october

EMERGENCY BROADCAST

/ Aelina / Leave a comment

LEVENA EMERGENCY BROADCAST

2:22 AM

OCTOBER 31st


People of Levena,

It has been brought to my attention that the Games in previous years have been subpar, at best. I feel that I owe it to you, the why, for as you all know I pride myself on bringing you puzzles and entertainment of the highest caliber.

I have to admit, I did not put these past decades of Games on myself, atleast, not in an up close and personal sense. Think of it as freezer meals that you pop in the microwave. They’ll do the trick, but they’re unsatisfying. It is not by choice that things have been this way, and I cannot tell you why.

I cannot tell you who I am.

What I am.

Why I’m really here.

But what I can tell you is that I love playing this Game with you, and this year, I’ve concocted one that benefits the both of us.

If we play our cards right, all those questions will be answered, and the most precious treasure will be awarded to the first person who solves the Game.

One wish.

Now, of course, there’s the obvious.

No resurrection.

No striking anyone down.

No forcing people to fall in love.

Ask for anything else, and it’s yours. As long as you solve the puzzle.

Await further instructions, and as always,


Let’s play, my friends.


 -The Scarlet Illusionist

🎃🦉🌌

✨ Two More Days ✨

Check out the mask that Bear Pettigrew made for the Illusionist, isn’t it gorgeous 🥰😍

Witchtober – Blade

/ Aelina / Leave a comment

Today’s witch is brought you to by the prompt Blade.

I’m lost.

A broken sword jingles in my pack, overwhelming the scuff of my boots against worn stone. I check the map on my phone again, pretty sure the internet has failed me. I turn in a circle, shadowed by cottages and the nearby Aviary towering high above the city. Overlooking the west is Syorini Lake, catching the evening sun on its beautiful surface. Certainly not going to find a blacksmith there.

“Ai, need some help?”

I startle, throwing my phone into the air. The vampire that had once been a little farther down the sidewalk is now right before me, my phone cradled in their outstretched hands.

“Oh my goodness, thank you! Yes, I’m looking for Tessa’s Smithy, happen to know where that is?” I breathlessly take my phone back and return the smile given to me by the blue haired vampire with striking violet eyes.

“No problem,” They nod with a quiet chuckle, pointing to a narrow side road that diverges from the sidewalk we stand on. “Follow that path there, it’ll lead you right to it.”

“Oh, thank you so much. Have a good night, friend.”

The vampire smiles, then dips their chin and parts ways with me.

I straighten my shoulders, clutching the strap of my pack, then carry on. The side path is quiet, flanked by frogs, crickets and water lilies. Small trees and decorative bushes, along with endless amounts of wildflowers in their full summer bloom, follow the road which easily switches back and forth until folding in on the lake proper. Something flies overhead, too big to be a bird. A wyvern, perhaps?

How I didn’t see it before I’m not sure, but the small island sitting a little way off shore is plain as day now. A small boardwalk connects the island to the grassy shoreline of the mainland. Lanterns hang from the tall wooden posts and beckon me to come closer. I swallow hesitantly, not sure if I want to edge towards the island. I didn’t expect the smithy to be on the water, and paired with the fact they hold odd night hours, I’m uneasy.

The clinking of shattered metal grounds me. I sigh, reclaiming my courage. I’m doing this for Alice. She deserves this —by Gods does she deserve this— and so much more.

I take a step, then another. Even when my boots thud against wooden decking instead of soft grass, I keep walking. I distract myself from the water licking at the beams holding up the bridge, focusing on the little cottage nestled onto the little island.

Both are small, but somehow … Infinite.

Wind chimes catch my attention first. They hang from the fruit trees surrounding the back of the cottage, intricately knotted hemp cord dangles in the soft breeze. More come into view when I step onto solid ground, the soft clattering and ringing chases away the heartbeat in my ears. Some are metal while others are bone, or of the driftwood and shell variety. They make an appearance in the open windows of the house, bits of beads and glass shine under the setting sun and call to be known. My favorite are the ones made with simple things, like spoons.

The cottage has been beaten down by time. The only paint to be seen frames the numerous and misshapen windows which are close to the ground. Perhaps the color was blue at one point, but now it’s mostly a dull gray with a hint of what it once was. A rhythmic clang joins the wind chime symphony and my heart stutters in response. My path curves around the corner of the cottage, ending in what is undeniably a front yard.

The anxiety of stumbling upon someone’s home by accident is softly dulled upon finding a sign that is remarkably newer than the front porch it hangs from.

‘Tessa’s Smithy; Open by Appointment’

I pry my fingers off the strap to my pack one by one, then flex my hands open and closed at my sides. I follow the sounds of a workshop, picking up on a radio that’s screaming metal into the warm evening air at a surprisingly low level. I duck beneath overhanging tree limbs, around low tables filled with clutter, and between piles of metal that at first glance appear haphazardly placed. They are organized according to size, though, and material.

I shake off my snooping habits and come to a stop in front of an open garage.

In fact, everything stops.

Thousands of bronze and gold scales reflect the coals blazing in a forge set low to the ground. A thick, muscular arm flexes as the smith turns their work this way and that in the heat. Sweat infringes on the collar of their white tank top, causing the fabric to stick to their gleaming, deeply tanned skin. Dark brown locs are tied back with a strip of ragged fabric, but a few have escaped and dangle before the smith’s pinched eyes.

Their breathtakingly elegant and long tail sweeps back and forth, slowly, across the mossy floor of the garage. I’m surprised that their movements are easy and not at all unhindered by the lack of water. Tiny scales cover their thick body from the hips down, catching the light and my attention. Even without seeing their face, I can feel that they are the most heartbreakingly beautiful person I’ve ever met.

The smith removes their work from the coals, moving a short ways to an anvil where they begin to hammer upon the metal like it owes them a life debt. Their body shudders with the impact and despite the distance, the forge’s heat is getting to me.

“Well, come in.” They call out over the violence of hammer against metal, scaring the shit out of me. I manage a squeak and a step back, which finally draws the siren’s attention. Sirens are the beautiful counterpart to mermaids, all beauty and less teeth. They stop hammering and say, “I don’t bite.”

I pull myself together and inwardly chant, ‘Alice is going to love this, Alice is going to love this.’

“H, Hello.” I step inside the garage, very much feeling like I’m intruding on a personal sanctuary. “I’m Ori, with the birthday present?”

The smith closes the distance between us, their tail smoothly glides across the moss not unlike how a snake moves. They extend a hand towards me, a demon, like it’s nothing.

I take it. By Gods, do I take it.

“Florence Quintessa, at your service. How would you like to be addressed, Ori?”

“Oh,” Heat flushes my cheeks at the forward question but I appreciate it. “I prefer she/her, thank you. And you?”

“Any, all, none? Whatever you like. Now, let’s see that blade.” Florence shrugs, the peripheral fins of their lower body flutter with the movement. The translucent, gold tinted fins at the end of their tail are gorgeous, reminding me of frond leaves.

After Florence raises a brow, I remember myself. “Oh, right.” I sling the pack off my shoulder, then gently remove the three pieces inside it and hand them over. I feel off balance, dazed and smitten.

Oh Gods, I’m smitten.

Florence takes the pieces and lays them out on a workbench, then heaves into a rolling stool and leans over the table to inspect the sword, tail dragging alongside them. Their eyes flare the slightest bit, enough to reveal the bright red magick swirling around their irises. I inhale sharply at their side and Florence’s head jerks up. Sparks simultaneously fly from the coal forge on the opposite side of them, all but confirming the gossip.

“Problem?” Florence asks, unmoving while awaiting my answer.

I shake my head. “No, nothing.”

Florence stares at me for another moment, then goes back to evaluating the sword. The magick in their eyes doesn’t die, but the forge simmers down. I wait, trying not to fidget and interrupt their analysis. Eventually they murmur, “You’d be better off requesting an all new blade than repairing this one. It’s imbued with witch’s magick, but then again, I’m sure you already knew that.”

Panic throttles my heart. “I was assured you’re the best when it comes to repairing magickal weapons.”

Genuine surprise ripples throughout Florence’s face, ending with a tick in their strong jaw. They fold their arms across their chest, pushing together an ample amount of cleavage that piles over the top of their tank top. Sweat instantly tracks down my spine.

“And who says that?”

He did say it was alright to share his name, that the smith is a trusted friend, but the recent attacks on witches by witches has deemed trust a brittle thing. I have little choice. I don’t tear away from Florence’s intense gaze when I say, “Arlo Rook. He said you’re trustworthy, and exceptionally skilled.”

Like a balm to a festering wound, Florence instantly relaxes, but their curiosity piques.

“Is that so?” Florence looks back to the sword, contemplating. A soot covered finger taps the bench once, twice. I take a step closer, looking down at the sword scarred with time and battle.

