my passenger seat. As I drove, I could still smell the stench of death on her body. She was alive because of me, but whenever I had to stop at a red light, she stared ahead, her eyes dead and void of expression. Her clothes were wet, but I didn't mind having to wipe off the leather seat she was sitting in afterwards. It took me a total of thirty minutes to get to the Los Angeles Police Department because of the traffic. When I got out of the car, I went to open the passenger side door and help young Kiesha out. She seemed disoriented, and I had a few odd stares my way, but I went in and stopped a police officer as he was walking, going about his daily business.

"Officer?" I asked. "I found her."

"Found who?" I near rolled my eyes as I looked down at Kiesha, who looked up at him. The police officer nodded rapidly, realizing who is was and gestured us over to what seemed to be an office.

"We need to call the family and let her know she is safe," he said, pausing for a bit. "Where did you find her?"

I hesitated to speak, but I did: "on a bank. I took a walk during my lunch break near the harbor."

The police officer nodded and looked at the girl: "everything is going to be alright, Kiesha. Your mother will be here to pick you up, but you also need to tell us what happened with you. You've been gone from home for about two days now and you were reported missing just this morning." Then he looked my way. "There is not much left for you to do, except the mother may have a reward."

I shook my head vehemently: "no, I can't accept anything. I just want for her to be safe at home."

"At least have my momma meet who saved me," Kiesha said, turning around as I stood up. I checked my watch. It was almost 3PM. I knew my boss would have it out for me, but I couldn't care less.

I did stay for a while. I did catch a glimpse of the mother, the same one who cried on TV, and I heard what I assumed was a tearful reunion in the office I was sitting outside of. When they came out, the mother looked extremely overjoyed, her arm over her rescued daughter's shoulder. I nodded my head respectfully, and the mother approached me. I just sat there, interacting with her.

"You found my daughter. She's safe. I thank God for you," she said, excitement in her voice. Dried tears were plastered to her skin.

"I was just doing the right thing," I replied with a closed smile.

"Please accept the reward I have posted?" she begged me, taking my hand into her dark palm.

"I couldn't, ma'am," I said, shaking my head.

"Please?" the mother begged again. "I know my daughter's life is worth way more than $1500, but it's the least I could do to show my appreciation for bringing her back alive."

Poor lady – she didn't even know Kiesha was dead and I revived her. I felt so guilty taking money from her for doing what I felt was right, but at the same time, I wanted to make her happy. I caved. I accepted the $1500. Little did I know in that moment I would need it. I lived comfortably, had a small 2-bedroom house just outside the city, a decent 401k and benefits from my job. This all would be lost, however, because my arsehole boss confronted me when I got to my office at roughly an hour before we closed. I knew full well that I stayed away from the office beyond my lunch break. I had only done it that one time. My boss hated my arse enough, though, because the cunt came in and berated me like I was some delinquent.

"Please, I swear to God, tell me you got all that work on your desk done when you were away to God-knows-where," he said.

I was silent, so he tried to provoke me as I put my messenger bag down: "I'm speaking to you, Cross!"

"I know. I can explain what happened," I answered, keeping myself calm. I was good at keeping myself calm until the right buttons were pushed; or, in this case, the wrong ones.

"Someone better have been dead," that cunt said.

"Maybe they just might have, had I not found them," I said, looking at him with a death stare from where I stood behind my desk. "Have you not seen the news about that missing girl?"

"What did you do, Superman? Save the day?" he taunted me, throwing his hands up in the air. "Boohoo. This place comes first."

"I didn't think I would be that long," I added, trying to help my case.

"Why would I give a shit about some girl? You breached company policy."

I felt my eyes widen and my voice seemed to raise itself with minimal effort: "how?!"

"You took too long of a lunch break. Two hours? Really?"

I rolled my eyes, and that was when my boss became visibly miffed. He picked up the pile of papers left on my desk that I was supposed to work on when I came back from lunch, but before he could really make a bloody mess, I raised my right hand, and I didn't even concentrate or think about what I was doing. My boss was sent back against the glass wall of my office room, and he looked as though he did a biggie in his drawers. I lowered my hand, and he still had that shocked expression on his face.

"You just assaulted me," he said shakily.

