Page 97 of Resurrection
The first few days there had been endless stories about witch families mourning loved ones, pointing the finger at the corrupt Pillar of Earth for their murder. And then the truth began to arise. Symbols, ceremonies, bodies, and long histories of phone conversations all with the intent to put the Dominion back the way it was. No men. In fact, all men born with magic would have been killed. Sacrificed it seemed, to fuel magic back to the female members of the families.
When that story leaked, Page had felt a roll of fear in his gut. He’d never asked for any of this. And had been young when his powers first began. They’d have killed him if they could. Wanted him dead. Thought he was evil.
Was he evil? He didn’t feel that way.
Then the stories of abuse began to be published. Men with magic, or even women with the sort of dark powers Page had, coming out to tell stories of how they were treated by their Dominion families. It mirrored mistreatment from the Christian Churches. Family members burned quietly in a backyard to prevent the media from finding out. Others ostracized or running for their lives.
Every day there were more interviews published. The Dominion tried to debunk a lot of it, making wild claims, but the evidence didn’t support what they said. Originally, the media resisted, not certain it wanted to be part of the smear suddenly staining the Dominion which had held its purse strings for years. But the volume seemed to be overwhelming enough that they had caved and began publishing more and more.
Page wondered if he’d be asked to tell his story to the world. Compared to some it didn’t sound all that bad. The threats and blackmail little more than a blip to torture, rape, and murder. But he wasn’t ready. Hard enough that he judged himself harshly for the things he’d done.
The students who had used the golem were all dead. Murdered by their families. The Dominion claimed they were honor killings. The government disagreed. Page had been accused of killing Steve, though Page hadn’t touched him.
Page still struggled with the memories of freeing the vampires, thinking he was helping, and what they’d done to the golem he created. The violence and assault bothering him more than his role of actually transferring the souls. He’d messed that up too. Tying them together somehow.
He’d been asked to give blood to the golem again, to try to control it? He had, and hadn’t seen it since.
Now he paced. Who knew a couple days of almost complete solitude would unravel him? He had always been a bit of an introvert, preferring books over people. It was why he’d loved the job in the archives. What would happen to all those books now?
He sighed and paced some more, feeling a bit caged. It would be hours before they brought him food again. And he was tired of reading the news about the world and not seeing it. He couldn’t help getting a little angry. Wishing they would decide what to do with him already, rather than leave him here.
Page paced for another hour. At least he was getting exercise. Then he dropped down onto the couch and stared at the art on the wall. Very mundane, almost bland. The entire apartment, while high end in décor, was all very stark and lifeless. Grays and browns, instead of vibrant color. But Page was really beginning to crave the touch of others. That wild burning ember in all people, that he’d been able to feel since he was a child, made more sense knowing the little he did about his powers now.
The vampire Gabe had called him a summoner. His power strong with life essence. Not the same as a necromancer. It was why his Mattie had been there when they killed her in front of him for the second time. He’d pulled her soul back, not really realizing it.
Maybe he was evil. That really did sound evil. Manipulating souls.
The door opened and Page jumped to his feet, startled.
He went through a half minute of rolling emotions, unsure whether to be terrified or happy to see someone, even if it was the vampire Sam. Page knew he was powerful, and often worked as the strong arm to the vampire leader, Maxwell Hart. Did that mean he was here to take out Page? Was this to be his end?
“Come on, Page. We have shit to do,” Sam said as he waved toward the door.
Page sucked in a deep breath and headed Sam’s way, ready for the end if that was to be his destination.
“Grab your shit. You won’t be coming back here.”
Page paused. “What?”
“This is the detention wing. We’re moving you up a few floors.”
“I don’t understand.”
Sam cocked his head to the side. “Did you want to remain locked up forever? Or work through this bullshit you were born with?”
Page gaped at him. “Um, work through it if I can, but is that allowed? I mean, I’m evil, aren’t I?”
Sam laughed. “I’m evil. You’re just a kid. Get your shit. The big guy wants to see you.” He folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips like he was annoyed to still be waiting.
Page looked around. He didn’t really have anything. They’d given him the clothes, little more than scrubs, and the laptop wasn’t his. He hadn’t even had his phone. “I don’t really have anything. When they escorted me here, they didn’t say I could take anything.”
“I’ll send someone to get your shit then.” Sam stepped back from the doorway and there were no guards in the hall.
“I’m not going home then?” Page’s stomach ached.
“I think once you see the digs here, you’d rather stay on the Fellowship’s dime. Since you’ll be working here, it’s easy access.” Sam narrowed his eyes, his gaze intense. “There will be rules of course, and you will be monitored. Just because everyone thinks you’re not a major risk doesn’t mean you can run around wild. You’ll have therapy to complete, regular assessments like the rest of us.”
“Working?”