Once he was sure he had everything on and secure, Octavian left the small, private cabin he had “borrowed” and headed for the cargo hold.
Once inside, he looked around the enormous storage area at all of the random items being transported. He couldn’t see a single thing that would help him get to the island from the ship.
“Alright, witch, what now?” he asked aloud.
He looked at his left forearm to see the words “use the coffin” appear then fade.
“Is that a threat?” he asked still looking at his arm.
“No.” the message said.
Octavian shook his head at himself as he exhaled loudly in frustration. It had been a difficult transition from “kill them all” to “kill the bad ones and make deals with the others.” It had been a necessary change though, as the centuries wore on and the world’s perception of evil beings changed.
It went from hunting them to kill them to only killing them when they trespassed or offended someone, to avoiding them, to not even believing in them, to thinking they were “cool”. Octavian rolled his eyes at that. It seemed to him that people were easily manipulated into letting their guards down.
This particular witch, for example, exuded power but chose to spend her life making candles and incense for aroma therapy; which is harmless enough, unless she decides to add some not-so-harmless ingredients…
“Witches with day jobs.” he laughed to himself.
He looked back down at his arm when he felt it burning. “What the hell?”
“Hurry.” the message read.
Octavian mumbled some choice words as he began his search for a coffin.
When his search yielded no results, he asked, “Well witch, where is this coffin I am supposed to find?”
He looked at his arm again but no message appeared.
“You’d better answer me!” he barked.
“My name is not witch.” The message said.
“I don’t have time for this!” Octavian growled.
“That is not my problem.” She replied.
Octavian growled and sent his fist through the crate in front of him. Then he felt his arm burn again.
“There’s your coffin.” The message said. “Ahem… THE coffin.” She added.
“Very funny.” He replied out loud.
“Thank you.” She said.
Octavian rolled his eyes and began taking his frustration out on the crate. Once it was completely demolished, he stood back to get a good look at the coffin.
“I haven’t seen a coffin like this in ages.” He said as he let out a low whistle.
He moved forward and began trying to open the lid as he wondered to himself how he was supposed to throw it overboard while he was in it; or throw it then get in it…
“Don’t open it!” his arm read.
He froze in place. “What do you mean, don’t open it?”
“Occupied.” She said.
“Occupied!?” Octavian spit as he backed away. His mind reeled as he tried to reign in his temper. She was trying to fool him into being her delivery boy!
“He also needs to go to the island.” She said.
“Oh. I just bet HE does!” he retorted.
“Relax. He was already going.” the message read. “You’re the hitch-hiker.”
Octavian muttered under his breath as her words sank in. In their last meeting, she told him she had found a ride for him. He had thought she was referring to the ship. Now he wondered with whom or what he was catching a ride.
“Okay pal, where’s your I.D.?” he asked as he searched for a name plate.
His arm burned. “I don’t think he can hear you.” She said.
“This better not be a trick, wi…” he cut his sentence short before he called her witch again.
“Wise choice.” The message said.
His hands fisted at his sides as he bit his tongue. He didn’t have time for games and he knew if he lost his temper, nothing would stop her from leaving him to find his own way to the island.
“What should I call you, then?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Faith.” she said.
“Okay, Faith, this had better not be a trick.”
END of Story 9-Part 1-“Reunion”
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