A Thousand Years of Hope - 3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Dante studied the tall sycamore tree on the edge of Viola’s property. It should have burned leaves and branches, but it did not. It was safe and looked…greener. The powerful presence he felt on the tree had protected it from his fire spell. The unharmed tree was the only evidence he could use to verify the powerful aura that seeped into his house, forcing him outside in search.

 

Shaking his head, he returned to the house, closing and locking the kitchen door. Usually, he would be worried about such a powerful being so close to this house. However, the unburnt sycamore tree made him feel secure. The entity did not mean any harm to his family.

 

Dante rinsed his glass in the sink and placed it on a rack. Switching off the light, he stared momentarily at the sycamore tree through the picture window and then returned to the study.

 

It was four o’clock, and sleep was long gone for him. He sat behind the desk and opened a folder holding a new co-parenting agreement sent by his lawyers.

Viola, his ex-girlfriend and the owner of this house, wanted to see him less and have him pay more for the upkeep of their two children, Zachary and April Arturo. Nine years ago, their separation was decided a year after April was born. He turned the agreement papers to the signing section to find that Viola had already signed her part with flourish. The confidence in her signature reassured him.

 

Viola was happy with her new boyfriend of three years.

 

Dante could not blame Viola for finally making a stand with him. It was his fault they were no longer together. Dante spent too much time at digs around the world, teaching or staying at his family home in Turkey to give Viola the stability of family she needed.

 

Tired of Dante’s constant absence after April’s birth, Viola bought this house in the quiet suburbs of Kirtland, Ohio. She was a qualified Registered Nurse, so she found a job working in a nearby hospital and created the stability their children needed without Dante.

 

Their first co-parenting agreement was simple.

 

Dante had the right to visit as he wished to see Zach and April. Their old agreement also included vague guidelines in terms of financial support. Dante ensured Viola received some of his income for the children’s upkeep. If she needed money for an emergency, he sent it.

 

Now, Viola was thinking of the children’s future and her own.

 

Dante assumed Viola’s relationship with her current boyfriend was getting serious. She had asked Dante to visit to finalize a more formal co-parenting agreement. An agreement dealing with his scarce visits and included a more comprehensive financial support plan.

 

Glad he was more financially secure after nine years of hard work, Dante gave his lawyers access to the two irrevocable trust funds he created for Zach and April when he started working. The trusts would help fund the children’s college education. His children were secure financially, but he could never boast of being a great father.

 

As far as he could see, Viola’s current boyfriend did a better job with Zach and April than he did.

 

Dante picked up a pen and signed his part in the new agreement.

 

With the new agreement, Dante would no longer have a right to walk into this house at will. He would need to call Viola and ask her to arrange a meeting with Zach and April. They were thirteen and ten, respectively, this year. When they each turned eighteen, they would have the choice to decide if they wanted to visit him at his family home.

 

Taking a deep breath, Dante sat back in his chair, staring at the complete agreement. This process should have bothered him, but he felt nothing. This lack of reaction was probably why Viola kicked him out of her life.

 

The signed co-parenting agreement was a perfect ending to a chapter he started without much thought or feeling. Shaking his head, he closed the folder and stood.

 

It was time to move on from this disastrous decision.

 

The mystery of the powerful entity on the sycamore tree needed resolving. This was not the first time Dante felt the powerful aura seeping into his personal space. It appeared three times before, once at the airport, once near his apartment in Istanbul. At the Elderwood Conservancy, which meant whatever it was, it had followed him to Viola’s house. There was also the mysterious warning from the family grimoire. Dante wondered if the powerful aura had something to do with the warning.

 

He could only follow the matter when he was home.

 

Upstairs, Dante entered Zach’s room, his steps very quiet, and stood watching his son sleep for a moment. The boy had taken many of Viola’s features. There was not much of him on Zachary. Dante stepped forward and brushed the hair away from Zach’s forehead. He pressed a kiss on smooth skin. Zach slept on, undisturbed.

 

Strange, but his children remained untouched by his bloodline’s gifts.

 

Dante knew they needed a warm, secure home instead of entering his paranormal world at Artri House on the Island of Aretias, off the Turkish Coast.

 

“Zarardan korumak,” Dante murmured, a sliver of white dust falling from his fingers onto Zach’s chest, absorbing into his skin.

