SECRETS OF WITCHES

Bridge of Memories

A.J.Race

Published by CORPress

Copyright © 2012 A.J. RaceCover by: Adrianne Tachera

Author Website: www.cultofracewood.com

For my mother, thank you for always being my biggest supporter. And for any teen that has ever felt as though they were powerless. May you one day find your own magic.

Acknowledgements:Special thanks to everyone who has helped make this

book possible. Especially Lori Fox my editor and Adrianne Tachera my cover and interior art designer. None of this would have been possible without you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

CHAPTER ONE

THE TWO ELIZABETH’S

Dark clouds loomed overhead as rain fell from the sky like tear drops from the heavens, as the ornate gold casket, obscenely bejeweled with sapphires and rubies slowly made its way down the long, thin rolling streets of London on the shoulders of thirteen WARLOCKguards.

Christopher Rosewood, the son of the Queen, followed directly behind the casket, his face unyielding and bereft of emotion. It was of little consequence to him that his mother was dead; or at least that seemed to be the general consensus. After all, the body had never been recovered from the rubble of the Circe hotel, and for a few days after the bombing many had debated whether or not Queen Elizabeth had in fact been killed by the mysterious explosion. After much debate on the matter and nearly a month's long inquiry by the Council, it was decided that the Queen was in fact dead and a funeral would be held with or without her body. Christopher groaned inwardly as he heard the mourning of the crowds on either side of him and tried desperately to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the ridiculous display. If only they knew the truth, he thought bitterly. He refused to look at any of them. He refused to be made a part of this… spectacle by acknowledging their pitying stares and not overly quiet whispers.

“That poor boy. All alone.” “Both his parents gone… and at such a young age.” “You think he’ll take over the throne?” Christopher

growled, digging his nails into the palms of his hands in an effort to keep from screaming as rage boiled in his brain. He had no desire to take over the crown; in fact the very idea of

even being a part of the royal family repulsed him greatly. He hated the crown, the Council, and especially Elizabeth. The only reason he had come to her funeral in the first place, was because Ciprianna had all but begged him to. It was just the sort of publicity the crown needed especially now; a distraction against the real problems and not for the first time either. Typical, he thought. He couldn’t help but wonder how much different things would have been if the public had known the truth: how Elizabeth had been cold and indifferent to him growing up; how distant and completely unavailable she had been to him at the times in which he needed her most; how she'd threatened to disown him after he came out to her. Would they still be able to mourn his loss when he couldn’t, didn’t?

The funeral procession made its way up Constitution Hill towards the Hades Ossuary. Christopher followed behind the hideously inappropriate coffin, trying desperately not to stare directly at it as it hit the sunlight.

The Chief Councilwitch walked directly behind Christopher on his left. Ciprianna was by far probably the oldest living Councilwitch. Her hair, once a rich chocolate brown was now lined with grey, and her eyes a once vibrant amethyst had become something of a dull purplish grey. Her face was lined with wrinkles, undoubtably from stress. Elizabeth was after all, the second Queen who had died during her tenure. And the question had been asked by more than a few people whether or not she had been involved, particularly considering her obvious involvement with the elder Queen's daughter some twelve years previous.

Behind Christopher and to his right stood Holli Ivring, a young thirty-something witch with mousy brown hair and sparkling emerald eyes. The Enchantress of the Witches Academy, the local school for the magical elite, serving only the most powerful and influential families to create tomorrow’s politicians and all-around brilliant minds.

Christopher had had the misfortune of attending the school once upon a time, and he had not been impressed. Unlike Elizabeth, Holli was still just as spry and youthful as, he guessed, she would have been in her youth. Perhaps being raised by a mortal mother and away from the royal family had made her the lucky one. She had avoided the ravages of being royalty at a time when the people simply weren’t sure they wanted or even trusted the monarchy. This shift in loyalty might have been good news for Ciprianna, but as it was, the people trusted the Council even less than the monarchy. There had been talk, although there had been talk for centuries, of a new system of government. Perhaps closer to what the mortals had. A democracy? It seemed highly unlikely, as there were too many influential families that had grown up with the Raleigh monarchy to see it fall to the modernists now. Still, democracy had its appeal didn’t it? At least in theory. The fact was, watching the mortals had proven democracy rarely worked quite the way it should. There would always manage to be corruption and dirty politics. Perhaps the problem wasn’t the government but the royal family itself. Perhaps the monarchy could work if someone who was not necessarily royalty were allowed to take over. Christopher turned around briefly; Ciprianna and Holli were whispering something back and fourth to each other. He rolled his eyes, turning back around as several photographers took his picture. He could just see the headline now: Prodigal son of the Queen returns. He wouldn’t be staying however, if that’s what they were hoping, he told himself as they approached the gates of the Hades Ossuary. Christopher smirked as he saw his potential escape. The public hadn’t been allowed access past the gates. He could just leave now and disappear back to his quiet existence of peaceful obscurity with Eric, when suddenly he felt Holli grab his shoulder. Christopher groaned inwardly as he felt his escape slipping further and further away. He

turned on the spot and stopped, watching as Ciprianna and the WARLOCKguards continued on towards the ossuary.

“I need to talk to you,” she whispered behind him. “About?” Christopher hissed, rather furious that his only

chance of escape without making a scene had been thwarted. Holli didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped in front of him and followed Elizabeth’s coffin. Christopher growled running quickly after her. There was no point in trying to escape now, he told himself. She had, after all found him once before, a dimension away and across the Atlantic ocean she had found him. There was no where he could run that she would not eventually catch up with him him, and it would be to cumbersome to uproot him and Eric just to avoid detection. No, he would stay and listen to whatever it was Holli had to say. Then he would leave.

They both arrived at the gravesite just as the coffin was being lowered into the ground. I'm surprised there isn’t a mausoleum, or some kind of ridiculous marble statue, he thought, rolling his eyes again.

