Chapter 33: Her Hidden Secret

The journal told a story.

Silvana tore pages out from different spots in the journal, then put them in order so that the story made sense.

With sharp breaths and the epic sound of thunder rattling the trees outside, Silvana read through the story hastily, hoping she might better understand what was happening, and what her father hadn’t been telling her.

She traced her fingers over symbols etched into the journal’s pages, and her father’s handwriting glowed red, revealing all writing otherwise hidden by his sigils and seals.

Now, the sentences and scribblings were making sense.

“It all started twenty-one years ago,” Silvana mumbled to herself as the house shook.

The quakes from the thunder and crimson lightning were so strong that the coffee pot shimmied off from the counter and shattered to the kitchen tile beside her.

She wiped a nervous hand at her face, trying to make sense of what her father had written. “Dad says that these same storms had taken over the city before, and that there had been evil spirits haunting all the races, and everybody, the witches, the vampires, the werewolves, were pointing fingers at one another.”

Silvana flipped the page and continued guiding herself through what she was reading.

“Spirits were raging down from the crimson lightning, and the vengeful spirit of Cecilia Duponte was leading their supernatural attacks on the innocent. It looks like a council gathered, the same council that I would be facing to accept the nomination of Guardian from my father. The same council that made him the city Guardian in the first place.”

Silvana smiled gently despite the chaos outside. Whirling around the kitchen windows were torn tree branches and sparks from the wicked lightning. Still, she smiled. Her father had happened to list many great details of that council meeting twenty-one years ago, and it made Silvana feel so warm to see that he did in fact have the ability to communicate. It felt almost like the pages were speaking to her, and it was helping her to keep her cool amongst the mayhem. And, a part of her felt that by reading him reminisce on such an influential day in his life, she was bonding with Solaris in a way that she had never done before.

She gulped and pushed away the thought that maybe she would never get the chance to try and connect with him again.

Then she pushed away the thought that perhaps Bruce and Kurt, tired of an old, crazy witch’s oppression, gut her father like a fish in a fit of bloody vengeance.

“No,” she said. “I know that Dad wasn’t appearing in my location spells, but he’s just too stubborn to die. I know him, and he’s got to still be alive. If he lived through what’s in this journal, he can live through anything. Besides, that’s not who Bruce is.”

With a deep breath, Silvana continued seeking answers from Solaris’s journal.

“So the council met to discuss what should be done about Cecilia Duponte and all the spirits she was unleashing. They needed to try and make sense of the crimson lightning, and see if some form of foul play from one of the species had released Duponte.”

Silvana laughed and her heart warmed as she started to quote her father’s writing aloud:

“In the dark recesses of a castle long forgotten to time, we gathered by candlelight. Confused and scared we all sat together in our separate groups of witches, vampires, and werewolves, all of us ready to point the finger at one another and cast blame for the supernatural occurrences. The witches and werewolves shot nasty glances at each other, while the vampires, the smallest and least powerful of the species, stood huddled and the most fearful between us. Although we congregated in the same location, as far as we were all concerned, the only thing bringing us together was the common enemy of the malevolent Cecilia Duponte, her vicious hellhounds, and the spirits of murderers and the insane who walked upon us, haunting our homes and killing our people.”

Silvana brushed hair behind her ear and found herself grinning, despite the house shaking from the storm.

“You’re quite the writer, Dad,” she said, touching a hand to the journal. “I hope I get to tell you that soon.”

She continued reading about the council to herself:

“A hush fell upon our whispering crowds when the three leaders stepped to a large podium. As the werewolf leader Jaqueline Maxwell took her place and crossed her hands, her braided hair draping over her shoulder, and her arms covered in cheap tattoos, and her face pierced with metal, I thought it was absurd that a creature could possess so much power and respect yet still look that filthy.”

Silvana chuckled. “I guess Dad always loved werewolves, huh?”

Again, she read his words as they were presented:

“Next to seat herself was Killiana Nocturne, the gorgeous and regal vampire whose pale skin contrasted her blood red dress, and her long, wavy black hair looked like the creeping tentacles of a swimming octopus.”

Silvana rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay Dad. Super romantic way to talk about your crush. I hope Bruce never says my hair looks like a sea creature.”

Then Silvana got really sad, and she remembered that she hadn’t spoken to Bruce since she exploded on him and Kurt. She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet either. First, she needed to read the journal.

