The Warmth a Stranger Offers
The room was warm, despite the cloudy morning. In the cosy spare room of the Ink Witch’s apartment, Griff sat on the sun-couch in what could barely constitute as pyjamas. The series of windows looking down into the room poured the dreary sunlight over the little loft platform above the bed and its mess of lavender sheets and countless pillows and Casey, wrapped up in those same sheets. And just faintly, the sunlight dripped its rays over the Knight’s pin board. Five pictures left unmarked, pinned at the centre of the board. Kyra, Saul, Ava, Casey’s twin sister and Ava’s sister, living here in Valyrdonn. 467Please respect copyright.PENANAqV73N9uDRt
The set of smaller photos was of the entire students on their flat level, those that she had interviewed were marked out with a red strike. None had provided any substantial leads, most repeating the same. On the night of her death, the others in Ava’s bunk had warned her against sneaking out, even if it was with Kyra and Saul. Their place in the mountains was safeguarded by the Owl Scholars, but venturing even just out of sight of the Circle Ceremonial Grounds put them in a danger not even the most rebellious of them was willing to take. 467Please respect copyright.PENANAPzD2a2ARd8
Griff has also gathered that Ava had been smart, quite sensible too. It was a mistake to disregard the idea that a smart teenager couldn’t also be a rebellious one, but Griff held a certain amount of doubt that she wouldn’t have been so stupid as to put herself and two friends in such danger, or encouraged them to do so. And her parents…well, they’d said the same. The two lived far off in a coastal city, sending their daughter to Valyrdonn for education as most parents with enough coin did. With no body to cremate or spirit found, they chose to remain away from Valyrdonn. But, they had offered a possibly valuable source of information – Ava’s sister still resided in the city, and they had seen each other fairly frequently in between studies, right up until six months ago. Right when Ava had begun dating Saul.
It wasn’t Saul or Kyra that had elicited Griff’s suspicions, but Ava’s death itself. In fact, initially the Knight had no suspicions what so ever but rather she had wanted to have all the pieces in play. At first glance, it all seemed rather obvious what had happened. Three teenagers had made rather stupid decision and attracted the attention of a malevolent sprit that killed Ava and chased them off. It was Griff’s hope that Rook and Elaine would return with Ava’s spirit who might shed light on all that had transpired. At least in death she would most likely be a more candid witness, but spirits were certainly not immune to bias.
With a sigh, Griff let herself sink into the cushioned comfort of the sun-bed and its numerous pillows. Casey would most likely sleep in till midday, sleeping off the exploits of the night before. While he rested comfortably amongst the warm sheets to defend him against the autumn breeze, Griff decided on searching for her own defence against the bite of the faint cold. Down the dark hall with floorboards that responded to each step she took with a small groan, she found her way to the kitchen. The sound of the boiling kettle and smell of coffee grind told her Dante was one step ahead. Blue hair in a recently-woken disarray wearing a black woollen jumper and loose grey pants, the Ink Witch leant against the white marble bannister. He seemed half-asleep, listening to the whistle of the kettle to keep him conscious.
“Morning, Dante,” Griff greeted him with a yawn, finding herself a mug from one of the stone shelves. He nodded in reply. Watching the steam spit from the kettle throat, the Knight took a moment to envy the size and rustic beauty of his kitchen. The one in the Church was comforting and pretty in its own, fallen-to-nature sense, but this one was really a reflection of Dante’s self. Not his soul, but his self. The little sacks of sugar, salt and herbs sitting on the cabinet shelves, the string of lanterns dangling from the roof to the paper bags of coffee strewn about the benches. Every little part of this apartment was a part of Dante. Even the bowl with the mini lake recreation at the table. Pouring herself a coffee, Dante prodded her in the side.
“How’s the investigation faring?” he asked, a curl of his blue hair flopping to the side, seeming tired as him. Watching the water darken as she stirred, Griff sighed. “Following up on a new lead today. I’m free to operate appropriately outside of the School Complex, received the official papers from the district guard handing off the investigation to the Knights of the Blue Rose. They seemed a little eager this time.”
