Tale of the Gifted Beings

chapter 16

chapter 16

THE OLD WOMAN was staring at us.

"My name is Lucinda Vaughn, but you can call me Lucy."

The moment the word 'Vaughn' slipped from Lucy's lips, Mamori and I exchanged glances. The name clung to the air between us like an echo. It was Augustus' surname. No, it was not just Augustus' but also Leo's surname.

Bryce was laid weakly on the couch, his breaths shallow and ragged. Each exhalation sounded like a sigh of agony. Lucy then shuffled away into the small, cluttered kitchen after excusing herself, telling the both of us to feel at ease in her living room as her footsteps brushed a soft rhythm against the worn wooden floor. Not long after, she returned while holding two glasses of water, their contents shimmering under the faint glow of the single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The droplets slid down the glass surface, racing each other to the wooden table where she placed them. The coolness of the water was a welcome relief against the grit and grime of the events, and I wrapped my hands around the glass, letting the chill seep into my bones.

"Thank you," Mamori said to Lucy, her voice a tired whisper. She took a sip, and I watched her as her vibrant eyes became dull with fatigue. Lucy then perched herself on the edge of an overstuffed armchair, her knitted shawl pooling around her like a cloud of pastel yarn. She asked us what had happened, her voice knit with concern. Mamori then responded. Her voice was steady as she recounted our encounter with the man in black from Miss Alice's home—a phantom whose identity remained as elusive as his motives.

"We had been ambushed earlier, caught off guard. Prim then ran away, so we followed her. While we were looking for her, Bryce and I were attacked, but he stepped in as he shielded me from the brunt of the attack. As we escape, he was badly injured, but something, or perhaps someone, seemed to be teetering on Bryce, his strength ebbing away with each passing second. It was as if he was using his power to do something, and then in a snap, he became weak," Mamori said. I couldn't help but look at Bryce's nose. That would explain why his nose was bleeding.

After listening, Lucy's face was a canvas of empathy. Her fingers traced the rim of her own glass; her touch was light but decisive. A curious coincidence? Perhaps. But at that moment, it felt like a lifeline.

As I watched Bryce's unconscious form, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, I knew we were in a race against time. The words hung heavy in the air as they spilled from Mamori's lips. I could see Mamori's slender fingers twitch, her nails nibbling into the soft flesh, a nervous habit that betrayed her usual calm demeanor. The room was dim, save for the golden glow cascading from the fireplace, casting long, eerie shadows that danced upon the old wooden floor.

Lucy's face, on the other hand, was drained to a ghostly pallor. The silence was then broken by her voice, a mere whisper that echoed around the room like a frightened bird. "So they're still there," she breathed. The words were barely audible, yet they cut through the tension in the room like a knife through butter.

Mamori looked towards Lucy, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Who?" she asked. Lucy's gaze remained fixed on some distant point, her mind seemingly far from the confines of her small, humble home. She shook her head, her silver hair swaying with the movement, the unanswered question hanging in the air like a specter.

The room was thick with tension, with the only sound being the low crack of the firewood in the corner. "Are you gifted beings?" Lucy inquired.

I felt Mamori's gaze turn to me, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. Time seemed to slow around us, the world outside our little sanctuary fading into insignificance. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the question hanging in the air like the strike of a gong. Mamori turned back to Lucy, her face a mask of uncertainty. She hesitated for a moment before nodding, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "How did you know?"

Her words echoed around the room, each syllable hanging heavy in the air. The room was silent, and the three of us were frozen in a tableau of anxiousness. However, Lucy didn't respond to Mamori's questioning gaze. Instead, she opened her palm over the weakened Bryce's bruises, a landscape of violence painted across his body. A faint glow emanated from her hand, pulsing softly like the heartbeat of a star. It had a gentle radiance that was calming and warm. It danced across the room, casting long shadows that flickered and wavered, painting the cabin walls with a light that seemed otherworldly and ethereal.

