CHAPTER THREE:

Becky had a mixture of emotions swell up inside of her when she opened the door. Of course, she had been expecting relief. Balthazar Blake stood with Veronica, his dark eyes clouded with doubt. Becky felt a nice wave of calm wash over here; she was glad she had a sorcerer here, and not just any sorcerer. But as the calm simmered, she felt a little abashed and nervous. Ashamed, because she was intruding into Dave's personal life, and nervous because she had never seen Balthazar look so…so angry. There was not a word for his expression. Becky decided she should just ignore his face and keep her eyes on the black fabric of his modern-day jacket.

Balthazar marched inside with Veronica at his side. Becky led them to the living room while she froze up at the idea of Dave coming to his apartment, and seeing the pair here. How would he react to this? Becky was already feeling like a traitor.

Balthazar interrupted her musings. "Becky, where did you learn of this?"

"At the beginning of the week," Becky mumbled, remembering how strange he was acting, "Dave and I went for coffee. I noticed he was being odd, but I thought that I should leave him alone."

"And then?" Veronica pressed.

"And then, we had a date on Father's Day," Becky said. "It still is Father's Day." She had forgotten.

Balthazar gave her a look that said keep talking.

"Um, and a girl showed up," she said, reminding herself to tack on all the important details. "I found out later on that the girl was his older sister. At least, I think she's the older sister, she really looks more adult-ish."

"What did the girl do?"

"She just said a lot of stuff, which I don't remember. Sorry," she added, seeing Balthazar's stern face. "Dave and I went to his apartment. He left to go talk to her. His closet was rattling, so I opened it. Inside, there was a box full of tiny blue crystals. Then I heard knocking on the door. It was stupid of me, but I opened it without checking who it was. His sister was there and she threw me aside. She had the box and…sort of launched herself out the window. I'm sure she survived. Dave came back"-she edited the part about her fainting-"and said he had to speak with her again. I guess it was more urgent with her having that box. He told me his father was a Morganian and he was trapped inside some sort of thing and so was his sister. But she got out. And now, I think she's trying to get her dad out. That's why she stole the box of sand."

Balthazar assessed this new information. After a pause of thought, he asked her, "Do you know the girl's name?"

"Yes, I even printed out his family's names from a family tree website I found." She gave him the papers, pointing to the one name circled in red.

"Rachael Stutler," he read out loud.

"Does the name ring a bell?" Becky asked.

He looked at the papers before answering. "No," he finally admitted.

Becky sighed.

"What about these others names, love?" Veronica asked, her eyes skimming down the page from top to bottom. She seemed to be briefly reading them.

"Damien James Stutler? Gwen Stutler?" Balthazar shook his head at the unfamiliar names. Becky felt something inside her stomach sink.

"Dave said his father was born in the 1800s," Becky added, hoping that would be useful.

"I've never met any of the Stutlers before, I believe," Balthazar said. "Dave's the only person, so far. None of these names here say anything to me."

"Balthazar, there's also this woman," Becky babbled, remembering the Russian. "She was born in Russia and her name is Charlotte Markov. She wrote a book on magic too."

Immediately, Balthazar was closing his eyes, going back to his earlier years. "Charlotte Markov, you say? I remember going to Russia months ago, but not being able to remember this woman."

"What does she look like?" Veronica asked.

Her sudden tone surprised Becky. Flustered, she said, "Er, she has dark brown hair and blue eyes, I think. She's somewhere in the thirties section."

Veronica was thinking now, too. "Charlotte Markov…"

"Modessa," Becky said suddenly.

Two pairs of eyes met hers.

"What did you say?" Balthazar asked quietly.

"M…Modessa," Becky said, swallowing. "Dave told me that Modessa was a friend of his mom's."

"Balthazar," Veronica said slowly. "Do you believe that could have been Modessa Kay?"

"Modessa isn't such a popular name these days," Balthazar said. "It is a possibility we can't ignore."

There was another string of silence. But the door slammed against the wall and all three heads turned to see Dave standing. His hair looked unrulier than before, and he wore a disgruntled expression. Becky got the urge to dive behind the couch, but it was ridiculous to be afraid.

"Dave," Balthazar growled. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Dave looked around the room, avoiding Balthazar's expression. He saw Veronica, who nodded as a greeting. Becky kept her eyes on the floor again.

"You…told?"