Together, they sat at the table, daring only to lightly sip from their homemade mugs. “What, the guard is stingy about handing off spirit-related investigations?” Dante huffed, eyebrows raised. “The city narrative has always been that spirits and humans are essentially no different. Just at a different cycle of life. For a spirit to be violent…it leaves a bad taste in the mouth. Saul and Keira came to us first, too. But the guard doesn’t want much to do with anything outside of the narrative. Doesn’t bother me, though. Makes it easier for us to do our job.” Griff said, grazing her teeth over the burnt coffee on her tongue. “The very same narrative that makes me a soulless monster and you an undead curse?” Dante asked, expecting the answer Griff gave. An answer of her yellow eyes darting away to the floor. “You’re not a monster,” Griff murmured, hiding her face in her coffee. “But I am soulless,” Dante said as if it were quip with a wink.
“You’re smart enough to know that outcast doesn’t equate to monster. It doesn’t matter what kind of outcast we are. You made the choice to live a relatively normal life here in the city,” She assured him as much as she assured herself.
With a small stretch of his arms, Dante said, “I know my kind aren’t inherently evil. It just seems to be the common path…” His eyes seemed to darken as they lowered. “Is there something in your investigation I could uh, help you with, by the way? You know, speaking of my evil abilities and all.” Griff creased her eyes in sympathy but accepted his offer.
“There is a matter of magic I could use a hand with. When Keira and Saul first came to us, Keira had what looked like a small scar on the left of her neck. Small but, noticeable enough. When I saw them next, the scar was gone? And it wasn’t make up, it still would have been vaguely noticeable if it was. The scar was just, gone. And then, when I was searching the apartment floor while they were out, I came across a few strands of hay and chalk dust. So…” Griff explained.
Dante clicked his tongue. “…You think there may be some use of glamour magic?”
“Yes. Something, like that. I was wondering if you wanted to help create some sort counter for it. Something subtle I can take into the apartments without being noticed for what it is.” After taking a long draw from his coffee, the witch concluded she would need to craft a doll. A doll of white string, blue buttons and without a face, stuffed with cotton from the desert place an ocean away. As he went to ready himself for the day and for preparations for crafting the doll, Griff hesitantly stopped him with a small tug on his white shirt. Despite herself, his words had gotten to her. Words about the narrative that Valyrdonn lived.
“I want to know…I want to know where the stars say I truly belong. If you would,” Griff added, polite as she was hesitant. Dante gave her a confused look. “You want me...to give you a reading?” This was not a question a Knight should ask. A Knight’s place was at the Church. A Knight’s purpose was to protect and bear the wisdom to maintain the blur of the divide between human and spirit. To seek something else from their life, would to be ungrateful. Griff didn’t want to seem selfish. She wanted to do something selfish. Even if it was simply asking the stars a question through the tainted, soulless vessel of a witch. And so she nodded, not so hesitantly this time.
As the morning melted into day, a now dressed and fully awake witch and Knight sat in the drawing room. Dante had donned his black robes with the white patterns and glyphs, a black pin drawn through his drawn up blue hair. Griff sat on the stool, hands knotted together as she watched him go about his workshop littered with empty canvases and numerous stained white, clay pots of ink and paint. As he organised himself and his brushes, Dante kept her mind on the case. “So, do you have any idea who could’ve given Keira the glamour charm?”
Griff clicked her thumb and sighed. “Haven’t a clue. The Candlewax Witch was a businesswoman, and a good one. I’d be looking for her if I hadn’t rooted her out of her nest. The only other witches in town I’m aware of are you and Sullivan Grey. No one’s heard much from Sullivan for a year or more now, since his wife passed. Most leave him be, but maybe Keira was an exception.” As Griff mulled it all over, Dante motioned for her to take off her white undershirt so that he might have access to her shoulder blades. She obeyed, and tugged her singlet across, allowing for the witch to begin. With a fine-point pen dipped in cold ink, Dante drew it over her white, freckled shoulder. He drew lines and shapes Griff didn’t know, a constellation she couldn’t quite determine. Wordlessly, he drew the pen back. The ink remained cold and unmoving. He remained silent as he watched the patterns in the ink, and as it slowly began to drip. Griff didn’t dare to interrupt him. After more than a few moments of patient silence, she began to shift about. At that, Dante pressed the pen’s point against the middle of her spine. It was all the Knight could do to not squirm as the ink drew itself from where he’d drawn it and streamed down her spine and to the pen. Curious, she looked to the mirror placed at the back of drawing room. The ink may have dried and returned, but it had left its mark. The constellation she didn’t know.
