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MMLA - Chapter One
🕑 Added 2022-12-31 16:14:20 +0000 UTCTwo Boys and a Very Poor Verbal Spar
23rd June, 2008
Apella’s Apothecary is exactly what one would expect. Even should one expect two different things, the shop will oblige. Should a mundane walk through these doors, expecting a shop with aluminum shelves and tacky pricing stickers, they would find just that —and it would even be manned by a twenty three year old, dead eyed, pink haired woman. Should an arcane find themselves outside the towered windows with silver finishing and pull open the frosted glass door, they would see a veritable jungle. Within Apella's, the plants are free to roam. Arcanes would be graced with the sight of Arched Fireblooms lighting up the chandeliers with flames of every color, with bursts of fireworks shifting their hues. There would be Leaping Ophelia's, with their purple petals fluttering as they launched from aisle to aisle, dodging arcane children attempting to catch them like bottled fairies. Such are the sights an arcane can expect. And such is delivered. The mysticism cloaking Apella's is nothing in comparison to the woman who owned the Apothecary --Apella herself. The magic to maintain such a shop would consume an average arcane's core within a day, yet Apella has managed her shop for a millenia at least. Perhaps longer. Apella’s Apothecary is as famous as an arcane shop can be, with every Dick and Jane knowing her stores are bountiful all year round. Apella herself doesn’t hurt. Forever marked by her ties to ancient Druids, her skin has the appearance of varnished wood —smooth but tan with barely visible wood grains running along her body. Her hair is like golden flax and curls around her like vines. Even now, as my brother and I stand before her shop, I can feel the power radiating from her very core —it envelopes the storied building like a veneer.
Right outside the shop, I watched as my brother fussed with his white blonde hair, alternating between tucking it behind his ear or leaving a single curl in front to frame his face. His eyes never left his reflection as he began to grin, "Well? Think I've a go with Apella?"
“Absolutely not —she's millenia old and if the rumors are right an actual tree."
“What has that got to do with beauty?"
"Nothing, except for the fact that you couldn’t compare on your best day."
"I think that's the most hateful thing you've said this week."
"Didn't I call you a dragon's taint earlier?"
"Right," He sniffed, "This morning, then."
Deciding to tuck his hair back once again to display a single black earring, he pulled open the door and waved me in first, “After you.”
Brushing past him I kept my face even, despite the urge to snort clawing its way up, “What a gentleman. Must not be father’s after all.”
“Oh, how you wound,” Damien sneered.
As we stepped across the threshold, reality shuddered. What was usually a chemists’ to mundane eyes was a veritable jungle to an arcane. The high ceilings were spotted with Lumineers functioning as chandeliers, their vines reaching down as if to urge those below to join them. The rows of packaged and vialed goods were supported by levitating shelves that were enchanted to sort themselves by date, a novel function for a shopkeep. But it was the woman who ran the shop herself that my eyes were drawn to once we’d gotten a half dozen steps in.
The shop was nearly empty aside from a few arcanes browsing, and so Apella approached us with a soft smile and a gentle ‘welcome’.
As Damien told her our list, his best ‘I’m rather dashing, aren’t I?’ smile gleaming, I felt a new energy enter into my peripheral —faint and mostly psychological. I followed distractedly as Apella, in her soft green shop apron, showed us to the back room. I was too focused on the time, on positioning myself just far enough from Damien to not be immediately placed by his side —but close enough that he wouldn’t notice I was keeping a distance. The room we were brought to held little more than four leather armchairs, two polished end tables, and a long counter with small displays of finer ingredients.
As a soft bell run through the air, Apella told us kindly to ‘wait just a moment’ and she glided back to where we’d come from. Not a minute later a surge of energy filled the air, and Apella returned with a boy around our age with a shock of auburn hair. She directed him to sit and wait, and he settled right by my menace of a brother.
The boy’s eyes darted around, taking in the room. Had I been in his shoes, I can’t say I would be much different. But, of course, I wansn’t in his shoes, so I was in the perfect position to judge him for his display. Beside the two boys, Apella materialized a sheet of paper and jotted down something before nodding to herself and slipping back behind the counter —presumably to search through her wares.