 

The protection spell would keep Zack from danger and ill intentions. It would also alert Dante if the boy were ever in real danger.

 

“I hope you understand me when you’re older,” Dante murmured into Zach’s ear, brushing his lips on the boy’s light hair.

 

Pulling the covers higher on Zach’s shoulders, Dante silently exited the boy’s room.

 

He entered April’s room; he bit back a sigh when he heard her sharp air intake. She was awake, lying still, pretending to be asleep. His daughter always saw and heard too much. A small lamp on her left bedside table was the only light source.

 

Dante approached the bed, perched on the right side, arranging the messy covers around her. Her mink-black hair matched his. She was on a quest to grow it long. She tried her best to escape trimming, but Viola was persistent. At the start of summer, Viola got April into a salon that chopped her tresses to her shoulders.

 

April cried for a week at a loss.

 

Dante touched the beautiful, neat, shoulder-length dark hair.

 

“April, you’re a beautiful girl,” Dante said, his voice low to keep from waking Viola and Zach. “Don’t ever doubt it. Your mamma loves you more than anything else in the world. She tries her hardest to make sure you look and have the best. She only wants you to be happy. Please don’t be hard on her. I’m sorry for not being the father you need.”

 

April remained under the covers, not moving or reacting to his words.

 

Dante stroked her hair and murmured his protection spell, adding a little magic to let her hair grow faster, even when trimmed. He moved his hand away, and April pushed back the covers, turning to him with panic in her eyes.

 

“Dad,” April said, her voice shaking, her eyes filled with tears.

 

Dante smiled at her.

 

“Why are you awake at this hour?” he asked, pressing his palm to her soft cheek.

 

Dante brushed away a tear with his thumb and looked into brown eyes that matched his own. April took most after him. She gave him no doubt that she was his daughter. It was sad she had not inherited his gifts. Then again, in the distant future, April would one day get a child. Her child may inherit his gifts.

Dante would need to ensure his mother prepared for such a happening, just as his grandfather did for him.

 

“You’re leaving us,” April said.

 

Dante stared at her for a moment and then nodded.

 

“I have to return to my home.”

 

“Why?” April asked. “Can’t you take us with you?”

 

“I can’t,” Dante said. “School will start soon, and your mamma needs you here.”

 

“Why can’t you stay?” April asked. “Why do you have to leave us? Why can’t you stay with mamma? What if we never see you again?”

 

Dante bit his bottom lip, wondering how to answer her questions without hurting her.

 

“I can’t stay because I’m not the right partner for your mamma,” Dante said. “She’s found someone good to her and to you and Zach. I can promise to visit you in the summer or during the holidays. You will see me again, April.”

 

“Can we visit you?” April asked, her gaze hopeful.

 

“Yes, when your mother allows it,” Dante nodded. “You are welcome in my home, April.”

 

April studied him with bright brown eyes, a frown creasing her forehead, so he held her gaze until she relaxed in bed.

 

“Can I call you?” April asked.

 

“Yes, as often as you want,” Dante said. “If I don’t answer, I’ll call you back. Okay?”

 

April gave him a quick smile.

 

“Make sure you send me postcards. Zach doesn’t care about those, but I want some. I like collecting them.”

 

Dante nodded.

 

“Alright, I promise to send postcards.”

 

April reached for his hand and held it tight.

 

“Can you stay until I fall asleep again?” she asked, this time her voice small, uncertain.

 

Dante leaned in to kiss her forehead. He arranged the covers around her shoulders with his free hand.

 

“I’ll sing you a song,” Dante said, and she smiled.

 

April held onto his hand as he hummed an old lullaby taught to him by his grandmother. The words were forgotten, but the tune remained. April closed her eyes, and as Dante watched, she slipped into a deep sleep. She would wake up refreshed and ready to start another day.

 

Dante caressed her cheek, added to his protective spell, and released her hand.

 

Dante stepped out of April’s room and hurried to his own. His suitcase was already packed. He took a shower and dressed for his trip home. At five-thirty in the morning, he went downstairs. He found Viola making coffee in the kitchen. She was dressed in blue scrubs, ready for her shift at the hospital.