"Dave," she said, worried now. "I… Yes." She wanted to tell him the true reason behind it, how upset and scared she was. But yes was the only answer that came out.

He appraised her and then, his eyes snapped to Balthazar. There was no fury in either of their faces. Dave shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. He came to sit on the couch, next to Becky.

"I'm not mad," Dave said. "I guess it was going to happen one way or another. I'm glad it was you who told, instead of me, though."

Becky had not anticipated this. She relaxed and took comfort in Dave's presence. She had been getting herself worked up over nothing. But then she took another peek at him. He seemed to be leaning against the couch in resignation. She could feel the corners of her own mouth pulling down.

"Dave-" But Balthazar cut her off.

"This Modessa character," he said, directing his question to Dave, "was your mother's friend?"

"Yeah, according to her," Dave grumbled.

"Do you know anything about her?" Veronica prodded at him.

"No," Dave said slowly, peering at them, now with curiosity. "I don't. Why does it sound like you two know her?"

"We think that the Modessa woman who appeared at your apartment is actually someone we knew when we were little," Veronica explained.

"How?" Dave demanded. "You didn't even see what she looked like!" "Yes," Balthazar agreed patiently. "But her name is an uncommon one in this century. Modessa Kay was a daughter of a Merlinian back then. She was mostly Veronica's friend, but I met her a few times. Modessa was often flashy, a tad sarcastic, but had a good heart, overall."

"So what happened to her?" Becky asked.

"We don't know," Veronica answered. "I stopped seeing her because she had to move away with her parents. And I had training. We had forgotten all about her now that we've settled in to a new place. To be truthful, I don't think she's even alive; hearing her name again does make me wonder whatever happened to her."

"Your Modessa could be the one that was at my apartment," Dave realized. His shoulders slumped. "But I don't care who it was. My dad's going to be let out of his prison and then he's going to come find me."

Balthazar's eyes flashed. "Dave. Is there something wrong with your father?"

"Him being a Morganian?" Dave asked, his eyes widening. Every next sentence was layered with thick sarcasm. "Oh, no, that can't possibly be the reason for my problems."

The way he spoke reminded Becky of that Drake Stone guy.

"All right, Dave, calm down," Veronica said sternly. "What will happen if your father is released?"

"He'll ruin my life," Dave said sourly. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked down, all of sudden, interested in the floorboards. "And there other reasons I don't want him here."

"Okay," Veronica said, stepping in before Balthazar could answer. "You don't enjoy your father's company. Will he cause physical harm on anyone?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Wait," Dave said, taking back his first couple of answers. "I mean, I'm positive he'll hurt someone." In a much lower voice (through gritted teeth, Becky noted), he added, "It's in his nature."

"Are any other f… Companions involved?" Balthazar asked. Becky could sense he was going to say family, but knew it would offend Dave.

"My sister Rachael," Dave answered in a monotone voice. "And… Ugh, I just remembered. She said that my uncle was visiting." The impact of this news hit him, and then Dave groaned.

"How bad is your uncle?" Becky asked, blinking.

"Balthazar, Veronica, I'd appreciate if you would leave," Dave said to them. His eyes were imploring them to go. "Go find out about this Charlotte Markov, that should help. Let me deal with my uncle on my own. He's actually harmless."

"Dave…" Balthazar began.

"No," Veronica said firmly, holding an arm out to stop Balthazar from approaching Dave. "If he wants to see his uncle alone, then that is his decision. Balthazar, you must leave him be. Let's listen to him; we could search for Charlotte."

Balthazar looked at her, then sighed. He gave in. "Fine. Dave, call me if anything goes wrong. Becky, the same goes for you. We'll look around for this Charlotte."

"It'll be safe," Dave murmured. "All my uncle has to say is rude remarks, is all. It's not like he'll throw a vase at me or anything."

Becky didn't like hearing about things being thrown around. Especially if they were being thrown at Dave.

After Becky took out her cell phone, showed it to Balthazar, and the couple left, she turned to Dave. He looked dejected. Becky hugged him gently.

"It's going to be fine. Let your uncle come."

"It won't be fine," Dave whispered back.

Becky continued to hold on to him, but some part of her knew it was not going to be all peachy as Dave promised to Balthazar.

