Inkling

4.3 The Song of Ira Rose

In truth, Ira did not know what he was doing. Being in the middle of his magic studies himself when he met Max, Ira had no business trying to teach it. There were times, which worried his mother, and went mostly unnoticed by his father, when Ira disappear for days. He neglected his studies eventually he stopped showing up for classes all together. He was obsessed with something. No one ever stayed curious for long enough to find out what it was.
when Ira was 5, his father's brother disappeared. They had assumed he was too small to understand - which is to say: they spoke freely around him. They were in his father's study, Ira was playing with wooden toys by the light and warmth of the fire. His mother and father were whispering angrily across the room.

"They took him, Stella." his father growled, his voice low with anger. "They will use him and hurt him if we do not do something. The trees will not help us. I need your help."

Trees. Ira knew that one it was how young magicians refer to the older generation. Something about deep roots in the ground, because they would not change their ways with the times.

"How do you know the elders are not the ones that took him? Isaac, Silas can walk in the shadows, his ability has aligned him with the vampires and faeries." His mother's tone was angry but soft. "You know there are those who would wish to use him."

Ira had heard stories from the other children about Naturals with special abilities. But he had laughed them off - thought they were just stories. He did not think of this encounter for years. And strange things started happening to him. Until the day he started seeing the dead.

It terrified him, the first time it happened. He was 8, a child - barely old enough to have started his formal magic lessons. He was in his father's study, it was the only room in the house with a fireplace and the brisk New York air stuck with him for hours. His father was at his desk, writing some sort of letter. His mother was sitting in one of the arm chairs, writing a different kind of letter. Ira was sprawled out across the floor. It was when Ira was nearly asleep, he could still hear the scratching of his parent's pens on paper, but it was fading out. Waves of consciousness washed over him every time he fidgeted or rolled over.

It was in this state of restlessness that Ira saw a man step out of the shadows. Now, at this point, Ira was not sure if his eyes were open or closed - if he was sleeping or awake. Whatever the circumstances, Ira watched the man move across the room in the silent way of people with magic. Which is to say: he was nearly floating. Actually, upon further inspection of his feet, Ira realized that the man was floating. Upon even further inspection, Ira discovered that the man had no face.

In fact, it was this dream-like appearance that first made Ira believe he was dreaming. His father had told him once that in a dream, people did not have faces if you looked close enough. Well, Ira was looking closely now and not only was there no face, but there were sunken holes where the eyes should have been. There was a lump where the nose would have been. Nothing where the mouth would have been.

Ira considered this for several moments before deciding that this still counted as a face. No face at all would just be nothing. This was something terrible and terrible things were most definitely not nothing. Ira felt his heart rate quicken as the man floated closer. There were no eyes but Ira felt himself shiver under their gaze. It was so close now, close enough to reach out a hand. Close enough to brush his cheek with its fingertips -

Ira sat up so suddenly that his mother stopped writing and looked at him in alarm.

"Ira, darling, what's wrong?" She reached a hand down to smooth back his hair.

"Mother, why is Uncle Silas in here?" Any other time, this would not have been unusual. Ira's uncle would often show up unannounced. This would result in his father acting like a child again, which was both fun to watch and also incredibly disturbing for a child to witness their usually serious father giggle. The only problem was: they had gone to Silas' funeral that morning.