Beware the Mind Warper, a creature of dread,
With powers to twist thoughts inside your head,
It'll warp your mind, and make you believe,
In things that aren't real, and cause you to grieve,
Its control over you, hard to break free,
So watch out for the Mind Warper, or its victim you'll be.
Killian
Whoever said that secrets aren't fun, is a bold-faced liar.
Secrets, secrets, secrets. The unseen and untouched. The silent currency that can make anyone richer than their wildest dreams. Accumulating and gathering whispers is far from simple.
It helps, though, when I don't have to listen to those murmurs.
It helps plucking that hushed gold from someone's head.
And if secrets were indeed a currency, I would be a rather wealthy, purple-eyed man.
The Council is convening.
Though this tends to happen quite often, it's rare to have all nine members of the Council present. Typically, there are delegates or spokespeople for those who cannot attend, but it's no secret that today's discussion has caused ripples through the Wiccan World.
As I enter the Council Chambers, I quickly notice there's more chatter than usual. The high ceilings of the tower spiral upwards towards an elaborate painting and mosaic design, but the Magic in the room makes the dome hardly recognizable from such a low distance.
I take the stairs down towards the center of the room. Our Chambers resemble a funnel, where at the very bottom, there are allocated seats that circle around the speaker's post and the mediators table.
Slowly, the Chambers spiral upwards where there are seats for everyone and anyone to listen in to the discussion. Most days, the places are quite empty, but today, every chair is occupied. In fact, there are individuals who are standing at the top of the railings peering downwards.
I glance up towards the torches and column ledges. Owls, ravens, and magpies are all perched, along a few other animals like a capuchin monkey. All of them are waiting patiently for everyone to take their seats.
No, they aren't pets. A few Wiccan's are Gifted with Transfiguration. Birds tend to be quite common but oddly enough, it depends on the part of the world you live in. North America tends to lean more towards foxes and owls, whereas our Amazonian Coven's are rather successful in monkey's and jaguar's.
Regardless, there hasn't been an Upper Class Shifter in over fifty or sixty years. A true would be able to change into any animal. Most of these birds lay on the Lower-Class Magic spectrum.
Still, I'm surprised to see the Chambers so full. Over the last few days, the Royal Island has had an influx of visitors, which I know has led to many questions from the King and Elders.
The Royal Castle, much like the rest of the Island, is completely engrossed in Magic. It pumps through the stone of this land like blood flow in a body. It's one of the reasons so many supernatural's choose to live here now. Because even though there are other sources of Magic throughout the world, the Island feels like one of the hearts.
I reach the bottom of the stairs, shuffling my way towards my designated seat. My friend, Janus, is already seated. He offers me a smirking smile, "Prepare yourself."
The corner of my own lip rises, "We both know I'm the one that doesn't mind the spotlight."
He chuckles under his breath and once I'm comfortable in my seat, I finally look at him. In the blink of an eye, I watch his features shift. He goes from a silvery blonde hair to my dark black. His eyes turn from pale blue to purple.
"I could just..." His voice shifts a few octaves until I'm looking at the very spitting image of myself. "Impersonate you, dear Killian."
"I'd love to see you make a fool of yourself." I wave my opened hand to the stage. "By all means, I have no shame."
In a blink of an eye, Janus reverts to his standard image. His Eastern European features sharpening my face until he's...well him.
"You're hardly any fun when business comes knocking around." Janus rolls his eyes and leans into his hand while placing his elbow against the arm rest.
Janus, supposedly, is a forty-year-old Warlock. He says he's from Lithuania, but his appearances scream more Polish than anything else. Pale, silverly blonde hair, blue eyes. Then again, it's hard to judge him off of appearances. Even his age...He may be forty, but he looks like he's in his mid-twenties.
As the only Doppelgangers on this continent, Janus can change into anyone he wants to. Staring at his face is like watching a mirage in the desert, always shifting and moving. Sometimes, you question whether his face is real or if you're just looking into a strange mirror.
Our two other Doppelgangers have the same effect—where you don't truly know if what they look like is who they were born as. One of them lives in our Chinese headquarters, the other resides in Remuria, the supernatural capital in the world.
Lucky for me, I like Janus. His Magic is Upper Class and classifies under shifters, or more specifically, other forms of shifting classify under his specialization.
