Samuel wearily exited his car and started walking toward Magic House. House loomed ahead of him, big red wooden building with sign Spells and witchcraft, in elaborate script adorning the doorway, telling what this house was specialized on, He hoped they could find a solution to break the spell—whatever Freya's old coven had inflicted—so he could focus on his patients.
His van was full of supplies, and he was pleased; the doctors and the entire tiny hospital were eager to help and willing to take on supernatural patients. While Bran struggled to accept his transformation into a vampire and wizard—especially the vampire part—Samuel didn't see himself as a wizard at all.
A man of science, he'd cast very few spells, brewed few potions, and never focused on magic, only medicine. Being a vampire, however, didn't faze him; it was a species, a race, and his scientific background encompassed all things vampiric.
The freshly cut grass smelled sharp in his nose, yet it evoked no emotion or holiday feeling; he knew it was simply distress chemicals released by the blades. Yes, sometimes his scientific approach made things a little boring, but that was simply his way of perceiving the world.
He already knew Will's report wasn't good: Mimi had died four times in the past few days, reviving only after twelve hours at most. Her recovery was arduous; she was incredibly fragile, requiring minimal medication because her system was depleted and her powers, particularly her rage, had been compromised.
The situation was dire. Meanwhile, Bran's infection spread despite antibiotics, and Samuel feared that he might need leg amputation, though he could regrow them eventually. Every female patient had blood poisoning, with multiple bacterial strains circulating in their blood.
He'd need to assess Salvatore's antibiotic supplies. Will had removed cannulas from their pelvises and attempted to flush them with Salvatore's blood, but the infections were overwhelming. Numerous problems demanded immediate attention, and Samuel's mind raced, strategizing.
He entered the magic house, sensing the familiar tingling of magic, but his focus remained on the task at hand. He'd already posted a message about the crisis and anticipated solutions. Giselle, Tammy, and Patty awaited him. Giselle's thin face, as stern as ever, scrutinized him. He was exhausted after eighteen hours of driving and craved solutions, not lectures.
"You, wizard and strong one," Giselle began, "yet you refuse to use your powers. Why?"
Samuel rolled his eyes, pinching his nose. "Please, not now. We need to free the males and get to the hospital; that drive will take time, and I need to get started here."
Giselle responded, "Then let's begin. It's time you used your magic and learned to harness it. Don't deny such a significant part of yourself. I'll inform Salvatore, Wulfe, and Charles—you'll have instructors ready."
Samuel sighed, impatient with the suggestion of a "Harry Potter" approach while patients needed his help. He'd assist them in his own way, his natural way, not through magic, which felt unnatural to him.
Giselle, attempting to read Samuel's mind, instructed, "This spell doesn't use true love as a backdoor; it uses family connections. Charles is your half-brother, so this works best. We'll give you the incantation and help craft the potion. The trick is, it grants knowledge to those affected. You decide what knowledge by writing down the facts you want them to know. As you cast the spell, they'll learn those facts. You can include a lot, so if you don't want to spend the next 24 hours repeating the same things to shocked men, I suggest writing extensively."
Samuel frowned, pinched his nose, and began to protest, "Sure, I can give blood, but do I have to..."
Giselle snapped, "Yes, you do! Grow a pair and stop whining like a child. Own your power, own your heritage. Didn't Bran tell you about your mother, a shamaness, and that he was a healer long before modern medicine?"
Samuel raised his eyebrows. This was new; he needed to talk to his father. He'd always assumed Bran didn't remember his mother, but apparently, he had.
The magic house resembled a normal house with many rooms, some cavernous, others ordinary. Each of the thousands of magic houses specialized in something; this one focused on spells and magic. Others specialized in breeding, exercise, medicine, or immortality—their names revealed their purpose.
New categories, such as raising offspring or relationship houses, were constantly emerging. Each house type attracted certain magical creatures, whether witches, wizards, fae, or others. The house's dark brown floor creaked under Samuel's feet, and the walls were wallpapered with flowers.
He wasn't keen on decorating; his mind was on medical matters. He'd even fitted three old incubators into his van; these could be left at the clinic for general use, not just for Mimi. He had a lot of teaching ahead, and he wasn't going to reveal his wizardry to his patients, preferring to be known simply as a doctor. After all, it had been millennia; being a wizard felt like a kind of cheating.
He had once been happy, much happier even, and had tried to build a fulfilling relationship. However, as usual, he ruined it. Happiness eluded him; it was gone. He had been one of Mimi's six—meaning she'd been intimate with him, along with Charles, Bran, Adam, Lepard, and Demon—but his old, nasty habits resurfaced.
He concocted a plan, disguised as medical intervention, but it was, in retrospect, blatant, brutal rape and abuse. He couldn't understand why he'd even conceived of it. Perhaps it was his age, or a warped view of women and sex, and what he could do to them. There was no scientific basis; no medicine, just his warped mind.
