Lage’s Game: Chapter Twelve, Part Two

Rebella took me through the castle and to a hall. It had an arched ceiling that lent it all an air of grandeur, except that was wasted, for the hall seemed to have lost anything worth mentioning. It was empty, really. There was a throne, guards, but the walls were bare. The throne was a stone seat, but it had pockets and chunks missing from it, as if gems had been pried off it. Rebella’s sister was pacing before the throne, and before here were ‘them’.

Oh, I could recognize them alright. There were three of them. They weren’t the same ones as had been sent after me before, but they had an air of familiarity to them, what with their polarized fleece winter coats and thick snow boots. They wore reflective sunglasses, hats, and lots, lots, of guns.

“I found her,” announced Rebella, dragging me into the hall after her. With a haughty tip of the head, she presented me to ‘them’. “Here you go.”

“How do we know it’s really her?” asked the man who was standing in the front of the other two.

“That’s not our problem,” said Rebella sharply. “You should have known what you were looking for.”

The man tilted his head to the side, and I wondered if Rebella was about to earn herself a hole in the head. Did I want that to happen?

The closest ‘them’ took a grip on my shoulder and wrenched me to their side. He held up a device to my shoulder, and it beeped. He nodded to the others.

“We’re going,” said the head one to the Queen. She nodded, obviously relieved.

“Have a nice trip,” said Rebella with a smirk.

The goons looked at her. I was beginning to sweat. My stomach was doing flips in my chest. I was cold, hot, and wanted to be done with murder – if I could bring myself to do it.

Where was my anger? Where was that blood-infused strength? I didn’t have it now.

They dragged me after them, marching out of the hall. My heart was pounding in my throat. The world flickered on and off, and I was just registering glimpses of what was around me. It was all happening too fast. I wanted to stop, to pause, but it was all too much.

They loaded me onto a snowmobile where they should have been riding horses. Servants watched earnestly. I felt a cold knot in my stomach, and I was trembling.

The engines revved. Servants startled away, and we zoomed off.

The city flashed by, the cold wind slapping and biting me in the face. It brought me back to life.

I was going to die, I realized. Or worse. These people meant business – and I realized I had two options ahead of me.

Screw Rebella, I could go with these ‘them’ and settle things once and for all. I could go to their nest, their boss, and slay him.

Slay him? I was rattled from that thought by the foreign-ness of it. Who was that, thinking that in my head?

But now I was cool, calm, and unafraid. I felt composed, ready. Beneath it all was a boiling anger, a power that was just waiting to surface. I was there.

As I realized the presence of this… presence? Within myself, it slipped back over my mind.

Coldly, I thought again of my options. I could kill them in their nest. Slay their chieftain. Or I could slay these ones and flee. Flee again! I was tired and sick of running. But did I have a choice? Was I strong enough, at one, to defeat them in their nest? Would they let me close enough to utterly destroy them?

They first gates, those of the castle, whizzed past. Horses and people were now jostling out of the way. We had to slow, and that gave me precious time.

Two paths, so clear, lay before me. All involved death and bloodshed, but I was settled for that. It was nothing to me now, just another consequence of life. But was there a third path?

Lage, I thought. I swallowed his card.

Nagging, in the back of my mind, I knew that meant something enormous. Gigantic. Could I call upon him like these other spirits? Would I be able to summon him to my aid? I was not sure, and certainly did not know how.

Then there was Ekundayo’s necklace. But what good was that? I dismissed it almost as swiftly as it had come up.

No, two paths it was. Which one?

Guards rushed, people screamed, and we were at the final gates. The guards watched nervously, and we whizzed past them. The warm stench of the city was now gone, and we were out in the biting cold. Snow churned up around us.

Now, a voice called out within me. It called, if such a thing was possible, through my chest. From the stone, I realized coldly.

Rebella, you bitch, I thought. You’re watching me.

Distantly, I heard her laugh. Come back to me, she ordered.

I held my stillness. I was still not sure which path I was to take. In fact, I was beginning to drift towards the first. Not only because it was delayed action, but because I wanted things to end. Let me have closure. Let me close this chapter.

The forest, black trees on a white background, it all went by within the deafening roar of the machines. A familiar dolmen appeared, then grew in the distance. Beside it stood Lage, wrapped in his cloak with a spattering of snow atop his shoulders.

The snowmobiles drew to a jarring halt before the dolmens. “Here,” said the goon in charge. “We pay the toll.” He drew a pouch from his pocket and handed it to Lage. Lage, looking tired and drawn, accepted the pouch. He pried it open and looked within.

I heard a strange whispering, the cries of souls on the wind, and felt a sense of whimsical homesickness. How I missed having my own souls, being paid my own tributes.

Shoved off the snowmobile, I returned to my senses. I was just a kid, a teen. Fear seized me. Cold bit through me. In a flash I wondered at what was happening in my mind – what was this presence taking over me?

But then I was cool again. Controlled. I rose to my feet as the goons, the soldier I realized they must be, dismounted their snow machines.

My eyes met Lage’s. In a flash I knew he didn’t want this. He would help me – if he could.

Then help, you bastard, I thought. And he heard me. He lifted his head, holding up the bag. Cleared his throat.

The goons looked at him. It was a fleeting distraction, but it was enough.

In one fluid motion, I drew the gun from the holster of the guards’ hip. Bang, bang, bang. I heard the shots, but didn’t so much register what was happening. In a blink, I heard yells. Heard the almost silent thud of the gun hitting the ground. Felt the touch of the dagger in my hand.

I came to, wiping my dagger clean on their clothes. Lage stood there still, the bag now closed in his hands. Three heads lay at my feet, still bearing their sunglasses. Should I keep them? Did I want these souls as mine?

“Thank you,” I heard myself say to Lage. I turned to him.

“Who are you?” he asked softly.

I felt humor come over me. I laughed, and the voice was jarring. Again, I shifted. Panic swelled over me. Was I-? Who was this in me? What was this feeling of – otherness?

But then it slipped back over me. I was calm, controlled. I held out a hand. “Give me those souls,” I demanded. Not that I needed the food. But a girl likes an army, doesn’t she?

Kayla’s Finale ~ Lage’s Game, Chapter Seven Part Two

Kayla took the bottle and pressed it against the side of her head. The man looked to her, and I watched them both.

“What is Gwenevarnia?” asked Kayla, sounding, as she herself would put it ‘tired of this shit’. “Is it some gang territory?”

Lage leaned across the table, palms pressing into it so hard his hands turned deathly white. “This is not about gangs. This is beyond them. This is about worlds.”

Kayla just shook her head. Lage turned to me. “Do you know what I am talking about?”

I held my silence. He shook his head and turned to Kayla. “Do you know that there are other worlds within the tree of life?”

Kayla’s eyebrows raised. My heart skipped a beat.

“I come from Gwenevarnia,” he repeated. “That is another world. This one is named Argv-”

“Another world?” interrupted Kayla. “Are you mad?”

“I am not!”

“Of course he’s mad. Whey else is he dressed like that?” I asked, daring him to reveal more. Show us what he could do by disbelief.

He looked from Kayla to me and then back. “I swear-”

“Prove it,” snapped Kayla.

“Why else do you think all this is happening?” he demanded, leaning across the table again. Kayla recoiled with a crinkled nose.

“Her father got messed up in gangs. That’s all!” She waved a hand at the man. “You’re messing with us.”

“I-”

“Get out!”

“I swear-”

“Out!” Kayla lifted the vodka bottle as a weapon.

The man scowled, brow creasing. I rose to my feet. “Wait.”

Both adults stared at me. I sat back down now that I had their attention. “How do we make them stop?”

