Maleficus

All characters 18+.

******

Five hundred years have passed since the great coven war that devastated the mystical world. Those that remained after the fog of war lifted set out to ensure that never again would their kind be put on the edge of extinction. Creating the beings that would later become known as gargoyles, created from the elements of air and earth, sworn to protect those that followed the ways of magic and seeking out those that would use their gifts to destroy their delicate balance. As the years passed, and the legends of witches faded into obscurity, so did their protectors. Men of science were over taking the world of the supernatural. All that changed for one teenage boy in the waning months of the year of 2015.

Charles Dickerson wasn't what you would call an average teenage boy. He wasn't part of the 'in' crowd, or the art crowd, or any crowd in particular; Charles enjoyed being a loner. He always had been ever since he could remember. He knew his parents were concerned about his isolation from others his own age. Charles just saw their interference as overprotective parents worried about their only child. He loved them for it, however, if he wanted friends he would seek them out. Charles didn't need his mother constantly butting into his private life. Then again, Charles guessed that's what parents did when they were worried. Shaking the thought from his head as he walked up the steps that led to his family's brownstone. The four stories housed three generations of the Dickerson family. Which he found odd, given that most families he knew chose to live apart from one another. As the steel key neared the key slot to the deadbolt muffled voices caught his attention.

"It's time, Steven, he needs to go forward before the council." Charles heard his grandmother say through the door. "We both know that if he hasn't begun to show it, it won't be long before he does." He had no earthly idea what they were talking about. Sure he loved his family, yet the thought of them talking about him behind his back that was something new. What was this council his grandmother spoke of, and just what was about to show? "The eruption of acne?" he thought sarcastically. Was it the other raging hormones that seemed to torment his bed sheets when he awoke in the morning? If that was the case, he already beat his grandmother to the punch by a few months now.

"Mother," his father sighed. "Charles, doesn't seem to be like us, so why force him to go before them if he isn't?" He heard his father pacing around the living room.

"Because it's better to have them on our side, than having them send their goons after Charles," his grandmother said startling Charles. "Why would anyone send anyone after me?" the thought crossed his mind. Why would anyone pay any special attention to a teenager who had no special qualities? Unnerved by the whole conversation, Charles quietly walked backwards down the stairs opting to avoid the situation all together. Sneaking through the rear door of the brownstone, stopping himself from listening in on their still ongoing conversation. It wasn't as if he didn't want to eavesdrop on them, the whole conversation was just too weird for him to handle. Sneaking through the shadows, heading towards the basement were his new bedroom was located. Charles thought it was a grand idea to move into that disused part of the house. Given how everyone else in his family had taken over the other three floors.

Now, he had the basement all to himself, while he didn't mind the noisy water heater, the thud of the pipes when someone upstairs thought to take a shower, Charles could drown all that out since here was his own private domain. Where no one ever bothered him, unless it was his mother. It took the whole summer to get his mother to stop checking in on him every hour. Always worrying that he would catch something in that damp dark basement. That was the problem living with your extended family, never an ounce of privacy. There was always someone looking over your shoulder. At least not down in the basement; there he had his solitude. Something he coveted, something that his own parents didn't seem to understand. Tossing his bag onto his bed, glad he'd already finished his homework during class, giving him time to delve into his online game. As twilight approached a soft knock echoed in his room, sighing as he paused his game knowing they wouldn't go away until he answered them.

"Charles," his mother's soft words filled his ears as she poked her head through the door. "The family is leaving, are you sure you wouldn't care to join us?" she asked, as she stood in the doorway.

"I'm sure," Charles said, offhandedly. He tried not to see the sour look on his mother's face knowing that was exactly what she wanted him to do.

"It'll be fun, there will be girls your age there." Charles tried his best not to roll his eyes at the comment.

"Mom, you know me, I'm fine on my own," Charles said, eager to get back to his game.

