At some point, however, the images would come back as soon as they had lurked long enough in the depths of her consciousness. Usually this happened when she couldn’t fall asleep and her mind would start wandering. Sometimes even when she was asleep in her dreams.
She finally reached the tombstones.
Three of them. Two large ones and a smaller one, a reminder that her sister had been a teenager when she died.
There were only a few moments in her life when she regretted being a wizard, fighting to protect the mystic Wall. The magic had been awoken in her, the sigil set ablaze and she had since stood on the side of light. Getting to know the hidden world of magic was like a breathtaking roller coaster ride, alternating between horror and euphoria. Constantly. She made new friends who became her family. She had long called the Castillo home.
But she was always aware of the terrible price she'd had to pay.
Or, more precisely, the price you all had to pay.
She stroked Jana’s simple tombstone tenderly. How often had they argued as children. Typical sisters.
Jen smiled.
Although she was the only survivor to inherit the family fortune, she kept the graves simple. It wasn’t about pomp or size; no, the reminder was sufficient.
Her hand went to her mother’s stone. The first tears came. She remembered the loving look, her soft facial features and dreamy eyes. Her mother’s hair had always smelled of flowers, her breath of mint. Only later another smell crept in which the mints couldn't mask any longer. But at least she had tried.
Unlike him.
As if she would burn her fingers, she pulled her hand back to keep it from touching his tombstone.
She looked at the engraved inscription.
What you are, I once was. What I am, you will become.
"You would have loved that line, wouldn't you, Dad?" She wanted to spit. "Roast in hell."
The images came in a sequence of biting pain. Her mother’s black eye and split lip. Jana’s screams amidst the rain and thunder. Raw knuckles. Laughter.
Jen felt her concentration waning.
The sigil inside of her reacted to the pain. Violet flashes flickered, dancing over her skin and fingers.
One of the highest rules that every wizard had to internalize at the beginning was also the simplest: Never use magic when you're emotional. Maximum concentration, that was the credo. Otherwise spells could degenerate and the consequences could be catastrophic.
Who knew that better than her?
"Jen?" She heard Mark’s voice in the distance.
She cursed. "Here!"
She quickly turned away from the graves and went back to the building that had once been her home.
"I thought I’d find you here," he said.
"Was that so obvious?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Habits. Everybody has them, specially in a bad mood. For example, Max puts his earbuds in and listens to music for hours. I find that much healthier than constantly visiting the graves of your dead parents."
Only Mark could give such an assessment with such ease and not hurt her. Quite the contrary. His sunny disposition immediately improved her mood.
"So you wanted to pull me out of my misery and buy me a cup of coffee?"
He shook his head. "Nope. We’ve got a new assignment."
"It was worth a try."
He laughed. "But we’ll have coffee after. Maybe, on the way, you’ll tell me what actually happened."
Together they left the overgrown garden.
Jen didn’t look back toward the house. It was just an empty building, its rooms echoing with the laughter and pain of a time long past.
It’s over.
She left the memories behind in order to tackle the future with Mark. The way she always did. Until next time.
2. The Folio
I wish there was a portal that's closer," she grumbled.
"Jennifer Danvers," Mark said, before quickly correcting himself. "Jen. Did we cast the first spell with the wrong hand today?" He had a roguish look in his eyes and laugh lines appeared. His blond hair was wild and uncombed. Despite his dislike of catacombs, he did not let any magic touch the hair either.
"Forget it," she waved it off.
"Come on, spill. I’ve been patient long enough. Honeymoon’s over, Danvers."
She knew he’d keep poking. Sighing, she looked out over the green hills. The portal had dropped her off at a safe house in London. From there, however, they had to use public transport to get closer to their destination. All the other portal exits were farther away. Jen decided to ask the Portalkeepers once more to let the network in the British capital grow more extensively. After their long odyssey, however, they were now seated in one of the signature black cabs and rattled their way over uneven gravel roads.
"It’s the council," she finally admitted. "I’ve been given a reprimand."
If that was possible at all, Mark's grin grew even wider. "I'm not surprised."
"Hey!" She lightly punched his side.
"Oh, come on," he said, giving her a challenging look. "How many times have you broken the rules? The Council had to react. Just be glad Joan’s got your back."
Jen just gave an angry grunt in response. Joan of Arc was the only immortal of the six on the council who violated the rules every now and then. The rest usually looked down their noses at her. It was probably due to their long lives that they regarded everyone younger than a century as a child.
You always had the feeling that you could never live up to their expectations anyway. How good did someone have to be all their life to end up immortal and be called to the council?
"You’re taking too many risks, Jen." The laughter vanished from Mark’s face.
"That’s what they said, too. Idiots."
"Gee, thanks."
Before they could continue the conversation, the cab reached its destination. Mark paid the driver while Jen got out. Gravel crunched under her boots as she took a few steps to take a closer look at the old manor house. It was hidden in the green, far outside the city. The façade looked neat, flowers covered the veranda, the windows must have been cleaned recently. "Very Downton Abbey," Jen murmured.
"Don’t start with that relic again," Mark said, as his gaze glided across the façade.
Together they walked up to the entrance.
"You’re an ignoramus," she replied. "Someday I’ll tie you up in front of the TV and make you watch every season."
"That would be torture. What would the council say to that?" He gave a cheeky grin, she jabbed his side again. Her next parry in their verbal duel died on her lips. "Do you feel that?"
He nodded. With precise movements, Mark began to trace symbols in the air. His finger left a trail of green fire. Each wizard left behind a unique trail when they wove symbols.
The magical symbols began to arrange themselves. He mumbled a word. A shock wave rushed forth, tearing apart the illusion spell that had been cast on the manor house. A run-down house appeared. Wilted flowers lay on the ground, the blind windows looked at the hilly woods. The smell of death and decay hung in the air.
She absorbed every little detail of the building and could feel the danger lurking behind the walls. Kevin had done some research in the library for a case that he'd been investigating. One of the search globes had received a signal. Whenever powerful artifacts were used in the world, a black or white dot lit up on the magnified item. The outburst of magic on the outskirts of London had been clearly visible on one of the search globes.