Young Writers Society

Chapter Three (and a half)

Max frowned, leaning back in the booth. The vampire was named Sinclair? And he was working with Westbrook? Why did that bother him so much? He sighed and took a moment to digest that information, then glanced down at Puck. "Are you sure those were wards you saw last night?"

Puck tilted his head, staring right back at him. I never said that were designed to protect you, sir, or your family.

He swore softly, turning to face the others. "Puck has implied the wards aren't there to protect us," he said, sighing. "Which means something is wrong at the Manor."

Lyssa exhaled heavily. "Well, damn. We're gonna need to check this out ourselves, Max."

Max shook his head. "Later, Lyssa," he muttered, giving Puck a quick scratch behind the ears. The Cat Sith seemed to purr a little at the attention. "Let's finish our food and go check out the town first, okay? I think I want to relax a bit before the funeral and our little expedition into the basement."

"Seriously? You're not even a little bit curious?"

He shrugged a shoulder, meeting Jae's incredulous gaze with a flat glower. "What? It's not like I don't have all week to do it, Jae."

"Right..." Jae trailed off, frowning deeply at him. She seemed confused but unlikely to argue the point further.

Enough talk of the basement, Puck said, hopping up onto the table and stalking around and around, deliberately avoiding everyone's food and drink. What of the twins and their mother? He gave each other a loaded look then turnd to face Max and sat down on a clear section of table. Have you forgotten even the funeral? You have a lot to do, Sir. Stop getting distracted.

"I am not distracted, Puck."

Yes, you are. Puck seemed to scowl at him, gaze narrowed. You very much are, Sir.

Max groaned and planted his face in one hand. "Let's just finish our food and head out," he said, voice muffled by his palm. There was a dull ache starting to form in his temple, stretching across the back of his head. It made him feel a little more spacey than before. He grimaced into his hand before lowering it. "I'm starting to not feel so good."

"That's not--" Jae cut herself off with a sigh and then shifted in her seat, the booth creaking slightly. "So.... When's the funeral?"

"Uh, later today, I think," Lyssa told her, shifting her plate around a little. It seemed like his sister had lost her appetite. He felt much the same way. "Are you two going to come?"

"Probably," Luke said, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. "I haven't seen a witch funeral before. It should be interesting."

Jae snorted. "Only you would be interested in that kind of morbid stuff, Luke."

With that, the conversation shifted to less serious subjects and Max was able to relax. He listened to the others, paying more attention to his food and to Puck than to whatever meaningless rumour his sister and their best friends were discussing. He could feel his headache growing harder and harder to ignore.

Half-way through their little reaquintance tour of the main street, including the oak that Oakheart got its name from, Max felt the dull ache flare into a sharp pain. He stumbled, grabbing hold on the nearest object--a tree, if he was seeing that right past the blurred vision--and very nearly doubled over in pain. What the hell?

"Max?" Lyssa, sounding worried. He didn't look for her, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing. She seemed to hesitated for a moment before continuing; "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," he muttered, shrugging off the hand that settled on his shoulder. "But I think I should go home for a bit before the funeral. See you at three o'clock, guys."

Max didn't bother responding to them, instead heading for where they'd parked his Gemini. Gods, but he loved that car, and he was so glad he made it back to the little, old Holden. He sat down in the driver's seat and the headache eased back into a dull ache. Max blinked slowly, frowning as he rubbed at his temple. Puck was sitting on the front passenger seat when he glanced about, a concerned tilt to his shaggy, black head.

Sir? the faerie cat asked, and even his tone was concerned. Max stared down at the Cat Sith for a moment, confused. Are you well now, Max? You... seemed to have had some kind of episode a moment ago.

"I'm fine, Puck," he said, reaching out to pet the cat on the head. "Are you alright? You must've felt some sort of feedback from that."

Puck snorted. It was quite intense, sir. I don't know how you managed to function.

"Yeah, that was definitely something, wasn't it?"

The noise that Puck made then was somewhere before a snort and a chuckle, and it made Max smile. Puck stood up, stretched and then did a quick circle on the seat. Max sighed, leaning back in his seat and reaching for the ignition.

That's one way to describe it, Sir.

"Glad we can agree on something," Max muttered and turned the key. Without further ado, he put the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking space. "Let's go home, Puck, and maybe think about getting some rest before the funeral. I don't want to have this headache while they're lighting the pyre."

Of course, sir, Puck replied, sounding amused. And then he sobered significantly. But don't take too long. We only have a couple of hours.

"Whatever you say, Puck." Max chuckled and turned the wheel, heading off down the street towards Blackwood Manor. It was time to prepare himself for a Blackwood witch's funeral. "Whatever you say."