11-30-2013, 09:01 AM
Claire, June, Deena, and Cameron swore to never discuss The Sickness one evening after Claire brought it up. A news story had prompted the conversation, but June, their leader, quickly squashed the topic with so much force that Claire's urge for information was effectively smothered. June was a friend, after all, as much as their circle leader. Claire hadn't brought it up again.
But here Tony was going on about his experience with the Sickness, even linking it to his powers. Claire only relaxed in her chair and settled in to hear the tale.
The story which followed slowly drew Claire's expression further and further surprised. Until her eyes were wide and her lips parted breathlessly. Of course his true name meant nothing to her, no more than any other billionaire family from Moscow, but it certainly explained a few things about Tony. Such as the way his honor mixed with the luxury around them. He would have grimaced to imagine the crickety, old, wallpaper peeling off the walls and cracks drawn on the walls from a settling foundation, type of place she grew up in. Claire was a kind of girl that swam through thrift stores for treasures while Tony was the kind of guy that bought the building.
The tale turned tragic, however. She gasped at the idea of a man so powerful he burnt an entire house - nevermind who it belonged to. She pictured the way that flame flickered above his palm, and she could imagine it swelling to engulf them both. These powers were dangerous. June definitely imparted that much. She waved off the alcoholism. Not because one month clean was insignificant, but because years drowning oneself in sorrow was nothing Claire judged. That kind of horror he'd known was certainly worth a decade of drinking.
"I lost my family too."
She pointed at her bag where within was the Memory. "But not because I burnt down a government big wig's house. In fact, I did nothing. I was locking up the shop while the girls set up in the back-
" she assumed he'd know what she meant, "-and I found them all shot through the head execution style. I went upstairs and found a man in my mom and I's apartment, but I was too late. He was surprised to see me, and then he said something strange."
(strange for a cold-blooded killer anyway). "He said he was told there were only 'three of us'."
Claire's mouth formed a hard, thin line, and the fury of the moment returned to the surface when she thought she'd buried it deep in the gorges of her soul, deeper than the conscious could reach, beyond the heat of hellish Tartaros itself. "I didn't give him a chance to explain."
She wasn't entirely sure what he meant about The Five. But her previous story should suffice to answer his question about controlling it at will. "Luckily, I had been prepared and practicing the few days leading up to then."
She glanced at the kitchen. There was no bucket of salt laid out. Nor around the rest of the apartment was there any hint of an alter table. "How do you craft your Circle?"
She fixed him with a look. Circles had to be purified, spaces swept of psychic debris before the magic could be contained by the caster. Perhaps he used a mental circle, and was powerful enough to form it with his mind? She'd only heard of such casters powerful enough to not physically draw a literal circle. What about the alter and candles? How did he do without them?
Claire slowly understood. Tony was the most powerful Wiccan she'd ever encountered or heard of. And she wanted a share of that power more than anything else. Death was in Moscow, after all. And to meet Death, she needed to be more than what she was right now if she were to survive - let alone manipulate him.
She rose and sauntered toward him until joining Tony on the couch. She stretched an arm along the ridge of the seat behind his neck and leaned in close. "You say only another woman can teach me?"
Warm eyes delved into his. "You must find a way. I am still constrained by chalk and salt where you use your mind. I don't know what The Five is, but if its the secret, please tell me all you know."
Tony was the key. She simply knew it. Only what sort of man was he? To willingly divulge the secrets to their great powers? Or did he need coaxing?
But here Tony was going on about his experience with the Sickness, even linking it to his powers. Claire only relaxed in her chair and settled in to hear the tale.
The story which followed slowly drew Claire's expression further and further surprised. Until her eyes were wide and her lips parted breathlessly. Of course his true name meant nothing to her, no more than any other billionaire family from Moscow, but it certainly explained a few things about Tony. Such as the way his honor mixed with the luxury around them. He would have grimaced to imagine the crickety, old, wallpaper peeling off the walls and cracks drawn on the walls from a settling foundation, type of place she grew up in. Claire was a kind of girl that swam through thrift stores for treasures while Tony was the kind of guy that bought the building.
The tale turned tragic, however. She gasped at the idea of a man so powerful he burnt an entire house - nevermind who it belonged to. She pictured the way that flame flickered above his palm, and she could imagine it swelling to engulf them both. These powers were dangerous. June definitely imparted that much. She waved off the alcoholism. Not because one month clean was insignificant, but because years drowning oneself in sorrow was nothing Claire judged. That kind of horror he'd known was certainly worth a decade of drinking.
"I lost my family too."
She pointed at her bag where within was the Memory. "But not because I burnt down a government big wig's house. In fact, I did nothing. I was locking up the shop while the girls set up in the back-
" she assumed he'd know what she meant, "-and I found them all shot through the head execution style. I went upstairs and found a man in my mom and I's apartment, but I was too late. He was surprised to see me, and then he said something strange."
(strange for a cold-blooded killer anyway). "He said he was told there were only 'three of us'."
Claire's mouth formed a hard, thin line, and the fury of the moment returned to the surface when she thought she'd buried it deep in the gorges of her soul, deeper than the conscious could reach, beyond the heat of hellish Tartaros itself. "I didn't give him a chance to explain."
She wasn't entirely sure what he meant about The Five. But her previous story should suffice to answer his question about controlling it at will. "Luckily, I had been prepared and practicing the few days leading up to then."
She glanced at the kitchen. There was no bucket of salt laid out. Nor around the rest of the apartment was there any hint of an alter table. "How do you craft your Circle?"
She fixed him with a look. Circles had to be purified, spaces swept of psychic debris before the magic could be contained by the caster. Perhaps he used a mental circle, and was powerful enough to form it with his mind? She'd only heard of such casters powerful enough to not physically draw a literal circle. What about the alter and candles? How did he do without them?
Claire slowly understood. Tony was the most powerful Wiccan she'd ever encountered or heard of. And she wanted a share of that power more than anything else. Death was in Moscow, after all. And to meet Death, she needed to be more than what she was right now if she were to survive - let alone manipulate him.
She rose and sauntered toward him until joining Tony on the couch. She stretched an arm along the ridge of the seat behind his neck and leaned in close. "You say only another woman can teach me?"
Warm eyes delved into his. "You must find a way. I am still constrained by chalk and salt where you use your mind. I don't know what The Five is, but if its the secret, please tell me all you know."
Tony was the key. She simply knew it. Only what sort of man was he? To willingly divulge the secrets to their great powers? Or did he need coaxing?