Or had they?
Wait. Backtrack. Before I’d left the bathroom, I’d put everything back…hadn’t I?
My hands began to tremble. Maybe I hadn’t put everything back. Even in my state of avoidance, I hadn’t been able to let go of the one thing that might have given me some answers. Genuine answers.
I quickly dug through my own pocket and drew out the brass coin.
There. Whatever it was, whatever it meant, it was real. I saw it, plain as day, before my very eyes. I had been right all along. And Oscar had lied to me—again.
There was an inscription on the coin. The print was minute and written in an unfamiliar language.
I grabbed a notebook from my dressing table and jotted down the words onto a blank page.
Bellator Tenebris. Mortifer Veneficus
I tore out the sheet of paper and folded it into a small square. Something about those words sent chills down my spine. This was my chance to finally piece together a part of the Valero jigsaw, and I wasn’t going to waste it. For the good or the bad, I needed to know the truth.
I scanned the table for a safe place to keep the coin—somewhere Oscar wouldn’t look. My eyes fell on my white leather jewellery box. Inside it there were a couple of secret compartments which would go unnoticed by anyone who didn’t know much about jewellery boxes—which I was guessing Oscar didn’t. Anyway, it seemed as good a hiding place as any, so I tucked the brass coin into one of the compartments, beneath a heap of assorted rings and bracelets.
Once the coin was hidden, I left the attic and snuck downstairs, all the while with my fingers crossed. If ever there was a good time not to bump into the boys, it was then.
I made it to the ground floor undetected and found Mary in the conservatory.
“Hi,” I said, hovering in the doorway. Uh oh. I’d almost forgotten about the huge bump on my head. If Mary saw it, she’d probably insist on my going to hospital to get it checked out. I was not loving that idea. Quick thinking time. I shook my hair forward to conceal the shiner. If she asks, I’m experimenting with the grunge look, I decided.
But she didn’t ask. She was lounging in one of the pink armchairs, reading a romance novel and sipping tea from a dainty china cup.
“Hello, dear,” she said, peering up over her reading glasses. “Everything okay?”
“Yep,” I smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
In the far corner of the room, Zack played with a plastic train, making an occasional choo-choo noise.
“Are you bored, honey?” Mary asked, placing her book down on the coffee table. “Where are the boys?”
“The boys are upstairs,” I said, struggling to keep my tone indifferent. “I’m not bored. I was wondering—”
Mary cut me off. “Why don’t the three of you go on a day trip or something? You can borrow the minivan. I’m sure Caicus would be able to drive it.”
The thought of getting into a car with Caicus Valero was positively nauseating.
“No, thanks,” I replied. “Actually, I was wondering, do you have an internet connection here?”
“Umm…” Mary mulled it over. I knew technology wasn’t her forte. “Yes, I believe Roger has the interweb.”
The interweb? Okay, technology really wasn’t her forte.
She went on, “It’s on his laptop, though. Is that any good?”
“Yes,” I nodded my head eagerly, now using my palm to conceal the bump in an I’m-so-laid-back-I-can’t-even-hold-my-own-head-up kind of way. “Could I use it for a minute?”
“Sure, honey. It’s in the study. I could show you where, but don’t ask me how it works. I’m hopeless with computers!”
“No problem,” I smiled. “I should be able to figure it out.”
Mary picked up her book from the coffee table. “I’ll leave you to it then, shall I?”
“Yes. Enjoy your book.” I gave her a quick wave and then closed the conservatory door.
Right then. I was off to Roger’s study. It was a room at the back of the house—one of the ones I rarely went into; I’d never had much reason to in the past.
Rather tentatively, I twisted the door handle and peeked inside. The walls were mahogany panelled and the carpet was a rich brown. There was only one small window, which didn’t appear to allow much light in, so the room seemed drab. In fact, I suspected that the study was pretty much a forgotten room. Roger was inclined to do the majority of his work at the office of his accountancy firm, and the chunky black laptop sitting atop the desk was coated with a fine layer of dust. One potted dracaena plant stood tall in the corner, its leaves drooping ever so slightly. I made a mental note to come back and water it when I had more time.
Pushing the thought aside for the time being, I approached the desk and brushed the dust from the laptop. The internet connection cable was already hooked into the port, so all I needed to do was switch it on at the mains. After that, things were relatively straightforward. There was a fast connection, too, which almost seemed wasted on people who didn’t use it—especially since my connection at home was so poor that it was hardly worth the bother.
While the search engine loaded, I took a seat in Roger’s office chair.
It was only when I started typing that I noticed my palms were clammy. Apparently, what I was about to do was affecting me far more than I cared to admit. The truth was that whatever secret I unearthed, it would change things forever. Would change Oscar forever. There would be no turning back.
Swallowing nervously, I tapped my index finger on the keys.
Translations.
I clicked ‘Search’ and watched as a long list of results appeared on the screen. I scrolled down until I found what looked like a good link and clicked on it. As the webpage materialised before me, I unfolded the notebook paper and re-read the scrawled words.
