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It was a quarter to eight, and I sat in the front row of the lecture hall; most of the seats around me were empty. It was nice to arrive early for a change. I had enough time to set my laptop at the desk, revise my notes, and even have a law-related conversation with a colleague.
"But it's a first offense," he said. "The DA may offer an ACD."
"That won’t happen. Let me tell you why—"My phone interrupted with a beep. "Hold that thought."
Putting on my headphones, I listened to a voice message from Kirby: Heylo Echo. Vanna, Ebba, and I are on our way to the ice cream festival. We need you to go to the apartment and watch Doyle for the day.
"Good grief," I grumbled. I tried to call Kirby back, but he turned his phone off, as did Vanna. "I’m going to kill these two." I had a class with Professor Walhout, who idolized attendance. He also happened to be a friend of Grandpa. They played chess together on Friday nights.
"Is something wrong?" my classmate asked when I closed the lid of my laptop.
"I have to go," I said as I hurried to leave.
***
At the door of Vanna’s apartment, Oscar greeted me by jumping into my arms and licking my face. He followed me to Kirby’s room, which had been locked for more than fourteen hours.
Holding a broomstick for self-defense, I tiptoed my way in. The dog raced me to the bed and immediately began sniffing Doyle and whimpering in sadness.
"What’s wrong, Oscar?" I put my hand on Doyle’s neck, which was as hot as a cup of tea. His forehead shone out of sweat. I rushed to the kitchen and placed an empty jar on the counter. Hustling between the drawers and the cupboards, I gathered the ingredients for a healing potion.
"Two cups of Moon Water. Ten drops of Palo Santo oil. Dried Adder's Tongue leaves. What’s left?" I tapped on my temple. "Ah. Arrowroot."
From the fridge, I picked the ginger-looking vegetable and cut it into halves. I mixed everything in the jar and circled my hands above them, imagining the outcome I desired: to heal Doyle’s pain. My magic then transformed the ingredients into a yellowish potion with a red flair.
Given what happened the day before, I knew potions worked on Doyle. All I had to do was to make him drink. If only he would wake up. Back in Kirby’s room, I tried to bring him back to consciousness. "Mister, can you hear me?" I tapped on his arm. "Please, wake up."
"Mister Doyle?" I tapped again.
"Swordsman Doyle?"
The gentle nudge on the arm turned into a slap. Still, I got nothing from him. Clearing my throat, I put the potion down and grabbed Doyle from his shoulders, shaking aggressively. "Wake up."
Still nothing.
I had one final resort. I grabbed the jar with the potion and splashed some at his face.
He startled awake. "What’s happening? Where am I?" He panted.
"It’s okay." I waved my hands. "You’re safe."
He looked around the room then turned to me with contempt. "You."
"Drink this. It’ll help lower your fever."
"Why would I take anything from you?" His voice was weak but assertive. "What if it’s poisoned?"
"You’re already poisoned." I shrugged.
"And whose fault is that?" He smacked his hand to his heart and squinted. His jaws trembled from the pain.
I started to feel sorry for him. "Fine. I’ll drink some first." I took a sip from the potion, which had an earthy-sweet taste, like turmeric. "See," I said. "No poison. Your turn."
Doyle didn’t cooperate, so I did what I had to do. Resting one knee on the bed, I leaned over, forced his mouth open, and poured the potion in. His face wrinkled in disgust. Luckily, he didn’t have the strength to stop me.
"Get well soon." I made sure he drank every drop before I let him go.
"You’re not fooling me with your act," he yelled. "You poisoned me."
"It was self-defense."
"You kidnapped me."
"By accident." My increasing pitch scared the dog away.
Doyle sagged into his pillow and gulped for breath. "Don’t try to act innocent. You have been slaughtering my family for months."
"Your family?" I furrowed my brows in confusion.
"The Katarus," he said with no expression whatsoever.
"Come again?" I scoffed. "You think I’m the villain, and those monsters are your family?"
"They are not monsters." His mouth twisted. "And yes, I think you’re the villain. Vice is in your human nature."
"Oh, great, but have you looked in a mirror lately? Because you look human to me."
"I’m nothing like you." He frowned. With that, I stormed out of the room.
