A story by Caitlyn Meador

Acknowledgements: There are truly many people to thank! First my creative writing teacher. If not for a project she assigned me I wouldn’t have gone overboard and written a book instead. My dad is a big inspiration as well. He has been reading fantasy recently and that sparked my interest in the genre. My wonderful stepmom played a role by being the most amazing person in my life. Cheesy I know but without her I would be a rock bottom. My best friend Zoe is an amazing inspiration, because she always incouages me! This one is rather odd, but my snakes are also pretty cool. Last, but not least, You! The reader! I am so glad you saw my book and decided it was worth a read. 

Sometimes late at night

Our memories sneak out of my eyes

And roll down my cheek

-Aliza Grace

Chapter one

Xena’s notebook

My story, or rather my life, is not a happy one. I won't promise you a fairy tale ending. The kingdom I live in is peaceful, or so the people who don't know Glila think. In these streets, witches and wizards are hunted and killed for their very essence. The mana that entangles their souls like vines causes magic to flow through their veins. The mana can be stolen, but not without the witch losing their life. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I am one of these hunters. I will not apologize for wanting to survive. No one is free from sin here.  However, the faces of the blameless, the innocent haunt me. Good sleep is something more precious than gold in this sleaze bucket town. It's something I haven't had since I was small.

Xena

"Lucifer, come back to me," The man snaps at me. His grimy fingers in my face stir me from my thoughts. My name is Xena, but I don't bother correcting him. I shouldn't get personal with those who crave the souls of the innocent. I know I'm no better, bringing them to him is my job. I look the man in the eye, "Sorry Jamie, so tell me about the next job." He's a fool, a dirtbag, but I need the gold. Jamie grins and it makes me sick. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad you asked," I vomit a bit in my mouth at the pet name, but all I can do is swallow, "Her name is Odessa Pandra." I have heard her name before. "Odessa," I murmur. Then it hits me. This witch is on every wanted poster in town. Her bounty is unimaginable. It's more gold than I've seen in my pitiful life. I consider the offer before asking, "You realize she has evaded every mercenary that anyone has sent? What makes you think I could collect your prize for you?" The tension in the room is palpable. This job could either set me up for life or end it. His face contorted into something wicked, "Xena Ethel, you are the best I have. You know better than to deny a job with so much pay. Her mana is something people would kill for." I laugh at his understatement. People would do far worse than kill for the power she holds. He's right about something though, the rewards of this job far outweigh the risks. I would much rather walk into certain death than lose something that would benefit me so much. I shake my head, "Fine, I'll do it. I need 3 million gold for this to be worth it." This amount of gold would be absurd if Odessa weren't so sought after. He chuckles, the sound cold. Ice runs down my neck and into my spine. "You drive a hard bargain," he pauses, considering the offer, "Deal."

Jamie walks out of the small tavern, but a small part of me begs him to return. I hate being around him. There is no way to deny that, but I don't want to be alone now. This job is not a small ask; being alone without anyone to look at me and tell me I'm ok is an awful feeling. Where do I even begin to find someone so covered in shadow? Someone so elusive won't just appear in front of me, and say, "Here, kill me and take my mana! I know you want the money!" I sigh before looking around the bar. Nothing catches my eye. 

Odessa’s notebook

I'm not going to tell you a sob story, because I think that's boring. Tonight you get a short synopsis. Blah Blah Blah, my parents were killed by hunters, Blah Blah Blah! Now that we're done with the things I don't feel like explaining, let's get to the fun stuff. I work at a tavern in the market district. I know you must be thinking, "What about the hunters? You should avoid crowded places!" You're probably right, but I plan to live fast and die young. No regrets right? Who am I kidding, I’m afraid. I do worry about the hunters. I worry about becoming my parents. I need to learn to breathe.

Odessa

I have a love-hate relationship with working at Jesters Jeopardy. On one hand, the regulars and I get along so well. I know their tales, and they love to make me laugh. They tip well too! However, there is always a downside. Working here is treacherous, every new face could be a hunter on my trail like a bloodhound. Aristaeus, one of my regulars, sat on the bar stool in front of me "Hey, Odie! You know what I want," I pour him his drink and reply, "Hey, Aristaeus, how's the wife?" He smiles, but there's something behind it, but I don't know what. Something is wrong, really wrong. My stomach doing flips. Almost as if on cue, the storm outside starts to pick up. Each drop sounds like bullets on the tavern windows. I frown at him  before coaxing, "You know you can always talk to me, right?" He sighs heavily, my anxiety growing with every passing moment. He pauses before conceding, "Have you heard of Xena Ethel?" I look at him suspiciously, "Who hasn't? What about her?" I can feel the knot in my stomach tighten. "Jamie is sending her in next. I overheard him talking to her at the other pub," he pauses, "I'm sorry." I laugh because he must be joking, right?  There is no way they're sending Xena after me. When I look into his eyes, it hits me hard. He isn't joking.

For the rest of my shift, my eyes wander from patron to patron. What if one of them is Xena? I’m not quite sure what she looks like so everyone is a potential murderer. Everyone in here must be plotting to kill me, right? I wash the glasses piling up. It’s almost closing time, I can do this. The smell of the drinks burns my nose and the noise of the patrons hurts my ears. I watch the minute hand tick by, five minutes, two minutes, one minute. My manager, Drago, walks up to me with a sympathetic smile, “Xena, huh?” He pauses and smirks, “You have made it through far worse. You can shake her off your trail.” He beams at his statement, but what if he’s wrong? What if I don’t lose her? She’s a predator and I am the prey. I truly doubt she will show me mercy. 

Xena’s notebook

I have made up my mind and you won’t like it. That girl will die. There is no way I’m giving up my freedom for the life of a witch. Think about it like this; it's her life or mine. All the nightmares, all the blood I’ve spilled, all of my sleepless nights will be worth it. I refuse to be chained to a life like this. If you’re in my way and you get hurt, it's not my problem.

Xena

I pull at my kinky black hair. There is too much to memorize about this forsaken witch: Teleportation, shape-shifting, healing tears, and sleeping spells. The pages on the offensive spells have been torn out. How the hell am I supposed to prepare for someone this mysterious? I need a break. I sigh before slowly unbraiding my cornrows.

The simplicity of doing my hair is a welcome, and rare joy. I take it out of Its protective style slowly and carefully. My mother used to say, “No need to rush perfection. It’s ok to take it slow.” I carry those words close to my heart. One day I’ll be able to take care of you Momma. We’ll live in a big house with a pool. Taking a shaky breath I finish taking out the last braid and hope. I hope she won't have to worry about my job anymore; she won't worry about me anymore. I shake my head at the silly thought. Moms always worry. It’s their job.

 I wash my hair in the sink. I stand there savoring the feeling of the warm water on my scalp. This is the only time I can truly relax. I let the time pass until the water runs cold. Washing the soap out of my hair, I formulate a plan. Sat on my bed detangling my hair, I wonder where she could be. I’ve heard rumors that she works in a tavern, but how credible are the whispers of the underbelly of a broken city? Every strand I weave comes with a strategy. I braid with a quick, left, right, middle, left, right middle.  Should I bait her out? Or, should I wait until she leaves? If I snuck through the window would I wake someone?

Odessa’s notebook

How far is far enough? If I left the city, do you think I could make it? You’re reading this in the future. I’m sorry I forgot. I don’t think I would make it anyway. I don’t need you to tell me I’m going to die. I’m being mean, aren’t I?  You should know I’m not a mean person. That is the one thing I refuse to be. Why don’t I take a break to collect my thoughts? I’ll talk to you later. Or rather I’ll talk to you because you still can’t respond.