Poppy

I stretched my hand to touch the carved walls, and my fingertips disappeared inside the stone.

From the outside, I had never liked the sight of the Reverie. Like my old house, its bricks were dark, but unlike my old home, it did not have any charm. On the roof stood high steeples and statues of mounted warriors, like it did on most of the roofs in Downtown, and the stone wall surrounding it made it look like a prison. In a way, it was a prison. Above ground, there were training rooms and classrooms and libraries and offices and a cafeteria, and even accommodations for the Watchers. Below the Reverie, however, were tunnels and cells and convicts and guards, and an arena.

The sun was set high, but it barely looked yellow. In Chrim, even the sun's rays were dark, it was because of the UV resistant dome Craig had created. I gazed at its bleak rays shining through the window, wishing I could feel its warmth again. It was always cold where I was. A miserable cold, one that seemed to strangle you. I felt like a fish in a small bowl, swimming endlessly and watching life through the glass whilst never being able to be a part of it.

The biggest irony was how my death had made me realise how precious life had been. I regretted every day I hadn't lived to its fullest. Partly it wasn't my fault, I was only eleven when I was left to take care of the twins. Supernaturals didn't have child protection in Chrim, and foster care here meant being left to the mercy of the community. I was not the first child to be forced to take the role of a mother, nor was I the last in this town, known as the home to the Weeping Orphans, where a supernatural child with a living parent was considered rare – two living parents was considered a miracle. It had come as natural to nurture my then two-year-old twin niece and nephew. A child matured quickly when the situation called for it. But, though I had matured too quickly, there was no excuse for the small things I had missed out on, there was no excuse for not living while being alive.

I remembered my funeral, three years ago. The green orchids – in Chrim, green orchids were the flowers for the dead – and the red poppies, and my black casket slowly dropping into the narrow square hole inside the grass. I remembered Chrim's song for the dead being sung. I remembered my nephew Frank dropping on his knees as my casket lowered, his cry of pain, and my niece Farren trying to comfort him. My hushed heart still hurt when I thought of the sad, lost look on their faces. I had screamed how I loved them, how I would be all right, how all I wanted for them was to grab life by its collar and wear it until every fibre was worn.

They never heard me, nobody ever did.

At least my funeral had been beautiful. The cushioned casket looked comfortable enough for my dead body, my flashy gravestone had my best picture on it along with a nice short poem, and the flowers were lovely – the poppies were a nice touch, if you asked me. I couldn't have had planned it better myself. The wake, however, was nothing but a giant charade of false sympathy. I had roamed around and looked at each of their faces, trying to find what I had overlooked and trying to figure out which one of the bastards murdered me. When I listened in on their conversations, it was as if they knew I was listening.

The killer had to be one of the attendees of the Ordinance meeting, I knew, since the Reverie had been heavily guarded that night and it would've been impossible for anyone to come in after the gates were closed and sealed. Whoever it was, had been clever enough not to leave a single trace to its species, not a witch's magic or a vampire's teeth or a werewolf's brutal strength or a nymph's mystical power, just a clean cut through the throat.

I nervously paced around the shared office, wishing time would go by faster. When I accidentally walked through Eileen, she shivered. I leaped back and whispered an apology, though I knew she couldn't hear me. Eileen looked up and glanced around the room with a broken smile, knowing the cold spot had to be me.

When the sun disappeared behind grey clouds and blends of orange, green and pink appeared, I heard a knock on the door. My limbs tensed as I watched the door with wide eyes and parted lips.

Nestor Krol closed his small book and tucked his pen inside his breast pocket. "Come in."

The door swung open and Cyril walked in, wearing a marine sweater vest with squares over a grey button up shirt, and waited by the door as the others stepped in. First, a girl with dark skin and blond wild curls and big brown eyes walked inside with a smile. I immediately recognized her as Niobe of North, the dark skin and blond curls being a trait of the Girard bloodline, and I couldn't help but to smile back, there was something warm and inviting about her. My smile disappeared when my gaze dropped on the dark haired boy appearing behind her, his hooded eyes looked cold and hostile underneath his frowning eyebrows. Spyro of South. My eyes traveled to the blue eyed blond girl dropping down on the couch next to him, her sun kissed skin and yellow sundress reminded me of beaches with a real sun. Elora of East. The last one appeared, and she closed the door behind her. The tips of her hair brushed against her bottom, her locks in the color of ashes, and her eyes in a color that reminded me of ice, and a freckled nose that slightly turned up.