“I know it’s impossible. I’m … desperate. My daughter,” Emotion thickens in my mouth and I clear it away. Alice. Alice. Alice.

“It was her father’s. She’s taken on swordplay, for recreation, not … necessity, like he had to, but I thought … well, I don’t know what I thought. You know what, I’m sorry for wasting your time like this, I–”

I reach for the discarded pieces of my husband’s life, but Florence stops me with a gentle hand to my wrist. “I never said I couldn’t do it.”

I lock tear filled eyes with the siren, unable to remove myself from their grasp, or question why they haven’t let me go. “Really? You can fix it?”

Florence smiles then, and I can’t help but smile too, just a little. Oh Gods, it’s been so long since the expression came without burden.

“I can fix it.”

Witchtober – Thorns

/ Aelina / Leave a comment

Today’s witch is brought to you by the prompt Thorns. Spoilers for Phantom and Rook.

Mud croaks beneath my toes and the yellow sprouts along my arms grow a few inches, fully content. I jump onto a fallen log slick with marsh and time, putting my arms out to balance myself. When I get to the end of the natural bridge carrying me over a particularly wet spot, I leap off into swamp grass.

I land on both feet, disturbing milkweeds and the monarchs who dominate their pink blossoms. The layers of necklaces adorning my bare chest bounce and tangle together. Bones, coins and other trinkets rattle against each other, music to my ears. My highwaters bunch up just above my ankles, collecting thistles and muck. I slip my fingers into my front pockets, whistling Hook’s favorite tune as I continue my rounds.

While I can’t see the beast, I can feel them skulking in the murky depths encroaching on the small floating islands. The precarious chunks of peat, mud and hidden underwater plants provide the only protection and semblance of solid land in this marsh.

But like everything in the swamp, nothing is as it seems.

I collect a few thitwhistle blossoms at peak maturity, tucking their violet heads into a small pocket inside my gathering bag. Buttoning the pocket closed, I continue my search for treasure. I find my namesake, a plant that will be in high demand this winter, and luckily there is plenty of it to harvest. I kneel before it, caressing the broad green leaves that match my hair, then the soft yellow petals that are a perfect match to the flowers growing in the mossy spots on my arms.

This plant is too old, so I look for another with younger leaves and subsequently, younger roots. I find a patch that is close to the water’s edge and debate for a moment, then approach cautiously. First, I trim the leaves and put them in a magicked preserving bag, then dig the plant up and take its roots, careful of the thorns clinging to them. I place the roots in a different bag, one that is magicked not to tear. I do this with a few more plants, not wanting to overharvest but also needing to get as much as I can.

Today is Trading Day, one of the two days I actually interact with other people in the span of a year.

A ripple spreads through the water inches from my fingers and I swallow.

But it’s too late.

A flash of fang is followed by a tremendous splash, then I’m pulled into the freezing water. A massive jaw frames my arm, firmly tugging but doing so in a careful manner, like a dog would do to a pup. Once I’m completely submerged, the pressure releases and I surface, sputtering. I fling hair away from my face, glaring at a set of bright yellow eyes. Vertical pupils watch me intensely and hundreds of cone shaped teeth compose the beast’s smile.

Hundreds, no, thousands of scales compose the crocodile. Each individual piece comes together to form a glorious pattern reminiscent of an oil slick. The exact colors are always changing depending on how the light hits their scales, but the beast is usually a dark purple intermingled with electric blue.

Their maw opens wide and a growl thunders out. I roll my eyes, playfully shoving at their snout. “Fuck off, Hook. You got me all wet, and the plants.”

“Don’t be a dumbass. Next time you won’t be so lucky.” Hook chides, my familiar’s deep timbre voice audible to only my ears. Not like anyone else is around, but if they were, they’d hear some nasty rumbling and grumbling that is completely crocodilian in nature.

My familiar gives me a gentle nudge towards the shore, snout to my back, and I climb back onto the floating island, sopping wet and mildly cold. I haul my gathering bag up into the grass, away from the shoreline, and spread my hands over it.

“Nesiga mayhim.” I murmur, sighing when soft orange magick leaves my body and goes to work. Water molecules and the dirt brought with them wring out from my bag and its contents. The extricated water swirls in a glowing sunset of an orb over my hands, spinning lazily until I lob it over my shoulder. I grin when Hook roars, confirming that I hit my target.

Water magick isn’t my specialty, but water likes me. I feel at peace with the aquatic roots that weave beneath the islands, and what are roots without the water that supplies them?

I stand and sling the bag across my chest once more, ensuring to give Hook a particularly dangerous glower. His eyes blink just above the water’s surface, then disappear entirely. I blow out a raspberry, then continue on with my work.

Today is Trading Day.

—

I’m absolutely sure my home is not what most people would call grand, but I love it all the same.

Hook follows me there, sticking to the cloudy waters that lead to the largest floating island in Egret Marsh. Cypress and willow trees completely surround a small structure lofted into the air on stilts, still invisible from this distance. The sheer amount of fallen trees and vegetation swallowed by the swamp between here and there is enormous, and I’ve often wondered if there used to be a forest through here. I dodge and weave through a secret tunnel in the underbrush, covering my trail as I go. Threads of roots churn the earth, erasing my tracks.

“Have fun,” Hook says, wandering off once he’s sure I’m home, the bond between us quieting.

I snort. “Oh yes. People. Fun.”

I pass through a familiar look-away ward, sighing in relief when I step into a small clearing, where the stilted house awaits. Strong, thick roots with rough bark form the pillars of my home’s foundation, then taper off to a smaller size which forms the ladder and upper porch railing. Moss hangs from the surrounding ancient trees in great curtains, further obscuring my home from view. Not that anyone visits the marsh, but if they did, they would have to look real hard to find my place. Just because my island is the biggest in the marsh, doesn’t mean it’s the easiest to access.

I cross the small distance, relishing in how the soft grass tickles my toes. Everything is softer in my patch of the swamp, less threatening. Even the snakes are milder. I shift my bag so it’s pressed against my back, then begin my ascent. Dirty hands and feet meet root wrought rungs and I climb for a couple minutes, taking my time. I’m not too proud to admit I’ve fallen a time. Or two.

I pull myself up onto the wrap around porch with a groan, jingling the bells, bones and coins hanging from the open windows trimmed in white. There are multiple windows on every side of the house, each one remarkably different. Most were bartered for or salvaged from the junkyard, a few I made and they didn’t turn out so bad, just a little crooked. I made sure to paint them all white, though. The walls themselves are patched together at best, mostly sheets of painted plywood entangled with roots and thick bark. The roof is more of the same, perhaps more natural than man-made, aside from the solar panels.

The dark green walls, white windows and nature infusing my place in the world sets my heart at ease. I duck my head under the open door frame, telling myself again to just build a taller frame already. It was salvaged too, definitely not made for overtly tall fae. I shrug off my bag onto the round table just inside the front room. A hall bisects the house, the front room rests on the left side and the right is divided between my closed off bedroom and washroom.

The front room is a combination of my reading area and the kitchen, fairly tidy if I say so myself. The only clutter to fill the place are the strange, now potted plants that I’ve found in the swamp and have yet to identify, along with my books. Bookshelves line the wall of the reading room opposite my cozy chair covered in blankets, but they were long ago filled. I make do, crafting leather straps that hang from the walls and hold books, not to mention macrame nets for plants to rest in and hang from the ceiling.

And don’t forget the bones. Or the coins.

Marrow and metal hide in the nooks and crannies of my home, scavenged from the swamp and intentionally placed. To anyone else I suppose my place would seem in disarray, but everything is where it is for a reason. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have my things disturbed. It would be annoying, but that would mean someone was here.

I shake off the thoughts and find a drink, then check the already prepared crates of dried skunk’s cabbage leaves and roots, which is the majority of my inventory considering winter is coming. I have an entire crate dedicated to bags of aetherberries as well, they are always in high demand. As far as I know, the bog lining the northern edges of Egret Marsh is the only place the delicious, bright yellow berries are found.

It’s one of the many secrets the land and I share.

There’s jars of thitwhistles, mushrooms and radical healing moss, along with some knuckle bones. I’ve never met another witch, but I know there’s a population in Levena. I haven’t been there since … Well, since the video store, and I have no plans on going back. While I have my garden and am pretty self-sustaining, there are still things that I need, or want I suppose, to live. Things like the supplies for my house, pots and pans, trinkets and books. I’ve collected quite a few things in my nineteen years, despite the fact I only leave the swamp twice a year.

I make each trip worth it.

Hook doesn’t complain either when I bring home special treats like chicken feet or something equally weird, but whatever makes him happy. My companion insists he isn’t lonely, but I feel like most familiars have much more exciting lives than he does. Nevertheless, I ensure to bring home stories, too.

