TRACK 19
Keep on dreaming, don't stop breathing, fight those demons
Sell your soul, not your whole self
Oh, if they see it when you're sleeping, make them leave it
And I can't even see if there's hope there anymore, so
(Afraid- The Neighborhood)
********
'Having a Candle of Babylon would have been much more comfortable than that,' thought Nemain, swallowing hard and cursing mentally, especially as she sensed yet another gust of icy air crashing down on her, in addition to the one that was already doing the same thing almost constantly while moving. 'The deficiency of those Masters who kept their secrets and made them almost unobtainable... The deficiency of those who set fire to the scrolls with the instructions that had been created. The fucking deficiency. Dickheads, all of them.'
Donn's flying motorcycle -fortunately covered by the invisibility spell. More than once he had forgotten to enchant it, raising the odds of getting noticed so fucking much, the moron- was much more comfortable than a broomstick or a magic board. Or even a Snowboard Scrabble. Or one of those flying glass elevators. But as much as it was, it did not shelter from the cold, unfortunately.
Had there been Chimeras, she would have sheltered with the fur of one of them while riding it, but no, she no longer had them. And the effect of the warming potion she had drunk before leaving had long since worn off, so it was up to her to freeze her ass off in the middle of it all, gritting her teeth and pretending that nothing was wrong. Pretending not to feel the air scratch her from head to toe every fucking second.
The temperature in Sacha was so cold that she was partly amazed her skin hadn't turned blue yet. It was definitely all reddened -especially on her cheeks- but not blue. As much as magic did- both in the antibody department and everything else- when faced with such a situation it could do little else.
Nemain let out a frustrated little snort, leaning her head against the Wizard's back in front of her -the adrenaline that had arisen after removing the collar was gradually swarming away- tightening the fabric of his jacket with both hands. The material was heavier than her cape but not much more than that, and... it still wasn't enough to shelter them from the wind blowing from the North.
'I hate the snow,' she thought. 'I hate this shitty cold weather. What a shitty world.'
"Should we stop?" asked Donn suddenly without turning his head, causing her to barely flinch at the question.
After slipping out of her moment of shock, she replied. "We have to travel for sixteen hours," she said, almost in a whimper. In speaking, the Witch wrinkled her nose, struggling to finish the sentence without chattering her teeth despite how hard she tried, white smoke drifting from both her nostrils and mouth. "We're nowhere near halfway through."
"Yeah, we aren't, but... I don't know about you, but I'm tired. I've been on the road a lot, so getting some rest would be nice. And starting again with a little more warmth in my body wouldn't hurt," he asserted, pausing briefly. "Maybe we can find something better for you to wear."
"Shut up," blurted Nemain in an offended mutter, moving her hands from the other man's jacket practically instantly, taking them to her white cape, barely caressing it with her fingertips.
She had been stupid before. So fucking stupid. She shouldn't have thrown it and kicked it to the ground like that. She shouldn't have just done it. Not in a fit of rage, not for any reason in the world. Fuck.
'Stupid,' she thought, going to grit her teeth even more and raising her head, albeit not by much. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid.'
It wasn't in the right color, perhaps, but... The old brown one was almost symbolic of her departure. White was what she was becoming.
'Morgana would have liked it if she had seen it.'
"My clothes are just fine," she added simply. "We could look for an Internal Market instead. See if they have stuff to trade."
"That, sure. But if they don't have anything..."
"No," she interrupted him, somewhat soured by even the idea. Fuck that, seriously. "I'm not taking one of those garbage bags that some humans refer to as their clothes."
'I'll be on her level, through and through. Only then will I make her proud of me, even if she is no longer on earth. Only then will I be able to carry out the design she conceived,' she tightened her lips. 'Look at me from the other world, Master. Look at me.'
Donn said nothing to her comment. He merely sighed and fell silent for a moment. Nemain could feel him looking at her from the rearview mirror.
"Well, I'm going down there," he commented as he returned to crack the silence, reaching forward to press one of the bike's many, many buttons. "Whether you want it or not."
