Author's Note: Chapter five. So far, everyone but Veronica, Becky, Dave, and Balthazar belong to me. No stealing. Thank you.

CHAPTER FIVE:

"Becky? Would you care for anything?" Veronica asked.

Becky looked up from the literature textbook she had placed on her lap. Veronica set down a tray of tea on the coffee table and offered something for Balthazar. He thanked her gruffly as he picked up a cup, and went back to studying the Incantus's pages.

Becky shook her head. "Thanks for asking, Veronica, but I'd rather not."

Veronica nodded and resumed her spot on a chair next to Balthazar's. She was intently concentrating on the pages as well. Becky rubbed her eyes and skimmed across the biography of a writer. She didn't pay attention to any of it, really, even though she had an extra credit assignment on literacy. Becky yawned, and her thoughts skipped to Dave. When they arrived, they went to sit on the couch and reveal details about Cyril's visit. Actually, Becky had done the most talking, if not all. Dave had remained quietly by her side, staring at the intricate pattern of the carpet. Becky wished he would speak up. It was completely insane and foolish not to tell anyone about his family. Okay, it was his private life, but still. What if they threatened someone? Or had some kind of evil plan to ruin New York City? She knew Morganians had to have something up their sleeves; her encounter with Horvath taught her that. She had asked Balthazar how Dave's family would react when they learned Morgana had been killed: and by their own blood relative. Balthazar had no answer.

"But what if they realize Dave's the Prime Merlinian?" Becky asked, her entire frame shaking.

Veronica had soothed her and Balthazar had been silent. He had no answer for that either.

Balthazar did think that they needed to stay at his home while they figured out the family problem. He believed that Becky could be attacked, or Dave would be confronted.

Becky had agreed for the both of them. After they drank the tea Veronica kindly offered, Dave asked permission to go up into one of the guest rooms. Veronica granted him entry and them turned to Balthazar. They had been going over the Incantus ever since. Becky had just stayed on the couch, reading the textbook.

They had not found any information on Modessa or Charlotte.

She wondered what Dave was up to. No sound came from the guest rooms. Becky placed the textbook on the couch and walked away from the living room. Balthazar and Veronica didn't seem to notice.

"I'm going to check on Dave," she mumbled anyways.

The stairs led up to a second floor. On this floor was the bathroom and the guest rooms. Becky hadn't been here a lot of times, but just enough to know where to go. She checked the rooms, and found Dave in the second guest room.

He was on the bed, sleeping. His eyes were shut and he was frowning. Becky tiptoed to a leather chair that was in front of the desk. She sat in it quietly, watching him in slumber. She swiveled around in the chair for some time. A computer and stocked printer were on the wooden desk. Becky stole a sheet of computer paper from the printer and laid it out on the desk. She found a pen in the cup of writing utensils. Becky didn't know what to do. She randomly started to write out the names of Dave's family.

Damien Stutler, Gwen Stutler, Dave Stutler, Rachael Stutler, Cyril Stutler.

Becky stared at them. What now? She shrugged to herself and drew stick figures. When she was done, Becky leaned back to survey her masterpiece. She snorted to herself, but felt glad she had found something funny in this situation. Her smile slipped away when she saw what she had drawn.

It was a picture of five stick figures, their lines-for-hands connected with each other. Above them were the names of the family members. Becky felt an odd lump in her throat. This was not her family. It was Dave's. All of his problems. Becky's father was gone. She had gotten the easy way out.

What was Dave's father like? What was his family like in general? Becky never knew about his life at home. She knew hers was not perfect. But it was quick. There were no arguments. No thrown plates, zero tears. Their love was over within the blink of an eye. Dave's family was completely unstable, the exact opposite. But did Damien Stutler love Dave's mother? If he didn't, why on earth would he marry her? Dave's entire family, so far, disapproved of her for being human. She was convinced Damien would hate her too. That was ironic.

Becky drummed her fingers on the table, then decided to switch on the computer. She had no idea what she was looking for. Then an idea popped up in her head.

Damien Stutler was what she wrote in the Google search engine. She felt a silver of hope slither around her head; maybe, if she got lucky, there would be something granted there. There were only Facebook profiles and companies listed under the name Damien. Becky sighed, stroked across the keys to close the windows, and shut down the computer. She looked back at the paper and felt another brush of pain inside of her.

Becky glanced at Dave, who was still sleeping peacefully. She was glad; at least he could escape his problems for a few minutes. She walked out of the room without shutting the door, and bounded softly down the steps. She found Veronica and Balthazar, still scanning the Incantus.