For a brief moment, Christopher was reminded of the day his father had been buried in this same ossuary. It had, if he recalled properly, been on a day very much like today. The had clouds hung low in the sky for David Rosewood’s passing, as rain had poured much harder than it ever would for Elizabeth. If indeed the long-standing belief that rain was the tears of the gods themselves, then that day the gods had wept for David’s passing. More so than Christopher himself, who had been deeply saddened that day. And he distinctly remembered; one of the few memories he could recall quite clearly from his youth; wishing that it had been Elizabeth who had died instead. For on that day, Christopher had lost the only parent who had truly cared for him. Perhaps to some, Christopher looked cold and unfeeling as he stood over Elizabeth's grave, but he didn't care. He refused to think of her as his mother or to even use the word in place of her

name. He had no desire to even pretend as though he were saddened by her passing, much less put on a brave face for the audience as though he were some sort of martyr.

After a few moments of quiet respect, several people who knew Elizabeth best were asked to get up and speak about her life, a fact Ciprianna had kept decidedly secret from Christopher. Perhaps she knew, or perhaps she’d heard their feuds. Whatever the reason, Christopher didn’t particularly care. He had nothing good to say about Elizabeth, and something told him no one would be particularly interested in hearing his opinions of her anyway. His mind faded in and out during the speeches, catching words and phrases here and there like heroine and "a Queen to be remembered." It was only when a former colleague of Elizabeth’s, who Christopher vaguely remembered having heard mention of at some party during a happier time, had called her a tender and loving mother that Christopher felt himself snap. Holli’s eyes widened, and as if sensing the impending doom pulled him aside. Before he could react or even fight, Holli snapped her fingers and the two vanished from the ossuary.

“Sorry about that,” she said simply, as they reappeared just outside a small cafe on the other side of London. Christopher sighed. He supposed he couldn’t really blame her; after all, she couldn’t control what people thought about Elizabeth anymore than he could.

“No one knew the real Elizabeth,” he said softly as they made their way into the cafe. “I mean that whole display was just…” he shook his head as he pulled off his peacoat in the overly warm dining room and sat down. Holli sighed and nodded, she could appreciate his outrage, even if she didn't really know Elizabeth the way Christopher did. Were there really two different Elizabeth's? The one the world saw and the one only Christopher knew?

“Listen the real reason I wanted to talk to you was because there’s something we really need to discuss,” she said,

expertly changing the subject. Christopher eyed her, just as their waitress came over to take their drink order.

“Coffee,” Christopher said shortly, “Black.” Holli snorted. New York had certainly changed him, she noted as he folded his arms over the table and laid his head on them staring out the window.

“I’ll have a tea please,” she said. “Extra cream and sugar,” she added almost as an afterthought. The waitress smiled and nodded as she turned on her heel and left. Christopher sighed before lifting his head off the table.

“So go on,” he said continuing to stare out the window. London was particularly beautiful this time of year, he thought as several cars sped by the window. Perhaps he could admit that a part of him, even if only a small part, missed it here.

“Well, now that Elizabeth’s gone, we’re really in need of of a new leader,” she explained, wringing her hands together nervously.

“And?” “Well, being her son and all, you are the next in line for the

throne,” she replied.“No,” Christopher said sharply. Holli sighed. She had

expected as much. “Please, just hear me out.” “Save your breath, Holli, the answer is still no. Why can’t

you do it?” he asked with a dismissing wave of his hand. Holli snorted, “Firstly, I’m not royal by blood, or even by

marriage. Second, considering the fact I’m the love child of the former Queen’s adulterous husband, I’m not sure anyone would even acknowledge my authority even if it were possible. And anyway I have absolutely no political aspirations whatsoever.”

“That makes two of us,” Christopher replied. “What about Margaret?”

“Prison. As well you know,” Holli glared.

“So break her out. She can’t be any worse than Elizabeth was.”

Holli decided it was just easier to ignore him. “Christopher, there is no one else. Would I be asking you if there was? I know how much you hate this. But you’re the last remaining descendant of the Raleigh line.”

“Then I guess the Raleigh family name dies with me, doesn’t it? Good riddance as far as I’m concerned.”

Holli glared. “You owe it to your people!” she cried at last. Christopher's eyes lowered.

“Owe it to them?” he growled, and leapt to his feet, “I don’t owe anyone anything! My mother may have been willing to take over the throne after her mother died, but I'm not. She knew damn well I didn’t want to be King. If she didn’t plan and have another child, that’s not on me.” Holli sighed deeply. How could she possibly get through to him the severity of their situation?

“Christopher, the mortals are at war, one of the worst wars of the century, maybe even the millennia. Hundreds of thousands of people have died, and the number is only going to get worse. Now look. I won’t sit here and pretend like your mother handled this war as well as she could have, and I won’t pretend Lilith did either, but I do believe they tried. And dammit, you have to try too! This thing is bigger than you. It’s bigger than all of us, and there are innocent lives at stake here. I realize this is a lot to ask a sixteen year old. But you’re all we’ve got.”

Christopher snorted and sat back down,“That’s not saying much.”

Holli laughed a little in spite of herself, “Elizabeth wasn’t much older than you when she became queen. She was

eighteen when she had you, and twenty-two when she was forced to take over the crown.”

“That’s a six-year difference!” “The point is she didn’t want to do it either. Elizabeth had

no desire to been Queen, anymore than you want to be King. But she realized, as you must realize, that sometimes there are things far more important than what we want.”

“Maybe so, but she neglected her child for that so-called greater good. And you and everyone else saw her as this saint, who could do no wrong. But you didn’t know her like I knew her.”

Holli felt herself becoming agitated. “I get it! She wasn’t perfect. No one is. But dammit maybe

you’re not perfect either!” Christopher glared. “Perfect?! I would have accepted

human, and to be honest, I don’t even think she could be considered that much!”

“You can’t say that,” Holli replied softly. Whatever pain Christopher might have been feeling, it was completely unfair to put that on his mother.

"You didn't have to live with her." Christopher was adamant. Holli sighed deeply, shaking her head. This was quickly spinning out of control.

“Look I’m not going to get into this with you. Clearly your issues with your mother are much deeper than I could ever hope to help you with, but for one minute just try to ignore the blinding hatred you have for her and think about what’s good for the rest of humanity. And if you can’t do that… at least think about what’s good for Eric.”

Christopher glowered at Holli now, “ You leave him out of this!” He stood up fast, and grabbed his coat. “I will consider what you've said, but I’m not accepting anything until I’ve

had a chance to figure everything else out. Is that clear?” Holli scoffed, what other choice did she have? She nodded wordlessly as Christopher left the cafe in a huff. This had definitely not gone as she'd hoped.