The communal town of Vieta is much more docile than the metropolis of Levena, if not incredibly distant from the marsh. In the early years, the trip would take at least a week on foot and what I could carry was limited, but then I was given a traveling stone by Gareth a couple years ago. He didn’t want anything for it, but I’ve still been trying to come up with the perfect thing to pay him back.

Between the traveling stone and my strong magick, the trips are more fruitful, and I can spend more time with my friends. For all my griping, the people of Vieta are rather nice. It’s strangers I don’t like.

After taking one last inventory, I clean up today’s harvest and hang it up to dry on the hemp line criss-crossing the open window over my sink. I duck into the washroom and clean up in the lukewarm shower, careful not to use too much water. The tank is getting low and I honestly don’t feel like filling it right now.

I dress in another pair of high wasted pants, but the pant legs tuck into socks and knee high leather boots. I rearrange the necklaces on my pale chest, complexion freckled with spots of moss and sprouting blades of grass and yellow flowers. Upon seeing the flowers in the mirror, I frown. I stare at them, debating on pulling the bright petals.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been made fun of for them, and out here there’s no one to tell me how awful I smell. I caress the soft, tender silk of a flower growing from my neck. If I pull the petals, it won’t be as bad. Gareth, Nienna and Eilae have never remarked on my … scent, but others might. Who knows what has changed since spring, who has moved there. My stomach twists uncomfortably.

I sigh, dropping my hand.

I shake my head, then go about combing my bleach blond hair. Blinding locks interspersed with tendrils of spiraling green and budding broad leaves hang around my shoulders, the longest I’ve had it in a while. For a long time I thought it’d be better to cut it short, but I like it long. I don’t wish that my hair was ‘normal’ anymore, either.

I smile at that, feeling a little better. Fuck people.

The edges of my burnt orange eyes crinkle upwards and I grin wider. The patches of soft green along my cheeks, forearms and stomach bristle with life, as if caressed by a soft wind. I leave the safety of my bathroom, shrugging on a flannel vest over my shoulders, leaving the buttons undone so my chest and necklaces are exposed. I don’t get cold, not until there’s a solid foot of snow on the ground. Even then, I just put on a sweater.

When I come face to face with the stacked crates, I call upon my magick. I put a hand out and whisper, “Kul sheresh.” A net of thick vines conjures to life beneath the neatly arranged pile, rising and neatly wrapping around the stack. They tie off at the top, forming a pretty bow. I smirk, unable to help myself.

Once the goods are secured, I take the small, metal chest sitting atop my kitchen counter. I open it, revealing three things. Three things that matter the most to me.

A traveling stone, polished amethyst in the shape of an oval.

A coin, worn and faceless.

A piece of paper, folded in on itself six times.

I hover over the parchment with shaky fingers and lungs, then draw back. I take the stone, then snap the lid shut. After putting the bomb back where it belongs, I stand with my season’s worth of work, a hand firmly gripping the netting. My heart thrums against its cage and I take a deep breath, steeling myself.

It’ll be fine.

—

I’m immediately accosted.

I land in a flurry of wind, soft orange light and a solid thud. I blink several times, acclimating to the incredible colors and light greeting me. Music, such heartfelt music, and laughter washes over my ears. My heart pounds at an odd rhythm.

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

By the time I comprehend my surroundings, I’m overcome with dirty fingers and cold bare feet, gangly limbs and high pitched voices. My back hits the ground and I laugh despite the assault. Chants of “Lysander! Lys! Lysander! It’s Lys!” ring through the air, bringing the music to a halt. Curious hands tug at my hair and I wince, but thankfully the group of hellion’s parents rescue me.

Gareth says, “Kids! Let ‘em breathe.”

Eilae says, “Oy, Lysander! Long time no see.”

Nienna says, “Hello Lys, you’re just in time for second lunch.”

I chuckle, pushing myself to my feet. One of the oldest helps me up, Martin I think? Honestly they have so many kids it’s hard to keep them straight. I lay a hand over my heart and bow my head to the elves, noting two new faces by their side. My heart thrums oddly again.

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

“Hello, friends. I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.” I say, straightening. Not to my full height, considering I’m already twice as tall as everyone else when I’m hunched over.

Eilae scoffs, then breaks away from her partners and hugs me tight. “We’ve been waiting for you kid, it’s Trading Day.”

“Oh.” I can’t help but flush.

“Come, there’s someone we want you to meet.” Eilae demands, not unkindly, and I follow her, leaving still neatly packed goods behind. Eilae is a force of nature, so much unlike her comparatively docile partners, Gareth and Nienna. She’s short for an elf, with blue hair shaved close to her head, big eyes just as vibrant. She’s playful and blunt, but that’s what I like about her. Eilae steers me over to where Gareth, Nienna and company are waiting in their little section of the backyard, surrounded by flower bushes and play structures.

Kleo stands with them, wildflowers tucked into her mismatched socks. It was one of the first things I noticed about her, and years later she dresses the same. Patchwork overalls, sneakers and color. So much color. A knitted sweater lays beneath her overalls, all stripes and glitter. Her hair is longer than last time, shaved on one side with the remaining brunette locs cast over her brown shoulder.

“Hey Lysander,” Kleo calls, grinning wide at me, hazel eyes sparkling. She doesn’t run and embrace me like she usually does, and I’m assuming it’s due to the … witch, (oh my gods, that’s a witch) at her side. “Long time no see. This is Felix, my friend that I told you about?”

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

My heart simultaneously explodes and fills with warmth. Yes, I’ve heard a lot about Felix. Every time I visit, Kleo talks and talks and talks, and it’s usually about her friends ‘back at Witch House.’ The person I had built up in my head is nothing like I imagined, but infinitely more.

The man with golden eyes and infinitely long, tied back curls of bronze extends his hand to me. His small palm fits perfectly against my much larger one, and I sigh like a swooning idiot. To be fair, his tanned skin flushes a soft red and his magick rushes against my fingertips for the briefest of moments, but it’s enough.

He smiles, flashing white and slightly crooked teeth. “Hey, I’m Felix. It’s nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

And because I’m me, I say, “I’m not a skunk.”

“What?” Felix raises a thick brow, a tenuous smile pulling at his lips.

“Umm.” I choke, grip tightening around Felix’s hand. He doesn’t let go, and that smile widens.

Gareth says, “This is painful, right?”

Nienna says, “Shush, dear, this is a moment.”

Eilae says, “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”

And because Kleo is the only one who is my actual friend, she says, “What he means is, the proper term for his fae lineage is Lysichitum, also known as skunk’s cabbage, but we don’t use that terminology here.”

I remember myself and drop Felix’s hand, immediately shoving my hands into my pockets and dipping my head. Upon doing so, I remember that my flannel vest is unbuttoned. I fight the urge to button it, but then Felix says the most unexpected thing.

He says, “I thought so! Your flowers are so pretty,” Felix chokes on his words and my head jerks up. He continues at a sputter, playing with the end of his ponytail. “We call them swamp lanterns, back at Witch House. Do you light up at night too? Can I touch your leaves? Oh my gods, forget I said that, why am I still talking Kleo?”

I can’t help but laugh, and he does too.

It’s wonderful.

For a moment.

Then, Felix says, “Man, I wish Silas was here. I think you guys would get along.”

“Who’s Silas?” I ask, noticing the exchanged looks between the family standing behind Felix.

Felix blushes furiously, the deep red extends down his throat and under the collar of his sweater. “Oh, he’s my partner, another witch, like us.”

Well, fuck.

—

Somehow, we manage to function like adults after that. Gareth, Kleo and Felix accompany me to the main hall, a longhouse centered in the commune where Trading Day occurs. It’s already full, considering I procrastinated coming here in the first place and my … whatever the hell that was that happened back there.

My net of crates drops with an unceremonious thud in the last empty stall, the sound lost to the noise of the crowded and upbeat atmosphere. Music flows from the head of the longhouse, courtesy of some folk instruments. Kleo and Felix find a table while I call upon my magick, whispering words that untie the bow and retract the roots until they’re nothing.

“I’ll find us all some food.” Gareth claps me on the shoulder, smiling softly.

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” I say, unable to refute him because I am hungry. I’m used to Gareth accompanying me, but not Kleo, and certainly not a man that I’m pretty sure is my everything and someone else’s at the same time.

Quit being dramatic, Lys.

I sigh, flowers and leaves curling in on my body. Kleo and Felix fill Gareth’s absence almost immediately, bringing over a long folding table. They set it up and I thank them, then get to work unpacking crates one at a time.

“Can I help?” Kleo asks, and I shrug. She and I set up one jar of each item on the table, leaving the extras in the crate. Felix studies each ingredient from the other side of the table, becoming increasingly excited as he evaluates my selection.