"Whatever. I don't care," she said, squeezing in tighter on herself. And feeling the bike slow dramatically, lowering in altitude as it went. Her gaze darted to what appeared to be a cabin in the distance, not too far from a town and the bush. A single person -an elderly man wearing a yellow jacket- was busy chopping logs of wood, beside the building's large doorway.
"Aura?" Nemain asked Donn. Not being able to see the Auras yet pissed her off. Being able to taste them was not enough. It didn't help her enough. But the Eyes Door that she was still searching for was the most hard to get thing ever . She almost started thinking that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a Magical Perception that she could obtain.
The Wizard, after realizing who she meant during a couple of scant seconds, shook his head. "He has none," he said, the tone of his voice suddenly cold and harsh. Detached and serious as only someone who was giving a death sentence to a stranger could be. Even contemptuous. And as much as, at times, he had a way of acting that riled her up terribly, those were the moments when she could not help but appreciate him.
"They made the people I loved the most suffer and then killed them just because they had magic in their veins, " he had said one of the first times Nemain had spoken to him, shortly after he arrived in their Coven.
She remembered it vividly, especially since his look had been almost disturbing while he wrote down names -all the names of the people he killed in his notebook. He wanted to know about them, so he never forgot about them. The reason, for her, was still unclear- to the point that she had felt several chills running down her spine. "I will return the favor properly. In whatever way I can."
"I'll take care of him," the Bones Witch added nonchalantly, pushing the memory aside. She said this without even blinking. Donn did not answer her, but she knew she had his approval. Just as he knew she would do her job efficiently.
Getting a rib cage bone directly into the heart of the human? Easy as breathing. A little dialogue, accompanied by constant physical contact, and he was done. He would not even have time to scream.
********
Jim jolted awake. He felt his lungs burning and his throat so dry that he struggled to even try to swallow. The knot that seemed to have formed in the center of it did not help.
He gasped for a few brief seconds in total confusion. His eyes saw everything blurry from the tears that were still sliding down his cheeks, making them sting. The same thing was done by those who were still trapped in them.
His heart was still beating as if crazed and the sensation of the black liquid hovered over his skin, aggressive and suffocating, making him barely tremble.
A small sob escaped him, devoid of the slightest control. His hands closed into a fist as he brought them to his face, rubbing them against his eyelids with a lot more frustration than he would have wanted.
"Jim." Suddenly a voice jumped up, causing him to raise his head in alarm and find himself staring back at the last subject of his dream, who stared back at him, his eyes shining a little in the dark.
Jim stiffened suddenly, to the point that he became paralyzed on the spot. The images flashed again and again in his mind, almost etched into the center of it with a hot iron -It might as well have been counting how much pain these caused him. They did even only by thinking about them.
"Oh, hey. Breathe," said Douxie, probably trying to sound reassuring, but not having the slightest effect as Jim couldn't get any of those scenes out of his head. The terror was still there, still fresh. It didn't want to leave him alone, dammit. Dammit.
"It's okay. It was just a dream. Just a bad dream."
Jim's eyes started to move around him, looking for the others, almost to find confirmation. They were all there. They were all there and they were breathing. He could see their chests rising and falling. Jim could even hear someone among them snoring.
'They are all right. They are all right. They're fine. It wasn't real.'
Yet even though he knew it had been a nightmare, just bringing his gaze to the boy in front of him made him feel something unpleasant in the pit of his stomach. And it came back to speed up his heartbeat and his breathing, so much so that the more he took in oxygen, the more it felt like his lungs were lacking it.
"No. No, slowly, Jim," the Wizard's voice jumped back up again, his hand rising slightly only to retreat, all so quickly that Jim seemed to have imagined it. His face showed visible concern, but there was calm in his tone.
"In and out, but slower. Watch me and follow mine, okay?" he continued, maintaining eye contact. Jim kept staring at the green shade for several seconds, the silence thick and heavy. Then he looked at his mouth, as he should have done from the start, probably, to follow him.
He tried to execute, still staring at him and imitating him as much as possible. He was trying to hang on to his rhythm as if it was a lifeline.
