Chapter 1 Part 2

I had this theory, I read about it online and in a magazine once, that not being able to bloom was due to a nutritional deficiency. I’d believe it, because all five of us were dirt poor except Magdalene. And Magdalene was, well, really special. She had a hard time talking. Her eyes were lined with black, her clothes were black, and spikes jutted from her at every possible corner. But she just couldn’t really talk. Or do math. Or really, sit still for that long. She liked shouting too.

But she was an unbloomed, so she was my friend. We, the useless ones, we stuck together.

Also, we waited our turn. As the teacher, Mister Macmillan, passed by to unlock the door the five of us drew back to get out of everyone else’s way. We knew our place in society. I gritted my teeth at it, but that was what it was. It just wasn’t safe to get in anyone else’s way. People who had bloomed just had so much power!

“Studying still? It’s a bit late for that?” Professor joked as he held the door open. I realized he was talking to me. Sheepishly, I grinned and shrugged. Someone walked past me and slammed their backpack into my shoulder.

“Sorry!” they said, obviously not at all. I returned to the page. The ink had bled a little from the rain. I tried to focus, to memorize all the formulas-

“Come on,” Aaliyah patted me on the shoulder, steering me into the classroom. I protested but let her, enjoying the attention. In a last minute ditch attempt I flipped the page – and saw more formulas! CRAP!

Sniggers rose from the back of the class as Aaliyah steered me to my seat. We sat, all five of us, smack in the front. It was the safest spot to be and even the teachers encouraged it. They didn’t want us to get picked on.

“Notebooks away,” Macmillan said, mainly to me. I pressed my lips together and handed Aaliyah back her notebook. More sniggers, about what I couldn’t guess but I wanted to punch someone for it. Rich kids.

Then, the test began. Mister Macmillan handed out the leaflets to each row and they were passed down. The instant I got mine I flipped it open and began skimming the questions. Yes, yes, yes, I knew most of these! Okay!

Thanking Aaliyah with all my might, I flipped to the back section – the ‘superior’ section. It was really only for the ‘superior’ students who showed promise and who had exceptional marks – a category Aaliyah and me had exceptionally managed to nose our way into. It was quite remarkable for us unbloomed ones to have managed to enter the category, a feat that amazed our principal and even earned us both an embarrassing article in the school’s newspaper once.

And YES! I knew how to do those too!

Furiously, I began scribbling away. Time seemed to slow as I focused upon one question then another, scribbling and calculating and jotting numbers here and there.

Halfway through, I lifted my head up. Professor Macmillan was pacing the rows, scolding students and reminding everyone to keep their eyes on their papers.

I, however, was suddenly unsure of what I was doing. Something was wrong. Something tingled at the back of my neck. Something that had happened when – I looked out the window and caught my breath. Beyond the preened soccer fields, the sacred trees were on fire. Strange figures ran about, shadowy and furtive.

I lifted my hand. “Professor.”

“Don’t speak out of turn,” Macmillan said as he walked over.

“But,” I protested.

“What?” he asked as he walked to my side. I pointed to the window.

“We’re being attacked,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Oh,” he said.

There was the universal rustle of everyone looking. Of necks craning as everyone tried to see what I was pointing at. Which, for your information, was a sprite attack. It had happened once in my mother’s time at this school. It had already happened once in my time, and now I was unlucky enough to witness it again.

The alarm, a little late in my opinion, wailed out over the microphone. “Attention, students and staff,” our principal said primly. “We are enduring a sprite attack! Senior students are encouraged to use this as an opportunity to hone their fighting skills and gain hunting points – which I remind you are required for graduation!”

There was a cheer. Because, yeah, sprite attacks weren’t a catastrophe. In suburbs, where people were caught unawares watching their TV’s and where the populace wasn’t crawling with students yearning to ‘get out and FIIIIGHT!’, as some teachers were now shouting in the hallways, it could be dangerous. It was just especially dangerous if you were magically crippled, like, you know, us unbloomed were.

I was hunkering down in my chair, heart already hammering in my throat. Professor Macmillan was already at the front of the class, huge grin plastered on his face. “Alright students!” he called out like this was the best ball game of the world. “Get out there! Get some points!”

I slunk farther down in my chair, exchanging a horrified look with Aaliyah – who somehow didn’t look as terrified as I felt.

There was a roaring cheer of students jumping up, throwing pencils down and rushing for the windows. “Go, go, go!” Macmillan cheered, clapping his hands.

Students, the fastest first, began blooming right as they threw themselves at the windows. It was normally a sight I both loved to watch and hated. I was jealous, I hated them for being able to do something so magnificent. To shed their human skin and bloom into fully spiritual form.

There was Zalf, the gryffon who passed through the glass just in the nick of time. Gertrude, the graceful swan. But I was waiting with bated breath for the one. The one.

She was filthy rich. She was long-legged, blonde, pale of skin and always impeccably dressed. Her hair was short and choppily pulled back, with two long tendrils hanging down beside her face. Confident as could be, she and her small cluster of elite friends waited until everyone else was on their way to being moving. Because they never needed to rush. They were dragons.

Ever seen a dragon? Me neither until last year when our classes merged. Since then, I waited with bated breath for the crystal ice white dragon to materialize – but most of all for the jade green one. Her.

She, leaping for the window, was graceful and lithe. Stunning and magnificent as her green scales shimmered to reality around her and her shocking blonde mane rippled out.

Then, justlike that, she was gone. With an exhale I relaxed and looked back to the front of the class where Macmillan was. He was looking at me expectantly.

I pointed to the test. “Can I finish?”

Proffessor cringed. “You do know that you need hunting points to get into any high-ranked school, right?”

My jaw fell. But we were un-bloomed! We couldn’t hunt! It was too dangerous for us to even join organized hunting parties! Nevermind throwing ourselves into a melee!

“I mean,” Macmillan continued. “For the other schools, you can get in without it. But I know you two were hoping to get into McVaster so-“

Aaliyah scraped back her chair and jumped to her feet. Determination was scrawled all over her face. Holy shit- she really was going to do this!

I clutched at my chair. “Aaliyah! There’s sprites! We’re unbloomed-“

“Get up!” she ordered. “We’re going!”

“You can hit them over the head with sticks!” professor was cheering. Aaliyah grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet.

I protested, but my wife-to-be was having none of it. With a yank and more determination than she needed, she rushed us out the door.

And that, really, was how it all began.

Lage’s Game: Chapter Thirteen, Part One

Lage handed the bag of souls to me. I pulled it open and investigated. There were three tiny spheres. One white and silver, one grey, and one black. Well.

I drew the black one out. It was feeble, tainted, ad worthless to me. Mere filler so they could say that they were giving Lage three. I dropped it, crushign it under my heel.

With a squeal and sigh, the soul was free. Their thanks and relief poured into me, and I nodded graciously. You’re welcome.

Then, I looked to the other two in my palm. The gray one was next. I tossed it up and caught it in my mouth. It tasted sweet, fruity, and had a tang of spice to it.

I spat it out, satisfied. A good soul, but not worth my time. Be gone.

The soul scurried away, whispering thanks and all that.

Finally, I held up the silver-white one. Who are you?

I tossed the ball to the ground, ordering it silently to show itself.

As it struck the ground, a silhouette appeared above it. A hologram almost, one could say, or a ghost of a shape. It was the shape of a man, dark like onyx and bearing a striking resemblance to Rebella. Yet where she seemed merciless he seemed softer, wiser. He had long locks that were drawn back and let to fall down around his cloaked shoulders. He was dressed royally but not frivolously.

He bowed slightly to me, proper as could be. “Greetings,” he said clearly, a difficult thing for a spirit to do.

“Serve me,” I ordered. I could sense his power. Noble lineage, good fighting skills, yes, I wanted his service. He would build me a proper army, be a good general.

