"It's only seven," Olivia said, shrugging.
"It's customary to see in the new by inviting over all the old," Gear muttered, offering me a wink.
"Great. Let's throw the antisocial hermit into the middle of the socialites."
Gear coughed out a laugh, and then he shook his head.
"You'll do fine. Besides, you're about to be in a school. A real school. You need the socialization. Consider it practice for tomorrow.
"There you are," Iris said as she sat down beside me, joining me on my bed.
I had slipped out of the party and made my way to the room. Too many people down there liked hugging, and I wasn't much of one for being touched by strangers. It was easy to avoid both of my grandparents, considering the third floor of the house could have been an apartment and it was all mine.
"Hey," I murmured meekly, staring at the photos of my old home.
She sighed out hard and took one of the pictures to study herself. "I know you miss it, but it will get better. I promise."
I held back the teetering tears and slapped on my brave, unaffected face the best I could. I hated feeling offensive, and I'm sure Iris and George both thought I was an ungrateful brat.
"It's just an adjustment," I muttered dismissively, though the strain in my throat sold me out.
Her aged, soft hand grabbed mine, and she stroked my cheek with her other. Since I'd been there, this was the closest we'd sat. She actually felt like a grandmother at that moment.
"Arisianna," she said softly, using my full name like only my mother did. "Change is hard for everyone, but it's necessary to grow and live. One day, you'll understand all this. For now... how about a story?"
That piqued my interest. In Haluali, there was storytelling at least once a week. There were stories of magic, powers, unfathomable darkness and beguiling light. I was curious what sort of story Iris would tell. It had become obvious she was just as superstitious as my old tribe.
"Sure. What sort of story?" I asked, leaning forward.
Oddly enough, it was the first time I'd felt comfortable at Bradbury Manor. Some semblance of home came with the simple promise of a story.
"One of magic, of course. One about us. Our family. Our legacy. Knowing where you come from helps you discover where you're going."
I chuckled lightly. Magic. Iris was so eccentric that I believed she really did swallow the possibility of real magic. Nevertheless, I loved the stories that were wrapped around the impossibility.
"So we have magic?" I asked, secretly teasing her.
She smiled, and for a second, I swear I saw crescent moons in her eyes. I blinked furiously, trying to see if it was real. Apparently my tears had glazed over my eyes enough to play with my vision because the moons were gone.
"Magic surrounds us all."
And so it began. I heard of Isis Bradbury, the first conductor for magic. A woman with a pure light and a warm heart who fought against the dark forces of Dramus Craymon and his men. The dark forces were draining witches of their essences, stealing their strength before they gained their immortality.
Isis found her soul mate, Merlin, who then became the first mortal to
achieve immortality. The pair became two swords for the same cause - keep the innocent safe.
Life or death has a way of putting things into perspective, and it's necessary to have in any good story, so Iris's story certainly poured on the consequences, making it sublimely enthralling.
I hung on the edge of my seat as she spoke with the drama needed to push the story over the edge. My heart thudded with each description of the powerful magic beings she presented with such conviction. My breath was stolen when she spoke of the wars and deaths that came with them.
Blazers who controlled fire. Electrics who shot out streaks of powerful energy. Healers who saved and took life in the same breath. Elementals who controlled the winds, the waters, the earth itself. Drainers who stole your memories and left you in a heap of lost confusion. Shape shifters called changers who betrayed the good force to be in league with the dark. It was amazing.
Soul mates and destiny. Ah. It was a romance and a suspenseful tale in one. Allora, Dramus's soul mate, was killed to weaken him, but he ran instead of fighting to save her. Merlin loved Isis too much to desert her. They were stronger together because of their bond. It was enough to make me sigh in dreamy bliss.
Dramus was the best villain I'd ever heard of, and Isis was the most sensational heroine I'd ever envisioned. One thing was for certain, Grandma Iris new how to tell a story.
But the exciting story turned sad, stealing my breath with a painful resolve as it came to a close. Tears filled my grandmother's eyes as she stared off into space. It almost seemed like a memory instead of an old fable. Her voice cracked, her breath rattled, and her body tensed as she uttered the last few words.