DATE AND TIME: Friday ~Midday ______________________LOCATION: Timeless Taverna and Inn______________________INTERACTIONS: None
A sweaty earthy smell surrounded a young Pallas as his fingers bit into the loam of the walls. It crumbled under the pressure with the clay sticking underneath his fingernails. The roots were not far from his eyes, dangling from the ceiling above. He was small. At full height, he was a little below his parents’ waist. In the shimmering light of the magical lantern, he saw the dark silt of the earth staining his fingernails. He looked onwards, and squinted, barely making out the silhouette of his parents. His father had slammed the cellar door shut and pulled the ladder down. His mother chewed her lip, something she only did when she was so deep in thought. She only stopped when she tore through the flesh.
“And we can trust this man? This… Monty Price?” she asked, finally breaking the thick silence.
“We have to, Polina.”
“I still don’t know how I feel about him digging up bodies and placing them in the house.” She paced back and forth, the heel of her boots sinking into the wet dirt. “Are we sure the sultan’s men will be fooled?”
His father approached her and placed his large, worn hands on her shoulder. His eyes were hard to read in the light, but Pallas could make out the curve of his father’s bushy, and usually well kempt, beard—and it seemed to sag. Maybe from a frown? “Yes,” he whispered in that deep voice of his. “It will work, because if it does not, then what use was it to leave?”
“Ionas,” she said with a sigh. “Was it a good decision to leave the other three with your brother?” She turned and looked at Pallas, her eyes were visible in this light. Large and green, the color that he’d inherited. They drowned in tears that spilled into the creases underneath them and collected in the puffy rise that had formed recently. No doubt it was caused from days without sleep. Not that the child would know that.
He kissed her brow, pushing back the fabric she’d quickly wrapped around it. “Yes, they’re only after us—and Pallas. He’s the only one with your gift.”
The crackling that began in the periphery of the child’s hearing became louder and louder until there was a smash. He let out a yell of surprise. His mother pulled away from his father and knelt to him, gently placing her hand over his mouth as she looked him in the eyes. “Shh.”
Smoke poured in through the cracks of the trap door, and an oppressive heat consumed the space they were in. His father walked past the two to the far end of the small cellar and pushed on the wall made of slatted wood. It peeled away like a bud away from its bloom to reveal a path further into the darkness. An eruption of voices joined the dull sound of crackling.
“Come on, if we’re going to meet Mister Price’s men, we need to go,” his father said.
His mom nodded and turned to her child as his mouth felt dry and acrid from the growing smoke. “Ready to live somewhere new? You didn’t get this honor like your siblings did. You’ll love New York.” She kissed the top of his head. The blood from her sliced lip trickled down his face like sweat. Not really thinking about it, he stuck his tongue out and licked it.
He didn’t remember what he’d divined, but when he came back, his mother was gripping his shoulders so tight that they ached from the pressure. “So soon?” she asked. “But at least it’s not now, and for now, we need to leave. Come kamari mou.” She stood, grabbing his small hand and pulling him down the tunnel. His mother wouldn’t live to see New York, but at least she’d die knowing her son was safe.
Pallas jerked off the bed with the force of a mastiff who had just been spooked. His legs and arms went everywhere, tangled in the sheets. Yet the ice cubes from the cold glass of water followed him and kept sliding down his body, veering very close to dangerous territory. He was able to swat them away and sat there in the crumpled mess of his bed partially wet and very disgruntled. Over him stood his “cousin” Eleni. She was the last of the line of the Xendaris family, or at least those that hadn’t stayed back in the homeland when his parents left. Her dark hair had lightened with age, but you couldn’t really discern the actual number from her face. She didn’t have many wrinkles. Instead, she had lines drawn into her flesh since she never stopped frowning. Pallas couldn’t imagine that she had ever been happy in her life. Her nails clicked against the side of the empty glass. The one that was used to douse him in water.
“What’s the deal, theía?” he asked as he pulled the robe he’d been wearing back over himself.
“I told you not to call me that. I am not your aunt.”
“Sorry. I thought we were keeping up appearances so as not to spook the locals.” As he said ‘spook,’ he held his fingers up and waved them in a menacing manner. “I’ll refer to you by your proper title, γιαγιά.”
That’s when she lobbed the glass at him. Well, glass was probably more a term to describe its shape than its actual composition. It was a thin, plastic tumbler they used down in the dinner. It didn’t hurt, but it did bruise Pallas’s ego. Which he conveyed by placing his hand on his brow and feigning death by falling back into the bed.
