Come Back To Me by Edmond Manning

Author:Edmond Manning
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

Six

When we arrive at Witches’ Tower, the east is deeply purple, still bruised from nightfall. It’s dark enough my headlights were necessary on the drive over.

Fitch says, “I know this place. Witches’ Hat.”

Everyone calls it something like this—Witches’ Hat or Witches’ Tower—the abandoned water tower in the Prospect Park neighborhood. The stone stronghold perches atop the highest neighborhood hill, surveying the tree-thick neighborhood. The cone-shaped black roof with a wide brim lends itself to the obvious moniker, which is perfect, because the entire vicinity seems designed with autumn in mind. Every September, old maples explode in glorious color, dusting the neighborhood’s mansions with oranges, reds, and yellows to contrast their muted exteriors. Golden leaves and glowy jack-o-lanterns seem perfect on the twisting, winding roads, manifesting a perpetual sense of Halloween’s mischievousness, no matter the season.

Despite the autumnal magic at Witches’ Tower, spring casts its own powerful spell, especially premorning. The dense tree cluster at the base of the hill conspires to block entrance to the hidden pathway, the brick walk leading to the tower. I smell seductive lilac, though I cannot see them beckoning. We can see the tip of the hat from the parking lot below, but no more. As far as I know, the tower isn’t haunted, but then again, Fitch has been sensing the presence of kings around us. Maybe Halloween magic lasts the whole year around here.

“Meet me at the back of the truck.”

Fitch wipes his bleary eyes and fumbles to open the passenger door.

When he reaches me, I’m already holding the purple box tied with wide purple ribbon. Even in the semidarkness, I watch his spicy green eyes wake up fully, darting at me with uncomfortable surprise.

“What’s this?”

I hand the gift to him. He takes it reluctantly, turning it in his hands and staring at it from several angles. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

Gripping the present, his reluctance is palpable. He shakes it, toys with the ribbon until he can delay no more, and he rips the paper. Once liberated from the box, the cobalt blue silk spills into his hands. He refuses to make eye contact. He stares at the blue shirt in the predawn light, and though we stand at the back of the truck, flecks of diffuse illumination from the headlights make the irregular surface sparkle and shimmer in the dark.

I say, “Greeting the dawn played an important role in the awakening. The Found Kings met the dawn in their most stunning raiment. To recover a Lost One, you sent him to the dawn alone, wearing his king shirt, and he would awaken, remembering who he was always meant to be.”

He says nothing.

“There’s a bench at the top of the hill. Go there. Sit. When the sun rises, if you’re truly a king, you’ll know.”

He runs his fingertips over the fabric. “Come with me, Vin. We don’t have to talk. Just sit.”

“I can’t.”

He finally raises his eyes to me, and I find a casual smirk. “This king thing is fun—hot role-play. But nothing’s going to happen.

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