"I barely touched you, sir!" I replied.

"You're fired!" he shouted, still against the wall.

"Cheerio, cunt!" I retorted.

I gathered my bearings and left that godforsaken place. I went into my car, and the first thing I did was stop by the liquor store to get some scotch. I was not a habitual drinker, but I needed to dumb down for a bit. I got home, and I poured myself a glass, putting on the TV and listening to the story.

"This just in, new developments on the disappearance of Kiesha Wilkins. The girl was found alive in stable, but rough condition earlier this afternoon. She was brought into the LAPD by a good Samaritan, and her mother quickly came to retrieve her."

I kept listening to the news anchor, sipping my scotch, and I was shocked to learn what had happened – the girl had run away from home after a clash with her mother, and was picked up by two guys who got her drunk, raped her, and tossed her off a bridge into the water, which explains why I found her body where I did. I took the rest of my scotch down in one gulp and retired to bed for the night. I had a dream of the woman in red again. It was as though her face was covered in a fog until she came up to me, caressing my cheek. I felt my heart fluttering until I woke up. She has to exist somewhere. If I am having dreams of her, then she must exist in some given place or time. Perhaps I have yet to meet her? Perhaps she is my destiny?

Things remained quiet for a few days. I did not leave my home much. There was a knock at my door late Tuesday afternoon, and I was dumbfounded to find a very well-dressed gentleman on the other side of the door, the sunset only making his unique emerald brooch on his lapel shine in my face. I squinted and noticed he was black, had very short hair, and when he spoke, I could tell he was a flower. Nothing wrong with that, but not my cup of tea.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"Are you Elijah Cross? The one who saved that girl in Long Beach recently?" His voice danced flamboyantly.

I chuckled, dumbfounded. I didn't speak to anyone about the incident, and the news seemed to leave my name out of the new developments they broadcast a few days before when I got fired: "how did you-"

"If you can brew me some coffee, I'd be happy to tell you how I know," the man said.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"I am Behold Chablis," he introduced.

I was intrigued, naturally. I let him in, and I brewed him some coffee. Setting it down in front of him, I asked if he wanted cream or sugar, but he preferred it black. He took the first sip, and looked at me with such a sassy, hot-shit expression.

"That girl was not alive when you first saw her," he told me, daintily and briefly pointing his finger at me. He was correct, but I didn't want to say anything; what if this was a conspiracy come true with what I've heard about the US government? "She was dead, and you did something to her to bring her back. That is something very rare, but do you want to know how I know?"

"Please."

"I have the gift of divination," Behold revealed. "I have an inner sense of knowing things, and I am able to scry. When I did so on the day that the news report came on, I saw you clear as day bringing little Kiesha back. She was dead, and you brought the life back into her body."

Divination, I thought. Could that explain why I had the same sort of inner knowing my whole life?

"What are you?" I asked. "Who sent you?"

"I came of my own free will, Elijah. Your magic sent me here, as did the Hawthorn Academy for Exceptional Young Men just twenty miles outside the city. It was hell to get here. It's so hot," he said, fanning himself with his hand.

"Magic?" I had read about England's history with the subject, even about Wicca and Gerald Gardner, but it seemed to ingenuine to me. Seemed like a nutter trying to get attention and credit for what Crowley did in his life.

"Yes. I am a warlock," he told me, "and you are, too."

I was silent until I gulped and blurted: "a warlock?"

"Yes. Tell me, Elijah, have you had anything strange happen around you that you cannot explain?" he questioned.

This was hard to answer, but I took my time. I didn't want to give myself away, but my intuition told me this guy was serious. This was confirmed when he made a show of what looked to be powers: he put his hand over his half-drunk coffee cup and refilled it, without any actual coffee or anything. I gulped even harder, and I could tell he sensed my hesitation.

"Oh, I use that all the time. I needed a refill," he said with a chuckle. "But… tell me… do you have strange things happen around you that maybe you don't tell others about?"

"I keep to myself, but… yes. I have had things happen most of my life," I said. "I was led by my intuition to that girl a few days ago during lunch break. Yes, I did revive her. She was dead when I reached her. Can't have been long that she was gone. I couldn't just tell people that. They'd lock me in the looney bin!"

