The Finders Keepers

  Nolfavrel blinked for a moment, clutching his hand on the hilt of the metallic silver sword. His face appeared assuaged of what he had just heard. No – it can’t be, he thought, this boy can’t be Elvandork’s son. He blinked once again and an astounding question hit him. Standing straight, he cleared his throat and said, “How did you happen to know that you’re otherwise called Bravy?”

  Godfrey scowled as he was irritated by this man. He apparently does not like him – or his attitude.

  “How?” Nolfavrel repeated.

  “You – you’re asking too much,” Godfrey answered, unobvious that he was hardly suffering to sound cool. Mr. Luciens was even the one who was surprised at how he talked.

  “I’m asking too much!” Nolfavrel sniggered just as he returned the silver sword back to its sheath clutched on his side belt. “Impressive, indeed, impressive.”

  With a final touch, his sword was now covered. Smiling at Mr. Luciens and protruding an impassive face at Godfrey, he turned his right foot and faced the dim hallway and started to walk away.

  Just before he was totally gnawed by the darkness, Godfrey thought and said hurriedly, “W-wait! Mrs. Hagaire called me Bravy once!”

  Nolfavrel stopped dead. Turning quickly to face Godfrey out of the gloom, he said, “She did?”

  “Yes, but it was actually unintentional on her –”

  “Victoria called you Bravy?” Nolfavrel said, merely awed. “Has this anything to do with having affairs or personal invasion of privacy?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Godfrey, be polite!” Mr. Luciens suddenly snapped, low enough for Nolfavrel to hear.

  Godfrey ignored this. “She’s our caretaker, and that has nothing to do with personal stuff et cetera.” He seemed satisfied of what he had just said, but after a few moments, he added, “I don’t like being called thus, either. She slipped it once during our stay in the castle.”

  Nolfavrel was aghast. “Yes, it appears that she is so unnatural these days. We met lately and she looked rather confused of her task h–”

  “You’ve been meeting with each other?” Godfrey yelled, totally taken by surprise. He was at state of being unable to take in more information than what was being said. How could Nolfavrel know about Mrs. Hagaire – or something about her? Why had they been seeing each other? What was the reason behind all these events? If they were seeing each other, then –

  “We’ve been acquaintances since childhood. She was such a good neighbor back in Elcidville – she used to bake mocha cookies topped with sweating cubed chocolates.”

  “Okay,” said Godfrey very slowly. “I hope she also did those baking for us. Yeah, but I think I can’t remember anything remarkable about her.”

  Nolfavrel sighed. “Vick has such a lot of achievement than me, but all she’s been taught was not to be a braggart.”

  Mr. Luciens was just going to speak, but Godfrey snapped, “It doesn’t sound like that.”

  “It does not need to sound like it, Godfrey, to get you convinced,” Nolfavrel said. Then he refocused his eyes upon Mr. Luciens’s frustrated look. And exactly upon meeting, Mr. Luciens quivered and forced a fake smile. “That was great,” he added. “Now, shall we go to the drawing room for comfortable conversations?”

  “Sure, yes!” Mr. Luciens chuckled out.

  Nolfavrel made out a nasty smile for a second or so before he faced the hallway and started walking. It was after a few seconds before Godfrey and Mr. Luciens followed him there, taking yet another glance at the photographs on the walls.

  “Curious, eh?” Nolfavrel asked, then falling into a slight chuckle. When he realized that neither of them responded (because they did not know what he was saying), Nolfavrel saved himself with the words, “Yes, I hope – I was hoping, yes, of course. . . .”

  They emerged out of the dark hallway into another room that was only visible through the dousing of light from a square glass-paned window with gray curtain tightly tied. Three pale sofa was facing an overused, darkly-brown table which was topped with a flowerless vase in front of it.

  They were about to sit when –

  “Robert!” someone screamed from the doorway. “What h-happened to you, it is such a horrible house! I wonder whether you –”

  She stopped upon seeing Nolfavrel’s eyes; it winked, as though trying to convey something.

  “What is it, Sylvana?” Mr. Luciens asked rudely. “Anything worth exaggerating again?”

  Mrs. Luciens was fazed. “Robert, you’re such codswallop!”