I focused on hanging back, pretending to be absorbed in the trinkets lining the counter.
“Hello,” Came Damien, his face that distinct shade of ‘ghastly pale that seemed to run in the family, “Here for alchemy or potions?”
The other boy seemed lost, but eventually he managed a questionable, “School, actually. It’s for the Arcane Preparatory Academy?”
Had my brother taken even a moment to truly look at the deep red hair or bright green eyes —or even feel the power pulsing through the very air he exhaled— he would have known this boy he was half heartedly chatting up was obviously the Lost Argos child.
“Oh, me too. Sponsored or inherited?” Damien had that same slow drawl he always spoke with. That voice that said ‘I am too good for things like caring’. At the other boys blank expression Damien simply moved along, “Well, it doesn’t really matter —though I’m inherited myself.”
Truly his whole countenance screamed ‘insufferable’. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him screeching like a banshee when he realizes I’ll be able to mock him for days after this.
“I’m going to drag Father off to look at Familiars after this. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own -apparently just messenger animals. Unbound.” He snorted, “What good is a messenger animal in this day and age? Absolutely archaic, don’t you think? Perhaps I’ll be able to bully Father into letting me pretend it’s just a messenger and not a Familiar at all.”
I had to hold back a choked laugh at the thought of him bullying Father. As if he’d have the backbone for it.
“Have you got a Familiar?” Damien went on.
“No,” said the Lost Argos, who I’ve already written off as any help beyond the obvious. This conversation has been entirely predictable thus far -other than some meager article changes. Literally. Even the reference to Father.
“Into football?”
“Soccer? No,” He repeated once again. I’d be willing to bet the missing Argos didn’t even know the difference between a mundane and arcane match.
“I am. Father says it’s a crime if neither of us are picked to play for the Academy’s team, and I must say, I agree. Know what mock cabal you want?”
“No.” It’s a trifecta of entirely predictable responses, but at least the boy has the decency to pretend he knows what is happening.
“Suppose you wouldn’t. Technically they’re random for firsties, but you know what they say —can’t stop an arcane from showing off. All the best go to Montan, and those not quick enough go elsewhere. But could you imagine being stuck in a low potency cabal —best academy in London or not, you can’t save a sinking ship.” I had to, once again, hold in a snort as I eavesdropped on my brother’s insufferable conversation. High potency or not, Father would castrate him if he couldn't build up whatever cabal he found himself assigned.
Sure, our cabals tend to be more suited to bloodthirsty snakes, and low potency cabals are difficult to maneuver —but what would it say if one of the heir candidates couldn’t even stomach spending a year at the Academy even if it meant building up the dregs of Arcane society? Well. Suffice it to say he wouldn’t be an heir candidate anymore. I found myself half hoping fate wasn’t truly set in stone and my brother was assigned the weakest cabal —just so I could save myself the trouble of inheritance.
Besides, Mother would sooner take the lumps of watching my brother struggle through with a weak cohort than ship him off to the continent for schooling.
“Oh?” The Lost Argos, whose name I do remember but prefer to treat as anathema, clearly didn’t enjoy this conversation. Can’t say I blame him.
”Well, bloody hell,” said my brother, nodding back toward the front window that was just visible past the doorway. Two remarkably pale men stood in black leather coats underneath individual black umbrellas. It was rather peculiar—due to it not being raining— but it was clear to both he and I that the two men were night stalkers. Vampires. Disgust ran through me as I set my eyes on them. They were staring at the Lost Argos intently, their red eyes piercing through whatever barrier Apella’s would have to keep the lesser arcanes away. Apella, a high Arcane and accomplished Alchemist, would surely throw a fit if they took even a half step inside. She was willing to accept any potentcy of witch, wizard, warlock, etc. so long as they were human. Can’t say I blame her.
“That’s Alfie and Marc,” as though he was sharing the most fascinating tale, his expression looked pleased as punch. “They are taking me to the Academy.”
“Oh,” said my brother, his nose scrunching in disgust, “Are they with the registrar? And is it the portal? I hate that thing —Father takes us direct.”
“As a matter of fact they are,” said the Lost Argos sharply. I knew the conversation was dead long before, but it’s nice to know my brother has all the tact and subtlety of a crowbar to a glass pane.
