The rumbling in my stomach was making my ears ache. The last time I ate was in my holding cell earlier this morning—six hours ago. When we stopped at that combo diner-gas station, I’d gotten myself excited for a chance to stretch my legs and maybe a chicken tender basket.
How foolish of me.
Both the bus driver and the officer left me handcuffed to my seat while they went and got lunch. I couldn't go anywhere. The collar prevented me from using my magic.
I licked my dry lips as I watched Mage Officer Stiles scarf down the last of his double bacon burger from lunch. He chuckles when he notices me staring while wiping off a bit of mustard from his thick mustache.
I shot him a dirty look but had nothing to say back. I stared at his mocking smile. He was right, after all. I am a monster and a killer—the worst kind, too.
Stiles asks while he awkwardly arches his back against the seat.
The driver’s mouth was full of sunflower seeds he’d been mulling over for the past 10 minutes.
I look out the window and watch as the black forest whizzes by, grey tendrils from the fog curling around the glass. The dark trunks meshing and separating hold my gaze as my mind falls blank. I am not taking in anything.
Not the roar of the bus’s engine, not the cold from the a/c, not even the stale taste on my tongue from not getting to brush in a few days. All I could focus on was how rampant my mind was going.
Fragments of thoughts and questions weren’t quite forming in my mind. I wanted to focus on one singular thought, but the moment I did, I’d lose focus. It was like trying to hold water in a sieve. I wasn’t sure how long I had been staring blankly outside before the driver announced we’d reached our destination. I hadn’t even noticed we came to a stop. I look through the windshield. I see a massive iron gate barring our way forward. Two enormous stone vultures support the iron gate; their ever-watchful gaze is fixed on the forest.
Stiles stands and undoes the handcuffs but leaves his hand on my shoulder before collecting a thick envelope.
I suck my teeth at him and try to shake it off his hand to no avail.
As I take in my surroundings, my brows slowly furrow together. There was no fence connected to it. That was it. Behind it was more dead forest, dirt road, and grey fog. There wasn’t a building or sign indicating where we were or if we were even at the right place.
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The air outside felt heavy as the fog swirled around us.
We stood in front of the unconnected gate for a few seconds. Upon further inspection, I noticed round jewels embedded in the stone. Even though the rest of the statue showed signs of erosion and was caked in dirt, the eyes seemed exceptionally clean. Then, I saw a flicker of light in one of the vulture’s eyes. Both of their heads cocked violently to the sides at odd angles. They stretched and flapped their wings. When the stone vultures finally settled back down, they eyed us again hungrily.
The left one said, his voice raspy and grating.
Said the one on the left. Though equally raspy, its voice had a higher pitch to it.
She twists and tilts her head to show off her sharp, curved beak. Officer Stiles coughs, quickly pilfer through the envelope, and pulls out a letter with the governmental shield. He holds it in front of the carrion.
In one fluid movement, the male vulture snatches the envelope with his beak and guzzles it down. Stiles lets out a girlish yelp and quickly recomposes himself.
After a few seconds, the vultures started to shake and flap wildly as they hopped up and down on their platforms: their necks plume, and bits of rock tumble as they repeatedly snap their beaks. Hog-like grunts bubbled in their throats. Their gems for eyes glowed brightly before they settled again. The stone vultures look at me with excitement. The steely composure they had with Officer Stiles had vanished. A low rumble came from deep within the earth as the vultures continued looking at me with blue inlaid gems.
The female spoke first, beating her wings in the air.
The male continued, his head sunk low in his feathers, a strange curl forming at the corners of his beak.
The rumbling grew, and my knees started to wobble and buckle as I tried to keep my balance with my hands still handcuffed. The sound of iron screeching filled the dense air. I saw the bars of the gate wrenching themselves apart. Two groups separated down the middle were twisting and contorting away from each other, but something was off.
The vultures began again.
The space the two sets of bars created wasn’t filled with the other side of the road. Warm light poked through, slicing into the fog. The following air was crisp, with a hint of lemon tickling my senses.
The earthquake had ramped up now. The trees swayed precariously over us; Stiles had tried to remain upright but landed flat on his ass when his knees caved in.
I wasn’t going to fall, though; I couldn’t. As my eyes started focusing on the ever-widening space, I could see deeper and deeper into it. Paved concrete replaced the dirt road. The deep green grass, well maintained, looked like an oil painting in how pristine it was. A couple of yards away stood a bronze statue on top of a dark wood pedestal, surrounded by a bed of flowers. Further back stood something even substantial.
They said in unison.
Flocks of birds were scattered in different directions around us. A branch fell to my right, spooking and distracting me enough that I lost my footing. It took a bit to keep myself from landing on my head.
The gate had stopped tearing itself apart, and the quakes were beginning to dull. Dazed from the fall, I refocus my gaze past the statue. The mansion stood tall with grandeur, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight against the baby-blue sky. It towered at least two or three stories, with a steep dark blue roof perched atop like a crown.
The earthquake had ceased entirely, but my limbs were still trembling. I looked back at the two vultures. Their heads were bowed, and each had a wing gesturing into the fissure.
