Chapter Text
GIVE ME FIVE REASONS WE SHOULDN'T STAY IN SEATTLE."
From the phone, her cousin Walt hummed. "Micheal, Grand-mere, me, ...oh, Marcus, and, uhh..that's all I got."
Monica snorted and glanced left at her brother. His red headphones were slipping off as his head tilted forward, with a thin string of drool trailing from his mouth. In his lap, a cassette player buzzed as he slept. "Marc doesn't give two fucks where we go, so long as it's not staying Seattle. And Uncle Micheal would be very disappointed with your argument."
"You'll like Brooklyn," Walt reassured her. "And the House. You can meet all my friends, and I can finally take you and Marc to those spots I was talking about."
"Miss?" the driver's voice cut in from the front seat, rough and thick. "We're a minute out. And I'm gonna need my phone back once you're done." He didn't meet her eyes when she smiled him.
"Thank you," she replied. She tucked the phone between her head and her shoulder as she reached for her bag. "Walt, I'll see you later, ok?"
"Ok, but think about what I said. You can't knock it down till yo-"
She disconnected his call before he could continue, and gave the phone back to the driver.
Rummaging in her bag, she finally pulled out what she was looking for; a bottle of pills. Setting it down in her lap, she reached to the side of her bag and grabbed a bottle of water, taking a swig before closing it and taking two pills from the orange container.
She then turn to her sleeping brother. His headphones were now over his eyes, acting as a barrier between his sight and the blinding light from outside the car. He look peaceful, and Monica knew he needed the sleep.
Nonetheless, she then smacked him in the face. Hard.
"Ow!" He yelped, flinching and cringing at what Monica supposed was from pain. "Nic, what the fuck?"
"Sorry," Monica muttered, although she wasn't really. "But it's nine'o three." She thrusted the water and pills in his direction.
Marc stared at her incredulously, as though she had grown a second head.
"Did you have to smack me?"
"You're a heavy sleeper."
He continued to stare, then sighed, wiping the drool from his mouth. Ignoring the water, he took the pills from her hand and shoved them in his mouth, swallowing them with a dry gulp.
He gagged at the taste. "Happy now?"
"Very," Monica answered, putting the items back in the bag, and pulling out a new one. Her sleeve.
As she took off her jacket to put it on, Marc took his headphones off and stared at her again. She ignored him as she adjusted the cloth on her left arm, making sure that it covered every piece of the burned flesh that cursed her arm.
By the time she was done and putting her jacket back on, the driver met her eyes in the mirror. "We're here, miss. But, uh, are you sure this is the right address? This leads to nowhere."
"Yes, I'm sure." Monica responded, reaching into her jacket and pulling out $20. "Keep the change."
When they began to unload the car, she took in the view in front of them. A old warehouse stood, with peeling paint, and white stained bricks. Behind it, the Brooklyn Bridge shone in the sun, and the smell of the East River stung Monica's nostrils as she tried to a take a breath in. Around them, nothing. Just some old water tank, (probably filled with toxic waste) and some trees, (dying ones) with an old cat sleeping under one. The driver was right to question their destination; they were in the middle of nowhere.
But she smiled, looking up at the limestone mansion above the warehouse, that she knew the driver couldn't see. Huh, she thought. Just like Walt's drawings.
"Thank you," Marcus greeted the driver, smiling. She had turned her back to him, but Monica still couldn't help but roll her eyes at the sweetly sick tone of his voice. He was always like this, being charming to people who didn't needed to be charmed.
And because of this, they stayed for another three minutes as Marcus had to make conversation with the driver, who's name happened to be Marcus as well.
"Hope your leg feel better, son." the driver said, finally moving to get in his car. He gave Marc a smile, (that he had failed to give Monica the entirety of the hour and half drive to the House) gesturing to the brace on his knee. "ACL tears are nasty."
At that, Marc gave him a tight smile; it was easier that way, then explaining to another person that 'it's not an ACL tear' or 'i didn't break my leg.' and 'i grew up like this.'
Marc hated explaining to people. So did Monica. That's why she wore her sleeve.
"Thanks." He finally told the driver as he drove away.
And then there were two.
Monica turned back to the warehouse, still looking above. From where she stood, she make out the water fountain from the pool Walt spoke so highly of. And Phillip of Macedonia. The alligator. she thought. Cause why not?
"Hey."