***
The clock struck ten while I paced around the living room to release my frustration. "He really got on my nerves." I stomped my foot on the floor. "What’s that nonsense he says? He should be grateful I let him live, but he’s not even answering any of my questions."
A familiar noise grabbed my attention. The two cats were playing in the bookcase. Muffin climbed to the top shelf and scratched the wood, and Mr. Cuddles groped at her tail.
The sight of them gave me a laugh and an idea. I sauntered back to Kirby’s room and left the door open so the bookcase would be in sight. "Do you read, Doyle? If you want, I can get you a book."
He ignored me.
I folded my arms. "You’re stuck here anyway. Would you rather spend your time doing nothing or reading a good book?"
He waited for a moment before he asked, "What do you want in return?"
"Answers. Explain to me why spells don’t work on you. Were you born this way or are you using protection? And if magic doesn’t generally work on you, why did my teleportation spell work?"
"Why would I share this with you?" He looked down on me.
That time, I gave no answer. If there was one thing I knew about Doyle, it was his love for reading. I had seen him snuggling up with a book back in Jivar’s castle. It was a good bribe, and I didn’t ask for much.
Doyle huffed. "All right. Yes, I was born this way. No spells can harm me. Your teleportation spell worked because you didn’t intend to hurt me."
"So you know it was an accident." I pumped my fist in the air.
He gave me a poker face.
"Are there others like you?" I asked.
"I have already answered your questions," he said. "You promised a book."
"Fair enough." I pointed my finger at the bookcase outside. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe."
A random book elevated from the shelf and floated towards Doyle’s hands. Incantare, the title read. "I never said I’d let you choose," I said. "If you want to exchange it, maybe you can answer another question for me."
"I’m fine." After throwing me a resentful look, he opened the first page and started to read.
He reads Latin? I was annoyed and a bit jealous. I had been studying for months, yet I couldn’t read that book.
***
I sat at the window seat in Kirby’s room and began to memorize my spells of the day. Striving to pronounce the Latin, I’d trace the letters with my finger. Then I’d cover the page and try to recite—occasionally peeking to remind myself of the difficult words.
Doyle and I had been quiet for a while. He made sure to avoid all eye contact by staring at his book. So did I, though my mind kept going back to his “humans are evil” theory. How silly is he? Was he brainwashed or something? Does he really think the Katarus are his family? One thought led to another until I finally burst, "If you think humans are bad, why are you so nice to the servants in the castle?"
My question grabbed his attention. "How do you know about that?"
"I’m a witch. I know stuff."
He huffed, seemingly to calm his temper. "Those people are harmless."
"Most people are," I smirked, pleased I got him to talk.
"This is not true," he said. "I have been reading about humans for years. They planted evil then prayed for salvation, made weapons then claimed to be victims of wars, created magic then failed to accept its consequences. They lie, betray, and kill for nothing but the flattery of their egos. You’re anything but harmless." There was power in his words, the kind of power that comes when the speaker truly believes in what he says.
"What the hell have you been reading?" I asked in annoyance. Everything he said or did seemed to irritate me.
"History. Wars. Politics." He lifted his chin.
"Those are the darkest aspects of humanity," I said. "They don’t represent an average person."
"Is that so?" he gave a smug smile. "How about you then? Assuming you’re an average person, can you honestly say that you’re harmless? That you’re free of darkness and vice?"
I pursed my lips, shocked by his unexpected question, which reminded me of a side of myself I both hated and feared. "I can’t."
Doyle seemed satisfied by my answer. "You’re all tainted."
"You think you’re better than us?" I snapped. "You fight on Jivar’s side."
"I fight to protect my family."
"Guess what? Me too."
We turned away. The tension between us had become unbearable.
***
I had thought about darkness before, how irresistible yet terrifying it could be. Jivar, Viessa, Zaros, and even my great-grandmother Lú—weren’t they all normal people before darkness changed them?
Does darkness exist inside us? Is it something that lures us in, or do we seek it because it’s who we are? If vice is in human nature, then what the hell am I fighting for? I tried to dismiss these thoughts, but they haunted me like a deep regret.
I never glanced back at Doyle, not until he groaned in pain.
"What’s wrong?" I ran to his side. He had his teeth clenched and his hand pressed on his neck where a small lump had appeared. "What’s this?"
"Wh-what did you give me?" he growled in a hoarse, pain-filled voice.
