The Adventures of the Junior Phoenixes, Part 5: The Last Pendant

Chapter 5: Fatherhood and Long Hallways

Chapter 5

North of the town of Salem proper is the smaller historic community of Danvers. Tucked in the wooded community, near the northern borders of the town, is an old wooden three-story house built in the late Eighteenth Century called St. Michaels House for the Injured and Maimed. The bottom floor was used as a triage and trauma center for Magic folk that required immediate medical attention. The top two floors were hospital wings that housed those who suffered from the long term effects of hexes, curses, and spells gone awry, along with those who were of magical descent who had physical ailments and chose not to travel to Salem Medical or Boston General for Muggle treatment. It was a white building with yellow trim, rose bushes out front, and oleanders that served as both a border and as a means to keep the grounds private from Muggle view. The décor was very vintage, akin to the New England style that was popular among Muggle and Magic folk alike. It had a friendly staff and sufficient means for those who required specialized treatment for magical maladies.

A man with sandy blonde hair and expensive robes walked towards the entrance to St. Michaels rather briskly. His brow was furrowed and his fists were clenched; he was not happy. He stepped through the front door, approached the witch behind the front desk, and slammed his right fist on the counter.

"I demand to see my son!" the man demanded. He spoke with a French accent.

"Pardon me, sir," the witch replied, "Let's start from the beginning. Who is your son?"

"Connard!" he shouted, "You know who he is! Do not play games with me, Madame!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the witch replied, "I mean you no offense, but I need to know who your son is in order to direct you to him. I need to know your name."

"Just direct me to where my son is!" the man demanded, "I need to see him now!"

"Sir!" the witch protested. He tried to walk beyond the desk towards the stairs but a Shield Charm prevented him from passing through. "Please cooperate, sir! Be reasonable or I shall have to summon the guards!"

"Francois Devereaux!" the man shouted. "I am Francois Devereax and I demand to see my son now!"

"Devereaux?" the witch asked. She looked at a list on her desk and looked up his name. "Here it is. Second floor, first ward, room five."

"Thank you, Madame," Mr. Devereaux responded. The Shield Charm eased and allowed the angry Mr. Devereaux passage. He trumpeted up the stairs and flung open the second story entrance door. He kept his brisk pace towards the first ward and room five. He threw open the door to room five and stopped a foot into the room. A man with long black hair and Native American garb stood next to the bed in the back center of the room. In the bed lay a young man with dark hair, brown eyes with a silvery glint, and an athlete's physique. He sat up in the bed, his hair short and flat (usually he spiked it up in a faux hawk) and his hands free. He wore a sweater and a strange necklace made of corral and bone.

"Mr. Devereaux," the tribal man greeted the rich man, "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"What are you doing here, Jean Savageau?" Mr. Devereaux asked the man. Jean Savageau belonged to the Wapanaki tribe, a Native American tribe that was not part of the Six Nations and had close ties to the Salem Academy of Magic. Jean Savageau was a friend to both Echo Turan and the young man in the bed.

"I could ask you the same question, sir," Jean answered.

"He is my son!" Mr. Devereaux nearly shouted. "Leave us be! I must speak with my son alone."

Jean looked at the young man and waited for a reply. The young man, Cedrique Devereaux, looked at Jean and nodded. Jean nodded in response. He walked slowly to Mr. Devereaux and whispered to him. "Let him rest. He needs rest." He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.