Jim tried to take in as much oxygen as he could, only to throw it out again and again. It was a slow repetition, almost endless from his point of view, but one that gradually loosened his tension, allowing him to return to at least a partial state of calm. Not complete, because that unpleasant something was always there, but at least it was not overbearing to the point that he choked there and then.
He sniffed and sobbed a couple of times during the process, but both the burning in his lungs and his heartbeat began to diminish in intensity.
The terror was still there, just as the images were, but a sense of grounding in the present was trying to push them away. To make them disappear, bit by bit.
'It wasn't real,' he whispered mentally to himself.
"There, that's good. Keep going. Just like that."
He did. He couldn't know for how much time, but he did. He just kept following.
When he returned to a half-quiet state, slight shame added to the mix. Jim gritted his teeth, swallowing hard. He was still shaking, despite everything.
'None of that was real,' he thought. And he clenched his fists, letting them press against his thighs. 'It wasn't.'
A moment of total silence, in which he continued to regularize his breathing.
"A little better?" the Wizard asked after that, in the same tone of voice as before. Jim returned to look into his eyes.
"...Yes," he said, the voice coming out of his mouth more croaky than he would have liked.
'It wasn't real,' he repeated, his gaze moving to Toby a second time. And to Blinky. And to Steve and Aaarrrgh and Claire. Their bodies in the dream again took the air out of his lungs like a punch in the stomach.
Jim took yet another big breath. He threw it out and closed his eyelids. He had to relax. He had to stop thinking about his friends' corpses. They weren't dead. It had been a nightmare. He knew that.
He continued to mentally repeat the same phrases with more conviction as if he was in a loop.
He opened his eyes again after a long amount of time... or was it short? He really did not know. When he did, anyway, he could not contain the grimace that was painted on his face.
In doing so, however, he found himself seeing Douxie holding out the glass Nari had made for him that morning, silently waiting for him to take it, not moving an inch from literally kneeling on the floor, looking utterly still.
At that moment, staring at the clear liquid that filled the glass to the brim, grasping it with hands that were still shaking and being helped to support it even by the other's grip, Jim realized how thirsty he was.
He drank greedily. Doing so helped him a lot. The cool water flowing from his palate all the way down, down where he could feel it pooling, wrung a small sigh of relief from him. Not feeling his throat as parched as a desert was appreciated. Drinking also brought a greater state of mental clarity, a fact also appreciated.
"Do you want to talk about it?" asked the raven-haired boy once he finished the glass of water, going to rest it on the surface of the mattress.
"No," Jim found himself saying in a much less croaky voice, without a second thought. Just the idea of trying made his throat feel constricted.
At the reply, the other merely nodded his head a little, going then to cast a glance around him. "Not even to the others?" he asked.
Jim frowned at the question but shook his head anyway. He did not want to wake them up for such a thing. Even from the curtain-covered window, he could see that the sky was still quite dark. There wasn't that heavy darkness that had been there in his nightmare, but the sun had not yet come out in earnest.
"What time is it?" he ended up asking after a couple of seconds, returning to bring a hand against his eyes, pressing two fingers to the corners of them.
Douxie went to turn backward, albeit not by too much. In the blink of an eye, he had his cell phone in his hand, and headphones attached to it. The screen barely lit up when he clicked it twice. "5:40," a small pause of silence. "Do you want to try to sleep again? You should get some more rest."
"No..." He replied, feeling his hand crack slightly at how tightly he was squeezing his fingers.
He feared that if he tried to fall asleep again he would end up having the same dream. He did not want it.
He bit his lower lip. "... I don't think I can," he admitted slowly and softly.
"Okay," Douxie murmured cautiously back to him, nodding. "Do you want to go out for a little change of air, then?"
Part of Jim wished to refuse. He was scared, in an almost childlike fear, that even trying to slip out of that room would make all his friends disappear into thin air. Or that he would return only to witness a scenario similar to the one in his dream. The other part of him, on the other hand, actually wanted to get out and shake off the last hints of his tension, making it go away until the anxiety stopped.