The classes of Magic, though I don't particularly like the wording of it, works very much like a pyramid. Where Doppelgangers and Metamorphics are the top, small pieces of similar Magic trinkle down to Middle and Lower-Class Wiccan's.
Take Mind Warping, my personal taste of Magic. I can play around with someone's mind and tickle pretty much any part of their brain. Controlling actions, making you forget who you are, even accessing memories—that, along with some other little tricks I have, make up my taste of sin.
But there are Middle-Class Wiccan's who have the ability to control minds. Only control minds. The way Obi Wan Kenobi does in Star Wars where they can wave their hand and redirect you, or ask you to do a petty task for them. Similarly, Lower-Class Wiccan's that possess some form of Mind Magic, are those that can access memories. Being able to willfully take a memory is child play's.
There's a catch—like there is with any Magic. For these Menti, to full access someone, their opponent must be weak minded or willing. It's one of the many reasons my Magic repulses so many people...it doesn't matter if you're strong willed, I have no trouble tearing into your head to get a little peak.
My hand is aimlessly twirling in the air. The scent of Magic and lemon lingering off me like a perfume as whisps of purple gravitate in the air like burning incense. A feather is effortlessly dancing under the Magic. Sometimes I push it higher up, other times I let it float until it's about to touch the table.
A small and annoying habit, but it beats smoking. Especially because I have to have an outlet. Sometimes it feels like there's too much Magic and it's an itch that constantly needs scratching. I can only describe it as a low hum in my body like I've consumed far too much coffee and it's the only gasoline in my system.
I can feel a few people staring at me as I get comfortable in my chair. Our Council works similarly to a Senate. With three Upper-Class representatives, three Middle, and three Lower. Of course, being voted into a seat when you have the ability to easily manipulate others doesn't bode absolute trust.
Then again, I look at Janus who also sits in one of the three chairs, and I doubt he didn't use his own Gift to get a place here. I can imagine him changing his appearance to seem more attractive in the eye of the beholder.
There's slight shuffling behind the both of us. We turn over our shoulders to see Saanvi's soured face. She plops down and huffs just between us, "This better go our way. I'm still jet lagged."
She flew in from India—her home country. Whenever she speaks, she has an accent but then again, so do most Wiccan's. We have specific Magic in the hall to allow for translations if someone can't follow along in the different language. Even Janus still has small hints of whatever country he's from, even if it is difficult to pinpoint after his countless years here in the Castle or in Remuria.
Interestingly enough, it doesn't really matter where Upper-Class Wiccan's come from, we all work for the same—if not similar—goal, to remedy and reform Covens around the globe.
"Are you alright?" I ask Saanvi.
She practically scowls with her lips pursing further. The little swirls in her eyes intensify, so I turn back towards the center with enough confirmation that she's holding back her anger.
The last seat at our table is filled. The Council Mediator—Jason—takes his place behind the stand. "Order." He calls before a loud thud hits the ground of the Chambers. "Order."
It takes a few seconds, but the room slowly hushes into silence. I lean back in my seat as I watch the assembly for me.
Jason waves his hand, allowing for several documents and our agenda for the discussion to suddenly appear in front of every desk and person. Even the animals on the ledges get a few scraps that hover over their faces.
"Seeing as all nine Council members are in session today," Jason's voice is slightly hinted with annoyance.
When his eyes look up, they meet mine momentarily and I get a whiff of his thought. I can't believe they all showed up for once.
He shifts his gaze to Janus, who tries not to scoff. Once glance at Janus and I hear his voice flitter across my head. Magus, I hate this old prick.
"I would like to extend our congratulations to the successful disbanding of the Rebellion." Jason continues like he's reading from a history book. "As you all know, we had no intention of concerning ourselves with lycanthrope matters, but the involvement of fellow Wiccan's, along with other supernatural's, made this Rebellion a geopolitical issue. Regardless, at the hands of King Aiden, his reign, and some assistance from supernatural folk, as of a few weeks ago, the Rebellion was officially deemed as squandered."
A few light claps follow behind me—mostly from Wiccan's who don't live here on the Island. The reality is, the Battle for Imperium was a shitstorm for everyone here. We had to secure our libraries, our spells, we had to take far too much energy to reinforce the walls.