  “No, I’m not! And there’s nothing you have can prove that!”

  “It needs not apparently proved!”

  “It has to be proved – it is essential j–”

  “Well, you’re wasting your saliva tottering–”

  “Tottering what? I’m not even saying anything! You’ve been the one who’s exaggerating this!”

  “This is your entire fault – don’t blame me!”

  “Oh, so you’re boasting all this innocence that you’re been campaigning –”

  “Hey, stop, stop!” Godfrey pleaded calmly. He raised his hands and the two rabbits halted then they looked at him, as though unsurprised that Godfrey had been acquainted with their regular shouting. He was not. In fact, Godfrey eyed them to shut up because they were getting far from normality.

  Mr. and Mrs. Luciens agreed that Godfrey was not pleased hearing them. Mr. Luciens closed his half-opened mouth, and opened again after a second, then said, “Gee, yes! That was, um, pretty cool, wasn’t it? What were you just saying, Sir Ridgway?”

  Nolfavrel was a little mystified. “I was not saying anything.”

  “Ah,” said Mrs. Luciens, suddenly on her graceful manner. “Hello, yes. Hello.”

  “Hello, too,” Nolfavrel complemented. “Aha! I appreciate that so much, Ms. Babbity?”

  Mrs. Luciens was about to answer when she heard the word ‘Babbity’, but she paused and blinked as she stared at Nolfavrel, who had just lately realized what he had said.

  “Ah, sorry about that,” he apologized. “What’s your name?”

  It was an awkward moment when Mrs. Luciens just stared at him like he did not ask – like there was no one there.

  “I came here,” she began, annoyed, “to look for Robert, and not to satisfy your inquisitorial longing.”

  “Aye!” Nolfavrel wailed. “I thought the folks who believe that proverb are totally gone! Thank God, it was only extinct.”

  “What is that p-proverb?” Godfrey asked.

  “That proverb,” said Nolfavrel anxiously this time, “is the Elfish Proverb. It says that when you tell your name to someone who’s asking it, you will find your way to death. In other words, they will have easier access to who you are, your strength, as well as your weakness.”

  “But it’s just a name,” said Godfrey.

  “No, it’s not just a name. Names mean a lot. Names are carefully woven with devotion – every single name, there are incalculable hardships and reasons behind.”

  “So why did you tell me your name?” Godfrey curiously looked at Nolfavrel. “Why, I might be tempted to explore your weakest point.”

  “Because I believe that you’re young enough to practice dark sorcery,” said Nolfavrel. “Because you don’t know him. And that is, I think, why. . . .” He faded.

  Godfrey looked at him. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Nolfavrel replied. “Robert was such kind, very pleasing, indeed.”

  Mr. Luciens smiled, obviously glorious being praised. Then Mrs. Luciens dropped her woes and decided that she could trust this man.

  “Okay, I’m telling you my name,” she said, bowing so low that her read head ribbon gently twisted forward. “Sylvana Luciens.”

  “Luciens . . . still,” Nolfavrel muttered. “Uh-huh, yes, yes. It appears, really, that I’ve heard your name before – but I can’t remember crucial information about you. Let’s just . . . leave it as unsolved puzzle for the future.”

  M
rs. Luciens gasped. “You’ve heard our names before?”

  “I really don’t know. But in case that I’d be mad enough to remember those details, I would immediately inform you, Sylvana.”

  “Who are you, anyway?”

  “I have told you,” said Nolfavrel. “I’m Nolfavrel Ridgway, Three-Star Merit, and had previously worked under the Brigade when it was still controlled by Sir Jacobs. It seems that Adrianne Balescore’s the one heading it now – and I’ve heard rumours from Hamish and Zeekon that he was not performing well at all.”

  “You’ve heard rumors, Sir Ridgway?” Mr. Luciens carelessly repeated.

  “Yes, and I quite agree with the amount of what I’ve heard.”

  “It’s unusual for a man to hear rumors, isn’t it?” Godfrey said uneasily.

  “Yes, of course, it is unusual,” Nolfavrel agreed with less effort. Then he sniggered. “Well, not until it’s otherwise true. You see, Adrianne Balescore was such a weak man – terribly weak. You just suppose what had happened to the Brigade and its tactics after they battled the Gornophine or the Quesh in the Woodlands of Amaranthia. They fell, of course – the first ever fall of the Brigade. I can only say that Erikson Masefield was far better than him.”

