Chapter 2
LORDE
From the time of my birth, I couldn’t say my life was my own.
I studied and trained, doing everything my mother instructed me to do.
Sometimes I wondered why I followed along like a little puppy trying to please its master…
actually, it might be better to say robot.
She programmed me to do whatever she wanted in preparation for the moment when our family would find justice.
It was a story older than some, not as old as others.
A father rescued by a witch married her.
She was jealous of the time he spent with his children and transformed the six princes into swans, missing the little princess.
The princess worked hard to break the spell and fell in love with a king, marrying him when he asked.
Problems with the king’s mother led to the princess being sentenced to burn at the stake, accused of being a witch herself.
In the end, she broke the spell. The swans turned back into princes, and her brothers…
said swans… rescued their sister. And they all lived happily ever after.
If you believed that, you were as gullible as the rest of the world has been for the past couple hundred years. Lies. So many lies. The witch wasn’t evil like she was portrayed, the king wasn’t innocent, and the princes and princess weren’t sweet and angelic.
I’d been sent here to right the wrong and take back what had been stolen from my family: its honor. Even if it killed me, I would do what was right.
“Bloody hell,” I groaned and raked my fingers through my black hair as I stared up at the cloud-filled sky.
I felt out of my element and uncertain about everything.
While I knew what I was supposed to do, understood the end game, I wasn’t quite sure how to go about implementing it and was second-guessing everything.
Could I do it? Could I follow through? What would I do when I finally found him?
I only had a last name to go by, my mother gave me nothing else, but that was enough. My magic could find a needle in a haystack if I needed it to, so it wasn’t that. This whole thing was supposed to be my destiny, yet I feared it all.
Walking along the shoreline of Lake Michigan, I collected wood and rocks to build a fire and settled into a darkened area, a place where light did not touch. Before I lit the flame, I spelled the area, blocking my fire from the view of anyone who may be curious.
Reaching out my hand, I said, “Ignis.” A spark jumped out of my fingers, and flames climbed high into the sky.
I allowed the fire to die down until only burning embers remained, glowing against the blackness.
Blowing on the scorched wood, the orange color shone a little brighter, and flecks of yellow flew up into the sky, disappearing quickly.
I reached into my bag, pulled out the only glass vial in there, and removed the cork stopper from the top.
With a flick of my wrist, I scattered the contents over the dwindling fire, and it exploded in front of me, creating an eerie glowing green flame that burned high and bright.
“Open to me. Let me see. Show me what you know,” I began to chant.
As the flame transformed and showed me a vision, I continued, “Seek him out. Lux. Find the one who possesses the heart of the bird, the one who lives in the shadows, the enemy of my family!” The flame flew and hovered above the water, dancing there as the picture became clearer.
Filling the image, a man with broad shoulders, and short, blond hair that looked soft to the touch, stood in front of a group of children.
His eyes reminded me of light blue diamonds, and he appeared almost bored or distanced from the group.
Maybe both. He didn’t look too tall, but he also wasn’t too short.
The picture above the water changed, and he stood on a stone balcony, holding a crystal glass filled half-way with an amber liquid, the moon shining down on his upturned face.
His hard eyes, the firm set of his jaw, the grinding of his teeth, and the way his lips were pressed together made him appear furious.
My own ire spiked seeing this. What right did he have to be angry? He seemed to be well off, and if anything, it was my family who had been wronged by his. A name on a building appeared: Swan International, Inc. Not very original, were they?
The green flame fell into the water, disappearing with a hiss. I still didn’t have a first name, but it wouldn’t be too hard to find out who he was now.
Pulling out a water bottle, I poured the contents over the hot wood and lifted the cloaking spell.
The moment I finished, my phone rang, and I already knew who it was without looking. “Yes, Mother?” She was impatient, wanting this job done quickly.
“Did you find him?”
I tilted my head back and shook it, my irritation bubbling within me.
I’d been here for about twenty-four hours, no more, how the hell was I supposed to find him and kill him when I didn’t even know who this man was?
“Not yet, but I just got a lead.” I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to swallow any sarcastic retorts I wanted to spew.
“Don’t dawdle.”
My jaw clenched of its own volition. I’d been raised to listen to everything she said because she alone stood at the head of this family. Everyone toed the line around her, including my father, but that did not mean I could snap my fingers and be done with it.
“I’m not dawdling, Mother. I performed a locator spell tonight.
Do not worry. I will find him and fulfill my destiny,” I stated automatically like a robot.
No one went against her, and I wasn’t going to be the person to rock that particular boat.
Still, being here and away from her, I could actually breathe, and I hadn’t expected that to happen in this city.
“See that you do.” The line died, and I heard nothing more. Pulling it away from my ear, my login screen welcomed me, and I rolled my eyes.
My mother was not the warmest of women. From the moment I could speak, she taught me magic and spell casting, The first couple of years of my education, I was homeschooled, after which, I begged her to allow me to attend the school down the street from where we lived.
It was the one time I saw my father fight her on something, and she eventually gave in. I wished she hadn’t.
Third grade was fine because I made friends and had fun.
Fourth grade was torture. A new kid moved into the school and acted like he ran it all.
I was shoved into lockers, my head was thrown into a bathroom mirror, which required a trip to the E.R.
, and rumors were spread about me. The school did nothing.
My friends turned on me. In fifth grade, it got worse, and I begged my mother to move.
I wanted to leave this godforsaken city, and if I could, the whole country.
I was terrified that merely returning to my homeschool curriculum would not be enough.
My bully followed me home daily. The turning point, the moment when my mother accepted, was when we found a dead cat with its stomach cut open on the porch outside our front door.
I had to get away or else. I was terrified of what would happen next, of how it would escalate.
Within days, I was sitting in a seat next to my mother, my father across the aisle. We were leaving the States and moving to England. I had escaped.
And my mother sent me back to the place I hated the most. The place I tried so hard to forget.
If it hadn’t been for this assignment, I wouldn’t have returned.
I would have run away…or tried to. Truth be told, I would never be able to escape my mother.
I was her son, and in a way, her prisoner.
And if I attempted to run away, she would find me and make my life hell on earth.