"Just five minutes," added Douxie, as if he had read his mind. Or maybe, well, Jim might have had a pretty blatant look on his face. "Then, if you want to, you can come back inside. Okay?"
He ended up nodding in response even before he realized it, almost mechanically.
Douxie got to his feet first, immediately helping him to do the same. And, although Jim was feeling pretty shaken up and neither of them was walking briskly, in no time they were already in the castle hallway, with the Wizard opening one of the many windows, pushing the fabric aside and allowing a wave of fresh, clean air to peep through. Breathing in and out, squinting while doing so, was even more pleasant than the water.
********
She dragged the corpse into the cabin by its arms by sheer physical strength, letting it crawl against the floor -She could have used her Magic, but hers was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else- then, just after catching a glimpse of the nearest closet and rummaging through the dead man's pockets one last time, she shoved him in it without a second thought. There were no keys around, but enchanting the door was child's play.
That done, she started to touch her chest where she knew her Core was flowing at its peak, and raised her head toward the ceiling. It would have been better if she had a direct view of the sky, but she had no desire to go back outside. Not in that hellish cold.
'A small step, but still a step forward,' she thought, proudly, then looking around only after her Mana, along with her determination, became diluted again and disappeared into the background of what to do .
Almost everything was built of wood, of course... And in very bad taste. Almost everything had an old, goat-like smell that led her, whether she wanted to or not, to grimace in disgust. Almost everything on the floor creaked as if it were about to give way at any moment. Its noises were unnerving.
'Fuck this. It's less cold, yes, but was it that hard to keep it clean and a little more decent? Such a lazy asshole. Well. Not a problem anymore.'
The stove in the fireplace -found in the central room of the lodge- was off. Just as the chandelier light, also in it, was off.
Trying to light the second one would have been a bad choice anyway, so she ignored the little button on the wall, preferring to let Donn take the wood cut from the now corpse, then sighed with relief when he lit it with his black flames. A part of Nemain would have liked to come closer to taste the Aura those had around them -Black Magic. The Void that consumed everything tasted almost sinful. There was a hint of something addictive and at the same time something that scared her shitless. It was like a warning of danger and an inducement to continue at the same time- but it would weaken them. And she needed warmth more than magical energy at that moment.
"You should try contacting Badb," Donn asserted, letting himself through into the room that flanked the one they had both been in, which had an old bed whose pillows seemed to have been emptied almost completely of feathers. "She's been looking for you."
"Maybe later. First I want to take a bath. And see if there's anything to eat that, possibly, isn't frighteningly sweet."
"Sugar would be good for you," Donn commented, staring at her with an all-too-savory air. There. This was a way of acting that pissed her off. "...Especially counting that our internal fat is long gone."
"Yes," she admitted, rolling her eyes, "But eating almost only sweets makes me nauseous. So, thanks, but no thanks," just the idea, ugh. No. Absolutely not.
She already struggled with dark chocolate. Being able to endure a lifetime of gummy candy and all the inhuman sugary junk around? Fuck, no. "I have no idea how you are capable of that."
She took off in the direction of the bathroom without listening to what Donn said next. She hoped that at least that one smelled less like a goat's butt, although she doubted it quite a bit. It was as if the presence of the man's dirt had stained the entire dwelling.
And she was right, indeed. When she reached the bathroom -a fairly large room with an all-too-tall tub surrounded by a canary-yellow curtain- the stench was ever-present. And so fucking nasty. What the fuck.
She covered her nose with one of her arms.
'This cabin should be burned down. There would be less waste of space.' she thought, going over to the various products resting on the cabinet next to the sink. The amount of white musk shower gels finished and left there was outrageous.
Nemain took a new one almost at random, then leaned it against the edge of the tub and began -in a slow manner, since her left arm was still covering half of her face- to undress, careful not to ruin the fabric of her clothes. She placed them on the wooden chair that stood in the corner, perfectly folded, returning to curse in her thoughts about her previous idiocy.
'Never again,' she promised herself, her right hand opening the water in the tub and then going to caress the small tattoo that traced the skin on her shoulder.
