The cold hard bed of the London police station left me groaning with displeasure, as I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. However, it was better than the cold and damp alleyway. Of course, this whole scenario was stupid. After getting arrested I was questioned for several hours without rest. I ended up telling them everything that happened short of how I thought I was from the future, and how I got beat up.
They, of course, assumed I was insane and locked me up. Although there was no proof, I had been discovered with the unconscious woman, and was assumed to be her attacker. Mainly because my story was too insane for them to think it was true. It’s not like I blame them, they’re just being rational.
Stretching out once more, I had hoped to get comfortable but to no avail. The officers did believe one thing about my story, but at the mere mention of it, they groaned. The man with the ponytail and flask. They refused to tell me anything about him, but they wouldn’t deny that I saw him. The possibility of them believing the rest of my story wouldn’t rise even if that man gave testimony to my claim, he just wasn’t a reliable source, as they'd put it.
I wasn’t even sure if what I saw was real either, and I sure as hell wouldn’t believe me had I been hearing the same story. I had killed a man by punching him with coins and having him accidentally swallow one. What made even less sense was the fact that he faded into dust directly thereafter. It was definitely something that you wouldn’t consider normal.
The same thing happened to the other man who faced Mr. Ponytail. How? I don’t know. Maybe the coins and the guy's gloves were magical and shit. All I knew was that they died. Because of that, I was now under arrest, and suspected of attacking a woman. I had too many questions, but the more I thought about it, the more depressed I became.
It was now about three in the morning, and I couldn’t get any sleep because of what happened. The police were kinda weirded out by my watch as it was digital and digital watches weren’t created for a long time but they confiscated it. It might be the only thing I have from the future that could be considered useful.
It was then that I noticed the sound of footsteps on creaking wood coming towards my cell. Rolling over, I sat up just in time for Mr. Ponytail to stop at the door of my cell, followed by one of the officers that interrogated me earlier. “You’re free to go,” the officer said, as he reached the door and unlocked the cell.
“Really? And what about all that about me being insane?” I asked sarcastically.
“The woman we thought you attacked woke up briefly and said that she was attacked by three men that matched the description you gave us to the letter. She also said she never saw a man matching your description,” the officer apologized.
“I told you that I wasn’t lying,” I said with a tired but prideful smirk.
“Well, we still think you’re insane but this man here…” he groaned, as he gestured at Mr. Ponytail, “said he requires your assistance with a matter of importance that goes beyond our paygrade, as he put it.”
“I’m standing right here, ya twit,” Mr. Ponytail said, giving the officer the stink eye, before pulling out his flask and taking a swig.
“Alright, as long as it gets me off the street, I don’t care what you need me for. My name is Lou Barrett,” I said with confidence before standing up and outstretching my hand for a handshake. He eyed me up and down for a moment, before finally accepting the handshake with a grip that made me want to writhe in pain. He kept holding it until the pain started showing on my face.
“Scott Langston, and don’t be so cheery,” he said as he released my hand from his gorilla-like grip. I had plenty of questions about what happened earlier that night, but something told me that asking him in the police station wasn’t the best idea. The officer gave me my watch back and apologized for the inconvenience before I left.
After we left the police station, Scott Langston heaved out a heavy sigh before trudging down the foggy London street with me in tow. Then, he began to speak. It caught me completely off guard as I wasn’t ready, mainly due to my lack of sleep.
“Ya want to know what happened? I know that you’re curious,” Scott said confidently.
“...” I couldn’t say anything, not because I had nothing to say, but because I was surprised that he knew what I wanted to ask.
“Cat got your tongue, or did you forget everything that happened?” Scott asked sarcastically.
“No, I just am not sure where to start. Someone turned to dust after swallowing a coin, then you came in and turned the other one into dust as well, and before I could get a word out, you ran off after the third dude,” I spurted out.
