Chapter 10
I place the tray of Avala’s breakfast onto a stand next to her bed, poor a cup of orange juice, and lay a handwritten note underneath. She lies soundlessly in a heap of pillows all tangled up in blankets. Gently I sit on the edge of the bed and brush away strays of hair casted aimlessly against her pink cheeks. When she awakens she’ll be upset that I won’t be here. Even worse that I left a note that tells her nothing of where I’m traveling to.
But she does have every right to be.
Poppy slumbers awkwardly with half of her body hanging off from the end of the bed’s edge. There are books and thrown pillows scattered all over the room. Izzy lies in the middle of the floor curled up in a pillow with a blanket wrapped around her body. Bags of chips, empty glasses, and heaps of Avala’s new clothes litter everywhere. The flat screen T.V., which had been hidden behind a painting, has been revealed along with its collection of dozens of Avala’s favorites.
Last night I had heard the girls throwing some kind of party with blaring music and food to last the night. Cole ended up muting his hearing so he could rest while I decided to move half way across the house. Dean, however, later on accompanied me onto a couch next to mine. After many hours of work he drifted off the moment his head hit the pillow.
Kissing Avala’s forehead, I quickly leave before she awakens and calls me out to give me another good one. Before shutting the door to a close, I catch Izzy eyeing me suspiciously. She opens her mouth about to say something when—.
“Cum on, Troy she’ll be gran’. Toro is waitin’ for us.” Cole drawls the door to a close.
Cole and I make haste through the house winding through the corridors and doorways down into the basement.
We pass through the maze of priceless artifacts and furniture collected over the years in ages of ravenous beauty. The memories that lie beneath some of these pieces have a whole new meaning of adventurous times. Cole and I have experienced a few of our own. Talk about battling twelve demons to two.
I pull out a set of keys as we round to my own private office. Which can’t be found with the naked eye.
“Toro better ‘av me breakfast ready.”
Quickly unlocking the door we veer around my desk and towards a large painting of a battle that has once taken place hundreds of years ago. A time where blood was blood and nothing else mattered besides the death of others for priceless artifacts. The Otherworld, a place of beauty and magic had been murdered by war. Tainted by own selfishness and barley salvaging for the hope of one day becoming what we once were.
“I think after what you did when he hadn’t he knows better now to have yours specially made.”
“Aye! A man need ter ayte!”
“And never let anyone forget it too.”
Cole laughs by stepping in front of me and placing his palm on the front of the painting. Just like every other time magic is pursed without the presence of wings, his entire body orchestrates a web of veins that carry out tiny orbs of blue light that travel through the body’s intricate maze. As the magic gives a very faint luminosity to Cole, tiny bits of blue orbs emits from his fingertips and onto the portrait underneath. After a few more moments the painting begins to ‘breath’ or ‘awaken’ to life. The brutal battle of bloodshed begins to fade away to only be repainted as our destination. Every detail is masterfully recreated as it melts away and soon finishes as a place I should visit more often.
Cole and I take a step back letting the portrait swing open to reveal a darkened cobblestoned corridor. “Hungrier men first.” I offer jesting my hand forward.
“Aye, oi waited too long ter return back ter Toro’s cookin’.”
Cole steps through and I follow him into the deep depths of the tunnel. There are separate entry ways to paths that lead nowhere only to get those who accidently stumble up them lost and tramped not knowing their way out. There isn’t any light to emit our way and so we venture through a maze as dark as night. With the silence that deafens the ear it can drive anyone who doesn’t know their way to madness.
“Toro said he would put lighting in here.”
I laugh a topic that’s been argued over too many times. Magic doesn’t work in these tunnels. “But he also knows that it would be a waste of money since we can see perfectly fine in the dark.” We make a turn to the right and after a few minutes I say, “Besides we are almost there. Can’t you hear that?”
These tunnels were never meant to be created. But I insisted for safety and easy access purposes. Toro was never too happy to begin with to have a portal connected to his business. Over the past years they have proven to be very useful and since we all have learned our way by now it hasn’t been an issue. Even Toro himself began using them.
The sound of laughter, people’s uproar of lively chatter, glasses clinging, the smell of fresh beer, and Toro’s homemade cooking is nearer than ever. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen an old friend. My body aches from some good o’ times at his lively Irish pub.
