“Potential?” I asked. “You see potential here? I’m told a substantial amount of magicals in the San Diego Coven are Mediocre, like me.”
“But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Tobe smiled. “Personally, I find the label to be quite elitist, and I don’t think it cancels out the tremendous potential of every magical in this place. They simply need more confidence in their own abilities. They lack motivation. Alton is doing a fine job, and he’ll probably make more progress in the years to come, but even he is too deeply attached to the rules and regulations. This whole Mediocre concept is completely unnecessary, if you ask me. And yet, magicals in positions of power often use it to deny other magicals the possibility of advancement in the coven ranks.”
“That’s cruel. And foolish,” I said, my dislike for the magical society swelling in my throat, like a painful lump. Would I pledge my life and services to a coven that was so quick to slap me with the Mediocre label? Would I ever be given the chance to evolve beyond that?
“Tell me, Harley, do you agree with your Mediocrity?” Tobe replied, as if reading my mind—something Wade seemed good at, too. For a split second, I wondered what Wade was up to right now.
Probably snoring his butt off.
But Tobe asked a good question. Was I okay with being classified as a Mediocre?
My ego screamed, “Hell, no!” and my instincts also disagreed. I shook my head in response. “Not really, no. It’s not just because of the Reading, though. I mean, sure, it does sound ridiculous to be a full Elemental and an Empath and a Telekinetic and be deemed a Mediocre. And I’m just using common reasoning here, no magical knowledge whatsoever. But there’s also something deep down, like this little voice in the back of my head, and it’s telling me I’m not Mediocre, at all. It’s almost laughing at the prospect. I feel like I can be more, and better.”
Tobe nodded slowly, carefully considering my answer, then took a couple of steps forward. He was so tall that I had to tilt my head back a little. “You see, in circumstances such as yours, having some information about your birthparents would have been very useful. Parental heritage often determines a magical’s prospects, including the chances of being labeled a Mediocre. Do you know anything about your biological family?”
“Nothing whatsoever.” I sighed, then remembered the note from my father, still stuck in the back pocket of my jeans. I took it out, then handed it over to him. “All I have is this note from my father. I was three years old when I was left at the orphanage. Nobody knows how I ended up there. Father Thomas was kind enough to check hospital records in the city at the time, but nothing came up. No babies missing, nothing that could be traced back to me.”
Tobe listened, while studying the note. I tried to get a sense of what he was feeling, but all I got was curiosity, with a faint whiff of concern. “What are you thinking?” I asked. “I feel you, but I can’t exactly read you.”
“You will, some day.” He winked at me. “Your Empath ability is still very green. Once you develop it properly, and once you get a better understanding of emotions, in general, you’ll be able to identify and interpret everything with incredible accuracy. Tell me, Harley, do you remember anything from before the orphanage?”
“Nothing… I don’t think so, anyway,” I mumbled, flashes of previous dreams rushing before my eyes. Tobe was quick to notice.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Um. I think I’ve had dreams about my parents… but they’re too hazy,” I confessed. “When I dream, it’s all clear, and it’s like I know exactly what’s going on, who I am, who they are. But the moment I open my eyes, I forget everything. I’m left with bright spots and the warmth of a smile.”
“Wait here,” Tobe said, then disappeared behind a glass box wall hosting ten formless monsters. They rippled across the crystalline surface, then scattered at the bottom, and I could see Tobe on the other side, bent over a wooden chest. I glanced over to my left, to find Quetzi still watching me curiously, the tip of its tail twitching.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you are creepy and gorgeous at the same time,” I said, staring at the mythical serpent.
“Thank you, I get that a lot,” Tobe quipped, coming back with what looked like a Native American dreamcatcher.
“No, I meant Quetzi,” I replied, then worried he might feel offended, somehow, which threw me into a most awkward stammer. “Not that you’re not gorgeous… Well, not gorgeous, but… Um, I mean, good-looking. You are. Despite the lion head. Not ‘despite,’ sorry, it’s not like there’s something wrong with your head. It’s perfect just the way it is, and you’re not creepy at all. I… I mean… Stop me, please, I’m digging myself into a hole I won’t be able to get out of.”
Tobe stared at me for a couple of seconds, then laughed. His laughter was strange, like a soft purr, his jaws open and his white fangs glistening. At least he had a sense of humor and wasn’t easily offended. Thank heavens.