It was a dreamcatcher. Very simple and perhaps almost trivial compared to the huge representation of the Nemeton and an Arabian Phoenix that traced her back entirely. It was ultra-detailed and beautiful to her, especially the feathers and branches. Both of those things seemed to be trying to peek out from her body. And she adored -with every single part of her- the fact that the tattoo began to move when she used her magic. She could sense it doing it, trying to reach her chest and her waist, almost trying to hug her.
Bechville had been frighteningly good at drawing the tattoo on her. She had worked on it for hours and hours without stopping. All to cover that stupid big scar that would never go away, but that Nemain was beginning to feel less and less as the centuries passed. And if she felt it, her main remedy was to take it out on one or more mannequins -always cutting them to pieces, with the head always being the last thing cut off- or on her, now old, punching bag.
Both subjects she used as methods of unloading anger were located in the Lair's training room: Her favorite room ever. Wide, airy, and full of magical tools of all kinds to test. When one or more were found in their now constant comings and goings, they were brought there after they made sure they were not perhaps cursed. And some were passed out to members in the case of perfect resonance. She still hadn't found any that could have been her own, sadly.
'Maybe I don't need it. But it would have been nice if I had been able to find and obtain the Skathe-Hrün,' she thought, watching the liquid slowly rise into the tub.
Once it was filled with boiling water, Nemain let herself get into it, an expression between satisfied and peaceful gradually making its way onto her face. She stopped covering her nose.
'Warm just right,' she closed her eyes in pure pleasure and massaged her shoulders in slow circular motions.
Morgana's gentle smile appeared behind her eyelids in a flash. It, too, was full of warmth. It had always been toward her, somewhat like her actions.
It had been a long, long time, but she could still feel her fingers stroking her hair gently as she gathered them into a braid, occasionally tickling her nose with a few strands on purpose, making her laugh.
Counting that Nemain was theoretically her handmaiden, she should have done it to her Mistress and not the other way around, but the Mother of Monsters seemed to enjoy doing it. It seemed to relax her, to take away the oppressive burden of her brother, of the Strongest Sorcerer, and of the stupid whispers that the people couldn't stop spreading -Gods, she hated them all
It seemed to strip her of the expectations everyone had of her, too... It must have been so hard to bear, but she always had been so strong...
Nemain's expression went back to bending and tightening. She had to do more. She was going to take that burden on herself, whatever the cost.
She had to find the Nemeton as soon as possible. She had to do everything to accomplish her task so that Morgana's death would not be in vain. Then she would destroy Arcadia Oaks, the place where she had been led to it. And, only after eliminating human scum from the face of the earth, would she allow herself to rest in earnest.
********
They kept moving forward for a while. Jim didn't want to stray too far, but at the same time he needed space, and Douxie was following his pace without saying a word, not even to ask him where he wanted to go -Better that way, perhaps. He could not have given him a decent answer- and without staring at him. From time to time he gave him glances, but they were brief enough that Jim didn't even realize it.
Only at one point, he found himself noticing a couple of them and to return them. The lack of Archie crossed his mind, but it was pushed aside rather quickly -probably he was making sure that outside Camelot continued to be alright, Jim told himself- by a question that popped up in his mind, due to yet another sudden mental flashback.
"Did you know?" he asked in a low voice, almost not even realizing it, leading Douxie to turn his face in his direction and to look at him with a confused expression. "When Claire was being possessed by Morgana, did you know it?"
A faint spark crossed his gaze. "Oh. That..." He frowned. "Not really. I suspected it, but I wasn't sure."
"But didn't you say her Aura was different from Morgana's?" he asked, confused.
The Wizard paused for a second, blinking in mild confusion -something for which Jim did not grasp in the slightest, unable to connect what was wrong with the question, even though something tingled in his mind, however, it was somewhat clouded- then collected himself.
"It had been ages since I'd heard her Sound. And I hadn't heard Claire's long enough to distinguish them. I could only rely on memory and the fact that she was acting strangely. And still, I did not know her, so I wasn't sure about that either. Nothing more," he shrugged.
