A/N: Here is the next chapter. I'm surprised I got it up so fast. Anyway, a major shout-out to Katgirl129 for being the first to review! It made my day. Katgirl, I'll be sure to check out your story whenever I have time.
By the way, does anyone know what to do if you can't read your Traffic Stats? I've had this problem for days and I keep getting the same error message on whatever device I use.
I hope you enjoy the story!
Chapter Two
Her family suspected nothing. Margaret did not know if she was glad or depressed by this realization. Either she was a far better actress than she'd thought (unlikely), or her family payed a dismal amount of attention that evening (unfortunately, a far more likely scenario). Regardless, dinner was a short and awkward affair. Kate prattled on and on for the entirety of the meal, recounting in excruciating detail how she and her best friend, Amy, had met up with the rest of their gang earlier that day and goofed off for the majority of the afternoon. About three years ago, the Leon family had moved to Michigan from Kentucky, and since then Kate had been able to make a lot of friends. Before the move, Kate had been as shy, introverted, and awkward as Margaret still was. Afterwards, rather like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, Kate emerged from her shell and was rewarded with several good new friends. Because of this, Kate was naturally still a bit giddy at having a crowd she could get along with, and would gush about them and their various adventures together for ages if given the chance.
Margaret was genuinely glad for her younger sister, but she could only listen to the latest news about Kate's social life for so long before her smile became a little strained. Although, she decided she should consider herself lucky that Kate still thought about her and wanted to talk to her. Even though they weren't the best friends they used to be growing up- and probably never would be again- at least the sisters didn't have a bad relationship. With that thought in mind, Margaret made sure to always respond with at least feigned interest whenever Kate started talking about her friends.
That evening, however, it was proving especially difficult. Margaret couldn't bring herself to smile, or even eat much of anything, although she did try. Her parents, too engaged in their own conversation about bills and grocery shopping, didn't notice her unusually dejected mood. To her credit, Kate was aware that something was off, and would have said something except she forgot all about it when desert was mentioned. Margaret did the dishes silently and alone after dinner, and put them out to dry when she was finished. She only spoke a few necessary words to her family as they went about their evening routine. For once in her life, bedtime couldn't come quickly enough. At last darkness fell, and when it was late enough for her to retire for the night without raising suspicion at her unusual behavior, she made her way upstairs to her small bedroom. She shut and locked the door behind her.
Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the silver compass Rome had given her as she flopped down onto her bed. Raising it into the air above her, she fingered it and turned it this way and that, letting the light reflect off of it from different angles. She'd already inspected it thoroughly. An intricate picture of the world was engraved on the outside of the lid on the compass. It was quite pretty, Margaret thought. The only other thing about the compass out of the ordinary was a single sentence, written on the inside of the lid in a flowing, old-fashioned cursive. Margaret had read it for the first time after opening up the compass during her initial scrutiny, and now had it memorized.
Eight times only, and use them well.
Whatever that was supposed to mean. Sighing, Margaret hid the compass under her pillow and got ready for bed. As she turned the lights out and snuggled into the covers, Margaret wondered if a good night's sleep would make her feel any better. She hoped so. To say the day had been long and draining was the understatement of the century. Her last conscious thought before she drifted off into a deep sleep was to wonder if she would ever see Rome again.
It was well past midnight when she was awoken by her bedroom lights flickering on, a soft and feminine voice.
"Get up, child."
Blearily lifting her head slightly to see who was speaking, Margaret met the gaze of a pair of sharp, brown eyes. No one in her family had brown eyes. Instantly alert, she sat up and gawked at the beautiful Native American woman standing at the side of her bed.
"How- who? Wait. You're Native America, aren't you?" she stammered, her mind racing and her pulse quickening. Native America smiled kindly.
"That's right, dear. No need to be afraid, I've come here to help you," the Ancient said.
Margaret relaxed marginally and curiously observed her unexpected guest. Native America was dressed in the traditional robes of one of her tribes, although Margaret couldn't identify which one. Her long jet black hair was pulled back and braided, with a few feathers woven in. Like Rome, she looked as if she'd stepped right out of a history book.
"Rome had to take me to his world before he could appear," Margaret noted. "How come you're here?"
"I, unlike Rome, know the proper magic," Native America said with a scoff. "I knew we shouldn't have sent that imbecile. If the others had let me come, we could've told you everything you needed to know without making you leave your home."
"No, it's alright," Margaret defended her acquaintance. "Rome was nice, and I actually liked visiting the Waiting Realm. It was stunning landscape."
Native America sighed in slight disapproval.