"Veronica?" Becky asked. She felt a little uncertain about this, but she was sure she'd be much more comfortable with her than Balthazar.

"Yes?" Veronica looked up at her.

"C…" Becky swiftly peeked at the coffee table, which was removed of the tray. "Could I have some tea now?" She flashed an apologetic smile.

"Of course." She got up and led Becky to their kitchen. There was a door that shut the kitchen off from the living room. Becky closed this door. It shut with a soft click. Becky moved towards the counter and sat down in a stool while she watched Veronica make a pot of tea.

"Veronica?" Becky asked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

She panicked. "Do you need any help?"

"No, I've got it."

Becky looked down at the bottom of the floor. She sucked in some air and swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. The kitchen was comfortable, and the sounds of clinking silverware and tea being made straightened out her thoughts. She adjusted herself on the stool.

"Er, Veronica?"

"Yes?" Becky was thankful Veronica was patient. Anyone else might have gotten irritated for her shyness right now.

"Thanks for helping Dave and I."

"It's no trouble at all, dear," Veronica said, her back facing Becky as she prepared the tea. "We feel obliged to protect you. You're like a daughter to me."

Becky smiled, then went on to ask, "Do you mind me being human?"

"I don't mind at all," was the other woman's reply. "I never really understood what was the matter with these other sorcerers and sorceresses. Humans, Merlinians, and Morganians are all the same, so to speak. We are humans, but with more capability to use magic. We magic-users look exactly like you; we have emotions and react just the same. Why is it that some of us have prejudices against the humans?" She seemed to mull over her own question.

"Veronica," Becky said, "Dave's family despises me."

"I wouldn't say despise…" But Becky could see Veronica was trying to avoid her feelings getting hurt. Becky knew how her boyfriend's family felt about her.

"I would," Becky said. She blinked, her lashes moving like a butterfly's lightweight wings. "I've met his uncle Cyril. He really dislikes me, and I'm positive it's about me being human."

"Oh, Becky, he's one of those prejudiced people," Veronica said, turning to her. Her expression was a sweet one. Becky didn't need her assurance. She knew exactly what those family members thought about her.

"Am I right for him?" she suddenly said out loud. Her cheeks flushed an ugly tomato-red.

Veronica scowled as she blew on the pot of newly made tea. The foggy cloud of steam flew out of the teapot slowly. "Becky," she said in a serious tone, "you know how Dave adores you. Do you love him back?"

"Yeah! A hundred percent!" she exclaimed.

"You're a nice girl. Dave's a nice boy. You two are so wonderful together, despite being different. And even then, you fit all too well. Don't let another's opinion ruin anything you have, Becky."

"Thank you…" She pondered over those words, and knew deep down it was true. They did fit, like perfect pieces of an unfinished puzzle. But it was like a fresh wound, knowing the blood relatives of your boyfriend hated your guts. Cyril, Rachael, and perhaps even his father. She hadn't seen or heard him, however, the family personalities seemed strong enough for a third member.

"Do you know anything about anyone yet?" Becky asked. Veronica poured tea into a china cup and slid it across the counter. Becky's hands molded around the cup, and she lifted it to her lips.

"Nothing on Modessa, I'm afraid," Veronica said. "I never knew what happened to her… This Cyril Stutler you speak of, he appears to be a blood-drinker, according to your description; but he isn't a vampire."

Becky's eyes lit up. "They exist?"

"Of course." Veronica chuckled. "I remember seeing something called a gossip channel on the television. It spoke of a book portrayed as a film. It's been quite controversial, especially since these vampires shimmer."

"How about Charlotte Markov?"

"Ah, her. We haven't got a lot of information on the author. She's limited on those…websites? Yes, that was the term. But Balthazar has ordered her book on the computer. It is expected on Saturday."

"What about the box of sand?" Becky inquired.

"It could be an essential object Dave's father is being kept in," Veronica said. "And we have not seen any unordinary activity, so he hasn't been released yet. Perhaps Rachael has been keeping her promise."

Rachael never promised anything. But she was indeed slowing down the process, like Dave requested. Becky finished her tea quickly, then thanked Veronica.

"It was no trouble." Veronica left the kitchen to go back to the living room.

