733 Playing With Fire
I might have spent a rather exorbitant amount of ti just staring at my image in the mirror.
Believe , I’d wish it was for narcissistic reasons… falling hard for myself looking absolute svelte in black. But no, I just felt off… like I was wearing sobody else’s skin.
The seams and threads of flowing magic, knowing where it heralded, where it originated… that kind of knowledge only served to make an already dark reflection even darker.
I suppose what I was trying to say was… wielding, wearing extraordinary power like this… I didn’t look like .
“In case I might ever need it…” I whispered, shaking off my unease, and picking my phone back up. “You really think I might?”
“I would hope not,” Dad said, his displeasure on the notion plainly audible. “But it’s still better for you to have sothing and not need it as opposed to the contrary.”
Jay sprang to mind, and following him ca countless bombastic scenarios imploding in my imagination involving explosions, lightning, and lots and lots of fighting.
“So, what do you think?” Dad asked.
My swelling thought-bubble popped, and I briefly glanced again into the mirror.
.....
“I look kind of like an idiot, to be perfectly honest.”
“Ah, well,” Dad attempted to comfort. “I’m sure you’ll grow into it.”
Protruding shoulders, an eerie deanor, and sullen black eyes darker than ever – the man in the mirror was looking more and more like a stranger.
I turned my eyes away.
“If you say so, Dad.”
“I’ll just tell your mother you think it’s cool, alright?” Dad said in an almost weary sort of tone. “Otherwise she’s going to sulk because you didn’t like her present.”
“I never said I didn’t like it.”
“I’m not deaf, you know,” He said with a bit of a snort. “Anyway, it’s cool, okay? Her gift. Very cool.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” I said. “I guess it is pretty cool.”
“Good.”
On one hand, an ancient ring forged in love and tempered by devotion. On the other, a remnant of a magic so vile and potent free for to do whatever I please with it. Two things on completely different ends on the spectrum. You’d think maybe getting Christmas gifts would be as normal and mundane as it gets when it cos to normality, but alas, apparently not.
“Fair word of warning,” Dad bellowed in a firm voice. “I’m sure you’re already aware your powers can be influenced by strong emotions. And in your case—negative ones. If you’re ever in such a state while wearing that, well… just tread with caution, alright?”
Y’know, it’s like he was giving reasons to like her gift less and less. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was trying to one-up her. But nah, only Mom’s that petty.
“Anyway, you’re welco for the presents, we love you, stay safe,” Dad droned out as if he was reciting a to-do list. “If I’m rembering right, you said you’re also calling for sothing else?”
“Yeah,” I plopped down onto the bed. “I was actually hoping Mom would be able to give so answers actually.”
“Ah,” He sounded neglected. “Only her?”
“Well, what I want to discuss, you did say it’s her area of expertise,” I said. “But if you’re feeling up for it…”
Dad let out a half-hearted grunt. “I’ll do my best.”
I then proceeded to relay to him all that I know, recounting Harry’s experience nearly word-for-word. Once I was done with that, I didn’t hesitate to voice my concerns, tell him of Ash’s theory, and gave him my undivided attention upon asking him what he made of all of it.
“You can tell the man he doesn’t have to worry about being overtaken again,” Dad answered after a while of pondering silence. “It cannot hurt him in any way. The soul, much like magic, separated drastically enough from its wielder, is essentially harmless. Perhaps, yes, your Elf—sorry Ash—is right. Perhaps minuscule bits of this Magus’ soul might have fused with his, but really, it’s not much of a concern. ”
Only Dad can tell you a foreign entity has attached itself to the very essence of your being and say with a straight face it’s nothing to freak out over.
“And that tingling pain of his?” I asked. “Nothing too?”
“An athlete breaks a leg, recovers, yet that leg isn’t the sa as before,” Dad said. “It’s the sa thing here.”
And just like that, there it was, assurance and explanations to cleanse away all my doubts and worries. Exactly as Ash had claid it turned out—this whole fiasco really was nothing after all.
But why can’t I just let this go? This bubbly, precarious simr in my gut, like sothing was still amiss. How many tis do I have to be told otherwise before it finally just goes away?
“So, you don’t think Jay might be—?”
“Of course he’s planning sothing,” Dad interjected. “Sowhere, sohow, sooner or later, he’ll show his face again, surprise you with sothing new. But that’s why, right? It can never hurt to be too ready when things happen. I just hope you’ll be ready enough when the ti cos.”
Sohow, that did the trick. That bubbling simr inside —just gone. Being told to simply expect the worst shouldn’t be sothing that brings relief, but it does. Being told upfront, ‘just be ready’, it was like a big wall of mystery and ambiguity was just toppled over. I didn’t have to worry about it anymore.
I just had to be ready.
“Is there anything else you wish to talk about?” Dad asked in his usual comforting bluntness. “Your mother’s phone is dying, and my show is about to co on.”
“No, don’t think so,” I said, smiling feebly. “You’re free to go, enjoy your show”
He grunted appreciatively. “rry Christmas.”
“rry Christmas.”
When the call ended, it was like a great weight had been lifted off my shoulder. I was relieved for Harry for the most part, knowing that physically he’ll be just fine. Emotionally though—that’s another story entirely.
I still had his gift for Hayley sitting there on my desk. And really, it never occurred to just how much of a privilege it was to be able to hand your presents to the people you love. Instead, he had to resort to proxies, and third-party couriers… he had to resort to to make sure she even gets it.
