by Namita Singh
dubiously.
“She is.” He affirms, “Gut feeling. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just know. Just like I knew instinctively that Aakir’s in his spirit form.”
I frown at that, “You could make out?” I ask. Aakir’s visible spirit form and real physical form are almost indistinguishable for me. Until and unless I see a fluxed part of his body.
“Gut feeling…” he drawls, looking slightly self-conscious.
Yeah, right. The perks of being a vaticinator.
“Where was dad?” I ask instead. I look around, expecting father to appear out of nowhere, “Where is he now, actually?” I ask.
“Took you long enough to notice his absence.” Neal says dryly, “Your father was with you when the Occultist appeared in the cottage. Since there was only one sword and it could protect only one person against the flames, your father had returned back to you and given the sword to Aakir so he could bring it to me. That was when the Occultist turned up.”
“She wasn’t supposed to be there.” I say, angrily.
“I know. Your grandfather explained later that she had sensed her sycophant’s cessation and that’s why instantly returned back.”
“Even Jermaine was not supposed to be there.” I say, galled.
“About that…Jermaine had returned from the mansion as soon as he didn’t see you people there… He doesn’t really prefer remaining at the core of the flames, where I resided. He usually hung about the periphery. That’s where he returned to when he saw no one at the mansion, save for your grandfather. You were waiting right there, I think.” I nod at Neal’s questioning stare, but then realize that his inquisitive stare is for something else, “What’s Jermaine’s deal with your family?” He says.
I sigh. “Long story. I’ll tell you later. Where is father now?”
“Your father’s on way to Krasnoyarsk right now. Even Aakir is in Krasnoyarsk as of now. He teleported ahead of your dad. Just to see what’s going on in the mansion….he’ll be back soon.”
“What’s to see there?” I ask, annoyed, “Our bags are packed. We’ll just pick them and return to Latvia instantly.”
“Not so easy.”
“Look, we’ll handle the First Realm. Coming to this Realm did no good to us, and we left our home behind for it. We’ll mange somehow.” I say, trying to be optimistic. All I know is that I don’t want to stay in this Realm for one more second.
“It’s not about the First Realm.” Neal says, slightly hesitative.
I stare at him, “Then what?”
He sighs, “Josh…I just killed an Occultist. What are you expecting when we get back?”
I give him a blank look.
“As soon as we reached an area with a telephone booth,” Neal begins, “Your father called your grandfather. By the way, good job at forgetting the phone chargers behind.”
I feel myself blush, “We were in a hurry.” I dismiss the topic. Considering the lack of connectivity past Dudinka, we hadn’t deemed it important when we left the mansion. But now that he points our lack of communicating ability, I feel a sudden urge to talk to father. We can always use the hospital phone, though I don’t know if I really want to go through the pain to reach the reception just so to let my father ask me how I am doing. I don’t even know on which floor we are.
“Anyway,” Neal continues, “Your grandfather knew that the Ninth Occultist is dead. He elaborated and explained that the witches can sense when one of their sisters die…the witches are sort of bonded too. The Second and the Eight Occultist paid a visit to the head council of the Ninth Realm.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“They have, in subtle ways, threatened the Ninth Realm,” Neal continues, ignoring my interruption, “and are demanding the presence of the culprit within fifteen days…well, fifteen days from the day the Ninth occultist died. And today is the fourth day.”
“Just…so….well, is this-”
“Your father is going there to settle things….or that’s what he said. I don’t know what that implies. And since, as your father informed me, our whole family vanished more or less on the same day from the head colony, the head council is hell bent at demanding our family back.”
Through the appalled state of my mind, I cannot help but notice Neal referring to all of us as ‘our’ family, like he belongs right there with us. I bite my inner cheek to sabotage the smile threatening to burst on my lips. That would just be highly inappropriate considering our tensed conversation. Besides, I don’t really know why I am feeling so happy. I count him as family anyway, even if at a subconscious level, and know that my family counts him as amongst one of us too. It’s just that I am hearing Neal admit it for the first time that also in such a casual, if subtle, fashion.