“Bellator Tenebris. Mortifer Veneficus,” I spoke them quietly before typing them into the translation box.
Below the text box were the final two steps required for the translation process.
‘Choose language to translate from’ and ‘Choose language to translate to’.
The latter option was simple, so I began with that first. I highlighted ‘English’ on the selection of language choices.
The top option, ‘Choose language to translate from,’ was much trickier to complete.
I wasn’t familiar with any of the words on the coin, so that narrowed my search down to not English.
What language is it likely to be? my brain churned. Well, Valero sounded Italian. I started with that.
I highlighted ‘Italian’ and clicked on ‘Translate.’
It took a few seconds, but the results were inconclusive. Annoyingly, the text box was wiped clear.
Okay, so it was not Italian. I retyped the words into the space provided.
Think logically. I stared at the lettering. It seemed sort of symbolic. Maybe from one of those old world places. I drummed my fingers on the desk. Ancient Greece?
I highlighted ‘Greek’ and waited for the results. Again the text box came back empty.
This was ridiculous. Why hadn’t I learned more languages when I had the chance? I tried to remember the language classes available at school: Spanish, French, German, Latin…
“Latin,” I murmured as I retyped the words into the box.
I scrolled through the language options and selected ‘Latin’ then clicked ‘Translate’.
And this time, the text returned to me. Translated.
Oh… my… God.
I felt the colour drain from my face.
Breathe, I reminded myself. I knew things were bad if I had to remind myself to breathe. And yet I still wasn’t doing it.
I let out a puff of air.
Moving on autopilot, I shut down the laptop. Before leaving, I crumpled the notebook paper into a ball and stuffed it into my pocket. And then I ran. I ran all the way along the corridor and up both flights of stairs.
At the top of the attic staircase, I burst through the
door to my bedroom.
What the…?
Oscar was standing at the window. The contents of my jewellery box were scattered across my dressing table. One guess what he was holding in his hand.
The brass coin.
He spun around to face me.
Okay. I had two options. One, confront him with what I knew, all guns blazing. Or two, play it his way.
“What are you doing?” I asked calmly—as if I didn’t know.
It took several seconds before he replied.
“I’m looking for something,” he said.
Several seconds and that was the best he could come up with?
“What are you looking for?” I pushed.
“Safety pins,” he improvised.
“Oh. Why?” This was good. Very quick-fire.
“Because I have things to be… pinned.”
“What?”
“Socks.”
“Socks?” I echoed. “You want to safety pin your socks?”
“Yes.” He didn’t blink.
“Right.” I folded my arms. “And you thought you’d find safety pins in my jewellery box?”
“Yes.”
Now, if I hadn’t been so aware of what was in his left hand, I probably would have missed this. The speed of it was quite astounding, really. Here’s what happened: with remarkable slight of hand, Oscar slipped the coin under his belt whilst making it appear as though he was just resting his thumb in the belt loop.
“So, you weren’t looking for the coin?” I asked simply.
Unsurprisingly, he played dumb. “Huh?”
I laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny it.”
“Deny what?” He smiled mockingly. “That bump on the head must have—”
I abruptly cut him off. “I know about the coin.”
“What coin?”
“The one you just tucked under your belt.”
A glimmer of anxiety flashed across his handsome face, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. He unbuckled his black leather belt and pulled it from his jeans. It slid through the coarse material seamlessly. Gripping it in his fist, he held it out proudly and it swung from his hand like a restrained snake. Nothing had dropped onto the floor. The coin was nowhere in sight.
“See?” he said. “No coin.” He strode up to me and grazed his fingers over the bump on my head. “Get some rest. You need it.”
I let him pass me. But before he could leave the room, I took the crumpled notebook paper from my pocket.
“Bellator Tenebris,” I read aloud. “Mortifer Veneficus.”
Oscar froze.
I carried on, “Bellator Tenebris. The Dark Warrior.”
His hands balled into fists.
I kept going, “Mortifer Veneficus.” My throat went dry. “The Deadly Witch.”
Deadly Witch.
The Fiery Truth
OSCAR STOOD MOTIONLESS IN THE attic doorway. He kept his back to me.
I read from the notebook paper again. “Mortifer Veneficus. The Deadly Witch.”
He whirled around and snatched the paper out of my hand.
“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked, attempting to sound detached.
“I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve heard it.” I found myself standing uncomfortably close to him. His rasps of breath brushed against my cheek.
“Oh? Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Well, it was written on your coin.”
Backed into a corner, Oscar changed tactics. “Oh, that little thing. I don’t even know what that is. It’s one of those novelty gimmicks. I don’t know why I still keep it. Funny how people get attached to inanimate objects.”
“Very funny,” I replied. “At least you know what I’m talking about now. Your memory must be coming back.”
“Must be,” he agreed, matching my dry sarcasm.
“I know you took it from my jewellery box.” I wasn’t playing anymore.
Neither was he.
He promptly dug into his pocket and produced the coin, then shoved it into my hand.
“You see?” he said. “Just a useless piece of brass.”