Tears began to blur my vision, but I was grinning, too. I sniffed and tried to touch her cheek. Wren of West shivered and I quickly pulled my hand back.

"You're late," Nestor said as he looked at Cyril with narrowed eyes. "Why are you late?"

Cyril mimicked Nestor's intimidating expression and also narrowed his eyes. "Cleo was late. She had some trouble down the road."

Eileen rose up and threw the Watchers a warm smile. "Welcome to Chrim."

After the introductions, Nestor and Eileen briefly explained the history of Chrim, how it had been founded with a collaboration between humans and witches and vampires, how it had become a peaceful town –  with laws for every supernatural to follow and severe consequences for those who didn't, how Craig's UV resistant dome kept the sun from harming vampires and turning the werewolves at full moon. I snorted at the irony when Nestor told the Watchers that they were completely safe here.

"I know this must be an enormous adjustment for you," Eileen said. "I want you to know that you can leave Chrim whenever you want. You are not trapped here."

"Yeah? Then why are there armed men at the entrance?" Niobe asked with a raised eyebrow.

Eileen laughed. "Ah, you noticed their weapons? That's not good, they are supposed to be blending in." She took a pen and began to scribble on a piece of paper. "Well, the guards are there to make sure Chrim remains peaceful."

A silence fell as the Watchers stared grimly, their gaze fixed on their lap. Cyril broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Anything else?"

Nestor pushed his chair back and took four thick books from the shelves. "Everything you need to know is written in here." He handed a book to each of the Watchers. "It would be wise to study it. We also have a big library at the Reverie where you can find even more information. All of this is unfamiliar to you now, but really, none of this is scary."

I noticed how soft Nestor spoke to the Watchers, a side of him I had rarely seen, a side of him rarely anyone had seen. Though he was never cruel without reason, he was never pleasant either, and it was his iron honesty what had made me trust him.

"What's going to happen to us?" Elora asked, clenching to the book.

A loud laughter echoed through the hallways, and as the Watchers glanced at the door, Eileen searched Nestor's eyes and raised an eyebrow. Nestor gave a small nod and smiled at the Watchers once they turned their heads back to them.

"You will be awakened this coming spring," Eileen said. "Then we will start the training. In the meantime, I expect you to keep studying. All of you."

Nestor continued. "Any other questions?"

They mumbled a "No" and rose up. As they shook the hands of Nestor and Eileen, I was trying to decide whether I should follow my niece Wren to the black wing of the Reverie or stay with the heads of the Reverie to fish for more information.

I decided to stay.

Nestor Krol leaned his elbows on his desk and tapped his fingertips against each other. "We need to be cautious. The town is still raging."

"I'll tell the Infamous Coven to mark them," Eileen said. "I'm sure a few of them are working in the Alchemy room."

The Infamous Coven. Usually simply referred to as the Infamous. Every time I heard those words, I felt a blend of anger and sadness. It was the coven of which my niece, Farren, was a member, and it was the most powerful generation in the history of the witches. There were countless things they could have done with their magic, but instead they had chosen to become executioners in the arena below. 

Nestor nodded as he wrote something in a small, brown leather bounded book. "Could you also tell them to track them?"

After being marked, you'd be on the radar, which meant that witches would always be able to tell if you were in danger or dead. There were additional spells to the marking spell, such as the tracking spell and the summoning spell, both favourites of The Ordinance to keep control.

"Of course," Eileen said, and closed the door behind her.

Nestor stared at the closed door for a long moment, then reached into his pocket and unlocked his drawer with a small silver key. With a cloth wrapped around one hand, he fished out a knife with a black carved handle, its blade the size of his hand, and held it in front of his squinted eyes. He took a few sniffs at the blade, then continued studying it. He did this often, I knew, glaring at the murder weapon that had slit my throat, studying it as if he'd find new clues.

When he heard three knocks on the door, he carefully placed the knife back into his drawer and locked it. He fished out his pen and opened his small, brown book. "Come in."

The door opened and a curvy woman with a long brown braid, dressed in a blue uniform with a star on her breast, appeared. Her one hand rested on the gun in her belt, the other on her walkie-talkie. "We need to talk." She had been a friend of mine when I was still alive, Diana Thimble, the sheriff of the human territory in South.

