(100 continued)
You led me through narrow alleyways, twisting around in all sorts of directions. We passed by numerous unheard of inns and shady stores, pinching our noses as we stumbled across spoiled food that spilled from overflowing bins, and stopped, at last, in front of a lone grey wall that blocked off an entire section of a lane.
"This holiday," you panted, still holding onto my hand, "let's go visit the lake I always tell you about."
I envisioned that peaceful, grand lake surrounded by giant rocks and foliage. And then I thought about the little truth we'd squeezed from numerous hours of research.
"Yes, let's," I agreed, giving his hand a little squeeze. "For now, though, we need to go visit her."
We pulled the hidden pendant from beneath each of our robes, and pressed it against the third brick from the centre. The entire wall rippled, revealing itself as an illusion. It faded to a lone wooden door, complete with a dragon-head knocker and a phoenix wing handle. I knocked twice in quick succession, and turned the handle at the same time.
She sat in the exact position we left her in, raising her head slightly in greeting.
The room was well furnished, seeing as both of them weren't limited in funds. I had provided the wall and the design of the door. I'll admit that the dragon and phoenix weren't absolutely necessary, but I liked a bit of grandeur for what I named "The Room Which Plots".
I was never good at naming things.
The first attack came not long ago, and word of our nightly disappearance into empty classrooms clutching books spread like wildfire throughout the entire school. Most people dismissed our absence as a mere study group, nothing to be worried about, but a several few had their own conclusions.
It wasn't safe, keeping our research in the castle. Not when sides were beginning to be taken, and lines being drawn. Besides, our research was starting to bear fruit. Fruit that could either poison or fill our starvation.
"I have it," she breathed quietly, even though the room was completely soundproofed and private, "the location."
We had stopped researching about Aion, realizing, once again, we had headed in the wrong direction. I suggested she delve into her ancestry on her father's side instead, since they won the auction to the lands. What emerged was extremely interesting, and opened several doors previously unnoticed. Around the same time the last Tempas Touched was banished from the village and died, a young girl from the Parkinsons' family had disappeared too. Her parents wrote it away as a sudden death, falling ill to poison, but no gravestone marked her passing in the family graveyard. Her parents, in their letters and diary accounts, simply ceased to mention her, speaking only of their other two children.
"Scandal," your friend had declared. "It must be, for everything to be clammed up so tightly."
From that little interesting tidbit, we scoured archives documenting household staff who worked for the last Tempas Touched, and read that a girl, whose name was never written down, found employment there under a murky recruitment process. When her master fled, the servants were disbanded and every one of them found work at some other household. Everybody but her.
We guessed that she had run away with him, and, perhaps, became pregnant with his child. But he soon died, and when the Parkinsons came sniffing around for the land, she disappeared.
But that took a backseat when you discovered that the temple, which was really a castle, had an unusual altar for Tempas. A giant clock once stood in the centre of the courtyard that had multiple hands and ticked erratically. The servants claimed that the master of the house would kneel at its foot twice a day, and occasionally he would rise declaring he received a message from Tempas.
"The location of the clock," she said breathlessly, standing up stretch, "it's where the easy wing is now. If mother hasn't redecorated, I believe that the clock is where the giant oriental rug lies."
She grinned, rather uncharacteristically for her. "I'm off to buy some celebratory drinks. Requests?"
"Butterbeer," I said.
"Firewhisky," you said.
"Three butterbeers it is," she said, and shut the door behind her.
I waited until the handle glowed green before tugging on your tie, forcing you to lean in towards me. A rather goofy smile spread across your face.
"Yes?" You asked innocently.
" 'To the Heaven and back'," I whispered, "That offer still stands?"
You wrapped your arms around my waist and lifted so I sat on top of the desk. Tilting my blushing face so my eyes stared into yours, you pressed against me as my legs wrapped around your hips. I didn't need you to say anything; we both felt your answer.