“Get up, you lazy sack of shit. This isn’t your home. You can’t squat here. You have to earn your keep.” She crossed her arms, no longer being burdened by the glass. “And from my understanding, you didn’t even go to the coven welcoming or the party. What’s the point of handing the position ‘down’ to you if you’re going to sit around here all day and—“ That was about the time that she broke into rapid-fire Greek. Pallas knew what she was saying, but he didn’t dare take the time to parse out each individual insult.
“Ah,” he remarked. He sat up, grabbing the still-wet glass from the bed. “That was—last night?” he asked, quizzically.
Eleni leaned over and snatched the glass from his hand and tossed it at him again. This time, it had force behind it. “No, that was three days ago. You’ve been up here doing gods’ know what for three days. I’ve let you because Karl told me to leave you be. But he’s not here now, he’s at the store. So, I get to wrestle you from this cesspit.” She moved to the slanted skylights that adorned the vaulted ceiling of the room. He was on the top floor, where the heat rose too quickly, and the air conditioner never reached. It was usually uncomfortably warm here. Well, that was until she got a window open, and the stinging chill zapped through the room and immediately froze all the water on his body. Pallas pulled his robe tighter and shot daggers at his cousin.
“What do you care? You can’t die from it.”
“I can still get pneumonia.”
“Good,” was all Eleni said as she grabbed the glass again. Pallas flinched, only for her to smile and go to leave. “Now, clean up this mess, clean up yourself, and go do something with yourself.” Then out the door she went, making sure to close it gently. No matter her mood, she wasn’t ruining the frames of the old house. It was built in the gothic style of the 1920s with quite a few Victorian flourishes thrown in. Pallas didn’t know why. He vaguely remembered them working on it while living in a smaller, colonial-style home. It was flat and the rooms followed each other like a snake. This place had been finished after he’d left, and so he never got to see it in its original state. Not that it was in bad shape now.
It was apparent that the family had done a lot to maintain it, and it even had plumbing, heat, and air. All the floors were the original hardwood or tile. Some of the walls had been redone, but most of them were a part of the bones of the house. All the kitchen appliances had been replaced, and whatever carpet or rugs there were had also been updated. It didn’t creak when you walked, but it still had this old, hollow moan that would happen at the witching hour. A reminder that everything contained some sort of soul. Well, except for—
As much as Pallas didn’t want to admit it, Eleni was right. She wouldn’t hear it from his mouth, but she’d probably pop her head in to see that he’d cleaned the renovated attic space with its tight corners and minimal furniture. He took a shower and dressed. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but that bar was high considering some of the other outfits he’d taken to wearing around. Most of them he didn’t show off to the town of Tanner. He felt like they’d have more questions than he had answers.
He leaned over the sink and glared into the mirror, pushing his short dark hair back with his hand, as he touched up around his eyes with some concealer. Then a touch of black eyeliner from a dull pencil, and he looked at himself. It worked. He didn’t look as dead as he felt.
Pallas inhaled after that, summoning his power, and making sure his abjuration seals were still up. A flicker of blue surrounded him like a neon corona, and the lamps on the wall dimmed. The spells were still up. Just an antidetection spell, but necessary for his continued existence. The lights around him snapped back to full strength as the magic faded.
Sliding down from the banister of the main stairs to the second floor, he barely caught himself at the end. He vaulted off and took a few uneasy steps forward to steady himself.
“Oh good, I needed to dust that,” a voice perked up. Pallas turned to Karl, Eleni’s husband and probably the nicest being in existence. He wondered how those two got on, but Karl was like a ray of sunlight to her frigid heart. And if that was the case, then Pallas was a deep freezer. They’d met in Italy when both were different trips of “magical enlightenment.” To hear the tale of it, it was love at first sight—instant as they come. Which seemed to be a strange way to put it. Anything that was instant was usually noodles or coffee, and neither of them was good. But who was he to judge? He’d known love maybe twice in his life, and both times it exploded in his face like a defunct Roman candle.
“Glad my ass could be of service.” He feigned a curtsey.
Karl was hauling groceries in a small cart that he’d made from spare wood, casters, and wheels. It looked like someone made it by hand and not in a good way. But Karl liked it, and it did its job. “I take it Eleni woke you up. Despite me asking her not to.” The diminutive Swedish man cut his eyes further into the house.
