The Witches Of Denmark (28 page)

“It really sucks!” said Alisia, and I would’ve been relieved to hear her speak to me, if she didn’t sound so pissed off. “So, not only do I not have you to bum around with, but I have to be chaperoned wherever I go!”

“It could be worse,” said Adrian, lightheartedly addressing my sister. “You could be stuck in the attic with Manuel.”

“That could be
much
better. At least he can create an island paradise and escape this bullshit that way!” she countered.

“No, he cannot escape anything… not at present,” my uncle advised. “Manuel has the same restrictions that apply to your brother. He can visit the beach. He can also prepare himself meals from fish and the fruit of the banana and coconut palms, and from other fruit and nut bearing trees surrounding his hut. Manuel prefers a more primitive setting, and won’t enjoy such privileges as the video game collection Sebastian has at his fingertips….”

Irritated that they were talking about me as if I were no longer present, I pictured similar conversations taking place in my immediate future, as if I were just a colorful lizard in a terrarium. But as I looked around, I saw my treasured game collection and plasma television were set up in one corner of what would serve as my bedroom. All the comforts of my sterile, lonely existence prior to Daciana were here. They would matter even less in this place.

“Unfortunately, grandson, that is why you are there,” said Grandma, interrupting the ongoing banter going on between Alisia and Adrian. “You must forget Daciana and agree to not see her again. Until that happens, and your thoughts are purged of such desires, you will remain in this purgatory.” She sounded sad as she said this, and I wondered if she understood the same thing mentioned by Daciana in the ravine. The death of our tender love would likely also kill any chance to ever heal the feud and restore Grandma’s once-cherished friendship with Irina Matei.

My heart sank lower. It was painfully clear that my family’s prosperity, and likely their safety, depended entirely on the denial within me of the obsession that had yet to wane. In truth, thinking about Daciana and the fact I would likely be cut off from her for eternity only made my desire for her stronger. If what my family advised me proved to be spot on, then I was destined to remain in
Băjenie
until I grew a beard longer than Rip Van Winkle’s.

“Hopefully you will learn your lesson much sooner than later,” said Mom, sounding worried. Guess that’s the double-edged sword of peeking in on my thoughts. “Magdalene and Simion were apparently told by the Elders that Daciana will be taken from them if they can’t ‘cure’ her of this infatuation. We won’t take the chance of receiving the same threat in your case, Bas. You are so precious to us… I would die before I would allow the Elders to do something like that….” I heard a sniffle, and it tore at my heart.

“Which is why we can’t be any easier on you, son,” said Dad, chiming in again. “You’ll have full access to your games, movie collection, guitars, books, and we’ve added a small fridge and oven in the hut’s small kitchenette. You might find a nice surprise in the fridge, and maybe even a steak dinner or pizza waiting for you after a day of reflection on the beach…. Oh, and since you used to like to write poems and draw sketches in your spare time, before video games came along, you’ll find plenty of notepads, pens, and pencils inside your dresser….”

I was sort of listening, and sort of distracted. My cell phone buzzed inside my pants pocket. It was tough to not tear it out in desperation, while wondering if anyone else was aware of this unexpected development… this latent connection to the world I’d been banished from. I glanced down at the top of the display screen. A text message awaited my response.

Daciana?

It was! …But the message said ‘Sebastian’ and nothing else. Hard to say for certain that it wasn’t from earlier, since my phone was known to behave like that. Perhaps she sent the message before our nine o’clock rendezvous to confirm I was still coming….

“Bas? Are you listening to your father’s instructions?” Mom asked, more irritated than suspicious. I took it as a good thing.

“I’m sorry… I missed the part after you mentioned the notepads and pens,” I said, hoping a partial truth would suffice, ever fearful of what my recent thoughts might’ve revealed. “Keeping a journal might help keep me sane.”

“Perhaps it will, Sebastian,” said Adrian, with the same suspicious tone he had yesterday afternoon. “Especially since you’ll have no access to the outside world until your release. No live television, no internet access, and no
phone
access either.”

Whatever you say, boss.

“What was that?” he asked.

Shit! Cool it Bas.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything,” I said earnestly, thinking my incarceration in this beachfront prison could prove to be quite oppressive if I didn’t learn to cloak my thoughts better. “Any chance I can get out of here sooner than expected?”

“That, dear boy, depends entirely on you,” Adrian replied. “You could be out in a week or two… or, this could be the latest version of ‘Ten Years After’. It all depends on you and your determination to move past the Matei girl.”

A heavy weight settled upon my very soul as I considered how difficult things were going to be for me—regardless of whether I stood my ground or actively fought to kill the desire still burgeoning in my heart. I looked at my Xbox and PlayStation, feeling uninspired to engage either one. Ditto for the three guitars leaning against the wall nearby. Even watching a movie sounded like a bad idea.

I could explore the ‘lay of the land’ in my virtual jail cell, but worried if I discovered the limits this early in my sentence, things would definitely go from horrible to worse…. My father’s advice about the pens and notepads repeated in my head. Intrigued, I thought about organizing my thoughts, and maybe creating poems and lyrics about her… about Daciana…. Even more fortunate, though, was the fact that one of the notepads included in the dresser was one very familiar to me. It was covered in the angel and demon doodlings I like to create now and then. A thicker notepad than the others, it also contained my precious musings from the prior eight weeks, along with what I have added to it just now.

My journal.

The last entry above was added nearly a month ago, by my estimation. Looking back on everything that has happened, I now have more clarity.