He hesitated. “What goal are you reaching for? What purpose?”

“I will destroy those who upset the bonds between the worlds. I have come to end the game,” I said.

He inclined his head. Lowering his gaze, he seemed to think.

“Join me,” I ordered again.

His eyes rose to mine, somber. “What you seek is no easy path. I will join you – if you pledge to keep my line safe. Especially Rebella.”

My lip curled in disdain. “Fine,” I snapped a little too swiftly.

We bowed, and the pact was sealed. As I straightened from the bow, he vanished in a flicker. I picked up the sphere from the ground and placed it back in the pouch. I tied it to my belt, and decided my time was done.

Like a cold deluge, all my heat and power drained away. I felt the biting snap of cold on my toes. I felt the sharp winter on my face, my hands. I was suddenly a thirteen year old girl, cold and in a strange land.

Shaking, I looked around as if seeing the grounds for the first time. Lage stepped forward. “It’s you again,” he said gently, crouching down before me. He took my shoulders. I gaped, looking at the bodies around. They hadn’t even had the chance to fire their guns. Or had some supernatural force held them back?

“I did that?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“No,” he said, blue eyes clear and honest. “It wasn’t you.”

“Who?” I looked down at myself. I felt so small compared to that power, that confidence, that I had been filled with just a moment before.

He sighed. “I’m not sure. But you must go somewhere safe.”

“Get her out of me!” I ordered. I knew for sure it was a woman, intuitively. How, I was not sure. But she was a ‘she’.

Lage straightened, hands still on my shoulders. “You can stay with me -”

“You work with them!” I yelled, wrenching free.

“I do not,” he said sternly. Looking around, he sighed, as if looking for some escape. “I merely do my job,” he muttered.

A shaky breath came through me. I felt like a scarecrow, just rattling with the wind. “I want to know,” I said. “I want to know- everything.” Who could I trust? What was going on? “I want to know!” I raised my voice, almost yelling.

Lage looked down at me. “You’re so young.”

Fury boiled in me – but this wasn’t the same that brought power. This was plain anger, unfuelled by that ‘other’ sense.

Then, as if the thought summoned it, I felt it wave up through me. I felt taller, haughty, and ready to take on Lage in all his own power. I didn’t care if he was the main player-

“Main player?” I asked, suddenly brought out of the trance by the jarring knowledge. “What – what does that mean?”

Lage’s eyes narrowed. I felt a sense of humor in the back of my mind, like part of me was laughing at him. I wanted to tip myhead back and cackle. Yes! Be afraid, Lage!

Lage took a step back. “Leave me,” he said sharply. “Take her with you. I can’t save you from her.”

“Fine,” I heard myself say coldly. Struggling, I tried to push aside that coldness, that haughtiness. “Lage-” I said, forcing myself to become myself again.

He shook his head and stepped back. “I can’t help you.”

“But!” I felt myself failing. I needed him – I needed someone!

Lage turned around and walked away. I stood there alone, listening to the sound of his boots crunching in the snow.

“Come back to me,” said a voice from within. Rebella. “I can tell you, everything.”

Fury boiled up within me. I yanked the dagger up from the snow where I had dropped it. I shoved it clumsily into my belt – giving myself a tiny cut on the thumb for my carelessness. Then, turning, I stomped back the way I had came.

I walked for five minutes, following the snowmobile trails, before I realized I could take one of those and save myself the hours of walking. Turning around, I trekked back to the snowmobiles and took their keys from the dead bodies. Gulping down bile and ignoring the fresh smell that was staining the air, I clambered onto the smallest snowmobile.

I drove considerably slower on the way back than we had come. I didn’t want to end up crashed against a tree, and I doubted my parasitic spirit’s bravado would save me if I did have a smashing accident.

By the time I arrived at the city’s outer gates, the sky was turning a deep shade of greyish black. At the gates, proud and pleased, was Rebella on a horse at the head of a handful of guards.

“There you are,” she said as soon as I let the engine choke to an end a bit away from the horses. I stepped off the thing, scowling at her. She smiled like she was so pleased. Like I was her special gift. “Come,” she nodded to the left. “I have a horse for you.”

Still scowling, I marched to where a guard was waiting with a soft brown horse. They helped me up and I found myself sitting directly beside Rebella. She was still smiling at me. With a satisfied nod, she wheeled her horse around and entered the city.

Clumsily, the horse doing more the following than I the guiding, we made our way after her. The guards cocooned around me, following Rebella. These guards were not jesting or joking about me any longer. There was a wary look to their eyes and silence to their lips. I wondered what had changed – and realized that I would probably find out soon. Very soon.

Lage’s Game: Chapter Twelve, Part One

I caught Rebella by surprise. There was a smear of blood on the Grandmother’s lips, but it was tiny. Rebella spun with a yell, but I had the dagger.

I stabbed blindly – but she caught my arm.

And we were stuck. Me bearing down on her with all my strength, her sitting, half falling backwards, bracing up against me and the dagger. The dagger which was so, so, close to her eye that it was maddening.

Fury pumped through me. I willed this with all my might. To murder her.

“Guards!” Rebella yelled as her hands slipped ever so slightly. The tip of the dagger grazed her cheek, cutting a slim line.

It was not enough! I wanted her dead!

The door behind us burst open. Hands seized me and I was flung back, the dagger wrenched from my hand.

“What on earth are you doing?” yelled a voice. As my mind spun, I came to on the floor at the foot of a guard. Before me was the tall figure of the other princess, who was holding Rebella by a blood-spattered wrist. “What are you doing?” she screamed.

Rebella wrenched free. “What needs to be done!” and she turned to her grandmother.

The moment seemed to stand still. Rebella gasped. Her dagger clattered to the floor, splattering my blood across the planks.

“No!” gasped Rebella, shaking the elderly woman, who now bore a slight smile on her face. But the woman was limp. “No!” Rebella screamed, shaking her some more. Desperately, she smeared blood on the grandmother’s lips – only to be wrenched back by the sister.

“Don’t do that! You can’t!”

“I can and I will!” screamed Rebella, wrestling free from her sister. “I don’t care! She can’t die! We need her!”

“Stop being so selfish!” screamed the sister, grabbing at Rebella again. “It’s not about you! Let her rest!”

“No!” Rebella screamed, stamping a foot. “We need her! I don’t care if it curses us all! We need her!”

I staggered to my feet, determined to try again. The sister turned, our eyes meeting. Her eyes swept me up and down – and she nodded to herself. “Guards! Take this one to the healing ward! And this one-” she gestured to Rebella. “To her room! And keep her in there!”

“No!” Rebella yelled, but the sister yanked her forward and away from the Grandmother. A squabble began, but the guards quickly seized Rebella. With a slam Rebella bodily shoved one aside, punched the other in the visor, and stamped past me out of the room.

“See to it that she stays in her room!” called out the sister at the guards who rushed after Rebella.

I was left in the custody of one guard. They picked me up in their arms, limp and head spinning. The last thing I remembered was watching the ceiling twirl above me – and then nothing.

Time passed in lurches. I saw darkness, then I was beside Lage, watching him fish in the ice.

“You’re here?” he asked. “So soon?”

Then, the world lurched. Ekundayo was beside me, humming as he drummed happily with a stick on a rock. “Child, child,” he said, shaking his head with that strange grin.

Then, I spun downwards.

With a gasp, I sat up. My chest was seizing with pain. Two pairs of arms belonging to robed people were stretched above me. They were chanting incoherently. A sense of panic was crashing over me. I had to get out of here. They were going to pullt he card out of me!

I lurched to the side, falling clean off the bed and before a pair of feet. I grabbed onto a hand and helped myself up – and was faced with a sneering Rebella.

“Well,” she said.

Hatred swelled in me- but I was pushed backwards onto the bed.