CHAPTER TWO

ASTRAEA PALACE

Eric was already awake by the time Christopher appeared back at their apartment less than an hour later. He was completely drained from the funeral, and the conversation with Holli afterwards had done little to make him feel better; however, as he walked into their apartment, the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes wafted through the air to greet him, and suddenly Christopher felt much better. He smiled as he stared at his boyfriend’s back, his slightly scruffy auburn hair still mussed from sleep. He noted Eric was wearing one of his t-shirts as he cooked, no doubt having grabbed the first shirt he could find as he stumbled out of bed and made his way towards the kitchen. Eric was anything but a morning person. Christopher grinned as he snuck up behind him.

“Mmm. You’re up early,” Christopher said wrapping his arms around Eric’s waist as he flipped a pancake into the air. Eric chuckled. Less than a year ago, Eric would have screamed if Chris had snuck up on him like that, but after nearly two years together, Eric had grown used to his boyfriend simply popping in and out whenever he pleased.

“Hard to sleep without you there,” he admitted. “Aww. Did you miss me?” Eric rolled his eyes as he plated the finished pancake and

set it on the table, “Come on,” he said, sitting down. Christopher smiled and sat next to him. “How was the funeral?” he asked after a moment, not entirely sure Chris would even want to discuss it. Christopher sighed, and his smile faded almost instantly.

“It really wasn’t worth my attending,” he replied as he started eating.

“Oh?”Christopher shrugged, “A bunch of people who didn’t know

her making unnecessary speeches about the kind of woman she was, the kind of Queen she was, and worst of all, the kind of mother she was. And not one of the people up there had a clue as to what type of person she really was.” Eric patted his hand comfortingly.

“I don’t suppose you informed them when you went up?” “I didn’t go up.”Eric had figured as much but decided to give Christopher

the benefit of the doubt, not that he could honestly say that he blamed him.“Why not?”

“I really had nothing good to say about the woman, and it seemed to be an event more for the press than for any actual mourners.” Eric nodded as he continued to eat and let Christopher vent. “I didn’t even want to be there to begin with. And then Holli insisted on coming up to me afterwards and asking me out to breakfast.”

“Did you eat already?” Eric asked, noticing that Christopher hadn’t really touched much of anything yet. If Christopher heard his question, he decided not to acknowledge it.

“And it was all just a scam to get me to be the King now that Elizabeth’s dead. I mean, why should I have to swoop in and clean up her mess anyway?”

“Well, firstly it’s your grandmother’s mess more than it’s Elizabeth’s,” Eric explained.

“I feel like they don’t understand that I’m sixteen. I’m still a kid. What the hell do they expect me to do?”

“You’re hardly a kid. In fact, in some cultures you would already be considered an adult.”

Christopher glared, “Who’s side are you on anyway?”

“No one’s side Chris. I’m just trying to get you to see both sides of this. Honestly.” Eric shook his head; sometimes it was hard to believe Eric was almost six months younger than Christopher yet generally much more rational.

“You really think I should be King?”“You know that’s for you to decide.” “But I want your honest opinion. Do you think I should be

King?” The selfish part of Eric wanted to say no. He knew what being King would mean, how it would effect their relationship, their love life, their… everything really. But he also knew that there were too many lives at stake for him to be selfish.

“Yes, Chris. I want you to be King. I think you and I both know that the world is in dire straits right now. And you might just be the one person who can fix it. You always said how Elizabeth and Lilith-Amaya did this and that wrong. Well maybe by taking over as King, you can make it right.”

“What if I can’t?” Christopher asked. Eric smiled, “You can’t live in the what-ifs Chris. You have

to just go for it, and take life as it comes. Because you never know. And if it’s any consolation, I think you would be an amazing King.” Christopher smiled and leaned over, kissing Eric deeply. Neither one was still entirely sure that they were doing the right thing, but they both seemed to know that there really was no other choice. Christopher would become the new King of the witches.

It didn’t take long for Ciprianna to get wind that Christopher had agreed to take over the throne, nor did it take her long to help him and Eric move from their apartment to their new home in the palace. Eric looked around the empty apartment he’d called home for almost

two years. It seemed hard to believe how quickly the time had passed, and that in a few short seconds he would officially be living in a palace. If only his six-year-old self could see him now, he thought. It had always been his boyhood dream to marry a prince and live in the palace; of course, as he got older, he had learned how utterly impossible and ridiculous this dream was and had allowed it to fade. Then, just two and a half years ago, Eric met Christopher.

In almost typical prince charming fashion, they met completely by accident, or perhaps by fate, one afternoon as Eric was leaving his gym class. It had always been obvious to the students that Eric was much more effeminate than most boys his age, so it was largely assumed that he was gay, with or without his actual admittance of it.

Eric left the gym, grateful Mark, the co-quarterback of the football team, had decided to ditch that day. He had had plenty to worry about as it was without any extra help from Mark, who had made it his personal job to torture Eric whenever possible, particularly during the few classes they shared. The teachers, on more than one occasion, had turned the other way as Eric had been attacked because the simple truth was that Mark was the school’s only chance for victory against the opposing school, and to them, sports were everything. So the teachers, the principal, even the students had igorned it when Mark or any of the football stars decided to pick on a student for one reason or another.

“Hey, fag!” Eric heard Mark yell from across the hallway, as he stood at his locker. He groaned inwardly as Mark appeared next to him. Eric searched the hall for any sign of life––not that they would have helped him anyway–– only to find it empty. Shit! Shit! Shit! his mind yelled as the locker door slammed shut, just missing his fingers by mere seconds.

“I’m talking to you, fag!” Mark picked him up by the shirt. If no one was going to help him, Eric was going to have to take matters into his own hands, he thought, kicking and flailing wildly. Mark threw Eric hard against the lockers, then dropped him with a thud. Eric groaned as Mark slammed his foot into his ribs.

“HEY!” a voice shouted as Eric clutched his chest and stomach, doubled over in pain.

“What the fuck do you want?!” he heard Mark yell back. Eric crawled away from the lockers to the other side of the hall as he heard shoes scuffing against the floor and a loud thud as someone slammed into the lockers. Eric groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear shoes squeaking against the linoleum making their way over to him, and he cringed.