“How long will that stay?” Griff asked, half-concerned. Personally, she didn’t mind the mark. It looked quite nice, actually. A connected constellation, with a planet of some kind intersecting with the triangle. The concern came about at the thought of Rook or Elaine seeing it. And the questions they would ask. And the sad confusing in their eyes.
“Until you find your place. The ink seemed confused but, it understood your need to move. They speak of yourself determination and a natural direction. Whatever you may think of yourself or your fellow Knights…your obligation doesn’t lie solely to the Knights themselves. Where else does your heart lie, Grifftec?” Dante said, staring at the constellation. That was a question, Griff had never truly asked herself. Where else did pieces of her exist? “The children from the Baker’s farm. They’ve always been fond of me…and I feel quite protective of them,” She said softly, buttoning up her shirt once again. She was reminded of one of the twin flames. The flames that had been born under Beau and her first connected, when he truly opened up to her. In that moment she had truly felt the same compassion for him that she felt for the Baker’s farm kids. Was it…was Beau the fog that clouded the eyes of the stars? The part of her that was unsure? Griff entwined her hands, and hunched a little over. There was a small knot in her stomach, now.
Dante didn’t say anything more, just kept gazing at the set of golden-tipped calligraphy looking pens before him. He seemed knotted up in thought. At seemed as though he would tell her more of her ink readings. Muttering of his promise to sew an illusion-eating cloth doll, Griff left him to the drawing room.
Back in her room with a half-dressed Casey chewing liquorice and leaving lazy kisses on the back of her neck and hands, Griff got properly dressed, slowly. Pulling on a pair of tailored black pants, she let him curl a hand around her red hair and twist it gently into his fingers and pull it over her shoulder. With his low breathing the loudest sound in her small room, Casey left small kisses up her back, running his lips and the tip of his tongue against her skin. “I’ll be out all day, probably tonight too. Actually, I might go back to the apartments tonight and uh, you should too,” She said, donning a sunflower yellow undershirt and shrugging her black suit-jacket on. Casey replied to that with a grunt, returning to his red liquorice as he searched for pants. Their nights together had given Casey a taste of sweet rebellious freedom against his suffocating twin. When he ditched school, or left the apartment rooms to see her, he felt like he was the one escaping to visit the adventurous, worldly Knight. But in those brief moments, Griff was the one who escaped. It had become a habit of hers, finding playmates like this on their missions. Never the charges of course, just someone she could escape with for a little while. Because when Casey tasted rebellion and defiance, Griff tasted it with him.
“Do you think they’ll let me back in?” Casey chuffed, mostly to himself. Folding the cuffs and doing up the two buttons on the suit jacket, Griff stood and pocketed the keys to the small red Ford Dante kept while she was out of town. “They’ll let you in. The money your parents bleed into this city makes sure of that.”467Please respect copyright.PENANAOjzqpEJg4g
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With a yellow scarf around her neck, Griff slipped on a pair of black gloves. The day didn’t seem to be promising to be a cold one, but she couldn’t help but enjoy the outfits Dante suggested. As she drove uptown to the centre district of Valyrdonn, Griff enjoyed the city milling about her. The spirits hanging lazily from the buildings, both skyscrapers and colonial houses and the manta-ray and bird looking giants that simply glided about the high skies above. Council holders in their black suits lined with bronze and silver waited half-patiently at bus stops, teasing flower petals from the home-made bouquets gifted to them from children on their way to school. A street dancer dressed in silver silk twirled her Soul mark staff to the amusement of onlookers in the market square, while fish wives and herbalists shouted about the rare quality of their stock and low prices. It made her wonder. What had Beau been? Before his imprisonment, had he been a cobbler, a craftsman or an artist? Griff imagined he’d been a scholar. He’s adoration for books and every word weaved into the pages said a lot about him, even if he didn’t say a word. He’s patient, to take his time to understand every sentence. He’s empathetic, to understand the characters trapped within the pages and see their humanity. And he’s quiet, preferring to listen than to talk over others. But it was his reservation and guarded self that made Griff only want to know him that much more.