“You should sit,” said Rebella nastily.

I breathed, heart hammering in my chest. Rebella. How I hated her. The monks, healers, whatever they were, lowered their arms. A sense of static electricity left the air, and my panic left me. Cool calm came over me. I focused on Rebella, wonderign how I could kill her.

But Rebella wasn’t herself. She was fidgeting, looking from me to the door beyond the curtains that framed the bed. “They won’t think of coming here,” she murmured. Then, to the healers, she snapped “Get out!”

The healers bowed, scraped their feet back, and shuffled away without another word. Rebella followed them. Once the door was shut, she latched it shut. Then she pressed her back to the door nad glared at me.

It dawned on me then that this wasn’t an infirmary. The room was small from what I could see, but – it was a personal room.

Rebella marched towards me. “Who are you? Why do they want you? Hmh?”

She was now at my side, drawing out a dagger from her belt with a hiss of metal. She held it between us, eyes flashing.

“They?” I asked. “They’re here?” Could there be more than one ‘they’?

“They want you,” said Rebella angrily. “They are saying they will kill the new Queen if we do not hand you over.”

Her hand was trembling. Her eyes flicked over me like a spider darting all over.

“Who are they?” I asked, feeling a sense of control. A sense I could finally get some answers.

“They?” she hissed. “You know them! They are the Associates. They rule your world, or so they say.”

I made a face. “They do not,” or so I hoped.

“Why do they want you?” she hissed, prodding the dagger at me. But I knew she wouldn’t hurt me this time. She was too uneasy. Or maybe that was the danger.

“Where am I?” I asked, drawing back the curtains from the other side of the bed. My fingers barely grazed the fabric before my shoulder was seized by Rebella. She shook me, making sharp daggers of pain burst in my chest.

“What do they want?” she hissed rabidly. “You- who are you?”

She had dropped the dagger in my lap. In a flash I knew I could take it and slash her throat- but somehow I chose not to. I grabbed her wrists and pried them off me.

“I am no one!” I answered coolly, shoving her back so I could stand. “I-”

“They wouldn’t threaten my sister for just anyone!” and the dagger was back between us. Then, with a flick, she slid it back into her belt. “Tell me – or I will bring you to them!”

That stilled my heart. That meant … “If I tell you?” I asked cautiously.

“I will keep you safe from them,” she said too swiftly. Nodding to herself,she held out her palm. “Word of honor.”

There was a catch. Obviously. But I didn’t want to be turned over to ‘them’, did I?

I looked around the room, hoping for some escape. I gripped at my robe, a strange flimsy white thing. I was barefoot, too. I wouldn’t get far.

“Five,” declared Rebella. “Four,”

I scowled at her. What a stinker she was.

“Three,” she said, challenging me.

“I ate Lage’s card,” I snapped.

Her jaw fell. A choking sound came out of her throat – then she turned to disbelief and started laughing. “You did what now?” But then she tipped her head back and laughed.

Humiliation burned over me, but she seemed relieved when she was done with her laughter.

“You idiot,” she said happily. Then she clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You are stupid, you know that?”

I fueled all my anger at her through my eyes, choking up on words. How I wanted to tell her that I hated her right then. Maybe I should try and kill her again.

“Don’t worry,” she clapped my shoulder. “I will keep you safe. Now,” she pressed a finger to her lips and looked me up and down. A smirk drew itself on her lips. She looked smug. “We need to find you some clothes. Come.” She snapped her fingers at me and motioned me to follow her.

We drew to a large chest, from which she drew out some old clothes. They were worn through in their colors, but still solid looking. Several shirts were held up to me until she found one that she found suitable. From there she gave me a tunic to put over, a sort of bra to wear under, and pants. Boots – she gave me some soft slipper-like things in leather.

“They will have to do,” she muttered, cluckign her teeth. Then, she gave me a belt. It was set with a snake biting its tail worked into the metal ring. She set a dagger on it and set it about my waist. “Here,” she said. Then, stepping back, she looked me over. “Good,” she declared.

I had a sinking feeling that something was wrong. Something about the satisfied gleam in her eyes. I felt like a pig being dressed for slaughter.

She took a gray cloak trimmed in white fur from the chest. It was old as well, but fitted me a little largely. It occurred to me that I must look like a younger version of her – was I to be some decoy?

“Now,” she took a white globe from down her shirt, fishing it out with some difficulty. “Hide this in your shirt. Don’t eat it,” she added with a chuckle.

It was cold like ice, so much so that I almost dropped it. It was marble perhaps, smooth white with shoots of glimmering gray woven through it.

“When you are ready to escape, call out the name-”

“Escape?”

“Of course, I’m going to hand you over to them. Then you will escape.”

There it was. The betrayal. “But you had promised-”

She held up a finger between us. “I can’t hide you. If I do, they will sack the city. No, I will hand you over. You have my dagger, and my spirit-weapon.” she closed my fingers over the white ball. “Call their name when you are ready to kill them, and they will appear and fight with you.”

“Kill them?” I gawked. I’d never killed before!

“You must strike the killing blow,” she said softly, “and don’t leave it to the spirit to do.” Then, sensing my dismay, she added “You must kill them. If you don’t, they will follow you back to the city. Killing them will buy us time. Take it,” she pushed my hand to my chest. “Kill them. Then come back to me.”

On remote, I put the ball down my shirt. Then, numb, I felt myself turning to ice. This couldn’t be. It was too awful to be true.

But it was. Rebella whispered a name to me, then nodded. “Come back to me, and I will take care of you,” she announced.

Like hell I would.

Lage’s Game: Chapter Eleven, Part Two

The trees were coated in soft fluffy white snow. The flakes sifted slowly down through the air. A slow breeze slid through the trees, biting through me. I huddled under the cloak, stumbling ever forward through the forest.

It had been what felt like hours that I was walking. The only change in time was the shift of the weather. Sometimes warmer, sometimes colder, and now the snow.

I knew I had to find Lage. Lage, or someone who could bring me back to my world. Somewhere, somehow. I’d be safe there, I told myself. I knew I wouldn’t, but I told myself I would. I told myself that at least there wouldn’t be a stupid princess throwing me in a dungeon with … an assassin? Who rescued me?

I plodded on, gritting my teeth at the complexity of this newfound world. The princess, the dying Queen, the gun, it was all piling together in my head. I knew I wouldn’t be safe in my own world – and stumbled over a branch. My arms flung out to break my fall – and I landed in something white.

Not the snow. A pair of arms.

Slowly, I looked up. Red eyes looked down from a white-as-snow face with icicles for hair.

I gaped. The creature grinned, revealing a fanged set of teeth.

I screamed, jumping back and flailing. The creature was a disembodied thing, a torso with just a whispy tail-like bottoming out. It had hands like claws that were tipped in blue talons.

Spinning, I darted straight back the way I came, floundering through the snow.

A high-pitched chuckle echoed in my ears as I ran, and the ‘thing’ rushed along behind me, in the corner of my eyes, clacking its teeth and snagging at me with its claws.

Breathless, I crested a small hill- and tripped over a root. I tumbled straight down the hill in a blundering blurr of white that bit at me and roots and stones that jabbed into my sides.

When I floundered to a stop, there was a horses’ nose before me. A soft brown horse nose that snorted at me. I scrambled to my feet, thinking that I was lucky – when I saw that there was a guard atop this horse. And on the horse beside it. And on that horse, beside it? Another guard.

A clacking sound from behind made me spin. The strange ‘thing’ was rushing towards me, eyes glowing, jaws open, and blue finger-talons out.

“Enough!” barked a voice. The thing reeled to a halt just before me, its talons a mere foot from my face. It looked to my right, where another horse was stepping forward. On this horse, dappled gray, sat Rebella with her white cloak. “Come,” she ordered, holding out her arm.