 

“Thank you,” Viola said, handing him a mug of coffee. “For signing the agreement without fuss and the trust for the kids.”

 

Dante sipped the coffee once and held on to the mug.

 

Viola liked making coffee, but she never realized he hated the drink. He preferred brewed tea.

 

“Are you heading to Istanbul?” Viola asked.

 

“Hm,” Dante said, placing the mug on the sink counter.

 

He went to the fridge and found a bottle of water. Cracking the seal, he drank half the water as he watched Viola pack lunch for the kids. Zach and April were in a summer program run by the neighborhood mothers. The kids went on trips around the city, visiting lake beaches or community pools.

 

Viola stole glances at him through the process of lunch-packing.

 

Dante leaned on the counter next to the refrigerator and searched for what to say to her.

 

“I’m not mad at you anymore,” Viola said, saving him from starting a conversation. She zipped up the second lunch box and placed both on the kitchen table.

 

“There was a time I looked at you and wanted to scream at you, but that feeling is gone. You’re quite frustrating, Dante.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Dante said, capping the water bottle. He stared at the white tiles on the floor and then his neat brown loafers.

 

The one person he had wronged in this world was Viola. There was a time when his relationship with her was too strained at best. At its worst, no matter how many hectares one added, they could not stand in the same compound. His fault, Dante acknowledged with an open heart.

 

He met Viola during his rebellion period. They were both at university in New York. He was twenty-two, working on his master’s degree in archeology, and training under an unforgiving Arturo Grandmaster’s guidance. He met Viola on a trip to Italy to see the ancient buildings and excavations. She was twenty-one, wild and happy.

 

Viola talked with passion in every pore. Dante chose to sink into her zest for life for a time to cope with his life’s pressures. He encouraged Viola to fall in love with him while he felt nothing for her. Dante let her live the dream of becoming his wife. A dream he knew he could never fulfill for her. Viola was beautiful, passionate, and driven, yet she did not move his heart. No matter how often she professed her love, she could not touch his heart. For some reason, his heart remained frozen cold, untouched. He could not explain it any other way.

 

They tried to stay together after Zachary was born, renting an apartment in New York. They lived in that two-bedroom apartment until April was born. Dante was rarely home for Viola and the children. He went on digs on a quest he dared not explain to Viola.

 

Soon, the great collapse of the illusion he wove for Viola began. Viola’s tolerance of him ended, and the hollow love holding their unregistered family together dissipated and vanished. Viola moved out of New York. Dante moved back to the family home in Turkey.

 

His betrayal broke Viola, and she would not forgive him. He once offered to take their children, but she slapped him for the suggestion, insisting on caring for her children alone.

 

“Sorry does not fix anything,” Viola said in answer to his apology, her voice steady and robust. “You’ve said sorry to me more times than I care to count. We’re finally in a place where we can have a conversation. Don’t ruin the balance by repeating a useless phrase. Dante, I don’t know what makes your heart so cold. My children and I could not warm it, no matter how much we tried. I hope you find something to break the ice in your heart. Maybe it will turn you into a decent man.”

 

“You think I’m not decent?” Dante asked, lifting his head to look at Viola.

 

She stood in the middle of the kitchen. Her hands were at her waist, staring at Dante with pity. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was held in a tight ponytail. A mask rested at her neck, a habit born of wearing it constantly these past two years, and her job making it mandatory.

 

Viola sighed and shook her head.

 

“It’s shocking, but after all these years of knowing you, I feel like I don’t know much about you, Dante. You’re no father, not a husband, or even a lover. You don’t fit words like decent, kind, understanding, or loving. I sincerely cannot use these words to describe you.”

 

Dante absorbed her tirade, already used to the bursts of frustration from Viola. It seemed he made her feel angry on sight.

 

“What words would you use for me?” Dante asked, curious.

 

“One word, Dante. Cold,” Viola said without hesitation. “You are locked behind a cold wall where no one can reach you. Not even my sweet April can break in. It’s a tragedy. I’m sorry we could not save you.”

 

Dante nodded and dumped his half-drunk bottle into the trashcan under the chopping counter. He straightened up and adjusted his blue suit jacket, buttoning it over his white dress shirt.