He nodded: "what about pushing your boss with barely any effort against the wall in your office?"

That was when my heart dropped. I gulped again. "How did you know?" I raised my voice.

"Oh, your company sent us surveillance footage of you doing it. Nothing to be ashamed of. Your boss was an asshole," Behold said with an encouraging smile. "You took so many years of his crap, didn't you?"

"I did. He was a callous twat," I said in the most British way possible.

"Oh, easy," Behold said, trying to keep me calm.

"I did everything I could, busting my arse in that office. I did like to travel. I've seen most of Europe, I went to China twice, Japan once, South Africa another time… but that aside, I hated that fucking job." I lightly seethed, venting. "I was never given the fucking chance to advance there. It was always the fresh-faced newcomers who had the advantage, when I, who had worked there for years, was simply the afterthought." I paused. "I got fired a few days ago. Bugger said I assaulted him. I barely touched him! I barely even made him go back like that."

"Turn your emotion into power, Elijah. That is one thing we teach at Hawthorn," Behold said.

"It's a school? For… this thing?" I asked.

"For warlocks, yes. I personally invite you to become a part of our coven. I can understand if you want to stay in your…" I saw him look around, "little bubble, but if you want to finally come into your own and finally own what you have, then please, pack your bags and come with me."

"This is my house. I own it," I said.

"It's not going anywhere," Behold joked.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I decided that this is where fate was taking me. I had these powers since I was five, and I'm thirty now. Time to learn more about myself before my ticker runs out. I grabbed my luggage set and started to pack all of my necessities. Behold was kind enough to help me, too. I packed basic toiletries, clothing, and Behold said I would need something fancy to wear for lessons. I had a nice suit, which I included in my packing. When I got outside, I looked back at my house and sighed. I was leaving this behind for a school I barely knew about until today, but fate was pulling me. I couldn't fight her. There was a car with a chauffeur outside, and we got in, putting my stuff in the boot before the forty-minute drive to this very peculiar structure. Behold and I got out of the car, and I saw that it was like a maze. I had to ask about how the inside was.

"Uh… is this a maze?"

"Underground, there is a huge compound," Behold said. "Come on, let's get your bags in."

The underground area was accessible by an elevator, in which all of my luggage just fit along with Behold and I. We went down a hallway, where we saw three men standing in front of a square fire pit. One of them was intimidating, wearing a cape lined with red fabric. He looked to be Hispanic. Another one, slightly taller, looked to be that or Asian, and he wore glasses with a fine suit. The third man had eyes kind of like mine – light blue, and his hair was black and combed back. He had a black-jewel pin on his tie, and he seemed to look at me the most. I looked down.

"He's here?"

"Yes, he's here. Elijah Cross," the intimidating Hispanic man said. I looked at him and gave a shy smile, waving my hand.

"H-Hello."

"You brought back someone from the dead, a very rare feat for a warlock," the Asian with the glasses said.

"And launched his boss against the wall, barely trying," the man with the intense blue eyes said. I watched him light a cigarette, and Behold had something to say.

"Something must be on your mind that is grotesquely important to be stinking up this place with that cancer stick! I thought you quit!" I nearly giggled at how flamboyant Chablis sounded.

"I quit every week, you know that," the smoking warlock said. "It's been a long day."

Behold turned to me: "Elijah, this here is Ariel Augustus, Grand Chancellor of the Warlock Council." He gestured toward the Hispanic man with the red-lined cape, and I shook his hand with a cordial nod.

"Baldwin Pennypacker." That was the Asian with the glasses.

"John Henry Moore, pleased to meet you," the blue-eyed smoker said, shaking my hand.

"So, am I the only person here that's thirty?" I asked. "By young men, I'm assuming you-"

"Age doesn't matter too much, though we do have a preference for taking on warlocks younger than you," John Henry said to me. "Hence the name of our school. It's for young men."

"We do have one other pupil who is your age," Baldwin said. "You may have heard of him. He was a professional boxer."

"I don't keep up with boxing. Just footie," I said. I did like football very much.

"It's only appropriate he is your roommate here," Ariel said. "Behold, help him up the stairs with his bags."