“You okay?” the voice of his mysterious savior asked. Eric opened his eyes and turned around as the boy held a hand out to him. Eric stared at his hand for a moment; it was meticulously manicured for a boy, with clean nails, unlike Mark’s. It was soft too, Eric noted, as he took it in his own. Eric groaned slightly as the other boy helped him to his feet, his ribs aching when he breathed in from the kick, and his back throbbing from hitting the lockers with such force. He looked over to find Mark lying on the floor, bleeding and apparently unconscious.

“Is he okay?” Eric asked, his eyes wide. “I’m more concerned with you,” the boy replied, taking

Eric’s face in his hand as he examined him. Eric stared at him for a moment, taking in his features–– chocolate brown hair that was almost black, and deep hazel eyes that seemed to alternate from brown to green to blue and back again all at once. He smiled slightly as the boy repeated his previous

question, “Are you alright?” Eric could feel the heat rising in his face. His smile was so radiant, so infectious, that Eric couldn’t help but smile himself.

“I’m fine. Thank you,” “I’m Chris by the way. Christopher Rosewood.”“Eric Crillen.” Suddenly the minute bell rang and Eric

stared awkwardly at the other boy. “I should probably go. Thanks again for saving me.”

Christopher smiled, brushing it off, “It was really nothing. But you’re welcome.” His smile made Eric’s heart sing. Eric smiled back as he took off down the hallway without another word. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to speak at that moment anyway, so it was just as good a time as any to take his leave.

For almost a full week after, Eric hoped he would run into Christopher again, but with no luck. He had searched the school and even gone so far as to sneak into the school records but had found no evidence of a Christopher Rosewood anywhere. He’d all but given up hope when Christopher suddenly appeared next to him as he was walking home one afternoon almost two weeks after their first encounter.

“You know it's kinda dangerous to walk the streets of Manhattan alone,” he said.

“Not if you know the city like I do. I grew up here,” Eric explained. “I know everything there is to know.” Christopher smirked. “Where did you go anyway? I looked everywhere for you for two weeks. It was like you vanished off the face of the planet.”

Christopher’s face lit up. “You were looking for me?” “Yeah, well, I sort of wanted to thank you,” Eric said,

covering up just in case.

“You said that already.” “I mean a real thank you.” “Oh. Well, what did you have in mind?” “What do you want?” Eric asked. “How about a date?” Eric stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the other

boy, “Pardon?” “A date. I’ll take you out to dinner. Say Friday at eight?” “But how does that…” but before Eric could finish, Chris

had vanished back into the crowd. Eric shook his head. He was pretty sure he would never get used to Christopher’s disappearing act.

After several dates, Christopher confessed he was a warlock. Not overly surprising, given that the existence of witches and warlocks was rather textbook knowledge these days. And really it explained a lot. How he’d beaten up Mark, who was a good foot taller than him, for instance. And how he always seemed to appear and disappear at random. The real question was, why the hell was he attending public school?

Christopher had explained how his mother had not taken kindly to his coming out and how he’d decided to run away. Eric remembered how he’d wrapped his arms around Christopher’s waist at that point and hugged him for a good twenty minutes, never wanting to let him go.

By Christmas, Christopher had invited Eric to spend the holidays with him. Eric had discussed the matter with his mother, who had suggested he spend half the holiday with Christopher and the other half at home. Christopher was invited to join Eric and his mother if he so desired. But from the moment Eric stepped into Christopher’s apartment on the Upper West Side, he knew he never wanted to leave.

Now about to recognize his childhood dream of living in a palace, Eric vaguely wondered why he’d been so attached to this old apartment. Sure it was lovely, and there had been enough fond memories between its walls, but the truth was even a rent controlled apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan couldn’t compare to a palace. There was something so seductively magical about the idea of living in a palace that the moment all of their belongings had been sent over, Eric grabbed Christopher’s arm. Christopher chuckled at his boyfriend’s excitement. It might have been adorable, if Christopher hadn’t known how disappointed he would be. It wasn’t exactly the sort of palace one found in Disney movies, by any means. But Eric was determined to be surprised, so with a snap of his fingers, they vanished and appeared in their new room in the palace seconds later. Eric looked around at the drab and dingy room and frowned.

“Please tell me this is just a horrible joke,” he said, staring at Christopher. Christopher shook his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied. The carpet looked almost dead, and the bed appeared horribly uncomfortable. How the hell could a palace that had been occupied not months before look as though it had been deserted for centuries? I want my rent controlled palace on the Upper West Side, he thought miserably as he stared up at the vaulted ceilings, littered with cobwebs, and shuddered.

Seconds later, Ciprianna appeared in their room, causing Eric to nearly leap out of his skin. Though he had become used to Chris’s popping in and out, he had not been expecting Ciprianna’s arrival and desperately hoped she wouldn’t be making a habit of it.

“Christopher, the Council would like to see you for your first official meeting.” Christopher nodded, following her out,

leaving Eric to himself to decide how to handle this new nightmare.

“Gas and a blowtorch,” he said. “That’ll get this place in check.” He shook his head and stepped out of the bedroom into the living room. It was almost more disappointing than the bedroom. How the hell had Elizabeth lived like this? he wondered. There was almost no natural lighting to be found, in spite of a rather large grimy window that occupied the better part of the living room wall. Eric turned and walked towards the window; it was covered with what he could only imagine were years of dust and grime, several thousand dead bugs, and rat droppings. He shuddered. Shouldn’t a palace have a maid? he wondered, looking around the room. Though truthfully, he thought, if I were the maid I probably would have had the place condemned. He decided to explore the rest of the castle. Perhaps it’ll have a decent library, he thought as he left the room, a small part of him hoping to spend as little time in there as possible.

CHAPTER THREE

MISSING HISTORY

“How bad is this thing really?” Christopher asked as he and Ciprianna crossed the compound towards the Council building. Ciprianna frowned. The look on her face said it all; he had seen how drained she’d looked at Elizabeth’s funeral just yesterday, and somehow she looked even more haggard and withdrawn.

“As of last count, we’ve estimated the death toll to be somewhere in the hundred thousands,” she said flatly. Christopher looked at her.

