In the old, dilapidated room, a simple wooden cradle held a precious cargo, a little bundle of joy and absolute cuteness. When I bent over the cradle, I saw that the baby wasn't crying. His attention was far too diverted by a simple wooden toy in his left hand. And when he discovered my presence with those tiny blue sapphires of his, he smiled and broke into a laugh. I made a crook with my index finger and rubbed under his chin. The sweet little boy smiled wider and made that cute mewling sound that babies make when tickled. He shook the toy in his hand while his right hand reached up to grab my long chestnut hair that fell near his face. He tried once, twice, thrice. His face puckered into a frown from the repeated failures. Kids don't have the best coordination. And when finally he managed to grab my hair, he cackled and gave me a 100-watt smile with an exclamation of joy. I smiled and gently retrieved my hair from his grip. He smiled wider. Perhaps he thought it was a game. A chuckle escaped my lips as I straightened up. He made another adorable baby noise with his hand, trying to reach up, as if he was asking to grab my hair again, so I took out my Glock and blew his head off, spreading baby guts and pinkish brain matter everywhere. And just like that, Hitler was dead.And that's how I found myself sitting in this cold, dark cell with a single white fluorescent light, wearing magic-enhanced handcuffs. It had been a while now. And I was getting bored making imaginary doodles with my fingers. The door opened, and a 60-year-old man with a Dumbledore-like vibe walked in. Along he brought a thin old hag who had a frown on her sharp face. "You cannot do this, Albert!" she screeched. "Yes, I can!" he replied politely. "The council will not stand for this!" "The council does not stand for anything I do anyway." "She tried to kill Hitler!" "Didn't we all?" "Not by breaking time we did not!" "She didn't know that. Besides, Miranda. I am doing this whether you like it or not. If you want, get a council order to stop me. Before then, shut up." The polite man was finally annoyed. "But.." the hag tried to speak, but Albert interrupted her. "Get out of her, Miranda, before I kick you out myself. You know I will. I am a man of my word." for the first time giving a slightly serious expression. The woman finally stopped. Glared at us both and then stormed out with a huff. Albert took a deep breath to compose himself before speaking. "So first things first, let us change the venue to a more appropriate location, shall we?" he snapped his fingers, and the handcuffs opened and fell to the floor. "I am Albert Goldencross."Slow jazz played in the background while golden lights twinkled around. A lavish table with snow white plates and foods whose name I couldn't pronounce was kept in front of me. I was fidgeting while the man, Albert, calmly waited for a servant to finish serving. The longer the silence stretched the more nervous I became. It was funny how I was perfectly at ease in the cold dark cell, while this... this scared the bejeesus out of me. This man was capital capital R, rich. And more importantly, he was powerful. More powerful than the President of the US of A himself. The place he brought me to eat told me that much. We were sitting on the rooftop table in The Shine. Yes, That f…king SHINE. The most exclusive and expensive hotel in Las Vegas. I only knew its name because Alpha Maddox had once been invited here for the High Challenge and the whole werewolf world including our pack was abuzz. The news made it to me was a testament to the sheer scale of that thing. Every werewolf Alpha that mattered a damn in the whole wide world had attended that thing. The fight hadn't been here of course. But Alpha challenges that high up in the ladder are political shitshows. So the High Alpha of the North American Continent had decided to hold a banquet before the fight. What a day that had been. And it was held here. (High Challenge - A one on one deathmatch issued to a High Alpha. Here for the sea of the High Alpha of the North American Continent) And this guy had just walked in without saying anything into its top floor like he owned the place. And nobody dared to stop him. The couple who had been celebrating their 10 year anniversary simply nodded to him and left it for us. "Mr. Goldencross. It's an honour to make your acquaintance. I am Charlie Reese. I see that you have taken a liking to the view. How about I offer you my reservation?" All he did was, say a polite "Thank You Charlie, I will remember you." The Happy 10 years decorations were all gone by the time we sat down. He warmly smiled at me, "Are you sure you don't want to choose something yourself?" I squeaked like a startled mouse ready to bolt. "y..yy..yes" I didn't dare to touch the menu. The card itself looked more expensive than my entire existence. Every moment I felt like someone was going to jump out and drag me away after apologising to him. My cheap thrift store hand me downs felt like warm poo on these silken seats. "Well, alright. The Foie Gras de Canard I ordered for you here is excellent. One of the finest I've ever had. I'm sure you'll enjoy it." I couldn't bring myself to speak anything more while the man surfed on his phone. We waited until the