“That’s it, then. I heard the Academy employs the lessers as a charity. Perhaps they’re paid in blood —I’ve heard the vampires on school grounds had to make a pledge not to drink. Apparently some odd years ago a drunk vampire destroyed the trophy room in a frenzy looking for his glasses —that he was wearing. It’s a wonder any of them are still allowed on campus.”
You know, I wonder why Father even told us that story. It seems a bit beneath him if I’m honest -would’ve been more his style to mock the beast for being defanged rather than entertain us with drunken tales and mischief. Though Father has often surprised me over the years, so maybe I’m once again letting fate cloud my eyes. Seeing only what I remember rather than the true reality.
“I think they’re rather interesting, actually,” The Lost Argos, who I think I may begin referring to as TLA—ah, rather Tilla for ease of understanding and clarity of thought.
“Do you?” said brother dearest, with a slight sneer that made him look rather constipated. “Why are they even with you? Where are your parents?”
“They’re dead,” As I was out of sight of both boys, I rolled my eyes and pretended to be fascinated by a display of ten different kinds of ground up lilies —one each of the elemental lilies, two mundane lilies, and an ethereal lily, which barely looked to be materialized in this plane based off the shimmering that occurred in the bowl. Every few seconds sections of the white powder would fade from existence, then promptly reappear as if it had never gone anywhere at all —which led to a waterfall of the shimmering powder within the container. The shade of the powder, mid shimmer, reminded me of a set of silver and violet robes that I had seen at the tailors earlier.
When Mother reappears I’ll have to remind her how fetching she looks in the color and ‘maybe we should get matching sets’. I’ll even be a sweet sister and get masculine accessories for my brother so he isn’t left out. Not that I could leave him out even if I wanted to -the pest refuses to fade into the background no matter the occasion. Mother will handle the coddling of Father’s ego, so it’s not like he won’t get a set as well. She’s quite lovely like that. Yes, I think it’d be rather nice to head back to that shop, after this disaster of a conversation.
“Oh, sorry,” said my brother, who very clearly couldn’t care less about Tilla’s sob story. “I’m assuming they were arcane?”
“They were.” Ah, Tilla has realized the truth of the matter if his clipped tone and measured expression are any indication. My dear brother wouldn’t know it, but in fact Tilla’s parents were quite highly ranked indeed —a fact Tilla likely doesn’t know or understand the meaning behind.
“Well, there’s that at least. Some of the mundane born just don’t understand what it means to be arcane —and the strength of their magic is just abysmal. Could you imagine?” My brother snorted to himself, “Well, no, I can feel the way your power rolls off you, I rather can’t imagine you’ve felt that way at all. What house are you from, anyway?”
But before Tilla sniped back, Apella reappeared with three small boxes and sat two down in front of my brother and one in front of Tilla, and gave a gentle smile.
“Once you’re ready come out front,” Apella had barely finished and the boy with the shock of red hair and illl fitting clothes began to whisk himself off to the front of the shop where I could no longer see him.
“Well, I’ll see you at the Academy, I suppose,” said my none-the-wiser brother.
“Hey, you gnat, don’t just embarrass the family name to anyone who will listen,” I couldn’t help but throw out, propping myself up against the counter in front of my brother and looking him over as he took in a choke of air at my appearance. Now that Tilla was gone I let out a laugh and arched an eyebrow, “Really. What would Father say?”
My brother scrunched his nose, much like his Sneer of Disgust, but instead of the flat drawling voice he had used earlier he had a hint of amusement now, “He’s more likely to scold you for wearing that garnet than he is to tell me I did wrong.”
“It’s not even the same red of those fools—it’s more red violet!” I half heartedly defended myself as I tucked the jeweled necklace beneath my collar, “The stuffy old man won’t complain once Mother shows him the matching robes we’ve gotten him -well, once she knows we’re getting them. He’ll go positively radiant.”
“Oh, will I now.” The slow, measured voice of my father filled the small area we’d been bantering in and I felt myself smile almost immediately.
“Father,” I started, letting my grey eyes meet his own, before quickly schooling my expression to a neutral mask and letting only the corner of my mouth turn up slightly, “Between you and me, and whoever else happens to be listening, the lot of us will look quite fetching at the next social in our matching robes.”