In the human eye magic is unseen for it cannot be explained nor scientifically proven. It just is. So no one notices as we step out of the very few paintings hanging on the pubs wall. Once through, it then immediately renovates itself back into its original piece.
We’re back of the pub where most of all the wooden tables and booths are crowded in. From college students to the people of the elderly, the humans crowd in most of the booths who crackle up a storm of Irish slang chatter. Most are eating Toro’s home-cooked meals; pot-roast sandwiches, whiskey tomato soup, and many other various platters. Beer fills every table, waiters come and go, and T.V.’s mantled on the walls playing a various sports channels. It all swells in my nose renewing a few good old memories.
The pub is brightened with low amber lights, various pictures and trinkets are randomly mantled on the deep red walls, and wooden flooring that’s beginning to show its age. We weave through the crowd of tables and waiters into the front. Here there are fewer tables and booths with mostly bar goers. The bar is as about as long as the large room. It’s crowded with all the sorts of various glass colors filled with various mixtures and drinks. The entire collection is brightened by backlight igniting many drinkers to fill their brim.
Wooden stools all line in a row with a men and women filling most of the seats. There are two bartenders ordering up shots, filling up beer glasses, or mixing drinks then sliding it down to its thirsty customer.
Toro is one of them for tonight. He’s a big well rounded man with thick skin and a thicker head of red hair. He’s got a large well-curved nose, sharp jaw line, golden brown eyes, and he looks of a man who just got out of the military whose collected scars and a ton of tattoos.
To the ladies he’s a man of fantasy and dreams come to life of what a man should look like. In coded somewhere in the woman’s handbook, Toro is the kind of man a woman should never approach. Rather wait for him to notice her. Most of the women that come into his pub are here for him. Most have tried and all have failed.
Back in the day it had once been a game for Toro. The ones that drive him wild are the women who simple don’t need him. Unfortunately for the old mate with his rough deep voice, easy on the eyes and muscles that are cut and toned to flawlessness he always won. But most of all human women he just doesn’t have a taste for.
Toro is an inx a very inhumanly beautiful male with very sharp features; cheekbones, chin, ears, and eyes. He has long fingers and beautiful chiseled body frame with scars from war and tattoos from his achievements. The inx love to mate and Toro has already found his beauty a few years back. And we men have finally had the chance to welcome him to the wondrous world of: marriage, the signing of a man’s life away.
He waves us over before setting down a washcloth and rounding the bar to greet us. “Ay! My old mates come to see me?” He smacks each of us on the back.
“It’s been a few years, old friend. It’s great to see you.”
“Ach! It’s no worryin’ about that now. Yer drinks have been waiting.”
Guiding us over to two empty stools at the end of the bar he slides us our extra large mugs filled to the brim. “See that there hasn’t been much change.” Cole says before taking a gulp of the ice-cooled beer.
“No need.” Toro pours a shot glass and slides it over to someone at the opposite end.
“How’s your wife?”
He smiles putting even the best looking men to shame. I swear all of the women in hear somehow harmonize a well orchestrated sigh of desire. Toro doesn’t even seem to notice. “Already got another barron on the way. We are expecting twins.”
I shake my head. “It hasn’t even been the first twenty years and you already are about to have three kids.”
The man laughs. “Well at least I’m not the one turned into some American.”
“They aren’t all bad.”
Cole destroys my attempts at my defense. “The food’s pretty bad.”
Well nothing can really compare to Toro’s cooking.
As old friends reuniting we bustle into chatter of the good o’ times even though things were never simple, catch up on the past few years, and discuss things that are norm; family and what the other guys are up to. No one seems to pay attention to us when the topic of the Otherworld is mentioned, either. Toro had another bartender take his place as we all made ourselves comfortable at the bar; well continuous rounds of free beer.
Time gradually progresses and people come and go. Bartenders change and waitresses make their rotations. At a point Toro had to excuse himself to break apart a fight that was beginning to get pretty heated. Cole has been having a pretty good time overloading on the beer; even though it won’t affect us.
There are a lot of skanky women in low cut shirts, skirts that reveal far too much, and make-up that masquerades their faces. And a few of have made their attempts on each of us. Too bad we all have the pretty-little-ring to show up for it.
