Playing With Fire

Unsettling Truths

"What happened?" A man's voice said, piercing the darkness.

"I don't know. I found her like this," Carver's voice responded.

"You saw the engravings on the arrow Carver." The voice responded, "You told me she wasn't one of us."

"I didn't think she was. Normally powers manifest themselves much earlier than this," Carver replied gravely.

"That was a lie, boy, and I promise that it will be you; it will be the last one you tell me," The voice responded. I realized with a start that it was the man claiming to be our grandfather. But what were they talking about? What did one of us mean was this some kind of cult?

"She's awake," Carver whispered to our grandfather. "Hey, Cordelia, honey, how are you feeling?"

I opened my eyes to see that I was lying on what looked to be like a hotel bed. "Where are we?" I asked, sitting up confused.

"You're in my hotel room, dear," Grandfather said, now sitting in a chair across the room.

"But how did I get here?" My voice wavered. I tried to remember how I got here, but my mind was blank. I remembered waking up and going to the dance studio, but after that, there was nothing.

I sat up gingerly, and Carver helped me. I winced slightly at shooting pain in my chest.

"You got here because you were shot in the chest with a crossbow by an assassin, and then you killed that assassin burning down a building in the process," Grandfather said, drawing my attention back to him. "It was the most impressive manifestation I've ever heard of, although next time, I would recommend killing the assassin before he shoots." Carver glared at him but didn't say anything.

"You do realize that that's crazy, right," I said, figuring that he must be senile and that Carver was just humoring him.

I looked down at my chest, checking to make sure there wasn't an arrow jutting out of it. Sure enough, my chest was arrow free; what I saw instead was almost more horrifying. There was a jagged open wound right in the center of my chest as if someone yanked an arrow out of my chest. However, the most terrifying thing wasn't the whole in my chest or the blood-soaked leotard the had been cut open to get to my wound, but watching the wound slowly knit itself back together.

I screamed and tried to scratch at my chest as if I could get away from whatever was causing the miraculous healing, but I barely moved before grandfather flicked his hand, causing my wrists to be pinned to the headboard. I struggled instinctively against the invisible binding. I wasn't sure whether I was more awestruck or terrifying.

"Is this really necessary?" Carver asks sadly, but careful to keep any challenge out of his voice.

"Yes, seeing as you're father failed to properly inform her about our heritage, it falls to us, and I don't have the patients for all the theatrics," He said crossly. I wanted to cry, but I had a feeling that bawling my eyes out as I wanted to would only make the situation worse. "My dear, you belong to a very ancient warlock family, one of the four first warlock families in our world. Of course, there are many other warlock families, although none are as old or as powerful" He paused with a self-satisfied look. "Each of these families is characterized by the unique power of elemental control. Our family has the ability to control fire".

"This is ridiculous," I say, wishing my arms weren't pinned behind me as I was beginning to feel restless. "Even if magic does exist wouldn't I be a witch instead of a warlock? And why wouldn't our father have told us about these abilities. I mean, it's incredible why would he deprive us of that life". I remembered being little and wishing for magical powers, just like most kids did. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought that I might actually have them.