 

“If I stand here longer, we’ll descend to insults. We’ve said all we can say to each other,” Dante said. “You have my numbers and those of my lawyers. Suppose you need anything, call or message. I’ll leave you to your warm house. April mentioned wanting to visit me at Artri House. If she ever asks, give her permission, Viola.”

 

“Will your mother mistreat her the way she did me when I met her in New York?” Viola asked. “Like an outsider who does not belong.”

 

“April is my daughter,” Dante said. “She will always belong to Artri House. Give her permission when she’s ready to visit. My mother will welcome her with open arms.”

 

Viola stared at him in shock.

 

Dante gave her a farewell nod, then turned and left the kitchen. He got his luggage from where he left it by the stairs, giving the second floor where his children slept one last glance.

 

Dante turned and left a house he no longer had the right to visit at will. He got into his rented car and drove to the airport, eager to return home.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Tani returned to Istanbul in a state of confusion. His right palm stung with the pain of a magik burn. He could not get the burn to heal with the salves he usually used or even the simple spells of his people. It was the first time he could not stop physical pain in his own body. His attention was occupied; he ended up in the wetlands on the edge of the Elderwood Conservancy lands.

 

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his coat pocket with his left hand. He swiped the screen to answer the call.

 

“Yes,” Tani answered, doing his best to walk from the wetlands to dry, stable land. His canvas shoes were soaked.

 

“Where have you been? We’re all worried because you haven’t checked in,” Hera, his favorite ward, complained. “Where are you, Babu? Do you want me to pick you up?”

 

“No pickup,” Tani said, stepping onto dry land. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

 

He sighed and stared at his injured palm with a frown. Shaking his right hand, he looked at the neat fence on the property boundary. Elderwood Conservancy was a property he nurtured with the help of extraordinary mortals like Hera and her parents. The conservancy boasted a hundred and forty hectares of land, protected with help from government and non-profit organizations, allowing wildlife to thrive on the property at will.

 

The fences were to keep poachers out. The property joined the central Turkish Coast on a thin strip that allowed wildlife migration. This century was more challenging than others; the Elderwood Conservancy constantly fought with developers, industrialists, and poachers to protect the conservation lands. Some days, this property on Aretias seemed like the last true wilderness.

 

Tani ignored the pain on his palm and focused on his teleport. This time, he appeared under a large Elderwood tree at the back of the square fortress that housed the conservancy’s administration offices.

 

The building was of old Ottoman architecture and was considered a fortress with four towers. Tani commissioned it in the fifteenth century. It was a square building with three flours on each wing and a courtyard in the middle. At the time, the fortress housed anyone who needed sanctuary from constant war and anyone running from persecution for being different.

 

The four towers were used for defense, with a smaller building at the entrance to control who entered the fortress.

 

In this relatively peaceful modern age, the tower at the entrance was redesigned into a modern structure. It was now a reception hall for the administration wing of the conservation center. The building’s front, east, and west wings were dedicated to the Elderwood Conservancy and its branches worldwide. The back wing of the building served as a residential unit for the staff who worked for Elderwood.

 

Tani hoped no one had seen him appear and turned his back on the fortress. He walked along a cobbled path to a house hidden by tall trees. As the times changed, his residence for the last six decades was much smaller than the fortress. Built with red bricks, as Cale put it, the three-story house was where he spent most of his time when he wanted to hide away.

 

Tani lived with his uncle, who was his mother’s youngest brother.

 

Uncle Amu had taken on a ward to help them run their house and growing assets. His name was Tom King. Tom’s family was Ekho-blessed. Their bloodline boasted a solid affinity for the earth. Tom had an extraordinary ability to heal damaged soil and encourage plant growth. He and his family helped run Elderwood. Tom lived in the residential wing of the fortress and only stopped by for meals, but mostly to talk with Amu and Tani when they were home.

 

As Uncle Amu took in a ward, so had Tani.

 

These last three decades, he had spent most of his time on an island off the coast of East Africa. He only came home to visit his uncle or support Tom on complex cases with the conservancy. His time in Diani was how he met his ward, Hera. Hera was of Swahili descent. Her bloodline had a powerful affinity to water. Tani relied on her to smooth his administrative responsibilities.

 

She moved around with him, so he gave her a suite to stay on the second floor of his residence with her daughter. She was a great healer and would know what to do about his stinging palm, Tani decided.

