“The what?” She blinks at me some more, rightly confused.
“Not important,” I answer, just imagining Kaleb’s ‘praying for patience’ face if he heard I explained to my aunt how I’m like a cartoon character. “So, the element thing?”
She shakes her head as if to dislodge the daily crazy that raising a teenager keeps putting into it. “I guess now is as good a time as any to start your magic lessons. Come with me,” she commands, rising from the table and heading down the hall.
“Yay, magic lessons! Is there any kind of real-world Hogwarts?” I bellow, quickly following after her. “Because if so, my owl got seriously lost.”
There’s a tinkling of laughter in response, followed by her answering, “There are academies specific to the witch community, actually. Had you not been raised in the human world, you’d likely have gone to one.”
“Really? I was joking, but that’s kind of cool. Just witches? What about other supes?”
I’m surprised when we walk past her office figuring whatever she wanted to show me would be in her mountains of books there… and then have thin tendrils of panic pierce through my heart when my aunt reaches for the heavy door at the end of the hall. I’ve avoided it since we moved here, because well… because of the stupid door. I know it’s not the same one from my nightmares… that it leads to an innocent garage and not a basement of horrors, but why face it if I didn’t have to?
“The vampires, I believe, have some exclusive schools for their kind, but nephilim and shifters don’t,” she replies, while opening the door. “I imagine it’s for integration purposes.”
My anxiety subsides when I see the garage instead of a set of concrete stairs and as I follow her inside, I’m quickly filled with an open curiosity. It seems while I was at school, Mildred was busy turning the garage into some kind of mystical workshop.Well, the mystery of why she doesn’t park her car in here is solved.
The whole room looks like someone accidentally mixed their sci-fi into a fantasy setting, and smells like a florist shop. In the middle of the room is a large wooden table with a heavy clear lacquer finish-- that has a full chemistry set on top of it. Test tubes. Beakers. Bunsen burners. The whole nine yards.
The walls are lined with a U shaped workbench that matches the table, and above it are shelves filled with old looking books, shiny plastic binders, and glass jars with various liquids, powders, and herbs. Underneath the bench are a mixture of drawers, boxes and…Oh hey, it’s the blood magic chest!
Drying herbs hang upside down from the ceiling between the fluorescent lights. While pointing at them, I wonder out loud, “Isn’t it a little wet out here for that?”
“Not to worry,” my aunt answers distractedly, searching along her massive collection of books, “I enchanted the garage door to keep the moisture out.”
Of course, she did. Silly me.
She pulls one of the books from the shelf, a thick leather bound monstrosity that requires both hands to carry, and places it on the table. Embossed on the cover is a heavily stylized wolf-- or what I’m guessing is a wolf by the ears, teeth, and muzzle-- with thick sweeping outlines of the creature and finer curling patterns and indentations within.
“How is it a secret that the wolf shifters and our family are tied together? Wolves seem to be all over everything related to us,” I mutter, tracing my fingers along the embossed creature.
Mildred runs a hand down my hair and sighs, “The fact that shifters used to serve the original bloodlines is no secret. Who exactly and why is what’s been lost. Now, depending whom you ask, the shifters were slaves that finally rose up against their oppressors, or they’re savage tricksters that refused to honor a pact between our two peoples and therefore can’t be trusted.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders, holding me to her side. The comforting scent of roses fills my nose. “It’s why there’s so much animosity between shifters and witches… and why shifters are considered… unfavorably within the supernatural community.”
Thinking of Connor, I can’t hide the dripping sarcasm when I comment, “Considering witches are like the supernatural police, I’m sure that doesn’t backfire on the shifter community or anything.”
“Yes, well…” she trails off, because what’s there to say, then quickly changes the subject. “It’s bloody cold in here.” She points at what looks like an old-fashioned, cast iron stove and commands, “Burn.”
Sure enough, licks of a small fire are visible behind an elaborate grate. Seeing it so well contained keeps it from being frightening, and I’m more intrigued by the curling wisps of smoke dancing in what looks like an invisible bubble over the stove pipe.
Who needs ventilation when you can just magic bubble your way to clean air?
After a quick squeeze, my aunt releases me and flips open the leather-bound tome on the table, apparently ready to get this magic lesson started.
While she searches for the correct page, I tap my fingers against the waist high table and ask, “So Volkov literally means wolf in Russian, and wolf shifters served our family. Does that mean there are different types of shifters and the original bloodline surnames’ match?”
“Yes, there are different types of shifters and yes, it appears there is a correlation between the shifters and the original bloodline family names,” she answers, stopping on a page that has illustrations clearly representative of different elements followed by handwritten paragraphs underneath.
“And Lyncas means…” I lead, curious if I’m going to bump into some other type of shifter that’s going to hear The Call to my spirit witch ass, because that won’t be weird at all.
She gives me a micro smile and there’s a visible tightness in her shoulders, while she answers, “It means lynx in Latin… well,agitare lyncasmeans lynx in Latin, but you get the idea.”
Wow. She really doesn’t like talking about my father’s side of the family… not that I totally blame her. It isn’t like I’m a huge fan of the people that raised my lunatic sperm donor.
“Neat,” is my only comment, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable, and instead turn my focus to the book. “So you were going to explain the elements thing.”
Her shoulders relax and her mouth softens as she begins my lessons, “Yes, you see each element rules over not only their physical representation but also some more abstract concepts that reasonably relate back.” She points at the illustrations. “For example, fire rules over passion and emotions, while air is more geared toward logic and persuasion. Earth encompasses all fertility, whether it’s plants or people, but water controls all other forms of physical healing.”
“Okay,” I respond, the word elongating several syllables. “But you said that different elements can be used to create the same effect, and that’s why knowing which element was used to cast the spell on Nolan matters.”