“I don’t know why they keep trying,” Cole shakes his head as we watch Toro deny a woman in a sleek black dress with five-inch heels.
Somehow she manages to stomp away in a stampede of anger. “Never in my life have I ever been treated!” She accuses in a high-pitched fit of rage. With the looks and body of a model, I think what upsets her most is the dawning realization that beauty, great ass, and a chest to show for it doesn’t get a pretty girl everything she wants.
“Bravo.”
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “I have a wife. Nothing can even compare to her.”
“I tell you, some human woman don’t understand the concept of taken and married.”
We forget about the whole ordeal and move into one of Toro’s brilliant dishes. The waiter comes out with our order that had been placed in a few hours ago. Toro had pressed for it not to be made until now.
“How have you been managing in the human world?” Cole asks eating the last few bites of dinner.
Sliding his hand through his thick red hair, he frowns. “Humans are tolerable, but I’m doing it for Adara and our children. With the Otherworld in a chaotic mess taking refuge with the humans is worth it.”
“It’s been getting worse,” I say.
Cole nods agreeably. “The Otherworld is shifting. Demons are becoming restless and rumors are spreading.”
“Old friend,” Toro leans in towards me. “I realize after much catching up that the time has come. Follow me.”
A female waitress comes and begins gathering up our empty beer glasses and plates. After leaving a tip we follow Toro; passing the bar and into a hall where his office is held. Taking out his keys he unlocks it and quickly ushers us both in.
It’s always been quant. Simple with wooden flooring, a large desk with a chair is set in the middle of the room, a filing cabinet, safe in the corner, and walls painted the same deep red crowded with old pictures. Cole and I take a seat in the two old chairs accompanied in front his desk as Toro takes a seat in his.
“I assure you, Troy its safe.” Toro assures me before I even think about opening my mouth.
For me assurance never satisfies my need to see it. After so many years Toro doesn’t even have to look at me anymore to see that. Without compliant he turns to a large canvas hanging on the wall. It’s a simple painting of a regal dragon sitting on a pile of gold and various treasures.
But most of all it guards a box that’s decorated in tracing and decked with gems and diamonds. Toro takes out an old-fashioned key and the moment it makes contact with the painting, it awakens. In it the dragon breathes a puff of smoke moving back and allowing Toro to unlock the protected box. Inside it reveals why I came here.
Aside from seeing an old friend.
The canvas is enchanted. Cole had placed a charm on it allowing me to hide away a box inside the painting itself. It’s been so that only Toro is able to access inside sparking the portrait to life with a key that unlocks the box.
Pulling it out, Toro places it in front of me.
It’s about the size of an egg; entirely made out of gold with intricate tracings coated in tiny gems and diamonds. Set in the center is large colorless diamond its entity is flawless. And inside are minute orbs of white light swirling around with no specific order. Avala’s locket.
“My friend, I cannot tell you the future only its past, but I am no fool to know that she’ll be discovered.”
With one last look, I hand back the locket. Toro returns it back its in place. As he removes the key from the painting the dragon precedes its original position.
Toro continues, “I’ve seen the newspapers.”
“So have I.”
“You must begin doing something.” He urges as he takes his seat.
Cole shakes his head. “Troy had just begun telling her what she is.”
The look on Toro’s face says it all. “Are you crazy? I know you wanted it a secret from her for a time, but I hadn’t predicted it to be this long.”
“Things had gone well without her knowing.” But we all know my attempts at keeping secrets from Avala always backfire.
“Avala may be only seventeen but she is no fool and she deserves the truth.”
Cole agrees. “I’ve spoken with her myself. She’s upset with everyone keeping secrets from her.”
Toro locks his cold eyes on me. “You must begin training her. For her sake and sake of this world you mustn’t hide things from her.”
There’s a knock on the door.
Before Toro even gets up to answer it the raid of bullets begins.
They blast through in the hundreds demolishing the door into pieces of wood. Flying through the air they hit anything and everything destroying all that is unprotected; portraits, chairs, desk, and more.
