Chapter Text
The air is different. No one will tell me why. I keep asking my mentor, but he changes the subject every time. Something has happened, but I don't know what. I am determined to find out.
I pull myself from my thoughts. These streets at night are dangerous, even if I do know fifty different spells and curses to take any man down.
Fog blankets dark cobblestone walkways. Clouds mask the Moon, which means I can't rely on her light tonight. My phone light is dim and hardly makes a dent in the darkness. I don't mind too much, I know the way to my mentors library by heart.
Jingling my keys, I unlock the heavy oak door at the back of an alleyway. I know Avian won't be here at this time of night, he'll likely be at a club, drowning out the gods voices with loud music and alcohol. Such is the life of a tortured shaman.
I flick the switch for the one, measly lightbulb. Golden light fills the cozy library, illuminating books from centuries ago and making the dark blue Persian rug look almost maroon. I flick my finger in an upward motion toward the fireplace. Flames climb up the chimney before settling. Every corner of Avian's library is now lit.
"Time to get to work," I mumble, sliding off my coat and letting it fall to the floor.
I scan bookshelf after bookshelf, but I can't find anything that could shed any light on this feeling. This feeling in the air that's so different, so wrong.
"Masster Avian will not be too happy," purrs my masters familiar, Vila. She slithers down to me from atop a shelf; her porcelain, iridescent scales glittering in the warm lights. She wraps herself around my shoulders, curiously peering down at the book I've just picked.
"A book of godsss?" She flicks her tongue over the cover. I nod. Avian hasn't gotten to these lessons; he tells me I'm almost there, but not quite yet, considering a god hasn't chosen me.
Vila twists down my arm and to the ground, motioning me to follow her with her tail. I obey. She leads me to the restricted books, to which the metallic, black door is open. It never is.
With caution and a pinch of fear, I enter. I find Vila perching on a pile of books, key in mouth, and flicking her tail toward a mess of papers. I frown, how did she get a key? Avian always told me this door can only be opened with a certain spell.
"Massterss latesst work," she says as she drops the key.
I feel uneasy, I've never been allowed near Avian's work. Despite my brain screaming no, my feet force me forward anyway.
I find photographs of a tall man and a short boy, both in what I recognize as Victorian dress. Their backs face the lens who captured them. Piles of papers hold frantic writing in red ink. Scribbled questions, such as: "Which reality? What realm?" and, "Who opened the doors?"
I slowly turn my head up to the wall. Upon it, red thread and thumbtacks trace a path of pictures, notes, and newspaper clippings. Everything seems to point toward two worlds melding together. But all I see is crazy ramblings from my crazy mentor. I knit my brow and shift my eyes toward Vila, who holds my gaze with steady, beady ruby eyes. I swear she begins to smile, but it could be the poorly lit backroom. Vila slithers away once again into the rafters of the library; I pick up the book she had curled around, its title reads:
The Theories of Albert Einstein
I place the book in my (f/c) backpack. Without another word, I wave my hand, commanding all lights to shut off, and quickly leave. Anxiety gnaws my stomach. If Avian finds out about the stolen book, he'll kill me. Or worse, dismiss me as a student. I begin to run home.
"Where have you been?" asks my mother, hand on hip, one foot tapping against the kitchen floor.
I smile sheepishly and close the kitchen door, "Picking up a study book from Avian?"
My mother raises an eyebrow. She gestures to the dinner table, where my own food has now grown cold. I smile again and place my food in the microwave.
"I'm proud you're dedicated to your studies, but I wish you were on time for dinner just once. Your father and I miss the company."
"Sorry mom, I promise I'll try harder. It's just my studies have gotten so busy, there's so much work." I mumble. The microwave beeps.
"I know sweetheart, your father and I have been doing this for over twenty years. Oh, and on that note, has a god chosen you? You should have one by now. My god chose me when I was your age."
I cast my gaze to the ground. She always brings this up. Eighteen years and no god.
My mother, a shaman, and my father, a witch, have been pushing me to become a master of both. I can only manage witchcraft becuase it's easier. Anyone can do witchcraft. Shamanism is a whole other world...
"-gone for another business trip. An old woman and her husband have been experiencing some demonic hauntings. I don't know how long it'll take, but I've prepared some meals for you. If you run out, you know what to do."
I nod, completely missing the first part of what she said, and shove my mouth full of mac and cheese, which would have tasted better fresh. Mom squeezes my shoulder and leaves for the upstairs, leaving me alone.
I shove the rest of my dinner in my mouth, wash my plate, and run to my room. Anxious excitement fills me as I think about cracking open that book. As I enter, it begins to drizzle outside. Tiny raindrops pitter against my window. I jump into my nest of blankets. The book opens with a satisfying pop from the spine.
Tap...
Tap...
Tap...
I raise my head from the convoluted text. Nothing.
Tap...
Tap...
CRACK
I jump off my bed. The window is broken open, shards of glass shine under the light from my desk lamp. Still, nothing is here. But I can feel something. Something dark. I close my eyes and begin to chant.
"By the rule of the gods, by the force of the elements, I reach within me an-"
Growling. I open my eyes. A black shadow peers at me from my back wall. Its eyes glow fuchsia. It growls again, slowly making its way toward me. A large, black panther prowls at me, teeth bared. He stops a few inches from my face.
You will not cast me out, shaman.
Its voice echoes around my room, making my bed and desk shake.
You will help me, shaman. That is what they tell me.
I gulp. "Wha-what?"
I am not where I should be. Someone opened my realms door, you will help me close it.
I nod unwillingly. The panther smiles a dreadful, toothy grin. I smell blood on its breath. I watch the panther shift to the form of a small boy with messy, onyx hair and brilliant green eyes. His skin is a sickly ivory shade with no undertones to give him life. He wears Victorian style clothing.
A demon. But not one I recognize. Demons shouldn't have those eyes, they shouldn't bother themselves with a shaman, or a witch for that matter.
The boy puts out his hand and smiles. His eyes are deadpan. I swallow hard and shake it.
"I hope we can work well together, (f/n)(l/n)."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Authors Note:
A quick pronunciation of Vila's name, since I feel it could be confusing.
Vila (Veela)
Thank you!