The Rebellion was a geopolitical nightmare. This aftermath is no different. For years, we had focused on tracking down Rebel movements, even though, there were few Wiccan's who cared much for it.
The Magic community was split—those who wanted to help the King and those who frankly didn't give a shit about furry wolves and their battles. Had the Rebellion only been compromised of werewolves, no amount of lobbying I did would have convinced others to join the King.
But a few years ago, we caught Rebels that were Wiccan's and vampires. It meant our citizens were involved, which led to a consensus that it was no longer King Aiden's issue. The vampire Elder's followed closely after.
Now, everyone is trying to forget the Rebellion ever happened. Though we're much more interconnected now, working along with other supernatural's, there are still many in office who wish for near-full segregation. I.e., the Wiccan Council should only deal with Wiccan issues. Warlock's and Witches should only learn from one another and not from other supernatural creatures.
It's bullshit and utter hypocrisy when we live in the Castle that belongs to the King of Lycanthrope. But stupidity doesn't get washed away with your Gift. Just your humanity.
I zoned out for a moment, only to be drawn back to the conversation when I hear Jason say my name.
"We also extend our congratulations to our High Member, Killian, for his promotion to Gamma. He is now considered King Aiden's third in command." Jason's jaw clenches slightly as he reads on, "Let this be a steppingstone to better supernatural connections between Wiccan's and wolves."
There's murmuring behind me that sounds rather distasteful and a few light claps for those who actually believe in progress and adaptation. My Magic twists and turns in the pit of my stomach as it latches onto certain thoughts.
Traitor.
Wouldn't expect anything else from the wolfy fucker.
How typical.
Those were the negative comments. There were others that were much nicer.
Thank Magus.
Finally, some headway with the wolves.
Wouldn't be so bad if we could get more fingers into the King's pie.
The last one wasn't overly positive, much more of a power grab than anything else but I'll take what I can get from these leeches. I take a deep breath, stilling my Magic and stopping myself from reading everything else.
"Now for more pressing issues." Jason's voice lowers in tone before he coughs into his fist. His hands come around the podium and clench around the dark wood. I lean forward, as do many others in the Chambers. "It has come to the attention of the Council that four Astral's have been detected within the last six months. Three of which came from the continental United States."
Whispering cascades through the crowd. Saanvi fumes behind me as she tries to keep her forme in her body. When I look over my shoulder, I can see how the stars in her eyes are misaligning while she tries to keep herself centered.
A few years ago, she had a place on the Council. The seat where Janus currently sits. She gladly gave it up to attend to more regional issues. Being an Astral means having the ability to disassociate your forme from your body. She can travel between two different planes.
She briefly showed me a parlor trick, keeping her body in front of me while she misaligned her formes. Across the room we were sitting in, she managed to break a few vases and even reset a clock. She can transverse through walls in her second forme, and refuses to talk about what she see's in that "other plane," but I don't hold it against her because I've never shared with anyone the true extent of my own powers.
You keep your power close to your chest like you're playing poker. Sure, everyone knows the gist of what you do, for in Janus' case, it's easy to understand what you can do. But Upper-Class Wiccan's don't like sharing. We were bred from trauma and experiences none of us wish to share. The more you share about your powers, the more likely someone is going to understand what happened to you as a child.
But, Goddess, four Astral's? Three coming from the United States?
Hardly any Upper-Class Wiccan's come from the United States anymore. In fact, most Gifts appear in terrible situations and places. Historically, the four horsemen tend to be the perfect breeders for such a Gift. Death, Famine, War, and Conquest—all leaders in misery.
It's natural to find spikes of Upper-Class Magic in warzones, impoverished areas, places littered with human suffering that needs aide. There's Magic in the United States, but if an Upper-Class appears, we instantly swoop in to see what gives.
Covens have been reformed here, though some aren't pleased with the reformations, it has stopped what many of us deemed as preventable and dreadful cruelty towards children.
And why children? Goddess knows...
For as long as we know and have been taught from our books, children's Magic is stronger. If you're able to break something so pure, the ramifications tend to be atrocious. Hence, a more powerful Gift.
Or so, that's what everyone believes. It's not what I believe in. Not anymore.
