“There is absolutely no way that I am Guardian of the Sky, Air, whatever!” Some say that there are several stages of acceptance, only one of which is denial. I had forgone all other stages, not forgetting the actual acceptance part, and was lodged firmly in denial.

“But, dear…” Began one of the witches in that infuriating ‘child-talk’ once again, as if I was some dangerous kind of maniac, likely to attack at any second and they were trying to talk me out of it. “Even your name suggests…”

We were on the third floor library, ‘we’ being the witch and, presumably, vampire elders and myself, the latter of which had been swiftly steered to this destination whilst still in shock and unable to find the words for a public outburst. It was a spacious room, the walls were lined with books and several large tables were arranged in the centre, surrounded by comfortable chairs. The chairs had formed a sort of semi circle, cutting me off from the door (which had been an intelligent move on someone’s part) and keeping me with my back to the wall. There were, however, three large windows in the room. The first was on the far wall, nearest the door and it was this I faced behind the solemn countenances of my prison waders. The last two were on my side of the room and you can be sure I knew exactly how many leaps it would take to make it to the nearest sill.

I was not particularly surprised to see De Wolfe among them, as I have already mentioned De Wolfe was an old-family vampire name and Demon de Wolfe had quite a reputation of his own. Taking a calming breath I tried again to show that I was a reasonable being and was in perfect control of such commodities as common sense and logic,

“You know perfectly well that I named myself Skye, it has nothing to do with any of this whatsoever and if that is the best proof you can come up with then we have all wasted a great deal of time.” There, that sounded logical, if a bit rude.

“It was fate!”

“Destiny!”

“The subconscious works in mysterious ways!”

I should have known better than to try and reason with witches – logic flounders at the sight of them, especially if it is logic designed to prove what they believe wrong, unfortunately for them I am just as obstinate and bull-headed.

“There is no way! It is simply the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” There was movement in the corner of my eye but I ignored it and the sudden glint of sunlight; they thought they could distract me but they were wrong, oh so wrong. I was vaguely aware that the air in one part of the room had thickened to an incredible density but I figured that the vampires were doing some of their unique ‘vampire-ness’ or something.

“Furthermore…”

I stopped, it was blatantly obvious that no one was paying an ounce of attention to my argument, by the number of gasps that had filled the room I was surprised they could hear my voice at all and several of the younger, more excitable witches were pointing and gaping.

I shifted uncomfortably, that was an expression I had become painfully familiar with but I hadn’t expected it from the witches. I turned slightly, trying to see if my wings had indeed protruded in my agitation. I didn’t see any wings, what I did see however was a knife.

A nice, shiny, pointy knife.

A nice, shiny, pointy knife pointing at me. Suspended in mid air and cocooned by the density of the air around it. I turned back to face the majority of the room, furious.

The witches and vampires stared back at me, plainly expecting some kind of acquiescence, as if they had proved a point or something.

“Somebody threw a knife at me!” I fairly screamed. They blinked, nonplussed for a moment,

“I don’t think that’s the point…”

“Not the point!” Whoa, I was getting really mad, someone tried to kill me and it’s not the point? “Of course it’s the bloody point! It’s a bloody knife!”

From a high-backed chair the oldest witch cleared her throat. I say oldest, actually the very oldest witch at Wiccan Castle was currently muttering to herself in one of the rooms in the south tower, a room without any pointy objects, or heavy ones as a matter of fact. The second oldest witch was the ‘official Crone’ and she never had to clear her throat more than once.

The room fell into awed silence; she often had that effect on witches, personally I found it sickening the way they sucked up to her but…hierarchy, what can you do? Even the vampires seemed able to maintain a polite absence of sound. Not that they weren’t still communicating, telepathically that was, I could feel the nagging buzzing in my head and wondered if it was something to do with the connection De Wolfe had formed when he had expelled the sorcerers from my head. A connection with Demon de Wolfe, the thought made me light-headed and slightly dizzy with something not entirely, I fear, to do with his shadowy reputation.

“There is no question about it child.” I allowed her the ‘child’ – to her I really was a child, ignorant and young.

“But…” Some of the more feeble witches gasped as if speaking whilst the elder spoke were some horrific sacrilege, well, I wasn’t a witch and I wasn’t about to conform to their ridiculous codes of conduct.

“There is no but, child.” Onyx eyes bore into my own grey ones and I felt my rebellious streak wither and die under their fierce onslaught. “You carry the Sky Spirit as we speak, it is the one object that you would fight to the death for, as you well know.”

My mind fled from those eyes, back to when I had first arrived, tattered and bloodstained at the doors of the Castle. I didn’t want it to be true but I knew now that it was. One of the legendary guardians, me? I didn’t feel that special, truth be told I felt more alone than ever, but the item of which she spoke…yes, I would die; I nearly did die for it. The pendant seemed to burn against my skin as it hung from the chain around my neck. The silver was carved in an intricate design, which changed as often as the wind, the perfect vessel for the spirit of the sky. Sometimes the shape reminded me of the tattoo upon my shoulder, I guess I could blame that on the Spirit as well.

