Mystic Invisible

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2The Birth of Bodmin

An icy darkness cloaked the man as he shivered on the frozen floor of the cave. He rubbed his purple hands across his ankle, pain etching the sturdy contours of his face.

“Take it,” a woman’s voice whispered from the darkness.

The man cringed. He shook his head in earnest, his light, feathery hair clinging to the woolen edges of his hat, his blue eyes almost wild.

“Take it now, or you’ll surely die,” the woman’s voice continued, velvety yet threatening.

“I won’t.” The man’s shaky voice matched his trembling hands as he pushed a small glass vial from his side. It clinked into the shadows, the noise echoing eerily through the hollows of the cave. The man rocked onto his hands and his knees, his gray lips set in a hard grimace, his slender torso convulsing with the cold.

“Don’t move.” The woman’s voice, now lined with authority, grew closer. “The frostbite . . . you’ll die if you don’t hurry.”

Agony contorted the man’s brow as he sank back to the ground. He glared into the darkness as the rejected vial bobbed through the air, back toward him. It drifted in front of his face, its silvery contents an unwelcome beacon of his plight. “There has to be another way,” he said through chattering teeth. He curled his legs into his chest, the shivers rolling through him.

“This is the only way,” the woman’s voice urged.

A single tear ran down the man’s cheek as he stared at the floating vial. Slowly, he reached for the menacing bottle and, with quivering hands, uncorked the lid.

“Yes,” the woman hissed from somewhere in the gloom.

“This is the end,” the man whispered. He brought the vial to his lips, the last fragments of hope fading from his glassy eyes. With one firm shake, he dumped the misty liquid down his throat.

The vial clattered to the ground. The man’s screams ripped through the cavern. He writhed on the floor, his fingers slashing the air in front of him as a cloud of darkness pressed in. The inky vapor stifled his cries until they were no more than a whimper, his torment finally giving way to a malicious and unnatural quiet. And then the dark cloud began to lift, exposing something much more treacherous.

Claws tore ice and a piercing shriek echoed through the cave. A sleek black panther blinked through the shadows, its pale eyes wide and vibrant. The large cat’s tail flicked powerfully from side to side as it struggled to gain its footing on the icy ground. Claws scratched ice again and the cat stood, his mighty chest rising and falling in short, rapid puffs.

“Magnificent,” the woman cooed from the darkness. “Absolutely astounding. You, my dark beauty, shall be called Bodmin, and you will be my crowning glory.”

Her voice swam euphorically through the cave as she emerged from the shadows, tall and stately, wrapped in a cowled cape the color of midnight. She plucked the vial from the frosty ground, her eyes glinting beneath her hood.

The great cat squalled, his ears flattening against his head.

“Now, now,” the woman said. “There’s no need for that. You’re saved now.”

A low hiss caught in the cat’s throat. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, his muscles twitching in submission.

“What a masterpiece . . . my masterpiece,” the woman gloated. She kicked aside a heap of torn clothing, the articles no longer of use to the transformed man. A boot tumbled from the pile and skidded across the ground as the woman glided forward, her golden tresses flowing down the side of her neck in a loose braid. She whistled through her teeth and an enormous wolf appeared at her side. “Connery, call the others,” she demanded of her canine charge. “There’s work to be done.”

Connery slinked to the mouth of the cave, her breath freezing in the mountainous night air. She pointed her snout toward the stars and yowled. Several beasts materialized from the darkness, the light from the moon splashing over their sharp features. She led the group back into the cave as the woman dropped the last of the ruined clothes into a newly conjured bonfire. The great cat crouched by her side, a thin, shimmery rope around his neck. His eyes darted around the cave, the brightness of the flames dancing through his whiskers.

“Come,” the woman commanded as the wolves took their places around the fire. “My experiment has worked. My endless labor has finally paid off and now our plan can come to fruition. The time to strike draws near. I will prove my greatness to my people and eventually to the world.” She clutched at the delicate rope around the cat’s neck. “The master will worship me. I will be the most favored, once and for all.” A devilish grin shadowed her face. “And when that happens, no one will ever dare to doubt me again—”

“Ah, man,” Monte groaned as the television screen flickered. He tried to leap from the bed but instead found himself asphyxiated within a cocoon of bed covers. “Get . . . off of me,” he grunted, yanking his arms from the scratchy clutches of the hotel blanket. He kicked his legs free and sprung from the bed. The aged mattress groaned, even under his light frame. He pounced in front of the TV and slapped his palm against the side of the box. Feeble strands of static streaked across the screen. “Stupid piece of junk.” He pulled at the curls on the top of his head, a nervous habit his mother had given up trying to break him of.

