As you can see, I went for a super duper original title.
The first drafted into to my new fic.
The boy with sharp teeth and pointy ears should have been a rough gauge, but I guess I never really knew what I was getting myself into when I moved in. I never really announced it, and a date was never really set. I just found myself sitting in one of the comfy leather brown chairs staring at the large portrait of a man named Harry. He had a large moustache which scared me, and an even more terrifying gaze. It was a stone stiff gaze that challenged you to keep eye contact. I didn’t take him up on it. I found myself sat, quite comfortably, finally feeling at home. My suitcases were unpacked and placed haphazardly behind half a decade or so worth of clutter and junk. My bedroom wall was painted purple and the door a light blue. All of the furniture inside was my own, and decorated to my colourful tastes. I won’t lie. Some of it was pink. This was a few years ago now.
It had never been declared that I had moved into the house, but mail came for me here. It found its way all the way from
We don’t talk about it though. Mainly because we did it. But she deserved it. Honestly. But not even experience could brace me for the shock I was about to get when my favourite of the group burst open the door holding a pale yellow letter.
I remember what was written on that letter, the text that would change us forever. I thought of Dynix and Novu and how they’d grown. I thought of Xanthe and Eric and how they’d bonded stronger than ever. I thought of Morganna and Dad, and how they’d dropped everything to help us. I thought of
It was raining on that day. I remember that much. It was late, as well. We were all sat down eating the feast Dynix had cooked for us. Sunday roast. It was a family thing. When we were all younger, still in our teens, we used to do it every week without fail. We never had enough time to spend with each other any other time. The weekdays were littered with school and work. Me and
We would sit in waiting, giggling, and make small play bets to when he would hurl the beautiful rose patterned coffee table across the room. We could take turns with the spoon, and we would score each other by what parts of Dynix’s face we hit. His tiny, sharp nose got the most points, 30 at least. When Dynix got too rowdy, we’d throw them at each other. When I look into the unused dining room, I can still see
We would continue this until Lulu noticed us. She was always the first to notice. Her eyes were keen, just like her arms and her hearing. A true marksman. Those hunter’s ears were sat perfectly behind a veil of conditioned brown hair. The fringe of this veil poked down beneath her trimmed eye brows in front of her deep set, lilac coloured eyes. A feature no one can really explain.
I can still see her rounded chin and kind smile. She would tip her plate gently onto mine and innocently pour her peas into the since small pile of ammo. It was a game of stealth. And timing. By the time Lulu had spilt her peas into mine, Novu was in on the game. She added a fantastic strategy. In a game which tested the patience of Dynix, one had to have a plan B. Novu would flick her silvery hair behind her shoulder and strike up conversation with Dynix.
“Have y’seen the latest on Omilo Watch?” She would say, in her thick Omilo accent. He would give her a look, and answer.
“I only saw th’episode where that bat got th’police officer’s hat.” He would reply in an even thicker accent. Meanwhile,
A table would find its way through the air.
In these times, I would feel completely at peace. With the powerful had of Dynix protecting the family inside, I knew nothing could harm us.
Dynix and I would sometimes sit in the library together. He knew that no one else would dare venture into this realm of text. There were no pictures. And he knew that I would be quiet when asked to be. I respect quietness. We’d both sit next to each other on the leather sofa facing that scary portrait of Harry. He would be utterly immersed in his book, but I would let my eyes wonder from the story trying to be told. They would follow the wooden beam of the stair up to the second level of the library. Across the rich wooden floorboards following the etched lines to the giant bookcases, full with knowledge and fiction and across the covers of many year’s worth of literature collection.
Every now and then, I would poke a question his way. Tap upon the thirteen year old’s vast knowledge. Ask why the sky was blue, and he would tell me something about white light filtering. I would ask him about Omilo, and he would tell me stories about a giant maelstrom. I would sit and listen to him for hours. He would read to me about rainforests hotter than the
The library was set at the back of the mansion house. It took the windows over looking most of the forest, and on clear days you can see the north town. But only at night – when there are no clouds. The lights would twinkle brightly, as if waving. Everyone in that town would agree that his house was the grandest house around. When Dynix came into owning it, the place was run down. Harry, the scary man in the portrait, had paid for the construction of it. But he had not kept it. Since his wife had died, he left the house to rot. But when we all moved in at varying stages, the house seemed to grow back.
The main person to thank would be Xanthe. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and have ever seen since. She had bronze skin which sat perfectly on her delicate frame. Her long legs and kissable lips are just some of the things to name of her perfection. She had dark eyes and flowing ash blonde hair. And whatever she wore complemented her hourglass figure. It was no surprise that she was going out with the best looking boy out of the bunch. The one with the pointy ears. I can remember what he looks like most of all, I think. He had a sharp face, with chiselled features. A good looking smile. He was toned well, and tall. The pair of them looked fabulous together, everyone said so.
Xanthe, after we’d finished our latest adventure, would kneel in the garden over the flower beds and tend to them. She would water them every three to four days, trim the trees, clean the fountain that Eric had got working, and then retire to a small spot of mowed grass and read a book.
From Novu’s bedroom window, you could watch Xanthe and Eric lounge in the garden together, reading. Playing. Should Novu let you in, of course. She would sit alone in her room and listen to loud classical music. Trumpets and drums would echo from her room all day. Sometimes, I asked Novu if I could sit with her. She would always smile but decline me entrance. Novu was the smallest out of our family. She had sparkling white hair, and a pale face. Her round, huge eyes and tiny button nose gave her the impression of a china doll. One hand crafted by the best in the business.
The living room downstairs had one large U shaped sofa. Should you ever want to find Lulu, you always check in this room first. The custom build shelves lined the back wall, with a plasma screen sat squarely in the centre. She would blare out music videos and sing along to all the words. She would watch romantic comedies on the screen and say all the lines. I would sometimes sit with her, and watch her movies. This soon became a ‘thing’ and every time one of our favourite movies was on, Lulu would drag me to the sofa and we would laugh in all our favourite places together. Lulu was a stout girl, but she called herself huggable. And wouldn’t hear a word otherwise. She wore a large purple bandanna at all times, and always kept a small pistol in her pocket. There was not much point – we lived in a house with a powerful witch, a vampire and a small orange tornado.
It was Lulu who read the letter first. The yellow letter that changed our lives. The rain was heavy, and I was sat next to Xanthe watching the news. The smartly dressed presenter was telling us about the war.
“…many have died in the process. General Stunt is baffled by the situation. Here’s what he had to say.”
The screen flicked to a tall man, garbed in green. Enough ribbons on his lapel to build a small shield.
“Our tanks stop working. All of a sudden. Yeah – they just break down and won’t fire. Their back up systems are failing too. Every single one of them. It would seem that Shamans have started playing in this game.”
I had felt a large throb of hate shoot down my spine when Stunt had said that last sentence. Had he just implied war was a game? The screen then split into two, showing the general and the presenter on a half screen.
“What is the next course of action if Shamans are proved to be active in this war?”
“Well, they’re fighting fire with water. If this is indeed proven, then we shall employ our own Shamans to fight in this war.”
“Thank you, General Stunt. Now over on-“
But by the time the presenter had started on his next important story, I had already turned the TV off.