With a squeal, the creature turned into a snowy white owl and flapped its way to her arm. There, she gave it a small bit of meat. It looked suspiciously like a dead mouse. Rebella turned her cold glare to me. “It looks like we found it,” she sneered.

My blood boiled. “Me,” I declared. “You found me. Not an ‘it’. I’m a person.”

“Oh, well, person,” sneered Rebella. “There I was thinking you had rocks for brains.”

My fury bubbled over, but I was speechless once more, silent in my white-hot fury. Rebella nodded to a guard. “Take it,” she ordered before wheeling her horse around.

The guard reached down, seizing me by the shoulder. I wrenched free.

I wished for a knife. Some dagger, magic maybe, to help me overcome all of them. Maybe even a gun – which I normally hated.

Between two guards I was lifted up, kicking and biting, up onto one of their horses, before the rider. Then, with an armored arm around my waist, we wheeled around to follow Rebella.

I gave up on fighting as we trudged back through the forest. I turned limp, glaring viciously at Rebella’s back.

I hated her. I wanted to utterly destroy her. She was quickly enlarging in my mind, becoming synonymous with ‘them’. Those hated unknowns now had a face and persona in Rebella.

When we trudged back within the cities’ walls, I had decided that I was going to kill her. No matter what. It was my chance to hit back at ‘them’.

We plodded through the grubby city, the horses’ rhythms suspiciously lulling, annoyingly slow-paced compared to a car. Houses that were mere shacks passed on and on. People covered in filth stared, mouths agape, pointing at me but never at Rebella. She must be a villain they were used to.

What struck me was the silence, though. The people whispered but voices never rose into spoken words with clarity or force. They merely whispered, mumbling from mouth to ear behind hands. Definitely no one shouted.

My chance came when we entered the castle’s walls. There, the guards visibly relaxed. They began laughing among themselves, cracking jokes I didn’t listen to and laughing rowdily. Rebella, however, had her back to us and rode on ahead. That is, until we dismounted.

I was dropped to the ground, aching all over and numb from the cold. But I sensed a window of opportunity. A tingling came over me. Rebella had her back to us still, throwing her reins to a servant. The guards were dismounting around me, trading jokes.

I spun, seizing the sword from the hip of the guard behind me. With a hiss of metal the sword drew clear. I stumbled, but swung it with the momentum, lurching forward at Rebella.

In slow motion, I saw Rebella turn. I saw her eyes widen, her lips part slightly in surprise.

With a shriek, the owl burst at me, wings flapping at my face. I stumbled back.

Time jolted back to full speed. Rebella was before me, the bird tossed aside. She grabbed my arms, wrenching the sword from my grasp. I kicked at her, but she deflected it with a swipe of the leg that sent me falling face-first into the muddy snow.

“You are all so useful,” Rebella sneered at her guards as she turned her back on me once more, dropping the sword to the snow mere feet away from me.

The guards murmured apologies. I staggered up, but was dwarfed by hands. No more freedom for me. As Rebella marched on ahead I was bodily dragged after her, arms held out like a scarecrow. My feet dragged, catching in the stones and earth as we marched into the castle.

This time, we did not enter the huge gardens within that dome. Instead we marched up a flight of stairs, turned left, and found ourselves in a dark corridor. At the end of it, servants lined a room. These guards were adorned in purple with large feathers atop their helmets. The servants exchanged nervous looks, but bowed their heads as Rebella approached them.

“What are you all doing out here?” Rebella demanded, half-yelling. “Why have you left her alone?”

“She ordered-” murmured one servant who was standing before a door. She didn’t finish her sentence, as Rebella took her by the shoulders and threw her out of the way, crushing into the other servants.

“Bring the thing!” shouted Rebella, yanking the door open and barging in.

The guards yanked me forward. I was shoved into the room seconds after Rebella entered it. It was almost a touching scene. Almost.

The grandmother Queen was laying on a giant red four-poster bed with the curtains drawn shut. Rebella had opened one side and was now clasping the grandmother’s hand in both of hers. The grandmother’s good eye was open, but it too was now turning milky white. The decay had almost taken over her entire face.

“Child,” said the grandmother, breath heaving.

“It’s not your time. We need you,” whispered Rebella, clutching the withered hand to her chest.

The grandmother smiled mysteriously. “That’s not how the world works.”

Determination came over Rebella. She lowered the grandmother’s hand. “Get out,” she ordered, backing away from the bed. “All of you. Leave the thing here. I have something to do.”

The guards backed away, shuffling nervously out the door. It shut behind them with a creak and a clap, and I was alone with Rebella and her dying Grandmother.

Rebella wasted no time. With a yank she drew a dagger from her belt. With a toss her cloak fell to the ground and she marched towards me, head held high.

I just wasn’t expecting it.

With a flash of the arm, she stabbed me in the chest. I gasped, the sharp pain slicing through me. I found myself gripping at her arm as she yanked the dagger out of me.

I staggered as Rebella yanked away. The world swam as her back walked away, back to the bedside. My knees struck the floor. I was clutching at my chest, watching the blood seep out from between my fingers. I knew enough to know that this was severe. I was going to die.

And Rebella was still alive.

“Blood of the heart, lift this curse,” I heard Rebella whisper as she was lifting a bloody finger – full of my blood – to her Grandmother’s lips.

“Child, no,” whispered the fading Grandmother. The good eye fluttered closed.

I was taking that bitch down with me, I thought. I saw the dagger set beside her on the bed. I launched myself.

Lage’s Game ~ Chapter Six Part Two

There was the sounds of several pairs of feet entering the house. Kayla and I looked to the stairwell, and then when we looked again the green man was gone.

Kayla, beer bottle in hand, stepped out into the hallway. She was shaking all over and white like a sheet. As the footsteps approached, she turned on the hallway light.

In the stairwell, several men in suits and ski masks stared up at us, like deers in headlights. Dangerous deer. One minute, they were shocked, the next they were all anger and venom.

“Well, this changes things,” said the first man, who had one eye patched up.

Kayla took a deep breath. She lifted her beer bottle. It looked piddly and pointless. In a flicker I realized my keys were about the same, but I felt so much more than Kayla right then. I felt ready to burst out of my body. I was brimming full of power.

Stretching out my arms, I rolled my head and shifted my grip on the keys. Here I come-

“What’s this about? Is it money?” asked Kayla. “I can pay you to go away.”

The men stopped. They looked at each other.

“Do you want a drink?” asked Kayla bitterly. “Why don’t we talk?”

“Lady, you don’t have enough money to understand what’s at stake here,” said the patched up gangman.

“I understand kidnapping,” said Kayla angrily. “It’s usually about money, isn’t it?”

The men hesitated. Kayla continued, voice trembling. “You can go find another kid, how about that? Go pick on someone else.”

That made them shake their heads. “It’s got to be her,” said the patched up goon, taking a resolute step forward. “So move aside, woman.”

Kayla braced herself, beer bottle pointed forward. “You stinky shit-”

“Don’t touch her,” said a man’s voice behind me. I spun and the man in the medieval cloak was there, appeared and fresh out of thin air. He was directly behind me and Kayla, but he reached and placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s just a child,” he said solemnly, staring down the kidnappers.

“Who the fuck are you?” demanded the one-eyed jerk.

“Who are you? And what claim do you have to her?” asked the man in green.

“Oh, feeling smart, are we?” snarled the talkative goon. But he wasn’t advancing.

“You know who I am,” said the man behind me. “Now tell me who you are.”

There was a pause. “They’re here to kidnap her!” snapped Kayla shrilly, pointing at the kidnappers. “Her dad got in some mess – and now they want her to pay for it!”

“She ate the card!” spat the one eyed goon. “She will -” and he stopped himself, chowing down on his anger.

“Yes, she ate the card,” said the man behind me, softly.