 

Tani opened the solid white oak front door. The scent of fresh-baked coffee cookies greeted him.

 

“Babu?” Hera called from the kitchen when he closed the door. “Is it you?”

 

“Yes,” Tani said, heading toward the kitchen.

 

He walked down the main corridor, passing the open living room with its open terrace doors leading to the beach. He entered the kitchen and paused at the door at the sight of Hera at work.

 

Hera wore a long, colorful skirt and a sleeveless white shirt that perfectly framed her curvy body. She was only five foot two, but her vibrant personality made her seem six feet tall. The radio was on, and she sang Turkish music, butchering the words with confidence and thorough enjoyment. Hearing her crazy singing made him smile.

 

Her long braids shifted from side to side as she danced to the rhythm of the music.

 

Tani watched her pull out a sheet pan of fresh coffee cookies and turn around to place it on the counter with a broad, satisfied smile. Her brown skin was warm in the afternoon sun.

 

It was four in the afternoon here. Tani found the time difference interesting: breakfast in Kirtland, Ohio, and afternoon tea on an island off the Turkish Coast.

Hera looked up and clapped with her oven mitts when she saw him.

 

“Babu! Here you are after weeks of disappearance,” Hera said, breaking into her beloved Swahili. She removed the mitts and hurried around the kitchen counter to reach him. “I’m going to ask Tom to place a tracker on you. So we can know where you are when you disappear.”

 

Tani chuckled as she hugged him tight. He wrapped his arms around her, forgetting his right palm. He grazed his burn on her blouse and hissed at the pain.

Hera stepped back with a frown.

 

“Why are you wincing?” she asked, looking him down from head to toe. “Why are your shoes wet? What’s happened to you?”

 

Tani removed his shoes and kicked them to the side. He shrugged off his coat, too, and placed it on the worktable they used for everything.

 

Tani breathed a sigh of relief as the breeze from the open kitchen windows swept into the kitchen. His gray t-shirt billowed a little, and he was happy for the cooling down. He extended his right palm for Hera to see.

 

“I got burned,” Tani said. “Do something.”

 

“Burned,” Hera took his right hand and gaped at seeing the angry red wound. “Wa, who managed to scar you like this? Is it Cale? What did you two do to each other this time? Come, sit down. You two should stop fighting like children. Uncle Amu will chastise you again.”

 

“It wasn’t Cale,” Tani said, following Hera when she led him to a natural stone counter by the windows. She urged him to sit on a high stool and went around the counter. “I was burned by someone I thought was a mortal.”

 

Tani sat on the stool, his right hand extended for Hera’s thorough inspection. She studied the burn with a deep frown. Her long braids fell on each side of her round face. Her brown eyes looked up from his palm to his face and then back to his palm. She touched the scarred skin with care, the tips of her fingers gentle, even as she shook her head in disbelief.

 

“Tell me how a mortal burned your hand with firepower? You are Ekho. Mortals are never stronger than you are, even when we are Ekho-blessed. How is this possible?”

 

“I’m terrified he’s not a mortal,” Tani said, his gaze narrowed in thought. “I think he is a bloodborne warlock. He was born into a family with a powerful bloodline, Hera. A bloodline similar to yours or even Tom’s family. It must be a very old family that fiercely guarded its bloodline.”

 

“Interesting,” Hera said, letting go of Tani’s hand. “Your theory means a powerful one in your father’s immortal clan has been sexing up a mortal witch lover in the dark. How naughty.”

 

Hera stepped away from the stone counter, turning to study the shelves on the wall behind her. She read the labels on small storage clay jars sitting on the shelf.

Hera reached for a small black clay jar at the back of the bottom shelf. Her long black braids shifted to one side on her back as she reached for a second jar on the second shelf. Tani caught a glimpse of a gold tattoo, a sharp contrast to the brown skin on her left shoulder. The symbol was a compound elder leaf with three leaflets. It stood for her family and her dedication to the Elderwood Conservancy.

 

Hera’s family was protective and nurturing. Tani frowned as he watched Hera gather her herbs. Sometimes, though, they missed the mark.

 

“Your wound won’t heal with my herbs and spells,” Hera said in English this time, her accent heavy thanks to her Swahili heritage. “I can only soothe your pain away.”