Becky washed her cup, dried her hands, and walked up the stairs back into the guest room. She slipped in through the unclosed door and inched along the floor to the bed. Dave stirred, but didn't wake up. Becky delicately touched his hair. She let her fingers hover since he didn't move. Then she slowly backed away. He's here. He's not going anywhere, she thought. Let him sleep. Becky turned on her heels and was halfway through the door when she heard his soft voice.

"Becky?" He spoke lightly, like thin threads of spider silk swaying in the wind.

She looked over her shoulder. Dave was still in the bed, but his head was resting against the pillow. He was staring at her through half-closed lids. His hands were on his stomach.

"Dave?" she called quietly. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's okay," he whispered.

"Go back to sleep," she urged him.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "I want to be awake. I want to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Becky asked warily. She took a step forward. "Dave? Are you all right?"

He ignored her. "Did you know my father tried to kill my mother?"

Becky was taken aback at his offhand tone. "I-I did know. You said it right in front of me and your uncle."

"He said he loved her," Dave breathed, his eyes widening. He looked like an innocent child telling a story to which he knew no ending to. "He said she was only human, when she made mistakes."

"I…" How did one respond to something as insane as this?

Dave continued. "He got so tired of her. He couldn't keep up his façade. He was the great husband, hard worker, the one who had extra time to play with his kids. That wasn't him. It was something, someone he had to be. He couldn't show his true self out in plain daylight."

His father, Becky realized. He was speaking about his father. Her mind absorbed the details, even though she tried to reject them. They were unwanted in her head.

"She had no idea what was coming her way," Dave said, a certain, eerie light shining in his brown eyes. "She thought she was careful, and that he wouldn't go to such extremes. She thought she was an exception to his crazed, murderous lifestyle."

Becky remembered that when she was thirteen, she and her friends snuck into a rated R movie. The commercials that advertised a mysterious, cold-blooded killer that slaughtered anyone who came across him. Becky didn't really like scary movies, but she couldn't help but be attracted to this film. It didn't look like it had a ton of gore, based on the commercials, but when she slipped inside the theater with her friends, and the movie started to show, Becky was horrified. The film was definitely a frightening one, and it was all the more scary because every single event led up to the unhappy ending. Becky recalled being unable to sleep for days.

The way Dave talked made her realize he was going to say exactly how his father attempted to kill Gwen Stutler.

Becky released a sharp breath. "Stop it, Dave."

His eyes shined brighter. "But don't you want to know, Becky? You were begging me before."

"I don't want to know about this," she said, swallowing.

"Yes, you do," Dave insisted. He sat up in the bed. "You do want to know. So here it is. I was little. I was nine. I walked in during the night, into the¾"

Nostrils flaring, Becky spat, "Stop right there."

"But you wanted to know!" he protested.

"What is wrong with you? You're acting like this is not a big deal!" Why was he so cold, so stoic while describing this hideous memory?

Dave's eyes glittered. "It's not that big of a deal. Calm down. I just wanted to share a little bit of myself with you." His voice was toned down to a whimper. A lonesome dog knowing he had done something wrong, and held his head in shame.

"Don't talk that way," Becky said, her lips quivering. "I-I want you to tell me. I do. But not this way. Not when you're so…distant."

Becky unconsciously stepped away from him.

Dave moaned, then his head hit the pillow. His eyes were shut and his breathing was slow. He was asleep again.

"Dave?" she called tentatively.

But he was fast asleep, just like he was before. Becky suddenly felt cold. She shut the door and ran out of the room, stumbling down the steps. She went into the bathroom and locked the door. She tried to calm herself down.

"It's no big deal," she repeated to herself. "No big deal. Calm down."

And then she remembered those were the words Dave used.

Dave sat on the couch, avoiding anyone's eyes. He had hated the drive here, and despised the fact Becky was talking about his uncle's visit. Yes, they deserved to know, and yes, they might in fact endanger someone's life, Becky's especially. But he felt so embarrassed, his private life being trashed around and thrown in front of people he trusted. He was the Prime Merlinian. He was supposed to protect, help, and stay on the good side. And here was Becky, spilling everything about his Morganian family. He had never felt so ashamed. How was Balthazar looking at him? Veronica? How did his master feel, now learning his apprentice had a whole loft of Morganian nut jobs? Dave kept his eyes on the carpet. It had a difficult pattern of red diamonds, black fuzzy lines, and plaid designs. He tried to memorize the carpet's colors and patterns. It did not take his mind off the problem.

Dave wanted to sink into the floor when Becky asked how his relatives would react when they learned of Morgana's death. He tuned everything out right then, wishing he had done so earlier. But he could still hear. Fortunately for him, Balthazar had no answer to that.