Kayla was looking from one man to the other. I felt anger boiling in me. “What card? A credit card?”

“No,” shouted the angry kidnapper just as the green-cloaked man said it too, softly. The kidnapper seemed to have made his mind up. He drew a knife from his belt. “Step aside!”

I bolted forward.

The goon stepped back in shock. I darted past him, slashing my keys on the side of his stomach. There was a digging feeling, and I was whizzing past them, down the stairs.

I was yanked to a stop, my shoulders grabbed from behind. I spun, slashing with my keys at anything and everything.

There was a smash of a beer bottle crashing into the head of the man who was holding me. He stumbled back, tumbling down the rest of the stairs. I bolted again, down the stairs and darting across the living room.

I made it to the kitchen, where I yanked a knife out of a fancy set on the counter. It was a steak knife. I spun, bracing myself.

There was the sounds of swearing, and the kidnappers tramped across the living room. I was trapped in the kitchen as they filled the entryway, the one with the patch in front.

“Don’t touch her!” intoned a voice from behind, along with the sound of feet marching over.

“You take the idiot, I’ll take the girl,” said the patched guy to his co-goons with a nod of the head.

“Don’t you dare-” said the medieval man as the other kidnappers turned to face him.

“Come at me!” I heard myself scream, crouching with the knife.

I was afraid. Terror and anger mixed in my veins in a dangerous cocktail. I braced as the man took one step. Another step. His blue eye was glittering with menace and vicious delight.

I stepped back and snatched another knife from the set. This one was a cleaver. Two-handed, I braced again.

The man was approaching slowly. His knife was gone. He was here to catch me, not to kill me.

The kitchen seemed silent. I heard only my blood roaring in my ears. I saw only the man stepping so slowly – then he darted forward.

One of my hands was grabbed, my right. I hacked blindly with my left as the other hand grappled at me. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Anger was overflowing, bursting from me as I saw red.

Crack! A baseball bat smashed across the man’s head. The grip on my hand vanished and he crumbled at my feet. On the other side of him, Kayla was breathing heavily, bat in hand. Beyond, the medieval man was rushing over.

At my feet, the man stirred, blinking widely.

Finish the kill, I thought on instinct. Slit his throat and avenge yourself.

I switched the cleaver to my right and was dropping down to grab the man by the head to deal my finishing blow- but I was hefted up by the arm. The medieval man, again.

“Don’t,” he said. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

In a surge I knew I wouldn’t, for I hadn’t regretted any of my other kills – other kills?

I shook myself, wondering where that thought had come from. At my feet, the goon was groaning and trying to sit up. The medieval man put a foot on his chest, and his weight with it too. The goon grunted, eye bulging.

Far away, there was the sound of sirens approaching.

Lage’s Game ~ Chapter Five Part One

Trigger Warning: Violence!!!

The next morning was the doctor. If I had listened to Kayla on the drive there, I would have realized we weren’t going to school.

Instead, we drew up to the hospital. It was squat, dirty cream colored, and essentially a glorified square. There was some attempts at grass and greenery, but it remained a cement cube in a city.

The doctor was somewhat like that. He was dusty, old, white, and seemed to just stare at me. I tried to tell him about the man in green. I tried to tell him about the board game. The words choked up in me and I didn’t know how to start. How to begin, how to let it out.

I found tears streaming down my face and I pulled a tissue from the box.

“I’m upset,” I managed to say.

I got excused from final exams. My marks would be tallied from those of my year. I left the office, threw my tissues into the garbage, and sat in the waiting room with my unicorn. Kayla had said to wait for her here. She was doing some phone calls and would be with me soon.

I looked up when the door opened. It was not Kayla.

“Hey,” said the big man that was recognizable even without the ski mask or suit. He was in plain clothes and had a chiseled face that spelled danger. “Let’s go.”

AS the door swung shut behind him, I saw several other men out there. They had come for me in force. All four of them, for one little girl? Cowards. What more did they want from me? I had probably already digested the card and rendered it useless.

I guessed then that they wanted my death. They wanted to punish me for destroying the card. To make an example of me of sorts.

Well. I rose to my feet without thinking. I glared this big man down. Coward.

To my right, across the waiting room, the secretary was busy with her official business, picking up the phone to dial someone. I took a deep breath.

“Come, on,” said the man in a dangerous intone.

I marched out the door, a cold sense of purpose coming over me. I wanted revenge. I wanted to slaughter, main, kill, so badly it felt like I would burst from it. It was like a rising tide, a super-sense coming over me and making me tingle all over, like a volcano about to blow.

Out of the door I walked into the other three men. One placed a hand on my shoulders and, as a group, they began walking me out of the building.

“Hey! Hey!” Kayla had not been far, was just down the hallway. I heard her cry from behind us. In a glance over my shoulder, I saw her begin to run towards us, phone in hand and eyes wide. I could hear her shoes clop-clopping, but the men were faster. The one who had me by the arm took off, darting forward. I was lifted up in his arms. My unicorn fell out of my grasp, tumbling away.

In a blurr I saw the ceiling, was pressed into the mans’ shirt- and saw the two other men stay behind.

Something snapped in me. They were going to hurt Kayla. Innocent, stupid Kayla. My rage boiled over.

I heard myself screaming, and began kicking. I kicked the man who was carrying me in the face. I bit his hand. He did not slow. The exit sign flashed above us, and we were darting down the stairs.

I thrashed, but was over his shoulder now. The second man was in tow, and now we were bursting out the stairs into fresh air.

In the sprint across the flimsy grass, I screamed for all I was worth. I thrashed, bit wildly and gouged my fingers into eyes. The man stumbled. I was thrown and landed in a tumble and scrape on the asphalt.

I was on my feet, the world reeling into sharp focus. There was the man before me clutching his bloody face, another marching towards me, and two more coming out of the building.

Then, to the left, observing, the man in the green cloak.

I drew my keys from my pocket and gripped them tight. I was going to take out eyes. I was burning with my success, was powerful in my rage.

“I’m going to make sure you can’t hurt anyone else!” I heard myself declare. In a rush my vigilante streak was coming out. I’d get them for what they had done to mother. I’d get them so bad.

The man in green was walking over, just slightly faster than the other men. “Get behind me,” I heard him say as he stepped between me and them.

I hissed between my teeth, jumping to the side just in time to see the men collide.

The first man threw a punch, and the green-cloaked intruder dodged, then punched the first in the gut.

I gaped as the henchman doubled over. I was unhurt. The figment of my imagination was… fighting? I stood there and watched as the medieval man threw punches and my kidnappers landed on the asphalt.

Then, he turned to the man who was clutching his face. Bloody and still covering his face with a hand, the wounded man tottered up.

I screamed. “Kill him!”

The green cloaked man did not. Instead he stood back as the wounded man tottered towards the car. He was going to get away!

With a yell, I lunged forward, keys in hand like a knife. The wounded man grabbed my wrist and threw me at the car. I slammed against the back door. Hands gripped at me, and I was yanked forward and back, jolted between the two men who wrestled for me.

“Let her go!” growled the medieval man, and the henchman gave up. With a shrug he threw me towards the other, and jumped into the car. With a rev of the motor, he backed up the car out of the parking spot. I was pulled back and away, turned into the folds of the green cloak. In the distance, I heard the car driving away.

I squirmed and was let go. Stepping back in a stumble, I looked up at my rescuer. He was frowning down at me.

“You’re real!” I declared.

He paused. My gaze jumped from him to the henchmen on the asphalt. Where were my keys? Right there, where the car had been. I grabbed them up and –

“What are you doing?” the man asked, grabbing my shoulder to stop me.

I wrestled myself free only to be grabbed again. “They’re unconscious!” he insisted. “Don’t attack them!”

I wrestled, but he held me back by the scruff of my collar. I was almost out of my jacket when I heard the wailing of a siren. Security!

