Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

I don't think that Emma or Zeta read this story yet, so guys, read! The preview/beginning part was in my last journal, and this is the actual start of the storyline. READ NOW!


“I’m sorry, Isabelle.”
No, I think. You’re not sorry. You’re glad he’s gone. Well, so am I.
“I...I wish I could help you. We all do.” The woman looks at me awkwardly, watching me, pitying me.
I glare at her.
She stares for a moment and then straightens nervously and brushes out her skirt. She’s a tall, twitching, crooked-looking woman, one of those thin sticks of people who seem so fragile it’s a wonder they don’t break when you touch them. Her cheekbones stick out of her long face, her sharp jaw-line looking almost dangerous. The long, plain black dress she is wearing in mourning seems to fit her like some sort of elongated pillow case and her sharp eyes show no sadness. Her fingers are long, bony and white, and their touch upon my shoulder brings me only annoyance.
She clears her throat and walks away. I sigh. I know I didn’t have to glare at her, she was just being…ugh, a fake mask of sorrow like the rest of the lousy relatives who bothered to show up at my house. Not that that’s a very large number; my father’s death was in the newspapers, and most of my family didn’t show up for fear of being arrested. And there are cops down the street, I saw them this morning, sitting in a car at the edge of our long stretch of property, no doubt smokin’ and just waiting for someone they can pick up and take to the station. They’re wasting their time. Do they really think a Creour would be stupid enough to get himself caught?
I see a man heading towards me through the sea of black clothing and I quickly slip into a corner, behind a different, very fat man. Unfortunately, my hiding place walks away, and I’m left standing awkwardly in the corner, my black braided pigtails hanging over my shoulders, the red streaks in them the only color in the room. In a desperate, half-hearted attempt to avoid the man walking towards me, I turn away to face the other direction.
“Isabella?” I hear from behind me. A large hand finds my shoulder.
I turn around slowly, groaning inside my head. For the last time, stop offering me comfort! Maybe I should be sad but I’m not, I’m not!
“May I speak to you alone?” He asks.
No one has asked for that much yet. I wonder if I’m about to receive some kind of “emotional support” talk or something. “Um…sure,” I say regretfully.
He leads me into the small back room, one of the only hidden chambers in my father’s mansion that’s not actually hard to find. The sounds of subdued talk die down, and I’m surprised to see my mother in the room, already waiting.
My mother and I bear no resemblance. People wonder how I could possibly be her child. The only trait we have in common is our hair color- her short, straight hair is the same jet black as my long waves, excluding the red streaks I have. She is on the smaller side, with a shuffling, harassed walk and a frowning face. She smiles rarely, and never because of my father. Sometimes I wonder if perhaps it’s good for her that he’s gone now. It’s been years since I’ve seen her walk with the bounce she used to have when I was a little girl, years since she has hummed while helping the cooks in the kitchen. Now her face is sullen and worn, tired from years of relocation and an angry, tense husband with eyes only for fighting and crime, pain and gain. Now she sits quietly with her hands crossed on her lap and her eyes down, like a sort of beaten down dog.
The man takes a seat next to my mother and gestures for me to sit across from them. I take the seat, frowning in slight confusion.
He leans forward. I look at him. He seems like the type of person who is fairly kind but maybe a bit uptight. Sort of like….
“My name is Theadore Penworth. I’m the headmaster of The Terinealus Penworth Academy for Girls.”
…..a school master.
What’s this guy doing here? What does he want?
I glance at my mother. She’s looking intently at the ground, refusing to meet my eyes. I flip a strand of hair out of my face.
“Good for you. I’m sure your mother is very proud.”
My mother’s mouth tenses up, but she says nothing.
The school master looks a little surprised, then sighs. “Isabella-”
“Ms. Creour,” I say stiffly. Normally I don’t let anyone call me that, but him…I want him to know I don’t like him, even if I’m not sure what he’s here for. Judging from my mother’s demeanor, it can’t be anything good.
He raises his eyebrow, and I can tell I got on his nerve. I smile in an obnoxiously innocent way, not even really trying to hide my contempt. I sigh and start picking my nails, refusing him the courtesy of eye contact.
“Ms. Creour,” he starts again. “We have spoken to your mother, and taking into consideration the recent death of your father- for which I am, you may be assured, deeply sorry- we have decided you shall be enrolled in the Academy this coming term.”
I start. I snap my head up at my mother, looking for confirmation. “Mother?”
She still won’t meet my eyes.
“Mother!” I say with more insistence.
“What?” She snaps tensely.