Dave didn't want to stick around with the people he kept close with. They shouldn't have to learn of his sick family members. What bad people they were. He had excused himself, first asking for permission to go to one of the guest rooms upstairs. He was allowed to go.

Becky didn't follow. That was good. He couldn't stand it; his human girlfriend perfectly vulnerable to his deranged uncle and sister. He felt a rush of gratitude while walking up the stairs. Balthazar and Veronica were nice enough to let them stay while they figured this entire mess out.

Dave slipped into a guest room and sank to the bed. He felt the flimsy material of the blanket and soft, silky feel of the pillows. They comforted him. Dave stared at the ceiling while attempting to go to sleep. He could hear soft pitter-patter downstairs. That meant they were moving around.

Dave fell into unconsciousness. However, he was immediately greeted by a dark dream.

Dave walked right through the thick masses of crunched leaves. He stomped on them for a few minutes, before going to find Rachael. She was probably hiding behind the big oak tree in their yard. Or maybe she was stuck in those fat rose bushes again. He smiled at the thought of it.

He wandered over to the ancient swing set, the one that was built for Rachael, yet she never used it more than twice. He sat down on the swing and gave himself a little push. While he swung, he called his sister's name softly.

"Ray!" he shouted. "Rachael! Where are you?"

He heard the rustle of leaves. Dave saw a thick head of auburn hair flash. He still continued to swing, though. It's not like Rachael could hide forever.

Eventually, she came over to sit on the other swing. Instead of pushing herself forward and back, she simply sat still. Dave bristled. He would have cut half of his hair off for a swing set like this.

"Mom is really mad," Dave told her. She nodded.

When her mouth opened, she didn't look at him. "She's always angry. That's nothing new, right?"

Dave personally disagreed, but didn't want to start an argument.

"What does Dad say?" Rachael asked him.

"About what?"

"About me going to boarding school, dummy," she retorted, angrily flicking a red-brown bang away from her eyes.

He, again, was offended. "You don't have to call me names," he mumbled. "I don't know what he says. Mom just got mad, and he started telling her stuff. I didn't stick around."

"Nice, Dave," Rachael sniffed.

He stopped swinging. "That was your fault! You were the one who brought up the boarding school thing. Why do you want to go anyways?"

She lifted and dropped her shoulders. "I dunno. I just want to."

"Mom has a problem with it," Dave noted.

"It's no of her beeswax," Rachael snapped. "Dad's gonna let me go to the school. She's got no say in it."

Dave watched her get up from the swing and flounce off in the direction of the house. He just stayed on the swing.

Somewhere in his mind, the little bit of subconscious that is always there when people dream, yet completely undetected; this was where Dave remembered the aftermath of the argument, and the true meaning behind it. When he got back into the house, everything was back to normal. Now that he was older, a sorcerer, and he knew about his life, he also knew what Rachael meant by boarding school. It had been a code for apprenticeship, and his mother refused to let her go train out of the country. Dave was much too young to understand. His father tried so many times to tell him, put in a small clue, but then his mother would cut in and end whatever Dave was about to grasp. It was a continuing pattern back then. Try to tell him something, Mom comes in, stops him. Dave had gotten pretty sick of it, so he ignored his father when he said, "Hey, kiddo (insert any cryptic message or saying here)…"

He wandered in his mind. He wanted to dream about Becky, telling him that everything was solved, and his family was gone. She would smile at him and pat his arm, then he would get up the courage to embrace her. She would surely hug him back, and scold him about the information he had been holding back. Dave would blush, of course, like he always did. He would then awkwardly look back, right into her eyes.

"Sorry," he'd say. "I'm honestly, really sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you? What kind of a person asks that?" Dave suddenly felt his arms around the emptiness. They fell, his palms stinging. He looked straight ahead and saw that Becky, the girl of his dreams, was slowly morphing. She continued to speak. She continued to pelt horrible words at him.

"You think I'll give you forgiveness?" Becky cried. "That easy? Like it's some sort of cheap wine?" Becky's wavy blond hair turned darker as she spoke; brown and straight as razors. Her soft blue eyes slowly darkened to green, and her pale peach skin changed to chalky white. Her frame shrunk. She was as small as a pixie now, extremely thin; skinnier than before. There was a slight spray of freckles over her face.

He knew who this was. Dave opened his mouth to speak, but the words that flowed out did not sound like him. They were spoken in another's voice.

"You know how it is, Clarice." Urgent, needy.