Then, I fell forward so suddenly that I hit the ground on my hands and knees. I looked up – and the man in green had vanished.

Lage’s Game ~ Chapter Four, Part One

I was suspicious of the man now. Who was he? A figment of my imagination, come to hallucinate and prey on my fears? He couldn’t be real, could he? How did someone appear, only to vanish with an object?

I had searched my bag for my unicorn, even the living room, just in case I hadn’t brought it out with me. But no. My unicorn was missing.

I slept poorly, wondering and thinking and crying the whole night. When I woke, things were no simpler.

Aunt Kayla was there, offering to drive me to school. She looked exhausted, like she’d spent the night at the hospital, but she tried on a smile for me. I didn’t bother returning one.

Over breakfast, Kayla broached the topic of the school. That she had called the school and would be filling out the papers as my new guardian.

“I’ll do everything to make sure you get there,” she said to me, handing out her heart on a platter.

I nodded, wondering where the hell my unicorn was. Going to this school didn’t matter much when strange things were appearing around me, or when They were going to be coming back for me.

On the drive to school, I was quiet. I leaned my head against the cool window of the car, and wondered. I wondered so hard. Kayla tried to start a conversation once or twice, but I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. How would I explain to anyone who hadn’t seen the board game about everything that was happening? My cousins had seen it, true. But would they understand? They hadn’t seen it come from the wall. They hadn’t seen Them demand it from mother or take it from me.

No one knew anything, I realized, dumbfounded.

At school, the day ground along. I paid attention through first and second periods. Lunch arrived. Third and fourth periods ground by. The final bell rang, and I was free.

I was standing by a picnic table, waiting for Kayla to arrive. The traffic ground by not far away, and cars turned into the parking lot to pick up students. I stood and waited.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, walking down the street. A tall shape, green and blond. In his hand, presented before himself like a pass-card, my unicorn.

I froze, but was jostled by a group of students running past. I nearly fell over – and now he was only a few strides away from me. I looked up, and froze again.

He looked like something from a medieval reenactment scene. He was wearing a cloak, tunic, pants and boots complete with belt and sword. His jaw was square, his eyes a startling clear blue. His blond hair hung in waves down to his shoulders.

With a smile, he bent over as if bowing and held out the unicorn with both hands.

I held out a trembling hand. My unicorn was precious to me.

My hand didn’t quite reach, but he placed the unicorn in my grasp like it was a precious object. I drew it back to me, mind whirling. Was it now that I drew the card out before him to destroy it? Would he attack me here, with all these witnesses? Or were they just collateral damage to him?

“Hey! Sweetie!” Kayla’s voice rang out.

I turned. Kayla was coming out of her car in the parking lot, anxious as could be. She waved at me, trying on a smile again.

I looked to the man – but he was gone like he’d never been there.

Lesser people might have begun doubting themselves right then. I felt a wave of tears, but crushed them down savagely. Refusing to be gotten the better of – even by my own imagination – I looked down. There, in the grass, were two boot prints.

Hah, I thought.

The ride home was silent on my part. Kayla said how she’d been talking with the doctors, been talking with the school, and – “You can come and stay with me for the summer. Give Wanda a chance to make a nice room for you in the house. Or do you want to go to boarding school?”

Boarding school was expensive, I knew that. But if it was an option, I’d rather that than be with Wanda and her happy family all the time. The thought of being near so much familial happiness made me feel sick. “Boarding school,” I said, deciding that it would not matter much anyways. They would be coming for me before the new school year had begun.

“Okay,” Kayla said, nodding. “I’ll call the school.”

Then, she got us donuts.

It was only two more days before they arrived. I had taken to sitting outside in the evenings, taking my homework with me to sit. That night, a black van arrived into the roundabout. I looked up, and my heart jumped into my throat.

Three large, imposing, and very beefed-up men came towards me, all in badly fitting black suits.

Finally, I thought, finding that I was not afraid. I set my algebra aside with determination. I rose, setting my unicorn down to supervise.

Then, I felt a presence behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the reenactment man walk to me. I was locked in, tall men on either side.

I turned to face the reenactment one, reaching into my pocket for the card. So be it. He must be the new chief. Only someone who was a little silly in the head would walk around wearing that, and one must be silly in the head to want a card this badly.

Hand in pocket, I faced him. He came to a stop a few feet from me, just the same distance as he had been with the unicorn. Again, there was that smile that was disarming. It seemed kind.

“Little lady,” he said, his voice deep but gentle. “What’s your name?”

I held my breath. He should already know my name.

“Hey, kid!” came from directly behind me. I spun, and was now faced with the three large me in black. Behind them, hunched and scowling, was the man mother had attacked. So he lived.

“Your mother’s a-” he was saying as I drew the card from my pocket. His words died away. A light went on in his eyes, in all their eyes. “Good kid,” he crooned, stepping forward between his henchmen. “Give that here.”

I placed my second hand on the card, ready to tear it in two. My hand trembled. I hesitated one second too long.

All four of those men lunged towards me. In a flash I knew I wasn’t fast enough. I resorted to my second plan, what I’d planned to do once the paper was ripped anyways. I ate it.

I crammed the card into my mouth, chewing as fast as I could.

I was slammed back, my hands were jerked away from my face, and I swallowed just as the man started screaming “Stop her! Stop her!”

The world turned black. For a flash I saw the men around me, felt them tearing at me. Their boss was screaming incoherently. I was satisfied.

Then, I hit the ground. Uncle’s voice was shouting.

Oh no, I thought. Another fight. More police. More dead.

Lage’s Game ~ Chapter Three, Part Two

That night, I slept in uncle’s living room, curled around my unicorn on the couch. They said it would just be for a few days, but I heard them saying to the cousins that they might have to bunk in the same room soon. But how long was ‘soon’? How long would it take before mom was officially ‘gone’?

I could not sleep. Thoughts of mother kept me awake, but not as much as they should have. I was selfish, worried not about her because she was already gone in my mind. She would be safe now, happily with father. No, I was waiting for when ‘they’ would come for me.

I would be ready. I had the card under my pillow now, and with it, my vengeance. I would destroy exactly what they wanted. What they were willing to commit murder for. I’d burn it before them.

It was only halfway through the night that it occurred to me that I didn’t have a lighter on hand. That bothered me. Would I rip the card then? Tear it into four pieces? Somehow that was less validating. Could the card be repaired? Could it still be sold, even in pieces? I wanted it to be utterly ruined. I wanted it burned, gone beyond repair.

The moonlight was drifting in through the living room’s curtains. It illuminated the coffee table, the TV on the wall ( a large one, way too expensive. They might take it with them when they came for me.).

It was my last sight before I drifted into sleep. An empty living room. It ought to have made me feel safe, but it didn’t.

When I dreamed, I dreamed of a presence so surely, so closely, that I knew it was there. I knew it was a man. I knew he was white. I caught sight of blond hair. An outstretched hand. A voice, whispering.

When I woke, the sunlight was streaming in and the air smelled of milk and cereal, the sound of bowls rattlign could be heard. The uncles and cousins were speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen.

I rose. Still in my pajamas, I walked into the kitchen with my unicorn. They all smiled at me, pitying. I sat down in the empty chair, set my unicorn on the table beside me, and ate.

I wanted to ask them who had been there during the night, but words escaped me. On one hand I ‘knew’ that no one should have been there, but on the other hand, I was certain I had felt someone. So I was not sure what to say, or how to say it. Then, it occurred to me that they might not know about the board game. That they too, like the police, might not know or believe that ‘they’ were coming for me.

The thought struck me cold. Here I was, bringing trouble to another family. Also, I had forgotten the card in the living room. How stupid of me. What if they came in now? They would find it and take it. And probably, uncle would try and defend me and get killed as well. Maybe the cousins too.