“Ooh, is that hahlama moss? Oh, and are those swamp lantern roots? Is that—” Felix interrupts himself, smiling nervously. “Sorry, I like plants.”

Kleo scoffs. “That’s an understatement.”

I clear my throat, attempting to make small talk. “Yeah, you um, you run the apothecary in Witch House, right?”

“Yes!” Felix nods quickly. “Yeah, Calen and I do. They’re better at the growing thing than I am honestly, but everything that comes after? That’s my jam.” He winces.

“Your jam?” Kleo teases, and he groans.

I chuckle, giving my table one last onceover to make sure everything is out. Kleo watches us with a smug grin, standing at the end of the table between Felix and I. “That sounds nice. So, Calen’s a witch too? I guess probably everyone that lives there is, right?”

Felix shrugs. “Not everyone, Calen’s not, but that’s okay. They needed a home, and Silas wanted them to come live with us, so Dad said okay.”

My brain breaks. “Oh, that’s, good.”

Kleo takes off, muttering something about finding chairs and her sanity.

Felix comes around the table, tapping its surface as he does. “So, what about you? Do you live alone?”

I nod absently, burying questions. Questions such as; Silas invited Calen to stay as … friends? Something more? If it is, then does that mean Felix has two boyfriends? Or is it just Silas that has two? Have I gone insane and am reading into the smallest of things because of a, a … a crush?

“You alright?” Felix asks, standing closer than he was before. When did that happen?

“Yeah, totally.” I fidget with the necklaces hanging around my throat, rubbing a coin between my fingers. Totally?

He chuckles. “Okay. So, you live alone in a swamp, and only visit what … twice a year?”

That snaps me out of my stupor, but when I open my mouth, a customer arrives. I sell them a jar of … swamp lantern (because yes I like that term) roots, explaining to the faun how to boil them properly for a heat inducing tea and to be careful of the thorns. That is what most people use them for, the root tea will warm their bones for hours upon hours, no matter the weather. When the leaves are prepared into a syrup, the plant provides expectorant and anti-inflammatory qualities, perfect for respiratory issues.

After that, Felix and I don’t talk much. Kleo comes back and word of aetherberries spreads, drawing people to my table like flies to a fallen fruit. They leave with so much more than they came for, and when Gareth returns, I’m almost sold out. A wave of calm washes over the longhouse as others partake in early dinner, the crowd ebbing. They eat six times a day here in Vieta, small meals that are filling regardless of their size.

Gareth and Kleo talk about the latest addition to her small farm that rests beside her parent’s. Screaming goats.

“That sounds unpleasant,” I mutter, and they all laugh. Even Felix, who has been quietly studying me for hours.

“And that is exactly why I’m offering sanctuary. Even the most … obnoxious things deserve love.” Kleo declares, and I can’t argue with her. I tell her as much, and she grins. “How’s Hook doing by the way? I have his chicken feet ready.”

I groan. “He pulled me into the water this morning, so his usual cheeky self.”

“Who eats chicken feet?” Felix tilts his head, leaning forward in his chair across from me. Kleo and Gareth flank our sides, a tight circle.

Gareth chuckles. “That feisty croc. Still waiting to meet him.”

I open my mouth to say ‘can’t very well bring a crocodile to a commune,’ but Felix’s eyes widen, magick coloring them a soft pink for just a moment. He whispers, “A crocodile?”

When I nod, his whisper transforms into a shout. “You were almost eaten by a crocodile with chicken toes in its teeth? Oh gods, what if it said, ‘mmm, you taste like chicken?’”

Kleo laughs, face buried in her hands. Gareth joins in, clapping Felix on the shoulder.

I laugh too, the moss and grass spots along my body grow a few millimeters. “Hook is my familiar, he wouldn’t eat me. But you’re not wrong about the chicken toes, it gets to be quite a nuisance for him.”

“Your familiar is a crocodile?” Felix balks, leaning back in his chair. He mouths, “That’s so cool.”

My cheeks warm and I shrug. “What’s yours?”

Felix’s excitement simmers down and he toys with the end of this ponytail again, which is loose now and half undone. “Haven’t got one yet. Dad says that’s alright, it’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen. He didn’t get his until he was older, too.”

“Oh,” I say, unsure how to proceed.

Felix grins at me, releasing his hair. “It’s alright. Tell me more about Hook.”

And I do.

—

Later, after I’ve sold out and made some purchases of my own, after dinner when Felix tells stories about a man who was a mystery, and even a little while after that, Felix and I find ourselves alone.

I’m not sure how it happened. One moment Gareth, Nienna and Eilae, along with all their children and Felix and I, were sitting around a campfire and eating s’mores, debating how much to cook the marshmallows. Kleo and I were the only ones in agreement that they should be burnt to an absolute crisp, and Felix appalled me by only warming them up.

The galaxies are exceptionally bright overhead and the double moons shine with a full, luminous intensity. The golden and silver celestial beings are centered overhead, physically at their closest to our planet. I love this time of year. It’s colder here than back home at the marsh, but Gareth had loaned me a sweater awhile ago which I now wear underneath my vest. My necklaces rest atop the soft yarn, coins glinting in the firelight and bones absorbing moonlight.

Felix turns to me with a shy smile, we’re sitting side by side on a log bench. Kleo had been right next to me, but she’s gone, and so is Eilae, who was sitting on the other side of Felix. They’re all gone. He gestures to my necklaces.

“You remind me of a crow.” Felix says. I can’t help but laugh, and he blushes. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing! It’s just, they collect things, you know? There’s a flock back home and they’re always leaving the weirdest things around, not always shiny, but just … random. One time, Marvin left me an acorn top with a piece of red thread pulled through it.”

“How does that even happen?”

“Right? Can’t very well ask them, considering Marvin’s a crow, and yes, I named them.”

I chuckle. “You’re weird. I like that.”

Felix laughs, finally taking the tie out of his hair, considering it wasn’t doing much. “Thanks. I like you too, Lysander. I’m glad we finally got to meet, I’ve been wanting to come up sooner, but, witch stuff, you know?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess so. Better late than never, right?”

He nods, fidgeting with the hems of his sleeves. “Can I … Can I ask you a question?”

I stiffen a little, but I say, “Okay.”

Felix stares me in the eyes, his flash pink again. “Could you show me some magick?”

“Oh,” I whisper, then nod quickly. “Yeah, okay.”

I clear my throat and stand, then sit back down, because I don’t want to stand over him. He’s already so much shorter than me, I feel like a giant just sitting next to him. He tentatively presses a hand to my upper arm and I startle. He pulls back, not taking his eyes off me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

“Oh, I’m not. Nervous, that is.”

Felix chuckles. “Okay. Well, you don’t have to make yourself smaller, for me. Or anyone.”

“Oh,” I say, then stand and straighten to my full height before him. Even the leaves and petals in my hair and along with skin stand to attention, and I blush at the image of preening like a fucking peacock.

“Wow,” Felix says, staring up at me with wide eyes. “You’re really tall.”

I almost lean down, but he takes my hand. This time, he doesn’t let go. “No, don’t.” Felix stands beside me, my hand in his. I stare down at our entangled fingers, then back to his face. His neck is craned and it looks painful, but the determination in his eyes is almost frightening.

I squeeze his hand, then let go. I put my hands up, smiling wide. “Okay, have it your way, tchotchke.”

Oh, how he smiles at that. He pretends to be affronted, but that smile. It’s perpetual, blinding. “I am not a small thing.”

I shrug, turning away from him. I bring my hands to chest level and smile upon coming up with an idea. I close my eyes and murmur, “Abracadabra.”

For a split second, there’s just the sound of leaves crunching beneath Felix’s boots as he joins my side. An owl calling. A soft, chilled breeze rustling the small trees and flower bushes around us. Then, Felix’s sharp intake of air when something groans thunderously beneath the trembling earth. His arm brushes against mine and my magick, it …

It spasms, which is the only way I can describe it. The molecules riding my blood temporarily implode with power, with right, with yes. Then they expand with the feeling, fueling my heart with more energy than its ever pumped before. A soft pink hue colors the edges of my vision and I sigh, fingers shaking.

Four pillars composed of eight thick columns of roots erupt from the ground softly, like a plant would sprout and gently break from the earth. They rise to a height of about ten feet, then change direction and grow towards each other, weaving together to form a platform. As they do, smaller roots branch off the original eight. The foundations of the earth continue to diverge, split and grow together until a tree house of sorts stands before us, a neighbor to the fire pit.

A series of protection runes burn into the smooth, deep brown of the roots, temporarily glowing a bright orange until fading into the realm of invisibility. Although there are half walls surrounding the porch of the tree house, the spell will keep anyone from falling. Last but not least, a ladder unfurls from the upper level, its end hovering just above the ground.