Becky had gone home and swapped outfits. She no longer wore her favorite dress, but a suitable white blouse and blue skirt. Becky felt like she was wearing a private school uniform. She seated herself carefully on the couch, trying not to wrinkle any type of fabric she had on. Dave was pacing in front of her, hands clasped behind the back in a professional manner. Becky would have giggled or teased him under normal circumstances, but being visited by your boyfriend's uncle (who was related to a Morganian father) was anything but average.

"Dave," Becky spoke up. He continued to pace, but his ears seemed alert.

"Yeah. What is it?"

"Can…Can you tell me something?" she asked.

"Depends." His voice was somewhat wary.

Becky stretched herself to lessen her anxiety level. She took in the ceiling and then the couch itself. Everything here reminded her of her own home. Soft, comfortable, sweet. She remembered sitting on the living room sofa with her father, and her mother would stroll in from the kitchen, telling them to scoot. Becky would move her behind because when her mother said scoot, she meant it. Her mom would grandly seat herself between her dad and herself, folding her hands on her lap like a royal, and ask what was on TV. Her dad would say, "Sesame Street." because that's pretty much all Becky watched when she was little. And then her mother would look at the brightly colored creatures, saying ooh and aah in all the right places.

"What was it, Becky?" Dave asked. He had stopped pacing.

Becky, snapped out of her reverie, said, "I meant about your family."

"What do you want to know about my family?" There was that anxious, careful tone again.

"I'm intruding, I know," Becky said, apologetic.

"No." Dave sat next to her. "It's just that I don't feel great inside when we talk about my family. It's sort of…upsetting."

"Sorry. But I need to know, if I'm going to be a part of this. Girlfriends and boyfriends tell each other everything," Becky said, slyly watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye.

To her shock, he replied, "That's right, they do."

"Your uncle," she began. This topic must have been lighter than any other. "What is his name?"

"Cyril Tomas Stutler," Dave said immediately. "He's my uncle on my dad's side of the family."

"So, are they close? Cyril and your dad, I mean."

Dave thought about this question before answering. "I have no idea," he admitted. "Sometimes, Cyril watched me when my dad had to go on 'business trips'. Now I know those business trips meant magical trips to other Morganians and people. But I think he only babysat because my father paid him." As an afterthought, Dave added, "My uncle loves anything of value."

"Oh," Becky said. "Was he…nice to you?"

"Sure, I guess. In the your-dad-said-I-had-to way. He tried to show me magic existed once, but my mom came in and she seemed about ready to tear him into shreds."

"W-o-w," Becky said, making her word stretch into two syllables.

"It's a crazy family." Did Becky imagine the hint of regret in Dave's ton? No, she didn't think so.

There was a couple of knocks on the door. Becky and Dave froze, their backs upright. But they relaxed when they heard Bennet complaining.

"Open the door, Dave!"

Dave sighed and got up from the couch. Becky heard the door being opened and footsteps.

"Nice outfit, Becky," Bennet said, raising his eyebrows. "If you don't mind me asking, what's the occasion? Going to a church?"

Dave scowled. "No. Becky's going to meet someone."

Bennet processed this. "Ohh. Do you mean, like a family member?"

"Yes," Dave said, scowling even more now. His face turned a soft shade of pink.

He looked at Becky. "Be on your guard, Becks. He's got Cthulhu as a relative."

Dave shook his head, but he was smiling. He threw a couch cushion at Bennet. "Get out of here, Bennet."

Bennet threw the cushion back, which landed next to Dave. "Fine, fine. Who's coming over, though?"

"My uncle," Dave muttered.

"Ohh. Cyril? The one that always drank that glass full of red?" Bennet asked.

"Yeah." Dave nodded yes to the last question.

"Do you need wine or something?" Bennet inquired. "I could get you some, since it's your uncle, and not your dad."

Dave flushed. "Go, Bennet. Text your girlfriend or something."

"Sure, sure. Remember, Becky: his family is jacked up." Bennet sauntered out of the room, leaving the two alone.

"Dave," Becky said after a pause. "Does your uncle get… I'm sorry, but does he get drunk, possibly?"

Once again, Dave blushed. "No, Cyril doesn't. But when he watched me when I was little, he used to have this glass and drink red liquid. I never knew what was inside. Some kind of fancy wine."

Becky's father had wine on rare occasions, but he didn't drink daily. Neither did her mother. Only now did Becky realize how much Dave's family was in shambles.