“Total?” “This month,” Ciprianna replied. Christopher’s eyes

widened. “Goddess.” Ciprianna nodded. “It’s not looking pretty.” She stopped at

the top step of the Council building and held the door open for Christopher. Chris smiled as he stepped in and froze. “Different than you remember?” she asked as he looked around the busy atrium. Less than six feet from the front d o o r s t o o d a l a r g e W A N D d e t e c t o r w i t h t h r e e WARLOCKguards manning it. A whole squadron of WARLOCKguards were manning the entrance and atrium of the Council building now.

“What happened?” Christopher gasped, staring blankly at the sea of witches and warlocks all waiting to get through the WANDdetector and on with their busy day.

“Are you kidding? After Elizabeth was killed, the Council doubled up on security.”

“It was never this bad after Lilith-Amaya,” Christopher said as he and Ciprianna moved towards the front of the line.

“We knew who did that,” she said as she walked quickly through the WANDdetector. Christopher looked at the machine carefully; by all accounts, it looked like a regular metal detector the mortals employed in the airports and government buildings. The WARLOCKguard beckoned to him, and Christopher walked through the WANDdetector after Ciprianna. It all seemed a touch over the top. True, Elizabeth’s murder was considered unsolved, but no one he knew carried a wand, except for the WARLOCKguards, and that wasn’t even what had killed her. Or was it? Perhaps the Council knew more than they were letting on. He joined Ciprianna on the other side of the WANDdetector and followed her up the stairs towards the elevators. “As it turns out,” she said after they were in the safety of the elevator, “It would seem the death toll is not the Council’s biggest concern.”

“Oh?” Christopher looked concerned. “The magical community is in an uproar over Elizabeth’s

death. They're calling for blood, and we haven’t got a clue who killed her.”

“I don’t know that I necessarily buy into the theory she was murdered,” Christopher said truthfully. Though if he were really honest, he could imagine plenty of people who would want to.

“Believe what you want, Christopher; the fact remains that whatever caused her death is a mystery. The people have decided it was a murder, possibly a conspiracy.”

“You mean they think the Council had something to do with Elizabeth’s death?” Christopher asked. Ciprianna gave him a look that instantly read yes, and perhaps a little more he couldn’t quite read. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Haven’t you learned by now that people will believe what they want to believe no matter what?” she asked as the door to the elevator opened at the top floor, and she and Christopher stepped out. Christopher looked up and down

the corridor. He had only been to the Council’s offices a handful of times, but he knew he remembered doors and windows that were there before. It was as if someone had bricked up the councilors offices leaving only solid wall in its place.

“Where is everyone?” he asked. “In their offices,” she explained as she walked all the way

down the corridor towards what appeared to be a dead end. “What happened to all the doors and windows?” he asked.

Ciprianna smiled and stepped through the solid wall. Christopher stared blankly at the wall for a moment before stepping in after her.

“It seems,” Ciprianna began as she sat down behind her desk, “after Elizabeth’s death, the WARLOCKguards wanted to beef up security as much as possible. This included, among other things, hidden doorways and taking out the windows.

“That’s ridiculous!” Ciprianna shrugged, “They feel it will protect us.” “Protect you from what? There’s no danger!” Christopher

argued. “Perhaps you weren’t aware, but there’s a war on out

there!” she yelled, pointing out to what Christopher imagined was once a window. “The mortals have taken to protesting in the streets, and even their government can’t keep this under control. There’ll be rioting soon, and if the mortals do it, it won’t be long until it comes to our lovely little neck of the woods.”

“You honestly believe witches will protest just because the mortals did it?” Christopher said. Ciprianna pinched the bridge of her nose. Perhaps the WARLOCKguards had made them all paranoid, she thought. But then, how could it not? Surely anyone who would kill the queen was trying to make a statement, trying to end the magical government, such as it

was, and that meant they would almost surely attack the Council too.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore,” she admitted solemnly. “I just know I won’t take any chances where my Council is concerned.”

“And that’s noble of you,” Christopher said. “But how the hell are we supposed to have a meeting if we’re not even in the same room?”

“Well, we’ve employed some of the mortal technology to the best of our advantage, and we’ve worked pretty well with video conferencing.” Christopher rolled his eyes and grabbed Ciprianna’s arm, pulling her to her feet hard. “Where are we…” but before she could finish her sentence, Christopher pulled her out of the wall and into the empty corridor once more.

“Gather the other Council members,” he said roughly. For a moment, Ciprianna didn’t move, unsure she had heard him correctly. “Now!” he barked. Ciprianna sighed and made her way down the corridor, shoving her head in seemingly random parts of the bricks. One by one, each of the thirteen Council members appeared out of their offices. Christopher smiled. “Now then, if you’d be so kind as to lead the way towards the board room, we can begin.” Ciprianna turned and walked down the corridor towards the other dead end and stepped through the wall; after a moment, the remainder of the Council followed, leaving only Christopher behind. Christopher paused for a moment and sucked in a deep breath; though he would never admit it to anyone, he was just slightly nervous about his new role as King. He exhaled the breath and stepped quickly through the wall.

Eric had been exploring the Palace for nearly twenty minutes when he finally stumbled upon the library in the

west wing. Like everything else about the Palace, the library was at first glance both elegant and terrifying. Most of the books looked to be at least several centuries old and extremely delicate, yet somehow completely untouched by human hands for all their lives, like a mummy, perfectly preserved. He couldn’t help but wonder when the last time was someone had picked up a book off the mahogany shelves. For that matter, when was the last time someone had been in there to dust? He ran his fingers over the spines of several books, when a particular title written in gold leaf caught his eye: History of the Royal Family. Eric picked up the book and quickly moved over to a nearby table and sat down. For a brief moment, he stared at the tome, tracing his fingers over the gilded cover of the royal family crest, mesmerized by the curves and flourishes that surrounded a large winged stallion, with the family name engraved at the bottom. Raleigh. Eric opened the book slowly, careful not to tear the delicate yellowing pages. A large intricate family tree graced the first page of the book, starting with the name Astraea Raleigh. The castle’s namesake, Eric guessed. Then came her husband, Cicero Raleigh, their daughter Titania and son Cyril. He ran his fingers over the boy’s name curiously. Quite suddenly the book sprang to life and flipped forward, through half the book to the history of Cyril Raleigh. Eric leaned over the text intently, curious to see why exactly the book had stopped here. Did it mean to tell him something? he wondered as he began to read:

Though not technically the eldest child, Cyril was made King after the death of his mother in 1343. Furious, Titania murdered her father and older brother in a fit of rage. At the time, both deaths were deemed accidental, as Titania wasn’t about to confess, but the case loomed as one of the largest mysteries of the 12th century. It was not until her diary was found almost three hundred years later, hidden

in what is now part of the Palace garden but was at the time a wine cellar, that the true nature of the mysterious death of the former King and his father was revealed. Cyril would be the last King of the Witches for six hundred years.*

Eric examined the bottom of the page curiously. *See chapter 37 re: Christopher Rosewood Eric’s eyes widened. He didn’t know why he was

particularly surprised that magical books would update as history occurred; after all, that would explain how the book could look so old and yet contain much of the history of Christopher’s ancestors.