 

Hera made no effort to refine her English and preferred her beloved Swahili language. She spoke to Tani in English when she worried and hoped emphasizing the problem in English would make him understand the brevity of his circumstances. Otherwise, she made him speak her beloved Swahili.

 

“Why?” Tani asked, studying the wound on his palm as Hera collected her tools.

 

She returned to the stone counter, holding a glass bowl, a small spatula, and a cup of cold water. She added the herbs from the two jars into the glass bowl. She added a teaspoon of water and got to work mixing the paste.

 

Tani started to touch the wound on his palm, and Hera slapped his finger away. The gold beaded bracelet on her left wrist jingled. He noted the elder leaf symbol on one of the gold beads.

 

“This mortal-maybe-bloodborn-warlock is petty,” Hera said, shaking her head as she mixed her herbs into a paste. “Your wound will only get more painful. He is the only one who can heal you. He wants you to find him.”

 

What had his beloved told him as he left?

 

‘I’m sure I’ve hurt you…somewhere. If you want it healed, come down here…’

 

“Ah…Very petty,” Tani agreed with a nod.

 

Also typical of his beloved, he thought with a small smile.

 

“This mortal hurts you, and you smile,” Hera said, annoyance in her voice. “I don’t understand you, Tani.”

 

“You’re not alone,” Tani said, watching Hera find a pack of cotton buds under the stone counter. She got to work cleaning his wound with water first. He complained, and she scolded him for being a crybaby.

 

“Deniz is seven, and she doesn’t complain like you when she’s getting her wounds cleaned,” Hera said.

 

“You’re her mother. She’s scared she’ll make you cry too. I’m not. It hurts,” Tani said, wincing when she pressed the cotton bud she held too hard on his burn.

 

“Distract yourself,” Hera said, shaking her head and muttering about weak foxes. “It’s not going to get easier.”

 

She picked up the little spatula and piled it with the herb paste. Tani groaned and turned away from her ministrations. He hated pain. His beloved was cruel.

 

“We have a book listing the families blessed with pure power in your library,” Hera said. “Baba thought tracking them in case one turned to the dark side to feed Cale was important. We all agreed keeping these books in your domain was safest.”

 

“Your Dad is brilliant,” Tani said, gritting his teeth, as Hera applied her herb paste on his wound in a generous portion. “Do you know which of those families are affiliated with fire?”

 

“Fire is rare. The more popular elements in these families are earth like Tom, water like me, and wind, most of which you have met. There is one powerful house here in Turkey,” Hera said, her tone turning thoughtful. “They are called Arter or Artor. I can’t quite remember how to say their name. Your uncle added them. They do not associate with us and are secretive. It could be the house has died off. It happens sometimes. One generation has a quiet century, while the next gains a powerful practitioner.”

 

Tani felt a bandage press on his palm, and he returned his gaze to Hera.

 

Hera smoothed her fingers over the white bandage, ensuring it was secure. She met his gaze and grinned, switching back to Swahili.

 

“You’re a crybaby. There is aloe vera in the paste. It will soothe the pain and do its best to dry out the worst of the burn. Babu, it would be best if you found this maybe-warlock. You should be careful. I don’t like his style at all,” Hera said, shaking her head in disapproval.

 

“Would you like to help me find him?” Tani asked, getting up from the high stool.

 

He curled his fingers on his right hand and grimaced at the numb pain. Shrugging his shoulders, he looked around the kitchen.

 

“You don’t have anyone you’re cooking for at the moment. You’ll get bored waiting for Uncle and Tom. Deniz is off at school. You should help me.”

 

“You don’t need to ask twice,” Hera said, winking at him. “Besides, having no visitors means we don’t have something strange going on in the world.”

She put away her clay jars and washed the bowl and spatula in the sink. She came around the stone counter, wiping her hands on a small towel. She dumped the small towel into a laundry bin beside the stone counter.

 

“You’re right,” Tani said. “No visitor means no one is on the run or suffering or causing trouble. Let’s go to the library and find this Artor.”

 

“Where did you discover a maybe-warlock who would dare hurt you?” Hera asked, slipping her hand into the crook of his left arm as she led him to the library. “You didn’t say where you were going when you left. Are you dating?”

 

Tani grinned.