As they reached what seemed to be a spell-crafting space, eighteen witches in ceremonial violet robes with golden threads, their faces hidden by deep hoods, worked amidst swirling incense.
Smoke from burning herbs smudged the air, clearing the space of negative influences, or so Samuel believed. Crystals glimmered on the table in the dim light, along with polished and shaped stones of various colors and patterns, some etched. Samuel hadn't learned their names or uses; Charles, however, crafted jewelry from ordinary-looking stones, believing that any stone could be beautiful with the right vision.
The witches continued their work, the pungent aroma of burning herbs and their muttered incantations creating an atmosphere straight out of a Harry Potter book. Giselle directed him to an old, worn chair that creaked as he sat.
Giselle said, "Sit here. This is your incantation. Read it, speak it aloud until it feels right. When you get it right, it will pop and then disappear from the parchment. This is a bespelled paper for the memory part, and here's a quill. Write down facts, as many as you can. They'll know if you try to pass off your opinions as facts, so either state them as opinions or stick to the facts." Her voice, as always, was no-nonsense, calm, and directive.
She commanded the room without effort. Samuel had no choice but to focus. He sat, took the paper, and tried to read the incantation aloud. Parts clicked, but sometimes the words blurred as he mispronounced them. He had to change his pronunciation; Giselle and the other witches offered no guidance on the words' enunciation.
Focusing, he attempted to tap into his magic, a strange and unsettling experience. Simultaneously, he formulated the facts he wanted to include in the spell to ensure everyone was on the same page. He would include the fact that this was an exceptionally strong spell, fueled by potent emotions and, God knows, whatever magical artifacts Freya had hoarded.
The spell's effectiveness wasn't a sign of weakness. Mastering the incantation took time, but it eventually became easier. He began to understand how to pronounce certain words, as if something new had unfolded within him. Though confused and slightly scared by this alien and unfamiliar power, distinctly a part of him, yet not dark or evil, but powerful, he questioned his ability to harness and control it.
Words vanished from the paper as Samuel read aloud in a continuous litany. Giselle smiled thinly and nodded. He then began to write what he wanted everyone to know: Mimi's death; the aversion to touch and caresses experienced by the female victims; the rapes; the miscarriages; evidence of torture on Mimi, including bruising around her mouth and neck, suggesting waterboarding and strangulation.
He documented the facts about Mariella, less detailed than Mimi's case, as he didn't perceive her need as acute, but he remained professional. He included the fact that examinations on wolves had found evidence of canine sperm from multiple donors, indicating forced mounting, given the significant trauma to their vaginas and uteruses, despite the miscarriages. He acknowledged a lack of complete detachment in his notes, attributing it to his special relationship with Mimi.
Samuel planned to move Bran first, seeking a safe place for him. His strong urge to help Mimi surprised him, even outside of his pack affiliation; she had been his patient for so long, and he knew she needed extensive care. His first priority was to prevent further deaths, requiring a multi-pronged approach.
Colin was best suited to interpret the straps—the energetic strings binding soul to body—as excessive stress could detach her soul and transfer it to another mind. Samuel wasn't sure if he would include everything in the spell designed to prevent her soul's loss, even temporarily. He aimed for clinical detachment, but Mimi, a creature of love, had endured such torture, rape, and abuse that physical contact was repulsive, yet it was paramount to her healing.
He grappled with how to heal from such trauma, suspecting Missy had manipulated others' memories, yet Mimi's super memory remained intact. He knew Mimi so well. The challenge would be managing the Salvatores' desire to help while protecting them from the raw memories that might cause erratic behavior or alienation from Mimi.
He documented his treatment recommendations, eliminating the need to defend his decisions to the anxious men. They would at least know his plan, and he hoped—though it was a slim hope—that some Salvatores might adopt his medical approach to prove their superior skills.
However, Damon Number One would undoubtedly pursue Mariella, likely for the long term. The question was who would lead the pack. Samuel doubted Damon could manage it, having limited recent interaction outside of medical situations involving Mimi and her health issues.
He worried about what new problems this would create for her; while the Salvatores could heal, she'd lost her pheromones, most of her teeth and fangs, and her sinuses were packed with some kind of sponge—Will had removed it, but the extent of the damage was unknown.
Samuel needed a personal examination to diagnose Mimi, but whoever did this clearly harbored a deep-seated grudge and possessed disturbingly precise knowledge of her anatomy and weaknesses.
The future remained uncertain, but Samuel's primary concern wasn't the Salvatores; it was Wulfe. An old, powerful creature with a deep bond to Mimi, he'd been enslaved by witches, and his reaction was unpredictable. He might remain with Mimi, or if he recovered even fragments of her memories, his revenge could be devastating—not just for the witches, but he could potentially draw in the Salvatores, Colin, Magnum, and many others in his quest for revenge.