“I was actually wondering how you managed that, most people wouldn’t have been able to kill a changeling… Especially armed with only the silver coins you had in your hand. Also, the one I gave chase did look like he had terrible taste in clothes, now that I think about it,” Scott said, as he placed his hand on his chin and looked up in thought.
“Did you say, ‘changeling’?” I asked with a surprised tone while ignoring that last part.
“Yes, what you fought were not one but three changelings. They are capable of taking the form of any living being. Their weakness, as with all monsters, is silver, but a few are sensitive to iron. This is precisely why they reacted to some of your coins. The monarchy is slowly reducing the amount of silver in coins... You’re lucky you had some of the old ones,” he blurted out as if he were an English professor that was making a point. I was muted by what was just explained to me. How should I respond? It’s not like I didn’t just show up in this time period with no warning whatsoever. Noticing my obvious silence, Scott continued.
“Monsters and other supernatural phenomena are in fact real, for the most part. I work for the Table, a group created to keep the peace between beings of supernatural origin. We also hunt down and exterminate supernatural beings that want to destroy the peace. I had been hunting those three that you encountered for several days, and one is still on the loose as of now, since I could not keep up with it,” Scott explained further.
“...” I still didn’t know what to say. Either he’s insane or everything he’s saying is true and I can’t tell which.
“That’s where you come in. You were able to kill a changeling, a feat that would require at least some training to pull off, with just your fist and a few coins,” he explained, before grabbing his flask and taking another swig, only to realize there was nothing left for him to drink.
“Funny, I could have sworn I filled this earlier… Well, want to get a drink?” I was surprised he still wanted to drink more. The closer I got to him, the more I realized he stunk of rum. He must be one of those lost causes with an iron liver. Knowing that I couldn’t really say no, I agreed and followed. Plus, I wanted to learn more about this so-called Table. It seemed rather interesting.
The place that Scott had led me to was probably the only tavern in all of London, with all its majestic size, that was open at three in the morning. The walls were made of old wood that would have rotted away years ago had they not been on the inside of the building. The whole place reeked of alcohol in an unsettling way, and half of the tables and chairs were partially broken.
There was even a loft, but I wouldn’t be caught dead up there, It looked as if it could come crashing down any moment. The only good thing about it was the fact that, other than us and the bartender, the only people here were passed out in strange sleeping positions. Scott seemed unfazed by any of this. He only really seemed to care about the alcohol that he was drinking. The moment we arrived here, he even had the bartender go ahead and fill his flask.
I assume he might have the ability to never get drunk no matter how much he drank. That in itself was a scary thought to me. Once he’s had his drink, he should start telling me what exactly was going on, as he refused to say any more until he was back at drinking. Yet, he still wasn't saying anything, so I decided to initiate the conversation.
“So… monsters exist. Can you tell me more about this Table, and what the hell just happened?” I asked awkwardly. He looked up from his drink, and stared into my eyes for a second with a kinda dumbfounded glare, before finally turning back to his drink.
“I told you before. What you fought were changelings, one of many kinds of supernatural beings. I remove them if they get violent because that is what the Table does as a whole,” he reiterated.
“...” He saw my silence as me waiting for him to elaborate, I guess, because that’s what he did.
“Monsters and other mythical creatures have existed since the dawn of mankind, maybe even before. By studying them or mating with them, some humans received magical abilities, creating witches and sorcerers. I can introduce you to a few of the nicer ones later. The group I belong to is known as the Table, and has hunted violent creatures since the time of King Arturius, better known as King Arthur. Merlin, Arthur's aid, was a sorcerer, and many of his knights were creatures or sympathizers that he had befriended. Together, they were known as the Round Table. Since then, the Round Table has changed names and spread throughout the world, coming to be known today as the Table. Although there were people, mainly religious zealots, who hunted the violent creatures, the Round Table was the first organization gathered for that single cause, to protect the peace between the two sides,” Scott elaborated with a tired and bored expression.
