water. Like the one I’ve been hanging out in, trapped in a box, for the last
two blasted years.” Royce was yelling now, his voice getting stronger and
louder.
This was the voice Sean knew; the voice that made his team quake in
their boots when someone screwed up. Each member of the team,
hand-picked personally by Royce, knew that mistakes were not tolerated.
Mistakes in this line of work could result in death; yours, another
member of the team, or worse yet; the death of an innocent. Mistakes
could also, it seemed, put you at the bottom of the ocean for indefinite
periods of time. Royce took a breath, held it for a moment, and then
released it in a rush. He had made a big mistake, committed the cardinal
sin by relaxing his guard. That did not sit well with him. Thank God he
had been the only one to pay the price, this time.
“The crate is spelled, Royce. That’s why we couldn’t track you,” Sean
explained. “Your last known location was just off Battery Park twentythree months ago. We dispatched a recovery team immediately, but
there was a storm, and we lost the signal.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m so glad you are ok. But-- you did have a great funeral,” Sean added
quietly.
“You had a funeral?” Royce asked, chuckling. “Well, I’m not dead
you idiot, so get your ass down here, and get me out of this damn box!” Royce, who normally did not mind confined spaces, was beginning to
feel a little claustrophobic. He needed a drink, a cigarette, and a woman,
in that order. He pounded again on the sides and lid of the crate, testing
for weakness, looking for a way out. How did they even sandwich his
body into this thing? He frowned, noticing that his body was not really
all that solid. It was, in fact, almost transparent. “Damn Witches,”
Royce muttered.
“We had to have a funeral Royce,” Sean explained. “We knew you
would resurface, but for everyone else--, you know we had to do it. By
the way, the Wicked Witch of the West is on her way. She has a ‘few things’
to talk to you about.” Sean didn’t envy Royce this particular bit of family
business, especially as pissed as she was at the moment.
“Don’t tell me-- Joanna?” Royce groaned. “You just had to call her,
didn’t you?” His head began to pound again.
Joanna was a valuable member of ART; she was also his sister. She
would yell at him for getting caught, little sparks of angry blue light shooting from her eyes. After she got that out of her system, she would fling her arms around him and hug him too tightly making him promise never to do something like that again. Royce really hoped they could
skip the crying part of the reunion, he hated crying.
Joanna’s mother had married Royce’s father when Joanna was two
years old. Royce had spent the last 20 years of his life watching over
her, trying to keep her safe; which was not an easy task when it came
to Joanna. Her special skills had started to manifest around age three.
Royce, who was at that time a teenager, hadn’t known that Witches
truly did exist. He certainly hadn’t known his father’s beautiful new
bride was a Witch. He also had no clue that his father was leading a
special division of warriors who worked with a secret council to keep
the planet in balance.
Royce grew up quickly that summer. He learned that the world
was full of things that could not be seen or heard, but could be felt, if
you were paying close enough attention. He was a natural at paying
attention, so he chose to follow in his father’s footsteps to serve the
Secret Council of Elders. After many intense conversations with his
father, Aaron, and step-mother, Tammy, Royce began training with
ART while he finished school. He kept a close eye on his baby sister,
sometimes studying in her room while she played or napped. When
Joanna started floating objects and making things disappear, it had
been quite a shock; however the day she got mad and turned him into
a goat had been the worst day of his life. Her teen years had been a
challenge for them all, because teenage Witches could experience
horrific mood swings.
Joanna also joined the team as soon as she could talk her parents
into it. Of course, she used the argument that Royce would be there
to take care of her, and she could help take care of him. “Taking
care” translated to “meddling in”, and she often pushed the
boundaries of her power if she suspected he was in danger. He