We waited. Seconds passed. Minutes. We were standing outside Potter Oaks by the sign that welcomed visitors. 3,000 Strong, it read.

Goodness, I'd hoped that was the truth.

*

Crispen smoked the same cigarette for what seemed like ages, smoke serpents turning into mighty smoke dragons that floated overhead. My father stood silent with a grimace on his face that he'd worn ever since he rummaged around in his pockets and realized he'd forgotten his flask.

An umbrella of woven blue hung over us like a magical awning, keeping Gideon's storm at bay. Chant was at my feet, claws out and running them along the asphalt. Traffic had stopped. Even the ill-informed seemed to be able to sense what was about to land in their town and everyone had returned to their homes in hopes of weathering out the storm.

I looked toward the grey; it rolled toward us like a ferocious sea, waiting to lap us up and drag us to the bottom where we'd suffocate and drown. The rain fell en masse, flooding our little hamlet, storm drains working double time to keep up with the rush of debris that piled on top of their grates.

The air had grown heavy and hung over us like a soggy wool blanket. My breaths had been short and erratic but thanks to my father's magic, I could finally take a few deep breaths. I did so to calm my nerves but nothing worked.

I didn't want to meet Gideon on such extreme terms. Him or us. Save the town, destroy Gideon. I always hated black and white and now that was exactly where I stood, between two absolutes. What happened to the moral grey? Surely, there was more of it then what hung above our heads.

Gideon had saved me when I'd been little. Given me his heart to protect and treasure. He'd been my first friend. Our meeting had been so important to me then that despite my father's magic, I conjured him up and wrote my first story about him.

And when he'd first come to town, before I'd buggered things up, there'd been glimpses of that boy still. He rescued me from that nightmare. Held me as though I were his rare treasure, as if I were his notebook.

I wouldn't give up on him. Not yet.

A gush of wind swept up around us, shaking my dad's magic. Tree limbs broke and were forced to the ground. Entire trees--no, entire forests-- were made to bow, their canopies brushing against the ground, nature's peasants made to welcome their new king.

Through a mess of hair, I saw him, the boy of clear eyes who'd saved me, my first friend, my first story, the boy whose heart was in my back pocket. Gideon was standing a few yards away, the eye of the storm, cloaked in absolute darkness.

He carried the void on his shoulders. The slithering mass draped over him like a cape, billowing out around his ankles. As Gideon walked toward us, I saw the edge of the cape brush against the road, turning asphalt into smoking piles of red hot ash.

My father pulled his magic downward, encasing us in a dome that burned with the symbols for platinum. Gideon smiled.

"Ah, guests," he called. He didn't have to yell for us to hear him. Gideon commanded the wind to carry his voice over to us, his magic dropping his words off right before my father's magic.

The magic Gideon commanded, the festering black that reminded me of charred flesh, grew talons and clawed at the shield, clamoring to be let in. My father's magic swelled, the symbols pulsing, until a draw was decided, Gideon's magic popping and turning into smoke, a pin hole made in my father's defenses.

I looked toward my dad to gauge his reaction. Had he known Gideon's magic was on par with his? My father must have felt my eyes on him because he turned to me and smiled.

But I could see the sweat beading on his brow, hear his deep inhales, trace the tremors of his fingertips. Gideon looked as if nothing had happened, as if he'd just knocked on someone's front door. A deep worry knotted in my stomach.

"I did not foresee such a welcome," Gideon continued. He allowed his storm to ravage him, rain drops the size of quarters pelted his face and coat but no matter how hard they fell or how many fell, Gideon remained dry, the water dissipating on contact.

I balled my fists as his eyes landed on me. They lingered, bright obsidian stuck in ivory marble, and flashed me a look of longing. My heart twisted. Inside the nightmare that stood before me was that boy who'd endeared himself to me.

Grey. Everything was a shade of grey.

"Peneloper."

My name spilling out of his lips pulled me from my anguished reverie. The syllables dripped with such smoothness that I was sure, had this been different scenario, my legs would have given out and I would have succumbed to the swoon. I flushed despite our current predicament, my heart racing as he looked at me directly, as if no one or nothing else mattered.

"You keep quite the company." He didn't break eye contact to acknowledge Crispen or my dad, instead, he threw them a nod of his head, all while smiling at me. "Some would say, the cream of the magical crop."

I shifted my weight absentmindedly under his gaze; it was too deep, too piercing, and it hurt all too much.

"Yeah, well," I began awkwardly, running a hand through my knotted hair. "Magic has a way of finding me."

