Reckless Magic (40 page)

I released my magic a little too
strongly and I saw the young clerk take a visible step backwards. I
began to feel guilty for hurting the poor girl, but then she gave
me a dirty look that reminded me a little too much of Seraphina.
Suddenly she was looking at the clock and processing my airline
ticket. She let out a huge huff of impatience, handing me my
respective papers quickly.

“
I assume you won’t be
checking any bags?” she looked disdainfully at my worn out book
bag.

“
Nope,” I said, returning
her irritation with a smile and breathing a sigh of
relief.

She turned to the next passenger in
line and I ran up the escalator. It could not have been that easy!
Finally something was going my way. I didn’t slow down until I made
it through security, to my terminal and onto the
walkway.

A pretty flight attendant with perfect
posture greeted me at the doorway to the plane. I handed over my
ticket grateful for assistance and she pointed just inside the
doorway to a luxurious first class seat next to a
window.

I sat down heavily and breathed
another sigh of relief. I took a hair tie off of my wrist and
knotted my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head. Per
instructions of the flight attendant I stored my nearly empty
backpack underneath my seat and buckled up for safety.

I looked out of my window at Omaha for
one last time; I had never flown before, let alone overseas. I had
no idea what to expect and less of an idea what to do when I got
there. After my connecting flight in Atlanta I would be non-stop
until Romania. The bright afternoon sunlight flooded my window and
I relished in the warmth and security of self-righteousness. Lilly
needed me and I refused to let her down.

----

I breathed in the smoke and smog that
met me outside the dingy glass doors of the airport in Timisoara,
Romania. The wide-lane street in front of me was full of small cabs
in every color. Most of them were driven by middle-aged,
olive-skinned Romanian men with mustaches and cigarettes. And all
of the cars looked at least fifty years old.

I walked over to one of the parked
Dacias, waiting to take me on the next leg of this exhausting
adventure. I tugged at the oversized cruise wear I acquired at a
gift shop in the Atlanta airport and realized that it was not
nearly warm enough for the cold and dreary autumn of
Romania.

“
English?” I asked hopeful,
to a gruff looking Romanian man wearing a worn out black leather
jacket. He shook his head and grunted what I took to be an amused
laugh.

I pulled out the English to Romanian
dictionary I also purchased at the Atlanta airport and searched for
the T section.

“
Statie?” I stumbled through
the word, using what I knew from my Spanish pronunciations to ask
for the train station.

“
Da, da. Timisoara?” he
clarified our destination, since the airport was outside of the
city a little ways.

“
Da.” I repeated the Russian
“yes”, most Romanians used.

He nodded his head towards the back
seat and I climbed in. The springs underneath the well-worn
upholstery dug into my sore legs. I yawned, but refused to close my
eyes. Not that I necessarily trusted this stranger, nor did I know
how long the ride would be exactly, but there was much too much to
see as we made our way towards the western metropolis of
Timisoara.

Communist block apartments rose on
every side of me; the tall, simple, concrete buildings emoted a
melancholy dismalness that was enforced by the incessant rainfall.
Small corner shops and gypsy children begging for money lined the
now narrowed streets as I held on for dear life. The driver swerved
in and out of traffic more precariously than Avalon and not nearly
as gracefully.

The olive skinned Romanians walked, or
biked or took the tram, all with their heads down, minding their
own business. In my Guide to Romania book I picked up along with my
dictionary, I read that the Romanians fought their way out of
Communism by a revolution started in this very city. What was once
called the Paris of the East was only a shell of its former
glory.

Timisoara was destroyed by Communism
after World War II; the Communist dictatorship that enslaved the
Romanian people raped them of any technological or artistic
advancement. And although they were well on their way to recovery
after a Revolution that had happened over twenty years ago, there
was still an oppressiveness that settled on the country’s
inhabitants.

I had yet to read anything in either
of my books pertaining to an Immortal Citadel. In fact, the only
folk lore of any kind related to vampires. I had no idea where I
would end up or what to expect but for some reason entering Romania
was like coming home. The desolate streets and war torn buildings
held an eerie beauty I found captivating.

The cab slammed to a stop in front of
an old building on the edge of a piazza or square. The driver
tapped his finger on the meter, indicating the fare I owed him. I
clumsily tried to count out the Lei, but in the end I threw a stack
of bills at him, hoping he appreciated the tip.

I exchanged plenty of money in the
airport, and was told that most places accepted my American credit
card anyways. Hopefully, Aunt Syl wouldn’t be too upset with the
credit card bill this month. Who was I kidding? If it wasn’t the
bill that made her go ballistic, it would surely be my spur of the
moment trip across an ocean to a third world country after I was
specifically forbidden not to by more than one
authority.

I shouldered my backpack once again;
its weight had definitely increased throughout the trip, from old
clothes to my new books, it was getting kind of heavy. I pulled the
straps tight though, hoping to discourage any type of pickpocket
and worked my way through the busy train station doors.

My travel guide had informed me that
the Blue Arrow train was the only way to travel in style and I
decided to take its word for it. I found the ticket counter without
any problem, and pulled out my dictionary for the necessary terms.
A stout, elderly woman who had seen better days sat behind a thick
glass partition.

“
Buna dimineata, doamna,” I
stuttered through, reading directly from a page marked Popular
Phrases in my English to Romanian Dictionary. Good morning
madam.

She grunted her reply, and I forged
through another phrase.

“
Un bilet la Sibiu va rog,”
On ticket for Sibiu, please. I gave her my award winning smile and
she simply grunted back what I assumed to be a number, but I had no
idea really. She could have said anything; she had probably called
me a stupid American.