The man hesitated, still in his seat. “I do not know. They usually get whatever they want and,” he paused, looking to Kayla. “That means they usually don’t stop. I’m sorry.”

Kayla cursed under her breath. I looked to the man. “Prove yourself.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows raising at my command. I glared him down with all my inner power.

“Prove Gwenevarnia exists. Prove that you are not mad. Prove it!”

He leaned towards me. “The card you ate – it has special powers. You will not be well until we have another one crafted. If we can.”

“That proves nothing,” I said staunchly.

He closed his eyes with a sigh. Then, when he opened them – had they always been brown? I startled. Kayla frowned, eyes narrowing.

No one heard the man arriving from the living room until the gunshot blew through Kayla. Blood spattered across Lage and I gasped, terror and ice seizing me. It was like needles in my skin, shooting through me.

One of the goons was in the entryways to the kitchen, gun in hand. Lage was seizing me by the wrist and dragging me to his side. Kayla was laying across the table, gasping as she clutched at her bleeding chest.

I realized that I loved Kayla very much. She had tried her best for me.

Our eyes met. Then she looked to the man. “Take her and go,” she hissed. The man nodded. She seized the bottle of vodka. Spinning, she lunged and threw herself at the goon. He yelled, the gun firing. A large hand covered my eyes, turning my head and crushing me into the green cloak. There was a smash of glass thudding and shattering – and then nothing.

The hands slowly lifted from my eyes. Around me, pine trees stretched. There was the tinkling sound of a stream. A cool breeze wafted over us. There was snow on the earth, just a thin sprinkling of it.

“Kayla,” I said, trembling but not from the cold. Kayla.

“She may yet live,” the man said from behind me. His hands squeezed my shoulders protectively. “But now you are safe. That is the important part.”

I stared ahead, unmoving. Or no – I shook. The cold began to nip at my fingers. A section of the cloak was wrapped around me. “Here,” he said, pressing me against himself. With a fumble, he drew the cloak off himself and began to wrap it around me.

In a fit I threw him off, flailing at the thick fabric. “I don’t want it!” I screamed, spinning to yell it at him.

He seemed shocked, maybe hurt. Then he softened. “Alright,” he said, drawing it back around himself. “But we have some walking ahead of us.”

“I don’t want to!” I hissed. “Take me back!” Once more, anger began crackling over me, rising like heat in my veins. I felt the power, the adrenaline, surging. I was going to destroy something. The hacking with the knife? That would be pithy little once I had my hands on the one who had shot Kayla!

He lifted two hands to placate me. “No. She wanted you here. You are safe.”

I shuddered, a sob tearing through me. I doubled over, feeling sick. The world swam. When it stopped, heavy hands were holding my shoulders.

I looked up. He smiled unsteadily at me. “My name is Lage,” he said gently.

Something clicked in my head. I squinted at him. “I ate your card.” But not ‘his’ in that it belonged to him, ‘his’ in that …

“Yes,” he said, eyes shifting blue once more.

I looked around. Behind him stood a tall stone, a standing stone of sorts. There were inscriptions on it, and I recognized it as the image on the card I had eaten. I stared at it. He turned, placing a hand on the stone while watching me. “This is my menhir,” he said. “Our version of the cards.”

“The cards?” I felt all this information, the implications, swirling within me.

He seemed to pity me. “Let’s walk,” he said. “My home is not so far.”

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 Two Part Two

TRIGGER WARNING: Violence. Guns. Shooting. I don’t know what else, but please don’t read if you’re feeling fragile.

It was a whole year before I saw that card again. During that year, we took a vacation to my aunt’s place out in BC. There, I saw the whitest people I’d ever seen. When time came to return home for school, it was to find myself presented with a new house, in a new neighborhood. There, my room had been transplanted into another room. It was like a time capsule, preserved in almost its entirety. Everything was reorganized, everything was clean. I remember the smell like it was yesterday. The smell of cleaner and detergent everywhere, mixed with fresh paint.

Upon seeing it, I turned to mom and said I didn’t want any of it anymore.

I pointed into my room and said “Get rid of it. All.”

Mom grinned. I didn’t realize it then, but it was the first time I’d spoken since our second burglary. “Okay,” mom said with tears in her eyes, happy tears. “We’ll get rid of it all.”

Pointedly, I walked away from the room, clutching my stuffie to my chest.

I spent that first night back in our house in mom’s room, sleeping with her. The next day, mom had some friends over who helped her sort through my room. My cousins were there, but I barely remember them talking to me, or me to them. They went through my old stuff, and I pretended to watch the Lion King. Then, it was all gone.

I walked into a fresh, empty room. Mom stood beside me, arms crossed. They’d even put a base coat over the walls so it was no longer the color of my previous room. “How’d you like it?” she asked with an unsure smile, as if afraid I would break down.

But I grinned at her. I nodded. Then, I forced myself to speak. “It’s perfect.”

Mom burst into tears and bent over to hug me.

We went shopping after that. I redecorated my once children’s room into crisp blues and whites, but with no cartoon characters anything. I was an adult now.

“I’m thirteen,” I announced when she offered me a ‘Frozen’ themed bedspread.

Mom beamed. All this talking was making her smile, I was finding out. She let me pick out everything. New clothes that were mature and severe looking. New posters of nature and wildlife. No cartoons. I even asked her for a guitar, because I knew that one of my teachers had said music would help me. And I wanted to ‘get better’, whatever that meant. I was an adult now. I had to take care of mom. Dad was fully gone now. All that had been left of his pieces and collectibles had been sold during the move, I was told. We needed the money, I was told.

But what I thought was that we didn’t need any more burglaries. We now had nothing they could want. Even our TV was small and cheap. But most importantly, anything Dad had owned was gone. There was nothing left for ‘them’ to come back for.

We never spoke of the second burglary. Of how ‘they’ had come back for the game. Mom never asked what I had been doing with the game in my room. I never asked her why the game had been hidden in a wall, or how ‘they’ had known to come back for it.

I just figured that whole chapter of life was over with. Father was gone, and with him were all his things. That was it.

I threw myself into my schoolwork, into talking, into performing as a person. I had to take care of mom. I had to be ‘good enough’ to fulfill Father’s place in the world. I saw myself collecting precious things like he had, all while destroying crime. I wanted to become a lawyer some days, a cop on other days, and when I was tired, a vigilante.

Over the last year, my marks had improved dramatically. So much so that I was moved from the special education section into the ‘normal kids’ section. I made no friends. But I studied so hard that I won a letter of congratulations from the principal and a spot on the honor roll. That year, at the end of the year, mom took me to visit some people at another school.

“Cross your fingers sweetie,” she’d said before we went in.

In there, all the other students were wearing uniforms. They looked serious. The adults were serious too, dressed primly. I was set in a room and given an exam. Like all my other exams, I set my unicorn on my desk to watch over my back, and I picked up the pen.

Once the exam was done, I sat in a room with a white woman who was blonder than mother and who had a strict bob. She smiled at me. “Your mother says you enjoy school,” she said tartly.

“I’m going to be a lawyer,” I said fiercely, daring her to contradict me.

She smiled sweetly. I hated her.

“You do know,” she said to me “that we do not accept special needs children.”

I glared at her.

“If we were to accept you, you would have to function as well as the other students, and will receive no extra help or special treatment.”

I glared at her angrily. Mom wanted me to come here. So the lady should give way. Mom must have what she wants. I would do it to keep my mom happy.

She looked pointedly down at my lap, where the stuffie sat in my hands. “You wouldn’t be able to bring your unicorn.”

