Chapter Two #2
As if summoned, Mateo came out of the swinging door beside the pass-through counter with two plates of food.
He set them on the nearest table and pointed at me.
“You. Sit. Eat.” His voice carried the kind of authority that made arguing impossible.
“You're too thin. When did you last have a proper meal?”
“I, um, yesterday? I was traveling.”
“That's no excuse.” Mateo shook his head as if I'd disappointed him. “Sit down and eat.
I sat down and followed his orders. The food was extraordinary, every bite perfect. The eggs were cooked but soft, the toast was crisp but not burned, and whatever Mateo had done to the potatoes should probably have been illegal.
Julian sat across from me and claimed the second plate, eating with the manners of a royal. The dining hall started to empty as people finished breakfast and headed off to whatever mysterious tasks filled their days.
“After this, I'll give you a tour.” Julian cut a potato in half. “Show you the grounds, introduce you to a few more people. Then we'll get you settled in your quarters.”
“And after that?”
“After that, we'll discuss your first assignment.” He sipped his coffee and set it down. “But one thing at a time. First, you need to understand what the Velasca actually is. Not the theory you learned in Switzerland—the reality.”
I nodded as I looked around. It was already more than I'd expected.
Being taught by someone or learning from a book was all a secondhand experience.
You didn't truly know something until you lived it yourself.
Whether that be applying a skill or exploring a place, that was when the lessons turned into knowledge.
After we finished eating, Mateo collected our plates with a satisfied nod, as if he was personally responsible for our continued survival.
Julian led me outside, behind the main hall, and to the left.
We took a path that circled an enormous garden full of flowers that perfumed the air.
The other buildings on the estate gathered around the outer edge of the path, facing inward like children around a campfire.
A massive oak tree grew on a low hill in the center of the garden, presiding over the estate like a king on his throne.
As we followed the path along the back of the main hall, the tree and its wide branches, full of summer leaves, drew my gaze.
Nature, on the whole, preferred things wild, unsymmetrical.
But the oak had perfect proportions. It had to be the oak Julian had mentioned—the one Caelum planted over Velas's grave.
We came to the cottages I'd glimpsed from the front of the estate. There were more of them than I'd expected, stretching back from the path, with paths of their own. It was an entire neighborhood, going back to a treeline.
“We have these for married couples who prefer to live on the estate.” Julian nodded at the cottages and then led me past.
The cottages gave way to a wedge of land.
Rows of vegetables stood closest to the path at the narrow end while orchards of fruit trees stood at the wide back.
A man with weathered bronze skin and moss-green eyes worked among the vegetables, his hands moving with confidence that comes from decades of practice.
He wore worn boots, a flannel shirt, and an old leather hat.
“Owen Taylor,” Julian said. “The groundskeeper. Some people think he's secretly magical. He claims he's just good with plants.”
“What do you think?”
“I think everyone has a little magic in them.”
I looked over, expecting to find him smiling, but he was serious.
Following the curving path, we went past the vegetable beds and came to a building that, even though it was set back from the path, radiated enough heat that I felt it.
The front portion was open, with low walls, sort of a patio workshop.
Brannoc stood inside, hammering a piece of metal on an anvil, his movements precise and powerful.
Someone else worked nearby, and Brannoc shouted instructions at him that sounded more like insults.
“Lower on the handle. Your grip is terrible! No, worse than terrible—it's embarrassing! Did no one teach you how to hold a hammer?”
“The smithy,” Julian said unnecessarily. “Brannoc makes everything from horseshoes to machine parts. He's also the Velasca's primary weapons master, though we rarely need them.”
“Rarely is not never.”
“Sometimes, myths get attacked by monster hunters or paranormal investigators. They get scared when they actually find what they're looking for.” He shrugged. “We usually just frighten them off, but sometimes we've had to be more aggressive.”
“I assume you take their cameras.”
“No, we let them post their videos.” Julian chuckled.
“Everyone thinks they're fake, but they still remind people of the myths.
The more people believe in a myth, the better.
But seeing, as they say, is believing. When a human sees something, they store it in their memories.
Even if they think it's a trick. Those memories strengthen myths.”
“Ne obliviscaris,” I murmured.
“Yes, remembering is enough. Most people don't believe in myths.
But they believe in the stories. Those videos people take of real myths remind people of the stories they knew.
So, we let the hunters and investigators post their creepy videos because it works out well for us. Ah, here's our clinic.”