Still I floundered,

“But, but…” Then the blonde vampire rose, I glared at him, certain it was he who had flung the dagger in my direction.

“There is no doubt. The sorcerers have already sought her mind.” The stunned silence that followed that declaration allowed me to turn my glare upon De Wolfe, he would not meet my eyes and his face was an expressionless mask. Then the room erupted into noise.

“Enough!” Cried the witch elder, “ It is decided, the child remains here, inside the protections.” I snapped back into the conversation, inside the protections? They meant inside a prison, a cage.

“Dammit!” I cried, knowing I should have seen this coming, “I will not be caged!” Sky Guardian or not, being kept inside, against my will, my wings clipped – it would kill me, they would be completing the job the sorcerers had tried to accomplish twice already.

De Wolfe was probably the only one who saw it coming, I saw him spring to his feet the second before I dived for the window latch. Behind me the room exploded again, I could hear some of the more excitable witches screaming,

“Stop her! Stop her!” But I knew that they wouldn’t be able to, they would be lucky if they could breathe; the air in the room was now so thick. But I had not counted on the vampires, it was possible that they exuded their own little force field that couldn’t be affected by any general action but needed a specific assault to prevent their movement, in a moment of detached hysteria I wondered if they actually needed to breathe at all.

I had flung the window open and was preparing to dive out of it when the first hands grabbed me, I tried to fight them off but they were just replaced by more, and more. Suddenly my whole world was filled with fingers that had grips of steel. I fought. I twisted and struggled, writhed and kicked. I didn’t scream – I was busy using my mouth to bite anything that came into range. My mind whipped up a storm even whilst my body was carried, kicking and scratching to the East Tower. They threw me through a heavy door into a semi-circular room and slammed it shut behind me. There was one small window, barred. Small slivers of light filtered through to where I lay on the floor, heaving with the exertion of my struggles.

The people whom I had grown so fond of, who had saved me, cared for me, had caged me. I almost laughed at the irony; I had spent my whole life running from ordinary people who had wanted to tame me as a pet, stuff me for a trophy, put me on display as their own personal freak show, then I meet people who understood magic, whom I thought liked me for who I was, not what I was. The only makeshift family I had ever had, had been the ones to cage me.

The witches and vampires met again in the library and surveyed the damage. The tornado had certainly stricken the room, torn papers and books lay scattered across every surface, tables were overturned, smashed glass littered the deep windowsills and chairs lay, splintered matchsticks across the destruction.

“ I think she will need no instruction on how to control the power which sleeps within her.” The others nodded, silent and solemn. They turned as one to watch as the storm outside raged and ravaged the magic-protected walls of the castle. Bolts of lightning preceded thunder as they slammed against one particular spot on the wall of the East Tower and gale-force winds buffeted the battlements.

“No, I believe little training will be needed.”

It was only after I had totally exhausted myself and the storm had died that the sound of footsteps echoed up the stone stairs towards my room, which was, coincidentally, at the highest point of the East Tower. Waiting until I was too tired to move seemed just the style of the spineless coward.

“What the hell do you want?” I snarled from where I was curled in a tight ball in the centre of the bed as the locks slid back and a figure slipped in. I heard the locks click back into place and figured that he was doing it mentally. His black gaze swivelled slowly over the remnants of a table and two chairs (they hadn’t lasted long). I hoped my eyes conveyed the anger I felt for him when he finally met my gaze.

“You should learn to control your temper.” The fury that boiled up at his words gave me the strength to move.

“Control my temper?” I hissed, slightly appeased when he took as step back at my furious approach, “Thanks to you and your big mouth I’m now a bloody prisoner.” Even the word sounded vile on my tongue. His eyes darkened but he yielded no more ground and his face was still as the stonewalls upon which my ineffectual blows had fallen.

“You didn’t even try to stop them,” I continued bitterly, “ To undo the damage you’ve done.” I took another step forward so I was close enough to reach out and touch him, which I did, hard, with the tip of my finger emphasising each word as it stabbed viciously into his chest, and I wished it was a knife point,

“Do You Have Any Idea What You’ve Done?” His eyes were suddenly black holes again, sucking in all the light, all the matter of the universe.

“Don’t you dare expect anything of me.” He growled, his voice as smooth and dangerous as the first time I had heard it, and I realised that he was right, I shouldn’t have, I don’t know what I was thinking – I had never depended upon anybody’s kindness before, excluding the witches, and look where that had gotten me. It was the bloody attraction, I realised, the pull I felt towards him which lowered all my barriers and inhibitions and made me want to tell him everything and hear everything about him.

“Yeah, I’d hate to be disappointed.” I said bitterly, defeated by my own foolishness. His hands moved like lightning, gripping my upper arms and raising my feet off the floor until we were eye to eye and the pull of his darkness, despite my rationalising just the second before, was so strong I wanted to lean in and drown in them.