  “Masefield was a king,” Mrs. Luciens reminded, “and you perfectly know that Sir Balescore was just a Chief of the Empire Brigade. You can’t compare them.”

  “You think that’s impossible?” Nolfavrel asked. “Alas! Think twice! When Flynt was banished, there was no one tasked to handle the job – so Masefield took the course of controlling thousands of strong and armed knights. At least, there was only quite ruin upon the Brigade after they shooed that massive red dragon off the Quagmire Mountains.”

  “But – but,” said Mrs. Luciens; Godfrey suddenly lost on the conversation. “But Sir Balescore’s been courageous deciphering the Sacred Prophecy with the king Elvandork.”

  “Deciphering the Sacred Prophecy?” Nolfavrel barked. “That is such a nonsensical issue around Switzarnel Empire! You can never – ever – decipher the meaning. A lot of attempts were unsuccessful since Rachelle Evans’s failure!”

  “Sir Ridgway, there are reports –”Mr. Luciens said.

  “Yes, there are reports,” she interjected. “There are loads of odd reports – the most recent was Igono’s wife’s tomb being shattered by an Alliman!”

  “So you think that that Alliman was the odd lord, then?” Nolfavrel asked. “You think that an Alliman can be a lord?”

  “Well, Alfrendo was calling himself a lord,” said Godfrey, suddenly lifting himself into the conversation.

  Mrs. Luciens has nothing to do but stare at Godfrey like she was impressed. Aghast and silent, she said, “Yes, that was actually the most recent – except that it was not yet publicized. If, in a matter of time. . . .”

  “Sir Ridgway –”

  “Let me speak,” Nolfavrel implored authoritatively. “You think I don’t know Alfrendo? You think I am not aware of his existence? Very well, there is nothing funnier that a half-breed beast claiming itself as a lord.”

  “He – he has strange powers!” Godfrey wailed, though he did not know why he happened to be joining the argument.

  “As you may not be aware, he has bent the law of power, because it only applies to humans! And if he was truly lord – a master, then he should have eyes inside the Palace.”

  “So,” Mrs. Luciens concluded. “He was not a lord.”

  “Misinformation comes anytime, of course – at our time of unexpectedness.”

  Mr. Luciens on the other hand, had finally managed his way to join the conversation because he quickly snapped, “Sir Ridgway, Alfrendo is partly human and partly alligator, thus giving him a chance to apply that principle.”

  “Nonsense!” he booed. “Stop this misleading argument –”

  “WATCHERS! WATCHERS!” a high, screaming voice had sounded, and Kimberly came soaring through the front door and floating in front of them, both hands scratching her bushy hairs. “WATCHERS – THEY’LL BOMB OUR HOUSE – MY HOUSE! OH – POOR KIMBERLY, HOW CAN I EVER –”

  “KIMBERLY – STOP!” Nolfavrel shouted, and she halted as if gunned because she was now drifting up-side-down slowly in the air. Her hairs, hands, and the slivers of her gown, were gently swaying, but she was conscious. Now all that was left was total silence.

  Then she stopped and straightened up as she noticed that none of them were giving care on what she was doing. She impassively stared at Nolfavrel with loathe, and she wrinkled her lips.

  “Don’t do that!” Nolfavrel warned her.

  “Er, sorry, Sir Ridgway,” Mr. Luciens called. “Maybe she just saw Godfrey’s sister. Well, maybe we should also be actually going now, shall we?” he addressed this to Godfrey, then to his wife.

  “Codswallop!” Nolfavrel yelled. “Thought you’d be going home?”

  “Yes – yes, I think we should. It wasn’t our intention to enter your house, Sir Ridgway.”

  “Codswallop!” he said once again. “Didn’t you know how dangerous it would be?”

  “Is there something to fear?” Godfrey accidentally snapped.

  “Of course, there is.”

  “But we already defeated Alfrendo!”

  Nolfavrel eyed him for like a minute or so.

  “Defeated in what way?” he asked silently.