I wasn’t exactly surprised that King Arthur had been brought up in this conversation, but I had no real response. So instead, I spat out the stupidest thing I could have said, but the only thing I could think of. I asked him about every mythical creature I could think of, and whether they were real or not,“So… vampires are real?”
“Yes.”
“Changelings?”
“One tried to kill you earlier.”
“Fenrir's?”
“Only in Italy and Denmark.”
“Leprechauns?”
“They run all the banking systems in the British Isles.”
“What?” I asked, stupefied.
“They can remember anything related to currency. And like dragons, they hoard wealth. And they also live three times as long as humans do.”
“Werewolves?” He Kinda paused for a moment before answering, as if he was having a horrid flashback.
“They are nearly extinct, partially because of me,” he said with a solemn look. I decided he had some kind of vendetta with werewolves, so I didn’t pursue that any further.
“Booze Sprites?”
“If there is a Sprite in my booze, so help me God, I will lock it in an iron-silver cage and shake it around until it dies,” after he finished his threat he set his drink down, and a small glimmer rose out of the cup and sped off with lightning-like speed. He had turned away just in time to not see it, but I nearly spat out my own drink. Noticing my reaction, Scott swatted out his arm and caught the ball of light in his hand. At some point, of which I had only noticed now, was that Scott had removed his gloves. Bringing his closed hand closer to his face, he whispered something into his hand. Then, with what looked to be a nod of agreement, he opened up his hand, and the light flew off.
“I’m surprised you could see it as it truly was. Most people can’t see supernatural creatures that want to blend in,” Scott said with an intrigued look.
“Why can’t people see them?” I asked.
“Most intelligent supernatural beings have a second form that allows them to blend in with the human world. Changelings are some of the few that can have as many forms as they want. Though forms can be either flesh, which causes physical changes to their body, or mimicry, which alters people's perception of them. That sprite was the latter,” Scott explained.
“I could never see that before,” I said with a genuinely confused look.
“That’s strange. Either people are born with that ability or they learn to see them. However, you do not seem to know how you came to be able to see them. That is interesting. Were you, perchance, possessed at any point recently?” he asked, though his face showed that he was joking.
“Alright, what about this Table? How do you function? Is it government-run or independent?” I asked, brushing off his question. In the corner of the bar, one drunkard who had been sleeping got up groggily whilst holding his head, and meandered out of the bar. Scott waited to speak till the man had left, admiring the natural foam of the drink until the drunk had left.
“There are a couple thousand agents worldwide, but we are not everywhere, only where we are allowed to be. Some governments would rather deal with monsters themselves. But because of a lack of personnel, I am the only true agent in all of London. Thus, it is entirely my district. There is also a sorcerer and a witch that I am on friendly terms with, and they help me from time to time… Otherwise, it’s just me. That is why I would like to recruit you,” he said, without a care for the fact that I had brushed off his question.
“So.. you want me to join this Table and help you fight monsters and protect London?” I asked.
“In a way, yes,” he said, before taking a sip of his drink.
“Dope,” I replied with an eager attitude.
“There will be no drugs,” he stated sternly.
“No, it’s an idiom. It means awesome,” I tried to explain.
“I don’t see what this has to do with religion,” Scott said with a slightly confused look. I was starting to realize that some terms had changed over time. I can tell him that I’m from the future, right? He deals with the supernatural all the time, so he might not think that I’m crazy, right? He did save me as well, so I think I can trust him.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“It’s a term from the future.” I said matter-of-factly.
“What?” he retorted with a dumbfounded look. I kind of felt as if he were looking at me in a different light now.
“The future, I’m from the future, and those phrases are commonplace in the future. Specifically, the twenty-first century,” I explained further
“The future, huh… Guess I really have to take you to that sorcerer I mentioned, to see if you’re telling the truth,” Scott said calmly.
“Great, I can’t wait. Though, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that monsters exist. Perhaps the alcohol will make it sound more believable,” I said, before gulping down my mug. Scott and I drank for a good while, before I blacked out.