Nestor straightened his shoulders and gestured at the brown leather couch in front of his desk where a moment ago the Watchers had been sitting. "Of course, take a seat."

Diana glanced at the couch. "I'd rather not." She moved closer sat down on the corner of his desk. "I'd rather sit here, if you don't mind."

Nestor briefly raised his eyebrows, then leaned his elbows on the desk and entwined his fingers. "I do not mind. Tell me, sheriff, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"To the Watchers." For a brief moment she paused, the expression on her face harsh as steel. "When our families arrived four centuries ago, the humans made a pact with you supernaturals. We would not be harmed, and so far you have managed to uphold that promise. I don't know how, but, with some miracle you've managed not to harm a single human in any of your battles, and I salute you for that."

"I do what I can."

"However," Diana leaned forward. "You are now about to break the pact. Our ancestors agreed to live among witches, werewolves, nymphs, even vampires, and your divine Watchers. But we have never agreed to live among demons. Look, I know that demons are nothing new. They walk among us disguised as ordinary men, they always have. But awakening demons is something entirely different. Here you are, having the choice to keep them harmless, and you choose to awaken them as monsters? I'm afraid we will not accept that. We never signed up for demons. If you choose to awaken these demonic Watchers, your truce with the humans will be over."

"Sheriff, listen..."

"No, you listen. You do know that humans outnumber all of you, don't you? Your supernatural powers mean nothing when you're up against an army of humans, but you knew that already, it's the very reason this world isn't controlled by supernaturals. So, here's your choice. We're not telling you to kill the Watchers, we're simply telling you not to awaken them. If you choose to ignore, your truce with the humans is done."

Nestor rubbed his chin as he looked at her with a dull look in his eyes. "I'm quite surprised by this. We already discussed this at the Ordinance meeting three years ago. I didn't see you there. Your mayor, who is the spokesman of the humans, has already agreed."

"And I'm surprised that you're surprised, Krol. They have actually come to our town, nobody expected they actually would. You brought them here, you better handle them." Diana shrugged. "Besides, I wasn't invited to that meeting, and our mayor is a drunk idiot."

"You're right about one thing. Supernaturals would never win a battle against an army of humans," Nestor said. "Humans are rational and clever, where supernaturals are bloodthirsty fools blinded by power. However, I would not want to battle the humans even if we could win." He frowned and lifted his head. "I was human once, don't forget that. My daughter was human, as was my wife, my mother, and everyone else I once knew and loved. Vampires, we're forsaken, not even alive, so I cherish your kind more than my own." Nestor rose up and leaned in close to Diana. "Which is why I need you to trust me when I say I would never unleash evil that would potentially harm humans. This is where you are wrong, you're being judgmental. Believe me, the Watchers will not be evil, we're sure of it. Their good side will dominate."

For a long moment, Diana stared thoughtfully at the floor. I wondered why it wasn't her who was the mayor. Then it hit me, and I glanced at the ceiling and shook my head. I knew the people of this town, both the humans and supernaturals, would rather be a bear's lunch than to be under the reign of a woman.

Diana leaped off the desk. "All right, I'll discuss it with the community and get back to you, but don't get your hopes up." She turned around and moved to the door. With her hand resting on the handle, she faced Nestor again. "Krol... I know it's been three years, but, have you found any new clues on Poppy's murder? I know you two were close. If you ever need to talk, or want to consult one of our therapists..."

"No need for nonsense such as therapy," Nestor cut her off. "Vengeance and justice is the best therapy. But, thank you."

Diana gave him a small nod and turned around. She froze, and faced Krol again. "If there's anything I can do to find her killer... I liked her too, you know. The witches, they look at us as if we're lesser than them, inferior. But Poppy never did."

It felt awkward to be in the room, invisible, while being discussed, but it was also comforting to know that I wasn't forgotten. One day I would be forgotten, I'd be just another distant relative who had died tragically, one of many. I thought back on the bright light that had appeared to me, how warm it had felt. I had almost gone there, it had pulled me, but eventually I had turned around and left it behind. The light had not appeared again, and I hoped it would come before the day I was forgotten.

Nestor scoffed. "Not just you, the witches look down on every species that's not their own. The Original Seven even take it a bit further, they even see witches who aren't a member of one of the seven bloodlines as mere bugs."

"Yeah,arrogant little twats," Diana said with a bitter smile. "But Poppy, she was lovely, she'd say hi and invite me for tea. I really hope you find the killer, your vengeance will be ours too.