Arko Cade & The Magic Hunter

Grand Prix

We made it to the track by high noon, docked into the harbor. Cat, ever the fashionable, changed to another ensemble she deemed suitable. She fit right in, sporting red lipstick, and a matching sundress - as well as an appropriate pair of cat eyed sunglasses. I brought her there in a simple loose white colored button-up shirt and darkest-blue slacks, my mind too preoccupied to think of any other apt combinations.

Her eyes sparkled - all of her glowed, really - her skin, her smile, her charm. I was almost lost in the crowd as the gentleman who brought Catarina Delgado to Monaco. I wish I was, too - though everywhere I go there always happens to be a set precedence thanks to a name and an accompanying reputation.

    "It's Arko Cade!" A reporter shouted.

And with that, the eyes drawn on Cat all turned to little old me, her basic-clothed companion, the owner of the arm she clung onto so tightly.

The rest of the rabble followed suit with the harsh flash of their cameras and the odd scent of their breath. They pushed and shoved at one another to get closer to us, a good photograph could be worth thousands.

I winced a bit at the sudden intensity of flashing light, but sported my best smile regardless. This, to me, was second nature - Cat, on the other hand, was not having it.

"Move me." She hissed through gritted teeth (a poor false smile), so we trudged through the small crowd as politely as we could've, slowly making our way to the garages. I pushed past the people - all excited to meet us, for one reason or another - in an effort to protect her, assisted by the security detail that accompanied us.

    "How do you expect to keep a low profile like this?" Cat asked, clearly distressed. "Surely with all the press, your mama will find out you're here."

The crowds began to thin as we approached the more high profile tents and recreational areas, Cat becoming visibly less tense the further we got from the disorderly swarm.

    "We're not trying to keep a low profile - in fact one could argue we were doing precisely the opposite." I explained while we were guided deeper down into the pit areas. The smell of gasoline began to mask all else, and the clinking of champagne glasses and two-faced, social climbing chatter was replaced by the productive sound of working auto technicians and arguing organizers.

At the near end of the assemblies was the section coated black and emerald green, a combination of colors that Cat recognized quickly as she gasped and smiled, pulling me along in rushed excitement. CADE INTERNATIONAL, the garage was labelled.

"You got a slot in the Grand Prix!? I thought you were joking!" Cat nearly squealed, though she cupped her hands over her mouth right afterwards, suggesting a quickly settling degree of concern.

"How?! Why?!" She demanded explanation.

"I have my ways." I winked, garnering a sufficiently exaggerated eye roll and groan from her, but she beamed afterwards nonetheless. This meant she understood perfectly clearly - magic was responsible to a great extent, of course. And being Eliza Cade's only son didn't hurt such circumstances either.

Some of the technicians and engineers began greeting us as they noticed our arrival, each one shaking my hand firmly though notably not once being able to move their gazes from Cat for more than a second at a time. This was customary, she deliberately drew all eyes wherever she went. Absolutely couldn't be helped.

   "If you must know, this was brought on by exactly what fuels all my other spontaneous ventures." I mumbled lowly, for Catarina's ears only.

    "Boredom?" She reciprocated, teasing. "A hunger for purpose? Motivation? Recognition? Your annual identity crisis?"