"I'm sorry, Dave. Sorry your uncle's like that. And your dad." She hugged him again.

She thought she heard him say, "Life's not fair."

The doorbell rung. Becky untangled himself from Dave immediately, feeling all the color drain out of her face. No way this was Balthazar or a friend. It had to be Cyril Tomas Stutler. Becky braced herself for the worst.

Bennet came out, all of a sudden. Becky was taken aback. He opened the door for someone (Becky shut her eyes at this point) and sent a large greeting to the man there.

"Come on in, Mr. Stutler," Bennet said graciously.

A silky laugh. It was the sound of velvet being rubbed with muslin. From a person she had come to fear over the few short minutes, Becky oddly thought the soft sound was much too soft for a Morganian's brother. Becky opened her eyes to see Bennet leading in a man.

He wore black clothes which were bland, but hinted at older designs. His skin was white as a sheet. His eyes were just as milky, a disturbing white color that Becky had never seen on any person. His hair was a complete contrast, a deep black. It was darker than Dave's hair, which was opaque itself. He didn't look a ton like Dave. If Becky hadn't known better, she would have thought this man was a friend, not a blood relative.

"Thank you, Benedict," Dave's uncle was saying. His tone was quite courteous. "It's been a while since I've been subjected to proper etiquette." Becky bit her lip when she heard Cyril's formal form of speech. He had the words of an Englishman, but the voice of an American.

"A pleasure, Cyril," Bennet returned, turning his back as he left the room once more. In the middle of his gait, he stopped and rolled his eyes a little at Becky, as if informing her of a small secret. She watched him go, confused.

Dave swiftly rose from the couch and walked over to close the few inches between him and his uncle. The way he walked seemed stiff. Becky got up too, but only stood there.

"Cyril," Dave said curtly.

His uncle smiled impishly. "David," he retorted, but his name was spoken much more properly.

Cyril took out a small cup from the inside of his coat pocket. Becky vaguely wondered how it could fit there; then she thought it was some sort of magical artifact. He extracted a vial as well, which was filled with thick red stuff. The red was spilled into the glass cup. Cyril put his vial away, but didn't raise the glass to his lips. He only held it.

These must have been the red Dave was talking about before.

"What's with the cold shoulder, nephew?" Cyril asked jokingly. "Don't want to see your uncle?"

Dave eyed the glass coldly. "I don't appreciate the fact you brought wine in here."

Cyril sighed delicately; the small sound reminded Becky of thin fog. "Please, David, I don't drink." He smiled to himself, as if enjoying a private joke. Becky stood still, completely paralyzed. It was like Dave's uncle hadn't noticed her yet. She hoped not. Something about him made her uncomfortable. The man himself was unnerving.

"Then what's in the glass?" Dave asked, beginning to get agitated.

"Just some blood, nephew," Cyril replied. He didn't recognize Dave's widening eyes and Becky's lack of color. He put the glass to his lips and drunk some of it. After he finished, he let out another sigh; it sounded satisfied this time. "One of the best bodies I ever drained. It was a female, and she was pretty too. It's too bad I was starving at the time. I would have let her go if my appetite was mildly at ease." He took another sip. The memory might have reminded him it was worth it, because he smiled and looked at the drink admiringly. The blood inside got thicker and looked different to Becky now.

She thought she was going to throw up.

"Cyril," Dave said, much more steel in his voice than before. "Just tell me what you need and be on your way."

The man laughed. "You sound a lot like your father. And a bit of your mother. Whenever she wanted me out, she would say the same. 'Be on your way, Cyril.'" He chuckled again.

Dave clenched his fists, then unclenched them. "Thanks for bringing up such great memories."

Cyril's expression of humor faded and was replaced by one of firm seriousness. "Your father contacted me," Cyril said, his tone painted bitter. "He wants you to come to his home."

"I thought he was trapped inside…" His sentence broke off from there.

"He is, but not to worry, David," his uncle said, taking another long drink from the glass. There was some red (Becky refused to think of it as blood) on his lips, and he licked it off eagerly. "Your sister was quite generous; she hasn't released him. Yet."

"But how could she talk to him, then?" Dave demanded.

"Rachael has connections, silly boy. Now," Cyril continued, ignoring Dave's stunned glare, "your sister sent me in the first place to come and get you. Damien agreed, and told me to pick you up right away."

