CHAPTER TWELVE:

One elder sorcerer around the circle

Two younger around the pentagram

One raises the dead, the other poisoned love

And both, together, go among the damned

It was the short poem in his mother's journal that could be easily found on the last page of the tattered book. Dave had seen it many times since Modessa had entrusted it to him. He knew that it had been his father who wrote it down; the long-dried ink had been from Damien's fountain pen. And his personal calligraphy couldn't be mistaken for anyone else's writing style. These were the features that marked it as his father's own poem. But it was on his mother's journal, the pages that had every description of her life, post-marriage. Dave couldn't shake off the feeling. He thought it was wrong for Damien to be inside of something that had clearly belonged to his mother. Of course, Dave could be labeled as a hypocrite. Here he was, peeking into Gwen's journal for the hundredth time. He had seen the familiar pages before, and could probably recite without looking.

Dave was sitting, cross-legged, on the couch. Gwen's journal was sitting in his lap. He had already shut and locked the window which the book had come from. He still couldn't believe it was Levy who had thrown it. Was she insane? She said she owed something towards Rachael, had to obey Cyril, yet here she was, risking her life by giving him the journal. It was admirable, Dave had to admit, but stupid and overt all the same. Why was she helping him? Wasn't putting herself in danger by assisting in his escape already enough? Levy was bonkers, Dave decided mentally. He shook off his thoughts on her and went back to reading the page.

It was one he had picked out at random. On this page was Gwen's detailed paragraph on how much fun and excitement she'd had on her honeymoon. The Bahamas, Dave recalled. Damien had took her on a lovely trip to the Bahamas. The happy couple had enjoyed a number of activities there. Dave snorted as he reread the descriptive traits. He couldn't picture his dad on an island, wearing the stereotypical tourist shirt decorated with pineapples.

Although he had never seen his father participate in many activities, Dave bet that Damien never truly enjoyed his honeymoon. He was probably there, emotionally, but his thoughts must have been somewhere else, far away. It was impossible that such a cold, distant man could love an outgoing, warm woman like Gwen. It was impossible that Damien could have went through human sports at all. He was a Morganian. A sorcerer who was all into magical leisure and activities.

Dave flipped pages. He eventually stopped on one that highlighted the events of one week. Gwen complained about how her baby was giving her all sorts of troubles. She wasn't serious about those whines because at the end of the page, she lovingly dubbed her baby as "her personal nudger". Dave smiled. Gwen loved Rachael just as she had loved him. He had read the journal enough to know that his nickname before birth was "Nudger II". He lovingly stroked the page. Those must have been the happy times. He missed Mom. He yearned for her laugh lines, her smile, and the way she joked about. He even missed how she insisted on not dying her gray hairs like the other moms, something that had embarrassed him when he was a kid.

Dave went on to some more pages. These were about her relationship with Damien. She had been very detailed on these parts, probably much more so than the rest of the pages. Gwen described their lives together as "hectic with two kids but lovable all the same. We can't lose touch with each other, not even for a minute. It's impossible for us."

"What happened to you, Damien?" Dave asked himself softly. "Why did you have to go and try to kill Mom?"

He had been in the kitchen. Mom said they shouldn't move about in the middle of the night. The only exceptions had been in case of emergencies or bathroom trips. But Dave never bothered to listen that much. He had decided he wanted to get a glass of water. A tall glass of water; the same glass of water that would inevitably land him in the bathroom for two hours.

He heard some noises. Dave had finished his drink and was lingering by the doorway. He looked up to see his father and his mother. They were at the end of the room, where another doorway could be located. That one led to the living room. He wondered what they were doing up so late. Dave quickly rummaged through his brain for an excuse to use when they would catch him. But apparently, they never did. His parents were arguing in soft voices. They didn't even notice him; but how could they? The lights were still off.

"Damien, you've got to be kidding me," Gwen had said. Her voice had been urgent and motherly. As it always had been since the birth of her kids.

His father, on the other hand, spoke with a tight voice. "No, I am not joking with you. This has been coming for months, Gwen. Don't tell me you thought you could avoid it."

Avoid what? Dave had thought, mystified. He should have left like a good, scared kid. But he was curious. He stuck around, quietly standing at the doorway.