After dropping Casey back at the apartments, Griff made her way to the city library, parking outside by the private coffee shop. It was small, but always busy. Just outside, laying in a rather large patch of sunlight in the space between the next building and the library, a giant fox-looking spirit lay fast asleep. Children played about in his sun-warmed bushy tail that occasionally moved. He was a well known and well-loved spirit, perhaps one of the oldest in the city. A penitent spirit, gifted with a third eye to cleanse a person of their sins and sorrows if they truly sought forgiveness. Griff kept a hand in her back pocket as she sipped on her coffee, waiting for Beau. She noticed how the children loved to play with the gentle spirit, and how the adults kept their distance. They almost pretended he was not there. The Knight always enjoyed Darway’s presence, and the fact that he was one of the few older, larger spirits that chose to still physically manifest. Most spirits older than a hundred years old would let themselves become translucent, the very next stage of a being’s cycle. He greeted her quietly with a tug on the sleeve, face half-hidden with his own cup of coffee. He wore a cream jacket and a dark green shirt beneath, his black hair loose and trimmed stubble lining his jaw. His white glasses made him look like a dork. She greeted him with a small punch to the shoulder and he greeted her with an acute glare, followed by a small smile and a snort of laughter.
As Griff drove out to the colonial sect, Beau tapped his fingers across the glass of the passenger window to some tune inside his head. Griff said nothing, only chewing on a piece of liquorice.
“My time at the library has been comforting. It uh, the smell and feel of the books it kind of just…well it reminds me of my home way back when.” She bit down on her liquorice. He’d never said much about anything. She didn’t want to say anything that would make him stop. Beau smiled lightly as he remembered something, a memory that Griff so desperately wished she could see for herself. “My brother and I would spend most afternoons in there. It rained a lot, in the War Graves. My sister said it was because it was the land trying to wash itself clean. Even with all of the evidence of war gone and the bodies long buried, it was still trying to wash it all away. It um, it was her library. Thera…she’d study in there all day and she was never really bothered by us.”
Griff rocked her head back. Cottage houses with white picket fences flashed past them as they drove up a road that had turned to dirt. She swallowed and glanced over at her friend. The War Graves were a place of long flat plains, sprawling farmland and greener than green fields. And a land upheaved by war. Families from old money, old blood and long-standing homes lived there. From what Griff had heard, only few families had remained untouched. “Does your, well is your family still there?” She ventured. “No,” Beau replied softly, yet there was a finality in his tone. A certainty that he didn’t want to say anything more. He turned the radio back on and fiddled around with the dial until a man with a soft voice and a cello emerged from the crackle of the radio. Griff didn’t push him. She only wondered, what had happened to an old family such as his. 467Please respect copyright.PENANArUwdfcG5QA
Maybe she’d be forced to ask questions, maybe it’d be important for his case. His case…is it even a thing now? He probably wouldn’t even want me to pursue the Candlewax Witch. Even if I did I’m not sure I could take her in a fight again. Only reason I survived our last encounter was because she simply didn’t have the time to kill me. Griff wondered what the town –house looked like now. It was most likely a mass of ruins, blocked off from the public. But it was ruins that Griff would have to return to, if she wished to keep notes on the Witch and where she might have gone. Those like her, those that preyed on spirits for their magic and bidding usually tried not to stray too far from cities like Valyrdonn. It was too rich a resource for them to distance themselves from the place, no matter how dangerous it became. It was the same for most people, really. The spirits of the city never truly posed any danger to most residents. They were citizens themselves, really. Citizens that had no need for money, shelter, food nor water. Only company. Once this business is done with Seth and Kyra, I want to know him. I won’t push him away or try and find another place for him like that. I think…he deserves better.
Beau was more than sweet, more than a gentle person. Intelligence had taken the place of wariness behind his eyes. Despite his imprisonment, he had found trust in Griff, in his gruff, unsure rescuer. The other night, while Griff had naught but noodles and her pin-board, Beau had rung from outside the library. Dante, from behind his reading glasses and nightly tea mouthed to her who it was, and passed it over. His voice had been muffled by the rain and roar of cars hurrying past the telephone box.