My world shook. How could I? To enter the world alone- I stared at my only friend, my only solace in the whole wide world. I heard the woman saying something about rules and regulations as if through a tunnel.

Then, quietly, I pushed the unicorn off my lap.

It hit the floor with a soft thud. Mom gasped. The woman stared. I glared at her.

“Try me,” I said.

When we left that building, mom had stacks of papers to bring home and sign. She was carrying the unicorn now, not me. The world felt huge and overwhelming, the very air pounding and pressing in on me. But I would not need my unicorn any more. I was an adult, and I was going to a very expensive school.

“This is really going to help you get into law,” mom said as we sat around the kitchen table with the paperwork and lasagna.

I nodded, eating diligently.

“You will have to keep studying very hard, though,” she said between mouthfuls.

I nodded some more.

“But I hope you can find some time to make friends. You know, get to know people?” And she cocked a smile at me.

I smiled back and added that to my checklist of things to do: Make friends. I must make mom happy and proud. She’d been asking me to make friends for some time now. My therapist kept mentioning it. But friends just didn’t interest me. You couldn’t focus with them. You couldn’t just be.

So maybe that would have to wait a little. Maybe once I was a big lawyer and I brought all kinds of criminals to justice mom wouldn’t mind that I didn’t have friends.

I was so busy thinking of that, I almost didn’t hear what she said. It jolted my head up, eyes wide. She smiled tearily at me and repeated. “Your dad would be proud, sweetie.”

It was like a small ray of sunshine piercing through the sky upon me. I found myself smiling, but felt a sharp pain at the same time. Father was something of the past, something I refused to think about anymore.

“Here,” mom handed me a tissue. I wiped my cheeks and sniffled. “You’re going to do great, sweetie.”

I nodded, balling up the tissue and rising to put it into the garbage. When I came back, mom was truly happy. Well, if this school made her that happy, I was going to make sure I succeeded. I would be the best. I would have to do it all without my stuffie, but I would. I was an adult, I was going to be a lawyer, and I was going to take care of my mom.

The next day, I went to school as usual. Mom picked me up from school, and we drove home. When we walked in, the door swung out of my hand and shut with a slam. Mom turned, I turned, and ‘they’ were there.

There was a large man behind the door. Another in the kitchen. Another sitting behind our kitchen table. All had handguns.

Briefly, I wished for my own gun. I wanted to be big and powerful and to defend mom.

“Come, sit down,” said the big man from behind the table. He was not wearing a black ski mask. Instead, he was wearing a hat. With a gesture, he added “Put the kid in her room.”

I was seized by the arm and dragged to my room. In there, the door shut, I just stood there for a minute. My mind had crashed. I was staring into the void, not seeing anything.

I came to when I caught sight of my unicorn on my desk. Snatching it up, I clutched at it and ran to the door. Pressing my ear against it, I could hear what was happening in the kitchen.

“We don’t have anything!” mom was saying.

“Oh I believe you, but I think you cheated me. I think you sold it.”

“What?” Mom sounded desperate in a way I never wanted to hear again.

“Just give us the list of whomever you sold things to. I want your bank account statements from the last year. That’s all. We’ll leave you be after that.”

“You promise?” Mom’s voice was trembling. “Because we really don’t have anything. We really don’t!”

“Oh I know. Living off your husband’s insurance. How else would you get your precious daughter to that school? No, just give us the list. We’ll find it for ourselves.”

“What are you even talking about?” mom asked, voice trembling.

There was a smack. I saw red and black at the same time. Mom started sobbing.

“There we go,” the evil man said. “Thank you for that.”

There was a moment of sniffles and sobs. “Here,” mom was saying. “Here they are.”

The man murmured. There was the sound of phone snaps, the sound some phones make when they take pictures. Then there was a sound of a chair being scraped back. “This is your warning. If we don’t find it- watch your kid.”

“What?” mom shrieked. “But we don’t have anything! We don’t!”

Another thud. Mom started sobbing again. But she was screaming now. “Don’t you dare touch my daughter! Don’t you dare!”

Something smashed.

There was the sound of footsteps running away from my door. I yanked the door open just as I heard the gunshot.

I ran out into the hallway, screaming. Mom was laying on the floor, a puddle of blood already around her head. The man with the hat was on the floor as well, a broken chair over him. I crashed to the floor next to mom, screaming but not hearing myself. They picked the man up, limp as they lugged him to the door.

Lage’s Game ~ Chapter Two Part One

After the Lion King movie I retreat to my room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Like this, I am able to hear the reassuring tones of mother and the cousins talking around the kitchen island. I burrow under my blankets with my stuffie and stare at the walls. The light from my window played on the wall, the tree on the front lawn lending moving shapes to it.

I watch as the light slowly dims and dims some more. The shadows grow thicker and still the voices talk on. It’s a dangerous time now, the evening. That’s when it had happened, the evening.

I must have fallen asleep. When I wake, there are no more voices and everything is dark and still. My heart is pounding in my chest and I think that something is wrong. It didn’t even occur to me that it could not be happening again.

I hide in my bed, shaking. I hear no sounds. Was mother dead? I screw up my courage, and take my unicorn stuffie with me just to be sure.

I pad through the house. It is dark, but I know the way. I make my way across the kitchen, to the living room that is dimly lit by a single light. There, mother is sprawled on a couch, dead.

I freeze. No! Mother! But again, as with the man, I cannot move. It is only when mom snores that I realize that she is merely asleep. Oh.

Feeling a rush of relief, I look around. Nothing of our new setup is disturbed. The TV is still there. There has been no break-in this night.

I let out a sigh, dropping my stuffie to the end of my arm. Before mom, on the coffee table is a bottle of wine and one glass. But there is also the board game, spread around as if she’d been searching through it for something. I pad forward, wondering what she was searching for. The rule book? The reason behind the numbers on the cards?

I find myself beside the board game, just out of reach of my mother. She is somewhat alright. No wound on her that is fresh or bleeding. But even so, with the shadows her bruises look garish and her face distorted. I turn to focus on the board game, not wanting to think of mother’s bruises and how she got them.

The cards are spread across the board, fanned out carefully in three rows. There is the language cards, the people, and the items. At the top of it all sits the d20.

A thought strikes me. There was nothing left here of value except for this board game. Whoever came tonight, during the night, they would be coming for it. Maybe this game, maybe this was the real reason for the break-in. Maybe it was all about this game. After all, why was it hidden in a wall?

I scoop up the cards, piling them neatly back into their stacks. I place them back into the box with the dice. Then I fold up the board and place it all together in there snugly.

Determined, I take the board game back to my room with me and my stuffie. Burglars left children alone. They had left me alone, locked in my room. If they came back, they wouldn’t hurt me, that I knew. So I had to keep the board game with me, safe.

I tuck myself back into bed. I was hungry for supper, but it was too late and mother wasn’t about to wake up. I knew I could go into the fridge for a snack, but the sound of the door opening and its light might wake her. Besides, now that I was back in bed, the rest of the house was too large and vulnerable. I couldn’t leave the somewhat safety of my bed, not again. The burglars would be here soon.

I press the board game’s box against my chest, half tucked under my pillow. It would be safe with me.

For some time, I watch the shapes on the wall, the shadows of the tree from outside. I watch, and listen. Every breath shallow and too loud. I listen, and wait.

Then, a click of a door being unlocked.

I freeze. Did I hear what I thought I’d heard? Really? Were they back?

Another click, the door being softly shut. They were back.

My heart has stopped. Ice covers me. They’re here for the game, they’re here for it.

In a cold rush, I realized I’d made a mistake. They were never going to stop until they got what they wanted. They wanted the game, it was too precious to leave behind. They knew it was here.

