The Queen's Counting Crows

Chapter 2: Epiphany

I honestly have no clue how to answer him. After what I saw last night, my brain is awash in confusion.

Is HE just mentally ill? Or was it all truth? I do not know for sure. All I know is that I'm out of my depth here, and I'm faced with the reality that this man brutally tortured and killed an innocent young woman. How do I reconcile this monster with the man I thought I knew? Searching for an appropriate response, I pretended to look at my text book.

"Well, Professor Brachfield, I am unsure of how to answer this question you've posed. Do I know for certain it's not real? I cannot say. "I would venture to guess it's probably a lot of hogwash, they're just mentally ill or looking for notoriety, but whether it really happens, who would know?" I reply nonchalantly. Trying my best to keep the quiver of fear from my voice, I remain as calm as possible.

He looks at me with an expression one could describe as contemplative. I know he's trying to think of something to say. A witty retort, perhaps a scathing remark. I'm not certain which, but I know I must leave. I must get home.

Before he opens his mouth to say something, there's a knock on the classroom door. He makes an annoyed face and goes to open it.

"What business do you have interrupting my class, sir?" he said in an irritated voice.

Clearing his throat, Professor Padden looks at him, "Please, do forgive me this rude interruption to your lesson this morning, Professor." Could I, perhaps, borrow Mr. Graymark, for a few minutes please? "I have some pressing matters to discuss with him that cannot be put on hold," he said in a dark gravely voice that makes the fine hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Professor Brachfield, for a split moment, looked so enraged I was worried Professor Padden would turn to ash on the spot. But quicker than anyone else could notice, he smoothed out his expression, and smiled warmly towards the other man.

"No, all's forgiven. How could you help such pressing concerns, Mr. Padden? Do take our young Lord Graymark safely to your offices and return him to class as soon as you can spare him," he replies. Without a hint of the fury, that I know to be lurking beneath the surface.

I barely restrain myself from running towards the open door. As calmly as I can, I get up from my seat and gather my things. Walking briskly to where Professor Padden stood, I turned and nodded my farewell to Brachfield. Rushing out the door, I began sprinting down the hallway. Curiously in the back of my mind wondering why Professor Padden didn't call after me when he was the one who needed me.

Bursting out into the brisk mid-morning air, I continued my straight path to freedom. As I'm rushing towards the gates at the end of this road, I feel as though I'm being watched by a great predator. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Though I heard nothing approaching from behind me, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was about to die. I just kept on straight ahead despite not understanding where this feeling was coming from.

Suddenly my feet began to grow heavier with each new step. The closer to the gate, my feet felt more like lead than ever. I felt the cold fingers of death trace down my spine. Felt them move carefully with intent over every slightly protruding vertebrae. My bones began to burn and ache as if I were melting from the inside. But no matter how high the pain rose, I could not scream. My mouth held shut by those same cold, painful hands. All I could do was stand in place as this invisible monster ate away at my very life. Deep in my mind, I was raging and fighting to move my limbs, to make it the last 3 feet to freedom. Surprisingly, I felt my toes begin to move, and then my legs followed, taking one step, then another, I was slowly making progress towards the gate.

The bony hands holding me down tried gripping on to me tighter, not wanting to let me get away. As its prize, it fought me with all its strength to feast upon my flesh. Fighting to wrest my body from its burning grasp, I'm finally able to tear myself away with a great heave inside my head. Stumbling away, I began sprinting once more to the gate, wrapping my fingers around the cold wrought iron bars, I threw it open with every ounce of strength I could muster.

Running out onto the street, I tracked down my coachman. Though he was surprised, it only briefly showed on his face before he hopped up and asked me where I desired to go. There was only one person to whom I could speak about this to. My mother, the Duchess of Graymark, was known in society as a woman of the occult. Only her title gave her access to the highest social circles. For she neither followed nor bent to society's whims and always remained firmly herself. A reason, during her girlhood, that my father proposed to her. My father agreed with this assessment. Not only was she intelligent, but she was of a strong will and mind, her beauty and innate elegance were merely bonuses. For my father claims, having seen her less than elegant, he'd have married her still. My mother says that while my father was an intelligent man, he was an utter dolt and was the main cause for her less than elegant moments.