“Not at all. Apparently, you can only silence your alarm so many times before your phone shocks you. I didn’t know they could do that. But technology is confusing,” Pallas lied through his teeth. It was easier to keep the peace than to rile anyone up. “Speaking of—”
“No,” Karl said with a smile. “Pallas, you do not have a license in the States. I’m not letting you drive the auto. But I do have the key to the bike locks. Hm. How about you use that?”
“In this outfit?”
“I mean you’re more than welcome to do it in the nude, but I doubt you’ll get far.”
“Because all my adoring fans will faint at the sight of my Adonis-like figure?” Pallas asked with a sly smile.
“Ok.” That was all Karl said as he fished the key out of his pocket and handed it to Pallas. “Do not lose the bike, again.”
Pallas snatched the key from his hand. It was on a gnome keychain. Wildly embarrassing, but it would keep him from forgetting it. It’d only get more embarrassing—and possibly more Swedish—if he did. “Yes, sir, I also promise not to have that much Fireball again.”
“Have some class, Pallas.”
“Never.” He winked at Karl, and the man pulled his cart along with a chuckle. Pallas then reached into his coat pocket and pulled a cigarette from within its depths.
“No smoking,” Karl yelled down the hall.
“Fucking diviners,” Pallas grumbled as he slid the cigarette between his lips, but he didn’t light it up. Instead, he made his way towards the main entrance. He really needed to make sure that the coven knew he was ready to replace his “older family.” Also, anything to get out of the house and be able to do something beyond waxing the floors—of which there were a lot. He swore if he had to do that again, he’d just douse himself in it and set himself aflame. Which was a viable threat from him, but he was a bit of a baby when it came to pain.
Pallas exited onto the main grounds and made his way to the neon teal bike with another one of Karl’s creations strapped to it that was supposed to be a basket. There was even a helmet perched on the front seat. Pallas groaned and looked over his shoulder at the vintage truck that Karl and Eleni drove. For a second he considered hotwiring it and driving into town. But how long would that take? How much crap would he get on his outfit? But he’d also have heat and air. He lifted both his hands as he contemplated each option.
After a second, he let out a string of curses in Greek before walking towards the bike, but he did toss the glittery pink helmet into the bush. He’d have some dignity—however small.
A sweaty earthy smell surrounded a young Pallas as his fingers bit into the loam of the walls. It crumbled under the pressure with the clay sticking underneath his fingernails. The roots were not far from his eyes, dangling from the ceiling above. He was small. At full height, he was a little below his parents’ waist. In the shimmering light of the magical lantern, he saw the dark silt of the earth staining his fingernails. He looked onwards, and squinted, barely making out the silhouette of his parents. His father had slammed the cellar door shut and pulled the ladder down. His mother chewed her lip, something she only did when she was so deep in thought. She only stopped when she tore through the flesh.
“And we can trust this man? This… Monty Price?” she asked, finally breaking the thick silence.
“We have to, Polina.”
“I still don’t know how I feel about him digging up bodies and placing them in the house.” She paced back and forth, the heel of her boots sinking into the wet dirt. “Are we sure the sultan’s men will be fooled?”
His father approached her and placed his large, worn hands on her shoulder. His eyes were hard to read in the light, but Pallas could make out the curve of his father’s bushy, and usually well kempt, beard—and it seemed to sag. Maybe from a frown? “Yes,” he whispered in that deep voice of his. “It will work, because if it does not, then what use was it to leave?”
“Ionas,” she said with a sigh. “Was it a good decision to leave the other three with your brother?” She turned and looked at Pallas, her eyes were visible in this light. Large and green, the color that he’d inherited. They drowned in tears that spilled into the creases underneath them and collected in the puffy rise that had formed recently. No doubt it was caused from days without sleep. Not that the child would know that.
He kissed her brow, pushing back the fabric she’d quickly wrapped around it. “Yes, they’re only after us—and Pallas. He’s the only one with your gift.”
The crackling that began in the periphery of the child’s hearing became louder and louder until there was a smash. He let out a yell of surprise. His mother pulled away from his father and knelt to him, gently placing her hand over his mouth as she looked him in the eyes. “Shh.”
Smoke poured in through the cracks of the trap door, and an oppressive heat consumed the space they were in. His father walked past the two to the far end of the small cellar and pushed on the wall made of slatted wood. It peeled away like a bud away from its bloom to reveal a path further into the darkness. An eruption of voices joined the dull sound of crackling.