Felix squeaks.

“Oh. My. Gods. That was …” He side-eyes me, mouth working open and closed. “Can we … We should test it out, don’t you think?”

I grin. “Definitely.”

And that’s how the two of us ended up scurrying up a treehouse, squealing like a couple of kids. How the noise didn’t wake anyone up, I’m not sure, but I don’t care.

We flop inside the giant room of the tree house, the root walls to our backs. I catch my breath through giggles and Felix does the same. He grins at me, his golden eyes lighting up the small space between us.

“Show me yours,” I murmur, and he tenses.

“Oh, that’s probably not a good idea.” Felix says, rubbing the back of his neck.

I wave around wildly, as if to say, “Hello, tree house?”

He groans. “Ugh, I hate the word for it.”

I shrug. “So make a new one.”

Felix blinks. “I totally should.”

I elbow him and he gives me another shy smile. “Fine, fine. I’m a Super Teleth.” He waves his fingers dramatically and I raise a brow.

“Yeah, I’ve got no idea what that means.”

“What?” He asks, voice high pitched. I give him a look and Felix clears his throat, trying again. “Oh, that’s … Kind of nice actually. Um, I can read minds?” His voice lilts and upon seeing my horrified face, more words spill out. “Not all the time! I have wards up, you know? Otherwise that would be a lot. I can move stuff too though, and talk with people in my mind, even if they’re not a Teleth. I can tell how people are feeling too, just by their auras. The super part of it means I have more than one specialty. Or something like that, I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“Wow.” I breathe. “You’re like a superhero.”

Felix blanches. “Oh, please don’t. I’m really not, and it can be annoying. I’d much rather have your awesome plant powers.”

I shake my head. “No way. I can only control roots, not necessarily plants. That’s boring compared to … mind stuff! Have you … read my mind?”

“No, no. I don’t ever do that without permission.”

“Oh.”

“Did … you want me to?”

I shift, our knees knock together and my heart does that thing again.

Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump.

“Yeah, okay.”

Felix laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “Nah, I probably shouldn’t.”

“No, really! I want you to. Only if you want to, that is.” I say, cursing myself. I never talk, and I can’t seem to stop talking around him.

“Okay. Just, put away anything you don’t want me to see.” Felix says, and it’s quiet.

“Okay.” I say, closing my eyes. I try to clear my mind, which is an impossible thing to do.

“Are you ready?” He asks, and I nod.

I focus on Hook, and home. I picture the gardens around the house, the books on my shelves, the marrow and metal detailing my place. I inwardly chuckle at the thought of bringing Felix there, he’d really call me a crow then. A warm feeling settles in my heart and I sigh, thoughts turning to the places around the marsh I’d show him next. Silas too, if he wanted to bring him. And Calen, if that’s … if whatever they are to Felix warrants such a thing.

I tumble through thoughts, waiting for Felix to start, but all I feel is peace and questions and his pant leg crinkling against mine. I open my eyes and mouth, turning my head towards Felix, but promptly shut my lips. His eyes are closed, a peaceful expression upon his face. A slight smile plays at his lips and I swallow something heavy.

Felix opens his eyes, golden irises focusing directly on me. He murmurs, “I would very much like to visit your home. And if Silas and Calen are welcome, I’m sure they’d love it there too. It seems peaceful, beautiful. Thank you for showing me.”

He must’ve been so gentle, I didn’t even feel him in my head. Unless that was the warm feeling.

“Felix, do you …” I start, then clear my throat. “Nevermind, it’s not my business.”

Felix smiles. “Yes, we’re all together, meira, but Calen is only Silas’ … romantic partner, not mine.”

“Oh,” I say, unable to come up with anything else after hearing his endearment for me. 

Light.

“I like you, too, you know. Your feelings were pretty strong.” Felix taps his temple and I die a little inside, burying my face in my hands. “But we can’t … I have to talk to Silas, and maybe we could try being friends first? I’d like to be your friend, regardless of anything else. I feel like we …”

I look up at him then. “What?”

Felix twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “I don’t know. I feel like I already know you. Is that weird to say?”

“No,” I shake my head immediately, heart racing. “My heart does this weird thing around you.”

Felix blushes furiously. “Oh.”

“I want to be your friend too, Felix.”

Felix smiles then, my words effectively erasing his nervousness. “Okay, let’s be friends.”

A few more hours pass in the tree house and dawn is a very real threat. I’m not sure as if I’ve ever stayed awake this long, but I don’t care. I soak up everything that is Felix, and he wants to know everything that there is about me, too. I tell him about being left behind at the video store, and he tells me he doesn’t remember being left behind, but he remembers the bruises.

We lay on the floor of the tree house, heads together. He’s delighted by the fact that yes, the parts of me that are plant do glow softly underneath the moonlight streaming in through the open windows.

He asks, “Why did you tell me you weren’t a skunk?”

“I went to school for a little while, after they left me. Everyone, even the teachers, would comment on how I … smell. It was a distraction to the class and I … I spent a long time hiding because of it. I, I used to pull my petals out, because it makes it not so bad. But I don’t do that anymore.”

“I’m glad that you don’t.” Felix whispers immediately. “For the record, I like your flowers, and I like the way you smell. You smell real, like earth and spring and Dad’s pot.”

I bark out a laugh. “That’s amazing.”

“I know,” He murmurs.

I ask, “What’s your Dad like?”

And he talks and talks and talks.

—

Much later, after saying a reluctant goodbye to Felix and promising that I’ll send him a letter, I lay atop the roof of my home and watch the sun come up. Warm rays of purple, pink and gold wash over the marsh, thawing the frost my swamp suffered last night. I flip a large coin between my knuckles, a new addition to my collection. It’s golden hue matches that of the man’s eyes who gave it to me.

Felix had said, “If you ever need Witch House, say the words and someone will answer. Dad gives these to witches in case of emergency, but you can use it for communication, too. You’re part of the family now, whether you like it or not, swamp witch.”

And I smiled.

Witchtober – Lunar

/ Aelina / Leave a comment

In honor of October, my favorite month, I’ve decided to participate in Witchtober. A friend of mine actually suggested it for their art, and I thought ‘how cool would it be to make a short story for each prompt?’

So that’s what I did.

I’ve been struggling what to name the ‘Phantom and Rook series’, because yes there will be more books, and these short stories gave me an idea. Adventures in Levena. These stories will be canonically set in my Phantom and Rook world, the Nether Isles, but you won’t need to have read Phantom and Rook to know what’s going on. The stories are mostly centered around new characters in situations that have nothing to do with the book, or are main characters just living in their world.

Without further ado, meet Arche, the witch inspired by the first prompt, Lunar.

Illustration by Henni Eklund

Lunar

 “I said two degrees to the right! Come now, I haven’t all night. We have one shot at this.” I smash my cigarette into an ashtray and peer into an eyepiece, shouting from my vantage point down to the soul below.

“Sorry Mr. Arche sir, right away sir!” Raphael works from behind his desk, sending codes to the rotating platform supporting the telescope and myself. Inch by inch the platform turns and once it settles, I check our position once more. The wards separating Raphael’s roarous thoughts from my mind tremble and I lift fingers to my mouth, but there’s no filter clutched between them.

“Excellent, and no more of that sir and mister nonsense.” I add firmly, standing and rolling out my neck, then dutifully light up another cigarette. “I’ve told you that a hundred times,” I mutter, staring up at the open ceiling of the astronomy dome. To the naked eye, the silver moon is but a distant behemoth greedily hiding away my lifelong aspiration.

Until now.

“Fire up the inverter and begin the countdown!” I call, hurriedly making my way down the stairs with the lit cigarette hanging out of my mouth.

I adjust my fingerless leather gloves, then my black vest. I rake my hair back, fingers scraping against the shaved undersides. My spine tingles with anticipation, the amount of kinetic magick buzzing through the atmosphere as the engines power on is enough to intensify my migraine. When I join Raphael’s side, I find the intern staring at an unassuming button. His eyes drag to my face, crinkling in distaste at the cigarette between my lips. He doesn’t complain about them aloud, but it’s clear he dislikes them.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? We have no idea what’s up there, or how magick works in space. I understand your work in theory and I truly admire it, but are we really about to do this?” Raphael asks, and I’ll give him credit for staring me right in the eyes.

Most people don’t, as if making eye contact will reveal all their secrets to me in an instant. It can, but I don’t make a habit of leaving myself open to endless useless thoughts and dramatics. Besides, I don’t need to read minds to know he’s being genuine. Of course he’s not the most perfect assistant, but he’s marginally more effective than the past few I’ve had, he challenges my mind and cares about the work, or so I thought.