"A healing potion. I swear." My knees quaked.
"It doesn’t seem to be working." He winced. His lips trembled as his head flung into the pillow.
It had always eluded me how healing potions could remedy injuries and stop flu symptoms but had no effect whatsoever on fatal wounds or chronic diseases. As it turned out, they were also powerless against a ‘locked’ potion—a term I later made up for potions that locked in their powers regardless of potency decay. I wondered if there was magic powerful enough to heal all illnesses.
***
"The injection I gave you will lower the fever." The old man peered through his thick glasses. "Take your prescription and watch out for the lump. If it doesn’t go away in a few days, give me a call."
When Doyle’s fever got worse, I called a cab and took him to our family physician, Dr. Jensen, who diagnosed Doyle with inflamed lymph nodes caused by an unidentified infection.
"Thank you, Doctor." I took the prescription paper.
The doctor waited for Doyle to say something, but he kept quiet. It was funny to watch him sitting on an examination bed with a clueless look on his face. His nose swelled red, and there was an innocent gleam in his eyes.
On our way back, Doyle watched through the cab’s window. The trees were still wet from the previous day’s rain, and the air smelled fresh. It occurred to me that Doyle never tried to escape. He could’ve refused to get in the cab or pushed me to the sidewalk and ran, but he just observed his surroundings. It seemed to me he was enthralled by everything and everyone he saw as if the human world was a book he longed to explore, and becoming my accidental hostage gave him that chance. I couldn’t tell how I came to such a conclusion. My lack of reason was offensive to me as a lawyer, but being a witch required listening to my intuition.
All this gave me an idea. "Sir, would you please turn around and take the bridge to Street Thirty-Four?" I told the driver.
"Right away, ma’am," he replied.
***
A familiar song played in the living room: "We hear he is a whiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was." Tara and Jackson had fallen asleep on the couch while watching the Wizard of Oz.
"Follow me." I motioned Doyle through the door. Before taking him back to his lockup, I wanted to show him something I knew he’d never seen before, something he’d appreciate. I knew it was a risk, but something inside told me to take it. Glancing at Doyle, I saw only curiosity, no hidden intentions.
I turned the television off and kneeled to open the storage unit below the coffee table. I always kept a blanket in there in case Grandpa got cold. I pulled it out and used it to cover Tara and Jackson.
"I never saw a human newborn before," Doyle said, standing near the bassinet, where my niece slept. He had the most astonished expression on his face. It reminded me of when I was a kid and went to see fireworks for the first time. I was amazed, a little scared, but most of all, I was overwhelmed by the beauty.
I inched closer to watch the baby, who sucked her thumb in her sleep. Her pink beanie covered most of her forehead, highlighting the chubbiness in her cheeks. "She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen." I put my hand on my heart. "You see, Doyle, humans may be tainted by darkness, but it’s not our nature. Innocence is," I said. "As long as innocence like this exists, I have something to fight for."
Doyle gazed at the baby, saying nothing.
"If you weren’t sick, I would let you sniff her," I said.
He creased his eyebrows. "Why would I sniff her?"
"Cause there’s nothing like a baby smell." I smiled as the two of us watched the baby together.
***
It was five in the afternoon. I walked into Kirby’s room carrying a hot bowl of chicken soup which I placed on the nightstand near Doyle. "You can’t take antibiotics on an empty stomach."
"Thank you," he said, cautiously bringing the spoon to his mouth.
Before I left the room, Doyle surprised me with a question. "If humans are born innocent, what changes as they grow up? What allows the darkness in?"
"Fear," I immediately replied. "It’s fear."
He paused to process what I said. "I see." He took another sip of his soup, signaling me to leave.
***
It was seven in the evening when Kirby, Vanna, and Ebba finally came back. "How could you?" I yelled at them. "You just disappear and turn off your phones all day? And for what? Ice cream? Who eats ice cream in this weather anyway?"
"It’s a once-a-year festival," Kirby said apologetically.
"It’s not just a festival, Kirby," Vanna cheered in an unusually upbeat tone. "It’s Super-scooper-all-you-can-eat-ice-cream festival." She bounced on her feet like a restless child.
"Vanna?" I cringed at the sudden burst of cheerfulness. "How much sugar did you have today?"
"A lot." Kirby grinned and rubbed the back of his neck.