***
When I awoke, I tussled around, as one who desperately wished to find a more comfortable sleeping position. The headache I felt was bad, but not the worst I’ve ever had. Even so, I had no desire to get up. I had yet to even open my eyes, believing in my subconscious that the last day had been a very lucid dream. That is, until I heard something familiar.
“Hey you, you’re finally awake,” a voice that sounded like a scratchy mix between an old man and a pubescent boy said.
After hearing this, my eyes shot open, half expecting to wake up in a moving carriage as if it were the most natural next part of my lucid dream. Instead, I was in a yellow, candle-lit room with no windows. A desk sat on one end of the room, covered in old papers and books, while on the other, a lavishly designed door stood with more locks on it than on that of a paranoid crack-head. Otherwise, the room had nothing but the cot I was laying on, and the person whose voice I heard upon waking up.
He was rather old, or at least I thought it was a he, with long white hair and a rather younger-looking face. He adorned a grey robe that made me think that he was a cosplayer, or part of a cult. Actually, with all that has happened to me recently, that would be the least surprising thing I would’ve seen. Along the linings of his robe were interwoven gold markings that looked like a mix of old norse, latin, and Greek. It stood out a bit, but not as much as the creepy smile that he wore.
“I was worried that you might be extremely hurt the way Langston brought you here, the drunk bastard, but you seem alright.” the man said with a now more caring than creepy smile on his face. I sat up in a slight rush so as to not show him any disrespect before speaking.
“Where am I, and who are you?” I asked calmly but with a wince of pain from my hangover.
“You are in the safest place in all of the world, my bedroom,” he said before waving his hands around to show it off, but I was not impressed. “And my name is Iscariot, master of sorcery.”
To be frank, not much surprised me at this point, but something about this guy was giving me a ton of mental red flags. I don’t know whether it’s his insanely scratchy voice, pride in his bedroom, or the fact that he unironically called himself a sorcerer, but it was creepy. Instead, I figured I should ask why I was here. That’s logical right? Just avoid the crazy and get straight to the point.
“What am I doing here?” I asked.
“Well, as I said before, Mr. Langston brought you here unconscious. Don’t know exactly why, but I think it’s because he wants me to look you over. What I want to know is, are you from the future as he said? Other than your watch, I could find nothing on you that seemed futuristic.” Iscariot said with a curious and dubious tone.
“Yes… I am from the future. That watch is digital and solar-powered, something that isn’t available in the 1880s,” I said with a sigh.
“Okay, you’re from the future. I believe that, but how can you obtain power from the sun?” he asked in the same way a science teacher would ask the class idiot. It was as if he was completely disregarding the fact that I was actually from the future and just wanted to know how the technology worked.
“... The sun generates solar rays, and that watch collects rays and converts them into electricity, or energy. It then powers the watch and shows the time on the screen, I don’t know any more than that. I am not an expert on it,” I said, hoping that would quell his desire for knowledge of future machinery.
“Fascinating, the future holds such great things. I just hope I will live long enough to see it,” Iscariot said with mild enthusiasm.
“I doubt it. That’s over a hundred years in the future,” I said, instantly crushing his dreams. He kinda looked depressed when I said this. Maybe I should have encouraged him rather than stomping on his dreams, or so I thought. He got happy again, almost joyous even after a second. I don’t know what made him so happy, but I could tell it wasn’t good; Screw me for pitying him.
“If you time-traveled then maybe others could too?” he almost yelled. “What caused you to time travel?”
“I-I don’t know, I kind of just walked through an alley and the whole world changed on me,” I stammered out as I didn’t have the slightest clue.
“Oh, well that’s disappointing…” he said redundantly.
“Ya, sorry,” I said, feeling a bit sorry for the guy.
“Mmm… So have we been across the galaxy by the 2000s?” Iscariot asked, reluctantly curious.