Saanvi grits her teeth behind Janus and I. She grabs onto the back of my seat to ground herself into her forme. I can almost see the way she realigns herself with deep breaths. She likes to tell us she's aligning her chakras to make sure she stays calm in her physical forme.
I reach over my shoulder and give her hand a squeeze. There's a flicker of surprise in her expression before she breathes out calmly. Whatever demons she fights are her own. As mine pertain to my history too.
I stay absolutely quiet as Jason shares some details to the crowd. Three kids were detected in the United States, another found in Portugal.
"This doesn't have to be bad news." One Middle Member, Thomas, says from across the table. He happens to be an Elemental. "If there's one thing we learned from the Rebellion, it's that we don't have enough Upper-Class Wiccans for any proper offensive strikes."
A chorus of agreement shuffles amongst the crowd. Janus shifts uncomfortably beside me, and I feel my jaw clench and muscles tense. My head turns towards the few Upper-Class Warlocks and Witches I consider my colleagues. There are few of us, but there's a reason for that. We all came into our Gift under excruciating circumstances.
"And who exactly is our enemy Thomas?" Janus asks with a narrowed gaze. "Why are you so keen in building an army?"
A vague answer and voice comes from the other side, "There are always enemies."
We're our biggest enemy. I think to myself.
"You weren't there." Thomas practically growls, his eyes flaring. "You didn't see the slaughter those Rebels caused in our ranks."
Murmurs of agreement start to flutter through the crowd like small waves on a lake.
"He's right." Cassandra, our Lower Member avoids our gazes as she directs us. "We struggled during the last battle. Most Upper-Class Wiccan's were allocated to keep our citizens safe. If a legion happened to have Higher Sorcery, that cohort came back in one piece. But we lost many Middle and Lower Wiccan's. You cannot sit there an act like your Gifts aren't of monumental use."
"Are you hearing yourself?" A High Member says behind me. She doesn't have a seat on the Council, but I don't need to turn over my shoulder to know it's Farah.
Janus scoffs beside me, "You're delusional if you believe this world is well off with more of our caliber."
Thomas' crony, another Middle Member, stands on his feet to sneer. "Could it be you all are just fearful for more competition? With so few of you, hardly do you ever have to campaign and fight for seats on the Council. Not the way we have to."
I almost laugh. Fucking idiots.
That thought goes through the Chamber and I don't need Mind Warping to hear what others are thinking. Every Upper Wiccan is instantly tensed and poised. The smell of Magic starts to clash and infiltrate the room like too much incense is lit.
There are a limited number of seats on the Council—three for each group. The Upper-Class hardly ever have the same turnover rate as the other two groups. Every few years, elections take place to deem who have a seat.
Because there are so few of us, it's not difficult to lobby or campaign. For the most part, Upper Wiccan's have other shit they're dealing with. I hate to say it, but we practically volunteer for our chairs. This just also has to do with the fact that we're all aligned with our goals of reformation.
The Middle and Lower though...they actually have to campaign. They have to fight others for their seats. Once, there was a notion to add more seats on the Council. But nine is a good number. We never have a tie and there's equal representation.
Besides, it's meant to equalize us. My Gift might be more powerful than theirs, but my vote only counts as once. Just as the Lower-Class Wiccan's get one vote as well. It amplifies their function for change just as it prevents us from overriding with pure power.
"How dare you." Saanvi stands slowly from her place behind me. I turn over my shoulder to see how the edges around her face and hair look like they're falling apart. Almost like you're looking at an old 3D movie. "These are children. Children that are being subjected to torture and you think this is a political grab for power?"
I could easily make a political grab for power. I don't even blame the Middle and Lower Wiccan's. It's not far fetched and we're politician's after all. But it's just downright heartless.
"You can't make presumptions that these kids will be good," Someone else says. "They underwent unbearable circumstances. They need help, not to be turned into weapons."
"But if we wield them—"
Calamity explodes behind me as several Higher Wiccan's stand to their feet to start shouting. Janus, myself, and the third High Member stay seated while everyone screams or curses at one another.
"You all say you were tortured but no one is ever willing to let us into what those Coven's do." Thomas is on his feet, calmly leaning over the table as he narrows his eyes at Saanvi. "Tell us then. Give us an idea of what an Astral undergoes to access their Gift."