"Alright." He heard her sigh. "If you get hungry there's food in the fridge, and don't stay up all night." Charles didn't miss the disappointment in her eyes as she shut the door behind her. He sat there for a few moments, contemplating on why she would be so disappointed that he chose to stay home. Did it have something to do with what he had overhead earlier that day? Charles nibbled on his lip as he entered the kitchen, his stomach rumbling as he raided the fridge for the leftovers from dinner. As the microwave hummed, walking around the house ensuring that everything was locked up good and tight. He wasn't foolish enough to think that someone hadn't taken notice that the house was nearly empty. Walking back to the kitchen as the buzzing of the microwave rang out, something strange caught his attention in the living room. A statue he never saw before sat on the mantle of the fireplace. There was something odd about the grey stone carving, there was too much detail for a foot high, half a foot wide piece of stone. Charles wondered how the artist could put so much detail into the carving, the way the wings looked so real, thinking at any moment it could take flight. The wrinkles and creases in its skin as it crouched on the mantle ready to pounce on whatever caught its fancy.

Reaching out, thinking to find the artists mark on the bottom of the sculpture. It was one of the best statues of a gargoyle he had ever seen and in New York, he had seen a lot. They were all over the old turn-of-the-century buildings that made up the New York skyline. As his fingers ran over the statue the heat that came off the ornate carving caught him by surprise; it wasn't the warmth the stone would get from the surrounding air, it felt as if the heat came from within the object. Shaking his head at the absurd thought, grunting as he tried to lift the statue off the mantle. It never moved an inch. Charles felt like it weighed hundreds of pounds. Backing away taking a dry swallow as he felt someone's, or something's, eyes on him as he stood alone in his quiet living room. For some reason he could have sworn that it was the statue that gazed at him as he moved towards the doorway to the kitchen. Shaking off the creepy feeling that washed over him, as he looked back to the living room as he got his dish from the microwave. Retreating back down to his room, not overly proud that he wished someone other than himself was there with him.

Turning on his small TV set as his dinner steamed waiting for him to feast on the moist meatloaf, and the gravy covered mashed potatoes. Surfing the cable channels, stopping on a documentary about witches on the Discovery channel that peaked his curiosity. As the opening credits began to roll, the scurrying of tiny feet stilled his heart. Lowering the volume, the flapping of wings filled him with trepidation, he knew it was a bad idea as he set down his fork, however, he was the only one home and who knew what a burglar would do to distract the homeowner. Taking his aluminum bat, silently tiptoeing up the stairs, Charles's heart pounded so furiously in his ears as he neared the kitchen. With baited breath trying to still his trembling nerves as he slowly made his way through the ground floor of the brownstone. Until the only room left was the living room, steeling his quivering limbs as he entered the darkened room. His bat ready to strike at anything and everything that moved. Fear clouding his mind, blending shadows into monsters that never existed. The wood flooring creaking behind him raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Spinning around ready to smash anyone that dared think to sneak into his home.

"Whoa!" His father said catching the bat in his left hand. "Mind telling me why you're running around swinging a bat in the house," he asked, taking the blunt instrument from his son.

"I thought I heard something," Charles said, looking over his shoulder eyeing the statue on the mantle.

"Did you now?" his father said following his son's gaze. "Just what did you hear?" he asked, placing the bat on the lounge chair. Charles bit his lip sure that his father would think he was going crazy.

"Nothing." Charles finally managed to say. Feeling like a fool for allowing his emotions to get the better of him. Taking his son by the arm as the front door began to open watching his mother, aunt, and grandmother file into the living room.

"What did you hear?" his father asked sternly, not allowing his son to escape. Charles eyed his father, then the rest of his family uncertain whether they would really believe him or not.

Taking a dry swallow as his father's stern gaze bored into him. "Footsteps, and wing beats," Charles forced himself to say the words.

"I told you it was time," his grandmother said from behind his mother. "Now he must be taken before the council before it's too late!"