To her right, Marc gathered her suitcase, holding it out for her as he looked at her. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Monica replied, taking the luggage from his hand. "You?"
He just continue to stare at her, as though she was a puzzle he couldn't figure out. "You know-"
"No," she snapped as she turned back to her front. "I don't. Let's keep it that way."
Her brother's eyes narrowed as he scowled. "...this is why you're single."
She whacked him, as though it was a joke the two of them shared. In hindsight, it was just a comeback Marc had used for everything. Oh, Micheal says he can't have ice cream for dinner? 'This is why you're single'. Monica won't give him a cupcake from her project cause 'there's more at home?' 'This is why you're single.' A bully shoves him against his locker in middle school, ranting about a homework assignment. 'Oh, you're too dumb to do it yourself? This is why you're single.'
"Joke's old." she lamented, hoping he ignores the evident smile on her face. And it seems like he does when his lip fall to a tight line
"Well, I was gonna say," he starts, then takes a breath. "You don't have to wear that."
He points to her sleeve, black and tight against her arm. It rubs against her skin in a way that makes her burns itch, but she has worn it for so long that she grow to ignore it.
Now it is her turn to stare, as she opens her mouth, and closes it, looking at the mansion above. From the view, she see people walking out the door, led a tall, dark, buff figure, that looks strangely familiar to a figure she seen in Facetime calls and pictures.
"Course I do." she says finally, meeting his eye. "People can't pity what they can't see."
"People aren't going pity you."
"Worry about yourself, Marcus. And I'll worry about me."
He doesn't respond, just turns away, looking at his stuff. In his left hand, he clutches a cane, made from solid wood and threatens to break. He leans on it slightly, as if to test his weight and on it, and then sets it on his suitcase, deciding he doesn't need it.
"Marc-"
"Worry about yourself, Nic. And I'll worry about me."
And before she can anything else, Walt is ten strides in front of them, followed by a pair of people. Here we go.
۵
When Marcus was little, he had a bully named Liam that use to pick on him everyday in middle school. It was easy to, when you and your sister were seen as 'freaks', because of a burnt arm and jacked up knee. However, people learned quickly not mess with Nic after she got into a fight with some girls who tried to insult Michael; they both gained bloody noses and a twisted finger. (Marcus didn't know who could twist a finger.)
Where was he? Right.
He had a bully named Liam, who shoved him against lockers and put gum in his hair, and called him names from wussy to bitch to slurs. Liam was associated with all things bad and evil.
So when Ms. Gomez told him to start naming things after something he thought was evil, he named the sleeve Liam.
The sleeve. The little black sleeve that Nic's had since she was eleven. He names it the Liam, when after a straight three weeks, Nic refuses to wash it when they are thirteen. She can't wash it, cause she 'not supposed to let people see it.' and it's her 'worst quality.'
Marcus doesn't believe that. He tells her that her worst quality is the fact that she doesn't care for others' feelings.
Naturally, she punches him in the gut.
Later that week, at school, they learn about self-esteem. About how people can put their energy into little things, and that can ruin the image that they have of themselves. Huh, Marcus thinks. Sounds like the Liam to Nic.
Now, if he could tell her something different, he thinks he'd say that her worst quality is that she cares so much.
Like when she cares what people think.
So she doesn't tell Walt she doesn't want a hug when he ask, just smiles and allows him to advance.
She doesn't tell Walt or his friends that she hates traveling by Duat Travel, saying that the ride was fine.
She does tell Walt to stop when he tries and ask about the Liam on her arm. She looks behind him, at the pair in standing there.
Marcus takes his time to take them in. The boy wears clothes too warm for the weather; a blue button up with khaki pants, and brown loafers. His hair is neat and tidy by the sides. His expression is neutral, with no emotion. On his left, a girl his complete opposite. Her hair is curly and untamed, with large blue dangly earrings. She wear the average magician's wear, clothes from non-animal products to prevent any magic disarm; a black long sleeve, cotton shirt and cotton pants, matched with the wand attached to her hip and leather boots. (Doesn't leather come from cows? He thinks.) Unlike the boy, she looks amused, like seeing the Stone twins reunite with their cousin is an average joke she hears everyday. Her body, however, doesn't. Rather, it looks alert, as if something is about to go wrong.
However, they don't look weird side by side. They match each other in a way that Marcus thinks is similar to him and Nic; quiet storm meets loud storm. And he knows who they are, thanks to Walt's photos and descriptions.