I hear a muffled shriek. Mother. She’s whimpering.

“I don’t know where it is!” she cries out.

I had to think.

Whump. Thud. Mom is crying.

I sit up. Heart is pounding again, too loud. I had to give them the game. I had to save mother.

The box is in my lap. It’s the last thing from father.

Thud! The sound of mother hitting the floor.

The world turns black.

A muffled shriek bring me back to my senses. There are footsteps all over the house. Thuds all over of things being knocked over. The basement- they were in it. They would see the hole in the wall.

I step out of the bed, covered in ice. Determined, clutching the board game to me, I walk across my room. The floor is so cold against my feet. I push the door and it stops against something, someone.

“Stay in there, kid,” a man’s voice growls out.

I push on the door again. The door jerks open and a huge man is facing me. All in black, face covered in a ski mask. He laughs.

“The kids’ got it!” He reaches out. I clutch the game to my chest, taking a step back. “Give it here,” he says, chuckling. Another big man appears behind him.

Mother starts screaming.

I hand out the game. Just take it and go.

He takes it, his hands gloved in black too. He hands it to the other man, who nods. “Good kid,” the second man said while taking the game. Then they close the door to my room.

I come to with a light being flashed in my eyes. A blanket is on my shoulders. Police are everywhere. The lights are on, chasing away the dark. In the living room, I hear mother talking through sobs, her voice high-pitched. There are so many other voices, but I hear hers above them all.

The EMT is talking to me, patting my shoulders. I stare at him.

Then, blackness. They are shaking me gently when I come back to.

“We’re going to go to the hospital, okay?” the EMT is saying kindly. “We’re going to go.”

I turn to my bed. My unicorn. I couldn’t leave the house without it.

The Emt walks with me as I go to my bed and pick up my stuffie – and a card falls out from its grasp. It was probably lying on it, but in my head right then, it seems as if my unicorn had been holding the card, keeping it safe.

The card flutters down to my feet, but I recognize it. The only card with a black backing dotted with a diamond. The ridiculously overpowered card.

In the back of my head I think that the game is probably ruined without that card in it. I hope it is. No rule book, no trump card – I hoped it was now unplayable.

Leaving the card on the floor, I was turned away and taken to the hospital.

Welcome to Circlet School ~ Chapter Five, Part One

“She’s here!” squealed Amethyst, stating the obvious.

The car looked like someone had taken a hammer to it, and a sledgehammer to other parts of it. It rattled as it drove up the gravel driveway, and seemed to just give up the ghost as it turned off before us.

Us, that is, being most of the teachers, the security guard, and Sapphire. Sapphire stood at the front, arms crossed and a pleasant look on her face that might have been trademarked by some makeup company, it was so neutral. She was poised, collected, and looked professional.

So, obviously, Amethyst had to run forward, squealing and shaking her hands with shawls flying. “Hello!” she squealed as she ran around the car.

Whatever might have been happy in Sapphire’s face turned grim. Her chest rose and lowered in a sigh, but she kept her poise.

On the other side of the car, I heard a weird accent. I saw a large shape and bright colors. There was a brief hug wherein Amethyst’s shawl draped around the figure – and then they both stepped from around the car.

The woman was large, round about the middle. Very round. Her hair was dark and frizzed out at the sides with whatever would cooperate being pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing bright colors in strange shapes zig-zagged across her shirt on a black background. Her skirts swished and swished in a horrid shade that looked like a washed out grass stain. Or maybe vomit. She was wearing sandals.

“Ah! Hello! Bonjour!” she said, with a parisian accent as she walked over.

“Bonjour, comment allez vous?” said Sapphire in fluent french, greeting her and asking how she was. She offered a hand, which the madame clasped in both of hers.

“Ah! You have such strong hands!” declared the madame. She looked Sapphire up and down. “You try too hard. And you-” she waved expressively, bangles jangling around her wrists. “Need to get in tune with your inner goddess. Maybe you should masturbate a bit more.”

“I am so glad you came here for this banishing,” said Sapphire in sickly sweet tones as she tried to draw back her hand.

“Mmm,” the woman closed her eyes. “I sense a love affair. A -”

Sapphire yanked her hand free. “I thought you had been explained that we wanted a banishing from you-”

“Oh! Madam! I am intuitive!” she declared, hands butterflying about herself. “I do and say as the spirit calls!”

“Well, the staff have been very anxious about the state of our property, spiritually speaking,” said Sapphire sweetly. “They, especially,” and here she designated Amethyst with a hand “are very eager for you to do what needs to be done with this place.”

“Ah! But! I say and do what the spirit demands! And you!” she gestured up and down to Sapphire. “You are a woman who does not accept herself! You need to embrace your inner-”

“That is not what you are being paid for,” said Sapphire tartly.

The woman rolled her eyes wildly, shaking a hand to the sky. “But the spirits are speaking! And you need to accept yourself! Embrace your feminine side!”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. What about the land?” and Sapphire gestured to the building. “Do you want a tour?”

“Oh no, I will go where the spirit tells me to go!” She flicked out her hands, taking in a deep breath with her eyes closed. She then exhaled loudly. Inhaled loudly. Exhaled loudly. Then, like she was trying to waft incense closer, she waved a hand up to her face. “I’m sensing a disturbance. A tension, a sort of-”

Sapphire’s face could be described as → unimpressed. Strangely enough, that’s exactly how I felt as well.

“Some dramatic pain, maybe a death, a -”

Sapphire heaved a sigh.

“Lo-ots of pain, a history that is long and-”

“It’s an old building, yes,” said Sapphire icily.

The woman inhaled loudly again. “I am seeing a young woman, maybe lovers,”

I looked around. Amethyst was watching with rapturous attention. Crystal was starry-eyed. Aurora was perplexed.

“I sense-” another big inhale that could have sucked in a bee. Then her eyes popped open and she zeroed in on something past us. “That pond!”

“It’s a pond, yes,” said Sapphire softly.

The woman rushed forward, circling around us and making a beeline for the pond. Sapphire drew a sharp breath and followed, clearly irritated. We all followed, a little herd that was fascinated with these ongoings.

The woman drew to a standstill beside the pond. “Right here!” again, more hand waving and inhaling with eyes closed. “Someone was murdered!”

“How interesting,” said Sapphire dryly, but we barely heard it.

“Oh my!” declared Amethyst, waving her arms as she reached between Sapphire and the madame. “Could that be the bad vibes?”

“Quite sure it was the decades of children being tortured here that did it,” said Sapphire in a dark snap. Then, too late, you could see it in her face that she realized what she’d said.

The madame gawked. “What happened here?”

“I didn’t tell her!” stage whispered Amethyst with bulging eyes.

Sapphire smiled and shrugged, folding her arms behind her back. “A residential school is all.”

“What’s that?” asked the madame, suddenly losing her accent and waving demeanor.

“A native school,” said Amethyst.

“That’s not what a residential school was,” snapped Sapphire. “It was run by nuns, and the children were prisoners.” then, to the madame, she said “Look it up later. It’s not important now. Now we just need you to feel.”

That placated the woman somewhat. With a nod, she did the whole inhaling thing again. This time, she exhaled loudly through her mouth. Her eyes popped open. “Where did the ritual take place? The one you spoke to me about?” she said to Amethyst.

“Oh! This way!” and Amethyst began rushing away, the madame in tow. With their backs to her, Sapphire paused as if wondering if she really wanted to follow. Then, determined, she did.

Once we had reached the other side of the building where the firepit was, the madame gasped. “I feel so much aggression! Anger! Fire!”

“Well, we are by the fire pit,” said Sapphire tartly.

