"Titus, come downstairs. There's fish and chips!" Zanze shouted. It was a cold October morning. Titus groaned, his mind was hazy.
He looked around his studio. Paintings from trees to stars covered every wall. To the right of his bed stood a dresser with a stack of pencil sketches and pastel tubes ordered by shade.
2 easels with empty canvases stood in the middle of his den. A desk stacked with plaid jackets laid in front of the window.
A green sofa stood adjacent to the wall, beside it hung 8 shelves with paintbrushes, pencils, markers, rulers, cardboard paper and other assortments.
Titus stumbled out of his den and looked around the living room. He kept one hand on the wall to keep his balance.
Where is that sketchbook? Maybe if…
"What in gehenna?!" Zanze shouted, he recoiled away from Titus who just appeared beside him in the kitchen.
"You scared me, why did you teleport?" Titus looked at him with a fazed expression. He scratched the back of his neck and sat down on a chair on the kitchen island in front of his food.
"D-do you know where my sketchbook is? I remember it being with me somewhere." Zanze immediately gave him an odd stare, his expression turned to a mix of concern and confusion. He took a seat next to him.
"Son, it is obviously right there." Zanze pointed to the small, teal and slightly damp book in front of the baked fish Titus was about to eat.
"Oh… Wait, it was there." Titus exclaimed. He dropped the fork he was holding and flipped through the pages of his sketchbook. After checking the book, he placed it back where it was. He breathed a sigh of relief, There was minimal damage.
"Don't unnecessarily teleport, it will waste your Mandala."
"Really? Alright sure." Titus mumbled, he was already gorging his food.
Zanze scoffed then clasped his hands in thanks.
"Obrigado."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
O Castelo
Miguel was lying in the stony recesses of his outpost . He had a black eye, stitches on his forearms and dried blood on his nose. A black duffel bag, which seemed ready to tear at the seam, was the resting place for his head.
He let out a slight groan which was interrupted by a buzz. He checked his phone, Hugo was calling him on facetime.
"Miguel, Tenho uma história maluca." He announced proudly, Miguel just stared at him unfazed, he immediately winced in pain. His hand immediately grabbed the left shoulder.
Hugo's expression slowly faded to one of dead seriousness.
"Where did you find that traitor? How strong is he now? " Hugo asked.
"Why do you always have to ask that question? What is more important is the guy you pointed to yesterday, he teleported directly above where I am." He pointed to the stony ceiling above him.
Hugo kept quiet and rubbed his nose.
"So, he is Zanze's son. Right in Scotland this whole time. What are you going to do?" Miguel tapped the duffel bag he was laying on.
"He's going on my payroll; someone that valuable can't be left alone." Miguel decided.
"Now that I think about it, someone who can teleport would be really useful for moving the leaves your region is known for. Much more than you even." Hugo remarked. "Though I would have preferred someone with actual combat ability."
He said with despair.
"You're not serious." Instantly he cut off the phone call then proceeded to hiss in disdain.
Demônio de Batalha, não?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
As I finished my dishwashing duties, Uvva was taking eons to eat his potatoes again , he could feel my discontent for his sluggardry, aided by the fact that I was slightly frowning at him from the sink.
"What's the matter?" Uvva asked nonchalantly.
"I've washed all the plates and pots except yours, could you hurry up please." I urged. He scoffed and continued to graze on his cuisine.
One fact that gave me comfort during scullery duty was that he would be leaving for some archaeological expedition in a couple of days; less chores for me and more time to paint.
Time moved along. To my foreseen misfortune I was relegated to washing his plate, he prepared to go to work and I went to the living room to start some drawing exercises after a quick wash. About half an hour later he was ready in his usual attire of a dress shirt and jeans.
"Titus, I'm going to a briefing today. I'll be back very late." I nodded in agreement and left soon after.
I continued to sketch on the couch for a half dozen hours till I was fortunately brought back from the haze with a hand cramp. It twitched and warped akin to a wet rag being wrung.
The pain was excruciating but regular. I decided to take a walk and gather my thoughts.