I had no idea, back in May, that the angst I carried would fuel the rendition of how my family came to a little town called Denmark, mysteriously drawn to a stately house that called to them while a worsening war made our old home obsolete. Nor did I realize that writing about the funny and interesting neighbors would make them special to me. And, I think I’m gaining a much better appreciation for our enemies and their permanent ties to us. Damned straight, I can readily tell you where Daciana Matei fits in amid all of this craziness.

I’ve now spent nearly every waking hour since my incarceration began reviewing and editing this chronicle. It’s now complete. What I know for certain is this:

If I ever get out of here, I’m going to make sure my family knows I love them. I’m going to let my neighbors know I miss them. Then, I’m going to seek out Serghei Matei and kick his frigging scrawny ass! Lastly, I intend to find the girl who means more to me now than ever, and tell her….

Well, it might be better to wait on sharing my intentions as they pertain to Daciana Matei.  After all, someone might be listening.

Yours affectionately,

Sebastian Radu

The End

The saga of the Radu witches and warlocks will continue in....

Witch Out Of Water

Witches Of Denmark, Book Two

(Coming 2016)

Available now:

Curse of the Druids

The Nick Caine Adventures, Book Four

(Please read on for a sample)

Chapter Six

The next morning brought sunshine and warmer temperatures. By twenty degrees would be my guess, and actually eighteen degrees according to the lovely Brit gal on the ‘tele’. Amazing how a change in the weather can also bring a change in perspective. And Marie looked amazing—not just slightly dolled up in her sweatshirt and jeans. It was the glow to her countenance, almost as radiant as it had been after a night of cavorting between the sheets with me. Of course, none of that was possible last night, with the invisible detente line and Ishi resting less than ten feet away. Maybe she came to terms with her personal demons. Hopefully she did. Time would tell.

“So, you’re not angry at me anymore?” I asked, discreetly, as we made our way to the inn’s small restaurant. Ishi was far ahead of us, his raging hunger spurring him toward the scent of sausage and biscuits.

“I haven’t been angry since you shut the hell up last night.”

She smiled impishly.

“Oh really?” I returned her smile with a sly grin, and slipped in a quick kiss. “We’ll see who wins next time.”

She almost took the bait, but as I hoped, she didn’t. Anyone watching us walk hand in hand up to the table Ishi secured for us would’ve never guessed how tenuous our bliss was that morning.

“We’re going to have a good day today, no?” Ishi wasn’t fooled, and he offered us both a pained grin.

“It depends on Nick,” said Marie. Her curved luscious lips were held firm, almost as a thin-lined grimace.

“I’ll behave,” I said, demurely.

It’s as close as she’d get to a white flag without lowering her sword first. But it ensured a pleasant meal and the promise of an enjoyable morning. All of us brought ravenous appetites, which surprised me until I remembered yesterday’s unexpected encounter. We had merely picked at our dinner.

After breakfast, we set out in earnest to make the most of December’s shrinking daylight hours, checking the van for obvious explosives and climbing in quickly once it appeared we wouldn’t be blown to smithereens. Still, a tense moment awaited Marie starting the engine. Yeah, she got to drive again, but it seemed wiser to wait for a better battle to wage. My gut told me that our decision to stick around another day rummaging on the banks of the River Avon might prove regrettable.

None of us detected anything or anyone suspicious on the highway, and in fact, no one had looked anything like our friends from yesterday—other than a cook at the B&B. That guy could’ve passed as a close buddy of the Audi’s occupants. It took me a moment to realize the dirty looks he gave us were instead a reaction to the buffet line nearby needing constant replenishments.

The highway was more crowded than yesterday, with most of the traffic headed for Stonehenge. It could’ve been disheartening had it been our first trip to the area. The guys in the Audi changed that perspective. A crowd was a good thing… or so I figured.

“I hope the tourists are heading to the main attraction.” Marie veered onto the frontage road that would take us to our destination along the River Avon. “If not….”

“If not, what?” I asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it pass through her lips. “I thought you didn’t want to consider aborting our exploration plans?”

“Smartass.” She snickered and cut me a slightly perturbed look. “We won’t be aborting anything. Remember? But having to camouflage the dig while keeping an eye out for wayward tourists who decide to go on a bigger tour of the place would be bad.”

No, it would be frigging disastrous!

“What?”

Of course, she responded to my smirk.

“Nothing,” I said, and released a low sigh as the asphalt gave way to the uneven dirt road from yesterday. “Just hoping we don’t have
any
visitors interrupting us today.”

And, at first, it didn’t seem like we would…. Until Marie parked the Viano behind the dirt pile again.

“Shit!” she hissed, once she stepped out of the van. She shook her head warily while looking at the tire tracks and boot heel marks that intersected our tire tracks from the previous afternoon. “Do you think this was from the first car that came out here yesterday? Maybe they came back.”

“Or it’s the Audi, perhaps?” said Ishi, grabbing his gear from the rear of the van.

“Well… considering the make of the first vehicle was more jeep-like than anything else, I’d say…. No, it wasn’t the park employees. Not the ones we saw, anyway.”

Upon closer inspection, while muddying my knees as I kneeled down to study the tire width and tread, it looked similar to the tire tread of the BMW I left behind in Honduras. I admit to some surprise that a luxury sport model of any make would risk damage from a rutted road like this one. Nothing scientific about my analysis, and my assumptions based on limited experience have often come back to bite me in the ass. But, my gut told me it was either an idiot tourist—like us—who might’ve been intrigued to find out where we had been as we left the area yesterday, or it was our guys.