In 1350, nearly six years after being named queen, Titania came down with symptoms of the Black Plague. Within several days she had died. Her daughter Lilith was nearly fifteen at the time…

So mysterious death and being forced to take over the throne wasn’t particularly new in Christopher’s family, but then Eric was pretty sure Elizabeth hadn’t contracted the Black Plague, though to hear Christopher tell it, there was a great deal of debate on just how she had died. Some said murder, some suggested an accident and perhaps even suicide. It was all complete speculation until they found a body, but Eric was as curious as any of the witches. He had never found any interest in mortal history; Columbus had discovered nothing new. In fact, he had gotten lost, and most of the history he had learned were about things most people would rather forget. They were blights on their past, not something to be remembered as if it were a fond memory to be cherished. Eric had once expressed this view to a teacher who had explained to him that in order not to repeat the past, we must learn lessons from our mistakes. It seemed that in spite of history lessons to help us learn from other people’s mistakes, we were still right on track to repeating them, he thought. But this, this was history he could get into,

the side of history never told in textbooks, or at least none he’d ever read. Sure witches and warlocks had been out of the broom closet, so to speak, since the early 1700s, after the Salem Witch Trials, which the mortals had invariably tried to pass off as a ‘misunderstanding’. Apparently theirs was a history no one had felt worth mentioning to mortal youth, perhaps because parents would protest, or perhaps because they thought not enough witches and warlocks would want to attend public school to actually make the expense of adding new events to the textbooks worth it. Whatever the reason, Eric had never learned this kind of history in school, and truthfully, the thought that he had been denied a part of history simply because someone somewhere didn’t feel it was important enough infuriated him. Sort of like the fact that most high school students, even gay ones, had never heard of the Stonewall riots. They didn’t seem to appreciate that some of the freedoms they now had, what little there seemed to be, were all because of a group of people who stood up to intolerance. That’s the history lesson that should be taught in schools, he thought. Standing up for your principles at all costs, never backing down, and above all, fighting for what you know in your heart is right. Eric looked down at the book to find it had once more skipped several centuries to land on Queen Julietta IV.

Julietta was forty-seven when her daughter was executed for the crime of witchcraft by the mortal government in 1693. She was thirteen, and though born of magical parents on both sides; was in fact completely mortal. Enraged by the government's actions, she wanted desperately to show the mortals what exactly real witchcraft looked like. Luckily for them Julietta’s sister Carpathea intervened, and with her help, and that of the newly formed Witches Council (of which Carpathea was the head), Julietta took a higher ground to ensure that this would never again happen to any witch or warlock or mortal accused of the so-called ‘crime’

of witchcraft. It would take almost a decade of legal battles, however, before the witches could make their first public appearance, during which time nearly nine million souls were lost across the world, accused of witchcraft. Only six percent were actual witches. In 1703, almost eleven years after her daughter's hanging, Julieta IV contacted the mortal governments of the world, and the witches slowly came out of the shadows. Over the next two centuries, other creatures of the night also began to come out of hiding, starting with the vampires in 1740, fairies in 1744 and werewolves, incubi and daemons in 1747, 1749 and 1761 respectively. Of the main groups that emerged, witches and vampires have been the most widely accepted, with daemons and other spirits still widely viewed as unfavorable in both the magical and mortal communities.*

*See Daemons: A Misunderstood History by Katrina Lovelace-Tucker .

Eric watched patiently as the book once more flipped ahead, this time to 1934 and the history of Lilith-Amaya AriesSpring.

In 1955, Lilith-Amaya had become Queen of the Witches; she was twenty-one, easily one of the oldest princesses to be named Queen, after her mother Queen Eris abdicated the year before. In 1968, Lilith-Amaya married a handsome young warlock by the name of Nathaniel AriesSpring. Nathaniel had worked as Chief-Aid to the Council from 1949-1967, during which time he was able to get close to the Queen. Knowing they could never date and work together, Nathaniel left the Council in the sumer of 1967. A year later, they were married. And by 1971, Lilith-Amaya was pregnant with her first child, Margaret. Less than a year later, Lilith-Amaya was pregnant again, this time with a boy; he died within three months of his birth. Lilith-Amaya was devastated, but desperately wanted another child, so in 1973, they tried again, and this time they were blessed with

a second daughter, Elizabeth. In spite of what seemed like the perfect marriage, the stress of two toddlers and continued turmoil between the mortals took a tole on their marriage and Nathaniel and Lilith-Amaya divorced in 1975.

Eric looked over at the next page to find the book was empty, completely devoid of several hundred pages of history from 1970 onward. There was no mention of Elizabeth and Margaret’s life, no mention of what had become of Nathaniel AriesSpring after their divorce and why he had simply vanished off the face of the earth so mysteriously. It seemed to run in the family, Eric thought as he closed the book and looked around the library curiously, only to find as he tore through several more books that they were all completely devoid of Elizabeth and Margaret’s history. Something was definitely not right, he thought as he left the library fifteen minutes later, and he was determined to find out what.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FORGOTTEN CITY

Nearly an hour after he’d left for his meeting, Christopher returned to their room completely exhausted, only to find it empty. He looked around curiously.

“Eric?” he called, but there was no reply. He flopped down onto the bed and closed his eyes, waiting.

Several minutes later, though it had felt like several hours, Christopher heard the living room door open and shut, and Eric’s feet padding across the living room floor. Seconds later, he appeared in their bedroom and smiled down at Christopher.