I chuckle, sliding my hands into my pockets to hide their tremor. “And you’ve waited until now to come clean because?”

Raphael chews on his bottom lip, looking away when I don’t dispute his concerns. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far.”

Honestly, that hurts. “Ah, because I’m insane, right?”

Raphael winces. “I didn’t–”

I wave him off, bored of this. “You didn’t have to, I have ears. I know what they all think of me. Crazy, carnal, weird. I also know what we’re about to accomplish will set us apart from those who never dare to try. Don’t you want to be known as the man who turned the immovable silver moon? Revealed its secrets for the world to share? If you’d like to leave, then by all means, there’s the door. But you know it just as well as I do, this is a moment, and you’ve contributed so much, Raphael.”

Raphael’s eyes widen at his name, something I now realize I haven’t said enough. His hands tighten into fists in his lap and he glares at the small red button. As I watch him consider, the ache in my heart lessens. He believes in me, he does, and it doesn’t matter that I’m a vampire, a witch, a person who doesn’t know how to hold what some call meaningful conversation.

But like all the rest, he hurries out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

I butt my forgotten and ash ridden cigarette into a tray resting on the control panel, then gently press the red button. “Tch,” I whisper, not at all surprised or bothered that he left.

Not at all.

The inverter powers on, overwhelming the astronomy tower with a hum that rattles my bones. The magick in my blood sings in unison with the decades worth of stored Teleth power coming to life. Enormous gears work alongside the telescope I’ve spent the latter half of my life constructing. A blood red glow surrounds the brass works, the color amplified by steam hissing from vents in the construction. I study the vast projection of the full double moons cast on the main stretch of white wall, a replica of the telescope’s view. Precise movements require the eyepieces, but for grand shows I can see what I need to from here. A fiendish grin overtakes my face as the countdown initiates.

“5.” I wonder if Da is watching from wherever he is. I look over my shoulder, briefly wondering if the other astrophysics professors are watching. Of course, there’s no one.

“4.” A high pitched whining emits and a ray of red light penetrates through the sky, faint at first. I’ll make you proud, Da. I’ll find the man left behind on the silver moon.

“3.” The crimson beam strengthens in intensity and an alarm blares, rattling my eardrums. My attention flashes down to the controls and a gauge spinning wildly out of control. Fuck, it’s overheating. No, no, no, not again, not this time.

“2.” I flick a switch, redirecting the backup reserves of water magick I’ve spent a year collecting through donations to the cooling system.

“1.” Vents squeal and metal shrieks, a cloud of steam escapes and violently fills the astronomy tower.

Everything dies. The lights, the power, the screens.

“Fuck!”

I start out the next morning with a harassment report, transfer request and a disaster of an astronomy tower. Dante, the only person in this damn place who seems to tolerate me, brings me coffee at ten, just like he always does. Raphael usually anoints me with my first cup of caffeine at eight am, but he’s not here anymore. I can’t deny that the prospect of coffee has me jittering in place.

The angel steps over piles of warped clutter, wings spelled away as he dodges pieces of metal flying through the air. I rip and tear the sheeting off the side of the telescope from high up on the scaffolding. Through the smoke rolling from the death stick hanging out of my mouth, I stare my problem in the face. Dante climbs up the metal stairs and sits down heavily on the platform beside me, feet dangling over the edge. I take the coffee he offers with a noncommittal grunt, eyes dashing across his face briefly.

“Wow, you look like shit today.” Dante states the obvious, gesturing to my rolled up sleeves, dirty forearms, rumpled vest and stained dress slacks. He’s not wrong, I never went home last night. He wrinkles his nose. “And reek like my abi’s ashtray.”

“You say that every day.” I say, turning my attention back to the broken and violently burnt mechanism once hidden. I rifle through perfectly preserved and organized details, closing my eyes to better access the room in my mind full of boxes. Boxes of files, files which contain memories and information, relevant and otherwise. I flinch upon finding the error, how I missed it before I don’t know.

“That’s a cooling compressor, isn’t it?” The papers between us rustle as Dante satisfies his curiosity. “Kind small, ain’t it? For that amount of force you’ll need–”

“5.5k EMU per device, yes I know. I need another one. Fuck, how did I miss this.” I scrub at my face, then take a tentative sip of coffee. It’s perfect, overly creamed and sweet, like always. “Now the scope’s systems are all fried, and I have to recode everything from scratch.”

“You mean Raphael does.” Dante points out with a mischievous grin and I glare at him. He puts his large hands up. “What? Isn’t that what interns are for?”

I shake my head. “No more interns. He’s the reason I’m in this mess, it was his math. I became … complacent, so I stopped checking the numbers. Besides, he’s gone anyway.” I wave off the idea, cheeks absolutely not heating. “I’ll do it myself.”

“How long did this one last, six weeks? Damn, nearly the whole summer at that!” Dante laughs, exposing miles worth of dimples as he takes out his phone. He types into what I’m assuming is the group chat between him and all the other science professors, sans me. “That’s a record. You made me some good money on him. Ah, suppose he’ll be joining my less cool classes.”

I light up a cigarette, giving the male a withering look. “I don’t appreciate you betting on how long it takes to terrify my interns. At least cut the pool with me, and … be nice to him.”

Dante scoffs, temporarily abandoning his coffee in favor of pulling his long, snow white hair back. For a brief moment, I wonder if his wings match the color. “How can we do that if you’re not getting another one? We can play it to our favor,” His voice lilts at the end and a small smile escapes me.

I chuckle. “You find someone willing to work with, what was the latest one… Oh yes, Professor Witches a Lot, or my personal favorite, that ‘fucking crazy asshole locked up in the tower’, and I’ll gladly rig the game with you.”

Dante grins, and it’s evil. “Oh, I’ve got someone in mind.”

I take another sip of my coffee, mildly intrigued. “Cheers to that then. What do we say, two days until I chase him away?”

Dante stands, laughing as he does. “Let’s try a week, can’t have the fun be over too quickly.”

I shoo him away and finish my coffee, half listening.

I have work to do.

I spend the day cleaning up my mess, emptying and filling ash trays, and pacing around the telescope. The overhead ceiling is wide open, allowing an unobstructed view of a twilight sky dotted with the faint corpses of planets. I stare up at the constellations as they come into view, thinking of Da. In a way I always do, he’s constantly there in the back of my mind, telling me how lonely it is to live on a rock that doesn’t spin, faced with endless darkness. He spoke with such surety, such detail that I could never dismiss it as a fable.

As the golden moon that spins a little each night pulls its smaller, glittering silver brethren high into the sky, I watch. I find myself standing still, for perhaps hours, watching as the moons come up. There is a small part of me that knows everyone else is right. I’m insane. Have to be. 

Who else stands in one place for stretches of time as the universe turns overhead, watching for a sign? Waiting for evidence that someone is up there, someone needs help. My help.

“I’ll do it one day, Da. I’ll go up there and meet the Man on the Moon. I’ll bring him home.” I stood a little taller, snowshoes pushing against a packing of snow that composed the last winter my father saw.

He smiled at me then, hand raising to rest on my head like he always did when I had pleased him, but he didn’t have to reach down now. In fact, he had to reach up, for I was taller than him. “I never said there was a Man on the Moon, just a person.”

I tilted my head, wondering how or when I had decided such a thing. “I have a feeling.”

And oh, how he smiled.

“Arche!”

I jolt upright, heart pounding in anticipation and releasing toxic amounts of terrified magick through my veins. Energy lashes out, instantly mapping my surroundings. I relax somewhat at the realization it’s Dante calling me, but the rest is blurry. I scrub at my face, wrinkling my nose at the sensation of hair tickling my lips. I rake it back, frowning as I come upon snarls and grease from running my hands through the tousled length so much yesterday.

Desk. I’m at my desk, a tingling sensation swarming through the side of my face. My sticky face. I frown, reaching up to pull a piece of paper off my sweaty cheek. Ah, the calculations I was working on last night. Absently, I solve the last equation whilst studying the paper, then set it down. I smooth out the wrinkles of my now … three? days old shirt and frown down at my slacks, colored with ashes, coffee, grease and soot.

Dante’s clearly amused, rumbling laughter behind me is accompanied by a small sound, not a whimper, but almost like a restrained squeak. I sigh, searching my pockets for my cigarettes before turning around and dealing with whoever he has paraded in here with the intent of torturing them. “I assume it’s Monday, again.” I say over the stick in my mouth, inhaling greedily when it lights.

“Tuesday, actually. I assumed you were ignoring my texts, but I can see now that’s not the case. Would you like us to come back?” The angel casually says, but underlying the words is a friendly taunt. If I say yes, I’ll be fueling the fire I’m sure he’s building, kindled with sticks that read, ‘I told you that you’re overworking yourself.’