food arrived. Albert turned off his phone to dig in. Half way through his second bite he paused. "Why aren't you eating Agatha? Is something not to your liking?" I squeaked again.When it became apparent that he won't continue until I either spoke something or began eating, I tried gathering my courage. I failed. "No" I whispered, and picked up the fork. But my stomach was too much in knots to eat. Death didn't scare me anymore. But men like him could give you way more than what you bargained for with a snap of their fingers. When his gaze left me, I released the breath I didn't know I had been holding. Slowly I tried gathering courage again. This time I succeeded. "S-Sir, Why have you brought me here." He raised his eyes and I immediately lowered mine. He paused. Then put down the cutlery he was using. "I was hoping to save this conversation for when you had gotten some food in you. You must've been hungry after that little escapade of yours. But I see now that you won't be at ease until I tell you." He gave a dramatic pause, leaning forward. His voice lowered into a sweeter, kinder timbre, as he spoke as reassuringly as he could, "You don't have to worry. I will not hurt you." I continued staring as he put his hand over my trembling one to stop it from shaking. "How could I? After all, I am your granduncle." Huh? Brain.exe has stopped working. "Oh, and Agatha, please call me Albert, or uncle, or maybe grandpa. Whichever suits you. Sir sounds so 19th century." he leaned back nonchalantly.The granduncle reveal was the second A-bomb Albert had dropped. The last 10 hours had passed in a daze after that. We finished the flight to the private island and I was numb to the opulence when I was led to a guest bedroom. I was asleep in seconds. The next morning I woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and omelettes. A maid held the plate while another respectfully asked, "Will the lady prefer breakfast or bath first?" Lady. That word made me chuckle. I was hungry, but I decided on the bath. It was a new and weird experience to be bathed by maids, and after one of them brushed my hair and caused a small rip, I was surprised by their terror. It was then that the idea formed: if they were terrified, I had power.
"What are your names?" "M-M-Mi'lady?" she stammered. "Your names," I asked a bit sternly. "I'm Maria and she's Kate." They were both as pale as the white bathtub now. It shocked me how easily being harsh came to me. With so many years on the other side, my confidence was shot. But maybe power is just like that.
"So, Maria," I started. "And Kate, you are both forgiven." The relaxation and relief on their faces was apparent, and I saw the color return to them visibly. "But I was just wondering about some things. I hope you both can answer."
Their reactions had told me that the value on the lives of servants here was a mere 'Ouch.' But what it also told me is that almost everyone treats them like this, or they wouldn't treat a newbie like me this way—unless there were rumors about me. But I had arrived just today. I was momentarily surprised at how sharp I was being. Did that pendant mess with my head too? I really need to learn how to talk. With the stronger ones like Albert, that is.
But you know. All those snobby rich kids usually forget that the invisible, unseen servants do have organs called eyes and ears.
And they can usually tell you more about all the family members than the family members can tell you themselves. After all, people like me need to know who to avoid and who to stay near. Our survival literally depends on it. And I was going to tap into that knowledge base.
"I've been told that my whole family is on this island. Tell me about them." They both hesitated. "M'lady, we are not allowed to gossip with anyone." "But I am not just anyone, though, am I?" Considering it all a dream was giving me way too much confidence. "I am a daughter of the family. All I want is to make a good first impression on my family. So I merely wanted to know a few tiny details."
They looked at each other, a silent conversation happening right then and there in less than a second. "Very well, M'lady. What do you want to know?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just their likes and dislikes, and of course if there are any taboo topics that I should avoid due to some past incident or present situation." I smiled sweetly, trying to establish camaraderie between kindred souls. Which, in hindsight, must have terrified them under the given circumstances. "Oh, and if you know their dreams, that would be best. I've heard that conversations about something you love are the finest icebreakers in existence."
I was staring at a stranger. Or at least she was supposed to be a stranger. But as it turns out, she was me. I just didn't recognize her.
After all the scrubbing and our little gossip—oops, sorry, our little talk session—the maids had dressed me up. I had asked for casual wear. They had given me a simple black crop top, blue jeans, and red and white sneakers. A simple attire. How, then, did I look like a supermodel? The silken clothes hugged me snugly. I don't know how they got my size perfectly. The top, although plain jet black, had a very designer feel somehow. So did the rest of the attire.
