The Last Salem Witch

                                                                                    p r o l o g u e    For as long as I have been alive, one thing sits true throughout humanity’s short existence; that being different leads to persecution, even if your detachment from what is the norm cannot be helped. History is proof of how little humans are capable of change. On this earth, wars have been fought about one thing, and one thing only: difference. Humans cannot handle what does not fit their little vocabularies. They shun what they cannot wrap their minds around. They dismiss greatness because it is not in the form they think it ought to be.   Difference is a poison to humanity.   It’s a good thing I’m far from human.                                                                                        c h a p t e r 1   I look out the small window of the borrowed car I was in, once again loathing the fact that when I do get out of this vehicle, my shoes would have to be subjected to the poor weather Danvers, Massachusetts is experiencing. Human high heels with red soles do not come cheap — not that I bother myself with how much something costs.   As a matter of fact, I have been in the habit of not bothering myself with inconsequential things for quite a bit of time now. I’ve long learned that magnitudes tend to decrease with time, that whatever seems important today will most likely not matter in a few hundred years or so.  Of course, humans die with that important thing still being important to them, so I guess it’s relative to race. Which, again, is another critical affair among humans. It is incredibly simple of some of them, really. They are all humans, no matter the coloring or determining features. They know very little about race and about the fact that it is determined simply by what humans call genes, and what we, the magical race, call anckorach. Anckorach is a creature’s essence and place in the realm from which every fey, werewolf, vampire, guardian, or fallen draw their powers from.   Humans don’t have anckorach due to the simple fact that it has long been established by your evolution that you cannot handle responsibility. Now, I am not denying your capacity for ingenuity and innovation. You have built this realm for yourself that ensures your survival and my race’s imminent demise, but your ego is far greater than your common sense to even sit at a table with us long enough to keep your wits about.   And that is why I have come back to this Ilyn-forsaken town. Because we just cannot stomach our people dying anymore and be restricted from our right to build our own world without your petty fears ruining it.   Tonight’s Conclave of the High Council will determine a historical choice for my people. Because tonight, we will be deciding whether or not it is now time to flee the realm of our Mothers and live our existence in another. To be perfectly candid, I wouldn’t miss humans if we were to go. But, as High Priestess of the Council, I cannot take such a decision lightly.   “Do you think,” I start to ask my cousin and right-hand, Xaero, “that we can get away with convincing every last one of the Master of the Houses to just pop on into a portal tonight?”   He grumbles underneath his breath, reading from the stack of military reports on his lap. I roll my eyes at him, knowing I am not getting a response other than a meager grunt.   Although Xaero is not too ahead of me in age, he chooses to appear as a rugged man in his forties nowadays. His brown hair is short and kept well, a long scar running upwards from the corner of his forehead and disappearing into his hairline. Amethyst eyes — duller than mine, but the same shade — are focused on whatever he is reading, thick eyebrows looming atop them in a droop towards his fixed-one-too-many-times nose. The Captain’s token is clipped neatly over his chest, starkly gold against the black velvet material of his cloak. Finally, I let my eyes rest on the ring in his right hand.   “Ella, stop staring.”  I c**k my head to the side. “And if I don’t stop?” I asked challengingly. “Do you dare go against me?”   He sighs, at last directing his angry stare at me. “As my queen, of course not,” he said offendedly. “But as my ratty, little cousin who’s been annoying me for two hours now, definitely.”   “But do you think we can do it? Can we persuade everyone to abandon this realm for another?”   He considers me carefully, lowering the paper in his hands. “Are you certain you want to leave?”   I lift a brow. “Our people are close to dying out the longer we stay here. It’s only a matter of time until the humans start figuring us out, start dissecting us with their macabre inventions, and start another witch hunt.   “Only this time, it won’t just be us witches,” I continued. “This time, it will be everyone. We are not safe here. Since the rise of their race, we never have been. Not for a very long time now.”   “But this is our home.”   I do not have a response to that argument, and I am willing to bet whatever fortune I have that it will be the primary problem we’d be dealing with tonight. The other Elders and Masters have become too attached to whatever power they now hold as they took place in human society, blending with them and beating the humans in their own games. They have grown too comfortable playing their make-believe roles in a desperate attempt to remain in the land where every magical race was born. Even now, I am at a loss in how to convince everyone that our best chance at survival was to leave, however painful. My head aches, knowing that tonight’s council will drag on for a very long time.    “How long until we reach the cemetery?” I asked, tracing my finger against the glass that is starting to fog up. “I don’t want to be late.”   “We’re making great time,” Xaero answered, now staring outside too. “In about ten minutes, we’ll be at Conclave. Will you be wanting to visit your mother afterward?”   I give him an acid look from which other people would back down from. Not Xaero, though. He never once stepped a toe out of line but he was firm when he needed to be. And when concerns are familial of nature, he rarely did. Sometimes it comforted me knowing I still had family in him; most times it annoyed me.    “Our family does not need visiting their graves, Xaero.”   He shrugs. “We might be leaving tonight, that’s all I’m saying.”   I sigh just as the car slows down to stop in front of the local cemetery. The fog is hanging low to the ground, the moon big and full above us. The skies are cloudless but in the city, you cannot see the stars. It’s a shame really. This place was once a gorgeous field where all the wildflowers grew and you cannot remember a time where people — living people — didn’t come here to frolic after a long day at work.   This place holds another memory of a long-forgotten time. As a matter of fact, this entire city does. Danvers held nothing for me. That’s why I don’t plan to stay for long. If my suggestion does not pass or is not effective immediately, I’ll go back to the sunny exile I have been spending in the Philippines. If it does not work, there was no point in staying where I am.   The car stops, and Xavier swiftly pushes the door to make it to my side. The rush of cold air was lighter, more inviting rather than the air conditioning inside the car. I take Xaero's hand and clutch my coat tighter against my body. The rain has become a drizzle now but the ground is now softer than is safe for my Louboutins.    “Kaila-os.”   The ground beneath my feet smokes with every step, leaving a scorched, dry mark every time I put one foot before the other. Except for the sizzling sound underneath me, it is a quiet night. A few night owls are perched east of the cemetery, hooting into the night occasionally. I walk. A few yards more and I feel the barrier before I see it.  The patina bursts into color once my finger touches the surface, all iridescent and glowing warmly; exactly how I imagine it would feel like for a family to welcome you home. The patina curls around my hands, caressing me slowly, before fading into the night. This time, when I put my hand through the fabric of space, there was no resistance. The patina is open.   Xaero steps forward and mutters the incantation to reveal the cave that has stood here for as long as I can remember. It is as ancient as the first magical beings that roamed this earth. The first High Council met in this place as the First Wars ended. This place is holy ground in the face of peace within the magical realm and held so much of my people’s history and identity as a race. Perhaps it was a mistake to hold Conclave here tonight.   “Are you ready to do this?”   I look up at Xaero. Worry deepened the lines on his face, annoying me. “Don’t be insulting,” I said, throwing a glare his way.   Echoes bounce off the stone walls every time my heels come in contact with the uneven floor. The sound is loud, a quick succession of clicks and clacks that becomes duller as the roars from the end of the tunnel grow louder.  Once we pass the first torches lining the walls, I take off my cape and let my magic choose something more appropriate than leather pants and a corset. Something that the Mistress of the High Council deserves on such an important night. A tingling sensation starts to kiss my ankles every time I move. It is cold but not unpleasant, silently working its way up my leg, then my thigh, until I could touch the soft material of the beginnings of a loose pantsuit. I smile. Sometimes, my magic really did know better than me.    When my magic was done clothing me, Xaero half-chuckles. "You should have done that in the middle of the throne room. That would have been a spectacle I'd pay to see."   I grin. "And risk another bout of the same Lords and Ladies to try and snap me into a marriage? No way."   Xaero's laugh echoes further until the tunnel opens up to a bountiful bright light. Gold, flickering flames of the finest Fae firelamps made the entire cavern feel like it was day instead of night when you look up the ceiling. We step into the circular waiting hall, and immediately, my lady-in-waiting, Diana, approaches, along with several other high ladies of the Seelie court.   "Hello, again, Mistress," Diana said with a deep curtsy. "You have quite a lot of guests this evening."   "Do you like what I am wearing?" I grin. "I made it in the tunnel." She and the other faes laugh, a loud, twinkling sound that disgruntles the Orc guards guarding the tall vine doors.  Xaero approaches with his aide. "We need to go in now. Where's your crown?"   I c**k my head to the side. "Do I really need one?"   He shrugs then delicately takes the tiara from Diana's hands. "You never needed much to make an impact. But to be safe, let's assert all the authority that we can."   With a nod of approval, Xaero turns and signals the guards to let us through. The horns are sounded, and there is a rustle loud enough to hear from the other side.    "Order for the Last Salem Witch!"   Conclave has now begun.