Victor drove home from school, fuming. The day had ended with a stint in detention because he'd accidentally set a lab book on fire. He'd been quick about putting out the blaze when the flames appeared, but Principal Odmus had passed by the chemistry classroom at that exact moment and smelled the barbequed book. The bloke lectured Victor on his ineptness in front of the snickering class before sending him off to confinement.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear Odmus is plotting my academic demise," he muttered.

Kristy hadn't been to school in two days, claiming illness. Victor hadn't pressed her, knowing the genie needed time to pull it together after revealing what she had about her home.

But how he missed her!

His mind wandered back to a discussion the day before with Dr. Mason. The good doctor had recalled a bizarre conversation with the professor about possessions and curses. Unfortunately, the professor hadn't clued the doctor in on the specifics. "Craig asked if only evil took over bodies or if there were other kinds of entities that could do the same. I answered to the best of my ability, then the conversation ended. But with this reoccurring DNA pattern you've discovered, it seems to fit along the same lines."

Dr. Mason, Lovedae, and Victor were in the den while the younger Grants gorged themselves on pizza and breadsticks in the kitchen. "I need confirmation—to talk to someone who observed him when he changed," said Victor. "Papa has so many journals and so many entries! There's too many for just me, and I haven't even tackled the ones from his ancestors." He'd rubbed his eyes as he lounged on the sofa beside his mother.

"I'm going to take a set of journals tonight and read so you can get some sleep. You're worn to the bone." Lovedae threw a comforting arm around him. "I wish your father had told someone his thought process."

"Tell who, my dear? Even with proof, for what purpose? Craig decided whatever misguided evil was reoccurring would end with him if he didn't have children." Dr. Mason had sighed. "But, alas, Craig was defeated by the love of a woman."

Victor frowned. Even if the professor tried to stop the cycle, it didn't explain who or what started the ongoing atrocity in the first place. Talking to Professor Craig's mother, Sarah Reynolds, would be ideal as she had lived with him until college. She must have observed the change. But the woman was in her nineties and in a London nursing home with dementia. Was there a way to reverse the mental disorder with magic, even for a few minutes? 

"You're frowning. What's wrong, Vickster?"

Victor glanced at his passenger's seat to see a little blond girl clothed in a blue sleep shirt, her bare feet propped against the window. "Gigi, go away if you're here to have fun at my expense."

The leader of the fae snorted. "You're not in the least fun, Bucco." She sat up, turning toward him. "Thought you'd be glad to see me since I saved your snookums."

Victor ignored the teasing. "You're right. I apologize." He had to admit Kristy would be back in the genie realm if not for Gigi.

"Good that you understand. Medi deserting Kristy as a baby wasn't her fault. Still, we kinda owe her."

Victor glanced at the child, surprised at the admission. "So, what do I owe the pleasure, love?"

Gigi twirled again, her back resting on the seat base with her little legs up against the backrest. "I dropped by to cool off after dealing with the idiots in the Tribunal." The fae peeked over at him. "The new speaker favors his own and the genies too much for my taste. Even Scary Arie didn't do that. They've met without me and made four decrees against our accords. Had to have 'em revoked on a technicality."

Victor turned onto the boulevard. "He's that blatant about it?"

The child nodded as she slumped in the passenger's seat. "Yep, old pencil dick is—"

"Gigi! That's vile!"

"I'm vile?" Her blue eyes grew mischievous. "If you wanna hear vile, I know the Pencil and Freaky Fawn are screw—"

"Please stop," Victor begged, his face red with embarrassment.

"Okay, I'll stop even though the conversation piece has its ups and downs, get it?" The fae leader giggled as Victor whimpered. "But seriously, I think part of the 'why' is you, Vickster. The magi are enamored by the thought of a human wielding magic from the past. They flocked to the Tribunal libraries to learn of the One Magi. Knowledge is power, ya know? But Mr. Anatomical Incorrect closed it off, so the people don't learn, claiming too much traffic. And he bad-mouths you as being uncooperative."

"Because I wouldn't do... that?" Victor shuddered, remembering what the speaker had asked of him.

"You mean bang his bit...witches? Maybe. The fae are experts on feelings, but he has little." The little girl stood up and tumbled into the car's back seat. "Before Scary Arie left, we were finally gonna investigate problems in the fae realm, but Minister Nut-less postponed it." Victor heard shuffling behind him, and the little girl popped up between the seats. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore. Enough about me. What's with you?"

Victor sensed the child's discontentment and didn't pursue the matter. He couldn't help it—He liked Gigi but wouldn't force her confidence as he had in the past. "I was thinking about an elderly relation in Aylesbury I'd like to talk to."

"Call her." The blond head disappeared, and a little foot appeared.

"Can't. She's in a nursing home suffering from dementia."

"What nursing home? And what's her name?"

He told her, then immediately regretted it.

"Duh. Make her talk!" Gigi's voice held a hint of exasperation.

Victor drove on, confused. "Make her talk?"

The fae leader tumbled into the passenger's seat and surprised the teen by buckling into the seat belt. "Ah, challenge accepted, Vickster!"

"Wait, I didn't make one!"

"Yup, you did. I heard a request." Gigi grinned.

"No, I didn't." Victor sighed. "Technically, the front seat isn't safe for children."

"Technically, I'm not a child. I'm not doing anything special. Let's visit your relation." The fae gave him a toothy grin. "Near London, right? Lemme see..."