“No, we only got to the moon, and the Americans do it first,” I said with the thought of that giving him some hope for the future.
“Really? How did the colonies get more advanced than us?” he asked angrily but his scratchy voice made it sound utterly hilarious, like a bog witch shrieking about not getting tax benefits.
“I don’t know, I’m not a history nut,” I replied, as I wasn’t exactly a model student. At this point, the conversation had gone in a strange direction and the news about the space race seemed to anger Iscariot, thus I wasn’t going to continue. Thankfully a knock at the door ended the conversation.
“Who is it?” asked Iscariot.
“It’s Scott, the code is rapture,” replied the knocker, who I was not pleased to hear was Langston. After hearing this, Iscariot hobbled over to the door, spending roughly thirty seconds unlocking the insane amount of locks adorning it, and opened it. In stepped Scott, smelling of booze, his clothes ragged, carrying a faint scent of the docs' water, and looking fairly tired.
“Well…, is he from the future?” he asked with a raspy tired voice the moment he was inside and the door was shut behind him.
“Yes,” Iscariot replied with a very monotone voice. He barely asked me any real questions, yet he was so willing to accept it as fact... Was he actually crazy? Scott sighed, took a deep breath, and as he released his breath, a word escaped his lips.
“Bollocks…”
The room was quiet for a while, too long actually. Iscariot and I could tell that Scott was contemplating things, and neither of us was going to interrupt. I thought about asking Iscariot if he was up for a game while we waited, but that didn’t sound very mature, and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of a sorcerer and a monster hunter. The good news was that Scott finally spoke before I had the chance to make a fool of myself.
“Iscariot, what have you learned from him?” Scott asked.
Iscariot turned from facing me towards him before saying, “Not much. He has a watch that works far differently than anything I have ever seen that was either magical or normal. Also, his knowledge of machines from the future is rather small, as he can’t tell me how to recreate them, but his basic knowledge surpasses that of common scholars of today.”
“So he’s a bloody genius here, but in the future, he’s an idiot?” Scott asked rhetorically.
“Hey, I’m right here,” I protested.
“And I couldn’t care less,” Scott replied with more sass than a mom after their child talked back.
“Yes, you could say he is a genius to us because of his future knowledge. Although, that doesn’t matter. The fact that he is from the future in itself is a danger to the universe. He could accidentally alter the timeline without us knowing that it was even altered,” Iscariot said to try and get the conversation back on track.
“Then he needs to be quarantined until he dies, is what you’re saying?” Scott asked.
“I don’t wish to be quarantined,” I interrupted.
“You don’t have to go that far. He is dangerous as an existence, but nothing happens without reason. I believe it would be more beneficial to have him join the Table and shadow you until we can figure out who or what caused him to come to this time period,” Iscariot said. Scott looked like he was about to say something, but then he stopped, taking a long pause before speaking.
“Well, I was already planning on taking him on as an apprentice. I want him to join the Table, but I want to send him to the Table for his training. I already know that I would be an awful teacher,” Scott finally said. I was starting to think that his slower reaction time was due to him being drunk.
“You do realize if you don’t train your own apprentice soon, the Table heads are going to force one on you. Your father-in-law can only bail you out for so long,” Iscariot replied.
“Don’t talk about that, please... I get it, I will contact the Table about registering him as my apprentice. But he needs to stay here until then,” Scott said, finally giving in.
“That’s fine. You know time is altered in this room,” Iscariot said.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, not because of the Table discussion, but because of the comment about the room I was currently in.
“This room was created in a synthetic dimensional space where time is far slower than the outside. Just since we started this conversation, which has only lasted a moment, an hour has passed outside. It also cannot be opened except from the inside or by using a magic key, which is why this is the safest place on earth,” Iscariot answered. I was unsure of how to react to the bomb that was released from Iscariot’s mouth; it was something that seemed impossible except to the imagination of theoretical physicists.