Saanvi's face pales but to her credit she holds her ground, "There's no rulebook. It's not a recipe you can just cook up."
"That's clearly not the case." A Lower Member sneers, "If so many have been popping up, there's a definite pattern."
Janus shakes his head and leans into me, "This is idiotic."
I want to agree with him, but I know there's truth in those words. It also riles up a question I've been trying to avoid for a long time now—is there a standardization? Not that anyone knows of it but how dangerous would that be?
If someone, if a Coven, were to standardize Gifts, then they could simply manipulate whoever they want. For hundreds of years, a Gift is a Gift because you don't know what it'll be until it appears. It's random and chaotic, as Magic tends to be. In fact, it's meant to be unique like DNA. So why have there been so many Astral's? What if other Upper-Class Wiccan's start to appear with the same Gift?
I'll have to speed along my plans. I thought I'd have more time to strategize and come up with something to present to Aiden and the Council, but I know I'm not the only one with these thoughts. The question is lingering in several people right now: How can we create a group of powerful Wiccan's to either a) overthrow the one's in place, or b) simply garner more strength in the supernatural world.
There was a time when Wiccan's were the most powerful of supernaturals. Much like any Empire or Dynasty, there are Golden Ages. For the vampires, it was the Victorian age with romanticism and Gothic aesthetics taking over the world. Our Golden Age was the height of Celtic and Druidic cultures when Paganism was the 'it' thing.
Jason forgets his role of mediator as while the room is in complete chaos, with Upper Wiccan's backing up Saanvi, and everyone else shouting for her to tell us her story, I glance over past Janus. Sitting in the third seat for Upper-Class Wiccan's is Coya.
He hardly turns his head in my direction, but our gazes meet, and I stare into those red eyes. He doesn't have any white in his eyes, they're completely drowned in blood. I give him a nod, he turns back to the front of the room.
A smell of metal mixes in with Magic as it perforates through the room. When I look up at the walls of the Chamber, there's dark red blood that's starting to bleed from the grooves of the bricks.
People notice instantly and a collective shudder runs down many spines while the birds that were perched start to fly around the tower to prevent from getting soaked in blood.
Everyone's gaze turns to Coya, who looks unbothered and uninterested. His voice is raspy as he says, "You needn't be reminded what we undergo to get our Gifts. Sit."
He let's the blood continue to pool down the walls. The Council Members are furious as they slowly sit back in their seats. It isn't until everyone is sat that Coya breathes in and the blood disappears.
Coya is short for Atlacoya. He is the only Upper-Class Wiccan whose story is wildly shared amongst the Wiccan community. His Gift—Blood Magic.
He escaped his Coven when he was roughly nineteen. This was years before I even came to the Royal Island. Coya made his way to the Council where he pleaded with them to help fight against his Coven.
It was then that the Council found out there were many Coven's across the world that were operating without their knowledge. Coya lived in Central America, where his people still practiced ancient rituals that belonged to the Aztecs. After going through all the gory details of sacrifice, blood rituals, and hints of cannibalism—according to Coya, a lot of the members had to take a break.
The brutality was so savage that the Council couldn't believe a child had been subjected to such terrible things. And Coya was practically a God amongst his people. But according to him, he knew what they were doing was wrong and horrendous so he sought help from the Council.
At the time, the Council wasn't composed of such...shall we say, visionaries. Coya's movement was denied and in a fit of rage, he turned to others. More importantly, the Elder's.
I might be a sucker for werewolves, but Coya's practically a vampire himself. He likes to drink blood, the vampire's worship him because he can just make their favorite drink appear out of thin air. The Elder's heard his pleas and they were both horrified and aroused simultaneously.
Long story short, the Coya's old Coven is now a Nest. And he is considered our liaison with the vampires. When Coya returned from what we assume is a slaughter—he was voted into a seat. He hasn't left it since and the only reason he resides in the Palace is because he likes to help the Elders, who he views as more of a family than these dysfunctional politicians. I wholeheartedly agree.
Also, he's made incredible headway with leukemia treatment in the labs. Despite all the shit he went through, here he sits, poised and collected.