Speaking of gifts, I plucked Dad’s ring between my fingers again. Its illustrious silver shimr acting in contrast to the lustreless black coating my body. For the ti being, I couldn’t find a solid purpose for either gift just yet.
Mom’s cloak was a last resort, and Dad’s ring was just that—a ring. Between the two, I’d say the latter might be the first to find so use before long… because I can certainly think of a certain soone that might just appreciate the history and the sentint behind such a relic.
A mortal pledging his love to his divine deity, and for his feelings to be wholly reciprocated as well. I an, just how much more romantic can it get? Don’t wanna jinx it, but I think I might just have myself the perfect Christmas gift for that certain soone.
Not just yet though. I still need ti to mull it over a bit more, get it just perfect first. Knowing her, she’s pretty finicky about special monts. I needed to make sure I do this just right. But for now, I’m sure my bottom drawer would prove a suitable safekeeping enough.
As for the cloak… I turned over toward the standing mirror once more, feeling just as silly, just as wrong, staring at myself. Under the slit of the bed, beady wary eyes were affixed at , a faint loathing snarl emitting every now and then.
It seems that ironically enough, Mr. Black really doesn’t like the color black.
“Okay, okay,” I muttered, relenting finally to his loudest hiss yet. “I’ll take it off.”
Co to think of it, I didn’t really inquire as to how to deactivate this magic cloak thing, did I? Whoops. Mmm, focus, determination and intent… maybe I just gotta work my way backward, I suppose.
I began to clear my head, relax myself, the buzzing of magic coursing within , I attempted to disperse it, and surprisingly enough, it seed to be working—the warmth and darkness all around , I could feel it receding.
Then I heard a snarl again, my once empty head now ringing with that strangled hissing, and the darkness surged once more.
“I’m trying, okay?” I pleaded to the scowling gaze underneath the bed. “Just give so to—”
But then I heard it again, like a nozzle spewing loose, louder yet further, and certainly wasn’t coming from under any bed. I quickly turned to my right, finding my bedroom suddenly slightly ajar, and the sharp glimr of bright gold curiously peeking through the gap.
“Oh, Sera,” I said, and imdiately my ears began to ring with that sound again. I flinched, it was hurting now. “Are you… doing that?”
The door swung open wider, and Sera stood only in her usual silence, except now gazing at as she never had before. I knew that gaze, I’ve seen it on myself before whenever I found myself in the face of sothing either terrific… or terrifying to behold.
And I knew why… my dim, ominous colors in polarizing opposition to her deep violet. But right then, the ringing… the hissing… it’s got to stop.
“Sera, what are you—?”
Sera shook her head, through my squinted eyes, fervently she shook it. She wasn’t the one doing it. But even more surprisingly, it was as if she knew exactly what I was referring to, for in an instant, she glided forward, I felt her hand against my chest, her eyes gazing upward inches from mine, all in a blink, in the disorienting chaos of that swelling hissing.
Still, I managed to discern enough, see enough, to glimpse her raising the palest, frailest fingers to the violet veil masking her lips—and again, I felt her hand pressing hard onto my chest, to the panicked beating of my heart. And instantly, I understood.
I took a breath, closed my eyes… and relaxed myself.
Slowly, gradually, the shrill hissing faded into nothing. All around , I felt the coursing warmth ebb away from . And after a while, in a dispersing of cold wind across my feet, I heard the muffled thump of thick fabric falling to the floor.
I fluttered my eyes open, blinking once, twice, and I was in my wooly, itchy clothes again, with Mom’s gift laying as a crumpled bundle beneath , and with the invasive hiss nowhere to be heard.
Sera lifted her hand from my chest, drew a step back, blinked once, before abruptly turning away and quietly striding out the door.
“Wait, hold on,” I said breathlessly, hunching forward and seizing Mom’s cloak in a trembling fist. “What the hell was that? What happened? Did you…? Did I…? Who did what just now?”
Sera froze underneath the doorway, and partially turning, she peered back at , the look in her eyes reverting to its usual indifferent luster. Then, like a stab to the heart, I felt a searing stitch rippling in my chest. Except it was a familiar sensation, a familiar pain—Sera was going to explain.
Parting open my lips, she spoke, “I know that cloak. I have seen it before. Terestra wore it. It helped her. It strengthened her powers. Now you have it. You wore it. You used it.”
There was a pause here, where I managed to wheeze out, “W-What… happened?”
“You used it,” I heard my voice booming to answer . “I heard you. From the other room, I heard you. I heard you using. I heard you speaking. You were speaking.”
Speaking?”
“That hissing,” Sera blinked. ” You spoke it. I heard you speak it. You did not understand it. It hurt you. I stopped you.”
Her eyes fell to the black clutter clenched in my grip.
“You are a Speaker. You used the cloak. It helped you speak. You spoke it,” She glanced at again, and I said to myself. “The language of the dead. The tongue of Mother Enstar.”
I was… speaking the language of the dead? Without knowing it? Without even being aware of it? Does this cloak augnt my abilities by that much? To the point where I don’t even know myself?
“You spoke it. I stopped you,” Sera said again, turning away to leave once more, as she released my voice with parting words. “You are welco,”
Leaving for her room without ever hearing my thanks, Sera disappeared through the slam of a door. And there I stood in place staggered beyond all belief, gasping for air, lacking strength in my knees…
Without even thinking, I collapsed onto my mattress, letting the cloak slip from my fingers over the edge of the bed. So many questions, so many thoughts, whirling, buzzing, almost as maddening as that hissing.
I shut my eyes closed again.
For the ti being—fuck everything.
.....
I needed rest.
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