Outside, the cool autumn breeze billowed about; shades of brown and red were the standard of the harbour. Hundreds of houses, restaurants and other buildings were aligned in a crescent formation around the northern sea. I strolled down the quaint houses till I reached my favourite dock.
The image of that hill and the castle came to mind. If I had the time I would've spent all day trying to draw its exact likeness on my sketchbook. Speaking of which, that day… Yesterday… was so bizarre, I tried to forget about it and move on to other thoughts but I couldn't.
I felt that I had fundamentally and irreversibly changed. Miguel, that white space.. Mandala, it explained the times I would see Zanze randomly come out of a room when he was supposed to be at work. The time we moved and a bookshelf was already in the house when we left it at our previous apartment. How did I believe his excuses? I could appear and disappear like him now. Why did he waste time buying plane tickets and fuel for gas? He could instantly get food, supplies, anything. He could have become the lord of logistics.
I became evermore lost in my thoughts, looking out towards the frigid sea. Later in the day the increasing coldness and hunger drove me away from the pier to Asher's spot. I walked through the array of docks and brick houses till I arrived. His home was quaint, small and unassuming even by the town's standards… well, more of a city these days. I rang the doorbell but then I realised that he would be mortified to see me again.
I reckoned it would be a bother explaining why I had seemingly disappeared twice, even I didn't know why.
Soon enough he answered.
"Titus? How are you doing, come in."Said Asher in ignorant regularity before processing my visit. He was still not dumbfounded.
He stepped aside to let me in, as he closed the door, the "regularity" began to fade. He didn't look dumbfounded, but his eyes searched my face with a growing, sharp skepticism.
I slipped off my shoes and made my way to the living room.
"Titus, if you're truly you." He said with a serious stupefied tone. "Where. What happened to you yesterday? How did you escape that car?" Asked Asher.
I sighed under my breath, I didn't understand the happenings of yesterday myself, it was simply too fantastical.
"Ahem." Clearing my throat, the explanation took some time. The longer I narrated those events, the wider his eyes became. He was in utter disbelief. After the monologue, I made my way to the auburn sofa.
Asher took a seat on a rocking chair, after which a long silence fell over the house. He had a somber and tense expression. A word was forming in his mouth but was immediately swallowed.
"You are a lucky person, the driver of that car intentionally tried to kill you." he remarked grimly. "I was able to get some cider, pour us a glass" He asked somberly.
I grabbed the bottle from the fridge, flicked the cap away and took a gulp while looking for some rice cakes.
"Who would want to harm me? I'm not that important." Asher replied with a shrug, then a slight scowl.
"Where are the glasses?"
"Don't fuss. You know I was going to try some anyway." I acquired the glasses and poured out a generous amount for both of us on a rectangular wooden table.
"Cheers to escaping death and loneliness." I joked trying to lighten the mood. Asher was still scowling but he reluctantly raised his glass alongside me.
Then someone interrupted our drink with a ring of the doorbell.
Asher lowered his glass and walked to the door while I sat back on the sofa, watching with a slight anticipation. He opened the door to no one. He checked around the porch and the walkway, even craned his neck to peer up and down the street.
"Weird," he muttered, stepping back inside and closing the door. "There's no one here," Asher concluded. He was wrong.
I became aware of a miniscule, insidious presence located in the shadow of a long auburn drape in front of me. The presence grew in pressure until a familiar entity appeared.
Out of the shadows of the drapes, a man in his early twenties emerged. He wore a white compression shirt, baggy sweatpants, and a faded yellow cap, a black duffel bag gripped in his left hand. Despite the bandages scattered across his face, his expression remained unnervingly calm.
"Titus, right ?" he asked. I nodded in agreement. Asher, who was heading back toward the living room, jumped at the sudden voice.
"Do you know this guy?" Asher asked, looking at me.
"Oh yes, he's that guy I was talking about earlier," I explained with an unnoticed quiver as my stomach became cold.
Miguel dropped his duffel bag, fixed his mullet and cleared his throat. He looked at me with the same unnerving calmness and asked.