“If you think that’s amazing, Iscariot should tell you the story of why his voice is that of an old man who somehow hasn’t reached puberty,” Scott said with a chuckle.
“I don’t think I want to tell him that story, for my own pride's sake,” Iscariot replied sheepishly.
“Well, now I want to hear it,” I said hoping to coerce Iscariot.
“Yeah, tell the twit your bloody hilarious story!” Scott said, encouraging him more.
Iscariot sighed. “Fine, I was messing around with an alchemical experiment and caused an explosion that sent my family jewels into my stomach permanently. This gave me a very high-pitched squeaky voice and the older I get, the more insane I sound,” he said with an almost reminiscent tone.
“But you are insane, so it’s more like a warning siren,” Scott said jokingly.
I did everything I could to not chuckle, so instead, I just acted concerned. “Remind me to never mess with magic,” I said with a pained look of warning.
“Oh, I wasn’t using magic. I was experimenting with gunpowder,” Iscariot corrected. Well, now I think he might just be more idiotic than he is letting on, or maybe he’s just eccentric, as Scott said.
“With that, I will take my leave. I leave the future twit in your hands, Iscariot. I will return with news from the Table,” Scott said, adjusting his coat and then unlocking the many locks on the door. Once he had left it was just me and Iscariot in an uncomfortable silence yet again.
“Want to play chess?” he asked, to finally break the silence. Apparently, when I was wanting to ask if he wanted to play a game, he was thinking the same thing. Wait, if he's thinking the same thing I am, and he’s insane, what does that say about me?
Nearly four hours had passed since Scott left, three of which included an impromptu lesson on how to use a magical chess set. It’s pretty much the same as regular chess, except the pieces are controlled with your mind. Of course, this also came with an explanation of how magic worked. The way how Iscariot explained it, was that magic and science share one commonality.
They have a mathematical formula explaining their existence. For example: if fuel is equal to F, the air is equal to A, and ignition is equal to I then would produce a form of Fire. The only difference between the two is that the fuel used by magic is an energy that flows through all living things, whilst in science, the fuel can be practically any flammable substance. By imagining the formula and focusing my energy on an item or a certain area I can create or control what the given formula allows for.
Although, there are many tools, like the chess pieces, that have formulas inscribed into them, making it so that you don’t have to imagine said formulas as you use the magic every single time. These are usually wands or staffs, though, that can be used to cast spells. Of course, Iscariot explained that magic items are not tools with multiple capabilities, so they can only have one single purpose. That and these items can only be used by someone who has fused their life with the item. In other words, they have to rub some blood, or other vital substance, on the item in order for it to become theirs. I had to rub some of my own blood on the bottom of each chess piece before I could use it. Controlling a specific piece with my mind was a lot harder than I had originally thought.
I tried moving a rook, and instead I ended up flinging a knight across the room. What's worse is that the chess pieces cannot be lifted from the chessboard without magic. The chessboard itself was a magic item that was imbued with energy beforehand, kind of like a magic battery. Honestly, I think he was trying to gauge my magic power, like at the beginning of a video game. The only difference was I couldn’t control shit, unlike every main character ever.
As we played, I wondered aloud if Scott used magic. Iscariot frowned dismally and told me that Scott hated magic, not because of religious or moral reasons, but because he couldn’t imagine the formulas properly. Scott also refused to use magic tools because his body couldn’t handle them. He didn’t seem to be telling me everything about Scott’s refusal of magic tools, but I didn’t think it was wise to ask what it was that he was hiding. Eventually, I got the hang of it and was able to actually play the game. I lost due to being so focused on moving the pieces, rather than the game itself. During the game, though, I had a thought.
“Hey, Iscariot, if I’m going to be hunting monsters, shouldn’t I have a weapon?” I asked, as it was something that would probably be necessary.
“Yes, but I am not going to give you one. That’s Mr. Langston’s job,” Iscariot replied.