I stand, using the desk for purchase, and inhale another long drag before turning around. I exhale smoke and words are there too, but they shrivel on my tongue upon seeing my guest. For the first time in decades, I choke on my nicotine, and it burns. I swiftly turn back around, hacking up a lung as I stamp out my cigarette. I don’t miss Dante’s knowing laughter and am able to manage out a ‘fuck off.’

Another small, breathless sound mixes with Dante’s amusement and once I recover, I turn and find the person is laughing at me, too. It’s silent, bright nonetheless, and my heart aches, surely from my coughing fit.

“I was not anticipating visitors,” I glance around, noticing the mess I had cleaned up yesterday has been expertly replaced by more clutter. Ironically, the state of my tower bothers me more than my clothes, and the smell wafting from beneath them. “Dante, introductions?” I ask, clipped but not unkind, hopefully.

Dante recovers, patting the man beside him on the shoulder who sheepishly continues to smile at me, eyes never leaving mine. I have to look away from him, afraid those thin pools of mercury will suffocate me. “This is Io Litsvim, a transfer student from the Obelisk of Gia’s Magickal Physics program.”

The name rings a bell, I remember coming across it on the upcoming fall semester’s roster for three of my classes, all graduate level and begrudgingly populated, not to mention Astronomical Magick is infamous for reducing some students to tears. The endless, multi-dimensional math and research gives me a headache, too, but it’s vital. Magick, new and alternate worlds, fate, science, it’s all connected. It’s real. There’s a factual reason for why life as we know it exists, for everything.

I just have to find it.

My inner philosophy narrative lasts less than ten seconds before I file it away, pack it in a box, then fully evaluate Io Litsvim with fresh lungs and new eyes. Obelisk of Gia is well known for their scholars and frankly, Scarlet University isn’t as well funded, not as … dedicated to the pursuit of science as Gia is. Between that and Io’s choice of course load, my courses, it’s clear he thinks he’s smart, but he could be the son of a nobleman and pushed through science because it’s ‘trendy.’ He holds his head high and wears a shy smile no matter how hard my gaze penetrates him, searching for weaknesses.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away.

Io wears black framed glasses that rest on round ears, his skin is pale and slightly wrinkled around the edges like mine and vastly freckled, unlike mine. The markings are so dense, small and scattered it’s as if he bathed in a cloud of stardust, and his hair adds to the effect. It’s thick, relatively smooth given the wildness of it. Russet, almost burnt orange and earthy green drift around his face, undertones of a dusky twilight brush against his shoulders. I can’t help but notice his teeth are perfect behind that unyielding smile, save for a crooked incisor.

He’s wearing an admittedly beautiful sweater, azure and silver yarn shimmers under the fluorescent lights, the universe across his chest contrasts the … sterileness of the place around us. His jeans are … tight, and not at all what I expect a physics student to be wearing. Honestly, none of him makes sense. He feels … fae almost, but looks human and something completely other. My fingers twitch with contemplation, but I immediately bury the thought. I don’t read minds, not without permission, not if I can help it.

My study of Io must have lasted longer than ten seconds, because Dante smirks at me in a way that ruffles my feathers more than they already are. I inhale sharply, extending my hand to Io Litsvim with the standard, paper cut out introduction I give to everyone. “Hello, I am Arche Caeleste, Professor of Magickal Physics, specializing in Astronomical Magick.”

What I don’t say to everyone is, “I’m glad to have you in the program.”

Io smiles when he slides his hand into mine, fingers brushing against the pads of mine and palm meeting the heated leather covering my rough skin. He firmly shakes my hand, then releases me without a word. Before I can reply, he brings his hands to chest level and asks me a question, signing it out.

My heart tightens, it’s been years since I’ve spoken to anyone in sign. At first I worry I won’t remember, but I understand him perfectly.

“I’m glad to have met you, but I’m surprised.”

I can’t help but laugh a little, surprising myself and Dante. Then, I surprise Io by responding with touching my fingers to my forehead and curling my middle fingers in as I pull my hand away, forming a Y of sorts with my hand.

“Why?”

Io tilts his hand back and forth, not an exact sign but a clear ehh gesture with a wide, slightly crooked smile which blinds me. “I expected a test, hoops, or something.”

I don’t know why, but I laugh.

I laugh with a vengeance I haven’t felt in years. Besides Dante, when was the last time someone was this blunt with me? Wasn’t afraid to do so?

I bury my hands in my pockets, ignoring the twitch in my fingers. I tilt my head at Io, encouraging greasy strands to fall over my eyes. “How do you know there wasn’t one?”

“I suppose I don’t.” Io signs, shrugging. He glances at Dante and I blink rapidly, remembering him all at once and shifting uncomfortably.

“I’ll finish the tour with Io while you acquaint yourself with a shower, maybe a bed?.” Dante offers, tone casual with a raised brow.

“Oh, yes. Why don’t you come back tomorrow, Io? I’ll be ready for you tomorrow.” I say, using the sign for moon when referring to Io. After doing so, he arrests me with another wide smile.

“Are you sure?” He asks, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his toes and heels.

I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

I was … not ready for Io Litsvim.

He hums all the time, wears colorful sweaters and bounces on his heels while he does math, constantly moving and making noise but no words. I found myself watching him quite often, which in turn makes Io stiffen and attune to silence without a single word from me. For the first time, I dislike how my presence affects others and I wish for easy conversation. During the first week we worked together, I tried to be … considerate, but given that I rarely take care of myself most days, I find it difficult to accommodate his needs.

Not that he’s ever asked for anything.

Io hasn’t asked many questions at all, actually. On the first day he introduced me to his current thesis on the possibilities of inter-dimensional travel, a topic even well seasoned tenure professors won’t touch, me included. I walked him through the lab and explained the telescope’s capabilities and current problems, which he took to solving within minutes, all without having to order a new part. That was the most we’ve talked I think, the rest of the days have been spent recalibrating the system and cleaning my admittedly disastrous lab.

Today though, my hands shake. 

I enter the warmly lit tower, another key difference since Io’s arrival. Raphael always met me at the door with coffee, waiting for me to open the door to our dark tower even though he has, had, a key. I frequently insisted he didn’t have to wait for me, but he always did. I rub at my heart, frowning at the painful sensation creeping under my rib cage. I make a note to text Dante, see if he knows what became of Raphael. He was … is a genius, I’d hate to see him fail this year because of me. He stayed through the summer, worked hard and kept me alive.

I find Io in a rolling desk chair, my chair, grinning wide with his hands out as he spins and spins and spins. I stop just inside the doorway, watching him as he giggles and laughs whole-heartedly. Curiosity has teased my lips several times, but I haven’t asked him why he doesn’t speak. It’s clear that he can vocalize, he giggles when he has to correct my math and I flush, and when I smoke more than four death sticks in a row he voices his disapproval. I swear I’ve caught the edge of a whispered word in an unfamiliar language, and he …

He sings sometimes, if you can call it that. I do. When he thinks I’m not noticing, he hums and … I don’t know, perhaps the noises aren’t words at all but they have a cadence to them, a rhythm where whatever it is he’s softly releasing is harmonious and nice. Not unlike how Raphael would hum under his breath when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I’m a terrible person, aren’t I? What is it that I do that encourages people to sing when I’m not looking?

Nonetheless, I don’t mind signing with him at all, it reminds me of Da and … and Father.

Gods, I haven’t allowed myself to think of him for years. More specifically, the time when it was all three of us and we were happy. I was so young that the memories are blurred but unrelenting, a distressing combination. Not to say Da and I weren’t happy … after, but it wasn’t the same.

I clear my throat and leave the safety of the doorway, startling Io so hard he falls out of his chair, head lolling in dizziness. I rush to his side, my vampiric speed allows my hand to cradle his head before it smacks on the cement floor. Io stares up at me with dazed eyes and a shy grin, fingers clutching my biceps.

When I don’t say anything, his smile starts to fade and I grasp for something witty, that’s what people do, isn’t it?

“You spun sixty eight times without stopping.” I say, immediately regretting my detached, factual words.

To my relief, Io laughs. He laughs so hard it echoes off the tower walls and escapes through the open dome ceiling all at once, there’s so much of it that nothing can contain it, not even the sky. I chuckle, heart warming as I help Io to his feet. Our laughter awkwardly fades away, but his smile doesn’t, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find one on my face, too.

“Good morning,” Io says, then motions for me to sit at the desk where two cups of coffee wait, both steaming. He’s had the lights on, coffee ready for me every morning thus far, and I like it.

“That it is,” I say aloud, then take a seat and sip my coffee, going through today’s plan with him in sign, substituting voice for sign with more technical words that I’ve been working on but haven’t mastered yet. Thus far, I haven’t walked him through the intricacies of my project, given what I actually want to do isn’t on paper. For a brief moment, it occurs to me that I should be afraid, I don’t know this man. Raphael and all my previous interns signed an NDA and were thoroughly vetted to ensure they committed to this.