He frowned a second time. It made sense. Although... "So you weren't flirting with her?" he asked. And he almost slapped a hand on his face because of it, while embarrassment pooled inside him. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
'Shoot me.'
He wished he could have rewinded time to avoid stating the question verbally, but starting that conversation had already thrown the dam wide open.
"Wha...?" The Wizard's expression changed again, his brow furrowing and his nose wrinkling as he seemed at a loss for words, so much so that he remained silent with a puzzled expression. He kept staring at him without uttering a word, that look still stuck on his face, and Jim felt his cheeks become warm.
"No...?" Douxie said after a bit, still confused, blinking a couple of times. "Did... I gave that impression?"
"Uhm... A little," he said, unable to help but notice first something that seemed like a lightning-fast realization, then, a short time later, a certain uneasiness crossed the other's face at the confirmation. He almost tried to add a 'But maybe it was just me...' but after a second or two of silence, Douxie groaned, bringing a hand to his face.
"Wonderful..." he snapped, more to himself than to him, sighing. "I apologize, then. That was not my intention," a pause, in which he grimaced. "I can assure you, I have no romantic interest in her whatsoever," one of his hands got to his hair, brushing a lock away from his forehead. "Vigilantism and old habits lead me to play parts out of instinct in some situations and... sometimes I don't think about how I might appear in others' eyes," he tightened his lips, running his fingers nervously through more of his hair. "Sorry again."
Jim did not know what to reply to that comment, for whatever reason.
He arched both eyebrows, then gave a small nod to the other, letting a momentary partial silence return, interrupted by their footsteps -more Jim's than Douxie's. The Wizard's walk could hardly be heard- by the sound of the snapping of the blue tongues of fire in the flashlights and by the wind gliding down the corridor and out of the castle. The breeze was always cool and calm.
"Can we go back now?" he asked after a while, feeling his energy -more physical than mental, though a bit his mind was beginning to fog as well, leading him to shake his head repeatedly- diminish as he went, especially in finding himself casting a glance at a long flight of stairs -though they went down instead of up, Jim did not feel able to walk them- whose engraving on the wall said they led to the Latrines.
He had no idea how they got there. In the search for a hint of tranquility, it had seemed to him more like walking around in circles. Soothingly, but still circling. The writings fortunately made it easier to figure out how to get back, at least.
"As you wish," Douxie did not make him wait for an answer, immediately turning around, still waiting for him to go first.
As they set off to return to the room -both at a slow pace, both silent- Jim found himself inhaling and exhaling. The oppression was still in him, in some ways, but it was much lighter. What remained led him to clench his fists. The need to throw out some of his guilt was fermenting him, he realized between steps.
"I think I owe you an apology, too," he asserted decisively, about ten seconds into which necessity and insecurity started to push themselves into his chest, making it difficult for him to even decide how to speak again.
Douxie's face, as an initial silent response, returned to confusion. He frowned again. "For what?" he asked.
"Still for... For what happened that night," he said slowly. The other's expression did not change one bit. "For... When Morgana called you a slave..." a small pause in which Douxie stiffened suddenly. His face did the same. "I... didn't say or do anything. And... and probably if I had, it wouldn't have been anything positive," he admitted, looking down. And then at him.
Hisirdoux didn't answer at first. He just stayed silent and still. His expression was difficult to read, but it seemed to have an almost faraway look. Still, after a bit, he simply shook his head and stared back at him, definitely more present.
"Doesn't matter," he said, hinting at a smile that tried to reassure him more than to be true. "From your point of view, I must have been in the way that night. And counting the, uh, very bad first impression, I can't blame you at all."
This was all too true. Jim had seen him as if he had been a big problem that night. Out of jealousy, for childish spite, and out of stupidity, too, counting that he had been there because he worked there. Not to ruin his date.
"But it doesn't change that it was mean... And rude," he found himself saying, even more convinced. "You didn't deserve it, bad first impression or not. I'm sorry."
'Had it been any other person, I would not have behaved that way,' he thought to himself and -For the better this way, perhaps- he avoided saying. Just that thought brought shame back to him, but he forced it away. Same thing he did with the slight annoyance with himself.
