My Dreams of a Warlock

My small hometown of Vasari Streams was a vague elusive memory to me, with the popular ice cream store, barber shop, and spending time playing with some other kids I didn’t clearly remember.

Of course there was my constant companion and best friend or, so I’ve been told, again whose name had slipped my mind until my much older sister Nina had reminded me of him.  The disconnected memories came flooding back when I discovered mental triggers like that, but oddly my mind was still blank for many things in my early life, or not so oddly as I found out not too long ago.

My other consistent and not so pleasant memory was of my parents fighting constantly about anything that crossed their minds, more bickering actually, but in spite of all that negative stuff, they were always oddly quite affectionate to each other, so go figure about that crazy one too.

From what I remember however, most of their disagreements centered around my mom feeling isolated from her obsession with her artwork, specifically portrait oil paintings, and missing the glamorous clientele and lifestyle to spur things along.

Through the years, and after their eventual split, neither one had ever dated anyone else or spoke of a passing interest.  They never even considered divorce as a viable option.

This always seemed kind of odd at least to me as my mom Marta was as beautiful as my dad Kendrick was handsome.

I had many friends along the way whose parents had called it quits, but it seems mine never got around to it.

As I grew older, Mom always had a lot of people around; interesting friends, star fuckers actually, due to her well-earned eventual fame in the art world, but never anyone even close to what could ever be called a romantic interest by any stretch.

Both my parents were quite good looking as I said, and both are of Italian heritage, but I really never knew much about my family heritage on either side.  They retained their youth and energetic attitude through the years we were apart and never seemed to age, just grow more refined and wonderfully interesting.

Dad and my sister Nina, who seriously resembled my mom, along with Dad’s father Grandpa, remained in constant touch with me through the growing years.  Both of my parents had many interests, and both were active and involved in my life despite their long separation from each other.

Thankfully, I’d inherited those same physical traits from them along with my mom’s dark blue eyes and my dad’s almost black auburn hair and I closely resembled him too.  I was fortunate to have a slim toned build like him that mercifully didn’t require a lot of boring maintenance to stay in shape.

Leaving my thoughts of the past, I saw that the town from what I could gather from my recent Internet searches before driving over here, was still the same small somewhat familiar place.

My searches told me there were about three hundred people permanently living in the town or close by surrounding the beautiful large lake.

The town itself had been founded back sometime in the 1800s by one of my greats on my dad’s side of the family that came here from Italy.  He had once mentioned some sort of ancestral home that still existed there, but that was about the extent of my family knowledge on his side.

My grandfather Daniel was still the major property owner in the area, with vast tracts of land surrounding our small town as more or less a buffer.  We did have tourists passing through on their way to the canyon, but the small lake resort where we lived was kept private for our returning guests.

Grandpa’s resort complex consisted of a gorgeous large lake front home and several rental cabins scattered in the trees with stunning lakefront views.

When my parents split up but never divorced as I said, I was only about five years old.  I then went to live near Seattle Washington with my mother where she was originally from, having met Dad in college.  My older sister Nina, almost eighteen at the time they split, stayed with Dad and Grandpa in Arizona.

Through the years my parents had kept in close, almost regularly in touch with each other as I mentioned, but never visited except for when Dad would come to us for a rare special occasion.  Even though I never physically visited my old home or other members of my family after we left, they always remembered holidays with gifts for both of us, birthday remembrances, and the like.

When I did happen to mention it to Mom, she simply changed the subject as if I had said nothing, while politely refusing to talk about it.

My parents did seem happy enough to hear from each other when they contacted each other frequently about their children or other matters, but the phone calls were very formal and short conversations about once every day or so depending on what was going on.  Those calls were obviously only to make sure we were well taken care of and nothing more personal between them at least that I knew about, that is until four weeks ago.

Through the years since we left our broken family, I had to admit life had been good and I had a lot of fun and yes, it was entertaining with the myriad of people around us most of the time.

Mom tried her best to be an interested parent and in a lot of ways best friend, but her true interest was in her rather great painting skill.  She spent most of her time hidden away creating her own masterpieces that they truly were, but never once had a cross word for me if I interrupted her concentration, but I seldom did just for that reason.

In the meantime, while I was attending private schools, I’d grown up basically on my own except for our friend Janet but was often left to my own devices when not studying.  I eventually went through the university, and then finally settled on a career as a freelance photographer.

Mom was delighted with my choice to no end, that I had decided on a creative interesting career in the arts.

Using my home, actually Marta’s huge condo near the water in Seattle as a base, I’d traveled the world alone for several years, seeing and doing many wonderful exotic things, but my family never seemed far away, and either Mom or our friend Janet would pop in to see me at the oddest times, making me wonder how they could stand to be on planes so frequently when I was on assignment for several months at a time.

I’d also partnered businesswise with an extraordinarily creative agent, another recommendation from Mom, who exclusively sold my works to online magazines and journals, along with creating a fine income from reproductions and coffee table books.

