Chapter Two
My heart races at a dangerously rapid pace as I try to digest the words I have just read on the aged paper. What? All this time, not knowing who I was and the answers were here all along? So many times I felt lost, alone and abandoned and my parents could have eased that pain. They watched me fight my way through school after school and then come home and empty my tears onto my pillow. I don’t even know my nationality, for Christ’s sake!
Suddenly I’m furious to the point where I’m clenching my jaw until it hurts. I look down at my shaking hands as I let the book tumble onto the comforter. Instinctively, I stroke the area that was just kissed by the elusive Dorian and a shiver runs up my spine. I try to shake the feelings of anger and take my mom’s- well Donna’s- advice and read. There’s got to be a good reason why they kept this from me for the past 20 years. At least there’d better be. Reluctantly, I pick up the journal and flip to the second page, afraid yet eager for answers.
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I know you must have many questions and may feel as if I have abandoned you. My dear, please know that as I write these words, my heart aches with the knowledge that I cannot be with you in this life. You are everything to me, my heart and soul, and I will sacrifice all that I am to protect you.
In order for you to understand exactly what this sacrifice entails, let me start from the beginning…
You were born into an ancient lineage of Light Enchanters. We are Sorcerers. We have been known by many names, good witches, wizards, etc. but we prefer Enchanters to separate us from other types of soothsayers. Our magic is one of the oldest and purest forms ever known and one of the most secretive. Do not be confused with modern society’s perception of magic. Our power lives within us and cannot be acquired through chants, pentagrams, and potions.
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WHOA. My head is spinning and my stomach curdles with nausea. The saliva in my mouth feels thick, my skin clammy and hot. I bolt for the bathroom outside my door and make it just in time to heave my dinner and drinks into the commode. Slinking onto the floor, I rest my sweaty forehead onto the cool porcelain of the bathtub. None of this makes sense. I expected my birth mother to be some reckless teenager, maybe even a drug addict. That I could wrap my head around. But she’s some kind of Sorceress? How is that even possible? I immediately imagine pointy hats, long flowing robes and flying broomsticks. Get the f*ck outta here.
As if the night could get any more ridiculous, I break out into hyena-like laughter, cackling until large salty tears run down my face. I’m not sure who would play such an evil trick but I’m sure I’m getting Punk’d. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ashton jumped out from behind my shower curtain right now.
Once the wave of nausea subsides, I pick myself up, brush my teeth and wash off my smeared makeup before retreating back to my bedroom. Realizing I’m still dressed in the lace mini dress, I peel it off and slip on an old pair of sweats and a tank top then casually pick up the book as if it were some Clearance Bin cheesy romance novel.
I have nothing to fear. I don’t feel supernatural. And there’s never been anything magical about my life, that’s for damn sure. I’ve never been good at anything. Ever. Wouldn’t I exude some kind of extraordinary ability in sports or be able to move things with my mind or something? This is surely some hoax or I’m a whole lot drunker than I thought. I open up the book, determined to prove myself right.
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I know this a great deal to take in and you may doubt the validity of my words, so let me begin by telling you about the history of our people. From the beginning of time, the struggle between good and evil has always been prevalent. The fighting was brutal and innumerable lives were lost. Both sides, we Light Enchanters and those we call Dark Ones, or Warlocks, were in imminent threat of becoming extinct. Though we are immortal, we can be killed or frozen in time by magic. See, while most people roam the Earth unaware and unseeing of the truth, we were created to help, heal and spread Light. I’m sure that even in your society, there are stories of amazing people who accomplish extraordinary things, things that can’t be explained by science or logic. Each of those remarkable people had the spark in them, whether they knew it or not.
But there were some so hungry and consumed with power that they broke away, deciding that they could command their destiny. It was much easier to use magic to gain riches and power than live humbly and do good works. In the process of combatting their greed, we, too, became consumed with the taste of vengeance. So we were scattered and forced into hiding by the Divine Power. We formed our own social orders and cultures. The Dark Ones used their magic to gain affluence and authority, even in the human world. You would be horrified to know how many Warlocks possess significant status in government and religious branches. They have the ability to control the thoughts and emotions of mortals and use it freely. They are also known to be incredibly alluring, desirable and beautiful to human eyes.