"Seriously, it doesn't matter. It's fine," Douxie said again, having a smile that was a little more honest. A little more real. "You shouldn't worry about something like that. It's in the past now," he paused, shrugging. "Sure, it wasn't the best thing ever, and I was a little upset then, but there has also been so much worse, really," the Wizard acknowledged.
After a little bit, Douxie rolled his eyes, almost remembering something. A little huff slipped from his mouth. "...Some people can make you want to buy a baseball bat and shovel."
He blinked. "Even just from my mother's stories, I can imagine." Jim found himself saying, frowning again.
How many times had his mom come home, furious and stressed, but always trying not to let him feel it? Way too many. In those days, when he had the opportunity, he had always prepared her favorite dishes. Or he'd let her vent for hours about the kinds of crazy attitudes some people had.
"Her work?" Hisirdoux questioned, his nose wrinkled.
"She is a Doctor."
"Ah," he winced slightly, "I don't envy her at all, then," he murmured, pursuing his lips.
Jim couldn't help but give him a confused look, to which Douxie simply sighed again and added an "I'm... a terrible patient..." before he went to close the window. The comment didn't surprise Jim one bit.
"What, did you walk with a broken leg without crutches or a cast or something like that?" he asked, half joking -finding it plausible enough, though- once Douxie returned to his side, one hand thrust into his sweatshirt pocket while the other toyed absently with his necklace.
The question brought an amused expression on the other's face. "I broke my leg and my wrist about five months ago. Four days of called out sickness and I was good as new. I haven't been insane enough to run around, but no, no casts and no crutches were used, even though someone wanted to throw me out of the window because of it."
The 'four days' left him gaping and staring at him. Douxie grinned as if he was proud of such a thing.
"What in the world...? How?" a small pause, in which a part of his brain started to see him in a different light. That sounded like... Like... ''What are you, Wolverine?"
Shock painted Douxie's face for a second. Then he barked a laugh, covering his mouth with his closed fist. "Definitely not," he snorted, and even if he was trying to sober up, he looked like he was going to laugh again. "The immortality stuff is on check, but I'm not that fast. I heal quickly, but not like that..."
"And you don't have claws." Jim found himself saying. A part of him still felt perplexed, the other that was near to start laughing too, whether in shock or because of Hisirdoux's laughter itself.
"Yeah, Archie is enough with them. I would still be more horrified by the whole ugly yellow superhero suit, though."
"You wouldn't be with the weird hair and sideburns thing?"
"Sideburns were passable, I like them..." he shrugged. "On older-looking men. On younger ones, it's a bloody no."
Jim paused for a few seconds. His mind was still half trapped in the four days' comment. "Are all Wizards like this? Or is it a... you thing?"
"Both?... I mean, there are those who take less and those who take more."
"So, in a way, all Wizards are less pumped, less animalistic, but with better fashion sense, Wolverines?"
Douxie snorted again. "That's one of the weirdest things I have ever heard," he commented. "But, yeah. I guess."
They both chuckled this time and reached the door of their room just moments later. They stayed in front of it for a few seconds.
"Need more time or...?"
"No, I..." Jim blinked. He felt calm. The panic and heavyweight weren't there anymore. He could breathe freely, too. "I think I'm better now."
"Okay," Douxie said, looking at him a bit longer. "If you need anything, just say the word."
Jim nodded at him. And after that, the Wizard opened the door delicately, showing everyone else.
They were still asleep -and a few were snoring even louder than when they'd left them- except for the Dragon who was walking around on his Wizard's mattress, going to look at both of them under the thick lenses.
After glancing at each other yet again, the two sat on their beds. Jim lay back, albeit feeling the slightly tense sensation returning.
Parts of his expectations made him fearful of ending up in nightmares a second time -even if the fear was much lower and more contained than before- but at the same time he felt that even if he tried to stay awake, he wouldn't last that long. Maybe ten minutes, but no more than that.
Douxie also lay down, one hand digging into Archibald's fur and the other clicking on the edge of the cover of the book, which was left closed where it was.