"Enough." My voice is heavy in the now quiet room. Everyone's eyes turning to look at me while I let my Magic whisp through the air. "I think we've had enough useless bickering." I try to keep my voice indifferent as I levitate a small feather in the air. "How old were they?"
Jason finally retakes his position as mediator. I watch his throat bob as he says. "Two of them were nine. The one found in Portugal was eight."
My eyes shoot up to him and I feel my eyebrows furrowing, "And the last one?"
He takes a breath. "Six."
If it weren't for the way this Chamber was designed, none of us would hear him. My Magic bubbles inside the pit of my stomach angrily. I want to slap Thomas across the head for being so insensitive.
The Council starts murmuring within one another. I have to push down my Magic before I read everyone's thoughts. There are too many. Some feel saddened and horrified, others remorseful. The truly upsetting thing is that some are completely indifferent because if a child was broken at six, that means they must be rather powerful.
"If you allow for this to continue," I tell everyone slowly. "Then you are no better than those Covens. You may not be the one's subjecting children to torture, but you are complicit for simply knowing it happens."
"But we don't know what happens, Killian." Cassandra emphasizes. "If we can tame and control these Gifts for our purposes, we can continue to enforce Covens while—"
"Don't finish that thought." I cut her off with enough of a look her voice trails off. "I don't know what's more appalling. Sequestering Upper Wiccan's to reveal their truths or assuming that these Gifts would instantly belong to the Council. What's to stop these Witches and Warlock's from subjecting other innocents to pain and suffering? As the Council, we only represent those who want change when in reality many do not. Or have you forgotten already how many of our own kind rebelled against the Crown with the promise that if the Alpha King was annihilated, the Council would be next?"
It was a dumb promise, but one that many Wiccan's took advantage of. It's also how the Rebels were able to gain so many faeries and fae—they promised to reestablish a new Ring. It was a geopolitical conundrum of chaos honestly.
"What do you expect us to do, then?" Thomas scowls at me. "We don't have the resources to—"
"I suggest," Jason intervenes before another fight breaks out. "We all draft our proposals for next meeting."
Fucking bureaucracy. Janus rolls his eyes next to me.
I almost snort in agreement. It takes ages to pass anything in the Council. There are proposals, due-diligence, standards that have to be met, before we can even consider taking a vote. In-between the voting, we have to lobby and campaign.
"So that's it?" Saanvi's spite slithers from her voice like venom. "You just decided to announce this is happening in the world and now we're meant to forget about it until we meet in the next few days?"
"It gives you time to ponder this without letting your emotions get the best of you," Jason sneers back. "Now, unless anyone has anything worse to bring up, I suggest we adjourn to collectively work on our proposals."
There's murmuring but no one argues. Jason sounds the gavel to end our meeting. Janus turns to Saanvi who's fuming in her seat. He offers her a small smile, "You forgot how bureaucracies work, dear friend."
"This is bullshit." She hisses and doesn't seem to care or mind that other people overheard. Her gaze falls on me, "Killian—"
"I need to go attend to a few matters." I tell her as I grab my jacket and throw it on. "Dinner tonight? I might have something a bit more...concrete."
Saanvi's mouth closes. She ponders it for a moment and I can feel her mind fall into submission. She thinks to herself, It better be good. But her voice says, "Fine."
I don't bother to look at my colleagues as I take two steps at a time to get out of the Chamber. There's chatter in the halls as everyone walks out conversing with their friends or colleagues. At the end, I catch sight of Ezra.
"Well..." Ezra looks me over. "That didn't go smoothly. Any updates?"
I push him a smile because if there's one person I can be corrigible with in this moment, it's him. King Aiden's second in command, a.k.a., the Alpha King's Beta. Though, to me, he's always been a bit more of a brother.
Ezra's gaze lingers past me towards some other Wiccan's. I turn over my shoulder to see them giving him some dirty looks. Pulling him along, we walk down the hall.
I don't think the Wiccan's are particularly happy I'm willing to make him and the King privy to the discussions in the Chambers.
"I'll meet with you and His Majesty later tonight. Nothing to worry him about just yet."
"If you say so," He says under his breath.
"I have to run." I offer him one more smile before disappearing down a hallway. I'm not the stealthiest of people, but I take enough turns and maneuver my way through several hallways until I know no one is tailing. Though, it wouldn't be difficult to sense another presence.