“You have no idea what I am, what I’ve done.” He hissed, I glared but felt the fear form a tight knot in my chest, “Why should I do anything for you?” My lips tightened into a straight, thin line – I didn’t have time for this, I had to try and figure out how to escape.

“Don’t worry, I don’t make the same mistake twice.” His eyes flickered over my face and they were so intense that I could almost feel them caressing my skin. Then, slowly, as if fighting for control, he lowered me and stepped away. I rubbed my bruised arms, glad his eyes were on the floor and missed the motion, or did they? A brief emotion flickered…but was gone before I thought I’d even seen it.

“What are you here for anyway?” I asked, turning away to stand by the pathetic window and gazing with longing at the open sky. I had never desired it more; never had I wanted freedom so much as when it was beyond my grasp. A soft click told me that my visitor had departed. He obviously knew the spells that had been cast on the door, and the doors below it on the other floors, unless I missed my guess with the cautious witches, doubtless he wasn’t going to share.

My eyes went to the sky again and the knot in my chest tightened painful. I forced myself to breath deep, panicking or hyperventilating was not going to help my situation. Yet there was no escape, the witches knew this castle better than anyone ever could. Knowledge had been passed down through generation after generation and they were not going to put me in a room in which there was even the slightest possibility that I could flee.

I moved back into the centre of the room, in the mistaken belief that maybe, just maybe, if I stood in the middle the walls would seem further away; instead they crept in on me, enclosing me in an impenetrable box of grey – the witches may have been able to keep the sorcerers out that way but they were going to destroy the object they were guarding. I laughed bitterly, the sound bouncing off the walls, shrinking the room inwards, cracked and hysterical, I realised that the confinement was beginning to take its toll on me already.

I remembered my first conscious days at Wiccan Castle; I had walked about, admiring the architecture, shrinking from the curious gazes of the witches, yet gradually realising that interest and curiosity was all I was seeing in their eyes; the witches had seen stranger things than me in their castle and I began to relax, to stop flinching when a stranger passed me by. At night I had been unable to sleep in the room they had assigned to me, so the witches, with no fear in their eyes, had let me sleep outside, on the roofs, in the courtyard, - how could they do this to me now? When I had begun to feel so cherished, so secure, like I had a proper place in the world at last?

I sat shakily on the bed, legs crossed, eyes closed. I couldn’t let those thoughts distract me, I would go mad if I didn’t focus on keeping my mind blank, maybe I could fly in my head, pretend that I was soaring free, high above the clouds, as I had done a thousand times before when the weight on my heart and soul had grown to heavy for me to bear. Slowly I began to breathe, trying to meditate, knowing that the hours would pass quicker that way and, who knew, maybe after a few hours the witches would come to their senses and realise that I needed space and the constant swirl of air about me…as if!

Twice that long day, footsteps approached the door of my little room and both times, hating myself, I had rushed over to the wood panelling, calling out to the witches, my friends. Each time a small, hinged flap at the bottom of the door swung open to allow a tray of food to be passed through; fruit, bread, thick milk, cooked chicken, rice, and water, all found their way into my little prison but, each time, there was no answer to my pleadings, my bitter curses and angry shouts. So, as darkness fell, I crawled into the bed and buried my head under the covers, letting tears of frustration and anger lull me into exhausted sleep.

The nightmares were waiting for me.

I was flying, the wind rushed past me, round me, welcoming me back to the skies. I felt so incredibly free! We soared over forests, lakes, meadows, the wind and I. The skies were light and clear and the knowledge of how right it felt, to fly like this, so unencumbered with worries of the world, struck me to the core. Those moments seemed to stretch on, a blissful eternity, a false eternity…

Even as I flew the air began to feel different, it shied away from something ahead of me, whistling in fear as the winds died. Stopping in the air, with powerful wing thrusts to support me, I called for them, called for my friends, my family, those who would never betray or desert me, but there was no answer.

Worry bit at me, a nauseous sensation in the pit of my stomach. Overhead the sky darkened. I felt a terrible pain in my chest, then the sensation of irretrievable loss. Looking round, one hand pressed to the sharp stabbing in my heart, I realised that my wings were gone. I started to fall, I screamed to the air, the wind – support me, save me, and keep me in the air. I hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud…

…and jerked awake. I was lying on the hard, cold stone floor beside the bed, sweat-soaked and breathing hard. My hand grasped at my throat and shaking fingers clasped round the calming, cool metal around my neck.

I exhaled a long, tremulous breath and wrapped my arms around my knees, pressing my forehead into my kneecaps. The nightmare had felt so real, so true – the wind, the air; they had left me, not answered my calls and I had felt more alone than ever before. In the past I had been alone, abandoned and deserted because no one could cope with me, but I had never been truly alone, the air had always been there, comforting, without it…I was nothing, friendless, homeless, nothing.

A faint breeze managed to slip in through the barrier spells at the window and gently stroked my hair, trying to reassure me that it and its brethren would never leave me. But doubts were clouding my mind, making my eyes sting with unshed tears.

I would not risk sleep again that night.