"I know," his father sighed. "Charles go put your shoes on and a jacket," he said, patting Charles shoulder. "Hurry, we don't have time to waste." Charles didn't know what was more frightening, the look in his father's eyes, or this mysterious council he was about to be taken to. Grumbling as he climbed the basement stairs, wondering why him of all people, all he ever wanted was to be left alone nothing more, nothing less. As he closed the basement door shock played across his face as his family stood around the kitchen table. Wearing different colored robes that dragged along the kitchen floor. His mother was dressed in a vibrant forest green robe Charles thought she smelled of lilac and roses, however, that wasn't possible in the dead of winter. His aunt's robe shimmered in the multiple colors of a flame burning in the hearth, while his grandmother's was as pale as the newly fallen snow. The black robes that his father wore filled him with dread as faces moved across its surface. "Before we leave, I want you to meet someone," Steven said, moving away from the kitchen table. Sitting in the center of the table sat the statue that he thought was too heavy to move.

Jumping backwards as the gargoyle began to move, Charles's back pressed against the cabinets as the small creature yawned. Watching as stone flecks crumbled onto the table before disintegrating back into the ether. Its glowing yellow eyes looked around the room before falling on him, never leaving him as Charles tried to escape its gaze. As the creature moved towards him, something deep within him stirred, wanting to reach out to the tiny thing and claim it as his own.

"Charles meet George, your protector," his mother said with pride.

"You named a gargoyle George?" Charles said, through bursts of laughter.

"That's my name, you got a problem with it?" George asked, its gravelly voice reverberated throughout the room. Puffing out its chest as it stalked towards the edge of the table, obviously hurt that anyone would mock a gargoyle's name.

"No, no," Charles stuttered looking to his family for support.

"Good." George smiled before his body turned into a blazing beacon of light. Shielding his eyes as the gargoyle's body turned into bits of light, as the black dots faded from his eyes Charles felt the warmth of the metal band that encircled his right ring finger. The platinum band felt snug to his skin, the two lemon jade stones reminded him of eyes of George. "Well of course they should, they are my eyes." George's voice ripped across Charles mind.

"Finally, a part of the family," his aunt teased, her right earring catching the light. His mother's necklace, the brooch his grandmother loved to wear, and his father's own ring; oddly, Charles could tell instantly they were not normal pieces of jewelry.

"Well, let's get going, the sooner he is presented, the sooner he can start his studies," his grandmother said, marching towards the front door. His mother and father on each side of him as they walked the snow covered sidewalks as they made their way to the park. Why? Charles had no clue, yet as he watched his grandmother she seemed so alive in the cold night air. His aunt didn't seem to notice the chill wearing far too revealing clothes during the middle of winter. It seemed to him he was the only one that was freezing in the dark of night. Stopping before the snowed covered sandbox Charles was all but ready to return to the warmth of his room. With a wave of his grandmother's hand the snow responded to her call, flinging itself off the frozen sand. Stepping aside as his mother approached cupping her hand's to her mouth, breathing out a warm green light, placing her hands on the frozen ground. Charles was in awe as the light spread across the sand before sinking into its depths. Once his mother was sure that the sand was free of the frost, looking back to his father who simply smiled, patting his shoulder before taking her spot.

Bowing his head placing his palms skyward, muttering under his breath, Charles watched as the air began to shimmer; a long ebony pole began to materialize into his outstretched hands, a pale wicked skull sat attached to the head of the staff. Jewels and bones jingled against the wood as he stamped the staff into the ground. Charles thought they were going to great lengths to put on this little show of theirs. Granted it was a very detailed vivid dream, it was still a dream; Charles was sure he was about to wake up at any moment. Nonetheless, he watched as his father drew a solid straight line taking up three fourths of the sand box. Drawing a sideways 'V' where its ends connecting at the quarter and three fourths mark along the solid line. Charles couldn't hear his father clearly as he stretched out his arms, his staff in his right hand, the jewels began to glow faintly as his magic arced down the ebony pole as the butt end struck the rune. His mother wrapping her arm around him as the ground began to shake, the granules of sand were pulled from their resting places as a sold archway was formed.

