It came back to her in flashes of almost incredible speed, as if time had froze. Her surroundings faded, became distant, and she found herself plummeting down into an onslaught of shuffled memories. She remembered the first time she saw that wire-framed body enter into the coffee shop, dressed in plaid, dirt, and burlap, and then compared the image to Jonathan's boney physique and lanky build, when he sat down in the booth across from her.
His past words echoed and rung in the very core of her brain, "I heard that The Scarecrow had caused an incident. I hope you weren't apart of that nasty business." The police that had responded to the call had kept the case short and hadn't even made the story public, how he knew was always a small red flag somewhere in the back of her mind, and yet she hadn't even batted an eye to it.
The Scarecrow had looked her dead in the eyes, that night, past all that madness and chaos that he had woven and had decided to walk away. Dr. Crane had done so similarly, when she demanded he return the book to the library. There was something in the way that the two figures had handled the situations that always tugged at her reasoning. They had almost been too calm. Completely in control and empowered.
The little witch felt herself begin to sweat, and soon beads of it were rolling down her neck and back.
That man's screams, as he was hauled back to the freezer, washed back with such a force, taking grains of her composure with it. Like a wave lapping and swallowing vital grains of sand from an eroding shore. A power like that she had never known, and it had happened in an instant, like black magick.
Then the librarian's lash out earlier, after hearing his name, came to lock every theory into place and leave no room for any doubt to even exist.
"You took me back to the coffee shop to toy with me."
The witch, reeling from the discovery, slowly turned around.
"Actually no" – Jonathan had been leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed – "I took you back to see how naïve you are."
There was now a little chill that crawled along her arms when she finally was able to match his gaze. His face was void of emotion and had no real depth into his thoughts or a map to his actions. Not knowing what he may now do made her tethered in place. She waited in silence for him to say something more or to move, but he did neither. To her, he almost looked disinterested, but yet he continued to casually stand in the door. Then she saw it. As if a spark of brilliance crackled in his head, a small smirk gently twitched at the corner of his mouth, and his pupils slightly dilated.
"How fun. I see you're afraid of me now. If I'm being honest, I wondered how you would handle this realization." – He took two large steps toward her frozen figure, hoping her terror would feed off of the stimulus – "I myself feared I wouldn't get the pleasure of seeing you tremble again."
He stooped his tall frame to her level and then slid her hat from her head, to clearly see her every reaction; letting it fall to the floor. His smile was more noticeable than ever, and his eyes were crazed; largely for the fact that he had noticed, she had yet to resume breathing.
"So, what now, Sorceress?" He chuckled dryly.
His face was right above hers, and she felt his breath hit the crown of her head. The close proximity had her tensing up, just trying to prevent herself from shaking.
Though she wanted to run, she couldn't. Not only would her legs fail her, but she had a duty to perform and a world to save. Normally, she could care less about people and society, as she had locked herself away for most of her life, but this physical world was still her home. It was just that one fact that kept her from giving up or running away, and as she contemplated all of this to herself, she knew she didn't need another reason.
She raised her head to address him, but desperately refrained from looking him in the eye.
"In needing to choose between cowering in a corner, and saving your life to ultimately save humanity, I will choose the latter. I will, however, ask you to try and make this a little easier for me by stepping back and away from my face."
Her voice had cracked in a few places, but she didn't let that deter her from making her point clear.
"Wonderful," -She watched him turn and casually make his way out the room – "I'm very anxious to see what you'll do next, Ms. Bashem."
As soon as his shadow slunk out of sight, out of the room, she sighed and attempted to rub the goosebumps from her arms. The witch had worried that her knees would buckle if he had stayed any longer, or had made any more threatening moves, but that was over for now and she needed to have every wall marked by evening, so she promptly went back to work.
Just as she marked down the last wall in the room, a light tapping could be heard coming in from the doorway. She turned and noticed Drine had waddled in and she knelt to offer her arm. He stepped up and shimmied up to her shoulder.
"They are coming," he croaked eerily into her ear.
"How much time does that give us?"
"Not long at all."
She began to mumble under her breath and pulled out her phone from her satchel, double-checking to make sure Jason hadn't called her back yet. She abruptly stood and rushed back into the living room, where Jonathan was seated comfortably reading a book. He looked up to her hurried entrance.
"You've failed to go into serious detail on what all of this is about."
"There is no time, I'm afraid. We can't wait for help to arrive, so we have to go to them."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black junco feathered quill along with two crystals. Instead of having a metal tip and black ink, the quill only had a small stick of black wax for writing.
Carefully removing her flats, and setting them aside, she then drew two parallel lines on the floor on each side of her and placed the crystals, one black onyx and one clear quartz, in the middle of each one and stood between them both.
The doctor had set aside his book and was curiously watching her every move; choosing to remain silent until the end. He watched her rise and spill a language, he had only a small grasp of, and saw walls of light rise from the two lines she had drawn.
She spread out her arms as her wrists lengthened and dark slate grey feathers rapidly stretched out from her fingertips and along her shoulders to her neck, creating a collar of plumage that trailed into her hair. Her dress, minus the back half of the skirt, dissolved into her skin, making the tint a dark grey that glittered with sweat. The skirt that remained became layered with large flight feathers that fanned behind her. The smaller feathers, that were rapidly spreading, lightly layered themselves along her brae and bikini line and contoured her face. What used to be feet extended into talons with scaly skin that traveled half-way up her thigh, and they too became laced with feathers, until the only thing uncovered was her midsection and the top of her bust.
The light quietly subsided and retreated into the lines that it had originated from. The witch stood panting trying to regain her control, as the ritual had sapped her energy and she was finding it a little harder to stand. The talons, that kept her balance, dug into the wood flooring, causing the immediate planks around her to crack and splinter.
The unphased Jonathan, remained seated and silent as he waited for her to face and address him. When she slowly turned around, he began to note her new form and a new list of questions that it brought to his attention.
'What exactly is she?' He wondered while she regained herself.
The man of practicalities found this all to be a bit excessive and dramatic, even in his tastes. Granted, he had let most of the situation fly over his head, but from what he could tell she was on her own doing this, and he easily wagered that the witch did not fully know the solution to their problems.
Epithumia cautiously glanced up in hopes that he'd be willing to be cooperative and hear her explanation, but regrettably noticed his eyes wandering onto, what she thought were, the curves of her body. She quickly cloaked her winged arms around herself and tried to maintain a straight face, though it now was clearly flushed with embarrassment. She had always tried to avoid transforming in the company of people simply because of how revealing this form would be.
If she had the power to merely fly, she would, but given that she was a witch with limitations she had to transform like this.
She cleared her throat and finally spoke in an almost pleading manner, "I will ask you to not stare please, if you can warrant me that much respect."
The insulted Jonathan sneered, turned, and pluck his book from the couch.
"I was just disappointed to find that the sorceress, who apparently has my life in her hands, has abracadabra'd herself into a glorified and sexualized pigeon."
Her mouth fell open.
"And if that was the finale to your poorly placed magic show, you can see yourself out."
He headed to the kitchen, aiming to distance himself from her ridiculous conclusions when a shadow appeared from out the corner of his eye, and with incredible speed, it darted up to him. A force rocked his jaw and soon to follow was an immeasurable pain as his book fell from his hand and he collapsed into a state of unconsciousness.