"Well, no matter. My purpose in coming here is to show you how to use the compass Rome gave you. He wanted you to figure it out by yourself, but the thing doesn't exactly come with instructions."
"Yes, if you could show me that would be nice," Margaret said quickly. A demonstration on how to use it would certainly cut back on time and frustration. Native America nodded, and then apologized.
"I'm sorry about the late hour, but I thought if you were going to leave it would be best to do it at a time when you're less likely to be missed."
"I'm leaving? To go where?" Margaret asked warily.
"Didn't Rome tell you? The compass is a magical link between your home and Washington, D.C. You can use it to travel back and forth instantly between the two."
Margaret brightened.
"Hey, it's like a portkey from Harry Potter!"
"Something like that, I suppose," Native America said in amusement. "There's enough power in the compass to last for eight trips. After that, the magic will run out and it will be a regular, powerless trinket."
"So that's what the warning on the inside is for," Margaret realized.
"Of course," Native America confirmed, before her tone and attitude abruptly switched to something more than a little bossy, and almost motherly.
"Now, get dressed in something suitable. It had better be comfortable, good for walking long distances… and of course, you'll want it to be nice enough so that you're not embarrassed to be seen in it. And don't dally. There's only so many hours of the night left before you'll need to be back here, and you'll want all the time you can get to explore. You and I are going to the city of Washington."
Excitement coursed through Margaret and she practically leapt out of bed. She thought perhaps her predicament wasn't so bad if it meant she could have secret adventures like this one to break the monotony of her daily life, but immediately felt a twinge of guilt afterwards. She shouldn't be happy about any of this. It was very bad news for not only Margaret, but for the nation of America as well if the security of D.C. was dependent on her, a simple and introverted teenaged girl. She couldn't forget that she now had a lot of important responsibility on her shoulders that she would rather not have. Still, Margaret couldn't keep any sort of downcast mood for long when she was about to go see the capital for the first time ever.
"Um, you'll wait in here, right?" Margaret asked uncertainly as she was about to walk past Native America to reach her closet.
"Naturally," the Ancient responded, and took a seat on the bed.
Margaret entered her closet and hastily selected the first outfit that came to mind fitting all of Native America's criteria. She pulled out a pair of dark, bootcut blue jeans and a bright red T-shirt with a large picture of the American flag proudly portrayed on the front. She figured something patriotic was only appropriate for her first trip to the capital, and besides it was one of her favorite shirts. Rushing back out, she went to her bedroom door and cautiously opened it a crack, peeking out. When no one else in the house showed any signs of stirring, Margaret snuck quietly out into the hallway and made her way carefully past her parents' and sister's bedrooms to the bathroom. Once inside, she changed rapidly. She frantically attempted to tame her wavy mass of brown hair, and failed spectacularly. Giving up in the interest of time, Margaret resorted to simply pulling her hair back in her habitual, plain old ponytail. Deeming herself close enough to presentable, she tiptoed back to her room.
Margaret noticed that Native America had found the compass under her pillow in the time she'd been gone. She would definitely need to find a better hiding place for it in the future.
"So how is this going to work?" Margaret asked as she sat on the floor to pull on her socks and sneakers.
"All we have to do is hold it, and command it to take us where we want to go," Native America explained as she examined the compass.
"Alright, I'm ready," Margaret said as she sprang to her feet and grabbed her phone and wallet from off her dresser, stuffing them in her small purse.
"Then let us go," Native America said as she too stood up. Moving to the center of the room, Margaret slung her purse over her shoulder and grinned up eagerly at Native America. They stood across from each other. The nation held out the compass and Margaret firmly placed her right hand over it.
"Take us to Washington, D.C." Native America commanded in a clear voice. A blinding surge of blue light came forth from the compass in their hands, growing in size and intensity until they were both completely engulfed by it. Within seconds the light faded again, and when it did, they were not in Michigan anymore.
It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. Margaret gasped, feeling her small-town roots now more than ever. The two personifications stood in the middle of a sidewalk on the corner of a busy main street. Looking around in awe, Margaret saw no skyscrapers, but felt that none were needed. The beautiful architecture of the historical buildings all around her more than made up for a lack of towering steel structures. The city was aglow. Streetlamps, the headlights of traffic, and the gleaming lights from within the many buildings combined for a dazzling affect. Of the people passing by, none seemed to have noticed or were the least bit fazed by their arrival from thin air. Perhaps it was the work of the magic compass.
Margaret could only think of one way to describe the feeling that came over her as she stood for the first time in the District of Columbia, on that clear, cool night.
It felt like coming home.