I stepped away from him and walked to the window. I noticed that his eyes were transfixed on me, intently watching my every move.
“Is it important to you?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“So, can I have it?” I ventured.
“Sure.” His eyes were locked to my hand.
Yeah, right; I could ‘have’ it until he stole it back later that day.
“If it’s so trivial to you, then let me…” I glanced to the candle on my dressing table, “melt it.”
Oscar clenched his jaw. “What would be the point of that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Nope. Go ahead,” he spoke in a taut voice. His focus didn’t move from the coin.
Okay, Oscar, time to call your bluff.
Mary kept a mini box of matches in the top drawer of my dressing table, just in case I ever wanted to light that old toffee candle. But of course, with my fire phobia, that would have been about as likely as pigs flying. Come to think of it, I’d never even struck a match before. Talk about facing your fears.
I set the coin down on top of the candle, nestling it beside the wick.
Oscar shifted his weight from left to right. He looked as though he were about to implode.
As I opened the box of matches, my stomach did flips.
Oh God.
I selected a matchstick and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger, preparing to strike it against the rough side of the box.
Oh God. There’s going to be fire. It’s going to be in my hands…
I raised the match.
Oh God! What if the fire spreads to my arm and I burst into flames? What if the whole house burns down?
I gulped.
I give up. I can’t do this.
He won.
But just as I was about to throw in the towel, Oscar beat me to it.
It all happened so fast that I could scarcely believe my eyes. In a fraction of a second, Oscar was upon me. He gripped my wrist and pinned my hand to the window, causing the glass to rattle and the box of matches to drop to the floor. The spilt matchsticks scattered across the carpet like the fatalities of our own private war.
Our eyes met.
“Thought so,” I whispered. I yanked my hand free.
He didn’t speak.
I reached over to the candle and retrieved the coin. Without dispute, I handed it back to him. After all, I didn’t want it. All I wanted was the truth.
He nodded a vague ‘thank you’ and returned it to his pocket.
“It is important to you,” I noted.
“It’s lucky.”
“Like a charm?”
“A talisman,” he corrected.
It was fair to guess that his answers were going to be basic, one-word, hope-she-stops-asking kind of answers.
“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” I got straight to the point, looking into his troubled russet eyes as I spoke.
His lips pressed together obstinately.
As I searched his eyes, it dawned on me that he was vulnerable. Needless to say, this came as a shock. Until that point, ‘vulnerable’ would certainly not have been a word I would have used to describe Oscar Valero. The fact of the matter was, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might have been hiding his secret because he couldn’t tell me. I had naturally assumed that his lies came from a callous and devious place.
But I had been wrong.
With my gaze fused to his, I stood perfectly still. I couldn’t look away, and I knew he couldn’t either. We were stuck there, like magnets trapped by an invisible force. And what we shared in that moment was… well, it was incredible. I can truly say that the simple act of looking at Oscar was the greatest consciousness I’d ever experienced. I saw him so intimately, almost as though I were glimpsing directly into his soul.
“Tell me,” I pleaded.
&nbs
p; He didn’t budge.
“You can tell me,” I assured him. “Oscar, I’ve seen what you can do. You’re different...”
He spoke now, but in a voice so weak that it was barely audible. “I’m not evil.”
“I know,” I responded without thinking—though I meant what I said. He wasn’t evil. He was just Oscar. “I don’t care what you are.” I meant that, too. “But I need to know. I need to hear you say it.”
I explored his eyes again. It was frightening how much I saw in just one look: sorrow, regret, secrecy… and fear.
“You can trust me,” I vowed, hand on heart. “Remember when you jumped off the ridge and you asked me to close my eyes—”
“Yes,” he interrupted, smiling wryly, “but you opened them.”
“Well, yeah, because you jumped off a cliff,” I justified. “But the second time, when you asked me to close my eyes, I did it.”
He seemed hesitant.
“I’ll do it again,” I offered. “I’ll close my eyes.” And I did.
We stayed silent for what felt like a lifetime. Without my sight, I listened to the sound of his breathing. It was a nice sound.
Out of nowhere, I felt Oscar’s hand entwine with mine.
“Forgive me,” he requested quietly.
“I already have.”
“Open your eyes,” he murmured.
I did as he asked.
He took a deep breath. “I…”
Trust me, I urged silently.
“I am a witch.”
The words tumbled from his lips like a surge of water rupturing through a dam.
Even though I already knew it, it still came as a shock to hear it confirmed. There was a small part of me that wanted to flail my arms around and scream “Witch!”, but there was a much larger part that quite simply didn’t care. He was Oscar. That was all that mattered to me.
I wanted to tell him those things. I wanted to tell him how much I cared for him.
Instead I said “Thanks”. It was all that I could muster.
He let out a laugh. I could sense that he allowed himself to feel relieved. Relieved that I knew who he was. The repercussions, I was sure, he would worry about later.
I too allowed myself to bask in a blissfully serene state. For the next few seconds, everything would be perfect. We were who we were, and we wouldn’t have to be anything other than us. The two of us. Together.