𝔒𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔘𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔄 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪 | ♛

Part Three

This morning I am more lethargic than yesterday. I dread the look on Danny's face when he finds out, but I crave the coolness of the silver, even if I have no orb to deliver. I still have no idea where to look for the remaining three; we found the first two with sheer, dumb luck. The burns on the pads of my fingers where I first touched the sphere are healing nicely, but are still tender, so I stuff them into my jean pockets, away from the biting cold.

It's warmer inside the building, but not much. There are no signs to show that Danny's been in since yesterday, which is good.

I stop halfway up the stairs as the heavy scent of lavender and pine surrounds me. It lulls my senses and I instantly feel calm and at one with my surroundings. I hear a crack from upstairs and continue my ascent.

In the middle of the room sit an old man and a boy around my age. They sit cross legged, opposite each other, with a stand bearing a small white globe between them.

I am oddly unsurprised by this.

"How did you get that?" I ask.

The boy, who sits facing away from me, does not move. Rather, his spine stiffens and I hear him suck in a breath. His hair is sandy blonde, the skin of his neck closer to white than the conventional tan of our country, and he wears a plain t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans with the knees worn away. He seems to stand out in high definition, while the rest of the room swims slightly.

The old man looks me over and his eyebrows knit together. He picks up the orb in one hand, staring at me all the while.

"How- how did you do that? I thought-"

He holds up a finger and my jaws snap together painfully. He flicks his finger and the boy rises to his feet and walks to the window, and then the man beckons and I cannot resist. My legs take me towards him. He holds the orb up and I reach for it, taking the cool, smooth ball into my left hand then cupping it in my palms.

Finally, I can speak. "How is this possible? I couldn't hold it before."

I hold it more firmly, and my fingers sink into it. My eyes widen as I look down at it. I pull it apart and lift it to my nose. Sugar. Icing. Royal icing.

I pull a little off and pop it in my mouth, and the sweet taste makes me salivate, but I'm not focused on that.

"It's not real," I say dumbly.

He nods.

"Where are the others?"

He shrugs.

"Are there others?"

He shrugs.

I frown. "There was space for three more, we estimated, in the podium-"

He shrugs.

"Are you going to say anything?" I spit. "Next thing I know, you'll be telling me all this was a dream!"

He nods curtly.

I fold my arms and huff. "I'm sure it was real. This is real right now. Magic is real."

The old man nods to the boy, and says: "This is my protégé. He can hold the sphaerae. He can also perform magic. Show her," he instructs.

The boy holds up a hand and a tiny orange flame ignites on the tip of his finger. He rotates his hand until it is palm up, and the flame races down the length of his finger and moulds itself into a short, flaming crossbow bolt.

The bolt hovers above his hand, then revolves to make the point turn towards me. I try to run but the old man clicks his fingers and I freeze as the boy, who has not yet shown me his face, sends the bolt shooting towards me.

I can't even scream as it pierces through my chest, right where my heart is. It burns but then a warm tingling feeling spreads out through my body. My eyes slide closed and I sigh, my body relaxing, muscles easing one by one. I look down and there is a charred hole in my shirt where the bolt passed through, but the skin visible through the hold is only blackened - not split - and I cannot feel any pain.

I raise my head to demand they let me go, but the man smiles eerily and lifts his finger to point at me.

I'm unconscious before I hit the floor.

My vision fades in and out of different places, as if my brain cannot decide which timeline to place me in. It ums and ahs, showing a violent, stormy sea pounding an old, weathered lighthouse; stables with multi-coloured pegasi snorting and stomping their hooves; a forest, dark and mysterious, with strange, unearthly sounds and a person with a bow and arrow beside me...

The image solidifies into a busy 1950s street.