"Venefizas Haven awaits," his father said bowing, gesturing them to enter the gateway. Charles's jaw dropped once he exited the portal; dark evergreen forest lined the lone dirt path on each side. So thick the sun's rays couldn't penetrate through their thick branches. His eyes following the path to its eventual end, there on top of a lonely hill, dirt turned into a stone stairway leading to a forty foot standalone tower to its left. Leading on to the main structure, reaching heights he couldn't fathom with two spires jutting from the sides.

It seemed like hours before they reached the base of the stairs that led to where Charles could only guess. His mother taking him by the arm, dragging him reluctantly up the stairs, wondering just what was about to happen to his life. Nearing the forty foot tower, his aunt pulling on the long rope that hung from the second story. Charles heard the sound of musical bells ringing in the distance. The smell of roasting meats, baked sweets, pulled at his ravenous stomach, he berated himself for not finishing his dinner.

"Here, eat," his grandmother said, handing him what appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary brownie. "Well go on, we can't have you starving when meeting the council," she said, making shooing motion with her hand. Not wishing to be told twice, inhaling the brownie, it didn't taste like a brownie should; in all actuality it was hard to define how it tasted, if Charles had to guess it was like a full course turkey dinner.

"Don't worry Charles, once we're done here we'll get you something from the town over the ridge," his mother said, smiling down at him.

"What were you thinking Darla?" his father asked, ignoring that he was even there. "The Hangman is quite nice this time of day," he said, recounting the delicious turkey legs they served.

"Steven, that's no place for a child," Darla said, not hearing her son's sigh. Charles started his silent trek backwards down the steps as the door to the tower cracked open.

"Who seeks the audience of the coven council?" asked the speaker behind the door.

"The family of Dickerson has come to present the newest heir to the line before the council!" His grandmother's voice echoed in the warm air, announcing to all that a new witch was about to join their ranks.

"Then enter and rejoice in the knowledge that we are stronger as one," the voice said disappearing as the two inch thick door swung open. With a gentle push from his mother, propelling him forward there was no turning back for Charles. His mother and father never leaving his side so that his frightened mind couldn't urge his legs to flee from that place. Walking through the corridors of the tower, eyeing those that huddled in small groups, whispering behind their hands as they passed. Charles felt small as their eyes lingered on him far too long for his own liking. This was why he didn't like people, always talking about him as if he was some kind of freak. Slowing as they neared the council chamber doors; ornate carvings dominated the cherry wood depicting events he scarcely knew anything about. His heart fell into his stomach as those doors swung open on a whisper, revealing a horseshoe shaped table resting on a raised platform, overlooking the dais that sat in the center of the room, multicolored lights flew overhead zig zagging across the ceiling of the chamber. Charles could have sworn he heard the lights speaking with one another, thinking that was impossible until they flew lower flying around him; tugging at his clothes, his hair, anything they could get their tiny hands on examining the new oddity in their realm. Shaking them off, he wasn't one to be made into anyone's examination doll.

"You shouldn't do that. Fairies tend to get angry very quickly and have long memories," George said, into his mind.

"Fairies?!" Charles said, aghast at the thought of little angry flying women. The thought alone made him chuckle that something so small could be any threat to him. Until a red pulsating light flew down grabbing Charles by the nose, lifting him of the floor before releasing her hold on his sore nose.

"Mind what you say Charles," his grandmother swatted his shoulder. "Would you care to be laughed at young man?" Feeling his cheeks heat when he felt ridiculed just moments before. Tilting his head to the ceiling as those lights darted around exploring every inch of the chamber.

"Sorry," Charles said, hoping they understood he meant no harm by his words. The same red light flew down hovering before him studying his face to determine his truthfulness, arching an eyebrow thinking he caught her smiling at him before fluttering over to his left shoulder, where she sat happily, her small hand holding on to a strand of his sandy brown hair.

"Well, you don't see that every day," his aunt said from behind him. A puzzled look flashed across his brown eyes curious to what she meant.