Samuel couldn't predict Wulfe's response. He aimed to keep Wulfe close to Mimi rather than pursuing revenge, and to keep the others in line. He knew how to manage Magnum, at least temporarily, as Mimi's rage was suppressed, rendering her unable to utilize it, so outside assistance was necessary.
Samuel wanted revenge; a large part of him yearned to find those who had held him captive and kill them. However, he knew this wasn't productive. As a doctor and healer, those who needed his medical skills were far more important than the darker impulses that threatened to consume him.
When the time was right, he would act. He leaned back in his surprisingly comfortable old chair, watching as the witches completed their smudging ritual, and quietly left the room.
Only Giselle remained, sitting on a nearby sofa, watching him with a thin, enigmatic smile. She was considering the best way to help this ancient being embrace his magic. She would need to explain and demonstrate it, hoping his analytical mind would grasp the concept.
"Soon you will cast the spell," Giselle said, "but let me teach you a bit, so you can properly accept your gifts. Magic is a form of energy manipulation. As you know, humans perceive only a limited scope of energy; there is so much more. You are an energy being, and that's likely why you're magical—magic is just another form of energy."
Samuel frowned. He knew he was an energy being, but he found using that energy cumbersome, slow, and strange. He preferred his own methods. Giselle conjured a ball of light.
"Switch on your energy gaze and see," she instructed.
Samuel sighed; he knew he couldn't avoid this lesson. As he focused, a dazzling snap in his mind allowed him to perceive the room's energies, calm, almost nonexistent. The smudging, he realized, had erased or sedated the room's energy, likely to improve the spell's effectiveness.
He saw a glow of energy in Giselle's palm, but it wasn't the usual bright orange of heat energy. Instead, it resembled moss, sea, and blooms intertwined. Tendrils snaked up her arms, feeding the ball of energy that seemed to emanate from deep within her.
"As you see," Giselle explained, "this is a manifestation of my magic—a form of energy that comes from within, not from an external source. One must learn to tap into and manipulate this energy."
The ball shifted, resolving into thin, moving filaments that constantly reshaped it, eventually forming a tiny squirrel in her palm.
"As you see," she continued, "I simply manipulate my magic to shape what I want. It's not easy to learn; ask around. Once this crisis is over, Wulfe will be more than happy to teach you, as he's taught Salvatores, and his lessons are ongoing. Look now—normally."
Samuel switched off his energy gaze, and he saw Giselle smiling. The bright yellow energy squirrel transformed into a living creature, chirping in her palm; its tail was bushy and undeniably cute.
"Magic," Giselle stated, "is simply a human name for this type of energy manipulation, a form of creation. However, it's demanding; I just expended about 5000 kcal creating that squirrel, even though it seemed insignificant. Using magic is taxing, and you have to eat a lot."
Samuel nodded; his scientific mind was already cataloging these new facts, and magic no longer seemed like mere cheating.
"Now, spellcasting," Giselle continued, "is slightly different. It relies more on willpower and direction through ancient words—words imbued with power. As you know, very few humans can remain unaffected by words like 'sorry,' 'excuse me,' 'I love you,' or 'I hate you,' because these words possess inherent power regardless of language. The words used in spellcasting are from an ancient, extinct language, but they retain the ability to evoke power and shape energies. When spoken correctly, these words—syllables, phrases—bring deities, powers, and energies into play, making the magic work. This is a simplified explanation, so you won't feel like Harry Potter, but this is actually you."
Samuel smiled tiredly. "Those books were better than the movies, you know," he said. "I usually prefer books to movies because I like to visualize things for myself, but yeah, I guess wands are used too."
Giselle smiled. "Sure, you can use them once you learn to shape your magic," she replied. "I guess that might be the next lesson for Salvatores, but it will be quite some time before those lessons begin. Now, are you ready?"
Samuel nodded. Giselle guided him through the process. First, they made a potion. He had to use his magic, making it ooze from his fingertips—a bright green liquid, followed by his blood—and mix the potion in one direction, then the other, while adding various ingredients.
Samuel didn't overthink it, instead focusing on one thing at a time. Soon, the potion was ready—a shimmering dark green with silvery flecks. It was poured into a large bowl.
He would read the first part of the spell here to transform it into a kind of bomb, then it would be bottled. He would then teleport to the men, throw the bottle into their midst, and recite the rest of the spell. First, he had to place his parchment into the potion as he began to cast the first part of the spell. It dissolved, giving the potion a light green sparkle.
Giselle explained that his magic was primarily green, the color of knowledge and clarity. Eighteen hours after entering the magic house, he was ready. He now held the bottle of thickened green potion, feeling the humming magic thrumming in his fingers as he picked it up for the first time. It was time to teleport to the men and set them free. Samuel took one step at a time, ready to see where it would lead him.