Summary : The cycle continued to spin. Offering another stolen identity, forcing another face to be worn, another life to be toyed with. This was just one more cycle to the endless circle of inevitable endings. Another setting with millions of memories that must be written to be recorded.
Don't break a bird's wing and then tell it to fly.
- by Najwa Zebian -
Chapter Six
Forks, Washington, was a dreary and unremarkable little thing. It was overly green, too suburban, and most certainly had an unfortunate case of simple minded fools. Atticus didn't need to read a pamphlet to know this. He simply needed to spend a bit of time with the dead that still lingered as they drove through the outskirts of this insipid little place. The dead didn't fly, so during their flight most had been quiet, but here their voices weren't too loud. Still, the constant mumbling causes a slight ache behind his ears.
How come Nichole had chosen such a dull place to live this life out in? Couldn't she have picked somewhere closer to their coven of mages? He and his father may have hated the blasted cat who had bonded itself to her but that didn't mean she had to move states away.
Tossing such questions to the back of his mind Atticus had the door of his father's rental car thrown open before Kane had the vehicle in park. His smile grew of its own accord as he jogged towards the door. His body practically vibrating with giddiness at their soon to be reunion.
The closer he got to the door the quieter the voices in his head became, another of the many reasons he enjoyed her presence.
It had been years since Atticus, or Kane, had seen Nichole. Neither had ever visited, upon her request of course, that and the anticipation plus the noises of the equine yards away had Atticus's fist practically pounding against the dark door. From the corner of his eye a porch light hung forgotten and covered in cobwebs, but it vanished as the door slowly opened and a familiar blank face was revealed. The luggage he had been dragging along was left forgotten at the doorway as Atticus embraced Nichole in a tight hug. If she wouldn't have groaned out in discomfort Atticus would have most certainly plucked the girl from the floor and spun the two of them in a circle.
Shoving his face into her thick, curly, mane of hair Atticus mumbled his welcoming. Only to retract his face quickly as an unchecked body odor assaulted and burned the inner walls of his nose.
"I still don't understand why you had to come out?" Nichole worked on prying herself from his clingy grasp, while addressing an approaching Kane. "It can't be due to the proximity of the Cullen family."
Atticus rolled his eyes before pulling away and stationing his hands on his hips. "Nope. No. No way. Family protects each other, especially from vermin! Do you know what an inhuman could do to yo-" Atticus had been so ecstatic to finally be reunited with his personal little Debby Downer that he hadn't taken into consideration the fact that she had been in close quarters with inhumans. His eyes raked over the small cuts, dark bruises, and pearly white bandages painting her pasty skin. Had she been attacked? What happened to her arm? Why was she favoring one ankle over the other?
'Who did this?' The old wooden beams in the house groaned as Atticus's emotions got the better of him, and somewhere flames leaped out from their fireplace. A smack from his father's cane had him gathering back the reins of his abilities.
A silence filled the space they occupied as green orbs met bloodshot grey for the first time in a long while.
"Healing Goo! I'll get right on it!" Atticus's frown turned upside down, and with a chirp the ancestral medium twisted on his heels and vanished back through the doorway and towards the car. Only to linger and add to a rancid smelling Nichole. "Clean yourself as it gets prepared and I unpack a few things!"
Nichole stood still. She was not in the least motivated to shower or bathe, even after being insulted so cheerfully by the clingy mage. Yet, after a meaningful look from Kane and a comment about having to make a call Nichole took the hint and began her way towards her personal bathroom. This was one of many prime examples of why she disliked having people over.
After watching the young teen disappear into a room Kane pulled out his phone and redialed the number of Carlisle Cullen. Despite it being late afternoon Kane had no interest in meeting the other party until later, possibly tonight or tomorrow, after he had gotten rid of some of the jet lag from their sudden flight. His son, filled to the brim with trunks and cases, stumbled back into the warm abode just as the line was picked up.
"This is Kane Klahie-'' What followed Atticus didn't pay attention to. He had no interest in hearing only half a conversation, especially with his mind so busy buzzing with dull voices and his own thoughts.