“I understand but once I have a weapon, could you place a magic formula similar to that of the chess pieces on it for me?” I asked.
Iscariot arched his brow at this, then smiled. “I’m interested in your train of thought. I will do that for you, but only if you can learn to control this chess piece,” he said, pointing at the queen. So, I spent the rest of the time trying to make the chess piece float around and fly through the air with decent control. I had figured out how to slide pieces around, so that wasn’t the issue. He was trying to gauge my control, of which I didn’t possess much.
I did end up controlling the piece fairly well but only after nearly shitting myself just trying to magically spin the damn thing in a circle. Iscariot told me after that I didn’t need to strain myself… that it was a matter of mental focus, not muscle focus. I think the training would have gone a lot smoother had my teacher not sounded like a helium-inhaling crackhead grinding his teeth on a chalkboard. I had to stop myself from laughing multiple times, making me lose my focus.
We were in the middle of learning how to make the chess piece spin like a saw blade when Scott finally knocked at the door and gave his password. I slowly lowered the chess piece back to the board while Iscariot started unlocking the door. Once Iscariot had opened the door, Scott stood there looking more disheveled than before. This time, there was another smell coming off him too. It almost smelled like stale vomit. Neither of us knew what to think.
“What happened to you?” we both asked.
“I rode the train to Warwick in order to speak with the European leader of the Table about you. But I couldn’t sleep on the train, even on the way back. I haven’t slept in three days,” Scott said before sitting on the cot, pulling out his flask, and taking a swig.
“Oh, that’s rather unfortunate,” Iscariot replied compassionately, but it only sounded sarcastic.
“Wait, it’s been three days? But it’s only been a few hours here,” I said but they both looked at me with a look of dumbfoundedness.
“Did you forget that this room is in another dimension where time is slower or did Iscariot hit you in the head?” Scott asked as if I were an idiot.
“I did no such thing, although I did consider it,” Iscariot refuted in a way that made me warier of his presence whilst alone.
“Anyways, here's a silver knife,” Scott said, handing me a hunting-style knife in a leather sheath.
“Thank you,” I replied as I looked it over.
“You can get a different weapon once I decide your training is far enough along, or I decide to fully trust you,” Scott said, stating his expectations.
I was fine with that because now, Iscariot would have to hold up his end of our deal. Thus, I handed it to him and he, knowing what I wanted him to do, started carving on the handle. I think Scott saw this but did nothing to stop it. Probably because he was too tired to care. Within a minute, Iscariot had already inscribed the formula on the hilt and started to hand it to me, pausing for a moment right before.
“Grit your teeth,” he said in a monotone voice.
“What?” I started to ask before he stabbed my hand with his carving tool and placed the knife handle in it. This stained the handle a dark crimson but I was in far too much pain from being stabbed to care at the moment. All I could do was let out a pained yell.
“Why would you do that, you prick!?” I asked in a panicked tone.
“I gave you plenty of warning,” he said, obviously not sorry about it. What annoyed me more was that Scott was chuckling at my pain. Now that I think about it, he may not have stopped Iscariot because he knew that was going to happen. That bastard!
“Alright, Iscariot, I thank you for taking care of the kid for a while. We’re going to head to my flat for the rest of the day so I can sleep and then I will begin his training,” Scott said with a yawn.
“You’re welcome, and please don’t bother me for about a week, I would like to sleep for at least a few hours before you come knocking at my door again,” Iscariot asked with an equally tired, but slightly more energetic, sigh.
“That’s fine with me, and do you have any of those magic keys you can give the kid so he can find your room if he needs to?” Scott inquired.
“Of course. Here you are,” Iscariot said, handing me a ring from his pocket. “This is the key to my room. You will not be able to open the door, but I will know that it’s either you, the Witch, or Scott at the door,” Iscariot said, explaining it to me as if I didn’t just hear his conversation.
“Thanks,” I replied. Wait, What did he say about a witch? Is it the same witch Scott said that he knew?