“Oh yes but, ahhh,” another inhale and hand waving. “This is-” a quick exhale then another inhale. “I sense a fiery spirit. Maybe a dragon.”

“One of the statues that burned was a dragon statue!” squeaked Amethyst.

“Mmmm,” said the madame most wisely. Now she swam her hands around above the fire pit, closing her eyes as if it took all her focus. Another inhale.

Mentally, I made a note that if any of my students wanted to breathe like that, they were getting detention. No matter their excuses or ‘feelings’.

As if reading my mind, the madame said “I feel,” another giant inhale. She wafted air up to herself – then sneezed. “Oh, you can still smell the plastic,” she said, grossed out and now waving the air in the other direction.

I wanted to smack my forehead with a palm. This was just too much.

“How about that banishing ritual?” Sapphire asks pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest. “We,” she checked her phone “don’t have that much time.”

“Oh, my dear, you can’t rush the spirit,” the woman gushed, still waving her arms as if swishing them in water.

“I’m only paying you for an hour,” said Sapphire tartly.

“It does not matter, I don’t do it for the money,” said the madame, closing her eyes again.

Sapphire looked quite angry at this, and I sympathized. How else would she get this person to leave?

“But, I can sense your impatience,” the madame said. Lowering her arms, she drew herself up and sniffed one final time. “We shall begin the ritual.”

Oh good goddess! I breathed a sigh of relief. But then I paused, realizing that it was this woman who was leading a ritual… did I really want to see that?

Yes, yes I did, said that part of me who loved binge-watching dramas. I really did.

We trailed along after the madame as she marched past to her car. “I didn’t know what would be required, so I brought whatever the spirit moved me for,” she declared as she approached her beat-up car.

Then, like an old school peddler from some poor village, she began drawing out stuff. And stuff. And stuff.

There was > a shaman’s drum, three different bundles of white sage, a wand covered in polymer clay decorations and crystals and feathers, a hooded cloak, a handful of candles, chakra stones, rune stones, and sticks.

And that was trip one.

Then there was a cauldron full of crystals, statues of the goddess and god, more candles (this time chakra colored), cone incense, a jug of water, pink salt in a salt shaker, and a silver circlet which she quickly popped onto her own head, as if afraid someone would steal it away.

Back around the fire pit, I simply stared as she began sorting through her miniature mountain of stuff. Then she turned around and faced us. “Alright!” she called out. “I’m going to need twelve volunteers! We need to be thirteen!”

Oh, good goddess. Now I was torn. I wanted in, but I also wanted to not be involved. I wanted the knowledge, but not to be stained by this ink. Crap.

Sapphire, for her part, was obviously not curious. She had backed away a good three steps from the madame. Amethyst was waving a hand ecstatically. By my side, Crystal was humming and nodding, slowly stretching an arm up.

I decided to hold back. You know what? I could be curious but I didn’t want to be injured. I could watch from outside and get a view, and that should be enough for me. That should be enough for me.

Except, dummy me, I hadn’t realized that we were already thirteen, including Sapphire. So if Sapphire backed out, everyone else had to go in.

“Come, come!” called out the madame. “We need to be thirteen!”

And I, the only one who had stood back (besides Sapphire, who was now almost a dozen feet away somehow) grudgingly walked over to the circle.

Lage’s Game ~ Chapter One; Part Two

We find ourselves sitting in the living room. It feels empty, hollow, despite my cousins having arrived. They’re in their teens, big almost-men that are on the football team. Their hair is braided back in braids like mine. They looked up to father. Were often borrowing his books and listening to him tell them what university was like. Now they sat there with forced smiles and eyed me nervously.

From at the end of a tunnel, I hear mother come in with drinks. As usual, she chides not to get it on the board, her words strained. The board?

I look at the coffee table between us all. On it sits the thin board game box, green and luscious looking. The lettering was golden and glittering, the letters triangular shaped and strange.

“This a new game?” asked Fred, the beefier of the two, but also the kindest. He’s wearing a button-up shirt and looks ready to go to church. I dimly wondered if this counts towards community hours for them.

Mom sits down on the couch beside me. Fred and Ali are on the two chairs across from us. So often, Father would sit here and counsel them…

I hug my softie to my chest, bowing my head. I felt empty, torn, and hollow. Mother is saying something about how this is an old game, just something we “dug up in the basement,” she said with a grin towards me.

I look up from my softie with a smile. Or at least I thought it was a smile. It makes mother cringe. She passes a hand over my hair and sighs.

“So! Let’s play!” says Fred, looking at me with supposed excitement and happiness in his eyes. It hurts me. How can he be happy? How dare he?

I looked down to stop my quivering lip. I watch dimly as the lid of the box is shimmied up carefully, revealing its interior.

“Ohhh,” coos Fred, Ali leaning forward. Mother leans forward too, a frown on her face.

There was several stacks of cards, a folded up board, and one dice. A d20.

“There’s cards,” says Fred, looking at me. “You like cards, don’t you?”

I nod, pressing my lips together as Fred takes out each of the card stacks and places them carefully on the coffee table. Next comes the board, still folded and gray in its backing. Then the dice. Then – “Where’s the instruction booklet?” Fred asks, and mother frowns. She leans forward, peering at the stacks of cards and the board.

“Maybe?” she unfolds the board, shaking it in case the instructions are trapped in there.

“No, not there,” and she sets the board down, turning to the cards. My eyes widen as I take in the sight of the board. It is an old folk-style image of a forest, viking-styled weaving of knots all around the edges. There is images of a castle, of a village, and – no path?

Fred and Ali are each sifting through a stack of cards along with mom, who is talking. “It came with a stack of VHS,” she was saying. “At worst if we can’t find the instructions, we can watch those, can’t we?”

I nod, squeezing my stuffie to my chest. But I wished for us to have the instructions. The board looked beautiful, intriguing. And the cards – I leaned over and watched as mother flicked through them. They were brightly colored and featured pictures that filled the card. They were styled like ancient carvings, some featuring items, others featuring persons.

“Oops!” Ali said as a card jumped out from his shuffling. It fluttered across the coffee table and landed face down before me. The backing was black, with a diamond image in the center. Leaning forward from the couch, I flipped the card over.

The image was that of a carving in wood, sort of like a totem pole but in an entirely nordic (or was it celtic?) style of carving. Beneath it, there was written “Lage, Type: Player’s Companion Stats: 900/100”

900/100? That seems stupidly high, I thought. Deciding that this was a stupid game, I handed the card wordlessly back to Ali.

“Thanks,” he said as he took it. I didn’t answer, squeezing my stuffie to my chest. My eyes dropped back down to the board. It was so pretty. Why would it have an overblown statistic like that? Maybe I just didn’t understand. Maybe … I leaned over the coffee table, peering at the board, my chin resting on my unicorn.

This must be a rare collector’s piece, I thought to myself. That’s why father would have stored it away so preciously. Probably so that I wouldn’t touch it, or so someone wouldn’t steal it.

Still, I thought, bricking it away seemed a little excessive.

I tried to focus on the mystery of the bricking and not think of Father. But tears began to stream down my face.

“Hey,” mom handed me a tissue, voice soft. “Hey, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t! But the last thing mom needed was a temper tantrum. So I took the tissue and wiped my face quietly.

As I balled up the tissues in my fist, mom set her pack of cards down. “Well,” she said. “There’s no rules. How about them, huh?” She looked playfully at me, so sad and desperate at the same time. “Want some retro anime?”

“Sure!” Fred rose as he set the cards down. “Need help setting it up?”

“Yeah sure,” mom said, rising to her feet. “I haven’t used the vhs player in ages.”