"I wasn't trying to avoid anything. Delay, maybe," his mom had answered. Now she sounded plain tired. "This is happening too suddenly, too fast. Rachael is only a young child. She can't handle this kind of-"

And then she used a word so filthy that Dave had to grin like the Cheshire cat. This could be used as some good blackmail in the future.

"Gwendolyn, please," Damien had sighed. "She wants to learn. She's so excited. When children are young, they love magic and want it to exist. As they grow, they abandon any idea of magic occurring. Do you know how great this is for her?"

Dave was stunned by these words. He didn't understand any of it.

"Honey," Gwen had retaliated. "I don't want my kids to juggle responsibilities. How can Rachael learn and balance schoolwork, friends, and family at the same time?"

"Rachael is an excellent student. Schoolwork isn't a problem. And frankly, she doesn't seem to care so much about leaving her friends out of the equation."

"I don't want my daughter to drop everything for magic, Damien! Get that into your head," she whispered fiercely.

"Listen to yourself," Damien sneered. "Selfish behavior, sweetheart. Imagine how disappointed Rachael will be when her own mother tells her magic is out of the question. She'll cry, I bet. She'll hate you for the rest of her life."

"Don't pull the ultimatum trick on me, Damien James Stutler!" Mom had snapped.

"What about our son? When you cut magic out for him? He'll be just as upset. You aren't thinking about them, Gwen. You're thinking about yourself."

"I am so sick and tired of you-"

"Humans are impossible creatures," his father had said tartly. "They make many mistakes and don't apologize for half of them. And they always say they're sick, they're tired, they're bothered. Are they really? Or are they selfish, horrible beings?"

"Mistakes? Shut up, Damien. You don't know what you're talking about. I make mistakes, but I'm-"

"Only human, I know. And that's exactly the problem."

Dave had stared, wide-eyed, as his father struck out at her. He hit her with something shiny and red. Dave watched as his mother hit the floor, her entire body contorted. He began to cry at this point. He would never forget the look of pain on his mother's face. He ran towards her, ignoring his father. He bent at Gwen's side and tried to do something. He thought about calling 911. Dave had gotten up to search for the home phone. When he did that, he got a clear view of his father's face, despite it being incredibly dark. There was a look of deep malevolence. It made his features pointed and his eyes appear as pools of black poison. He was stunned by it; he had even stood, paralyzed, just because of the terrible face. His father smiled at him. Then he left the kitchen.

Dave had looked back at Mom. She was no longer twisted and hurt. She looked tired and wrecked now. She had gotten back up on her feet and struggled to get to the stairs. Her hand was on her back. She was like an old lady, he remembered. Her skin was so pale, too. Dave had tried to help her.

"Mom! Let me call an ambulance or something!" he had cried.

She gave him a forced smile, although at the time, he hadn't realized it was unnatural. "It's okay, baby," she had said. "I just slipped and fell."

"Dad-"

"Daddy had nothing to do with this. He wasn't even here, silly goose," his mother had said, attempting to chuckle.

Dave hadn't tried to argue. He saw there were still after-effects of the pain. He helped his mother to her bedroom. She went into bed and kissed him on the forehead.

"He almost killed you," Dave had mouthed.

"No," she whispered to him. "Honey, forget what you saw. It was a trick of the dark light. Nothing happened. You're just sleepy, is all."

He wanted to press her further on the issue. He was convinced he wasn't hallucinating. He knew what had happened, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. His mom insisted on it. And if she wanted to forget what happened, he would do as she wanted. Dave had left without saying goodnight. He went directly to his room and hid under the covers.

Dave didn't remember the next morning. He wondered why Mom didn't run away after what he did. She knew about the magical world, but never knew what side he was truly on. He was one of those who used magic for their own purposes and didn't involve themselves in the battle. That's what he had told her. His father had lied. He was a dirty, no-good, low-down liar with zero morals and a bad odor about him. Even the monsters would run away from him.

"Dad, I hate you," he said out loud. "I hate you so much."

Gears turned in his mind. Dave leaped up from the couch. He felt a chill run down his spine; but it wasn't the bad kind. He wondered how he could stop his father when he was released from his little prison. Modessa had given the box of sand to him and only him. She had entrusted it to him.

"This is the object that keeps your father within," she had said in a grave voice. "I have recovered it; I know you'll be able to hold on to it. I feel as if this is yours for the keeping." She had handed it to him, along with the journal.