I disappear into my sketch room—the walls are glowing with a golden hue from the setting sun. A few candles are already lit but my attention is completely focused on the giant world map in front of me.
There are more dots now. I've tried for years to try and establish some sort of pattern, but the Rebellion took far too much of my time. Still, there are clusters. Small and vague. The red dots are public knowledge, the purple belong to my personal Dream Wandering. But if I look hard enough, I can find just a sliver of a pattern.
"I take it didn't go so well." His voice is genuinely curious as he sits in the far side of the room. I don't bother to look his way.
"You know how they are." I grumble as I cross the room towards my desk. Taking a deep breath I say, "We're going to have to speed things along."
"That bad?" She sighs, "What are we going to do?"
"More like, what I'm going to do." My eyes shift up north on the map. They stop at the pack territory deeply embedded in the cold mountains. "I'm visiting an old friend next week. And he owes me a favor."
My shining student, a Middle-Class Witch who wields Fire, is currently residing in the mountains of the Sierran Pack. She was going to be my secret weapon to showcase to the Council. Her name is Sierra, and as far as I know, she's the only Witch who accessed such strong powers long after her childhood.
She didn't become an Elemental until she was a teenager. I've been observing her for years now and her powers are far stronger than anything we've been taught. Why that is, I have no idea. But she excelled in my educational program that I set up.
Her abilities led me to questions and research more about the history of Magic. If I could stop, or eliminate mass torture, and show an alternative that allows people to access their Magic, while also satisfying a Coven's need for power then it would be reformation, I never thought possible.
I have to wait though. Sierra promised to live in those mountains for six months, we're nearing that expiration date. But her Mate lives there and I have a feeling that I'll have to come up with a Plan B. Something I'm already hatching as I plan my visit to the Sierra.
"What kind of favor?" He asks me.
I grin a bit, "You know. Large instead of standard."
"But not extra-large?"
"Who uses extra-large?" I smirk.
She scoffs at us with a bit of an eyeroll, "Men."
I'm glad that gets a bit of a chuckle from me. Taking a seat back as I recall how Sierra wouldn't have followed her Mate, Alexander, into the mountains had it not been for my intervention. "We start when I return."
They both nod, their bodies suddenly excited. "What of the Council?" She asks.
"I'm speaking to Saanvi tonight to ask her to be my delegate." I don't trust the Council as far as I can throw them, but I do trust individuals. Saanvi will have the best interests for those children in mind, especially because she's going to meet them relatively soon while they get moved to a safer facility.
"Are you sure we're ready, Killian?" He asks.
"No. But we'll start preparing when I get back." I press the palms of my hands into my eyes. "I need to go speak to the King. Get a few things in order for us."
"Whatever you say, boss." She grabs the bottle of gin I like to keep under my desk and pours me a glass. "Drink up. Looks like you need it."
The thought makes me smile a bit. Usually, I like to go to the Port and spend weekends with my close friends Wayan and Kole. But that fun will have to wait.
The three of us clink our glasses together, turning entirely towards the world map that's littered with little dots.
Maybe before, I'd have tried to tackle this from a more political standpoint. Maybe I would have tried to be less involved. But this is personal to me now.
I used to place blind faith in the Council—as many still do. I think they try their best but they're far from perfect, then again, no political system ever seems to be faultless.
Sometimes though, it's just better to take matters into your own hands. I've climbed enough of the political and social ladder to know; I can do this.
Everyone calls it a Gift. Those who truly know understand it's anything but.
I release some of the tension in my body and purple tendrils spill out of my torso as I relax in my seat. I try to enjoy myself, which is something that comes natural to me. It's just difficult to decompress after Council meetings like the one today. It riled me up and stirred too many things in my head.
There's never silence in my mind. Sometimes, I wish it would just shut up. Usually, only music gets it to be quiet. Or I like to surround myself by so much noise, it pushes my brain into the backburner. Drugs tend to do the trick too my altering whatever chemicals reside there.
Really, it's just a curse. Everyone is plagued with their own demons. Mine just happens to be lilac and smells like lemons.
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A/N: A few chapters are already up on my patreon page :) <3