How I Found You (11 page)

I highlighted ‘Italian’ and clicked on ‘Translate.’

It took a few seconds, but the results were inconclusive. Annoyingly, the text box was wiped clear.

Okay, so it was not Italian. I retyped the words into the space provided.

Think logically
. I stared at the lettering. It seemed sort of symbolic. Maybe from one of those old world places. I drummed my fingers on the desk.
Ancient Greece?

I highlighted ‘Greek’ and waited for the results. Again the text box came back empty.

This was ridiculous. Why hadn’t I learned more languages when I had the chance? I tried to remember the language classes available at school: Spanish, French, German, Latin…

“Latin,” I murmured as I retyped the words into the box.

I scrolled through the language options and selected ‘Latin’ then clicked ‘Translate’.

And this time, the text returned to me. Translated.

Oh… my… God.

I felt the colour drain from my face.

Breathe
, I reminded myself. I knew things were bad if I had to remind myself to breathe. And yet I still wasn’t doing it.

I let out a puff of air.

Moving on autopilot, I shut down the laptop. Before leaving, I crumpled the notebook paper into a ball and stuffed it into my pocket. And then I ran. I ran all the way along the corridor and up both flights of stairs.

At the top of the attic staircase, I burst through the door to my bedroom.

What the…?

Oscar was standing at the window. The contents of my jewellery box were scattered across my dressing table. One guess what he was holding in his hand.

The brass coin.

He spun around to face me.

Okay. I had two options. One, confront him with what I knew, all guns blazing. Or two, play it his way.

“What are you doing?” I asked calmly—as if I didn’t know.

It took several seconds before he replied.

“I’m looking for something,” he said.

Several seconds and
that
was the best he could come up with?

“What are you looking for?” I pushed.

“Safety pins,” he improvised.

“Oh. Why?” This was good. Very quick-fire.

“Because I have things to be… pinned.”

“What?”

“Socks.”

“Socks?” I echoed. “You want to safety pin your socks?”

“Yes.” He didn’t blink.

“Right.” I folded my arms. “And you thought you’d find safety pins in my jewellery box?”

“Yes.”

Now, if I hadn’t been so aware of what was in his left hand, I probably would have missed this. The speed of it was quite astounding, really. Here’s what happened: with remarkable slight of hand, Oscar slipped the coin under his belt whilst making it appear as though he was just resting his thumb in the belt loop.

“So, you weren’t looking for the coin?” I asked simply.

Unsurprisingly, he played dumb. “Huh?”

I laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny it.”

“Deny what?” He smiled mockingly. “That bump on the head must have—”

I abruptly cut him off. “I know about the coin.”

“What coin?”

“The one you just tucked under your belt.”

A glimmer of anxiety flashed across his handsome face, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. He unbuckled his black leather belt and pulled it from his jeans. It slid through the coarse material seamlessly. Gripping it in his fist, he held it out proudly and it swung from his hand like a restrained snake. Nothing had dropped onto the floor. The coin was nowhere in sight.

“See?” he said. “No coin.” He strode up to me and grazed his fingers over the bump on my head. “Get some rest. You need it.”

I let him pass me. But before he could leave the room, I took the crumpled notebook paper from my pocket.

“Bellator Tenebris,” I read aloud. “Mortifer Veneficus.”

Oscar froze.

I carried on, “Bellator Tenebris. The Dark Warrior.”

His hands balled into fists.

I kept going, “Mortifer Veneficus.” My throat went dry. “The Deadly Witch.”

Deadly Witch.

The Fiery Truth

OSCAR STOOD MOTIONLESS IN THE
attic doorway. He kept his back to me.

I read from the notebook paper again. “Mortifer Veneficus. The Deadly Witch.”

He whirled around and snatched the paper out of my hand.

“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked, attempting to sound detached.

“I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve heard it.” I found myself standing uncomfortably close to him. His rasps of breath brushed against my cheek.

“Oh? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Well, it was written on your coin.”

Backed into a corner, Oscar changed tactics. “Oh, that little thing. I don’t even know what that is. It’s one of those novelty gimmicks. I don’t know why I still keep it. Funny how people get attached to inanimate objects.”

“Very funny,” I replied. “At least you know what I’m talking about now. Your memory must be coming back.”

“Must be,” he agreed, matching my dry sarcasm.

“I know you took it from my jewellery box.” I wasn’t playing anymore.