“I hate the council.” I say, not able to form an enough coherent reply.
“Yeah…your father sounded highly peeved when talking of them too. He is taking confidence in my aura in hiding us, because he definitely expects the council to send men in search of us.”
“So, what? We are fugitives now?”
“In the eyes of your council, definitely.” Neal mutters, “Your grandfather sounded as if he was having a hard time against the council. They are enraged, according to him. ‘Cause as you just said a few moments before, you guys literally count the Occultist as your second Gods. And I just killed one of them.”
“We should go back. They’ll eat Mikhail alive.” I express indignantly, recalling just how anti-Lichinsky the whole ninth realm is.
“That’s why Aakir is already there and your father is on his way to the mansion.” Neal hesitates, “I’m not very comfortable with the idea of them being there. In fact…I was thinking of going back, but one, travellingwould not be recommended in your state and two, your father’s orders were strict. We’re to stay here. Seriously, I have seen enough of your father’s anger.”
I go quiet as he so casually points out his own dilemma. Of course he will come in the bad books of the council. The council already had their paws extended for Neal; now they all must be in absolute desperation to have Neal all to themselves. But this time, Neal’s usage for his abilities will not be the only thing for which they’ll demand him.
“Don’t go on thinking about travelling back.” Neal scowls, wrongly assuming my thoughtfulness. “Have you seen your condition?” he points at my arm, “Your burn didn’t even allow your arm to be in a cast. It’d be a miracle if you can even shift it on the bed. You’re talking about going back and facing angry animals.”
Completely off topic, I scowl at my limp arm. It is in a sling, plain black colored. A portion of my arm, supposedly the brunt portion, is covered in bandages. Neal is right; it is not in a cast. I cannot forget how cruelly Jermaine had twisted my arm, causing it to crack. I wince at the memory. Now that I really focus, the burnt portion doesn’t seem to bother me much. It is already prepped up, decorated with soothing bandages. It’s the crack in my bone that isn’t allowing me movement.
I pick up the strap of the sling with my left hand and put it around my neck. The motion causes my arm to fold up and cradle near my chest in the sling. I bite my lip as pain explodes with the spontaneous movement. I grunt and cover my injured arm with my non injured arm, hoping for relief.
“Lichinsky!” Neal hisses, instantaneously getting up and motioning to cradle my already cradled arm. His arm, so near to mine, reflexively makes me flinch back. The slight movement causes another bout of pain to explode in my arm.
Neal raises both his hands, palm facing me as if pacifying me, “I won’t touch you.” He snaps angrily, “Just don’t move.”
Warmth drenches my face at his words. Of course I know that Neal, at some subconscious level, is aware of my reluctance to even accidently touch him. But I didn’t know that it is so blatant to make him address the issue openly and in a prissy manner.
“Sit tight, I’ll get the nurse.” He says.
“No.” I say through clenched teeth, “Don’t. I am fine.”
Neal looks dubious. I carefully lean back, resting against the pillow. I school my features as the pain becomes a dull ache in the background. My stance has normalized enough to make Neal comply and he sits back beside me, this time deliberately keeping his distance and making sure that I am noticing his effort.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Silence commences. I simply lean my head back and focus on wishing the pain away. The only sounds in the room are the ones from the numerous machines. The human is still snoring, I notice.
“So,” Neal says after a long pause, “What’s the fuss about?” he asks.
I frown at him, not understanding, “You mean besides the fact that all the Occultists and our native Realm people are kind of hunting us?” I ask sardonically.
Neal doesn’t even bat an eye, “I am talking about this.” He gestures between us, “Why do you freak out when I get close enough to touch you?”
His question sounds wrong on so many levels that I find my lips automatically stretching in a smirk.
“It’s nothing.” I calmly reply,keeping the joke to myself.
“Yeah, right.” Obviously he doesn’t believe it. And neither does he settle by the amused look on my face.
“Can’t I have my personal space?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.
Neal turns red, his face going from irritated to indignant in a flash, “You weren’t so obvious about it before!” he snaps. “What changed, huh?” he challenges.
Of course, a few accidental