 

“I’m afraid you’ll terrorize my partner if I start dating.”

 

“Of course, he has to be terrorized.” Hera nodded, her slippers wrapping a beat on the wood floors as they walked. “You’ve been alone too long. You have no idea how strange the dating market has gotten. If you start dating, you’ll need someone to talk to and ask for advice. Also, we have to make sure you’re not catfished. Your style of dress will make people think you’re dripping in money. We need to weed out shallow partners. There is a lot of work to do before you start dating, Babu. I’ll help you do the interviews.”

 

Tani chuckled at Hera’s enthusiasm. She called him Babu (grandfather) because of his age and the fact that he watched her grow up. Hera was in her late twenties, and he had watched her born. She was worthy of being his granddaughter.

 

“I think the person who needs interviews for her dates is you,” Tani told her as she opened the library door and led him in. “Where is Hakan? I have not seen him around.”

 

“Hakan is no longer visiting our house, Babu.”

 

Hera’s words sounded like a declaration—a decision she never wanted to change.

 

Hakan was the father of her daughter, Deniz. Theirs was a relationship filled with difficulties. Hakan struggled with commitment, yet he loved both his daughter and Hera. Hakan was also the reason why Hera now lived with Tani. Hera’s father disapproved of Hakan for his daughter.

 

Tani could not blame Hera’s father. Hakan needed to do better for Hera and Deniz.

 

Tani stopped in the library and turned to look at Hera.

 

“Is Hakan visiting Deniz? Calling her?” Tani asked, looking into Hera’s eyes to read the truth.

 

“He is trying,” Hera said, giving a slight shrug. “He has found a job in Istanbul, working in a hotel. He sends money to buy Deniz little gifts. It is what it is. I’m not expecting him to move mountains. He will return to us when he is over whatever he feels right now.”

 

“Hm,” Tani studied her, reading disappointment in Hakan in the depths of her eyes.

 

She hoped Hakan would work to be a better father and family man. Perhaps she did not understand that Hakan might be unable to give her those things.

 

“When you’re ready to date, I’ll do the interviews,” Tani said, teasing her. “You’re too beautiful. We can’t have you being catfished.”

 

Hera laughed then, the shadows disappearing, and he kissed her forehead.

 

“You’re a funny one, Babu,” Hera said, hurrying to a reference computer in the corner of the room. “Have you ever noticed how fast dating begins? One moment, you’re standing on your own. The next, you’re kissing a handsome stranger in a dark corner, lost in lust and excitement. Soon after, you’re dating and navigating likes and dislikes, calling it a relationship. I miss that feeling until Deniz calls out my name, and I remember why I must keep my head.”

 

Tani sank into a comfortable armchair and leaned back to stare at the painting on the ceiling. It was a depiction of the most famous landscape in the Ekho Realm. A floating island with waterfalls pouring down to a vast lake below the island. On the floating island stood a majestic citadel with white sandstone hidden in a wild forest. The citadel’s domes were a beacon for those looking for hope on the floating island. For Tani, the domes were a cruel reminder of a father who cast him out for loving a mortal.

 

The paint on the mural on the ceiling looked fresh, redone.

 

Tani frowned, gripping the arms of his chair tight.

 

“Hera, has Cale visited this house?” Tani asked.

 

“Oh, yes,” Hera said, getting up from the chair by the reference computer. “I try to ignore his visits here, but he about drove me crazy these past few weeks. He whistled away as he claimed to restore the mural on the ceiling. It was deafening in here. Don’t leave us with him again.”

 

Tani sat up and looked around the library with his fox eyes. He was searching for a clue as to why Cale would visit his sanctuary without telling him.

 

Cale always left traces of himself. His aura was too strong and hard to hide in a good mood.

 

Whistling as he restored a mural depicting his brother’s home…he would not have bothered to clean up his aura.

 

“I found it,” Hera said from the back of tall shelves. She came hurrying to his side carrying a book wrapped in Cale’s green aura.

 

Tani felt a tight knot form in the depths of his stomach.

 

Hera opened the book as she walked, displacing Cale’s aura, though it returned and clung to its cover.