Atticus had only grabbed the bags marked to be carrying the travel equipment and ingredients. He was quick to pull out a bowl, with a decorative melt of gems mixed within the stone. Then, up came another case to sit on the dining island. Herbs and things with abnormal amounts of life force became shown as Atticus popped the case wide open. His eyes scanned faster than his hands could move.
The pressed petals of a chamomile flower, and leaves of a feverfew flower.
A thick red jar of evening primrose oil folded into the sap of a dragon blood tree.
And, lastly two vials of moonpoll water.
Oh, and not to forget the flour. Without it everything would be wasted. Like making potato soup but without the potatoes. An utter failure.
The ingredients went into the bowl, one after another. The pestle crushing and grinding the substance into a thick lumpy paste, on its own through Atticus's magic, and as the concoction finished the pestle removed itself before fingers caked in flour sunk in.
Goosebumps crawled from his fingers to his toes, leaving his body in a pulsing warmth. No words were spoken or chanted as the balance was kept with an offering of a small brown bird. Something Atticus had retrieved from one of his Raven's that he had brought along with him from Brookings, South Dakota. His heart did not squeeze in remorse when the wiggling little creature stopped struggling and became limp. Its small squishy corpse stayed curled in his left fist, until the paste turned gooey and lost its pale red coloring. Then, and only then, did Atticus tossed the lifeless bird into Nichole's open trash can.
After that came the most important task of all. Moving the bowl to the side and washing his hands Atticus set to cooking their lunches. Little could compete with his glorious oven roasted peanut butter and jelly with ham in the middle sandwiches.
He watched, from his seat at the island, and ate away at his late lunch. Hunger was more at the back of his mind than in his belly. Something that most likely had to do with seeing the vampire bite mark on Nichole's arm. The torn flesh, stitched back together, and dark skin discolored by still spreading discoloration of bruising. It was a small detail Nichole had left out when his father had called her.
It angered him, there was no doubting that, but unlike before his hold on his abilities wasn't slipping. In a few hours her wounds would be healed and if with any luck he'd be able to talk her into getting the hell out of Washington. Nichole wouldn't have to return with them to the coven if she didn't want to. Atticus would be more than happy to simply roam around with her. She was fun, helped keep the dead at bay, and he cared for her like the sister he never knew he wanted.
Nichole had seen so much, done so much, over the course of her many lives. Atticus knew from the records the coven kept on her, ones he most certainly didn't have authority to see, of her life in Brazil and Spain. During the dark age, when America was becoming its own nation, and so many more. Atticus knew it was one thing to read another's life, or lives, and actually know them. More than half of those he had read she didn't remember. Whether it was her curse or simply her soul protecting itself the memories were locked away in her subconscious. Atticus wondered how many more memories of past lives she had triggered since the last time they had seen each other.
She was important to him yet Atticus felt that he barely knew her. In his whole eighteen years of life Nichole had only physically been a part of it for sixteen days, back in January of 2000. As stupid as it sounded, and cheesy undoubtedly, there had been a connection between them. Something he had been hyper aware of because of his special ability. Evidently being a highly leveled ancestral medium had such perks. He wasn't sure exactly how it worked, neither did his father or the supreme, but something within his blood had been lit the day they met.
It wasn't like she was some long lost friend, and the feelings of her being something of a sister for him didn't come till later, but what he felt was more between loyalty hybrid with utter devotion. The best explanation he had gotten was that it all came down to the blood promise their ancestors had made. What that promise was or why their ancestors had made it was a questionable topic that seemed to have been forgotten over the centuries.
Something about one of her other selves being the reason death didn't grace the elders of the past during witch trials was the most popular reason. It was that or she once was a witch herself and had saved the Salem and Haven mages, and in doing so had given her life for the creation of the Saaven Coven.
His elders did little to teach of the past, especially about the little cursed soul involvement, but a select few still sought to remind the coven just why they should still be grateful to Nichole. His father was a prime example, as was their Supreme.
His gaze shifted as goosebumps rose on his skin. It didn't take long to find the source of peering eyes, the fat tabby's gaze unwavering and unabashed. The feline's green eyes flickered between the two intruders, and even from the space between Atticus and the he-devil there was no mistaking the hiss that the cat emitted.