The TV had been acting up all week. Of course it would die now, when he most needed the distraction. Goosebumps flecked his arms as he recalled his far-from-normal experience at the park the day before. He shook his head. Probably just more growing pains, he thought, wondering when his bones would finally stop stretching.

He tapped the side of the box again in one last attempt to restore the program. Nothing. He sighed. The movie had been interesting, unusually convincing for a Norm film. He had to give the non-mysticals credit for their imagination, at least.

He shuffled toward the window and pushed aside the heavy drapes. The late morning light leaked into the peaceful dimness of the room. He pressed his forehead against the glass and surveyed the scene a couple stories below him. It was another mellow day. Even the mist from the harbor seemed in no hurry to depart from the shore. It clung to the tree line that bordered the coast, the Pickering Lighthouse poking above the center, a lone bishop on a cloudy chessboard.

A taxi rolled leisurely through the parking lot below. Of the many things that kept society moving, automobiles were common instruments of transport for both the Norms and Mystic communities alike. This instrument, a dull, weather-worn yellow, spotted with rusty red patches, looked as though it had lived a long life of servitude. It’s probably shuttled thousands of Norm tourists all over Salem for years now, Monte thought. He spun around as the room door creaked open behind him.

“Easy there, Jack-in-the-box,” his older brother, Garrick, said as he stepped into the room. Sturdy and muscular, at seventeen years old, Garrick was their father’s clone. Even down to the way his auburn hair waved over his forehead, he was every bit as identical to Mr. Esca Darrow as Monte was not.

“The man-child has returned,” Monte joked. “Are we still going to the beach?”

Garrick wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. “Give me a sec, you skinny malinky,” he said. He removed his damp t-shirt, pulling the sides of his hair up in the process so it looked like his head was growing wings. “Honestly, little bro. You look like a straw in search of a soda.” Garrick eyed Monte up and down.

“Psh . . .” Monte puffed his chest out. “Just because I’m not a tall drink of water.”

Garrick smirked. “Well played, Monte.”

Monte pretended to take a bow and then shoved his shoes onto his oversized feet. “But seriously, this hotel room is depressing. I’m pretty sure the walls are sucking my brains out.”

Garrick flexed his biceps, admiring his muscles as they rippled up and down. “What? You’re bored? What about all of your summer reading?” He plucked a book from a small stack of novels at the foot of the bed and fluttered through the pages.

“I’m not like you, Garrick. I’d rather pour lemon juice over a freshly picked scab than read,” Monte said. “Besides, even if I did fancy some literary education, it wouldn’t matter since we’re moving to the Highlands of Scotland tomorrow,” he added in perfect imitation of Mr. Darrow and his Scottish brogue. He lifted his shirt to reveal his slender physique. “Wanna see my pec dance?”

“You’re such a twerp.” Garrick pushed Monte aside.

“Well at least I don’t have stretch marks from pumping too much iron.”

While Monte lacked the impressive physicality of his older brother, his crooked grin and playful eyes did prove that he was, indeed, a Darrow. For every pound of muscle Garrick carried, Monte had the same amount of wit. Monte had Mr. Darrow’s Scottish blood to thank for that, although his long gangly limbs hardly passed him off as a rugged Highlander.

“Let’s go, then,” Monte said. “I don’t think Mom and Dad realize the soul-eating potential of this room.”

“Yeah okay, point taken. But it’s not like you have to stay in here. You’ve been quite the couch potato since yesterday.” Garrick raised his eyebrows.

“Hardly. I’ve been waiting on you all morning,” Monte said, his stomach tightening at the thought of the Norm kids at the park. He didn’t want anyone to know. Not even Garrick. “The TV stopped working and I’m going to die of boredom.”

“Okay, okay. Quit squawking.” Garrick secured his wand and a holster to his chest.

“You’re bringing your wand?” Monte asked, grabbing a wetsuit from the floor.

“You’re bringing that thing?” Garrick frowned at the suit and then pulled a fresh t-shirt over his head.

“Yeah, so?”

“Whatever.” Garrick scooped up a backpack from the floor and heaved it onto his shoulders.

Monte grinned. A wet suit and a wand; sounded like a harmless afternoon to him.