Neither was he.

He promptly dug into his pocket and produced the coin, then shoved it into my hand.

“You see?” he said. “Just a useless piece of brass.”

I stepped away from him and walked to the window. I noticed that his eyes were transfixed on me, intently watching my every move.

“Is it important to you?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“So, can I have it?” I ventured.

“Sure.” His eyes were locked to my hand.

Yeah, right; I could ‘have’ it until he stole it back later that day.

“If it’s so trivial to you, then let me…” I glanced to the candle on my dressing table, “melt it.”

Oscar clenched his jaw. “What would be the point of that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Nope. Go ahead,” he spoke in a taut voice. His focus didn’t move from the coin.

Okay, Oscar, time to call your bluff.

Mary kept a mini box of matches in the top drawer of my dressing table, just in case I ever wanted to light that old toffee candle. But of course, with my fire phobia, that would have been about as likely as pigs flying. Come to think of it, I’d never even struck a match before. Talk about facing your fears.

I set the coin down on top of the candle, nestling it beside the wick.

Oscar shifted his weight from left to right. He looked as though he were about to implode.

As I opened the box of matches, my stomach did flips.

Oh God.

I selected a matchstick and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger, preparing to strike it against the rough side of the box. 

Oh God. There’s going to be fire. It’s going to be in my hands…

I raised the match.

Oh God! What if the fire spreads to my arm and I burst into flames? What if the whole house burns down?

I gulped.

I give up. I can’t do this.

He won.

But just as I was about to throw in the towel, Oscar beat me to it.

It all happened so fast that I could scarcely believe my eyes. In a fraction of a second, Oscar was upon me. He gripped my wrist and pinned my hand to the window, causing the glass to rattle and the box of matches to drop to the floor. The spilt matchsticks scattered across the carpet like the fatalities of our own private war.

Our eyes met.

“Thought so,” I whispered. I yanked my hand free.

He didn’t speak.

I reached over to the candle and retrieved the coin. Without dispute, I handed it back to him. After all, I didn’t want it. All I wanted was the truth.

He nodded a vague ‘thank you’ and returned it to his pocket.

“It is important to you,” I noted.

“It’s lucky.”

“Like a charm?”

“A talisman,” he corrected.

It was fair to guess that his answers were going to be basic, one-word, hope-she-stops-asking kind of answers.

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” I got straight to the point, looking into his troubled russet eyes as I spoke.

His lips pressed together obstinately.

As I searched his eyes, it dawned on me that he was vulnerable. Needless to say, this came as a shock. Until that point, ‘vulnerable’
would certainly not have been a word I would have used to describe Oscar Valero. The fact of the matter was, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might have been hiding his secret because he
couldn’t
tell me. I had naturally assumed that his lies came from a callous and devious place.

But I had been wrong.

With my gaze fused to his, I stood perfectly still. I couldn’t look away, and I knew he couldn’t either. We were stuck there, like magnets trapped by an invisible force. And what we shared in that moment was… well, it was incredible. I can truly say that the simple act of looking at Oscar was the greatest consciousness I’d ever experienced. I saw him so intimately, almost as though I were glimpsing directly into his soul. 

“Tell me,” I pleaded.

He didn’t budge.

“You can tell me,” I assured him. “Oscar, I’ve seen what you can do. You’re
different
...”

He spoke now, but in a voice so weak that it was barely audible. “I’m not evil.”

“I know,” I responded without thinking—though I meant what I said. He wasn’t evil. He was just
Oscar
. “I don’t care what you are.” I meant that, too. “But I need to know. I need to hear you say it.”

I explored his eyes again. It was frightening how much I saw in just one look: sorrow, regret, secrecy… and fear.

“You can trust me,” I vowed, hand on heart. “Remember when you jumped off the ridge and you asked me to close my eyes—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, smiling wryly, “but you opened them.”

“Well, yeah, because you jumped off a cliff,” I justified. “But the second time, when you asked me to close my eyes, I did it.”

He seemed hesitant.

“I’ll do it again,” I offered. “I’ll close my eyes.” And I did.

We stayed silent for what felt like a lifetime. Without my sight, I listened to the sound of his breathing. It was a nice sound.

Out of nowhere, I felt Oscar’s hand entwine with mine.

“Forgive me,” he requested quietly.

“I already have.”

“Open your eyes,” he murmured.

I did as he asked.