Life had been undoubtedly good to me.  I truly enjoyed being single while traveling alone was a given for me.  However, recently after about ten years of non-stop travel photographic assignments, I was ready to come home on a permanent basis, back to what I at least assumed was home; Seattle.  I wanted to try to create something new out of my life and put aside, at least for now, my extensive wandering ways.  I felt something oddly pulling at me, but I didn’t have a clue what it might be, a nagging sort of feeling that never seemed to stop and was growing as time flew by.

I thought that maybe this time I’d even plant a few roots somewhere and perhaps find some male companionship that I’d been strangely and suddenly starting to miss, yet again, surprising myself with those unfamiliar thoughts.

It gave me the impression that I was beginning to think about that subject a whole lot more lately, pestering almost and that concerned me since I have never sexually touched another man, or even seriously kissed a man before.

This recurring thought seemed odd to me, since it was in my mind almost constantly despite swearing off relationships and never having met a man that I wanted anything more with than a simple friend.

I was left hurting most of my life by my parents many arguments and final separation, but after the damage they inflicted on our family when they split so long ago, I swore I never wanted that for myself and felt I was better off alone.

A real problem with these thoughts about settling down in the Seattle area was that it was starting to dawn on my conscious level, after I returned from my travels, that after spending years away from living in a big city, I was now realizing that the constant racket and insistent crowds were truly not for me.

I knew from the start that Mom would flip when I finally got the nerve to mention it to her.

Mom on the other hand, had commented more than a few times that finding the right someone for me might be a useful thing in my life to help me stay safely grounded with whatever that meant.

In her very offhand sort of way she was attempting to push things along, but I’d never really felt any motivation toward that elusive and to me, prickly goal considering my role model’s on-going relationship failures.

Naturally through the years I’d managed to attract the attention of several genuinely nice men along the way, but when anything began to progress past a single momentary chaste goodnight kiss and casual hug, I ended it flat, and without warning or explanation.

For some unknown reason any progression in the romantic department had always seemed firmly wrong to me, and at times was starting to give me a real concern about my own mental health.

Since the only time Mom had stepped up to introduce me to one of her quite handsome and well off agents, things went promptly south right away, when he expressed more than a casual interest.

It was the last time when in frustration, she’d stopped trying or even commenting about my personal life, much to my exhausted relief since Mom could be tenacious, but I knew she was sharply upset with my disinterested attitude.

She wasn’t shy about being extremely disappointed by this and made that quite clear to me, several times in fact, but Dad on the other hand told me to take my time when I mentioned it to him and wait for the right person to come along and I would know it immediately.

Like he should know.

I do however think Mom’s real disappointment was because along with their close and highly successful business relationship, they were extremely good and longtime friends, and this was quite awkward for her.

She was pretty damn pointed in her disapproving comments of my actions until I finally told her to knock it off, because it is my life, and she wasn’t about to live it for me after her personal performance in that arena.

However, when I carefully yet pointedly explained that to her with examples, reminding her that my role models had royally fucked things up between them, her interest in the subject dropped, and at once.

She barely spoke to me for the next week, trying for the occasional guilt trip but I was on to her and didn’t fall for it for a second.  I mean I’m over thirty after all and she needs to knock it off.

Strangely enough, I did happen to notice a momentary very odd and unusual glance from her after our conversation.

So now we arrive at the terribly hard stuff of my meandering tale, including revelations, regrets, and such.

One ordinary afternoon, a bit over a month ago I received an emergency call from Mom’s best friend Janet who was barely coherent with her rushed words to me on the brief and terrifying emergency call.

She told me that Mom was in a nearby hospital and had been in a terrible auto accident.  She said that I needed to get there right away since she was seriously injured and may not survive and she was on her way there herself, having received an emergency call from the hospital she mentioned.

Needless to say I was there within minutes, and after talking briefly to the doctors, it didn’t sound at all promising with multiple broken bones including her neck, internal injuries, you name it.

She was going into surgery within the next several minutes, but the surgeon made it painfully clear to me she may not make it due to her massive and extensive injuries that included her punctured lung and damage to her heart.

When I all but ran into her room, she was barely conscious.  I saw her appearing so small in her hospital bed with the extensive and invasive apparatus surrounding her along with the severe looking neck brace.

It seems she had been driving her small Mercedes convertible sports car, no seat belt, while talking on the phone and not paying attention to the traffic.  On impact, she had been thrown from the car, and from what was said, it was a miracle that she was conscious much less even still alive.

I forced myself to carefully approach her raised bed.  Sensing me drawing near to her, she opened her eyes and turned them to look directly at me, her once stunning face bandaged and starting to heavily bruise.

“Listen to me Carlo, and don’t talk.  This is extremely important for both of us.  I am dying, no drama here, just a fact.  You must now contact Kendrick immediately and tell him, and I mean it.  Do it without question.  I, no we, have been remiss with you about your heritage, but now you must learn the truth and fast or you could be in unimaginable danger.  Due to our combined birthright, your father and I performed a mate bond with each other when we first married before your sister was born to us.  Now because of what is unexpectedly happening to me at this moment, he will soon die from this connection too, as part of the supernatural mate bond’s requirements between us.  Please let him know how terribly sorry I am and how much I now regret my selfish foolishness.  Let him know and make it clear to him for me that I still deeply love him and always have,” she said.