Hey everyone!
Gotta make this fast, my Dad wants me to clean my room and there's a cat laying beside me and laundry covering the floor. Kind of a filler chapter today, but I think you'll like it.
Enjoy!
DISCLAIMED: W.I.T.C.H.
Part IV:
Thirty-Eight.
Tuesday Morning:
Today was one of those miracles of fate. It was one of those few days whatever deity ran the universe decided to smile down upon one particular person, group, or place and give them a nice day laden with the luck everyone needs in some point in their life.
The sun rose from the east, clear against a red and purple cloudless sky, for the first time since Saturday. It's rays traveled millions of miles across the emptiness and bleakness of space onto the city of Heatherfield, reaching into every window on sight and gently caressing every face in bed with almost motherly soft, warm fingers.
It was one of those rare days when not even teenagers minded getting up before 10 AM, because who disliked being woken by a gentle and warm sun on your face? They staggered into their kitchens looking for breakfast and discovered a great surprise, each of them, that made their days that much better without it even being an hour long yet.
Their parents stood and told them that due to some kind of flooding problem, Sheffield Institute would be closed for the day.
It was a snow day without the freezing cold and biting wind. It was summer vacation without the worry of reading lists. It was a weekend without thought of a pop quiz come Monday. For some, it was a chance to finish up on the work they hadn't been able to do the night before. For others, it was a rare day of relaxation.
For two particular groups of students, it was the most perfect timing fate had ever given them.
'Fate', of course, being a brunette water Guardian who'd gone to the Institute late that night with the thought that her friend could use a day without the pressures of school.
Matt was up at the crack of dawn—a habit Mr. Olsen wasn't sure where he'd picked up—and was gathering assorted things from around his room and the house into a duffel bag. The father watched curiously, sipping his cup of coffee, as his son placed the last thing in the bag—a collection of tree branch cuts from a pile of firewood outside, not one more than two inches in width—and hefted it over his shoulder.
"C'mon, Mr. H.," the boy said as the dormouse leapt onto the bag and climbed up the straps, settling on his shoulder as usual. "We've gotta wake up the guys before we meet Al and the others for practice."
Mr. Olsen's eyes nearly popped from his skull. He choked on his coffee in surprise and spat it back into his cup, scowling in disgust at the backwash.
Mr. Huggles chattered agreeably before looking pointedly behind his master, directly at the older man. Mr. Olsen nodded and turned to dress up properly.
How could he have forgotten to tell the girls about Al? They were obviously experts on all things magical, and that tiny flying girl was nothing if not magic.
He was too angry about them not telling him about the Shagon Saga, he remembered. And after Yan Lin had told him, he was too shocked to remember, especially when Shinobu came knocking.
Mr. Olsen sighed. He needed to learn to prioritize. The past was the past. It may be tied in with what happened now, but his first focus had to be the present. Once that was through with, he could find out what had happened to his son over the last few years—but only afterwards.
Even without remembering that he was a Regent, Matt had gone and screwed himself into magic once more. And brought Nigel and Eric into it as well. He was never going to hear the end of it from Taranee and Hay Lin. And Will.
As Mr. Olsen ran from the house into the beautiful day outside, a single thought ran through his head.
Today's gonna be a toughie.
Yan and Mira Lin woke before dawn, as usual. It was a habit picked up from years of battles waiting on their minds—they could never wake fast enough. The second it was lighter outside than it was at midnight, they were awake and cooking that day's meals for the restaurant.
Mira headed for the main room of the Dragon to take the chairs off the tables and set them back at their tables, refilling the dispensers and putting down fresh placemats. Yan Lin stayed in the kitchen, making a pot of tea while the old stoves warmed.
The elder Chinese woman shuffled to and from the cupboards twice, holding a pair of cups and saucers each time. Finally she grew tired of that and stood next to the boiling pot of water, checking the room carefully before extending a hand towards the still-open doors.
In a gust of wind, three more sets of cups and saucer flew out of their places on the shelf, crossing the room without any hands to hold them up, and settled right side up on the counter next to the ex-Guardian.
Panting slightly but smiling, Yan Lin crossed the room herself one last time and closed the cupboard doors, returning to pour the water into the cups. The water would probably be cold by the time the others arose, but that was their loss—that fancy machine her son had bought, hanging by the refrigerator, the microwave would make it hot for them again—they should wake earlier anyway. The human race was a day-walking species. To live life to the fullest, they should arise with the sun and rest with…
China shattered against the old tile flooring as Yan Lin's fingers suddenly grew numb. A certain air was passing through Heatherfield, she could feel it—it was one of her eternal gifts. It was an air laced with excitement and worry, anger and confidence, anxiety and hatred, sadness and self-loathing.