While they began fussing over the cords of the TV and Ali was instructed to bring in the box in the kitchen, I looked at the stacks of cards.

Carefully, I flipped over the top card from Ali’s stack. It pictured a scythe. The next was a book. The next a shoe. So these were items.

I moved on to mother’s stack of cards. The top card featured an image of heiroglyphs. The next, arabic script. Languages? Hm.

Then Fred’s stack. People, all of them. A pharoah’s sculpture, a celtic rock carving named Morrigan – probably inspired by the goddess.

I flip more cards over. I was wondering if there were any from Africa. There usually wasn’t in board games, especially not old ones. But maybe in this one, it would be different.

The card stack toppled over, but I’d have sworn I hadn’t knocked it. The cards slide out across the board, fanning out so their backs are revealed. There are red ones, blue ones, and I spot a black one. It alone has a diamond on its back.

I pluck it out, and the picture of Lage is there. And that ridiculously high number. Setting the cards back in a stack, I begin comparing their numbers. These seemed all to be under a hundred for their first number, such as 80/100 or 60/100. Which would make sense, if it was a percentile. But 900/100? I frowned at Lage’s card again.

Placing a hand on the board to steady myself, I held up Lage’s card to the light. Sometimes cards had finicky light tricks going on – but this one was probably too old for that.

I lowered the card- then froze. Out of the corner of my eye, there was a new shape stepping out of the kitchen. But mother and my cousins were both to my left, fussing over the TV.

Frozen in horror, I tried to lower the card but couldn’t. I was stuck, body turned to ice. The shape stepped closer. I wanted to scream, to alert mom and the cousins, but couldn’t. It was all going to happen again, I thought. This time, it would be my cousins killed.

Leather brown boots stepped near me. A tall shape, green, loomed over me. Then it crouched down at my side. A brown hunting gloved hand rested on my knee. A face framed with a green hood peered at me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the card. They were just a blurr.

“Greetings,” a man’s voice said, gentle and musical.

I screamed. The card fell from my fingers. I spun, jumping up and away from the man.

“What is it?” mother yelped. My cousins rushed over, crouching next to me. I stared around, at the empty space where the man had just been.

I- I saw- I stared around wildly.

“There’s nothing, what is it?” Mother asked again, crouching next to me. To my cousins she said “Maybe go check the doors and windows please? She gets anxious about them.”

“Of course,” Fred said, and with a nod at Ali, they left to check the house.

But he was here. In here. Again. An attacker. Would he kill the cousins? What was he here for? Father’s collectibles had all been stolen that day –

Except this one. My eyes dropped to the game. He must have come for the game! The last piece of father, the last thing he owned here.

Mother was rubbing my shoulders. “It’s okay sweetie, there’s no one,” she was saying. “There’s nothing, it’s okay.”

But she was wrong. Someone was here. Right here.

“Here,” mom hands my unicorn to me. I wrap my arms around it and press it to my chest. Stepping over the card on the floor, I walk slowly to the kitchen. Every step brings me closer to the thief, where they must be.

I scream again when Fred steps out of the kitchen and almost into me.

“Hey!” he bends over with a big grin on. “There’s no one. Nothing at all.” Then, catching a look from mom, he crouches down. Everyone looks less threatening when they crouch down below your eye height.

Ali arrives behind him, beaming as well. “Nothing!” he says.

So he left. Ran out the door. A nonviolent burglar. Not one hell bent on violence. Chased away by the fright of two black men. I look down at the floor.

Mother takes my shoulders and turns me back to the living room. “How about the Lion King?” she asks. “You like that movie!”

I did. Before.

But I sit on the couch because mother doesn’t need a tantrum. I will watch the movie because she needs me to be quiet.

“Oh, a card dropped,” Fred says too cheerfully, picking up the card I’d been looking at when the man came to me. He sets it on one of the piles of cards, the wrong pile.

I pick it up. Lage, a character card. It belongs with the other character cards. Mustn’t get them mixed up. Father always said it was good to keep games all orderly and organized.

“That way it’s easier to pick them up again,” he’d say with a smile as we sorted cards into piles.

Mechanically, I sift through the other cards. A pharoah’s statue, a celtic sculpture. I stick the Lage card, overblown with its numbers, straight into the middle and set the other cards atop it. There. Organized.

Then, I sit back and watch the beginning of the Lion King.

Welcome to Circlet School ~ Chapter Three Part Two

The fire licked up the oil, and I jumped back. Amethyst screamed, and suddenly the chair was a fire pit, flames jumping a foot in height.

“Move!” Sapphire was at my side, drawing us back from the fire. “Get back! There’s water in there!”

“My- my – my,” Amethyst tried to reach at the fire, but Sapphire was herding her away. I took the cue and backed away, ushering everyone else to back away. I didn’t quite get what Sapphire meant by the water thing, until I heard the ‘pow!’ of the mason jar of sacred water breaking.

With a giant hiss, the flames burst three feet higher and out to the sides at the contact with the water. It was an inferno.

The chair collapsed sideways, tipping everything onto the grass in a haphazard pile. Having learned our lesson this time, we all backed away even more. But the theatrics were done with. The chair smoldered, the horrid smell of burning plastic filling the air. Amethyst sobbed, hands pressed over her nose and mouth, eyes spilling over with tears as she watched her shrine material burn.

Ouch. Yeah. Nevermind the emotional attachment, there was hundreds of dollars worth of material that had just gone up in flames. During her own ritual. Ouch, ouch.

Trying not to think of all the emotional disaster, I turned to Amethyst. She was sagging against Sapphire, who looked like she didn’t know what to do, but was still holding up Amethyst.

I whisked over to Amethyst’s side. “Dismiss the fire and air,” I said gently. “That’s going to help. Maybe some things can still be salvaged.”

Like a snowman in hell, but hey, it did the trick. Amethyst drew herself back up and, in a tremulous voice, she said “I dismiss you, element of fire! In perfect love and,” here she sobbed “perfect trust.” And then she seemed to pull herself together a little more, repeating the phrase for the element of air. She detached herself from Sapphire and, pointing out her finger, drew back in the circle. Then, stunned, we all stood and watched the smoldering fires.

“A fire extinguisher,” said the security guard, nodding his head. “That’s what we should have on hand.”

“Definitely,” said Sapphire coolly, in a tone that said ‘thanks, Watson’.

Amethyst peered into the rubble. There was no salvaging those poor statues. They had been plastic, and were now twisted lumps of charred yuck. The white sage was still burning with a tiny flame, the shell beneath it cracked. The pyramid was still alive, at least. So was the polymer clay decorations that had been on the wand, which was completely gone.

“Well,” Crystal put an arm around Amethyst’s shoulders. “At least they weren’t summoned into the statues yet.”

Amethyst nodded, eyes tearing again.

“Wow,” muttered Aurora. “I’ve never heard of this sort of thing happening.”

Sapphire was having none of it. “Oil catching fire? Happens in every kitchen. Now-”

“This is a sign!” wailed Amethyst, drawing herself up to glare at Sapphire. “My statues have been burned!”

“Oil catches fire,” said Sapphire tartly.

Well, that drew scowls from even me. Calling this an accident was, well, a bit like saying someone accidentally slapped you in the face. Sure, it can happen, but…

“Alright, look,” Sapphire held up a hand. “It’s late, and we’re all upset. Let’s go to sleep. Meditate on this, collect your thoughts, and we will see what needs to be done tomorrow, alright? How about that?”

Grim nods were held all around. Slowly, we all began to trickle away. I hung back with several others to walk with Amethyst, murmuring comforting words to her. Crystal did the best of it though, an arm around Amethyst and telling her not to worry. “We’ll sort this out,” she said, as if murder had just been committed.

