The Witching Hour

Chapter 6 - Remeyra

Once outside, the crisp air hits my face reminding me how much more comfortable I feel away from crowds and heat. The sun has long set and the starry sky accompanies the night like a bunch of silver jewels. I close my eyes to feel the breeze cooling off my nerves and anxiety.

Then, the door closes behind me with a thud and I'm reminded about the stranger who wants to be by my side, which is unsettling, to say the least.

'Much better, isn't it? The quiet seems to have a certain charm,' he remarks, his smile tinged with a touch of sincerity.

I don't say anything as I look around the yard. I notice a small wooden bench, right near the wall, facing towards the road.

I think of the dagger tucked safely in its sheath, keeping my mind from reeling to my nervous thoughts.

In case things go wrong.

My train of thought is interrupted by that same rough voice. 'You can relax. I assure you, I don't bite,' he says with a smirk, his gaze gentle yet probing.

'Not yet.' I smile back avoiding his eyes.

'What do you want?' I ask, breaking the awkward silence that has set between us.

He chuckles, 'Nothing in particular, I was just looking for company for at least one minute, if nothing else. And as you were all by yourself...'

'Hm.' I grunt, not knowing what else to say. His eyes are trained on me, looking upon me with an intimidating intensity. I turn my attention towards the night sky and can't help but get lost in my own thoughts. About my mother. About my purpose.

The silence shatters as my attention is stolen again by his raspy voice. 'You should consider expressing your gratitude,' he suggests, a smug smile playing at his lips, one that does nothing but add to my already growing annoyance.

'What for?'

'For the financial assistance I provided,' he clarifies with a smirk.

I roll my eyes at his audacious comment. 'Then you'll be waiting for a very long time.' I scoff at his absurdity. 'I won it fair and square, stranger.'

'Very well,' he replies, a contented smile on his face, pleased to have engaged with me. His eyes are still trained on me, that same intense gaze, as if waiting for my attention.

I sigh, admiring the stars and the infinity of them. My eyes are fixated on one, shining brighter than the rest. An outcast, just like me.

'What are you doing here?' I finally ask.

I can sense his magic. He's a wizard. I don't know how I didn't feel it sooner. His arcane energy tastes like pine and lavender on my tongue. It glitters in the back of my head, an all too familiar feeling that I hoped to avoid for as long as possible.

I hate wizards. And rightfully so, considering my mother is dead because of one.

'At the inn, you mean? I'm merely passing through, seeking a respite from the relentless bustle of the city,' he explains, a hint of weariness in his voice.

His words sound somewhat sincere, although there is a certain heaviness surrounding them. Something like pain coats each letter as words roll off his lips.

'Not the usual landscape for a wizard. I thought your... type wanders towers or advises kings and queens.'

'My type?' He looks at me with curious eyes. 'How did you know I was a wizard anyway?'

He does not sense my magic it seems.

Mages, sorcerers and clerics can identify each other by the taste and scent of their magic. Mages are pine and lavender, sorcerers are honey and crisp apples. Clerics are bubbly like champagne on a warm summer's day. But hags? The taste of blood mixed with chili spices and ash feels as familiar as home. And it was home, a long time ago. Before it all.

'I can feel you're a wizard.' I say keeping my eyes focused on the stars. 'I'm one too, of sorts.'

Shit. Shut up.

My heart starts beating with anxiety. Sometimes my mouth speaks faster than my mind can control it.

'A wizard, you say?' he inquires, his tone one of genuine surprise.

'No, no. I'm just trained in magic. My m-... My mother was a cleric' I lie in hopes my face doesn't reveal the stress I'm hiding inside.

Distract him. Make him believe you.

I turn away from the stars, and for the first time, I look him in the eyes. His deep brown eyes shimmering with hope. I lean closer to him, despite my discomfort. It's clearly working. I can sense his breathing slowing. His eyes meet mine with a desperation I cannot quite name.