“It’s all right, Harley, do not worry,” he replied. “I am well aware that my appearance doesn’t exactly match my nature or my vocabulary—or my ability to use a vocabulary. Here, take this.”
He handed me the dreamcatcher, and I spent a good minute looking at it from all angles. It was really old, judging by the yellowed sinews used for the net. The edges were wrapped in worn, red leather, and the feathers were simply stunning, each the size of my palm and bright red. They were quite peculiar, too, mainly because they looked a lot like peacock feathers, with big white-and-black eyes in the middle, but the coloring simply didn’t feel natural. The beads were shiny and black, with tiny reddish striations. It was truly a beautiful piece.
“What does this do?” I asked.
“It’s a dreamcatcher.”
“Of course it is,” I said. He was stating the obvious, but I had a feeling our concepts of “obvious” were quite different. In human culture, dreamcatchers had lost their mystical origin, and were simply regarded as beautiful Native American decorative objects. Something told me this wasn’t just for decoration. “I’m guessing it’s magical?”
“Yes. It’s a very old charm. Only a handful of these still exist. They were woven by Navajo warlocks before the first European settlers came to America,” Tobe explained. “All you need to do is hang it above your head, before you go to sleep, and say, ‘na’iidzeel.’ That’s Navajo for ‘dream.’ It will capture your dreams in vivid detail.”
“Oh. Wow.”
I was floored by his gesture, and by what this meant for me, on a very personal level. This was a rare artifact, and Tobe was simply handing it over to help me remember my dreams. Who does that?
Wonderful creatures do, Harley. Wonderful creatures.
“How… How can I ever repay you for this?” I breathed, my eyes glassy with tears, and my throat closing up.
“Just look after it, Harley. Like I said, it is extremely rare, and highly valuable. So, be careful whom you tell about it.” Tobe smiled, and I nodded in response.
“Thank you, Tobe. Thank you so much… Wait, quick question. How do I see my dreams, afterward? You said it captures them.”
“Ah, yes. Good question. It’s a very intense experience, much like taking peyote,” he replied, slightly amused.
“I’ve never—”
“Of course you haven’t, and I don’t think you should.” He shook his head vehemently. “It’s a powerful hallucinogenic to humans, but to magicals it is far, far more powerful, much more intense. It is a literal separation of consciousness and body. Some magicals even fail to return to their physical forms. But, anyway, you’ll learn that from Preceptor Bellmore; she uses peyote in some of her charms and hexes. To see your dreams, you need only to hold the dreamcatcher with both hands and say, ‘yáshti’. That means ‘speak,’ and it allows the dreamcatcher to speak to you with the images from your dream. You’ll see what I mean.”
I nodded again, my gaze shifting repeatedly between Tobe and the dreamcatcher. I rarely got gifts, and never one of such importance. It felt humbling, and, at the same time, it filled me with an unfamiliar but warm light, as if I’d finally found my place in the world.
The pragmatic side of me quickly kicked in, reminding me not to get too attached. Tobe was clearly an extraordinary creature, but I’d yet to find the same appreciation for the rest of the coven. I had to take my time before giving the coven an answer—no matter what that answer may be.
“Thank you, Tobe.” I offered a warm smile, which he returned with a gentle expression.
“Now go to sleep, Harley,” he replied. “You shouldn’t be out at this hour, anyway. You have a long day ahead tomorrow, don’t you?”
“Ah, yes. Totally.” I sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
I left Tobe in the Bestiary and eventually found my way back to the dorms. It was going to take some time to get used to all the passageways and corridors in this place—not to mention all the floors! I’d only seen one today. From what I understood, there were five, and if they were as huge as this one, I would need a couple of days just to visit them all.
By the time I reached my room, my eyes were already droopy, and my brain had slowed down, to the point where I had a hard time remembering the Navajo words Tobe had told me to use for my dreamcatcher.
“Crap,” I muttered, then tucked the dreamcatcher into the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I’d find a better hiding place tomorrow. I couldn’t even stand anymore, my arms and legs weighing a ton.
I was far too tired to struggle to remember the words. “I’ll ask Tobe again tomorrow,” I murmured, resting my head on the pillow.
My mind went back into overdrive as I remembered the gargoyle attacks. Maybe a minute later, however, I let the darkness embrace me, closing my eyes and finally drifting away.