*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*
If it wasn’t for the full moon overhead, all of Boyston Lane would have been pitch black. A dim light lit some of the walkway, just enough so that anyone could see how dead quiet the neighborhood was, not that it was bustling normally. Boyston Lane was one of the safest parts of Oak Park, thus no one batted an eye. August 14th was just any other ordinary evening for the residents.
A man drenched as if he’d walked through the rain for hours banged upon the giant wooden door of the stone manor at the very end of the street, one that all the neighbors knew of but had never entered. But this man, dark hair and solemn eyes, waited patiently. The lights were out, and then one flickered on in the foyer. The front door swung open and an older, grayed version of the soaked man stood before him with wide eyes.
“Armando,” the older gentleman greeted him and let him inside. “Was it raining?”
“It was over New York, Dad,” Armando told him, taking out a long thin wooden wand and tapping the top of his head. As if by magic, every inch of him shook and the water dropped to the floor with a soft plop. His father didn’t bat an eye, for he, too, whipped out his own wand and waved it at the door, which shut by itself at once.
Footsteps approached from the staircase. A woman with dark, curly hair and tired eyes grinned when she saw Armando. She leapt off the steps and thrust her arms around him.
“Oh my son,” she said desperately, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she clutched onto him for dear life. “It has been so long. With everything happening and Fawkes…we just didn’t know what became of you.”
Armando grew silent at the mention of Fawkes, a sorer spot than other topics. Both Armando’s father and mother exchanged a look and any joy disappeared from their faces.
“What happened?” His mother asked. Armando merely blinked before walking around the foyer. It had been ages since he had stepped foot in his family home, especially since the start of the war.
Thoughts and visions of his childhood ran through his mind. All the times he would enchant paper cranes with his younger sister, Elaine, and they’d chase after them in a fit of giggles. The first time he brought his now wife into the manor to introduce her to his parents. Or, more recently, the first time he brought his daughter to meet her grandparents. If only he’d known that would be the last happy memory, he would have let his family of three partake in afternoon tea and enchanted games a little bit longer than they chose to.
“Have you thought about the offer?” Armando asked of his father, who shook his head nearly immediately.
“We cannot do that to the kids,” his father explained, waving a hand through the air. “If we instill a law like that, your own daughter cannot attend.”
“Devon would wave it for Genevieve,” Armando retorted, shaking his head. His voice was stern, but there was a sadness in his eyes. As if he already predicted how this would go. “You are the last one to vote. You could save so many lives.”
“And how would your father do that?” Armando’s mother spoke up, narrowing her eyes at her only son. Armando stood, a little stunned, but suddenly curious.
“If he votes in favor of the policy,” Armando told them, looking from his mother to his father, “then he’s safe. Otherwise, the Perdita will come for you.” No one said a word for a moment, but Armando’s mother let a tear fall from her eyes.
“Manny, how could you join their cause? After everything?” Her voice broke as she spoke, making Armando frown. He knew the answer, but also knew what was at stake if he told them the truth. He thought of his daughter, his wife, and his family. He couldn’t do that to them.
“I do not have time to dive into why I support the Perdita, but I need you to agree to the policy, Dad,” Armando told his father, solely staring deep into his eyes, the same eyes that he had. “If you don’t, you’re as good as dead.”
“I’d rather die supporting the livelihood of every witch and wizard than live knowing I went against what was right,” the older gentleman said, suddenly puffing out his chest. Fear filled his wife when they heard the howling of the wind. Armando’s face fell even further as the flicker of the lights signaled the worst: the Perdita were coming. The plan had fallen through, and they were coming to finish the job.
In nearly an instant, dark clouds poured in through the open windows and the fireplace, circling the foyer until they stopped. The clouds hardened and shaped into three figures. The tallest of them all was a pale man with piercing blue eyes and jet black hair, who nodded to Armando with a knowing look. The other two, with white blonde hair, shared the same ivy green eyes and held their stiff mahogany wands up to Armando’s father, ready to execute plan B.
Armando’s mother jumped in front of her husband, glaring at the intruders.
“How dare you enter this house without permission? Devon, you used to come here every holiday and now you dare threaten the man who practically raised you?” Her voice shook the glass around the house, but Devon withdrew his own wand and raised it up at Armando’s mother. Armando’s heart skipped a beat as he watched Devon, his childhood friend, step towards them, moving close enough to hex his parents.
“Anita, I don’t want to hurt you. It is Reginald who has business with me,” Devon spoke at last, his deep voice filling the room. Devon flicked his wand. Anita was flung to the stairs, yelping as she hit the steps. Armando rushed to her side and Anita almost pushed him away until she saw the deep regret in her son’s eyes as they both watched Devon step in front of Reginald.
“I stand by my decision. I am not going in favor of vetting the students that come into the school,” Reginald said proudly, staring Devon straight in the eyes. He remembered, for a brief moment, when Devon was shorter than him, but now they stood at the same height. Devon smirked, twisting around and staring at the twins behind him, who also began to sneer.
“Then we have no other choice. Things must continue as planned. Mordre!”
“NO!” Both Armando and Anita cried out at the same time, but it was too late. With one thrust of his hand, Devon cast out a blinding white light that sent Reginald into the cabinet of fine china behind them. Glass shattered and white plates broke into dozens of pieces around Reginald as he fell, lifeless and pale onto the crimson patterned carpet.
“You vile son of a–”–Armando held his hand up in front of his mother’s mouth as she sobbed, about to leap at Devon, her surrogate son for all intensive purposes, who had just murdered her husband of forty years.
“Come, we have much to prepare,” Devon instructed, glancing only to Armando who was full of struggle and confusion. This was never what he wanted to happen. As he looked at his father, he wished he could take it all back. He wished he could fix what had happened. But where would he even begin?
“Manny, you can’t go. Please,” Anita begged with tears streaming out of her onto the floor. Armando shook his head, beginning to cry too as he snapped his fingers, unable to even think of where to begin with his mother. She’d never understand. As soon as he snapped his fingers, a dark cloud rose out and fled the room, leaving Anita in the room alone.
She rushed over to her husband, who was limp under her touch. Oh, how she longed for him to wake up, for the death charm to be nothing but a fallacy. But it was too late. He was gone. There were other things to worry about: Genevieve. Where was Genevieve?
Anita grabbed the landline off the wall and pressed it to her ear, dialing the number she’d memorized by heart. She held her breath steady, waiting as someone answered the other line: a soft, melodic voice.
“Anita,” Bethany spoke on the other end. “Is everything okay?”
“Where are you?” Anita spoke quickly, sure to keep her voice steady as not to show signs of weakness. Now was not the time to be weak. Now, more than ever, she needed to be strong. She needed to piece together her family and keep everyone safe. Especially now with Armando’s change of allegiance. She was in charge now.
“At home, why?” Bethany was more worried now. Anita took a deep breath and glanced back to her husband, waving her wand as she guided his body to the couch. She assisted a white blanket in hovering over him before covering his body completely, at least until someone could properly come and bury him and arrange a funeral. That was the next task.
“Wait where you are. I am coming to get you and Genevieve.” Anita wasted no time, returning the phone to the hook and snapping her fingers. In an instant, she was gone, and the house was as silent as the dead of night. All that remained was the still body of Reginald Kingston, the last of his name, and the beginning of what would change their world as they knew it.
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