Mamori and I exchanged a glance. We'd grown accustomed to the unexpected—aa necessary adaptation in our world—but this... This was something else. It was obvious: Lucy was also gifted.

After a few seconds, the light disappeared, as if it had been sucked back into Lucy's palm, who now seemed even more enigmatic than before. Her eyes remained fixed on Bryce, with a softness in them that I hadn't noticed before. "You're safe here," she reassured us, her voice echoing around the cabin like a protective hymn.

Then, as if the extraordinary display of healing powers had been a mundane event, she excused herself. "It's not safe to wander the woods at night as well, and your friend needs to recover before you proceed with your journey," she said, her gaze flicking towards the curtained window and the darkness beyond. It was a darkness that was almost palpable, a thick blanket of shadows and unknown dangers lurking beneath the canopy of the forest.

"I'll fix your bed for now. Stay here inside my cabin until your friend can recover. Don't worry, you're all safe inside," Lucy added.

We nodded, our gratitude hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. "T-Thank you," I managed, my voice hoarse. I felt like a tiny vessel being tossed in a vast sea of events far greater than I could comprehend. Yet, in the midst of it all, there was a strange kind of comfort in knowing that we weren't alone.

As Lucy disappeared into an adjoining room, Mamori and I were left alone with our thoughts and the quiet hum of the cabin. The wooden floor creaked under the weight of the events, and the walls bore silent witness to what just happened a couple of seconds ago. The smell of pine and wood smoke was comforting, a stark contrast to the gloomy situation we'd left behind. The cabin was simple, even basic, but it was giving us a sense of relief.

As Mamori and I stood anchored in the living room, the whisper of fabric against the old hardwood floors marked Lucy's departure. The fluttering hem of her dress danced a staccato rhythm, mirroring the erratic stare my eyes were darting.

"Mamori," I began, my voice a raspy whisper in the echoing chamber of the room, "have you noticed Lucy's name?"

Mamori turned towards me, her brows knitting together in confusion. "What's wrong with her name?" she asked, her voice carrying the distant strains of perplexity.

"No, not her first name," I replied, my eyes still trailing Lucy's path, now hidden behind the curve of the hallway. "Her surname. It's the same as Augustus' and Leo's."

A moment of silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant rustle of Lucy adjusting the bedding. Mamori's expressive eyes darkened with thought, and her lips pursed as she delved into the labyrinth of her memory.

"The officer in Perthlochry," I prodded gently, "remember? Leo? Primmy?"

A flicker of confusion crossed Mamori's face, her eyes darting like a pair of startled fish. "No, Primrose, I don't," she murmured, a faint, vulnerable tremble in her voice that tugged at my heart. Her gaze met mine, a sea of confusion under the dim light. "What are you talking about?"

"The one who helped you in his office?" I tried again, the concern in my voice knitting itself into my words. "Remember?"

Mamori only shook her head, her hair swirling around her like a dark halo. "I don't remember, Primrose. What are you trying to imply?"

My heart sank, tugged down by the weight of my growing suspicions. "Are you hiding something?" I asked, my words hanging in the air between us like fragile glass ready to shatter.

Mamori's gaze hardened, a spark of defiance igniting in her eyes. "You're overthinking," she said, the clipped tone of her voice echoing off the room's bare walls. "It's just a coincidence."

She turned away, her back a firm wall, shutting me out. "Besides," she added over her shoulder, her voice softer now, "we have to focus on Bryce. He's the one who's severely injured."

With that, she left me standing alone in the living room, the echo of her words the only company for my confounding thoughts. I watched her retreating figure, a silhouette swallowed by the dim light of the hallway, my heart heavy with unvoiced questions and unease.

The room suddenly felt colder and emptier. The silence was deafening, filling my ears with the throb of my own confusion. I was alone in the living room, a solitary figure in a tapestry of doubt and suspicion. And as the darkness consumed the cabin, leaving me in the encroaching darkness, I couldn't shake off the feeling that we were all entangled in a web of secrets, each thread leading us further into an unknown maze.