He took a deep breath. “I…”

Trust me
, I urged silently.

“I am a witch.”

The words tumbled from his lips like a surge of water rupturing through a dam.

Even though I already knew it, it still came as a shock to hear it confirmed. There was a small part of me that wanted to flail my arms around and scream “Witch!”, but there was a much larger part that quite simply didn’t care. He was Oscar. That was all that mattered to me.

I wanted to tell him those things. I wanted to tell him how much I cared for him.

Instead I said “Thanks”. It was all that I could muster.

He let out a laugh. I could sense that he allowed himself to feel relieved. Relieved that I knew who he was. The repercussions, I was sure, he would worry about later.

I too allowed myself to bask in a blissfully serene state. For the next few seconds, everything would be perfect. We were who we were, and we wouldn’t have to be anything other than us. The two of us. Together.

I closed my eyes again, vainly wishing that the moment would never end. I laced my fingers through Oscar’s and he tightened his grip. At that moment, we needed each other.

But, gradually, reality began to creep back into my awareness. This wasn’t over yet. There was something else I had to know. 

“Why are you here?” I asked.

His grasp grew ever tighter, although I don’t think he was aware of it.

“Don’t ask me that,” he muttered. “Believe me, it’s better if you don’t know.”

“No. Tell me,” I insisted.

He drew in another deep breath and released it in a slow puff. A few ebony strands of hair fell forward onto his brow.

“You’ve been having dreams,” he said.

I flinched.

“Nightmares,” he corrected himself. “About a man… well, a demon.”

The picture of that haunting skull face flashed through my mind. The decayed bone and the threatening black eyes…

“Yes,” I choked. “How do you…”

“They call him Lathiaus.” Oscar’s own eyes darkened at the mention of the name.

I must have looked queasy, because Oscar led me to the bed and sat me down. He crouched on the floor in front of me, holding both of my hands.

“He has a name?” I stuttered.

“Yes.”

“You know him?”

“I know
of
him. And I suppose I’ve seen him.” He paused. “I’ve seen him in your dreams.”

“In my dreams? You’ve been in my dreams?” My head spun. “This isn’t… this can’t be real.”

“You and I, we’re connected in some way. I’ve been having visions—or, actually,
you
’ve been having visions—and I’ve been watching them.”  

All of a sudden I was short of breath. “How? Why? Why am I having the nightmares? And...” I trailed off.

Oscar gazed up at me with sympathetic eyes. “There’s a prophecy,” he explained gently. “Lathiaus is to return from the dead—”

“From the dead?”

“Yes. You see, a long time ago, Lathiaus was very powerful. But his power was dark—as dark as dark power comes. Anyway, he was killed. I’m guessing it was by witches, because whadda y’know, he’s really got it in for us.” Oscar chuckled tensely. “Legend has it he’ll return one day to bring about the end to all witches. Talk about holding a grudge, eh?”

I stared at him, stunned and utterly dumbfounded.

He went on, “But there is one loophole.”

I blinked.

“You,” he elaborated.

“Me?”

“Yes. You can stop him.”

“Stop him?”

I was aware that I had resorted to simply echoing everything he said, but that was about as much as my brain could manage.

Oscar winced. “Yes. The prophecy foretells of you stopping Lathiaus. But it’s with…”

“With?”

“With your life. Or, your death, I should say.”

“Muh…”

I couldn’t even repeat things now.

“Are you okay?” he asked anxiously.

I shook my head no. Unequivocally no.

Oscar seemed tortured by my response. His expression was wrought with guilt.

“There is another way…” he began to ramble incoherently. “I’m not sure… I need to think…” He bit his lip and then gave me a look of conviction. “I’m going to do my best to stop this. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head. Actually, I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand any of it. I believed him, though.

Oscar smiled tenderly. “You’re taking this very well,” he commended. “You were harder to console when you lost your dress.”

I smiled back, although it was probably a rather sad smile.

“Why me?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He trailed his thumb in circles on the palm of my hand. “The prophecy says you’ve got the heart of a witch. You’re special. Not quite human or witch.”

Um, say what now?

“I’m not human?” My chest tightened.

“No, no.” He cringed at his blunder. “You
are
a human. But you’re a special
kind
of human.”

Okay, this was all way too much for me. I had long overdone my daily quota for life-changing bombshells.

“Stop, Oscar,” I implored. “Please stop.”

“I’m sorry.”