“Come on, if we’re going to meet Mister Price’s men, we need to go,” his father said.
His mom nodded and turned to her child as his mouth felt dry and acrid from the growing smoke. “Ready to live somewhere new? You didn’t get this honor like your siblings did. You’ll love New York.” She kissed the top of his head. The blood from her sliced lip trickled down his face like sweat. Not really thinking about it, he stuck his tongue out and licked it.
He didn’t remember what he’d divined, but when he came back, his mother was gripping his shoulders so tight that they ached from the pressure. “So soon?” she asked. “But at least it’s not now, and for now, we need to leave. Come kamari mou.” She stood, grabbing his small hand and pulling him down the tunnel. His mother wouldn’t live to see New York, but at least she’d die knowing her son was safe.
Pallas jerked off the bed with the force of a mastiff who had just been spooked. His legs and arms went everywhere, tangled in the sheets. Yet the ice cubes from the cold glass of water followed him and kept sliding down his body, veering very close to dangerous territory. He was able to swat them away and sat there in the crumpled mess of his bed partially wet and very disgruntled. Over him stood his “cousin” Eleni. She was the last of the line of the Xendaris family, or at least those that hadn’t stayed back in the homeland when his parents left. Her dark hair had lightened with age, but you couldn’t really discern the actual number from her face. She didn’t have many wrinkles. Instead, she had lines drawn into her flesh since she never stopped frowning. Pallas couldn’t imagine that she had ever been happy in her life. Her nails clicked against the side of the empty glass. The one that was used to douse him in water.
“What’s the deal, theía?” he asked as he pulled the robe he’d been wearing back over himself.
“I told you not to call me that. I am not your aunt.”
“Sorry. I thought we were keeping up appearances so as not to spook the locals.” As he said ‘spook,’ he held his fingers up and waved them in a menacing manner. “I’ll refer to you by your proper title, γιαγιά.”
That’s when she lobbed the glass at him. Well, glass was probably more a term to describe its shape than its actual composition. It was a thin, plastic tumbler they used down in the dinner. It didn’t hurt, but it did bruise Pallas’s ego. Which he conveyed by placing his hand on his brow and feigning death by falling back into the bed.
“Get up, you lazy sack of shit. This isn’t your home. You can’t squat here. You have to earn your keep.” She crossed her arms, no longer being burdened by the glass. “And from my understanding, you didn’t even go to the coven welcoming or the party. What’s the point of handing the position ‘down’ to you if you’re going to sit around here all day and—“ That was about the time that she broke into rapid-fire Greek. Pallas knew what she was saying, but he didn’t dare take the time to parse out each individual insult.
“Ah,” he remarked. He sat up, grabbing the still-wet glass from the bed. “That was—last night?” he asked, quizzically.
Eleni leaned over and snatched the glass from his hand and tossed it at him again. This time, it had force behind it. “No, that was three days ago. You’ve been up here doing gods’ know what for three days. I’ve let you because Karl told me to leave you be. But he’s not here now, he’s at the store. So, I get to wrestle you from this cesspit.” She moved to the slanted skylights that adorned the vaulted ceiling of the room. He was on the top floor, where the heat rose too quickly, and the air conditioner never reached. It was usually uncomfortably warm here. Well, that was until she got a window open, and the stinging chill zapped through the room and immediately froze all the water on his body. Pallas pulled his robe tighter and shot daggers at his cousin.
“What do you care? You can’t die from it.”
“I can still get pneumonia.”
“Good,” was all Eleni said as she grabbed the glass again. Pallas flinched, only for her to smile and go to leave. “Now, clean up this mess, clean up yourself, and go do something with yourself.” Then out the door she went, making sure to close it gently. No matter her mood, she wasn’t ruining the frames of the old house. It was built in the gothic style of the 1920s with quite a few Victorian flourishes thrown in. Pallas didn’t know why. He vaguely remembered them working on it while living in a smaller, colonial-style home. It was flat and the rooms followed each other like a snake. This place had been finished after he’d left, and so he never got to see it in its original state. Not that it was in bad shape now.
