Everything Included

In Which We Can't Turn Back

The House of Mire Hill recoiled as Gideon Darqish approached. It had wanted to run, or hide, but a house whose legs were firmly cemented in place could do nothing but wait and pray. The crows stopped flying and stood on the second floor, taking to the shadows, watching with gold eyes what would happen.

The rain buckets tipped over - all 178 of them- releasing a tiny tidal wave of rain water over the dusted floor, washing the cockroaches away.

The cow-shaped creamers longed for their days, abandoned and unwanted on the bottom shelves, the tapes wished they had been digital copies, their music disappearing into the cloud. Genesis was the only one who stood proudly on the bottom step, feathers puffed, waiting for the storm to enter.

The house wasn't protected, no wards floated above or around it. No sorcercer's triggers or traps were engraved on the ground or in the stone. Crispen Heavensley hadn't expected his other half to set foot in Reason anytime soon.

How stupid, Gideon thought, his aura swimming around him, the void wanting to feed, his right hand urging him to let it feed. He silenced both their pleas, slowing his gait as he walked across the house's lawn.

He could read it's dread and horror; his presence had set off all the house's internal alarms. He took a seat on the fountain watching the maggots swim around the basin's walls, waiting to solidify and reemerge as flies.

Gideon waited with them, something of interest would be coming his way. Plucking another cigarette from his pack, he placed it to his lips, the tip igniting into tiny flames. The boy's face relaxed into a smile as he took in a large inhale.

"You want to know why I'm here, don't you?" he said out loud, blowing a smoke serpent into the air. It coiled around him and settled on his shoulders, staring with empty eyes at the house.

"Well why don't you come outside and we'll have a friendly chat. I, too, have questions. Like what manner of magic has claimed this house."

"He's just a boy," a voice said.

Gideon banished the serpent away before turning to find a crow perched on the armrest of a white rocking chair. Gideon smiled.

"So am I," he said, flicking his cigarette, blinking out of existence before reappearing in the rocking chair the bird had perched himself on. The bird squawked and flew away, mindful of the distance between them. He settled on one of the willow tree's branches.

"No you're not," the bird replied; his hollowed bones were clearly rattled. Gideon giggled, hints of black in his eyes.

"And neither is he."

Gideon read the rather large- and fat- crow. His aura was odd for feathered folk, one of citrine with swatches of crimson. It smelled of freshly painted canvas and soured milk.

"Who are you?" the bird asked, his stance was full blown flight or fight. And this crow was prepared to fight.

"Gideon," the boy said, outstretching his hand as he relocated next to the willow tree. The crow's eyes grew large and unsettled. "And you are?"

"Genesis," the crow stuttered. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for another place to perch.

"No need to worry, Genesis. I'm merely here for conversation."

Genesis eyed him with caution.

"You've created quite a disturbance with your arrival."

"My nature," he assured. "So did your Crispen Heavensley, I'm sure. His nature is so similar to mine."

The crow's face twisted in confusion.

"What's this? My other half never speaks of me?" Gideon said, placing a hand over where his heart would have been if he hadn't given it away. "I'm truly hurt."

Reaching a hand to his cheek, the boy could feel tears running down his face. His color was draining again. Now a good thing --some would argue the only good thing-- about creatures aware of magic was that magic could let down its façade in front of them. So Gideon let his eyes bleed green. The crow might be surprised, but not deterred.

"What do you want?"

"Peneloper Auttsley. She's been here. I can see her aura. It's faded but lingers," Gideon continued, inhaling, looking to the door of Mire Hill, faint translucent rings of violet pulsing around it.

"Such honesty," he remarked, admiration in his words. He'd never read anyone like her before. And his urge to pervert her course had never been greater.

The crow clenched his beak tight, a thin line on its face. Genesis stared at the boy, wishing to know the why. But Gideon kept the why locked deep inside him.

"Treading there is awfully dangerous, Genesis," he warned, his empty eyes filling with black. The bird's eyes fell to the ground. Gideon smiled.

Let... have... one... pain. His hand called out. Gideon saw what his hand saw, his smile growing.

Okay.

His right hand shed its linen bindings with a flash of light.

Before Genesis could know what was happening, the hand was upon him, cupping the bird's tiny face. His eyes were frozen in horror, the gold of them dulling.

Genesis watched as a thin line spread across the hand and then parted, forming the cruelest smile he'd ever seen. A black fog poured out of the mouth like smoke and then everything went black.

XXXX

Gideon's eyes returned to normal as his hand settled to his side again. It was quiet, a full belly had made it content. The boy reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out his Altoid's container. He grabbed a green pill and popped it in his mouth.

Over head, a rather large bird released a flurry of high pitched squawks. The bird sat in a tree near Gideon, eyes of coal settling on the boy. He grimaced at the grating sound.

"I hate ravens," Gideon sighed, turning on his heel and heading away from the hill.

The raven continued to squawk up a storm as Gideon left. Its pride decidely hurt by the boy's lack of attention to it, it flew after  him, picking up pebbles in its beak. It spat them at Gideon, hitting the boy between his shoulders. The boy broke out into laughter as he continued navigating down the hill.

"A raven?" he said looking toward his hand. "Really?"

He felt a smile split the fleshy mound of his palm.

"How utterly cruel of you," he finished, soft bouts of laughter leaking out of his right hand. Unable to contain himself, Gideon joined in; irony was never a concept lost on him.