Begin Again

Chapter 1

The streets were abuzz with music, magic, life, and the scents of piss, vomit, weed, alcohol, and food wafted through the air. The foul stench was rather welcoming and familiar as he navigated the bustling bodies; it was a common factor regardless of time, age, or century, cities smelled. Finding the old entrance to the apartment complex he pulled out the old keys as he unlocked the door. It was a struggle to open; years of disuse but the care of the property won out as the old door opened. Turning around he walked through the open courtyard.

His mother would be disappointed at the dead plants, the dust clothes were laid out with care, the old place had faired well over the past century.

Navigating his way through the Abattoir he jogged up the stairs and went straight to his room. Flicking the old lamps and lights to life as he walked through the old mansion. He wouldn't be here long, this was one of his brother's masters' pieces though, not as good as the Neuschwanstein Castle, but the sentiments here were clear. Making it to his room he flicked his wrist to cause all the dust cloths to fly with care off the furniture as he dropped his bags and breathed a heavy sigh as he looked around. Ignoring the discarded bags, he walked out of his room and headed for where the liquor was stored. It didn't take long for him to find; he was surprised it had survived Katrina, but then again, his mother's wards and protections wee always rather impressive. Finding a vintage from 1914, just before he had left for the front lines in World War I, or the Great War as it was known then.

Pleased with the vintage, he left the basement as he grabbed up the cleanest crystals he could find before pouring himself a drink and walking out on the upstairs balcony which overlooked the bustling Quarter. The music was softer at this height, but the life was no less vibrant. The brandy was smooth as he sipped it, before sitting down, letting his head fall back as the wind ruffled his hair. There was a storm brewing overhead, which was cool in the humid heat of late autumn.

The piercing ring of his phone had him cursing Alexander Graham Bell for creating telephones; he missed the days of the telegraphs. Grumbling, he pulled out the iPhone and sighed, seeing his mother's number he couldn't ignore the call which had him answering the phone.

"Hei," he greeted.

"Is that any way to greet your mother? Sit up straight, I can hear you slouching, and don't roll your eyes at me."

"Hello mom, how are you?" he chuckled as he spoke in English to her.

"You left without giving me the opportunity to say goodbye," she chided and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"I don't like goodbyes," he reminded her with a smile of his own.

"Your brothers and sisters will be most disappointed," she sighed.

"I was thinking I needed time away, a century or two in the current climate will do wonders for me," he mused waspishly. He didn't know how much more of his elder brother he could take. "I'm safe though," he assured as he sipped the brandy.

"I worry," she informed him tiredly.

"I'm safe, mother," he assured with a wry smile.

"Your father is fishing," his mother turned the topic suddenly. "He mucked up my floors."

"A crime of the century."

"It is! But I forgive him, he made rødbetgravet laks, he is becoming quite the chef," she mused.

"Gordon Ramsey will do that," he chuckled.

"Mmm, I was thinking I could convince him to cook a grand meal for Yule..." she said conversationally.

"Dad would enjoy that," he agreed. He was continuously surprised his father enjoyed cooking and was an avid fan of modern entertainment centered around cooking. He would've expected his mother to love cooking, given her love of witchcraft.