I stared at my half-finished bowl of cereal, feeling sick. I scrubbed at the tears rolling down my face, angry. I would have to leave. I would have to find them. Bring the card to them.

But no. That was my vigilante side speaking again. How would I realistically find them? I didn’t know where to search. I only knew that they struck at night, and that their maybe leader might be in the hospital right now. Or maybe dead? No. As much as I liked to think that mother had dealt a killing blow, it was highly unlikely.

So what now? I looked up from my bowl, and uncle was discreetly walking out of the kitchen. The cousins had vanished. Their mother was sitting beside me, rubbing my back. I wiped the tears from my face. I picked up my unicorn and hugged it, angry. So angry.

I did not go to school that day, instead lying on the couch, alone. Wanda, uncle’s wife, had insisted on staying home with me, but I’d glared at her and said “No. Go.”. And so she left, frowning, off to her job.

I waited for them to come for me. The card lay before me, face down on the coffee table. I was dressed in my almost-best, jeans and a button up shirt and a vest, waiting for them. I had searched for matches or a lighter, but hadn’t found any. The closest I could think of was turning on an oven element to burn it, but that wasn’t practical. They wouldn’t let me get that far.

So I sat and waited, my unicorn in my lap. It didn’t occur to me that they wouldn’t. It was only when Uncle came home from work that I realized the day had passed, and I had spent it staring at a card. It had only felt like an hour.

“Your aunt will be here this evening,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.

I didn’t like my aunt, but I supposed she was alright. She was just so – mayonnaise salad impersonated. Bland. Strange. A little fruity, if you were lucky.

The cousins arrived, loud at first then quiet when they saw me. I stared at them, realizing that somehow, their lives hadn’t changed. They were still happy, yet I was devastated. Their lives were intact, yet both my parents were gone.

I had nowhere to run to to hide and cry. No room with a door to slam. So I held my unicorn and decided not to cry.

My aunt arrived just after supper, looking wrung out and exhausted. She was wearing a tank top and jeans, her hair a curly blonde frizz. “Oh, dear!” she cried out as she saw me. She flung out her arms and crouched. I sat very still, not wanting a hug at all. I even put my unicorn on my lap.

She hesitated. Wanda cleared her throat and patted auntie on the shoulder. “It’s alright, she’s just, processing.”

Auntie looked doubly devastated. “Okay,” she said, straightening. To Wanda, she said “How is everything? I mean – I just, what happened? I can’t-”

“Here,” Wanda guided auntie (I think her name was Kayla) to the kitchen. As if on cue, probably on cue actually, Fred left his homework in the kitchen and came to turn on the TV for me.

So I sat there while the Lion King played, drowning out the sound of Kayla’s crying and Wanda’s telling her how it all happened.

I was starting to hate the Lion King too. In between dramatic music and character quips, I could hear Kayla saying “Another break-in? But why? What did they want?”

What they did want lay before me on the table, face down and inert. So stupid. So small.

Then, it occurred to me that if I hadn’t left the card out of the box, if I hadn’t taken the box to my room that night, none of this would have happened. They’d have come, taken the box, and maybe we wouldn’t have even known they were there. Maybe they’d have not even waken mom. Murder was against their usual tactics.

I had killed mom. My actions were the root of the chain of actions that had murdered her.

I sat there, very calm and cool as I thought this through. True, I could not have known. But as any lawyer knows, idiocy and ignorance is no excuse for a crime. I was at the root of it all. I had caused my mother’s death.

Had I caused Father’s too, I wondered. Had I left a door unlocked, said something about his collection to a friend too many, or done something small and seemingly insignificant that had tipped the robbers off?

No. I was not going to randomly punish myself. I was not going to wallow in self-flagellation in order to throw a pity party. I had murdered my mother, but I had not murdered Father. I had to be realistic, keep a grip on reality.

I propped my feet up beside the card, staring at that stupid printed diamond on its backing. Obviously, I was not legally to be held responsible. The law did not see the moral beginnings of things. A critical flaw, if you asked me. No, I was not afraid of people finding out, or of going to jail for this. I was morally responsible, but not legally. No one would think of blaming me, but I knew that I was to blame.

I came out of my thoughts when the TV was paused. Wanda and Kayla were standing there, eyeing me nervously.

I stared at them, waiting.

“Hey,” said Kayla. “I’m going to go see your mom. Would you like to come, sweetie?”

I shook my head.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, wrapping my arms around my unicorn and staring back at the TV.

“Okay,” Kayla said quietly. Then she left. Wanda came to sit beside me. I wished she wouldn’t, but wishes aren’t fulfilled.

“Kayla was saying that you were going to a new school?” Wanda said gently.

I nodded, still staring at the TV screen. It was frozen, the characters mid-position. Just like I had been. Frozen.

“Do you?” Wanda was asking.

I startled, staring at her. She smiled feebly. “You’d still like to go to that new school?”

Oh. I nodded, knowing it was what mother had wanted. But I would not live that long. They were coming for me. But I might as well do the motions. It would make mom happy, wherever she was.

Wanda talked some more about how she and Kayla were going to be taking care of Mom’s affairs, but that it was mainly Kayla who was going to be doing it.

“If your mom doesn’t wake up, you could go live with her, until she does,” she offered.

My lip trembled. I gritted my jaw to stop it. I was not moving away. Mom had wanted me to go to that school, so I would. Shaking my head, I hugged my unicorn to my chest angrily. Besides, this was all until they arrived. Then, it was all over. They would kill me – probably. They murdered mom for not knowing where the card was. They would certainly kill me for destroying it before their eyes.

Wanda was asking me what I wanted to do when I noticed the darkness outside the window. It was time. They usually struck around now.

I rose to my feet, discreetly picking up the card and pocketing it. “I’m going for a walk,” I announced.

“Want some company?” Wanda asked with a smile.

“No,” I said sharply, taking my unicorn to the entry way where I put my shoes on. Then, with Wanda watching me with a frown from the couch, I left out the door.

Uncle and Wanda’s house was in a small roundabout of cozy looking houses with a green patch in the middle of it all where dogs probably peed to their hearts content. There was three benches. I took one, placing my unicorn beside me.

I knew Wanda was watching from her window, but my back was to her. Let her watch. Then there would be a witness to what they did, this time.

The moon was clear and bright, nearly round in its brightness. They would be here soon. I could feel it.

So I drew the card from my pocket, ready and waiting. I glared at the card, flipping it over so I saw the simili- ancient sculpture. Lage. Well Lage, it’s down to you and me.

I didn’t hear a car, but from the corner of my eye, I saw a man approach. Tall. Green in color.

I froze. They were here.

With a sigh, the man sat beside me. He was wrapped all in a green shape with long blond hair that swept his shoulders. And he just sat there.

I couldn’t move my eyes to see him. I was leaning forward on the bench, he was leanign back, just a fuzzy shape in the corner of my vision.

“Hey.”

I jumped, screaming.

“Whoah!” Uncle was standing before me, hands raised. “It’s just me!”

I spun to face the man, horrified that Uncle was here to get caught in it all – but there was no one on the bench beside me. Nothing.

Heart pounding in my throat, I turned to uncle. He was saying something about too late and time to go to bed. I looked again at the empty bench. Uncle took me and walked me back to the house. I kept staring back at the bench that was so empty.

It was when the door shut behind me and I was in their house that I realized my unicorn was missing. The man had taken it.

Lage’s Game ~ Chapter One; Part One

“Mom?” I ask, walking towards her. The social worker has left. Mom sits there, bruised and stitched up in the kitchen. The swelling has gone across her face and the black stitches seem to stand out more.

She tries to smile at me. But there are tears in her eyes and I hesitate. Maybe I shouldn’t have left my room.