None of them were, proving the process to be faulty.

“Can I ask a question?” Io draws me from my thoughts and I nod, going to take a sip of my coffee but finding it gone already. I frown, setting the mug down in favor of a cigarette. He rolls his eyes at me and I snort.

“Unless it’s to stop with these, then I’m afraid not. They won’t kill me, so don’t waste your time.” I flinch the second I shut my mouth. I had meant to come off as teasing or something of the sort, but no, I’m just an asshole.

But Io doesn’t seem phased. In fact, he rolls his eyes at me. “Give me more credit than that. No, I want to know what we are doing. You have a telescope that can determine one pebble from another with such accuracy it’s terrifyingly impressive, but you’re not looking for anything on the gold moon, everything is focused on the smaller, less impressive silver moon, some would say. But even then, there’s no pictures, no data samples. This doesn’t feel like a research project to me.”

I take a long drag of my cigarette, contemplating Io. He straightens in his chair, but otherwise doesn’t remove his gaze from me. He stares into my eyes and my fingers twitch with curiosity, but I reign my magick back. There’s something about him that’s wholly familiar and startlingly exotic to my world all at once. Even Dante has commented that ‘this one seems different,’ and I’m inclined to think he’s right, but there’s … I don’t know, something that’s holding me back.

“What do you know of the dark side of the moon?”

Io’s cheeks flush immediately and he adjusts his glasses, ducking his head. He glances back up at me, revealing the slightest bit of cool mercury and an unreadable expression. “That no one has seen it, and any satellites sent up there are lost.”

This is the part where they laugh, run, or stay.

I’ve been laughed at many times and my skin has grown thick, but if Io does, I’m afraid it just may sting.

I nod, treading in a whisper that speeds with my thinly veiled excitement. “I have reason to believe there is someone living up there, and I’m going to prove it. Not only that, but I’m going to reveal the dark side of the moon for everyone to see. When it comes to light that there is a person abandoned up there, all alone … Someone will be sent for them, and they won’t have to be alone anymore. It’s a win-win for everyone. For fame, for accreditation, for morality.”

Io and I have leaned forward in our chairs, inadvertently rolling ourselves closer to each other. He studies me, frowning for the first time since I’ve met him. “How can you be so sure? I can see that you truly believe this, but why?”

I open my hands, staring into my leather covered palms and bare finger tips untainted by ink and grease. This is where I spew logic and myth and years worth of hypotheses, enough scientific jargon to get them in the door. Only Raphael never asked me why. When I told him what I wanted to do, he enthusiastically said yes without question.

“Because I have to,” I admit, so quiet I’m not even sure the words actually even escaped. I chance a look up at Io, and his softened features tell me everything. Such a vulnerable look would usually trigger my defenses and the need to flee, but I don’t. I don’t.

I say, “I can’t leave them alone.”

Io’s pale fingers meet mine tentatively, his skin slowly brushes against mine and when I don’t pull away, he takes both my hands in his, never breaking eye contact. I inhale sharply and my magick thrums beneath my skin, vibrating and pulsing and wanting.

His pupils dilate and he squeezes my hands, the only indication he noticed my power greeting him, then releases me just as slowly as he took me. With one hand he says, “Ok.”

I nod, chancing a smile. “Okay.”

After that, I explain everything to him. The tractor beam, the magick engines, how we’ll need to prepare the telescope and the potential consequences for my actions.

I brush off such things. “As long as we succeed, that’s all that matters. You won’t be subject to any investigations, you have my word. Besides, it’s not like I’m planning on keeping the moon this way, could you imagine what would happen?”

Io shrugs. “You break a plate and put it back where you found it, but it’s still broken.”

I arch a brow. “Do you disagree with me?”

He laughs. “Of course I do.”

I frown, lighting up another cigarette. “Then why did you agree?”

Io’s laughter transforms into a deadly grin. “Because I believe you.”

“Oh.” I say, because what else can I say? My throat dries up and I go for coffee, but it’s long gone. I take a drag from my cigarette and instantly regret it, subsequently stubbing out the stick. I stand abruptly and Io stares up at me through his earthy hair, a smirk playing at his lips. “Thank you, um, thank you for that. I am not … I’m not good with these things, so don’t expect praise or anything like that. I hear that I’m terrible to work with. In general if I say nothing, that’s good.”

Io chuckles as he signs, “Consider me warned.”

I nod, neck hot. “Excuse me for a moment. Why don’t you get started on today’s problem at hand? We need to make sure the math is right, and we both know you’re better at it than me, just like–”

I abruptly cut off, shaking my head. Io’s smile fades and something sad swims in his eyes and I ache at the sight of it. “Well, go ahead. I’m just going to check on something.”

I turn away before I can embarrass myself anymore, stalking off to the nearby scaffolding surrounding the telescope. I stop at the bottom stair, pulling out my phone. I find Dante and call him, keeping my voice down.

“We have seven more weeks, don’t tell me you’ve scared him off already.” Dante pouts as a way of answering and I grumble in response.

“Good morning to you, too. And Io is doing fine, thanks for asking. I actually had a question.”

“Must be pretty important if you’re actually using your phone, and for a call no less.” Dante yawns over the line.

I huff and roll my eyes even though he can’t see me. “Forget it.”

“Oh come on now, I’m just teasing. What do you need?”

My lips itch for a cigarette but I resist, for now. “How has Raphael been adjusting? I know it’s only the first week of classes, but I … You know what, never mind, it’s not my business, I’m not his teacher anymore.”

“Arche,” Dante cuts through my nonsense firmly, but not unkindly. “You have his number, why don’t you shoot him a text?”

I balk at that, sputtering indignantly. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not appropriate, I only had it in case of emergency and I … doubt he wants to hear from me, honestly.”

Dante chuckles. “But you still have it? His number?”

I growl at my so-called friend. “Good bye, Dante.”

“See you at ten,” Dante says, laughing as he cuts the call.

I stare at my unlocked phone, the wallpaper something Raphael had chosen for me when he set this device up. For all my worldly knowledge, the technicalities of phones escape me. I open up a message thread, adding Raphael’s name because yes I still have his number. I type, erase, and type again for several minutes, eventually coming up with the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written and have been thinking about the sentiment since he left.

Good Morning Raphael. I wanted to apologize for my behavior, not just for the day you left, but for the weeks before it as well. Without your help, ideas and genius I would’ve gotten stuck long ago, and for that I would like to add, or keep, rather, your name on the accreditations. If you are uncomfortable with this I will not, but I feel you deserve it. I know I am difficult, and you are superb, beyond what I deserved. With or without, and dare I say more so without, you will achieve grand things, and I wish you the best. Thank you, Raphael.

My finger hovers over the send button, then slides to erase.

No.

I slam my thumb down on the little paper airplane meant to take my apology, resulting in a rather anticlimactic moment. I take a step, but then–

Oh, but then.

Then, a phone chimes.

My boot slams down to the floor, toe scraping the first metal stair leading up the scaffolding and my shoulders tense at the sound of a familiar ding-ding reminiscent of a trolley.

I slowly turn in place, sure I’m being paranoid.

What I find baffles me.

Io stands halfway between the desk and I, phone in hand and a soft smile upon his face. His mercurial eyes drag from the screen up to me and his features haven’t changed, but in my heart of hearts I know when we lock gazes.

He signs, “I think we can achieve grand things together, don’t you?”

“Raph … Io?” I start and sputter, unsure what to say. “Why do you— Why did you leave only to … Why?”

He sighs, smiling sadly. “I only wanted to be close to you. If I had known … Well, I guess that doesn’t matter now. Do you see now that I’m right here, and I’m not alone? I’ve never been alone, because I’m with you.”

And then, the Man on the Moon offers his hand to me. “I’m sorry for deceiving you. This is me, the real me. Can you forgive me, Arche? Can you allow yourself rest, now?”

He ends his plea with the sign for my name that I’ve loved since the start, and there’s no doubting my decision. There’s so many questions, the deceit erodes my bones, and yet.

And yet.

How can I not explore the dark side of the moon?

I hope you enjoyed Arche’s story! Tomorrow is Ghost, which is Arlo’s story. Here is a first look.

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.

I spent three years calling them my imaginary friends.

Then, I witnessed my first death and learned otherwise, diving into a world of secrets, of shame. No matter what, no one could know.

But, like all secrets, it was found out. He found out. I lost friends, so many friends, and it brought on a new blanket of pain that I didn’t shed for centuries. I never lost the memories of my first friend, either. My first memories ever, for that fact.

I met a ghost for the first time when I was six.