“I’m just a half-warlock,” Malcolm said, his face a little red.
“Does that matter?” the mayor asked Calli with genuine curiosity.
“It doesn’t,” Calli said with an encouraging smile at Malcolm. “Magic is magic.” While some in the magical community did think that marrying humans weakened the bloodlines, she didn’t believe it, and she didn’t want Malcolm or anyone else believing it, either.
“So what brings you to our hallowed gem of a town?” the mayor asked.
“It wasn’t exactly planned,” Malcolm said, “but I’m taking the opportunity to have a vacation.”
“Well good! Now, what can I help you two with? Is this about the festival? I heard something happened to your pumpkins.”
“There was a… slight problem,” said Calli, “But I’m hoping to have things worked out in time. Might even have a surprise for everyone this year!”
“Wonderful!”
“But right now, we need access to the prophecy room.” The request to view the prophecies would be better coming from her than a stranger. It wasn’t like they were guarding vast secrets, but too many people viewing prophecies could result in dangerous situations. Some people could misinterpret them, or people could use them to con or hurt someone else. Normally only someone who was involved in a prophecy had the right to see it.
“Really? You want to access the prophecy room?” The mayor’s eyes widened. “I haven’t had any requests in a while. May I ask what it’s for?”
“Well, my grandmother’s portrait mentioned one last night involving me, and I need to see exactly how it was written.”
The mayor’s face turned serious. “Very well. Tell Finnigan you have my permission.”
“Thank you.” Calli tugged Malcolm toward a blank wall at the back of the lobby entry. When they were a foot away, the wall suddenly materialized into a heavy oak door with a brass handle.
“Who’s Finnigan?”
“He’s partially a who and partially a what,” Calli replied as she turned the brass handle and the heavy old door creaked open revealing a dark cavern just beyond.
“A what?” Malcolm replied, his brow furrowed.
“Finnigan is a yeti.”
“A yeti?” Malcolm choked on the word as he followed Calli into a cave-like passageway. “You mean like an abominable snowman?”
“Please never call a yeti that. It’s very rude.”
“Oh… sorry.” She wanted to laugh at how worried he looked right now.
“You’ve never met a yeti before?”
“No. When I was younger, my father used to meet with the London Blood Society, who usually sends vampire delegates to visit Boston. The Salem Witches’ Council would host a party for the English vampires to meet the American Blood Syndicate. And I met werewolves a few times during college, they sometimes snuck into frat parties. I dated a siren when I was a teen. We went to Maine for a summer.” His gaze turned dreamy. “She could kiss… almost as good as you do.” He winked at her. “But other creatures? Not so much. After I lost my connection to my magic, I just stopped seeing that part of the world as much.”
Calli was tempted to ask more about the siren he had kissed, but decided that little interrogation could come later.
“Yetis are very sweet, but incredibly shy. They can turn into a fully human form when they want to, but prefer to be in their natural form most of the time. Finnigan guards our collection of prophecies. The room has many wards protecting it, but it still requires a guard.”
Malcolm shivered and noticed the walls around there were covered in frost. “Man, it’s cold in here.”
“We trap the prophecy memories in ice.”
“Okay… I think I’m starting to see where the yeti fits in.”
Calli nodded. “He’s in the best position to guard the prophecies in person because he’s more comfortable in a cold environment.”
“In Salem we trap them in crystal balls,” he added. “Why don’t you use those?”
“Our seer Zelda Murphy says ice is the purest form of containment for prophecies.”