  “We killed him. We left a lot of brutal injuries for him to endure – but he just can’t! We burned him in his own nest!” Godfrey answered proudly.

  “You did?” Nolfavrel verified. “You – nah, I get it.”

  He wheeled towards the front door and disappeared with a nasty bang. He returned after a couple of minutes of silence – but already with Eliezer and Alex trailing curiously at his back.

  Godfrey swallowed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?” Nolfavrel complained. “They’ve been waiting like idiots outside when they can actually enter!”

  “We – we seem to forget, of course,” Mrs. Luciens reasoned.

  “Anyway, that’s okay,” said Nolfavrel. “Let’s settle there for a cup of tea –”

  “No, sorry, but we’re really going now.”

  “Going, eh?” asked Nolfavrel. “You can’t go home just yet. They are not yet ready.”

  “Who is not ready?”

  “The Allimans, of course – foolish question! They are not yet ready and it’s fatal if you force them. Oh, I forgot to ask you? They look rather horrible – Gornophine, aren’t they?”

  “No, Sir Ridgway,” said Mr. Luciens. “They do not belong to the Gornophine Clan. They are Flooshardine.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great! That’s great for you! You know, it is rare to find one these days – as unlike before. . . . Masefield shooed them, too!”

  “Sorry,” said Alex quietly; he and Eliezer suddenly appeared beside Godfrey. “What is Gorophir – I mean Gordosin?”

  “Oh, yes, yes! About time!” said Nolfavrel happily. Then just as he was about to explain, his face dropped as his mind rattled upon Alex. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Ahm, my name is Alex Abercrombe,” he introduced himself. “Sorry if I was not closely related to them and I just wonder about that myself, too. I fell out of a cliff, but it’s a very long story, actually.”

  “So you’re from the human world?” he asked.

  “Obviously,” Kimberly whispered.

  “Er – I suppose, yes,” Alex answered truthfully.

  “Not to worry!” said Nolfavrel. “We have loads of time to consider for our own personal stories. As I was saying,” he continued, “it’s about time that I should tell you. Those three Allimans outside are not Gornophine. Now, you are wondering, of course, what does it mean? Not all the Allimans are bad or like Alfrendo. In fact, the Alliman community is divided into two clans. The first one is called the Flooshardine Clan, and here you can find the helpful, kind, and everything good you expect from an Alliman.

&nbsp
; “However, the opposite of this is referred to as the Gornophine Clan. They are the wildest, most dangerous kind of Alliman on Switzarnel. Only one thing could actually distinguish Gornophine from Flooshardine – or Flooshardine from Gornophine: Their attitude.”

  He smiled and continued, “Of course, a lot of Gornophine could just pretend to be kind and all, but you know what? I said attitude which refers to their speech. Flooshardine can’t talk in English, but the Gornophine can! You just look at Alfrendo; he could speak the way we could.”

  Alex stared. “Oh, that was . . . unprecedented.” Then he whispered, “I bet Zeejay would be happier than me had he been the one hearing this.”

  “Okay, time for rest – time for rest!” Nolfavrel quickly snorted. “You shall be staying here until your Allimans are fully capable of yet another tiring flight.”

  “Where are we staying, then?” Eliezer asked Mrs. Luciens.

  Nolfavrel caught her word at air and snapped, “In the upstairs room, you’ll find three wide rooms there. Not a problem.”

  “What about our children? I mean the Allimans. They should go with us,” said Mrs. Luciens, her tiny hands clutched on Alex’s cloth.

  “No, they’re not coming with you.”

  “Why?” she wailed sharply.

  Nolfavrel sighed for a few seconds before saying, “The house does not appear to them – they can’t see it.”

  “But why?” all of them chorused curiously.

  Nolfavrel’s jaw dropped.

  “I forgot again,” he said. “A lot of people can’t see this house – the ordinary people! And the reason behind that is because they are not related to the Scamander family – or the previous inhabitants.”

  “Scamander?” Mr. and Mrs. Luciens choked. “You mean Flynt?”

  “Not only Flynt, but his son Mark Scamander, of course. If, you’re in any manner related to them, then you can see and enter this house. Godfrey and Eliezer could see this because of their cousin Kate Elmer, who happened to be one of the inhabitants here before. But the rest of you, I wonder. . . . I just wonder why you can see this manor house. It’s only you who can tell the reason, yes.”