Dave frowned. "I'm not going."

"And why not?" Becky shivered as she heard the dangerous edge to his voice.

Dave seemed lost for a moment, but then he recovered. He glared at his uncle. "I can't because I have a girlfriend," he snapped. Becky wondered if this was his true reason, or he was momentarily flustered by Cyril, and this popped out. Becky felt her insides squirm when Cyril cast her a hateful look. He crossed one arm and lifted the hand holding the glass, then drank from it. He seemed to be appraising her. This was the first time he had noticed her.

Cyril smiled (in a fake way) at her. It sent shivers down her spine.

"Your girlfriend?" he asked. "Interesting."

Becky couldn't make her lips move to respond.

"Yes," Dave growled.

"No need to be so hostile," Cyril said in a conversational tone. "I merely wanted to emphasis that she was human." Some awe escaped him on that word.

Dave blushed. "So?"

"Well, your father is not human. Your sister is not human. I am not human. And neither are you," Cyril said plainly, as if this was obvious. "I don't believe your father would love having her as your girlfriend."

"I don't care what he thinks," Dave snapped, getting more aggravated by the second.

"Hmm," Cyril said. "She reminds me of the girl whose body I drained." He drank the red again.

Becky paled.

"You are not drinking from her," Dave said, glaring.

"Of course not, right," his uncle said quickly. "It would be…impolite. I've already had enough from the other girl."

Dave was tired of his uncle, Becky could see. He huffed, then he said, "Uncle. I want you. To. Leave."

"Certainly," Cyril agreed. He stepped back and then the door was thrown backwards; it didn't bang into the wall, thankfully. He made no move to go, though. Dave and Becky raised their eyebrows.

"You first," Cyril murmured.

"I just said I wasn't leaving! Go!"

"Not even to see your own father?" his uncle threw at him.

"Yeah," Dave retorted, his expression sour. "He tried to kill my mother, so there isn't any reason to see him."

"Try to kill your mother?" Cyril repeated. There were three creases across his forehead, but they instantly disappeared like water in the desert. "Your completely off on that, David."

"No, I'm not," Dave insisted.

"Well, dear, you're with a human girl," Cyril pointed out. "It isn't like your eyes have misled you before."

Becky could feel her cheeks growing warm and red. She was definitely blushing with embarrassment. From Dave's face, he was going scarlet too.

Dave snatched some unfamiliar keys off the coffee table; Becky had never noticed them before. He clutched them in one hand and stormed out of the door. Becky scurried after him like a twitchy mouse. She bet her last dollar that Dave's uncle was watching them go.

Outside of the apartment, Dave pulled open a door to a car. It was Bennet's car. He got in the passenger seat.

"Becky? Could you drive?" He sounded angry, but not at her.

"S-sure," she stammered. Becky quickly got into the driver's seat and was handed the keys. She had trouble putting them in, due to apprehension, but finally got to it. The car roared to life and Becky stomped on the pedal. The car lurched forward and sped reasonably away from Dave's apartment.

"D-Dave?" Becky asked, still stammering. She could still feel Cyril's gaze lingering on her, although he wasn't anywhere to be seen. It was a miracle she could drive without her hands shaking.

"Let's talk about something else," Dave suggested, his eyes on the road as Becky drove.

"Um, okay." Becky racked her brain for something to say. "Er, why did your uncle call Bennet Benedict?"

"My uncle and dad are twins; so they were both born in the 1800s. Cyril thinks Bennet's full name is Benedict."

"Oh," she said quietly. Then, she asked, "Does Bennet know about your family?"

"He knows my family is screwed up. He has no clue that my dad's just a bottle of Kool-Aid now." Dave put his head down. It reminded Becky of a forlorn dog, and she wanted to offer a kind smile or give him a big hug. But she couldn't; her hands were on the steering wheel.

"Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm driving us to Balthazar's house, okay?"

"Sure, okay." He looked out the right car window.

"And Dave?"

"…yeah?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," Becky said hesitantly, "but you've got one messed up family."

To her great surprise, he shook his head and laughed.

"You have no idea, Becky."

That was the uncle, Cyril. I'm pretty sure Dave's family is beyond screw-able, but I'll be able to find a way to add on some more anguish, I'm sure. Thanks a lot, nanu107, for letting me use that line!

A.T.