 

“Oh, I was wrong,” Hera said. “The Turkish house is not Artor or Arter. It is Artri. It says here that Artri is an old name used by the family established in the eleventh century. This makes them the oldest among our families of power. Probably the most powerful of us. In nineteen twenty, the family changed its name to Arturo.”

 

Tani stood fast and took the book from Hera. Hera pointed out the section with her index finger and grinned at him as she leaned against him and continued to read.

 

“The current head of Artri House is Christophe Arturo. He is a grandmaster. His daughter is Nora Arturo, and she brought to life the current heir to Artri’s house, Dante Arturo,” Hera said, amusement coloring her words. “Christophe and Nora must be fans of Dante’s Inferno.”

 

Tani clutched the large book, compiling the names of influential houses and their elements. Under fire, the Artri House stood alone. They, too, used a symbol to mark their house: an elderflower with two leaves.

 

Tani frowned when he saw a note scrawled on the right-hand corner of the Artri House page. It read, ‘refer to ekho bloodlines, Artri family origin tied to a pure Ekho.’

 

Tani dropped into the armchair and stared at the note. It was an old insertion, the ink long dry, ages dry.

 

“Babu?” Hera touched his left shoulder. “Are your knees finally giving up on you?”

 

Tani stared at the note, unable to answer her joke. He held the book open on his lap.

 

“Cale,” he said with a soft sigh.

 

Hera placed her hands at her waist.

 

“Since you have decided to call him, I’m stepping out. I’ll check on Tom in his lab. Don’t fight in here,” Hera warned, glaring at Cale when he appeared behind her. “I arranged the books after your awful project last week. Do not ruin my work.”

 

“You would miss me if I didn’t visit, sweet Hera,” Cale answered.

 

Hera scowled at Cale and then walked out of the library, closing the door behind her.

 

Tani picked up the book from his lap and threw it at Cale.

 

Cale caught it gracefully and straightened the pages Hera had touched so he could read them.

 

“You’ve finally discovered our transgressions,” Cale said with a quick grin. “It has taken you too long.”

 

“What is he doing in a house that is Ekho-blessed?” Tani asked. “My beloved was a simple mortal. There has never been an ounce of our blood in him since I met him. His family has remained pure and human. What have you done?”

 

“Don’t scowl at me,” Cale said, closing the book and placing it on the wooden stool near him. He dusted off his hands on a white handkerchief and unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit in the armchair opposite Tani.

 

“Start talking,” Tani said.

 

“I told you,” Cale said, sitting back and crossing his legs. “Your beloved has never lived past thirty-six years old. I think I’m not the only one who noticed. Someone with power has meddled, revealing a hidden house. It seems that the seventh matriarch of your beloved’s ancestors met a man from Artri House. The ninth reincarnation was spared from the power, but this tenth one…”

 

“He is a bloodborne warlock,” Tani said, extending his palm to Cale. “He burned me after you left. He gave me a mark he would only remove if I met him. He also senses my presence.”

 

“To sense you means he is quite powerful,” Cale agreed. “Their kind can be vicious. You two might wrong each other if you’re not careful.”

 

“I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

 

“The only way to find out how it did happen is to get close to him,” Cale pointed out. “Why don’t you find him to heal your hand?”

 

“No,” Tani shook his head. “It’s a burn. I can endure. I told you I’m not going to step into his path. I will make sure nothing happens to him from far away. We don’t have to meet.”

 

Cale chuckled and stood up.

 

“Tani, stop denying yourself some form of happiness. Meet him once,” Cale said. “He’s going to be in Istanbul soon. Do you notice that Artri House stands on the other side of your beloved island? Someone has worked hard to make it convenient for you to meet your beloved and keep him. The only reason you haven’t met is your need to stay hidden in Diani. I think you have no choice but to take a step toward him. If only to find out who has interfered.”

 

Tani breathed out his frustrations, his frown deepening when Cale laughed in amusement and then left the library as he came.

 

Alone, Tani touched the bandage on his right palm.

 

Dante Arturo was married with kids.

 

Tani truly could not interfere.

 

Still, if there was a chance…

 

“What kind of person am I if I approach him to break his family?” Tani asked the quiet library, his gaze on the powerful bloodlines book. “No better than Hakan, who betrays Hera.”

 

Tani closed his eyes, disappointed by his urgent need to find Dante Arturo anyway.

*~*~*~*~*