Our people, the Enchanters of Light, feel more comfortable in nature. It speaks to us and gives us energy. We choose to blend in with human society by seeking humble roles that do not draw attention to us and our abilities. Many of us settle into positions as teachers, counselors and doctors, though some have been assigned in positions of power in your world. We place ourselves in situations where our gifts would be most useful. The modern day miracles you may learn about on television or read about in newspapers are actually the works of the Light.
My role as an Enchantress is a hunter. Our ancestors have been hunters since the birth of our kind. What we hunt are not animals, per say, but those who choose to do our kind harm. We hunt the Dark. We, too, can appear to be desirable and attractive to humans, but most importantly, we are fashioned to appear that way to the Dark. They find us, the hunters, irresistible and cannot control their urge to be near us. That is how we lure them. Then kill them. We are also incredibly strong, fast, and skilled in weaponry.
However, war and hatred has diluted not only our powers but also our resolve. I was incredibly gifted and determined as a hunter. The taste of Warlock blood completely consumed me and I wanted nothing more than to see them dissipate. Dark Hunters are nomadic so I lived an isolated life, scouring the earth alone in search of the next kill.
Of course, the Dark Ones have their own force of hunters. They are called the Shadow. The Shadow are more than just assassins; they are the law enforcement for the Dark. They, too, were in fear of exposure that could end their manipulation of humans. They had their tricks: changing their distinct appearance, downplaying their beauty, hypnotizing unsuspecting humans to do whatever they please. The defenseless mortals around them had no free-will, and were fashioned as slaves, playthings for the Dark.
While the Warlocks have a much more structured and intricate regime, we do have rules that must be followed to conceal our identity. Those who choose to disobey those rules are punished…harshly. The rules are engrained in us from birth.
1. Do no harm to the innocent.
2. Conceal the identity of the Light. And all other supernatural beings.
3. Never consort with the Dark. Ever.
This brings me to OUR story. The story of the creation of my precious daughter, sent to us to save our kind from hatred, greed, and evil. And the story of my demise; the reason I was put to death and forced to abandon you.
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I unconsciously let the book fall from my fingers and take a deep breath. If this is a sick joke, someone has gone an awfully long way to create such an elaborate story. But part of me knows that this is no ruse. Though every fiber within me is hoping, praying for it to be fictitious. I can’t be some… Enchanter. Or is it Enchantress? Oh my God, why am I even entertaining this garbage?
I clench my fists until the skin over my knuckles is stretched white and translucent. I will not succumb to such idiocy and read another damn word. Picking up the journal, I turn it over in my hands before throwing it against my bedroom wall. It takes out a couple old stuffed animals before landing open-faced on the floor with a thud. There’s no way this could be real! There’s no such thing as magic! No such thing as Warlocks and Enchanters, and Sorcery! This shit is utterly ridiculous!
And as if my anger and confusion conjured up some sleeping force within me, I began to feel the heat from my discontentment. I can feel it oozing from my pores, radiating in a fog around me. What the…? I hold my arm out in front of me and I swear there is a reddish orange mist hovering over my skin, twirling and writhing before my eyes. It’s like the feelings of doubt and turmoil are seeping right out of me into the vapor. My intoxicated haze has dissipated and I am completely abstemious. I feel so subdued, gazing into this auburn fog in awe. Seconds tick by but it feels like hours. Absolutely mystified.
My resolve falters for just a fraction of a millisecond and the mist is gone. It has disintegrated just as fast as it manifested, as if it were…magic. I’m alone again with my uncertainty and anger. But I’m also left with something else: A new found determination to find out exactly who I am and where I came from.
They say in order to know where you’re going, you need to know where you’ve been. Is that why I’ve been so undecided about just about EVERYTHING? School, career, even my feelings for Jared? I walk over to retrieve the rumpled book on the floor before running my fingers over the worn cover and placing it gently on my comforter.
In these pages lie my past, and hopefully a glimpse into my future. Am I willing to take a leap of faith and believe that these supernatural beings really could exist? And as asinine as it sounds, could I actually be one too? Could there really be a secret, underground world full of magic and mayhem?
So many questions bombard my mind and there’s only one way I can find the answers I seek. I have to keep reading. And whatever I may find, I have to accept it. Because this is me. This is my story.