Ch34

He was stationed at his usual post upon the furthest ledge, facing the rising sun. His bare toes curled against the house’s gutter whilst he eyed the sea of dark fields. Murmurations of starlings stretched and unfolded above the untended land, contorting into amorphous shapes.

Without a word, Dex conjured them both a thick cigar as she sat beside him. Then, with a snap of his inked fingers, he manifested a shining brass v-cutter fitted perfectly to his digits. It was like her father’s.

She pressed into the old man’s bulky shoulder to watch whilst he snipped the cigar’s ends with a sharp click-clack, leaving valleys in their caps. He snapped his fingers once more and a tiny pop of electricity lit the tobacco with life. He’d been allowing his subtle magic to flow more freely around her. She’d never become bored of his fabulous gifts

Nor ran her tongue along the cigar’s sharp canal, pulling syrupy flavors across her palette. Its resistance was firm, like silk scarves from a pocket. It required a deep draw from her chest that left her nodding in approval with its flavor.

They sat in pleasant silence a moment before she dared disturb the illusion of normalcy.

“What does Oblitus mean?”

His eyes collided with hers as though he too had been ruminating on the fighting ring.

“It’s Latin for ‘The Forgotten,’ he stated.

Norah shook her head. “Why would a fight club be named that?”

“Because you can fight for your lost memories, I suppose,” he guessed. “That’s why I need to go back.”

Norah winced. As strangely impossible and fantastical as all of this was, it simply felt too convenient. The timing, the urgency, the desperation it evoked in Dexteras.

“Don’t you wonder why they have your memories in the first place?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Well I’m going with you,” she announced.

The elderly man’s head snapped to hers. “Oh no. Absolutely not, Nor. No.”

She scoffed, unfazed by his fervor. “Whether you want me to walk in with you, or five minutes after you, it’s happening. I don’t need your permission.” Though she’d never allow anyone to tell her what she could or couldn’t do ever again, a minuscule, childish need for Dexteras’ approval tipped her lifted chin towards him with a loving, but wry grin.

He couldn’t help but grin, pink rising to his cheeks. She saw his trepidation and his pride for her all in one small, lifted curl of his mustache. She punched him playfully in the bicep and ran to change into her most menacing of black clothes for the evening ahead.