“Let’s see here,” she said, trying to skim through her father’s dramatic details. “I need to get to the good stuff already.”

“Okay, here we go!” she exclaimed, crisscrossing pages to skip ahead.

“Kingsley Barclay, our noble witch and intelligent leader, put his excellent orating skills to use as he silenced all the whispering voices to inform us of forbidden spellbooks, and a story that demanded not only our attention, but our combined and united effort and ability to work together. With his solemn voice, Barclay informed us of supernatural storms that had struck spirits to the ground before, and how these storms were always charged and led by an evil force. In this case, it was Cecilia Duponte, a witch who had used harmful and illegitimate magic to become all-powerful before being banished, exiled, and eventually dying due to her corrupt soul.”

Silvana felt a strange throb in her abdomen from the scars from when Duponte had sent down a spirit on Halloween night and the spirit had slashed her open. Even just reading Duponte’s name made the scars ache, as if they were being forced open again.

Squinting in pain, she read on:

“The great Kingsley Barclay determined that in the past, to shut such evil spirits away, the species had to unite in solidarity to cast a spell that would harm them all, yet save them at the same time. Barclay waved a wondrous hand and projected the image of the texts he was reading from upon the castle walls in a glowing green light for all to see plainly. The spell to seal away the supernatural called for sacrifice. From the Alpha werewolf Brock Winters, the spell would require his claws. From the vampire leader Killiana Maxwell, her fangs would be needed. Barclay removed his spectacles and set them beside his hands. He looked Brock Winters and Killiana Maxwell in the eyes to say that such an extraction might be perilous, and that they had been warned, but that they may also, through luck and strength, survive.”

Silvana’s heart battered in her chest. Had Bruce’s father Brock not survived, and that’s why Bruce and Kurt were raised by their aunt?

With a heavy heart and her scars flaming in pain as if to tell her she should not continue, she read:

“Barclay became very grim as Brock and Killiana both agreed that for the sake of all the species, they would sacrifice their claws and fangs, regardless of whether such an extraction would claim their lives. Barclay nodded and then said that the witch needed to cast the spell would not be struck by the same luck, and that no ordinary witch could be a part of the sacrifice. Barclay scratched at the side of his head and confessed that the only witch capable of casting such a sealing spell would be another Duponte, as their bloodline was rich with extraordinary power, just like how the Alpha werewolf held great power at their fingertips depending upon their bloodline. I clutched my wife’s hand with such fear I thought I may have squeezed too hard. She looked at me, gave a smile and a nod, held my hand tightly, and placed her other hand on her 8-month pregnant stomach.”

Silvana wasn’t even hearing the storm outside anymore. Her hands were clamming with sweat and she couldn’t believe what she was reading.

Her voice was soft and scared as she read about her mother:

“My wife, Dominique Duponte, the great-great-great granddaughter of Cecilia Duponte, would be required to cast the spell to seal the supernatural spirits away. Barclay expressed with the deepest regret that should she cast the spell, it would certainly take her life, as Cecilia Duponte had created it in just that way, so that she may remain the most powerful witch. All fell silent. Dominique was perhaps the kindest person in the city, and nobody quite knew how to feel that she was related to somebody so evil. What I knew, however, was that I was not willing to give up my wife and unborn daughter, Silvana. The witches all protested. Dominique's family and mine asked why Dominique must be killed if there was a possibility Brock and Killiana might survive? It was completely unfair, and our witch leader Kingsley Barclay knew this. He apologized and said that it was simply the only way to cast the spell. Duponte blood possessed magic like no other. It was why Cecilia was so strong in the first place, why Dominique was so loving and incredible to all who met her, and why my daughter Silvana could grow to be the strongest witch who ever lived.”

Before Silvana could finish reading about her mother’s fate, she heard a knocking on her door so loud she thought the door might blow down. She got to her feet, ready to defend herself with magic. The storms were miserable outside, and the forests around her house aflame. Had spirits come to try and kill her?

She raised a hand to her front door, ready to blast whatever came through. She felt that same incredible power she felt at Bruce’s surge through her, and the pages from the journal whirled and spun around the air.

Then, she heard more ferocious knocking at the kitchen door, and rapping at the windows. The doors pounded, nearly ripping off their hinges.

“Who’s there?” Silvana called out confidently. But then her stomach flared with such pain that she fell over.

The knocking got more intense, and Silvana realized she was surrounded.

Both doors burst open.