The box was his. Therefore, he had to be the one who had to deal with the being trapped inside. Rachael wouldn't deal with him. Cyril had no personal ties with him; a sibling's relation was useless. And no one else would directly take him on. So Dave had to be the one to kill him.

And for some reason, the prospect excited him. He was the one, the only one, who could make sure he would not harm others. Dave was sure it would amount to something. His father had hurt his mother in an attempt to kill her. He wanted her dead, and didn't even take her feelings into consideration when magic was mentioned. Dave shuddered when he realized that if Damien had never been trapped inside the box, he would have turned him into a Morganian just like he'd done with Rachael.

Dave pushed the journal off his lap and onto the coffee table. He needed to practice. He hurried to his room and ransacked the place. He finally found what he was searching for: the Incantus. It was sitting under his bed, being swarmed by dust bunnies. Dave picked it up, blew off the dust and cobwebs, and brought it with him to the living room. He grimaced at the idea of searching through the thousand pages for one simple trick. However, he would, if he wanted to learn the two things that would ultimately kill Damien.

"This is the final stage," Cyril murmured to Rachael. "You have everything?"

"I have everything," Rachael confirmed. Even with gloves on, she could feel her palms growing slippery. Sweat dabbed at her forehead and ran down the nape of her neck. She thought this was happening much too fast. But she had been holding it off for much too long; Dave was lucky he had a sister who actually did what he requested. However, he wouldn't be pleased for long when Damien came out. Rachael inwardly shuddered at the thought of their confrontation. He was the Prime Merlinian, for goodness sake! How would Damien react? She knew it wasn't pretty; he had quite the temper.

"Well, finish up," her uncle said. "We need him out soon."

As he spoke, Rachael poured the remaining liquid from the potion bottle into the teacup. It filled it all the way to the top. She picked up the teacup carefully and slowly carried it to the box of sand. The box was resting on the pentagram. When Rachael neared the red flames, they danced, eagerly lapping up the hem of her coat. Rachael glared at them before gently spilling the contents of the cup on the box. The flames hissed.

The tiny blue crystals inside seemed to glow as the pentagram's flames touched the sides of the box. Rachael took a few steps back. The blue sand began to turn into smoke.

The smoke rose out of the box. The flames happily surrounded the foggy figure as it twisted around to form a more concrete shape. Rachael felt her head grow heavy. Was this an effect of the spell?

Rachael threw a glance at Cyril. His eyes were wary and cautious, but she sensed something. Excitement pulsed throughout his body. Rachael wondered briefly what he had to be excited about. Sure, there was his twin being brought out of his prison. But most siblings don't get along. Was Cyril hoping for something if Dad got out?

The smoke finally assumed the shape of a tall, slender man. The thick air finally lifted and floated up to the ceiling, passing through it as if it were a mere obstacle. Rachael watched it leave. This was it. The thing that had kept her father trapped was gone. He was with them now. But why didn't she feel…as happy as Cyril did? Why did she feel this fire burning in her heart? Rachael blushed. This was too stupid, she thought. She was definitely not regretting anything. And what fire? In her heart? Yeah, right. Only jitters due to not seeing her dad for so long.

The man that stood in front of her looked exactly like Dad. He hadn't changed, even after being stuck inside a crystal cage. He had the same sleek, black hair that covered one eye like an inky wave. His features were still as pointed as ever and his eyes were the same brown. It was not clouded like Cyril's, but just as unfathomable. Dad's skin was pale, but it had always been that way. Living in the 1800s had turned everyone into marble-white statues. He was dressed in a sharp, clean business suit that only allowed for gray, white, and black colors. Looks just like when he did when I was little, Rachael thought.

"Cyril," her father said slowly. The name rested on the tip of his tongue. He sounded as if he didn't trust anyone in the room. "Where is David?"

Yes, where was his one and only son? Rachael felt the lightest touch of regret. She should have kept a better eye on him. She should've stayed home and watched him, so he could be present when they're father was let out. But she hadn't. Rachael hadn't wanted to stay with him. It would've made her feel only a bigger of a loser.

"He was here," Cyril answered. He was confident. "We had him here so he could speak with you. Unfortunately, Levyette had fled to get her needed blood, so you two couldn't communicate at the time. Rachael went to get the rest of the ingredients and I needed to meet someone. When we both returned, Levy and David were nowhere in sight. I suspect she let him out."