Gideon laughed, the bird skull around his neck jangled in tandem, its beak slightly open, sharing in Gideon's rapture. His right hand was free of bandages, the skin colored black, a thick miasma dripping off his fingertips like oil.

The boy kept his gaze trained on me as he raised his hand into the air. The flesh split open, the tiny mouth taking deep inhales of the air around us. Gideon's face fell and turned sharp, his eyes reflecting a starless night sky.

"Something's changed," he growled as he lowered his hand. The tiny mouth didn't recede into his hand, instead it stayed, a forked red tongue emerging from the depths to lick at Gideon's flesh. "You cheated."

My father made a step toward the boy, blue bolts sparking from his fingers, making the air hiss and sizzle. Gideon smiled and sent a wave of black toward us. It zigzagged, creating the alchemic symbol for lead, before it slipped through the pinhole on my father's shield and wrapped around him.

"No!" I shouted. My father shot me a cursory glance that told me to stop. Crispen clasped my shoulder.

"Protect her, no matter what," he said, as the black continued winding it's way around him. It grew thorns, pricking my dad's flesh, marking him with cuts that cracked open and bled.

"Don't feel bad for him, Nep," Gideon said. "He lied to you. Locked away your memories. He sacrificed someone to the Reverse. He doesn't deserve your sympathy."

Gideon eyed the hand that was on my shoulder and grimaced. He ran his left hand through his hair, the strands slick with the miasma he oozed, pools of it falling to the ground, eating through the asphalt as if it were nothing.

"And you, my other half. Look at how you so casually touch what's not yours. My, how nice it must be to be so free."

It was Crispen's turn to grimace. "You know I'm not free. And I never will be. I'm just as much a prisoner as you--"

"Enough!" Gideon yelled, the void behind him, shuddering at his command. "We will never be equals. You got to travel the layers while I remained chained to the darkness. My entire life was-- nevermind," he said, his voice returning to normal, "that's neither here nor there. Just give me what I've come for."

Gideon turned toward me, his left hand outstretched. My head told me to stay. My liver begged me to stay. But my heart, my heart told me that if I ignored Gideon's hand I would never be able to take it again. And that was something I couldn't accept. I didn't want to lose my very first friend.

"Nep!" Crispen called from behind me. Chant hissed and nipped at my ankles to stay. But I was moving. Toward Gideon, toward the nightmare. My legs were wobbling, my hands shaking, my mind berating me for being so stupid.

What can I say? I'm Peneloper Rayburn* Auttsley, stupidest owl to ever exist. But this was a fact I'd come to accept, I suggest you do the same.

As I walked toward Gideon, the storm parted, rain didn't threaten to drown me, the wind didn't threaten to break my boughs. Gideon looked less nightmarish, the black he oozed was reabsorbed, only tiny remnants remained blotching his skin. The mouth on his right hand retreated.

His hair reminded me of ravens' feathers, deep and opaque with enough sheen to shame the moon. The color dripped from his eyes, black tears staining his face. Clear crystals void of any malice looked at me warmly. He was that dirtied boy who'd come to my rescue all those years ago.

Clasping my hand in his, I didn't feel my world change as it had when I'd been with Crispen. No, as I looked into Gideon's eyes, that sparkled with the same smile he wore on his cherub face, I thought that this time around, the boy's world was the one that was changing. Because of me.

I smiled. "Please don't place me in a mason jar. I don't think I'd fair well with so little room."

Gideon chuckled. "You don't need to worry. For you, I'd do anything to suppress what I am."

With a wave of his hand, Gideon summoned a slit. I saw nothing on the other side, no falling sands, no forests or sky scrapers of dirt. I didn't know where this portal lead but I knew I had to walk through it. It was the only way to save the town, Crispen, my father, Gideon.

At the boy's goading, I started to walk through the door but then I saw a flash of white explode from where Crispen and my dad had stood. It shattered the shield my father had erected, shards of failed magic littering the ground before fading.

An orb of white filled the night sky, surrounded by another circle.

Gold. It was the symbol for gold.

"You will not take her!" a voice yelled.

No. Not a voice. Crispen. It was Crispen's voice and I'd never heard him sound so enraged before.

I was about to tell him to stop. That it was okay but an explosion sounded and then I was engulfed in white, my hand no longer in Gideon's.

****

*Rayburn is my middle name. Now you know. Though if you insist on calling me by my first and middle names, I'd prefer you call me Peneloper Ray. But it doesn't really matter; I'm magical, you're ill-informed and if you wish to anger me, do so at your own risk. I've been given the ability to color and a mind to create, and I imagine I could come up with some dastardly things if you decided to step on my toes.