Then they had put on minimal jewelry: just small earrings and a light silver bracelet on one hand, and a small analog silver watch on the other. My long curls now felt dark, thick, and shiny. My eyes actually matched my namesake, Clearwater. My skin had become several shades lighter, but not vampire-light. More like that beautiful internet filter creamy light.
This was something that mere products couldn't do anymore. I had seen changes in faces around the posh side of the pack lands. This was way beyond that. I looked in shape.
One is chance, two a coincidence, three is trouble. First my mind was sharper. Then I noticed during the bath that all my bruises had disappeared. Now I was in shape? That merging had modified me. And I quickly needed to figure out how. Not to sound ungrateful for the gift I had been given, but body modification was kind of a big deal.
I ate my breakfast only to realize that the time was 2:15 pm. Albert had left a message with the maids to not let me wander around. He wanted to introduce me properly at dinner. Apparently, dropping by on family members unannounced was considered rude, even when they live in a different villa in the same compound. So we had to wait for the appointed time.
At precisely 6:30 Albert appeared, only to be stunned and pause. "You look beautiful, Agatha!"
It would've been nice if he were 40 years younger and wasn't my uncle. But I'll take it. Compliments were a new experience for me.
So was taking a car to go right next door. We entered an even more opulent mansion in the center of the compound. But this one's extravagance was steeped in tradition and history rather than gold and silver. Antiques were displayed on pedestals, and the walls were draped in paintings. Was that the original version of The Concert by Johannes Vermeer?
Anyways. We arrived in a large dining hall by 7:20. The servants quickly adjusted and put in the tenth chair. A little girl of fourteen sat there preening. She sat in the fourth chair, the last one on the left. She had hair similar to mine, but her eyes were red. She sat in a designer dress. Yes, a damn dress for dinner.
That's when I noticed that Albert was in a tux, and a sinking feeling crept up my spine. She looked up from her phone for precisely three seconds. "Good Evening, Grand Uncle," she said, then went back to it. I sat in the farthest chair on the left while Albert took the chair second nearest to the head.
I had been right. Every damn member of the family was dressed in formals. The ladies on the left, the men on the right, in order of position. At the head sat an old man who looked no older than 50. If not for his grey hair, the 87-year-old man would look younger than Albert. Yeah, witches live a bit longer. Arthur Goldencross, my grandfather, was a stern man, as stern as one could be. I could tell from one look and the gossip Maria gave.
Grandma Margaret, his wife, with her kind eyes and simple blue dress sat on his left. She looked the picture of retirement. The seat on the man's right was empty. Grandaunt Helen sat in front of Albert.
Their son James sat in front of his wife Clara. My uncle (Grandpa's side), Robert, sat beside James, in front of his wife Sybil. Their daughter Evelyn sat to the right of Lady Sybil.
My chair was last in the line. And between me and Evelyn sat my dead mother: Vivian Goldencross.
You know that the true vs. fake heiress thing? Well, this family had done that too. No surprise there. But the funny thing was that the run away heiress was my mother, and so was the fake heiress. I had never registered on the family's radar.
It was a strangely silent family. They talked in very low tones and very little. It didn't look too much like a family dinner. Nobody even asked who I was and what I was doing here. Did Albert tell them? Then why was there absolutely no reaction? Nobody had even greeted me. However, they snickered at me from time to time. Maybe it was my clothes. Maybe the fact that I picked up the wrong spoon. I had already been nervous, and this was grating on my already fried nerves.
Midway through dinner, Grandma Margaret finally asked. "By the way, dear, who are you?" This actually attracted everyone's attention.
I did not know how to express myself. Hi, I'm your granddaughter from the daughter you guys abandoned. Wheee!! As I thought all this, her gaze turned to Evelyn, perhaps thinking I was her friend. "I don't know, Granduncle brought her." All eyes turned to Albert who was busy eating. Then Arthur Goldencross cleared his throat. "Albert."
He looked up. "Who is she?" Grandpa asked, nodding in my direction.
Albert turned to look at me, paused for a second. "Oh, her," he said, then went, "She's Vivian's Daughter. I checked." Then went back to eating nonchalantly.
For a full ten seconds there was pin-drop silence on the table before my always stern and composed Grandpa roared, "What?" And the table devolved into chaos.
Apparently, dinner bombing was my Granduncle's specialty.