In unison we work in a team of exact precision. Cole defends the room with a force field posing in an orb around the three of us. I take own my gun and begin shooting back hitting a few our targets. Toro turns from beautiful to a frightening monster of black eyes, talons, and teeth are sharp and deadly like a shark. His tattoos begin to move in place while grey leathery wings emerge from his back; cracking as the bone splits and reshapes itself.
Inx, in their monster form, can move up to the speed of bullet killing you with strife. Most don’t even know what hit them.
In the doorway are a few of the bartenders and waitresses we’ve seen earlier. They pose no fear and raid into the room shooting at everything they see. My gun does nothing when bullets it shooting through them but causing no bodily damage. They move the way a robot might; conducted in way where it’s downloaded. Only doing as programmed.
The bullets soon run out. “Shit!”
“They’re Xerox demons!” Cole shouts still managing to hold his shield.
“I know! How the hell did they know!”
I look back at Toro who is taking a few of his own; slicing their heads off without them knowing what diced them. Within the next minute the bullets are silenced. Toro makes round with such speed all I can see are bodies falling to the ground while they heads drop away from their bodies. No blood. Nothing. Only an empty shell of who the human used to be.
The room collapses in all of its broken damage. Toro stops reforming back into his normal self. Fits at his sides his voice is outraged. “Xerox demons.”
“They must’ve been sent.”
Cole lowers his shield turning to face us. “By who?”
Demons are being to enter into the human world.
***
I awake to the fresh smell of home baked French toast with its fluff of warmth steaming into my nostrils. I see that Troy has left me a complete trey of breakfast; two pieces of French toast, a bottle of syrup, and a glass of orange juice. The hunger in me stirs and I ache to begin gorging. Slowly I expanse my body forcing it to awaken even from last night’s events.
But to top of my morning Troy left me a handwritten note;
Dear Avala,
Once you have awakened this morning you will find that I as we as Cole will be gone. Dean is out taking care of a few errands that need to be tending to. In our absence, I have left you a friend of mine, Ike. If there’s anything that you need he will be able to provide it. I’m in an understanding Avala that you do not need a babysitter and you are well capable of taking care of yourself. However, Ike owes me a favor and this is his way of repaying me.
When Cole and I return, I’ll be preparing dinner.
Love,
Troy.
Crinkling up the note and throwing it aside, I take a sip of my orange juice and dive right into the delicious French toast. I can be mad at him all I please, but I’m not dumb enough to neglect his talent for cooking. My first bite in and my taste buds are already sky rocketing. Surely it must have taken Troy years to perfect the right amount of seasonings and cooking time to prepare such a mouth-watering sensation with each bite. In a matter of minutes my plate dings empty.
Poppy must’ve enjoyed my new bed just as much I had last night. Part of her body dangles of the edge; her wings, flattened lazily across her back, twitch ever so often while drool slides down her chin. Izzy lies all huddled up on the floor drowned in pillows and blankets. In the middle of the night she back in complaining that we were leaving her out.
Yeah. Ok.
Peering over at the bedside table the clock strikes three for July 19th. Poppy wasn’t kidding that a month has literally gone by. A month of my life I’ll never get back.
Knowing that I only have the minimal time to rummage freely through this massive house, I hurriedly ease off the bed. Carefully tip-toeing through the room, I avert casted away pillows, books, bags of chips, popcorn, and pop cans.
Last night had been a party for all three of us. We dived into my entire clothes collection; trying on anything, and if it’s possible, everything. Watched a few great movies. There’s a flat screen T.V. hidden behind one of the portraits that Poppy somehow stumbled upon—but not remembering how. Ate too much junk food and drank too much pop. We even threw the ultimate pillow fight and managed to destroy my room in a matter of hours.
With the success of carefully making it out, I race into my closet and after a few minutes of plowing through the mounds of cast away clothing; I manage to dig out some shorts and a cute top. I do a quick shower, brush the gunk out of my teeth, get dressed, and blow dry my hair before I’m back out into my room.
Poppy is just awakening with a sweet innocence of a tiresome child as she wipes away her drooled covered face. The mound of pillows and blankets are empty with no Izzy in sight.
“Good morning!” I say cheerfully.
Poppy rubs her eyes and says wearily, “Good morning.”
“Where’s Izzy?”