“Hey, Griff. I know it’s late. I know it’s raining, and it’s cold and you’re definitely busy but – ”
“I’ll be over,” Griff had replied, hanging up.
Her memory was hazy but, she’d probably been tired. But she did remember not caring about that. With an old cloak of Dante’s wrapped tight around her and serving as her only protection against the cold and the rain, Griff walked over the library to join her friend in his nest of books and blankets. With a baguette (now soggy) and chewing mints, she made herself comfy in his tiny corner of the library and sat beside him in the faint glow of the oil-lamp. He’d been warm. She remembered that. She had enjoyed that, how nice it’d been to just sit beside him as he perused old works of poetry to distract himself, and how at some point she’d fallen asleep, slumped ungracefully against his shoulder. Maybe that was just them. Beau carried a certain grace and curiosity with him wherever he went, whatever he did, while Griff enjoyed the smaller moments she could afford by doing as she wished. A fox and a wolf that simply enjoyed each other’s company.
“The Terrace?” Beau piped up, breaking Griff out of her daydreaming. “Hmm?” She grunted. He gave her a flat look and pointed ahead of them. “The Terrace, as in the name of Ava and Rain’s ancestral home. There’s a sign just up ahead that indicated we have to go up the small road leading to the grounds. She uh, she knows we’re visiting, right?”
“Yeah I called ahead. She seems more than willing to help us find Ava. I mean there’s even a chance she’s returned here but she hasn’t been spotted,” Griff said, slowing the car to a stop. It was a nice house, despite the slightly abandoned, old look of it. A short, vine-choked wall surrounded the place, a rusted black gate at its entrance. The house itself, standing at two stories high with faded white pillars and a grand overlook was imposing in itself, appearing as most of the colonial houses did. It appeared as a house with history. And long history in this world only meant one thing. “It might look quiet and peaceful but, when it’s a proud family with a lot of ancestors? There’s going to be a lot of proud ghosts. And they might not be so accommodating, especially if they think we’re upsetting their only living relative in the house. If she was to move out or if something happened to her, the spirits have no legal or monetary right to the house even if they’re the ones who built it. So just, watch your tongue,” The Knight reminded her companion, jumping out of the car. Beau winded the window down. “So, who’s doing the talking?” He asked with a touch of sarcasm he’d most certainly stolen from her. 467Please respect copyright.PENANA3t4xWLnW8l
With a crank from the boot of the car, Griff inserted it into the front of the car and got to work to wind the engine up again. Every time she came into view of the passenger seat and his admittedly cute smirk, she glared with the blankest look her yellow eyes could make. With the engine working as it should, the two drove down the dirt road and left the Chevy at the black, slightly bent gate. Despite Griff’s warning, the first they saw was a particularly fluffy cat with yellow eyes and a white spot. Hands in her suit pockets and satchel slung over shoulder, Griff squatted down to give the small creature a pat, while Beau huffed and offered a polite hello. After a moment of appearing to size the two of them up, the cat simply gave Griff a deep meow and trotted off to complete whatever important business cats always seemed to have each day. Ringing the broken looking doorbell, Griff enjoyed the look of disappointment on Beau’s face.
“What, you think every cat is a smack-talking gang-banger?” She chuckled, arms folded. His eyes locked with a dead leaf the cat was playing with in the front lawn. “No I just…it’s hard to see the line between what’s spirit and what’s human sometimes,” He murmured, brown eyes lost to far away thoughts.
He was left with little time to ponder, as Rain answered the door. Funnily enough, Griff’s first thought was as to how pretty she was. She had silver hair, unlike what the photo of Ava told Griff. But the resemblance was all there. Seeing her and how happy she seemed to be meeting these strangers who might offer her some comfort and consolation made a part of Griff’s chest ache, if only a little.
Rain invited them both inside, donning a gown of navy blue that swished side to side with every step she took. She reminded Griff of the moon. And she was just as grateful as she showed them what was a mostly empty house. The spirits did not show themselves. But she felt the ghosts. They were the whispers of autumn wind winding down the halls, the parlour, kitchen and empty rooms. They were the crunch of dead leaves underfoot and old spider webs tucked into the corners. As they walked, Rain told them of her monthly visits when school would allow them. The feasts they would have with their family and how much they’d enjoy catching up with one another. And with a quiet reservedness, Rain told them of how Ava had stopped coming home to visit. That for the last six months, even their phone calls would last but for a few minutes to make sure one another were still breathing.
