Cloverfield Magic

Chapter 11 - You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

"Ten years old, and you still haven't heard her voice?" An elderly woman asks the young boy playing with tarot cards at her bedside. A brutal cough rattles her weakened frame and the young boy looks up at her with concern.

"No. Not yet Grandma," the boy responds obediently.

"Are you enjoying your birthday gift?"

"Mmhmm," a young Rowen hums happily. "The pictures on the cards are really pretty."

"If your spellcasting blood ever awakens, I'll show you how to use those cards properly," The old woman promises. Then, she sighs bitterly. "It's a pity Moira cannot have any more children. Ten years old, and you still can't hear Magia's voice. Perhaps the Fates intended for the practice to die with me. It seems like this new generation has no need for the Circle's protection anymore."

"Tell the story again!" Rowen asks eagerly. "The one where you and Grandpa save the world!"

"Ah, it really is your favorite story, isn't it?"

"Yep!"

"As you know, back in the old days, evil witches unlike you or I infested the streets like dirty rats. They terrorized innocent people, coercing them into crime, robbing them blind. I myself could only watch as my non-caster father got Pursuaded into confessing a crime he didn't commit by crooked spellcasting cops, and he was hanged for it. Injustice, crime, corruption... the world was falling apart. It was then that I decided that we, the Bris family, would become a pillar of justice and stand up against the wrongdoings of our community. We worked with the non-caster resistance called the Doves of Peace to take down the most powerful Covens of the time! Your great-grandmother led the Circe of Sacred Fire, and your grandfather joined the Doves. Together, we our family eradicated evil down to its roots and ushered in a new era. I'm sure Magia herself knew that spellcasters were going too far, and she gifted our bloodline with the ability to protect those who couldn't protect themselves." His grandmother breaks out in a coughing fit as she struggles to stand up.

"Be warned Rowen, the rest of our kind are wiley and cunning. I'm sure there is evil lying in wait right now for the opportunity to rise again. That is why the golden light of our family's sacred fire must find its hearth once again."

Rowena Bris pushes her grandson down into a kneeling position in front of the carefully constructed shrine and kneels down herself beside him.

"Pray, boy," she instructs. "Pray that Magia will grant you our family's gift."

"We pray every day, grandma," Rowen complains. "It's boring. Can't we go out adventuring instead?"

In between coughs, his grandmother manages to gasp out, "Today we're going to do something different, Rowen. We're going to sacrifice something special. Something that will get Magia's attention and get her to hear our prayers."

Rowen shifts a little in discomfort. He loved his grandma, but he hated whenever her eyes glowed with non-magical fervor. Rowen's last memory of his grandmother is her voice saying, "Always remember to stand tall, child. Be proud and do good."

His next memory was that of a tall man picking up a glistening red stone from the blackened ground. Looking around, Rowen saw that they were in a ruined building, burnt to dust, the remains of the structure still smoldering.

Looking down at his own hands, he saw that the veins on his arms were outlined in bright red, the damaged skin sore and sensitive when touched.  

"Who are you?" Rowen asks the man. "Where's my grandma?"

The stranger smiles. "Your grandmother no longer exists in the mortal realm, young spellcaster." With no further explanation, the stranger begins to walk away.