She shrugs before the door opens and slams shut. “I’m right here,” Izzy hisses. In her hand she holds a cup of water with a plate of toast.
I walk over the vanity looking for some lip gloss. “Had a rough night?”
There’s a bang on some wood. Some of Izzy’s water splurges out from the top. “You guys were harassing me.” Says the girl with hair frizzled, dark circles under her eyes, and I’m betting an awful morning breath.
Alright, so maybe I’m the guilty one. With that new spell I learned I had to too make sure to master it. “It wasn’t that bad.”
It’s one of those looks. “Yeah because these bruise magically appeared on their own.”
I shrug it off. “So? I don’t know what you do all day.” Payback is coming for you.
Poppy jumps off the bed and stretches her arms up. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get breakfast.”
Izzy doesn’t even bother to say another word when she looks perfectly content mixing through the movie collection.
“I already ate but I want to come with you.” Before Poppy can ask any questions I quickly continue. “Troy left a trey of food next to the bed. He had made me French toast.”
“Lucky!” Poppy shrieks making her way towards the door. “He cooks the best food.”
Following Poppy who’s skipping out the door, I shut the door behind me. Izzy may not be the biggest fan of me or Poppy but I’m betting she’s only in there because doesn’t want be all alone. A part of me doesn’t blame her.
“You’re in luck though,” I say as we descend down the stairwell. “Because tonight Troy will be making dinner.”
“Really?!” She shrieks.
I nod.
“Well where is he now?”
“He left me a note that he and Cole are gone for the day. I don’t know where the hell where, apparently. And Dean is gone doing some errands or something like that.”
“We’ll just have to wait then.”
We wind our way down. Poppy chatters about the house and how the interior is a recreation of the Old world. The kitchen is her favorite mostly because there’s an endless supply of food for her every demand. That doesn’t surprise me since Troy always thinks of everything.
“Are you ready?” She asks with squealing voice of anticipation.
I roll my eyes. “More ready than I’ll ever be.”
She giggles as she opens the elaborated carved doorway. She passes over the threshold as I follow her through into the main foyer of the house. Its wide open with stone floors and walls as the ceiling rises up three stories high. Looking up is a dome shaped glassed mural busy with pictures from the Otherworld. Ornate carved cherry wood staircases fill the left and right sides curving together to creating a plate form to the second floor. Next to each stairwell are giant eight-foot similar tan vases with various paintings on them. Suspended from the ceiling is a larger version of my chandler back in my room. Below it is a small round marbled stone fountain shooting water around itself. Many other beautiful artifacts fill the corners of the room, vases, a rug, mirrors, more portraits, and other knick-knacks to complete the entranceway. It’s the Old World recreated.
I have to admit the foyer is spectacular.
Poppy only waits another moment before she takes hold of my hand and drags me to the next room. “Come on! Next is the dining room that’s connected with kitchen!”
She rushes me to the other side of the foyer where yet another pair of French doors leads the way in. The dining room is built purely from wood including the ceiling, floor, and the walls with sections of marble each have elaborately carved pictures. On my left side wall is a small wooden table with a large antique vase filled with fake pink cherry blossom. Neighboring next to it is two feet indent curving around six feet then coming back out again. Inside of that are small stained glasses windows surrounded by a tiny marbled fountain. In the corner are the French doors leading to the kitchen.
On the back wall is a small wooden fireplace with built above is a simple mirror. There’s a dark wooden double door antique armoire with faded paint and brass handles in the next corner. To my right are archway glassed doorways leading out onto the canvas. In the middle of the room is a Persian rug covering over most of the wooden floor. There’s a long wooden table with creamy-white tablecloth flowing over the top that nearly hits the floor, a vase with a small bouquet of pink roses centered in middle, and twelve golden plates and matching silverware have all been place in front of the twelve chairs.
It’s truly well over done with its rich beauty and ornate design. Frankly it’s everything I would want, but something I would never dream of.
Poppy is beaming. “It’s soo overwhelming, I know! But isn’t it beautiful? I couldn’t leave for an hour!”
I’m in a daze as I analyze the golden plate settings. My fingers brush over the carvings and blue rubies that decorate the rims. How old can these be? Where can someone even find these? “Is this real gold?”