I heard it in her voice. It’s true. She’s sending me away, getting rid of me, her only daughter. “Why?! Why are you sending me off? How come Demetrius and Miles don’t have to go to boarding school?”
Finally she looks at me. She is silent for a long moment. “Isabella, Demetrius is gone.”
I stare. I’ve completely forgotten about the headmaster sitting beside my mother. “W-what?”
“He went on the run last night. Your uncle took him.”
“Why?!”
“He-” she stops. “He murdered a Felixus,” she says quietly.
I stare at her. “A- a Felixus?”
She watches me, her face white and sharp, as though she wishes it weren’t true.
“He wouldn’t have- it’s too…too dangerous! He knows that, he knows...he knows the Felixus are- are…” I struggle for a word. “Why would he put himself in jeopardy like that?!” I finally say angrily.
My mother seems to be fighting to get her words out. “Demetrius was- stuck. Trapped. He was cornered by a few Felixus boys and- and- Emett Felixus was between him and his way out,” she finishes.
I stare at her, my mind trying to comprehend….Emett Felixus…Alacreo Felixus’ teenage nephew….Alacreo Felixus, Jesus! I get shivers even thinking the name. My family’s feud with the Felixus’s has been going on since…well, for centuries, and I’ve only heard the name of Alacreo, the patriarch of the Felixus family. Both of our families have a very large extended family, and most everyone is in on the back alley fights, the drug wars, the careful murders and thefts. There was a lull lasting a few years, where the violence was down, until all of a sudden, my father is found in a sewer, his throat slashed and in his hand a bloody warning message, signed by Alacreo. Now we know why the Felixus’ lay so low for so long; they were planning the murder of my father, patriarch of the Creours! Leadership, I suppose, goes either to one of my uncles or to my eldest brother, Demetrius, who’s 28. But I suppose he’s ruled out now, because he’ll have to go into hiding for the murder of Emett. I hear Alacreo was very attached to his nephew- he will be seeking a bloody revenge.
Suddenly, I become aware of the man sitting next to my mother. Why is she talking about this with him here?! My mother catches my astonished look and says quickly, “he knows already.”
“How does he know?”
“He’s what you might call a family friend.”
“What does that mean?”
My mother pauses. “Theodore, would you like to explain?”
The headmaster, who has been watching me intently, nods and begins speaking slowly. “My great, great, great-grandfather, Terinealus Penworth, founded the school I now run. A few times in the history of the Penworth-Creour friendship, the school has been used as a sort of…hiding place, when needed. Your family is very wealthy. We get generous donations each year.” He nods towards my mother in thanks at this point.
“So why- why are you-” I start, but he cuts me short.
“The Felixus’s know what great value you have, Ms. Creour.”
“What are you talking about?”
He leans forward. “Not only are you your father, Malavo Creour’s only daughter, but…Isabella…you possess great potential power.”
I stare at him.
I blink.
“Heh?”
He smiles to himself in a self-satisfying way that irritates me. “Have you ever heard of Delir, Ms. Creour?”
“Del what?”
“Delir.” He glances at my mother. “It seems you parents have chosen to wait until this particular time in your life before exposing some more interesting family history. Delir is, Ms. Creour, a hard to describe quality. It…allows you an incredible hold on another person’s psyche. It is, to be basic, a skill that a rare, lucky few possess that allows them some…special powers.”
“Speak English, man. What are you trying to say?” I’m getting irritated with this confusing jumble he’s spitting out. “Are you talking about some kind of magic?”
He hesitates. “Well…yes, yes I suppose that is what it is.”
My mother speaks up. “It is in your genes. It was a more common talent a couple hundred years ago, but the habit your ancestor’s had to marry within the family or into other powerful Delirian families kept the gene in our blood. For two generations, no one seemed to posses any talent for it. Your father and I feared the worst. Until, that is, I saw you at the park that one day.”
I stare at her. She needs not get more specific; I know exactly what she is talking about. The memories come in flashes; laughing children at a playground, a boy with blond hair climbing a very, very high tree, a child’s foot slipping, panic in my mind, and then- then- then the boy doesn’t fall and break his neck. I stopped it. He moves as if in slow motion, falling like a feather, astonished but safe. I saved him, I know right now that I did that, so many years ago, when I was only eight years old, when I didn’t understand what I’d done. I used this- this Delir magic they’re talking about to save the boy. “I….I?” That’s all I can manage.
The headmaster, Mr. Penworth, looks me straight in the eye. “You are the only known Creour who possesses Delir.”
* * *