Fear, love... and betrayal; that's what I feel about my new life.
It's a life I never asked for, at least not like that.
I certainly dreamed of adventure, of escaping from my ordinary life, but nothing prepared me for what would happen when my norma...
"Oh my God, Charles! Are you nuts?" I say to him, trying to avoid the tornado that is Flicka, who is suddenly there, blocking my passage.
"Charles, you know I hate it when you do this!"
Flicka scolds her uncle, roughly grabbing his hand in hers.
"Ouch! Gently! It hurts!"
"You deserve it! Now, stop complaining and let me do my work."
Flicka passes her other hand over his and closes her eyes. A diffuse green mist suddenly appears as a cloud around her body.
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After a couple of seconds, it disappears and Flicka lets go of her uncle's hand. I get closer to see what's going on. Nothing! The cut has disappeared, and so has the blood.
"In-cre-di-ble!! So you can heal any wound?" I ask her, taking the knife.
"More or less, I'm still a novice," she says, taking the knife from me and hiding it in her bag.
"I can't do it often, though, because it exhausts me completely and I need a long time to recuperate. Charles knows that, and sometimes I think he's trying to do away with me. I'll need a rest and a large sugary snack after that one!"
"Oh my poor dear, you have so much to complain about! Go on, take the key to my Ali Baba's cave as an apology," he answers, throwing her the keys.
"But don't give any to your hamster."
Flicka turns and makes a face at him while she continues her way up to the house.
"It's a ferret, Charles!" she yells.
"Whatever, it's still a rodent."
"Does she always have it with her?" I ask, whispering, worried that either she or her ferret might actually have bionic ears.
"Oh yes, they're inseparable. She got him from one of her best friends who died last year, killed by a black witch. Since then, they've been joined at the hip."
"Black witches, now what are those?!"
Charles chooses a few jars, mixes some powders together, and then throws the black, shimmering mixture into the air.
"This is an imagination powder. It is usually used on children, when we tell them stories, the powder creates images for our words, a little like in a movie."
I watch him, silent, ready to listen, or, at least, to watch whatever he'll be describing to me.
"There is goodness and kindness in humans, but also in enchanters. We've a little of both in us, but as you know, enchanters are fairly neutral in general. There are, however, three kinds of enchanters. The neutral ones make up ninety-five percent of our population, the rest are divided into two categories. Certain enchanters are born with a more human side. They are more in touch with their emotions and eventually find themselves at a crossroads, either they fall, or they rise. Those that rise are those who are animated by deep love and wisdom. Eventually, they become white enchanters. You can recognize them by their snow-white hair and their emerald green eyes. Their cities are in the Antarctic, and they manage to live far away from the impurity in the world."