She knew when that taste was in the air. She knew it all too well. Before now, she hadn't given it much thought, as every time she felt it, the Guardians were ready to join the imminent battle on the horizon.
Yan Lin had been through enough scrapes herself to know when a fight was coming. Even if the hairs on the back of her neck, hairs that had once been cropped short, weren't standing, that air told her that there was one coming.
And the Guardians knew nothing of it.
Yan Lin ran from the kitchen, not even bothering to clean the broken china or explain to Mira as she came rushing to find out what was happing to her 'twin'.
She had to wake her granddaughter. Hay Lin would alert the others and they could use whatever time they had left to prepare and find anything out they could.
But one thing was for sure. Despite the easygoing feel of the morning…
Today is going to be a toughie.
"…Matt?" a bleary-eyed Mrs. Ashcroft asked when she opened her door early in the morning. After waking her son gently and telling him the news about school, she'd been planning on heading back to her warm and comfortable bed, not answering the door to her son's very best and oldest friend, and… "Oh, hello. Who are you?"
Eric nodded sleepily at the redheaded woman that had to be Nigel's mom. "Eric Lyndon, ma'am. I'm a friend of Matt and Nige's."
"Oh. How nice to meet you."
Matt spoke up, the only one with clear eyes and a fully-woken mind in the group—besides Huggles, of course. "Mrs. Ashcroft, can we come in? We've got early band practice with Nige."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "This early?" she asked. "Most of Heatherfield isn't awake yet! And where are your instruments?"
The boy smiled widely. She wasn't interrogating him, but she was worried about her boy—understandably. Mrs. Ashcroft already had a son in prison and she wanted to make sure she was raising Nigel right. Matt patted the duffel bag gently, a slightly metallic thump coming through the cloth.
"I've got Eric's sax here," he explained, "and the rest of our instruments are over at my garage. We're trying to spend as much time as we can fixing up the music, since Dom moved and we don't have sheets for the saxophone."
Mrs. Ashcroft nodded and smiled. "Of course. Could you wait one second, and then you can come inside." Matt nodded and stepped back, pulling Eric with him as she pulled the door shut.
Eric frowned. "Why'd she…?"
Matt shook his head in response. "That's not my story to tell," he replied. "Nige'll tell you soon, though, don't worry."
Two minutes later, the door opened once more and Mrs. Ashcroft motioned for them to come into the house with a welcoming smile.
The boys stepped inside. The living room seemed to made of pieces of furniture accumulated over the years, with the best effort to make a single style from a small budget. It didn't look that bad, especially with the multitude of colorful flowers on the tables and windowsills.
The biggest problem Eric could see was the large, fairly obvious body-shape hidden underneath a throw blanket on the couch. A beefy arm hung out from underneath it, almost touching the floor.
But Matt didn't give it a second glance, so he decided not to bring it up.
"You know where Nigel's room is," Mrs. Ashcroft smiled at Matt. "Don't make too much noise, okay boys?"
Matt grinned slightly deviously. "Of course not, Mrs. A."
Eric followed him up the stairs and into a room labeled 'Ross and Nigel' in red paint. A little thought told him that Ross was the brother Nigel had told him about, who had used parking meters as bull's-eyes and was currently in prison for it.
The room had obviously held two boys once. There was a bunkbed directly in front of the door, the lower bed made cleanly and untouched and the upper one holding their target redhead. Papers and clothing were the flooring of choice, scattered over the carpet until it was almost completely invisible. A bass stood to one wall with a table covered in sheet music and a tuner. Pictures were tacked onto the wall with tape and thumbtacks, mostly of a younger Nigel and an older redhead Eric assumed was Ross.
Matt, all too used to the complete chaos of the room that was Nigel's, set his duffel down and climbed on top of the bunkbed, putting his head close to his friend's.
"!"
Matt poked his friend with each 'Nige', for effect, and grinned when the boy yelped and shot upright, banging his head against the low ceiling.
"Ow!" Nigel doubled over and gripped his throbbing cranium, peaking an eye open to see a sniggering Eric and a smirking Matt. "…the #ell? Matt?"
"That was payback, my friend," Matt told him shortly.
"Payback my a$$, Olsen, c'mere!"
Eric started cackling in laughter as Nigel shot out of his bed and started running after Matt, who had already retreated into the hall.
Today's gonna be good.
So begins Part IV.
Better chapter tomorrow, promise!
~Tibki