“On her last visit, what happened, did anything seem off with her?” Griff asked, notepad and pen in hand. As she scrawled notes about the features, Beau slowly stole her scarf and muttered something about her writing being utterly unreadable. Rain ran a hand over the marble railing and Griff watched as the cogs in her head turned and clicked over in her head. “She actually seemed happier than usual, if anything because she’d begun dating Saul.” Without looking up from her writing, Griff said, “Can you tell me what kind of relationship Kyra and Saul have?” Rain glanced away at that. Her fingers curled into a fist against her stomach and shifted her heels away from them. Now, what does she have to be nervous about? But so blatantly, too. Either she doesn’t know how to keep a secret, or there’s something she really wants to tell us. 467Please respect copyright.PENANAwxjH9pRrQw
Before Griff could even open her mouth to ask another question, the sound of the lonely grand piano behind them sounded. The notes began softly, but rose with every passing moment. Silently, the three turned to find what looked to be an elderly lady dressed in robes of pink, the light from the window above shining through her. As the silk curtains of the window fluttered open from the faint breeze, more rays of light shone through and into the parlour and landing upon which they stood. And in its light, as the notes of the piano glided throughout the house, more and more human and creature looking spirits made themselves known, shimmering into sight. They sat around the empty tables and decorated with dead flowers, conversing as if they’d been there the whole time, some sat by the windows and gazed longingly outside, while others surrounded the piano and watched in awe as she played. But there was something else. Beneath the landing, in whatever room was below, there was a rumbling. A sound that Griff had never heard before.
“Rain…what is that?” She asked, slowly.
She didn’t say anything, but a look of stress washed over her face as she led the two downstairs, heels clicking loudly against the marble despite the faint chatter of the spirits. Griff felt her soul-mark itch on her back, the call of Archeus telling her to be at the ready. She would just have to remember to yell at Beau to get back. The finely dressed spirits ignored them, only greeting Rain as she passed down the curved stairs. “I was hoping, that as a Knight of the Blue Rose you might be able to help my family’s…predicament. Three generations of the Mont family call this estate home. The man at its very heart is Grayson Mont, we know him now as the Patriarch. He took on the form of a peaceful Shi-Dragon some time ago, but after hearing of Ava’s death…he’s become somewhat agitated, making life difficult for the others here. The garden behind the house is an important place for all of us here and his anger is blocking the way in. We were hoping you could speak with him,” Rain said, hands clutched together. “So, you want me to just…talk with this Patriarch of yours?” Griff asked, the lines of Archeus forming in her palm.
Two large doors stood beneath the landing, behind them the grumbling grew louder. Before Rain could open the doors, Griff decided upon something different. A trade. “Rain. We’ll talk to him, settle and calm him. But in return, I need you to tell us all you know about Saul.”
For a moment, Rain’s glassy blue eyes desperately wanted to say yes. Even Griff could see that. She wasn’t sure what it was that stopped her. Whether it was the sudden spout of coughing or the nosebleed, she collapsed to her knees. As Beau rushed forward to see if she was okay, Griff stood back. The fear behind her eyes. The words trapped inside her throat. And the…blood. With a rush of adrenaline coursing through her, the Knight delivered a deft blow to Rain’s temple, knocking her out.
“Griff! What the – why’d you hit her?” Beau yelped, holding her unconscious body in his arms. The piano ceased and the countless spirits around them all grew silent, looking to the two intruders. “It’s – she’s been hexed,” Griff panted, crouched by them. “She must have called me out here trying to say something…or- ” She was cut off with the sudden shake of the two doors and fierce growl of the creature behind it. With a grunt, Griff ushered Beau out of the way of the door, Rain in his arms.
As the door continued to shake, Griff rolled back and urged Archeus to fade and reappear in her other hand. With her satchel and notepad sprawled about, she felt the air about her begin to grow colder and shards of ice grow, pointed towards the doors. The Knight and the ice that ran in her veins was ready for whatever came through.
“Let’s talk, Grayson.”
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