Rachael opened her mouth slightly. He forgot the journal. She was ready to tell Dad about it, but Cyril shot her a sharp look. It was a warning. She instantly recognized it. Rachael felt herself deflate, but something was burning inside of her again. She panicked as she wondered, Why isn't he mentioning the journal? Why did he leave that out? When she looked back at her father, who was still and cautious, she realized a moment too late that he never knew Mom had kept a journal.

But why wasn't Cyril informing him anyways?

"I wanted to speak with my son," Dad said. Disappointment colored his tone. For the first time since arriving, he showed a true streak of emotion. "And Levyette? She is responsible for this?"

"I just said that, yes," Cyril muttered, rolling his cloudy eyes. Rachael resisted the urge to smile. Just like her and Dave when they were smaller. "But not to worry, dear brother. She won't be dead weight for long."

"Wait," Rachael said, speaking up. "What do you mean by that?"

"Pay attention, Rachael," Cyril said. "What do you think someone means when they say that?"

She blushed madly. "Stop harassing me, Uncle. I know what you mean, but I don't understand how you can say it so casually."

"Feeling bad for the Cruor girl, Rachael?" her father asked softly. "Even after she betrayed you both? I was looking forward to talking with David and now that opportunity is gone."

"I'm not feeling pity for her at all!" Rachael snapped. "But how can you want to kill her, Cyril? She still owes me. She hasn't done a lot, and there are plenty of other things she can still do to repay me."

"Well, I won't let some little girl get away with this," Cyril replied. He took out his vial and lifted the glass cup off a dusty table. He poured thick blood into the glass, then took a long sip. "It's quite clear."

"And I won't settle for my payment to be cut out," Rachael retorted. "Sorry, Cyril, but she has to repay me completely. I saved her and guess what? I still haven't been given what I fully want."

"Get whatever deeds she needs to do done, then," Cyril said, taking another swig from the cup. When he finished, he licked the red off his lips. "I'm giving that girl a short time to live."

"And what do you propose to do now?" Dad asked softly. Rachael stared at him. Had he been watching them speak for the whole time?

"I plan on getting our heirloom," Cyril answered. "The whole idea of reuniting everyone was just for the item. You know just as well as I do that we can't control the city without it."

"Overt, Cyril," Dad answered. He walked over to them. The clicking noises were ordered. He came face-to-face with his brother and his mouth turned up in a delicate smile. "I'll find the heirloom and you can go ahead and bring me David."

Cyril downed the remaining liquid and dropped the cup back on the table. Rachael was surprised it didn't break into pieces. He pushed the oak door aside and it groaned. He left the two of them.

"Well, hello," Rachael said. She was a little upset, to say the least. Didn't her father even want to greet her? As soon as he got out, all he wanted to speak about was the heirloom and Dave. What on earth was so special about the guy? She attempted to rationalize. It's true that Dad could've only wanted him to complete the process with the heirloom. That was right. But he didn't need to speak with him, did he?

"Rachael. I've missed you. Look at your hair. It's grown a lot," Dad noted.

Comments on her hair? That's all she deserved? "Looking forward to seeing Dave?" she asked through her teeth.

"You know the answer," he said, smiling. "Does he have someone on the line?"

"A girlfriend," Rachael answered sourly. "She's… Well, when you see him, you can ask him yourself." She was wickedly pleased with the idea of Dad confronting Dave about his human girl.

"She is human, correct?"

"One hundred percent," Rachael said, glowing.

"I should talk to him about that. We haven't seen each other for so long."

You haven't seen your daughter for so long. Haven't you got anything to say to her? Rachael wanted to cry out.

"Rachael?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"Please make sure not to harm David," her father replied, inspecting the room. "I really don't want him to be bloody when I met with him."

"What about the human girl?" Rachael asked. Surely she was allowed to get rid of her, at least?

"Do not harm anyone," he said firmly. "I want everyone alive until I can deal with them on my own. Even the human girl," he added, to make matters clear.

"Fine," Rachael mumbled.

She watched him move towards the oak door. He paused, and briefly touched her on her cheek. It was an affectionate gesture, but it sadly lasted for only a minute. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Rachael felt her entire frame tremble. She turned on her heel. Stupid little brother. He was a nuisance. Well, she could fix that problem just fine.

Well, that was something, wasn't it?

-TracedScars