"Do you want a job?"
I looked at him with a confused, untrusting expression. Why would he want to track me down? He definitely hadn't been wearing bandages the last time I saw him. What does this job entail?
"You come unannounced and ask me if I want a job... No, I don't want one." I replied.
Miguel continued to look at me with that unnerving calmness; it was frightening and slightly infuriating at the same time. He reached the duffel bag on the floor, unzipped it and threw a wad of cash in front of me.
Asher and I widened our eyes in astonishment, it was the most amount of money we have ever seen. I wouldn't need to worry about supplies till summer.
"Let me be specific, I want you to be part of a logistical arrangement. One that requires you to transport anything I require anywhere…To the best of your ability,"
He paused and shifted his balance.
"What will it be? As you can see I will pay you generously."
"No." I responded.
Miguel squinted his eyes.
"Por Quê?" He asked.
I hunched forward and clasped my hands.
"You were in my library, I found my way to an ancient castle you claim to reside in and now you want me to be a delivery service for you? It's too much of a coincidence, don't you think? Frankly, I don't think the money you have is clean. Trusting someone like you would be foolish, regardless of the offer."
Miguel's calm became slightly disturbed.
"What do you want?" He asked.
I took a sip of my drink and rested it on the floor. Feeling less disturbed, Asher decided to take a seat on the rocking chair once again.
"More money, your honesty and 2 unrefusable favors of my choosing at any time," I stated plainly. Miguel quietly contemplated the terms.
"Find me at 9, your work and other things will be further explained at that time." He picked up the duffel bag and melted into the drape's umbra… The insidious presence subsided.
Asher, who had kept quiet for the entirety of the one-sided negotiation, commented on the situation.
"You cannot be serious."
I remained seated, staring at the auburn drapes where Miguel had vanished. The shadows around us felt like it was moving in a pattern not visible to me.
"Asher…"
"What you're going to do is insanity." He stated.
I exhaled slowly.
"It's an opportunity, I've already faced death. I don't mind facing it again. Mind you I can teleport."
"You quite literally told me you can't fully control it. Don't be stupid," He retorted.
Asher ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. "The difference is you don't entangle yourself with someone who can step out of curtains like a ghost. You don't negotiate with someone who by chance saw you in a library and castle. You don't ask for favors from a man who clearly does not operate on normal rules."
"He already doesn't operate on normal rules," I said calmly. "That's precisely the point."
Asher stopped pacing. "Then accept the money that's already on the table and leave it at that. Don't escalate this. Don't demand favors. Don't meet him at nine. Take what's offered and disappear."
I looked directly at Asher.
"And go where?" I said quietly.
He faltered.
"If he could find me here, he could do it again. Declining would do the opposite of protecting me, I might as well get something out of it."
"You're rationalizing, I'm sure this feels wrong to you."
"I'm calculating."
"You're bad at math. I'm sure you will eventually go in too deep."
I looked at the cash on the table and allowed myself a faint smile.
"If I'm going to step into something dangerous, I'd rather not do it cheaply."
"This isn't witty banter," Asher said harshly. "This is your life."
"And perhaps my leverage."
He stared at me, incredulous. "You trust him?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because," I replied evenly, "He needs me"
Asher's shoulders sagged. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I."
"Then don't go."
I stood, meeting his gaze. "It would be best not to decline."
The words hung heavily in the air.
Asher shook his head slowly. "You're walking toward something you don't understand."
"I already walked into it," I said. "Yesterday."
Asher exhaled and pierced me with his gaze.
"Don't die as stupidly as your mom."
My eyes widened in rage, I teleported the bottle of apple cider into my hand and threw it at his feet. An array of broken glass and cider tainted the floor and his rocking chair. Asher didn't flinch..
"You've overstayed your welcome." He said harshly.
With an understanding nod, I took a huge gulp of the remainder of my drink and walked to the door with the money.
"Why do we always try to talk like scholars in an argument? It's strange… No? That we always fail."
The heavy silence appeared and I disappeared.