It was apparent that the family had done a lot to maintain it, and it even had plumbing, heat, and air. All the floors were the original hardwood or tile. Some of the walls had been redone, but most of them were a part of the bones of the house. All the kitchen appliances had been replaced, and whatever carpet or rugs there were had also been updated. It didn’t creak when you walked, but it still had this old, hollow moan that would happen at the witching hour. A reminder that everything contained some sort of soul. Well, except for—
As much as Pallas didn’t want to admit it, Eleni was right. She wouldn’t hear it from his mouth, but she’d probably pop her head in to see that he’d cleaned the renovated attic space with its tight corners and minimal furniture. He took a shower and dressed. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but that bar was high considering some of the other outfits he’d taken to wearing around. Most of them he didn’t show off to the town of Tanner. He felt like they’d have more questions than he had answers.
He leaned over the sink and glared into the mirror, pushing his short dark hair back with his hand, as he touched up around his eyes with some concealer. Then a touch of black eyeliner from a dull pencil, and he looked at himself. It worked. He didn’t look as dead as he felt.
Pallas inhaled after that, summoning his power, and making sure his abjuration seals were still up. A flicker of blue surrounded him like a neon corona, and the lamps on the wall dimmed. The spells were still up. Just an antidetection spell, but necessary for his continued existence. The lights around him snapped back to full strength as the magic faded.
Sliding down from the banister of the main stairs to the second floor, he barely caught himself at the end. He vaulted off and took a few uneasy steps forward to steady himself.
“Oh good, I needed to dust that,” a voice perked up. Pallas turned to Karl, Eleni’s husband and probably the nicest being in existence. He wondered how those two got on, but Karl was like a ray of sunlight to her frigid heart. And if that was the case, then Pallas was a deep freezer. They’d met in Italy when both were different trips of “magical enlightenment.” To hear the tale of it, it was love at first sight—instant as they come. Which seemed to be a strange way to put it. Anything that was instant was usually noodles or coffee, and neither of them was good. But who was he to judge? He’d known love maybe twice in his life, and both times it exploded in his face like a defunct Roman candle.
“Glad my ass could be of service.” He feigned a curtsey.
Karl was hauling groceries in a small cart that he’d made from spare wood, casters, and wheels. It looked like someone made it by hand and not in a good way. But Karl liked it, and it did its job. “I take it Eleni woke you up. Despite me asking her not to.” The diminutive Swedish man cut his eyes further into the house.
“Not at all. Apparently, you can only silence your alarm so many times before your phone shocks you. I didn’t know they could do that. But technology is confusing,” Pallas lied through his teeth. It was easier to keep the peace than to rile anyone up. “Speaking of—”
“No,” Karl said with a smile. “Pallas, you do not have a license in the States. I’m not letting you drive the auto. But I do have the key to the bike locks. Hm. How about you use that?”
“In this outfit?”
“I mean you’re more than welcome to do it in the nude, but I doubt you’ll get far.”
“Because all my adoring fans will faint at the sight of my Adonis-like figure?” Pallas asked with a sly smile.
“Ok.” That was all Karl said as he fished the key out of his pocket and handed it to Pallas. “Do not lose the bike, again.”
Pallas snatched the key from his hand. It was on a gnome keychain. Wildly embarrassing, but it would keep him from forgetting it. It’d only get more embarrassing—and possibly more Swedish—if he did. “Yes, sir, I also promise not to have that much Fireball again.”
“Have some class, Pallas.”
“Never.” He winked at Karl, and the man pulled his cart along with a chuckle. Pallas then reached into his coat pocket and pulled a cigarette from within its depths.
“No smoking,” Karl yelled down the hall.
“Fucking diviners,” Pallas grumbled as he slid the cigarette between his lips, but he didn’t light it up. Instead, he made his way towards the main entrance. He really needed to make sure that the coven knew he was ready to replace his “older family.” Also, anything to get out of the house and be able to do something beyond waxing the floors—of which there were a lot. He swore if he had to do that again, he’d just douse himself in it and set himself aflame. Which was a viable threat from him, but he was a bit of a baby when it came to pain.
Pallas exited onto the main grounds and made his way to the neon teal bike with another one of Karl’s creations strapped to it that was supposed to be a basket. There was even a helmet perched on the front seat. Pallas groaned and looked over his shoulder at the vintage truck that Karl and Eleni drove. For a second he considered hotwiring it and driving into town. But how long would that take? How much crap would he get on his outfit? But he’d also have heat and air. He lifted both his hands as he contemplated each option.
After a second, he let out a string of curses in Greek before walking towards the bike, but he did toss the glittery pink helmet into the bush. He’d have some dignity—however small.
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