"Hi." he says, walking forward to shake the boy hand. "'I'm Marcus," He gestures to his sister. "And this is Nic."
"Monica." She corrects him, sharing the same neutral expression that the boy wears. "My name's Monica."
Marcus scowls at her, while she glares.
If the boy noticed any tensions between them, he ignores it. "Carter." The boy says, although Marcus already knows that. "And this is my sister, Sadie."
"Hello." Sadie says, her lips quirking up to a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes, but after meeting Walt's, she tries to make it. Marcus finds it funny that even after the turbulent breakup his cousin claims he and this girl had, he is shocked when Marcus shows surprise to discover they are still friends.
"Nice to meet you," Carter shakes Marcus' hand back. "Walt's told us so much about you two. "
"I bet. All good things I hope?" Marcus teases, elbowing his cousin, who smiles and elbows him back.
"Nah. He dogs you actually." Sadie jokes. She turns to Nic. "Says you have a thing for fire magic, right? Pretty sick."
Her smile grows genuine, her body relaxing. Monica's, however, does the opposite, tensing at the shoulders as she shrinks into herself.
Her voice is small when she speaks. "I'm not focusing for elementist magic actually." She clears her throat. "I think healing or combat's more my area."
Sadie's face falters, and her mouth opens to say something. However, Walt interrupts her, seeming saying the day. "How about we get to that tour I told you about, huh? Right this way."
He gestures something to Carter, who tell the twins to follow him as Walt goes to grab their bags. Sadie goes with him.
"I think you'll like it here." He says as they make their way to a door near the warehouse. "Combat magic is pretty rare here, but luckily, you're talking to one of the best instructors there is. And Marcus, Walt tells me you want to focus on statuary?"
"Yessir."
"Then Walt's your teacher basically." They stop at the door. It's closed, and unlike the rest of the warehouse, is clean and new looking, painted white. However, it lacks a doorknob.
"Lesson number one," He turns to them with a smile on his face. "Starts here. See, and you two probably know this, but big uses of magic are frowned upon, mostly by your body. However, their are some uses that your body considers as...a mini workout. Get your heart pumping, and your mind racing, but no sweat, no gain, no heat. Like opening a door." He's beaming now, and claps his hands together. "Now, who wants to try?"
By the time he's done speaking, Walt and Sadie are back with their luggage. "This shit, Carter?" Walt chuckles, his laugh deep. "My cousins are too advanced for this."
We are. Marcus thinks. Doesn't mean we want to.
"I'll do it."
He turns, to the voice that speaks out from his sister. Her face is still neutral, her curls waving in the wind. She raises her hand, then slowly puts it down when it seems like there is no need.
He hates when he can't read her.
"Nic-" Marcus starts, but she raises her hand to shush him.
"Marc, I got this." She says, and for the first time since they arrived, she smiles. "Trust me."
But remember last time? He wants to scream, but his voice dies in his throat as Nic takes a step forward towards the door.
Carter looks between the two of them, but again, ignores the tension. "Go ahead," He says instead, stepping aside for her to past.
Her back is to him, so he can't see what her face looks like. She can't see his face either; no one can, as all eyes on her.
She doesn't see the face that is scared for her, eyes wide and breath held for her as she places her hand on the door.
Magic is for the few who are chosen.
Your bloodline will be in shambles if this continues.
Your mother would be so disappointed.
The eyes and voices of a thousand people cut through his mind as he waits. He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes, not until his sister's voice cuts through. "W'peh."
He lets out his breath as the door slides open, still intact, and not on fire. Monica's shoulders relax, and she turns to him with a sigh of relief. She was probably thinking the same thing he was.
Beside her, Carter hums with contentment. "Great! You know the basics. Hope you do too, Marc." He points at him with all humor, and Marcus lets out a shaky laugh. "Let's go."
He steps through the doorway, and Sadie follows after, sending a smile Nic's way. Walt moves to follow them as well, but stop, and turns to Monica. "I found your fifth reason, Nic. You."
Marcus wants to ask what he means, but Walt zips through the door before he can. He leaves the two there, silent and standing. Nic playing with the Liam.
"Good job," he tells her, snapping her head in his direction. "You did good."
"Thanks," she says after a while. "Let's go."
And with that, she walks through the doorway, with Marcus following soon after.