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Blackest Magick
So I finally got my grade back on my first CW story. I got a C- (73) I'm not surprised though and I don't hold it against my professor because I did deserve that grade. I do like my story in a sense. This story will be my second comic book series but that's part of the problem though. I'm not focused on this story like I am with my current comic. Because of that I'll I know really is that a) my protag's name is Xander, b) he's stuck with a storytelling curse he wants to get rid of, and c) his best friend is Amber. Not that much as you can see. And I knew that that would be one of the issues my teacher would bring up in her comments: "What ,in fact, does Xander want?" Plus my word count was about a hundred words too short, that's a small thing though.Anyway one thing that inspired this story is the song 'Blackest Magick in Practice' by Cradle of Filth.
Xander woke up in a hotel room that day. He didn’t have a
home anymore, if he did Xander still wouldn’t be able to go back to it. He
could at least visit but no one would recognize him anyway, Xander changed
faces the way people switched jobs. Today he was a dwarf while yesterday he was
a woman. Tomorrow he could be a cat or a demon, and the only person that he
knew would understand was Amber.
Amber.
He
did this all for her. She was the only person he trusted with his curse. Amber never turned against him when Xander
told her that he wasn’t the same person from today to the next. Instead she
stayed when his face and body changed at dawn. Amber was the one who nicknamed
him Xander instead of Alexander.
When
he found out the reason why he constantly changed faces, to keep stories told
so the world wouldn’t end, Amber offered to help him organize the tales then she
figured out where he should go to gather the next story.
All
she received was an early death because of him. The worst thought was that
Amber wouldn’t blame Xander for it. He imagined that Amber was in the afterlife
telling people that she always loved his stories and that now she’d get to be a
permanent part of Xander’s journey.
For
now Xander decided to hide and run, it was better than confronting Amber family
and being blamed for her death. He flipped through the pages of the storybook,
passed Mayan, Buddhist, and Civil War stories, and stories written in alien
tongues. Part of him hoped that Amber would be in one of his stories now, he
didn’t even find her name in any of the last pages. He just had her card taped
to the back cover, the ace of cups.
—B—
“I don’t what you’re going to do. Cards aren’t
specific. You asked to if you should continue this journey and you got the ace
of cups reversed.” Amber said. “Besides if you still want to find him then this
card won’t matter at all.”
Amber
placed the card back into her deck and asked Xander where to next. They were
just back from Canada where they picked up the last story. He walked back and
forth from the apartment kitchen to the living room. His home was completely
dedicated to his storytelling curse with nothing of himself shown anywhere in
the apartment. It wasn’t like a camera could take a picture of what a person
was and not just what they looked like.
“I
don’t know. Until I find someone who can take this job away from me I’m stuck
in their game.” Xander said.
He
went back into the kitchen and pushed the book off the counter and pages
scattered across the floor.
“Maybe these people are good. Who wouldn’t
want to have all the world’s stories?”
“And
who wouldn’t want to be someone else every day? I don’t know who I’ll be the
next day.”
Xander
went into the living room and slumped on the couch. Amber sat next to him and
stared at him, he always got confused how his friend could look at him with an
innocence yet piercing stare, a combination of the unknown mixed with a kind
heart.
“So
what do you want to do first when you quit your job?”
“Besides
find out what I really look like? Probably move out, start traveling for fun.”
Amber
twiddled her fingers and dug at her nails, Xander dug a cigarette from his
pocket and lit up.
“You
don’t have to do keeping looking for someone Xander. I could take the stories
from you.” Amber said.
—B—
The
idea popped into Xander’s head and forced his memory to the back of his mind.
He could bring Amber back to life. He had a story of a witch who brought back a
lover from the dead. Xander only read it once but he remember there was a spell
to bring that person back to life. If all these stories were true than it
should be that difficult. Xander searched for the spell in the book. He’d need
a cat’s paw, a piece from the deceased (it didn’t say whether it was a
possession or a part from their body), and a potion from each of the four
elements. It was the perfect plan, witches did this, gods did this so why not a
story keeper?