The picture-perfect couple of their era, my mother, even as the youngest, most cherished daughter of the Duke of Heatherfield, was gossiped and whispered about in private. She was a witch, though unconfirmed by the ton, everyone 'knew'. Though sweet-natured and softhearted, my mother could be a force for prime evil. Only to those who deliberately courted her wrath. But even still, people knew never to mess with the Duchess of Graymark. For her eldest brother, the current Duke of Heatherfield, also did not take kindly to anyone talking ill of my sweet mother, regardless of the evil ways she retaliated against those that wronged her. My mother's entire family on either side, stretching back to the very first Duke of Heatherfield, were 'special'. The heirs always sought partners with 'specialness' to them, even if their families in particular weren't. Everyone else was free to choose their partners as they liked, and though most tended to end up with equally special people, there was the occasional regular thrown into our rowdy bunch.

My father was one such regular. He never cared that my mother was a witch. He never cared what his relatives thought either. He just loved my mother anyway. After my father passed away 4 years ago, my mother and two elder sisters retired to the country estate most of the year. Only one of my sisters came down last year for the season. Celestyna and Lyrastella were twins, two halves of the same person. They seemed to move and breathe as one entity. Mother said they are, that they were split into two by cruel Gods to keep their power in check. But what the gods hadn't anticipated was that it merely increased their abilities twofold. I was apparently supposed to be a twin, but I absorbed mine in the womb, because those same cruel Gods meant to cut my power by killing my twin.

While everyone else in this world believes in the Christian god, my family worships the real gods. We're known as Witches of The Dark Wylds. Gaining power from the Chaos Gods of Nature, all of our kin hold dual forms. Thin, elegantly pointed ears, deep lavender eyes and pearlescent skin. We more closely resemble our Gods in this form.

As my 26th birthday approaches, I eagerly await my full awakening. When my second form becomes accessible to me, as does the rest of the power I will inherit. Being born under a blood moon on the 31st of October, I was said to have immense power to draw from. Pulling up outside my mother and sister's townhouse, I stepped down from the carriage and walked up to the door. Rapping twice upon the door, it was opened almost immediately by no one, my mothers magic brushing against my skin like a welcome hug.

Entering my mother's study, I'm suddenly enveloped in a punishing hug.

"Oh! My darling son. Are you alright? You're not hurt or horribly damaged anywhere, are you? Let me check, remove your shirt for me-" she manages to rapid fire these questions at me before I cut her off,

"Mom!! I am somewhat fine. But can you give me a chance to respond, please, before you hammer me with questions. Please?" I asked pleadingly.

Releasing the vice grip she had around my body, she steps back a bit, keeping her hands firmly on my shoulders, "Alright, I'm sorry darling. I know why you're here, my love. I just happened to 'see' you earlier struggling against that Chronus Reaper. It was attempting to rip the soul from your body, robbing you of your Elven form and thus the rest of your power. I gave you a boost at the time. I'm glad you came here. I know you had a nightmare last night, and I'm going to tell you that it wasn't a nightmare. It was part of your awakening power that pulled you to the lingering soul of that poor murdered child," she says, once again in a rush.

"Of course, you'd already know what I was here for. You always know," I said, laughing slightly.

"Well, have a seat then. We have several things to discuss. And unfortunately for you, your sisters must also be present for this conversation. It's about your father. There's something we've never told you. And now is the time. I have to help you prepare for the battles to come. The Chronus Gods of Order are coming for you three," she says gravely, her expression falling into a mask of darkness.

"What do you mean, what haven't you told us about father?" I asked in disbelief. She said nothing in response. She merely sat across from me on the settee, hands folded neatly in her lap as she waited for my sisters to heed the mental summons. Her face was the only thing betraying the gravity of what truths she was about to reveal.