Welcome to Circlet School ~ Chapter Two Part One

Put up wards, she said. It will be fine, she said. Well, fuck no!

I’d set up my shrine, as any good pagan will do. I then prayed to the Goddess and God and asked them to protect my room from oogie boogie activity. Then, even though I was exhausted, I sprinkled salt all around my room. So far, it seemed good. Sure, the window looked cold and menacing, but a curtain would surely fix that.

I went to bed damned and determined to be positive about this venture. Sure, the place was haunted. But we were Wiccans! That shouldn’t be a problem. Witches unite! What good were we if we constantly fled from supernatural activity?

This, I decided, was going to be a great venture. I put my head on the pillow, closed my eyes, and told myself that yes, all was going to be good.

And then the nightmares struck.

I was in a dark corridor in a school. Monsters crawled over the walls, hanging with caterpillar like bodies and moth like faces with wings for mouths. Wow, I thought, the children have grown.

I pushed a door, and entered a classroom. There, the seats were filled with monsters. Saliva drooling, axe-bearing, monsters. They watched me with fly-like eyes, their large bodies bulging from the seats.

Wow, I thought. Still not combing their hair, I see. What brats!

‘Brats’ stuck in my mind as I jolted awake.

Sitting up in bed, I looked around. What the hot fuckery was that? What the-?

My tiny room looked back at me. Suddenly, I was envious of the principal for having a service dog. Something alive to keep her company when she woke up.

I rolled out of bed and stood, stretching. What time was it? Was it too early? What had woken me up, aside from the nightmare?

Checking my cellphone, I found it to be six am. Fabulous. Just a tad bit early, but not too bad, really.

Trying not to sulk about the sleep I lost, I kneeled before my shrine for a moment of prayer. I closed my eyes and relaxed, focusing my thoughts on the God and Goddess, asking them for insight about the dream. A state of peace came over me and I felt revelations flowing to me, like a gateway was opening. I remembered the principal speaking about the residential school and-

It was brutally interrupted by a viking voice roaring “RAGNAROOOOOOK”.

Metal guitars chimed in and music began wailing from the room next to mine, then was silenced mid-riff.

“Sorry!” our residential viking’s voice called out. “Forgot to turn off my alarm!”

I wanted to slam my head against the wall. Alright, I was cranky now. Very cranky. I hated getting interrupted mid-prayer, mid-ritual, mid-sacred stuff.

Okay, okay. I tried to refocus. Ground, channel my thoughts, and focus on the God and Goddess. But my mojo was broken. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ragnarooooook. Ugh.

Giving up, I shed my sleep gear (not a onesie, normal respectable pajamas) and dressed in the first thing that touched my hand. Jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Then, in my socks, I walked out to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

In the hallway, I crossed paths with the principal walking away from the bathroom. She was in a long-sleeved shirt and pressed pants, and shoes. “Good morning,” we chimed in at each other, her in a steely voice and me drowsy. Then, over her shoulder, she called at me. “Shoes!”

Oh, goodness. I pinched the brow of my nose and fairly ran into the bathroom.

In the eating hall, half an hour later, I was sitting across a table from the ‘viking dude’.

“I’m so sorry about the alarm,” he said for the umpteenth time.

I chewed on that, deciding about hexing him or not. I’m joking. Of course I shouldn’t be hexing. Plus it was against the rules of this damned place.

“No problem,” I muttered before taking another bite of cereal.

“I’m really, so sorry,” he said.

“That alarm has got to go,” said Crystal as she dropped her tray down next to him. “Hi Thunder,” she said to me.

I grunted around my cereals.

The viking began apologizing again. Crystal nodded, propping her feet up on the bench beside me. Bare feet.

“You need shoes,” I said, gulping down my mouthful.

Crystal winked at me. “She won’t notice if I keep my feet up like this.”

That might have worked if the staff weren’t all congregating around the same table, being ours. Aurora arrived, the cook left the kitchen to come sit, and I found myself sitting in the middle of everyone with what looked like an empty spot beside me.

Once more, people introduced themselves. I began trying to keep track of names. Amethyst was the shawled woman – still wearing so much black and silver. Bjorn was the viking. Cheryl was the chef.

“Shoes,” announced the principal, seemingly appearing out of nowhere with her tray.

Crystal lowered her feet guiltily. The principal plopped her tray next to me, her corgi shuffling to lay down beneath her. The principal sat, straight-backed and cold of aura. Her hair was impeccable, there was a hint of eyeliner, and her lips were a sraight line.

I tried not to stare. She looked tired, but strict as ever. Butterflies did their thing in my stomach. I focused on my cereal, hoping not to spill them on myself.

Chatter resumed, somewhat quieter. Hahaha. As if.

“I had such bad dreams last night!” announced Amethyst tearfully for the whole world and the other ones beyond to hear. It would have been an excellent summoning.

The principal looked completely nonplussed as she buttered her toast.

“Those poor children! I couldn’t help but think of them all night-”

The principal opened a sachet of sugar and dumped it into her coffee.

One by one, voices chimed in. Most hadn’t slept well. All felt terrible for the ‘poor children’. The principal focused on her food, nodding as she listened.

“I dreamed I was teaching a class full of monsters,” I piped in.

“Hopefully not a prediction,” said the principal dryly, knocking twice on the wooden table.

“How can you say that?” wailed Amethyst. “Children have died and suffered here!”

I’m a teacher, I thought groggily. That’s why.

But I had to admit. Compared to everyone else’s overflowing sympathy, my dream was terribly badly placed.

“Ritual has been done,” said the principal crisply. “But if you feel more needs to be done, you are welcome to do so.” She nodded at the chef. “I’m sure there is enough salt in the kitchen for everyone to use-”

“Oh but we must use himalayan salt!” squeaked Amethyst. “And, you know, it’s supposed to sit on the altar for a moon’s cycle for it to be blessed!”

The principal’s face remained stoically neutral. “If you feel the need-”

“We should do a ritual!” Amethyst fanned her hands (and arms, and shawls) around herself as if to draw in everyone’s aura to her. “We must!”

Bjorn didn’t seem completely thrilled. We exchanged a look, but shrugged. Crystal was alert and nodding quickly. Farther down, the chef was captivated and Aurora seemed interested.

“The souls of these children need to be released!” wailed Amethyst.

The principal’s eyebrows rose, but she bit into her toast.

“Let me see, we will have to do a banishing of all negativity,” Amethyst said, looking up at the ceiling as if answers were written there. “We will have to invoke Demeter-”

“Evoke, I hope you mean,” said the principal starchly.

“Sorry?” said Amethyst, totally not sorry.

“You’re not allowed to bring a deity into yourself,” said the principal while stirring her coffee. “But you may summon, so that means evoking, not invoking.”

“Oh, yes,” said Amethyst feebly. But then she waved her arms and re-invigorated herself. “A banishing! What moon phase are we in?”

There was a rustle of phones being drawn out.

“Waxing,” someone announced.

Amethyst sighed loudly. “That will not do! We will have to wait for the waning!”

“Or you could just do it tonight,” said the principal. “The students will be arriving in three days, you don’t have much time to do this.”

“On a waxing moon?” Amethyst was gaping as if, well, as if someone had contradicted her.

“Some would say it doesn’t matter,” said the principal flatly.

“I agree,” chirped in the chef, Cheryl.

“If we raise enough energy, it should be fine,” said Crystal happily.

Amethyst was still gaping. “but the moon-”

“Or wait,” said the principal, standing. “but you all have three days before the students get here. I suggest you get your classes in order, as well as familiarize yourself with their names and faces. It’s all in the emails.”