I held up a small handful of cash,
unsure of what any of it meant. Unfortunately, Kingsley didn’t
offer a monetary conversion class. Or maybe I just hadn’t been
forced to take it yet.

She took my handful of Lei and counted
out what she needed; even if she took a little more for herself it
didn’t bother me. She passed me back the change along with a ticket
and pointed in the direction of the platform, holding up her hand
to signal five minutes.

“
Multumesc,” I tried again,
saying thank you before walking away quickly to the
platform.

I found the train I was assigned to
and it was thankfully the Blue Arrow. The only modern and smooth
looking ride among a line of trains that looked like they could be
the first model of a train…. ever. Breathing my one hundredth sigh
of relief I walked through the automatic doors, past seats filled
with all different social classes of Romanian.

The train was slightly deceiving in
that I expected luxury once inside the automatic doors, but instead
was met with a pungent smell that nearly made me hurl. I politely
covered my mouth pretending to cough and collapsed into my seat,
just in time to hear the whistle and feel the earth begin to move
slowly beneath my feet.

On the long plane ride over I had had
time to plan and plot. I had gone over my speech a thousand times,
and I was determined to give it once inside the court room doors.
The only problem was, I needed to be able to find the
courtroom.

The town of Sibiu was located in the
central part of Romania and in the mountains; this was as far as I
knew to go. I only remembered the name of the town Kiran had given
me after I recognized it in the guidebook.

The biggest problem was that the
festival was for sure not in the city, and apparently somewhere in
the middle of nowhere. The train would take me directly into the
city, but once I was there, I would have no other direction to
follow. I was still determined; although regretful I hadn’t
pressured Avalon for more information.

The train left the city and wound
through the breathtaking Romanian countryside. I refused to sleep
during that part of my journey too and watched as the train flew by
fields being farmed by old fashioned horse and wagons and primitive
gypsy villages with naked children running about.

Eventually someone came by to take my
ticket. The train employee laughed out loud at my white, sleeveless
sweater tank top and ocean blue capris. If only he knew the
clothing options I was given in the middle of an Atlanta airport
while trying to catch my International flight, I thought he might
have been proud of me.

After he continued on his way, I
realized how ridiculous I looked. I hadn’t slept in two days; my
long hair was greasy and knotted into an impossible mess on the top
of my head. The cruise wear I purchased was obviously out of
season, and then to top it off I was still wearing my school clogs.
A cold shiver ran over my body and giving up completely I pulled
out my bright red Nebraska Corn Huskers sweatshirt and threw it on
over my tank top.

I remembered Avalon’s expensive black
suit and tie and cringed to think how out of place I would look
upon arrival at the Citadel. If I could find it. By my calculations
the trial would be late this evening, and I had only precious hours
until my time was up and all of this would have been for
nothing.

I hugged my worn out back pack as if
it were my last hope for success. I couldn’t have come this far for
nothing; I wouldn’t have come this far and do nothing.

“
You’re one of them,” An
elderly woman took a seat next to me and spoke perfect English. I
sat up shocked to hear my own tongue and even more shocked by her
words.

“
Excuse me?” A wave of
nervousness washed over me, and I searched out a current of magic
in the old woman but sensed nothing.

“
One of the Old Ones,” the
woman smiled genially and revealed toothless gums. I did not know
what to make of the woman who was clearly human and by the looks of
things a gypsy. She was dressed in layer upon layer of rags, her
hair tied behind a dirty bandana. A large gold ring protruded from
her nose, and larger golden rings dangled from her ears. Her hands
were small and gnarled; the dirt under her nails prominent. Her
eyes, a brilliant violet, were her only beautiful quality. They
reminded me of Angelica.

“
The Old Ones?” I asked,
confident she meant Immortals, but unsure how she would know about
us, or that I was one of them.

She reached out suddenly to grab my
hands. Hers were warm and moist as they gripped mine firmly. I
tentatively tried to pull them back, but her grasp was so tight and
her gaze so intense I was honestly scared of her. I thought to
offer her money, but she began to inspect my palms as if looking
for something in particular.

“
It can’t be,” she sighed
softly taking my hands and holding them high above me towards the
light.

“
I’m sorry?” I pulled my
hands away from her and tucked them under my arms, afraid of what
she found. A chill worked its way up my spine.

“
You are the next Oracle,”
she spoke with such awe and her gaze searched my eyes so intently
that I looked down, once again afraid of this tiny old
woman.

“
Do you know where they are?
The Old Ones?” I found my nerves and asked bravely; although I was
unsure why I would trust this stranger.

“
Do you not?” she pinched my
chin tightly between her thumb and forefinger, and then moved my
head in a circle, inspecting it for who knew what.

“
No, I am…. I am trying to
find them,” I confided, still unsure if I could trust
her.

“
You are going to the
mountain village?” she asked turning my head sharply in one
direction and then letting out a loud giggle.

“
Yes,” I said, hoping she
meant Sibiu.

“
Then follow the magic,” she
suddenly stood up, then bent down and kissed my forehead with wet,
sticky lips. I refrained from wiping off the slobber immediately.
“They have waited for you for a long time.”

The train suddenly lurched to a stop,
sending me sliding forward in my seat. I looked up, expecting the
feeble, older woman to be sprawled on the floor since she was
standing precariously during the sudden stop, but she was already
at the doors and gone before I could even get out of my seat. After
she was safely on the ground the train began again as if it was
scheduled to make that very stop.