“Hi there,” Eric said as he crawled onto the bed over Christopher. Chris merely laughed as he stared up at him.

“Hi,” he replied. “Go exploring?” “I left you a note on my iPad,” Eric said as he grabbed the

tablet off his desk and handed it to Christopher. “I didn’t even think to look,” Christopher admitted, smiling

as he read the cute little handwritten note. “I found a fabulous library, and you know me, I’ll read

anything I can get my hands on.” They had at least six boxes of books that proved that, he thought with a smile.

“Well, I found something particularly interesting.” “Oh?” “I started reading about your family history, and honestly

it was fascinating. But there’s something really strange.” “You mean, besides my family?” “Well, that’s just it. Everything from your mother onward

is missing,” Eric explained, sitting up. Christopher looked at him oddly.

“Huh?” Eric pulled out one of the books he’d slipped into his bag and opened it, showing how the last hundred or so pages had been torn out.

“See. It’s as if everyone after Lilith-Amaya’s marriage didn’t exist.”

Christopher took the book and examined it,“Hmm.” “Do you know… anything about your mother’s family?”

Eric asked. At this Christopher laughed hard. “Are you kidding? Elizabeth AriesSpring didn’t discuss

much of anything regarding her past, particularly with me. I’d give anything to know what really happened to my father.” Eric smiled, hugging him tight. Christopher looked confused, but Eric merely shook his head; perhaps he would explain things to him later, he thought.

“Listen. I think while you’re at your Council meeting tomorrow, I’m going to start unpacking and moving some things around. Liven up the place a bit.”

Christopher grinned. “That sounds wonderful darling.” He kissed Eric's lips softly, and smiled.

“You think we should paint it?” Eric asked. “Why not?” “Well, your way would be soo much faster than painting it

the mortal way.” Christopher smirked,“Oh, I see where this is going. You

want me to witch it a different color.”Eric laughed, “I do adore your eloquence, darling,” Eric

purred as Christopher wrapped his arms around his waist. “What color?” “Yellow? Maybe Lilac?” “They're rather distinct colors, wouldn’t you say?” “Well, yeah, but… I want it in the same range of pastel

coloring, you know? Like a pale yellow. Something happy. And at least if you used a little witchcraft, we could always change it later if we didn’t like it.”

“You could always change it, darling. You just don’t want to spend all that time.”

“Do you?”

Christopher shook his head. “I didn’t think so,” Eric said kissing his nose.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow.”“What time is it, anyway?” Christopher looked at his watch,“Nearly ten-thirty.” Eric’s eyes widened,“Already?”Christopher nodded,“We should probably get some sleep.

My meeting is at five.” “What could you possibly have left to talk about?” “They want to prepare me for my meeting with the United

Universal Council tomorrow afternoon.” “So you’ll be gone all day again is what your saying?” Christopher nodded.“I’m sorry.” Eric shook his head.“I knew when we moved here that

things were going to change. You’re the King of the Witches. I know that you have to work insane hours. Besides, there’s plenty around here that can keep me busy. Maybe I’ll finally start my next book. Or maybe I’ll do some more research tomorrow before I start unpacking.”

“Whatever you want, love,” Christopher said, kissing his nose. He pulled him into bed smiling.

“You just wanna shut me up don’t you?” “Oh, I have better ways than dragging you into bed, if that

was my goal.” Eric grinned.“Oh really? I think I’d like to see that.” “I bet you would.” Christopher crawled over Eric whose

eyes flashed challengingly, and Christopher kissed him deeply, purring.

It was nearly two by the time they fell asleep, and though it meant Christopher only had three hours before he had to get up for his meeting with the Council, he felt it was worth it.

Three hours later, Christopher slipped out of bed, trying not to awaken the still peacefully sleeping Eric and slipped into the shower. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the events of the coming day, but he knew it was a necessity.

He moved quickly, almost mechanically. Showers were never quite as fun without Eric, but he needed to be fast if he was going to make it to the meeting before the Council. He’d even awoken a full thirty minutes early just to be safe. He’d forgotten how quickly he could shower when he didn’t have an auburn distraction nipping at his neck. Not that he minded, but he couldn’t remember the last time a shower hadn’t lasted an hour and a half without much showering actually getting done. He toweled off, another usual hour-long ordeal, and slipped into his boxers before stepping into the walk-in closet to choose what he should wear for the day. This was the tricky part without Eric, who had taken to dressing him from almost the moment they had met. Christopher wasn’t without style per se, but he wasn’t the fashionista Eric was by any means. He, for instance, couldn’t tell what tie would go with a blue button-down shirt, or whether or not to wear black socks or navy blue depending on the pants. As he stared at the sea of clothing, for the life of him he couldn’t begin to imagine what to wear. How did Eric always seem to know the perfect outfit for him? he wondered, looking at an emerald green shirt and yellow and blue stripped tie. He groaned. He really didn’t want to wake up Eric just to help him dress. After all, he’d made it… how many years before they met? Technically, being raised in the palace, his clothes had always been ready for him, without question. Shit. He stepped out into the bedroom and shook Eric’s shoulder gently. Eric blinked as Christopher held the shirt and tie up.

“Ugh…” he grabbed the tie out of his hand. “If you’re going to wear the green shirt, wear the silver tie. It brings out your eyes more. Black socks go with anything, and don’t wear those ugly shoes you bought last winter that you love so much. Wear the Pradas I bought you for Valentine’s Day.” Christopher smiled, kissing his temple.

“Thank you, love.” Eric pulled the comforter over his head as Christopher dressed. Of the two of them, Eric was most definitely not a morning person. Christopher, on the other hand, had been one since he was six years old. No matter when he went to bed, he would arise promptly at five o’clock.

Though he would never admit it, Eric rather resented this about his boyfriend. It was one thing to be awake at five in the morning because one hadn’t slept the night before, but it was another to be happy about it. Chris slipped out of the room quietly and left Eric to continue sleeping for as long as he needed. It was almost endearing, Chris thought, as he made his way towards the other building.

It was nearing noon by the time Eric eventually pulled himself out of bed; he stretched and yawned, looking around the empty bedroom. He vaguely remembered Christopher waking him up earlier that morning asking about his tie. He sat up and stared around the room mournfully. He had begged Christopher to clear out some of the old furniture the moment they’d moved in, but he’d been called away by Ciprianna for his first Council meeting. Since then, whenever one of them was home, the other wasn’t, and Christopher didn’t seem to know what things Eric had wanted to keep and which he’d wanted to get rid of.