The principal walked away, and something inside me sighed wistfully. But then she was out of the hall, and it was silent.

Amethyst was flustered. “I can’t believe she isn’t staying to help!”

“She probably still has plenty to do,” I mumbled. Like the rest of us, actually. This wasn’t going to be a cakewalk.

“But we have spirits here!” Amethyst’s eyes grew wide. “These poor children-”

“Well,” Bjorn leaned back in his chair, massive frame stretching his shirt out as he straightened. “Didn’t she say she’d already had the place cleansed? It can probably wait.”

I nodded at that.

But Amethyst did certainly not nod. “I feel like this is pressing. These children, all this pain- it is going to transfer into our school year if we are not careful!”

Crystal nodded empathetically. I sensed drama. Then came the kicker.

“I’ll write out the ritual,” said Amethyst with a haughty sniff. “I’m a high priestess, I can do that.”

I almost smacked my face with a palm. Oh, good gods. As if it took a special Goddess-given stamp to be able to write rituals. But okay, sure.

“In my coven,” began Amethyst, and my eyes wanted to glaze over.

But, as it turned out, most of us didn’t have covens. So everyone listened with rapt attention, thoroughly impressed or at least interested. I have to say, I was curious. I didn’t attend other rituals aside from those of my coven that often, and sometimes I found their going-ons to be thoroughly dramatic and binge-worthy.

Amethyst went on and on about how, in her coven this and in her coven that. “There must always be the high priest and the high priestess,” she went on so passionately. “Otherwise the whole ritual will be imbalanced and the whole energy will be just so off and-”

Okay, my eyes did glaze over for a few minutes there. Did she think we didn’t know any of this?

A foot nudged me under the table, drawing me out of my thoughts. The whole table was staring at me.

“Will you?” asked Amethyst.

I blinked, looking around. “What?”

Amethyst was leaning earnestly over the table, eyes glued to me. “Will you be the priest for the ritual?”

I looked to Bjorn, offering him with a palm. Look! Wayyyy more manly manly over there-> but he was shaking his head and leaning back with his beefy arms crossed over his chest. “I ain’t Wiccan,” he said cheekily. Then, for added victory (or to deal a death-blow to me maybe) he said “I’ve never led ritual.”

“He’s not even a first grade,” said Amethyst passionately. “You’re third grade, right? You can help me lead!”

Help her? Oh, good gods no. I looked down the table. Ah. Hah hah. Bjorn and I were the two only males here. “No one else male-identifying?” I asked hopefully, fishing out there for some trans or non-binary person to step forward and take the spot from me.

No such luck.

“We need a priest in order to bring balance to this out of balance place, so full of male toxicity-”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said, feeling it was my duty. Of course, I regretted it the instant I said it.

“Oh good!” Amethyst said dramatically. “We’ll have to wait for the full moon, of course, if not the waning, but I’ll write it out and get the material- and we will need to be thirteen, so she will have to be there-”

“What’s her name? By the way?” I asked suddenly.

All heads turned. “I forgot,” I said, feeling stupid. I knew her last name was on the contract somewhere, but I wanted to know her magical name.

Amethyst smiled forgivingly at me. “Sapphire. Her name is Sapphire.”

Oh, okay. Sapphire.

Welcome to Circlet School – Prologue

She walked into the room like a breath of fresh air, if air was terribly sexy and choked you up.

She was- wow. Silver hair hung down in curls across her shoulders. She was wearing a black suit that looked somehow classy while bearing some ruffles on it. She had on a pencil skirt and – to baffle it all, knee high black boots. Her face was oval and pointed, her eyes a steely gray. She was taller than me by far, though I wasn’t hard to beat.

I rose from the waiting chair and we shook hands. “Hi,” she said in a sweet but stern voice. “Come this way, please.”

I followed her, eyes glazing over. I watched her silhouette, wondering how I’d manage to even stand in her presence. Something about her just – hit me in my core. I followed her like a lost puppy, down the stale hallway and into an office.

Let me give you a visual. She was like ‘wow!’ and I was like … puppy? I hadn’t been sure how to dress for this interview due to its strange nature, so I’d chosen a plain black t-shirt and jeans let my blond hair do its thing in various spikes. I let my pentacle hanging out on top of my shirt, for the first time in an interview ever.

“So,” she took her place on the ‘boss’ side of the desk and sat. “Your name is Thunder?”

“Yes,” I relaxed slightly. It was always nice to meet other pagans. Around them, you felt like you could just be yourself. Even if it was just in tiny ways, like using your magical name.

“Well Thunder,”she drew up her tablet and propped it up on her desk. “Let’s see, you’re a third degree in the Gardnerian tradition in Willowsvale, right?”

I nod, palms sweating.

“Any reason you haven’t started your own coven yet?”

I nod again, but then remember I’m supposed to say something. “I uh, not very good with the whole people part of it. I mean- I get along well with people but with organizing? Not so much.”

“I see,” and she nods. She stares intently at her tablet and I feel like running. Not because it’s bad that she was intimidating, I kind of liked that about her. She felt really, really, in charge. It’s that I felt so worthless before her.

Maybe if I was one of those super buff manly witches who could lift a woman in each arm and then squat with them both…

“And- you’ve got a degree in herbal medecine as well? And reiki third degree?”

I nod. Yup yup.

“And you have teaching experience,” she adds.

“Five years,” I say proudly. In a high school no less!

Under the desk, I cross my fingers. If I got this job, the horned man was getting a nice cup of wine tonight. Heck, he could have the whole bottle!

“Now,” she looks me full on in the face. “What is your approach to teaching?”

“I’m flexible,” I said, hoping that was the right answer. “I understand this school to be very learner focused and that’s an approach that I’m very passionate about,”

I drone on and on, trying to convince her that, yeah, she should hire me. In the back of my mind, I visualize my spell unfolding right now, rooting my good qualities in her mind and bringing me this job.

Once I was done my schpiel, she nods. Then she looks back to her tablet. “Now, given the specific nature of this school, how do you expect to interact with the parents?”

I clasp my hands and say a quick prayer to the horned one. Aid me! “I am hoping to really connect with them on a grounded level. On a one on one level, but to still maintain a level of professionalism -”

Again, I go on. She nods, and I feel like I’m either sinking or synching it. Either way, I say my reel. Then she nods some more.

“And your approaches to gender theory?”

I balk. That was not on the ‘top 25 teacher questions’ on the web. Uh. Well. I clasp and unclasp my hands. “I,” I try and think fast. Fast but honest. “I think it’s important for students to feel safe. I think, that in this case, we will have students who will be exploring their gender within various frameworks. I do not know all the cultural frames that they will have, but I am always open to listening and willing to research more so I can help them understand themselves better.”

A spark goes off in those steely grey eyes. Ah, hah. I did it.

Moments later, the contract comes out. Absolute secrecy is a special clause. Professional silence and discretion all the way is harped on one final way. No hexing is another one, as well as a clause on no nudity or barefoot-ness in the school. No sex rites.

“Beards cannot be longer than a foot,” she said firmly. Then, with a smile, she adds “No matter who you were in your past life.”

I grin and sign my name. She takes back the contract. We both rise, and she shakes my hand. Her grip is firm, and her eyes spark with excitement.

“Welcome to Circlet school,” she says proudly.

Damn straight. I got hired! And not just anywhere either. I got into the first ever Wiccan private high school in Canada. First year, first try.

As I walked out of that office, I said a prayer of thanks to the Horned One. This coming school year was going to be so… exciting? Whatever came, I was sure it was going to be great.