Shriveling up his nose in disdain Atticus wiggled his fingers at the cat and watched in anticipation as the creature howled in disdain and darted off to who knows where to hide.
"Atticus, leave the cat be." It was a hollow warning, with no real consequences behind it, but no less an order from his father.
"No harm no foul. I simply wished to play as we used to." Flexing his fingers Atticus waited for the tingling of the cats stink eye to leave his body. Animals like the damn he-devil had too much life energy in them, too much power and often too little control over their abilities. Though it was rather uncommon for a tabby to be as blessed as he was. It made Atticus wonder, countless times, just what he had done to achieve such a statue. It would have made more sense if the tub-of-lard had been a white cat turned black cat by a new moon or a black cat turned white by a full moon. Earl was neither and as far as Atticus could tell the cat hadn't ever been affected by the phases of the moon.
"So when do we get to meet these vegan vampires?" Nichole had shared quite a bit and after hearing her story it left Atticus anxious to meet these vampires that refused to feast upon the blood of mortals. Their way of life went against everything he had ever read or been taught, but it wasn't a new concept. There were journals, far too few, that held an account or two of a run in with vegan vampires. Those who choose to eat from animals over humans.
This wasn't the real reason Atticus was excited though. Vampires were more common than most thought, their species could rival the count of leprechauns in Scotland, but Atticus was more interested in the big hairy dogs that once inhabited these lands. Yes, Atticus knew all about the werewolves or shapeshifters in the area. He just wondered if the people with their bloodline had forgotten about their heritage or if they were just awaiting those dormant to awaken.
Oh, what Atticus would do to be able to have a chat with one of those fine beasts.
"Nichole and I will be meeting Mr. Cullen and his wife tomorrow, and you will be staying here."
"What?" The word left his mouth before Atticus could process what his father had said. "What? Why?"
"Don't whine." Kane stated as he checked the bandages wrapped around Nichole's ankle one last time. "You are a medium, a powerful one at that Atticus, and these creatures have been around for many years. We do not know of the dead that cling to them, and you are still in a sensitive position after your last task with our Supreme. You must mind your own health if you are to stay alive. Besides, I have a task that we will begin tonight and will need the aid of a mage throughout the night and into tomorrow if we are to finish it before leaving for home by the end of this."
There was a creek of a beam and a fire that flickered a few degrees warmer before dying back down to normal. Atticus was irritated, that much was obvious by the magic that coursed uncheck through the room, but this was how things had to be and both mages knew it. Kane more so than Atticus.
If Kane's father knew how soft he was being on Atticus he knew his father would have been rolling in his ashes, but it was that way of life that Kane grew up in and the influence of his late wife that had led him to being lenient on his son. Ancestral mediums, especially high level ones such as Atticus, rarely lived long and fruitful lives. Soul not at peace, upset ancestors, and demons were constantly searching for ways to possess a medium.
It was why Kane was against his son being near the Cullens. Even with Nichole and her curse there to ward off souls not at rest Kane couldn't risk his son having another episode, not so soon after doing those rituals for the Supreme. In all that was right Kane shouldn't have even allowed his son to join him on the trip down, but he had.
Being so far away from their coven was dangerous, the protection of the coven for Atticus was weakened, and with the possibility of death clinging to the vampires ... it was to say the least Kane could hope for nothing more than a swift and peaceful exchange.
"That's enough Atticus. I have made up my mind and you will mind it." Kane made eye contact with his son till Atticus nodded his head and grumbled beneath his breath. At least the boy still had the common sense to listen to him. "Am I clear." It was not a question, and both teens in the room could hear that. Nichole watched in silence as Kane gathered up his trash and the bowl of leftover goo.
"Peachy perfectly clear as the bottom half of a buzzy buzzing bumblebee."
"Oh, and Atticus."
"What."
"Respect the sacrifice and bury it."
The Twilight Saga is Owned by Stephenie Meyer
Other Characters and Plot Developments belong to Jemstone6259
And lastly, a special thank-you to the readers!