“Hey,” she sniffles and wipes at her face gingerly. She puts on a brave smile. “Hey how are you?”

I look down at my softie and nod. It was a unicorn, crocheted by my grandmother when she was still alive and I was young.

“Your cousins will be here soon,” Mother tries to sound cheerful. “Would you like to play a game with them?”

I don’t look up. I don’t speak. I think I will go back to my room. Even if they say I should leave it, I don’t want to. I haven’t left the house since … then. Last week, five days ago now, marked a whole different world. A world with father in it.

Tears well in my eyes and I run, flying to my room. I slam the door to my room shut, but even that doesn’t feel safe anymore. I throw myself into bed, burrowing under the blankets with my softie. I hug it to my chest, but can’t stop the tears.

A moment later, I hear the door creaking open. The stifling hot blankets are lifted from my head. I drag them back down in a snatch, enclosing myself in darkness.

I told myself I was safe. But I knew I wasn’t. This house was where it had happened. The burglary, mom’s bruises, and… father’s death. Just last week.

“Hey,” mom sits down on the bed beside me, creaking the mattress. Her hand rests on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry hun.”

I sniffle, but don’t say anything. I don’t feel like saying anything.

“You – want to play a game?” she offers again.

It used to be a thing. Family game night. Mom and dad would take out all these cards, miniatures, boards, and we would play. Friends of Fathers’ would come over. My cousins used to never come. Now they came for me, because they were the only family ‘near my age’. I wouldn’t see my friends. I didn’t want them, anyone, in the house. But I couldn’t say no to family.

“Come on,” Mom pulled at my shoulder a little. “Let’s pick out a game.”

I sat up for her. Because I knew she didn’t need me to make things any harder on her. I was twelve, almost thirteen. I shouldn’t be acting like a child.

So I got out of bed, mom smiling bravely at me.

She was dressed in jeans and a clean shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. I, however, had hair like dad. It was in cornrows, just like he’d had too. He’d been darker than her, and that’s why the cops had shot him. They’d mistaken him for the burglars who had brutalized mom.

“Hey, hey, honey,” mom was shaking me by the shoulders, crouched before me. “Hey,” she smiled in a wobbly sort of way. “Let’s go pick out a game, okay?”

I nodded, holding my stuffie to my chest. We left my room, me tailing along behind her like a toddler. We held hands like it too, and I tried to straighten out my face. To stop it from wobbling.

The basement was an unfinished thing, dark and dismal but dry. At least it was dry, which father had once told me was important. That way, we could store stuff here. And he had gestured to the games.

There were shelves of tools, shelves of junk, and a shelf of board games. We stopped before them.

“Which one would you like?” mother asks. But she doesn’t move for any. Neither do I.

I don’t want to tell her, but I don’t want any of them. None. Nothing. I wanted nothing.

I must have blacked out again, for suddenly mom is on my other side and saying something. We’re not holding hands anymore.

“Mom?” my voice is feeble. She turns, a horrified and desperate look on her face. “Can we just go back upstairs?” I ask.

I shouldn’t have. Mom is crushed, tears brimming in her eyes. She presses her lips together in that way she has – and she turns away. She’s facing the corner now, where there is nothing.

“Would you like to try something new?” she asks, her shoulders tensing. I hesitate. She steps into the corner. With a lurch, her hands dig at the dirt and rocks there at face level.

“Mom?” I ask, heart rising in my throat. What was she doing? Was she losing it?

But the rocks move. The dust comes down in a cloud, but she is pulling away chunks of rock like her life depends on it. Like we’re trapped in here.

And then, where she was clawing, a hole appears. A mini-cave. In the back of my mind, I think it would be the perfect hiding place.

With a grunt and maybe a sob, mom yanks out a chest. She backs up with it, then turns to me with a smile and tears. “Ta-da!” she says, voice breaking.

I just stare. The chest is deep blue, covered in dust and smudged with dirt. It has metal hinges and clasps and a lock on its front.

Mom sets it down at my feet. “Dad loves collecting things, you know!” shes half laughs, looking down at the box. “He thought – he wanted you to have this. It’s why he was so happy you were a girl. Now- we’ve just got to get this open and-”

I stare as mom scrabbles at the lock, fishing around her neck for a tiny key. In fact, when she draws up her necklace, there are three keys. “This should be it,” she croaks with a sniffle.

She unlocks the very modern looking padlock. In fact, the padlock was so pristine that when I took it I could easily read the brand name on it. It looked brand new, just old model.

With a “A hah!” that was supposed to be cheerful but just sounded desperate, mom popped the chest. It swung open without a creak, and just in that instant before I saw what was in it, I wondered if we really should be doing this.

Dad loved collecting things, yes. They were his ‘preciouses’, he would joke, and they were usually worth a lot. Whatever was in this chest, it probably belonged in a museum and shouldn’t be played with. But then I saw what was in the chest and I forgot about all that.

There was a green cardboard box, the color luscious and deep. There were strange inscriptions across it in gold paint. Mom lifted it up with a desperate laugh. “See? It’s a game!” she said, holding it out to me.

My eyes stayed in the box however, where there were several other boxes with printed anime images on them. Old school anime.

“Those are the VHS that go with it,” mom says happily. “Do you want them too?”

I nod.

The next chapter can be read Here

Grieving the Deaths in Nova Scotia as a Pagan

I feel mentally bulldozed in a strange way. For those who haven’t heard the news, us Canadians have just had a major shooting. The last one of this magnitude was a shooting aimed just against women at the Polytechnique school.

It’s one thing to hear of atrocities happening all over the world, and its always stranger when it’s closer to home. Furthermore, I’d like to point out to any American reader that shootings barely ever happen in Canada. When they do, they’re a big fucking deal. We mourn them seriously.

Anyways, this news leaves me feeling strangely – distant? Dissociated? Upset without really knowing why? Part of me has a knee-jerk reaction of ‘Oh, just another shooting in the world’, while the rest of me is very shocked and upset that this happened in my country. That innocent people were killed.

I’m majorly left wondering what to do with myself. Is it appropriate to sit down and write and just ignore the fact that we’ve had a mass murder? Is it appropriate to let this take over my life, when there are so many other deaths in the world?

Balance is key, I suppose, but I am no expert. I’ve heard there is going  to be a national vigil online sometime this Friday (I think). But, again, what would be appropriate to do? What is sensible, in a way caring for yourself without letting the grief take over, as well as honoring the dead of these senseless acts?

I would like to suggest, as a pagan and a polytheist, some ideas for self care and to care for the dead of this massacre.

• Write a letter to your favorite deity, or a deity who specializes in helping the dead pass on (a psychopomp such as Anubis or Saint Michael), asking them to care for the dead and help them find peace after such horrific ends. Burn the letter to transmit it to your deity/spirit of choice.
• Pray to an appropriate deity (Sekhmet? Bast? Ma’at? I’m not quite sure who would be in charge of purifying a soul. Perhaps a Buddhist tradition would have more specific deities for such a purpose.) for the spirit of the attacker to be purified so as to cause no further trouble as a spirit. You can see this as fire burning away the evil in their heart or the anger that may have caused them to commit such actions.
• Light a candle with the intent of it lighting a way/ opening a channel for the dead to find their way. Again, you may consult or ask the aid of a psychopomp for aid in this.
• Write a letter to the deceased in this tragedy and burn it for it to reach them. Offer them your help (within your own limits) and maybe even invite them to a small ritual with candles and a dumb supper. This could be a nice chance to let them talk to you, pour their grief out, and basically process their own death with you.

Remember to take care of yourself! Cleanse and purify your space with incense that gives off a solemn vibe (but nothing too cheerful). Acknowledge your grief, but set the intent that you will carry on in honor of them, not despite them.

If you do have any specific mourning practices in your tradition that you will be performing  to honor these deceased, I’d love to hear them!

 

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