The Druid

Chapter 7

"Where's the other boy?" the woman said. She was shockingly ordinary, with plain brown hair, green eyes, and casual outfit of blue jeans and a white t-shirt. What was even more shocking was that she could not have been any older than forty. She was more handsome than beautiful and she had a thick air about her that said she spoke little and demanded much.

"The couch," Mr. Aalberts said seriously.

"Move him to the guest room. The boy's fog no longer lingers." She turned her back and vanished. Alan found himself holding Will's feet before he even realized what he was doing. Mr. Aalberts, who had Will by the shoulders, smiled knowingly at him.

The guest room sharply contrasted the other rooms. The walls were painted yellow and nothing other than the two beds and the nightstand occupied the spacing. There was a window that faced the neighbor's lichen-covered brick house; indirect moonlight entered. The room smelled like flowers.

"Leave," she ordered, once the boy was on the bed. Alan tried to glance at Callum in the far corner, but Mr. Aalberts gently pushed him at the door. He made a face that said, "Do not argue."

Maggie returned shortly after they reinstalled themselves in their seats. She eyed them coolly. "This boy's wounds are superficial. His spirit was untouched. He'll be awake by the morning."

Mr. Aalberts nodded. "Thank you, Maggie."

Without another word, she turned her back and began boiling water in a teapot. Then she grabbed herbal bags from the cupboards and, using various-sized spoons, began mixing them in cups. Alan had a bad feeling about how they would taste. When she was done, after minutes of gloomy silence had passed, she handed them all a steamy mug of green, soupy liquid. It smelled like ginger, molasses, and freshly-mowed grass. Alan was tremendously unexcited to drink it.

"Take a seat in the living room," she said. She was standing yards away from Alan, yet he felt as if she was looming over him. "Sparkle will light the fire."

As they transitioned seating, Alan, Marcus, and Savannah exchanged uneasy glances. Savannah seemed more confident than she had been since the undead attacked, while Marcus appeared the opposite. Alan wondered if his regression was due to the awful smelling green soup she called tea.

Alan took his seat on the far-end of the couch. Savannah and Marcus plopped next to him. He had to fight to force his mouth shut. He was burning with desire to question Mr. Aalberts. He was a Druid? He needed an answer to that soon, or he would burst. And how did he know about the Strip? Alan's face flushed. How did he know about the singing? And what was transfiguration? Mr. Aalberts said he was responsible for Georgia's hulking size and wolfish appearance. How could that be?

He was so lost in thought that when he felt a surprise brush of fur against his elbow, he jerked his body, consequently spilling droplets of tea on Savannah. "Sorry," he said. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, wiping the wetness away off her pants. "Yeah, it didn't touch my skin."

"That is a huge cat," Marcus blurted, before laughing out loud. "Look how flat its face is!"

Beside Alan on the elbow rest, perched on his hind legs, was a cat thrice the size it should have been. It had feral green eyes and disorderly black stripes that circumnavigated its grey fur. Its head appeared smaller than it actually was because its hair was so thick and encompassing. It seemed rather bored. Its face was hilariously flat.

"That," Mr. Aalberts added from the reclining chair, "is a Kellas Cat. An original Kellas Cat. She's older than all of us combined and then some. Not even Cleopatra possessed a cat as magical as a Kellas." He nodded at the hearth. "Watch."