"No," the younger woman said angrily. She took a step back. "No, I don't know how it is."

Dave knew this tiny girl. But that was not her name.

"Try to understand," Dave said, in a voice that was not his own. Whoever was speaking sounded clearly desperate. "I am what I am. I can't be anything other than what I am now."

A sharp, cutting laugh. "What are you now, James? A philosopher?" She laughed again, with the same painful edge. "That's right," she said, shaking her head in mock amusement. "You aren't James. That's not even you're real name." She turned around.

"Clarice!" he shouted after her.

"Don't," the girl called, not looking back. "Just don't." She walked away, leaving him alone.

Yeah, and what exactly was the point of this little show? Dave asked bitterly.

The point? The point, David, was to inform you how things go awfully wrong when not truthful.

Spare me, Uncle Cyril. You've lied pretty much all your life. Dave smugly experienced a moment of victory.

After the pause, his uncle directed back, So? The matter at hand is that Damien needs you.

A family reunion? No thanks.

It's not a choice. Then, maybe, just maybe, you can go.

Go? Are you kidding me? Dave fumed mentally.

Afraid not.

Do you seriously think I'm convinced right now? That if I come to this petty reunion, I can go back to my life?

Maybe. If Damien's pleased enough. He might keep in touch. Who knows? He could be the nice one, or perhaps he'll smite your girlfriend and leave me with her rotting corpse.

You're not convincing me, Dave retorted flatly. His insides burned at the horrible thought of Becky dead. But if he wasn't careful, everything would erupt.

Everyone is here, Cyril noted. My brother, your sister. Although I suppose he doesn't count yet, he's still stuck in that box.

Sounds like a party, Dave thought back sarcastically. He could feel the internal threads pull, becoming so taut they would snap soon enough. That was his uncle's anger. He had to tread carefully.

The pretty Miss Levyette is here as well. You remember her, don't you?

Of course he remembered. Her delicate heart-shaped face, her full lips, and how sleek and new she looked under the moonlight. Of course he remembered. Dave could never forget someone like Levy.

Except you did. I've been roaming your mind while you were asleep. It seems as if you've lost all your interest for her.

I had other things in mind, he protested. But he dropped his head in guilt. It was true. There was no excuse. He forget her. He broke his promise.

You've rudely ignored her, nephew. Does your blond girl know? What was her name? I think I don't know…

What are you talking about?

I decided that she should know about you. You're mates, correct? And mates tell each other their secrets. I'm sure the blond, oh, her name is Becky¾I'm sure Becky would enjoy learning about Miss Levyette.

No! What are you doing?

Right now, she'll be needing to know about your mother. I thought it would be harder to control the mind while doing two separate things. It's quite easy, actually, so that surprises me.

Get out of my head!

He reacted mentally. He was not awake, not really. But he made sure his mind slash against the barrier of Cyril's mind. He wanted to hit, to hurt. He heard his uncle gasp at the pain. Dave was a little daunted. He didn't actually believe he could damage his more advanced uncle's internal shield. Dave didn't even think he could land one scratch.

He felt his body jerk, then collapse back on to the pillows. He was free from Cyril's spell. But how would Becky react when he truly awoke? How could he tell her Cyril's ability when it was so harmful?

You ought to keep that to yourself, nephew, his uncle snarled, mental shield slowly recoiling. It wouldn't be so pretty for your girl if you didn't. And remember this: an hour. You have an hour before I come to get you.

The barrier dropped suddenly. Dave never had tried to push the shield before; so he wasn't prepared for the aftermath. His own wall jumped forward to occupy the space his uncle had left.

He had no energy to get up. He was sleeping into the second skin of unconsciousness now. Dave realized it was no use struggling against it. He had to embrace the darkness rushing forward to greet him. When he got up, he would go directly down those stairs and tell Becky what happened. He would lie and say that he had some dream, some idiotic push to tell her all those things. He had seen his father trying to kill his mother, but Dave was positive Becky would not want those gory details. He would go to Balthazar and Veronica; tell them he had to get out of here. That he couldn't take it. He would leave them then, run away. They would try to stop him of course.

But he knew where he had to be. And he would do everything in his power to get to that destination.

From now on, I'm signing off as TracedScars, but I can't honestly see how that's relevant to anything. I'm offering a cookie for those who can guess the book Veronica was talking about, the one that caused controversy. Heh, I could not help but throw that in! All right, I'm leaving you right here till the next chapter!

-TracedScars