Until We Go Down (Formerly: Hunting My Wolf)

*├Chapter Three┤*

"A Preservation State is too rare," Miss Pecter chirped in high-pitched eloquence. Her beady eyes almost vanished behind eyelids with the way she peered over the rim of her glasses. "Not only is it less necessary now that we're no longer in hiding, but one would need far more magic and even far more advanced training than me; even the Ancients recognize the futility of teaching outdated talents."

          With my fists clenching at my side, I swallowed the lump of pride forming in the base of my throat. My uniform felt itchy and the temperature rose around my neck and cheeks. I tapped my polished shoe once, twice. "I don't mind that it's impossible. I just want to know what it is. A book in my mother's library mentioned the pattern of attributes in subjects capable of Preservation, but it never explained what it actually was. I just want to understand. Like knowing history simply for the sake of knowing it," I fibbed.

          "Fine." She ushered me into a seat before glancing at her watch. "A Preservation State is only possible when one is in the Primal State.

          "If someone is in their Primal State when they encounter a near death experience, and they are advanced enough in magic, they can ignite a certain spell - a magic born in your core but obtained only by those who have been a part of the Ancients' bloodline - that will make themselves impervious to the dangers of the outside world. Time slows within the barrier of magic that forms over the victim's body; no further harm can come unless the inflictor be cursed, and only those without evil intent may reach inside. Until your physical form can begin to heal, the magic holds captive your mind and soul."

          For the first time since the school year began, I was in awe. I asked before she could dismiss me, "Would there be any books in the database? On Preservation?"

          "Perhaps," she mused, clicking her tongue against her teeth and her lips. "You might fare better to search for books on the Ancients first, then look to see if preservation appears in the appendix." She revealed a curious, tight lipped smile. "You'll need a high reading lexile for those, though, my dear."

          I returned her gesture with a smirk. "Not any higher than I already have."

          Within an hour, I was searching through the town database, and within days, I was begging my parents to take me into the city so I could search there; since the Merge, internet was regulated by location and federal news was shared only through a single, nightly source called The Update. If I went to the database center in the state capitol, though, I would be allowed to search for material state-wide.

          Begrudgingly, my father conceded, and instead of dragging me into the car for school one morning, I hopped inside for an adventure into the city.

          At first, I had to gouge my eyes for the boredom that came with following him around work. But then when he flashed his key card so the stiff scent of heat from hundreds of monitors running simultaneously swam up my nose, I squealed like most girls discussing their school crush. In a flash, I was uploaded onto a screen, my fingers tapping furiously.

          There! First, a manifesto on Ancient Practices by Thee Salem Witches, and then a recount of Merlin's Society through the study of primary sources and essays by modern mythologists.

          They both had the same, cryptic message about Preservation State: It was the main fear for Witches and Warlocks entering into conflict with a being born from Ancient lineage (the families of Werewolves, Witches, Vampires, and Dragons), because once the advanced practitioner ignited the spell, those attacking with magic would be cursed into the same pain; and if they themselves could not ignite the spell, one was left with certain death.