"Thanks..." Jim murmured after a bit, his voice rather low. So low that for a moment he thought that the other would not hear it. His gaze, which flicked back to his almost instantly, destroyed that notion.
"You're welcome," he answered, also at a low volume.
After having cast one last look around him and resting his head well on the mattress, Jim slowly let himself sink into the nothingness of his unconsciousness.
********
"You looked for me," Nemain said dryly, shortly after tracing the Badb Soul Symbol on the floor with red chalk -which she had kept in the pockets of her cloak- then going to Summon the witch, calling her name three times and turning around on herself every single one of them. "I am here."
Badb's smile greeted her, always looking so unrestrained and hysterical as to be unnatural. The blonde was used to it, however, counting that she flaunted it often.
She was sitting cross-legged and her figure seemed as if she was there, in the same building as hers, instead of who knows how many kilometers away.
"I see," she giggled. "I would have liked to know if there was any news, but I assume problems have arisen."
A huff escaped Nemain's mouth. Problems arose, yeah. It seemed almost dismissive of the final situation she'd found herself in, not even having the faintest idea of how she got into it. Just thinking about it made her angry. Between breaths, she tried to calm down.
"Yes. But I'm ready to fix everything at the first opportunity after I get back," she answered, determined. She was very ready to kick the ass of the bastard who had taken her to the Bolshoy Islands with collar and all. They would regret it, oh yeah.
"Excellent. I leave everything in your hands." Badb said cheerfully. "I managed to recruit three more members today. Three witches. All of them are... interesting..." she chuckled, albeit briefly. "The other members of the Coven have refused, for the moment. I'm going to see what I can do about it."
The Bones Witch nodded to that.
"Then I will search for other creatures. If I can't convince them, we could burn the city without problems. I'll wait for you to do it, I know you'd like to," her smile, though it didn't seem possible, seemed to widen even more. She was right, anyway. "Meanwhile, a few humans are already enjoying themselves. Soon more are going to follow"
Nemain made a choked sound before she started laughing back at her. They were having fun for sure. In a way that they would not forget until the end of their days.
After she'd stopped laughing, she breathed in, a last giggle running out from her lips. A bit of silence passed.
"For the Nemeton, instead?" she found herself asking, sounding somewhat hopeful in her question.
"No magic item that could break the Primal Seal in Donn's mind, no. Nor someone that could break it just by their presence. They haven't been found."
Nemain lost most of her sudden good humor and huffed. Well, it was almost clear to her that no one could break the Primal Seal. Most of those who had been around Donn at the time he said he saw the Nemeton, well, they were dead.
That goddamn Seal -created maybe by the tree itself, maybe by someone else protecting the tree- was a fucking thorn in her side. God only knew how many times she had cursed after it, both to herself and out loud. She had lost count.
Nemain couldn't get inside his head. Macha's magic did not work on such an ancient and innate magical essence. She could barely get close to it, but... it was best avoided. More for the Wizard's safety than anything else.
Many of Donn's memories of the Nemeton were blurred. And he didn't like to think too much about that period either, counting that it was when his loved ones had been killed.
'I'll find something,' she told herself mentally. 'It doesn't matter if I have to leap into another dimension. It doesn't matter if I have to enter the Limbo or go straight to Hell to do it. I will find it.'
"Okay," she said, taking a big deep breath and letting it out. "We'll keep trying."
"I don't doubt it," she answered, always cheerful, moving on by herself as if she were on a swing. "What you want to do, you do it and have success in it. Always. You are stubborn this way, after all."
Nemain let out a satisfied smile. "Are you trying to soften me with your praise?" a little pause. "It might be working," another moment of silence, in which the smile became a small evil grin. "If you make me more, it might work even better."
Badb's expression changed for a moment, surprised by her comment, and then she laughed loudly, slapping the ground in front of her several times. "I'm just telling the truth... But I can tell that I don't see it as a problem. I'll keep that in mind."
A small part of Nemain hoped she didn't. It wasn't her compliments that she wanted to receive. The second side of her almost made her smirk more.