He did so, helping me up the stairs. I was led to this room with two beds, and on one of them laid a tall, somewhat bulky man who did not look to be thirty. I didn't even look that old, but he looked like someone of the age of twenty-two. He had neat blond hair, and seemed to be a looker if any women were around. He was in black; black slacks, a black dress shirt, and I noticed he was gawking at a centerfold in Playboy. I sighed and looked away, but when he stood up and smiled at me, I felt this odd familiarity with him. It was like I had met him before.

"Excuse me, have we met?" I asked.

"Don't believe so," he smirked; he sounded like he had a slight Southern accent, probably from Texas. "Then again, you may know me."

"I'm sorry?"

"John Vanderbilt. Nice to meet you," he said, shaking my hand firmly.

"I'm sure you'll get along just fine," Behold said, looking at his student. "John, please help him settle in?"

"Of course!"

John didn't seem like a bad fellow. He came off as a bit conceited and crass, but aside from that, he was friendly. He helped me unpack and store away my empty luggage when I got finished. I, for once, made conversation with him, referring to what I was told by the instructors.

"I hear you were a boxer," I brought up.

"Was," he emphasized. "I'm shocked you don't know who I am."

"I don't follow the sport much, but…"

"You should. It's badass. I was bullied as a kid, and it gave me a way to channel my anger and frustration in a good way. Imagining punching bags as your bullies is more fun than anything," he said.

"I'll bet." I sat down on my new bed and looked at him across from me, and he leaned forward.

"I was that way up until 2012. I got time for killing a man in the ring." I couldn't believe this total stranger was telling me this. I just licked my then-dry lips.

"On accident?" I asked.

"Yup. It was an accident."

"And you still went to prison?"

"Yup. Manslaughter in Texas can get you in for two to twenty years plus a fine. Paying the fine was no problem, but the prison time was harsh. You see, it's because of my training as a professional boxer that the judge and jury basically said I was a deadly weapon. I had no defense for myself either, and I had a damn good lawyer. I still got fifteen years."

My eyes widened: "and you're here. How?"

"Ariel found me, discovered me," John replied. "Apparently surveillance video was sent to this place."

"Same for me," I said. "But… what did you do?"

"In the Texas State Pen in Huntsville, where I was held, there were these twin brothers serving time for robbery, Axel and Hunter Baxter. They had a long criminal history, too. These guys were bad, when I tell you. I beat the shit out of 'em several times, and the guards didn't care because they knew they deserved it. One even tried to pull my pants down and… you know."

"Ew," I grimaced. "I'm sorry." I just kept listening.

"I bashed his head against a wall. That fixed that," John chuckled. "What got me here, was an incident in the prison cafeteria. I was minding my business, then those two dickheads upturned my tray on my uniform. I was so pissed off. Out of nowhere, they start to attack me, bringing me on the table until I could get out of their grip, and I was eventually cornered. I sent one flying with one hand, and another on fire with the other. It was odd. I had weird experiences since I was seven, but…"

He could do the same things I could do. What were the chances? After all, this was a warlock school, where we could study and hone our natural born skills. I was alarmed and flattered all at the same time knowing John felt so comfortable speaking to me about such a personal matter. Then again, I have to consider that not everyone keeps to themselves like I do.

"By the looks of it," he added. "We are going to be really good pals."

One could only hope.

A/N:

To be clear on what happened; this is an alternate timeline, where Elijah is not quite the same Elijah we met, same for some of the other characters. Also, John has returned! Also, Hunter and Axel but as mentions from his past as a prison inmate. How ironic it is, that his human, alternate self would be in the slammer!

Also, a list of the words Elijah uses in his first-person account of what happened in this chapter:

Arse/arsehole – ass, asshole

Miffed – ticked off/angry

Biggie – shit/poop

Bloody – just a way to say "very", but in an obscene way; if you watch Harry Potter, then you know Ron Weasley says this a lot

Nutter/looney – crazy person

Twat – a word for female genitals; a common insult in the UK

Bugger – an alternative to "fucker"

Footie – European football/soccer as Americans would call it

Of course, I am not native to the UK, just a little of my ancestry. Yet we still use some of these words in my part of the USA. Though I use the word "bugger" more affectionately and was thinking as though I would use it, for having Elijah use the word.