Before him or my brother could get a word in I felt my expression sharpen, “Besides, Mother would hate for you to strip her of the opportunity to wear a color that makes her look so fetching.”
My father arched a brow, so controlled, so sharp, I nearly voiced my envy, as he said, “Very well, why don’t you show us these fetching robes you are convinced will turn the tide of the arcanous world.”
I heard my brother snort and I couldn’t help but sigh and feign exasperation, “Oh, bugger. Fine, but we’ll be telling Mother I’m the one who picked it out and I get to be the first to compliment her when she tries it on.”
“Like you would’ve kept quiet anyway,” I heard my brother mumble as we went on our way.
A quick half hour later found us outside the Loveprime Artificers, I was propping myself up against the front wall, waiting for my brother to come out with mother so I could get my own focus. The sapphire letters covering the door were outlined in silver, and shone in the afternoon light. An enchantment had been cast on them to make the letters hover inches off the wall, casting the marble building with the shadow of the shop's name. The shop itself was made up of floor to ceiling windows and solid marble walls. From where I stood, I could look out over the stores of Hoover Street. It was bustling with arcanes, from more traditional wizards in robes to modern warlocks in fashionable cloaks and capelets, some witches even had a pointed hat. Some of them had canes or wands, but most had their focus hidden in more mundane objects —one particular witch was in the middle of casting something for a child with her hand on a pendant made up of a square cut emerald. The emerald itself radiated power before several crystalline butterflies emerged from it and circled the child, making them giggle.
Looking back to the artificer’s shop, I couldn’t find it in myself to be impressed by the ostentatious display. Maybe had I awoken yesterday to a magical world I would have the wonder of a fourteen year old boy who spent his formative years suffering at the hands of mundanes, but alas. The magic is ruined. So, when my brother dearest strode out with a topaz embedded into a silver wand, I simply took his spot and stood with my father in the spacious shop. A selection of over a dozen gems laid before me.
A rose quartz, meant for those with an affinity to mind arts. An aquamarine, meant for healers. Jade for those of clear mind. Several diamonds of different hues meant to symbolize power. True power. The power of magic. Agate for endurance. Emerald for divination. A dozen different stones meant for a dozen different arcanes.
In theory, I could use any of them. However, an arcane's first focus is everything. It bonds to their soul and changes them. I felt a chill creep up my spine as I looked at the selection laid before me.
“Welcome,” the man behind the counter had a hooked nose and a slick look to him —from his flared eyebrows to his pushed back hair. Even the tones of his voice fit as if he was an oil field incarnate. “Loveprime’s is thrilled to host the selection of your first focus.”
“Yes, the family has long been pleased,” Father sounded distinctly displeased but that was much just how my father sounded on a good day. He was more likely to sneer than smile.
“Will you please step this way, Miss? We will see if you are pulled to any focus in particular.”
I straightened my back as my gaze followed the flow of his hands as he gestured to a crystal ball on display atop the center case. Inside, I felt the stirring of my magic.
“Are you aware of our… limitations?” Came the droll voice of my father.
“Yes, my lord, we have pulled back all the garnets, opals, and pearls out of consideration. They are sealed and will not impact the ritual.” The man’s voice was professional, but the strain of his smile revealed his tension.
I felt a darkness within me well up at the show. I did not care about such things. The garnet on my necklace was proof enough I could control the power in my blood.
“Father, I am ready. Wait outside?” My eyes never left his steel grey, and I could feel the approval waft off him.
“Very well, I will be outside with your mother and brother.” As he took a step, his cane making a harsh clack, he looked back to me, “Do not disappoint, my daughter. You are a scion of our bloodline.”
I felt a cruel smile play at my lips as I met his cold stare, “Always.”
As he walked out, my eyes snapped to the man and I made to step toward the crystal ball.
“Hold out your palm and focus on manifesting,” He paused, briefly, before resolving himself, “If you find it difficult, try and think of the last time you went accidental. It’s always easier to pull from emotion.”
My cold gaze never left him as he spoke, the flat look I wore never wavering. Inside, I wanted to scream in indignation. Instead, I simply held my hand out and snapped my fingers.