The room had a rather Victorian feel about it; the chairs were o ld and somewhat r ickety and incredibly uncomfortable. About the only part of the room Eric could stand was the king sized four poster bed with a large draping canopy, hand-carved from red oak and trimmed with gold leaf around the more intricate designs on each of the four posters. It had been more comfortable than it had first appeared, he admitted. He lazily traced the pattern with his index finger as he stared across the room at the large and

rather illustrious black marble fireplace that sat to the left of the bed. It was perhaps the only other thing Eric didn’t want to change; everything else, from the rather tacky, in his opinion, Fleur-de-Lys wallpaper, to the dingy brown carpet, had to go. The whole place had this eerie dust-covered glow, as if it had been abandoned some centuries ago and simply left, fully furnished. He knew the former queen had stayed here, though if Christopher was anything to go by, it was obviously not often, which is perhaps why it still had such a depressing aura about it. He sat up fast and walked to the closet, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He had to get out of this room, and not just the bedroom, but all of it. He wanted to explore more of the castle, and with any luck figure out just why the life of the former queen had vanished from the library. Times like these he wished he was a warlock too. Maybe if he could get out of the castle, he could presumably find a library that wasn’t attached and therefore wouldn’t have been cleared out. His eyes widened as he got an idea. Pulling on a jacket and his Converse, Eric ran to the phone and dialed the house butler.

“Yes, master Eric?” the butler answered, before Eric had even had a chance to say anything. Less than a year ago, he would have asked how the man knew it was him before he said a word, but Eric knew better now.

“Let me ask you a question. Being a mortal, could I technically use a broomstick to fly out of here?” For a moment there was no response and Eric wondered if the butler had simply hung up, or if he was about to alert someone that Eric was attempting to leave. He had never felt like such a prisoner before.

“I wouldn’t know, sir. None have ever tried.” Eric was afraid of that.

“Bring me one anyway,” he said. “I’m going to be the first to test that little theory.”

“Yes, sir,” the butler responded. Eric hung up and walked out into the living room. The broom arrived less than a moment later. How had he possibly lived his whole life without magic? he wondered, taking the broom in hand. He stared at it for a moment, somewhat disappointed. It felt the same as every other broom he’d held. Though what did a flying broom actually feel like? He’d touched Christopher a million times, and for the most part, he had never felt any kind of magic coming from him. Perhaps magical objects weren’t necessarily different from regular ones, at least not noticeably. Still he couldn’t help but wonder if the butler hadn’t given him a house broom after all. Clearly I wouldn’t know the difference, he thought, somewhat bitterly. With a deep breath, he decided to throw caution to the wind. Well, at the worst, I’ll just look like a complete jackass, he thought, mounting the broom carefully. For a moment, nothing happened. Damn that butler! How dare he give me some ordinary house broom just to appease me! he thought, thoroughly enraged.

“Come on… up. Work… something!” he cried, jumping into the air. The broom lifted off the ground, causing Eric to scream and grab the broom tightly as it zoomed across the room towards the door. “Shit!” he screamed as he raced faster towards the closed door. “Stop, stop st…” the door opened and Eric zoomed through it, racing down the corridor towards the staircase. Eric held on for dear life as the broom seemed to be taking him on a wild ride throughout the castle. It zoomed down the stairs towards the entrance doors. “Oooh, god,” he closed his eyes, sure that these doors, even if they opened by themselves, could never make it in time. To his relief, however, the doors swung open, and within moments he was out in the wilderness of

the castle grounds. Looking around, Eric pulled the broom upwards, trying to get a handle on maneuvering it around. The broom sped up higher into the sky, above the castle. He stared down at the Palace below and the surrounding forest. He looked in both directions, trying to figure out where on earth he was, but all he could see was the forest. Eric leaned forward, causing the broom to race towards the forest over the trees. Faster and faster he raced, but there seemed no end in sight. Damn, he thought. Maybe he was going the wrong way. He continued onward, flying as fast as the broom would carry him across the green treetops below. After what felt like half an hour, finally, the forest ended, and Eric could see the mountains below. He smiled and angled the broom down towards the city below him, still blithely unaware of just where the hell he was. It didn’t look like any city he’d been to, and it sure as hell wasn’t New York. He dipped down into the valley, trying to get a good look, but no matter how close he got, he still couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was the place where only witches resided, he thought. Still, surely they would have a public library, he hoped, touching down towards the earth. He held the broom in his hand as he looked around. It was eerily quiet, as if it had been abandoned some time ago. Like everything else in this place, he thought. Maybe he’d snapped one day during school and was actually in a mental hospital somewhere in Rochester, imagining all of this, he thought, as he looked around the empty city, if it could even be considered a city given how small it appeared.

“Hello?” he called. There was no response, though he couldn’t honestly say he was expecting one. It was a quaint little town, less Victorian than the Palace, but somehow still not as modern as most cities. His shoes echoed loudly on the

cobblestone street as he walked towards the epicenter of town, where a large, black stone building stood. God, I hope it’s a library, he though,t as he walked up to the door and pulled, only to find it locked. Damn. Apparently, the city was still paranoid about intruders, whether anyone lived there or not. He walked over to the dust covered window, peering inside. Like the rest of the city, the building was completely devoid of life but was clearly a library. He grinned staring around at the sea of books lining shelf upon shelf. It was smaller than the Palace library by far, but something about it intrigued him, and he was determined to get in there. He turned around to see if anyone was nearby, a force of habit. He lifted his broom and slammed it into the glass part of the door, shattering it. Ensuring that all the glass had been shattered, Eric stuck his arm through and found the keys sitting in the lock on the other side. How strange, he thought as he turned the key. Paranoid enough to lock it in the first place yet they left the key in the lock. The door opened and Eric stepped inside, looking around curiously, still wondering what exactly it was he was looking for. Something had clearly drawn him towards this place, and something was drawing him towards the back of the library, where several stacks of magazines sat, as if waiting for him. He suddenly felt like Alice through the looking glass as he picked up the topmost magazine and scanned it.