“Amber would be back and she could live any
life she wanted and not worry about the dead. But how do I get what I need? Who
do I go to get it?”
Stores
don’t sell dead animal parts or magic. The only person he could think of that
could help him was the man who gave him the storytelling book. Unfortunately he
was the same man that took Amber’s life.
Xander
circled his hotel room, his thoughts ran into a blur inside his mind. The man
was as intelligent as a mountain and was as stubborn as one too. He shoved the
stories into Xander’s hands and never answered any of the questions Xander had.
He also killed his best friend and didn’t care that it was noon or that other
people watched him kill. However at least Xander knew where to find him.
The bar was had few people there that evening. Smoke
lingered around the bar’s edges along with faded memories. Everyone there had
stories that Xander would love to know, he wished he could check one of them
out to hear their stories, then return the person once he heard them. But what would be the point if they didn’t
remember me, he thought. Xander recognized the whiskey and rum drunks, and
the singer on the old corner stage though. He walked over to the bartender in
the back who said the man that Xander wanted was in the cellar.
The cellar didn’t have much except creaking wood and aged
drinks that went back decades. The man Xander needed was in the back organizing
the wines before he saw Xander. He stared at Xander who stepped back to lessen
the man’s look on him.
The man’s voice rattled and slurred when he spoke to
Xander. For now they stayed in the shadows.
“What do you want boy?” the man said.
“I need your help to bring someone to life.” Xander said.
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t have to kill her, and you owe me. Tell me, where do I get the things I need?”
“That girl shouldn’t helped you. Keeping the world alive
with stories is a one person job not two. Story keepers don’t need friends
anyway.”
Xander walked toward him and faced off against the man,
eventually he decided to help Xander. The man asked what Xander needed was
handed the torn out spell from the book. He said getting a cat and all elements
would be easy but that Xander would have to have a part from his dead friend
too.
Xander
bit his lip. Who knew black magic could
get this dark? Is it really worth it to dig up Amber’s grave and steal it?
“Like?”
he said.
The
man’s face was blank. “Doesn’t matter. Hair. A finger, a leg, a tooth. But the
bigger the body part the better. It’s not like people’ll know who you are, you
can go there without anyone noticing.”
“And
after I get everything?”
“Come
back here and I’ll tell you how to perform the spell.”
“Thanks.”
Xander turned to leave the man.
“Remember
that the dead can be stubborn. This spell might not work.”
—B—
Xander
snuck back into his hometown later that week. The darkness of this magic got to
him the other night, Xander needed a break, a time to plan it all to clear his
head. Every time he felt like backing down, he’s say, ‘Amber should have
lived,’ or ‘What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t try at least,’ or ‘She’s
too alive and silly to stay with the dead.’
On
the night he went to the cemetery, Xander spent half the night to try and find
Amber’s grave, it’s what he got for not going to her funeral and burial, and
the other part trying to dig through the rocky ground with a rusty, old shovel.
—B—
You don’t get many friends like that.
Xander thought.
Xander
didn’t deserve friends but Amber at least deserved life.
Xander had everything ready. He sat in the middle of a
forest surrounded by runes, charms, and magic just to bring his friend back to
life. He bought the vials filled with the elements, the candles and paint were
scattered all over the floor. Beside him was his photo of him and Amber and on
his other side was his storybook. Alexander should have listened to his father,
he should have listened to the fortune teller, maybe he should have listened to
Amber when she read his cards but he couldn’t turn back now.
In front of Xander was the fire. First he threw the cat’s
paw into the flames, the wind carried screams of the cat’s spirit into the
fire. Next he mixed the water, with the tornado essence along with the tornado
and threw that into the fire too.
He practiced the words the man taught him and the lines
seven times. Lastly, along with the other ingredients, Xander tossed the scraps
of Amber’s hair into the fire. He lit the candles and turned out the bright
lantern before he said the spell again.
Say it. Say it. He
thought.
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