It was a pleasant feeling, the feeling of manifesting magic. I had done it more than enough times over the past year under Mother and Fathers guidance. Warmth spread from my chest, rushing through my veins, shifting from shoulder to arm to hand to the tips of my fingers. In contrast, the magic that left me was dripping from my fingers in inky blackness before the drops floated above my hand —forming into a dark marble. It was rather a sinister look. I adored it.
“I don’t remember the last time I went accidental,” I said sickeningly sweet as I watched the look on the salesman's face fall, “Now. What’s next?”
“Yes- yes, Miss,” he cleared his throat, shuffling closer to the crystal ball. It was already fogging in reaction to the proximity of my magic and I had to push down the self satisfied smirk I wanted to show, “Simply imbue your manifestation into the diviner and it will be done.”
Easy. I sighed mentally, using that feeling of warmth to fuel my focus as I sent the manifestation slowly towards the crystal ball. As soon as the edge of the marble touched the crystal, the inky blackness began to ripple through it and turn the ball into shadow. Then, as if it was light filtered by a prism, the blackness began shooting out of the diviner, separating into three beams that were each a different shade of the darkness shooting back towards the rows of gemstones. There was a dark, unfathomable blue that gave off the impression of the deep sea —of never ending trenches and tsunamis, of monsters hidden from the world and sleeping devastation awaiting. There was a deep green so dark it was the color of forests, of the undiscovered, it filled the mind with thoughts of apex predators hunting for sport. The final ray was of darkness. It was unlike the others that gave off magic that resonated with the physical. This manifestation called to blood, to power, it didn’t give the impression of a monster in the dark —it was the monster in the dark. I felt it call to me, but still I held myself back and waited for the jeweler to hustle toward the end of the three beams.
At the end of the deep blue beam was a royal blue sapphire resting on a satin pillow. Gingerly, the man placed it in front of me.
“Sapphire. The stone of knowledge,” his voice took in a new cadence, as if reciting words of power, “For those of untold depths, those who will require wisdom to make tough choices, those who never stop seeking knowledge.”
I hovered my hand over the stone and ice entered my veins. I could see it —how this stone could shape me. How it would goad me into collecting knowledge. Only, I didn’t need help with that. Biting the inside of my cheek I pulled my hand back. Severing the connection, the deep blue beam disconnected from the stone and all sense of its potential faded from my awareness.
“It’s not a fit.”
“Oh, very well,” the salesman almost sounded put out by that, but quickly regained his slick smile, “Onto the next, then. A moment.”
When he came back, he held a larger satin pillow. This time there were two gemstones displayed, one a verdant green and the other a soft mint. I felt the connection to both running through me, stronger after cutting off the sapphire.
The man sat them down in front of me and gestured
“Emerald. The stone of Divinity,” With a swish of his hand he gestured to the mint emerald, “the paler the color the weaker the foresight alignment and the greater the memory. For those who seek to manage the world, for those that seek to bend instead of break, for those of noble arcane blood.”
The mint gem sent out a pulse of energy in response to my proximity and I felt a wave of nausea run through me. I didn’t need this stone’s memory. I had my own. The very thought of requiring an aide felt like a crutch. Before I consciously made the decision, I cut off the stone from my power.
“Next,” I commanded, my voice hoarse as I choked it out through the sudden urge to shove the stone away from me. Quickly, the man plucked the mint stone off the pillow and placed it behind him.
With remarkable composure, he hovered both his hands around the verdant green emerald as if to give it an aura.
“Once more we have an emerald —a stone aligned with divination.” This time, it took a moment before his voice shifted into that power filled cadence, “For those of desperation— to live, to succeed, to thrive. For those who crave to know their future. For those-“
I cut my power off from the stone with a forceful ripple of magic, silencing the man.
“No.”
I was straining myself now, having rejected three stones in a row. The deep green beam dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the black beam shooting off at the back of the showroom.
I could never take an emerald, I knew that. I had hoped the feeling of revulsion would have allowed an attempt, but my very magic hated the notion. Not to mention it could not actually provide anything new for me.
I knew too much of this world.