Victor goggled at her as her power grew. Whatever Gigi wanted to do would surely lead to trouble.

"Gigi—" he began, then gasped as a giant red sphere appeared before the car, swallowing it whole.

Victor opened his eyes after a moment of blindness and wondered why the steering wheel had disappeared. He looked to his right and yelped. A darling elderly woman sat in what was now the driver's seat, the steering wheel in her small, capable hands. Thin wrinkles extended and multiplied around her rosebud mouth, and in the corners of her pale blue eyes, a gunmetal bun perched on her tiny head. The little lady grinned at him, revealing straight white teeth.

"Gigi?" he whispered, stunned.

"Call me Granny G, homie," said the little fae, as she weaved through traffic before turning onto an upscale residential street—on what Victor considered the wrong side of the road. "We'll reach our destination in a jiffy, sonny boy!"

"What did you do to my car?" he demanded. "And you can't drive. You haven't a bloody license!"

"Aww, shut up. And no back talking your elders," she ordered, turning the car into a parking lot aligned with trees and shrubbery. "Well, we've reached the nursing home in merry old England." Gigi glanced around and sniffed at the view. "Doesn't seem all that merry to me. Kinda boring. You'll fit right in, Vickster." Gigi had hopped out of the car a bit too spry for a sweet old lady.

Greenway House was a spacious country-style home with immaculate lawns and panoramic views over the open countryside. Victor followed 'Granny G' up the cobbled path and through the automatic doors leading to a rather grand reception area. Several residents strolled in and out of the doors, chatting leisurely, or sat near the large windows with views of the landscaped gardens.

The woman at the reception desk seemed to enjoy her job as she gave the two a beaming smile. "Hello, and welcome to Greenway House! How might I help you today?"

Victor paused, realizing the mode of pronunciation was familiar. The varying American accents he'd heard all his life were gone. In this large vestibule, the voices of the visitors and residents spoke in a dialect similar to his own. He blinked several times, knowing that as strange as it seemed, he'd finally come home.

Gigi peaked at the teen and noticed his momentary incapacitation. She turned to the receptionist, leaned in closer, and whispered in a voice that carried, "Forgive my grandson. The boy's a bit addle-brained at times, poor thing. We're here to see my old schoolmate, Sarah Grant Reynolds."

"Ah, just the thing for Mrs. Reynolds," said the chipper woman. "Follow the main hall down to the end and through the double doors. She spends this part of the day in the common room."

Victor thanked the woman after throwing the grandmotherly fae a vexed look. The two traveled down the roomy hall with its side tables of flowers and decorative mirrors on crème-colored walls. His mind remained in a blur until he noticed the people they passed were staring. They had arrived at the doors to the common room when the teen glanced at his companion. From the waist up, the fairy wore a button-up shirt and a blue blazer, very tasteful in his opinion.

The waist downward had Victor gaping in disbelief. The little fae wore a plaid mini skirt, high-heeled sandals, and fishnet stocking over a pair of excellent legs. "That's not the proper attire for a sweet elderly lady," he balked, holding the door for her.

Gigi glided to the doorway, stopping to pat his cheek. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, sonny boy." The little grandmotherly fae sashayed into the sunny room, pausing to simper at a wide-eyed grandfather type sitting at a nearby table. "Hiya, honeypot," she said and blew him a kiss.

The toothless man leered. The mortified Victor wanted to slide under the carpet.

He recognized Sarah right away. She sat in her wheelchair, staring out the big bay window at the colorful gardens. The short white hair was neatly combed, the frail body covered in a thick sweater dress. He'd always liked Sarah from the times the professor had taken them to visit her, and twice she'd made the trip to Westerville to watch him perform, calling him her dancing doll. She'd insisted Victor call her Granny Sarah, just like the Duo.

Victor crossed to her and kneeled before the old woman. He took the elder's hands in his, giving them a light squeeze. "Granny Sarah?" he said, his voice soft and comforting. "It's me, Victor. Do you remember me?"

The woman turned milky eyes toward the teen, studying the handsome face before her. "V-Victor?" she said, her voice light and shaky. "Dear child, is C-Craig with you?"

His heart ached as he shook his head. "No, Papa's not with us anymore."

"Oh, I so... wanted to see him." The woman stopped, her eyes widening as she stared at him. "The eyes... her eyes, no, no!" Sarah moaned and tried to pull her hands away. "You won't fool me again, devil!"

Victor released her hands, shocked at Sarah's distress from... his eyes?

The old woman began whimpering—and then Gigi was there. The fae touched the older woman's cheek with a look of profound sadness. "It's okay, little mother," she whispered. "See what's here and not the shadows clouding your mind."

Gigi sat down beside her, crossing her legs.

Sarah quieted, her eyes once again locking onto Victor's. "Victor? What are you doing in England, child?" Reaching out, she touched the tear that fell down his cheek. "It feels like a fog has lifted." 

The woman reached for his hands, and Victor gladly took hers, but the tears still trickled. "Granny Sarah, why do my eyes frighten you?"

"I never noticed before. You have her eyes," she said with a shudder, then the wrinkled face grew cold.

"Whose?" He released her hands again, afraid of upsetting her.

Sarah replied in a voice filled with hostility. "The eyes of the devil, Craig's great-grandmother, Birgit Breen."

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider commenting or voting!