Her sea of unkempt hair bobs back and forth. “Uh huh! When Troy told they were I didn’t even believe it.”
Their weight says it all.
“Come on,” the jubilant girl orders. “Wait till you see the kitchen!”
Poppy’s right. All the cabinets and floorings are made of cherry wood with stone walls and rafters aligning the ceiling. Through the dining door we pass under an archway that to my right leads down a short hallway with a door at the end and on my left a three-foot vase filled with some sort of blue flower.
The space itself is almost three times the size of the dining room of beautifully carved wood and decoration. Similar to the rest of the house it has that fashion of the Old World. Aligning the walls to my right is all of the sorts. A double door glassed filing cabinet with its historic broken down wood filled with cans and other foods. Glassed door wooden cabinets are fixed around the entire kitchen. There’s marbled counter tops that are topped with every appliance. Centered in the middle is a square shaped island with an oven matched with a stone oven top, two dishwashers on one side with pots and pans hanging above it, while lastly there are four stools. There are two refrigerators one for food and the other for drinks and on the farthest wall an archway leading out.
“Wow, talk about a kitchen being as big as a small house.” Low beaming fixtures ray an amber glow bringing the kitchen to life in an extravagant construction of old-fashioned mixed with modern day. I can and will get lost peeping through all the cabinets.
I hear a sigh of desire. “It’s all my dreams of every kind of food brought to life.”
Me, I don’t blame her I love food just as much as she does. Here there is an endless supply. Here alone can feed dozens and have a few leftovers in the fridge.
Poppy goes prowling in one of the refrigerators. “I mean come on and look at all of this. There’s anything and everything you can think of.”
I follow her lead and peek inside. She’s not kidding. In here there is all the healthy and unhealthy kinds of food. “Holy crap.” I say. “Hey, look at it this way we won’t go hungry.”
Reaching in to grab some yogurt Poppy chirps, “Yeah that’s for sure.”
“Hey,” I begin leaning against a counter. “Do you know anyone named Ike? Troy wrote in that note that since he isn’t going to be here he wants someone at the house.”
In one of the million drawers, she pulls one out and grabs a spoon. “No. I didn’t know he even knew anyone named Ike.”
“Are you serious?”
“What kind of name is Ike, anyway?” She dips down for another spoon full.
I shrug. “I don’t know. That’s why I was asking you. See if you know anything since I’m the one that’s been out for the past month.”
A door swings open and clamps to a close and before I even look to see if it’s Izzy I automatically remark, “Dude really? Can you not always barge—”
Standing about ten feet from me is a man.
The kind of man who shows up unannounced, the kind that leaves no reason or rhyme, and the sort of man that somehow absorbs every single molecule. And I only had met him twice. But it’s no matter I recognize him easily through his self-satisfied, calm—almost a challenging sort of animalistic fury. A predator at rest—but looking always looking.
Poppy screams. “How did you get in here?” The girl has dropped her yogurt in fright it landing with half its contents on the floor.
The moment I lay my eyes on him I gasp almost fumbling back. In every line of the dark stoic face awaits something very unrelenting. In those eyes, those violet eyes hold the kind of demand of his animalistic formality of superiority for complete dominance. He’s here not for me but for something else.
His charcoal black hair is hanging in a disorganized fashion suiting him in way it’s meant to be. Over all that he wears black is a black trench coat broadening his shoulders and giving him more bulk to his beef. Various weapons are strapped at his waist. Many of them are familiar—guns, knives, but a few that don’t fit in this world.
All of that is looking right at me.
No one answers. We elapse in a state of silence—wondering who, who will answer. But there isn’t anyone else but me and him. Between us we almost have this silent commute of unspoken words. Because his upper lip doesn’t say, found you. And my eyes in state of shock don’t answer with, how the hell—. But my fits of anger knotted with a tie of revelation are ignored.
He’s here because he needs something.
Simple as that.
Next to me Poppy stands completely stupefied having any idea of what to do with herself. She’s waiting for me, for me to make the move.
But I can’t. My legs grow weak and the room seeps into a mass of darkness. My mind wonders—beginning to twist recreate itself into something that once was.
“James,” my lips whisper.
And I’m falling but before I land I can feel James catching me in his arms.