“Ah,” the man shrank back, before snapping back to attention, “I’ll be back with the last stone —or stones, if you’ve connected to multiple again.”
Briefly, I wondered if the last connection would work. If it would be something I could use. But I can always manifest my magic again and force it back into the diviner —I will either reconnect with the rejects or go to slightly less in sync gemstones. Unfortunately, twice is the limit for a young arcane. So if this upcoming stone isn’t a match, then the next round is all I’ll get unless I wait a month and put myself behind my brother. As if I would ever willingly fall behind the gnat.
I felt the stone as it approached. The strength of my magic called to it. I knew it would be different— the truth of it had already settled into my bones when I had gazed at the near black beam of magic. The stone brought to me was tinged in darkness on the crest of the gem — but brightened to pinks, blues, oranges, and greens on the side pressed to the satin pillow propped it up. I didn’t need the jeweler to tell me about it. I could tell what it was.
It was meant for a monster.
A monster like me.
“Rainbow Tourmaline.” Deftly, the man re-positioned the stone closer to me, prompting me to hold it, “A stone that breeds inner strength. It is called the Mind Gem. Arcanes who bond with this stone are known for their resilience, their Will, and —“
My breath hitched as I took the stone into my hand, it was wider than my thumb and oval cut. The side facing up reflected my stare back at me, the darkness the perfect mirror, but when I turned the stone light filtered into it and caused it to alight with every hue. It was beautiful.
“Their ability to overcome.”
I barely heard the jeweler as I gripped the gemstone in my hand. With a thought, the beam of magic that connected it to me widened, overtaking the entirety of the stone before forcing its way within.
“It’s the one.” As my magic was absorbed into the stone, I felt lethargy overtake me and I fought to keep from stumbling, “I’ll take it.”
The man’s smile became more genuine, then.
“Wonderful, miss, now we can talk about settings.”
What followed next was an extremely quick and professional exchange that resulted in a nondescript silver band wrapping itself around my finger, sizing itself, and the tourmaline settling into the molten silver and being adorned in an outline of dainty silver leaves.
“You know, that’s only the third time I’ve seen such a strong manifestation with the rainbow tourmaline. It’s rare for tourmaline to respond to someone so young,” the jeweler had an unsettled look in his eyes as he took in the ring one last time, “It’s always a boon for one with ambition —a perfect match if you’re like the rest of your family.”
I let a sharp smile tint my face, “I am my father’s daughter.”
Sliding my card to the man it only took a moment to pay and then I was outside facing my mother —a vision in her own right. Her hair was plaited to the side and her bright blue eyes crumpled when she saw me, “Darling, how did it go?”
Flicking my hand up, I flashed the black and silver ring.
“Very well,” she let out a small breath, and I fought to keep my expression neutral, “I’ll help you set up communion tonight and we can make the bond official.”
It was only a moment before we arrived at the Menagerie of Fantastical and Mundane Beasts —or just the Menagerie. Who would willingly say that nonsense?
Outside stood two towering blonde men —the very men we were looking for.
“What -unable to bully Father into a familiar, then?” I sniped from a half yard away, causing my brother to jolt. It only took a moment for him to re-settle before sending a tight lipped smile my way.
“I am older than you, you absolute gnat.” His smile softened slightly, “We were about to head back to you.”
I couldn’t help but snort, undignified as it was, “Look at you! A whole three minutes older but you're barely an inch taller.”
It was true, I stood at six foot and he stood at six-one’. Father was taller still, so if we had any luck we’d hit another growth spurt this year.
“Children. Mind yourselves. It is time to return home. The items are by the portal waiting for us.” The cold voice of father cuts our banter like a knife, pushing the two of us back into the rigid expectations he has for us.
Calm. Collected. Docile until provoked, but lethal when pushed. Our expressions go from casual amusement to droll in a moment. A mask worn to protect us.
As we approach the end of the alley, a black rip hovering in space becomes more prominent. Father’s hand hovered around the edges before he pulled the edge of the rip out far enough to create a passage for us to step into. Once we were all inside the only blackness, with the trolley of items in with us, he released his grip and the darkness overcame us.
He spoke coldly and clearly, “Morlock Manor, Reception Hall.”