  Mr. Luciens gazed at him.

  “We were Flynt’s trust holders before – until now, Sir Ridgway,” he moaned. “A promise we pledged to keep: To hide the Potion of Life until Mark returns.”

  “The P – Potion of Life?” Nolfavrel echoed surprisingly. “It’s you after all.” He blinked nastily as his eyes lingered upon Mr. and Mrs. Luciens. He seemed to have known something dangerous because his face quickly veered emotion. “Mark has been waiting for you for the rest of his life. He thought you’d never, come so he set off to Biligan for a new life without his father.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Luciens looked shockingly at each other, openmouthed while they appeared horrified as though they had lost yet another son. A set of beady tears rolled from Mrs. Luciens’s eyes as she was about to sob hardly. She seemed to go back to the real her because she fell to realize she had gone bad talking to Nolfavrel.

  “Dear, oh my God!” she cried. “So you’re Mark’s godfather!”

  “Yes, I am. So you are – oh!”

  He gasped heavily, remembering at once. “I knew it, I knew it! You’re the Luciens – the best friends of Flynt! You were turned to rabbits when Masefield was in outrage!”

  Mrs. Luciens cried harder at this; the downpour of tears got heavier. Mr. Luciens inched beside her and they hugged as the moment of truth swelled over.

  “I’ve b-been hoping he was still here!” she wailed. “Poor Flynt! We kept our promises just because of our s-son! We g-gave everything – everything j-just to have him back!”

  “Mark is still alive, though,” Nolfavrel said. “He can help you! Masefield never killed any child he had captured.” He was silent, then – “I can help you, but I can’t promise that immediately.”

  “But Mark, Sir Ridgway,” Mr. Luciens told Nolfavrel. “What would he do to bring our son back? It was Flynt who promised to bring our son back!”

  Nolfavrel drifted to think shortly. “That’s easy, but let’s not worry about that now. We essentially need a rest – I know you’ll agree with me. You’ve been ruefully tired, aren’t you?”

  Mr. Luciens was the one who nodded in behalf of them all, though he was in fact thirsting for more information: He knew that this was not the right time. They were really tired, restless, and even surprised to see that it was dark now. The sky was burning dark violet, giving less illumination through the square window.

  Godfrey began patting his sister, and said something to Alex, who seemed to have just nodded in agreement. Mrs. Luciens went towards them, she was gradually crying softer now, and ushered them upstairs with the guide of Kimberly (who was apparently touched by the scene because she was not shouting or yelling about this and that anymore).

  “What are you still doing here, Mr. Luciens?” Nolfavrel asked as he was about to step on the stair to follow them.

  “Nothing,” said Mr. Luciens quietly, and he and Nolfavrel climbed upstairs into the rooms.

  __________

  For the next few days, winter was rapidly blowing colder and colder. Piles after piles of snow swirled and collected outside the manor house and on the lids of the glass-paned windows. The atmosphere of everyone between countless conversations flowed smoothly as the merriment of the nearing Christmas Eve brought joyful yuletide carols.

  Nolfavrel, on the other hand, had been tucking his large black boots and thick wool jacket every time he step outside to check whether Worf, Meow, and Tweet were fine inside an underground burrow in the forest, then always come back saying that they were at perfectly warm state.

  There seemed to be no problem to this because Mr. and Mrs. Luciens had decided that they could trust Nolfavrel at last. He had promised to help them retrieve their son. He gave them hope! If it was true that Masefield never killed every child he captured, then where could they be? What happened to them? Did they endure the same ending as the destination of the Children’s Crusade? Did Piper lure them with his magical pipe into a cavity on the crack of a mountain?

  Nolfavrel appeared to have no answer to their incalculable questions which were striking like noisy rifle.

  “I don’t know, sorry,” he told them a day before Christmas. “It has never occurred to me to ask the previous inhabitants of this house, Mark’s godmothers – Kimberly, Emily, and Katrina – during their days of living. I am really sorry – we were much focused on how to get Mark secured during those days – that was why they all ended up dead.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Luciens.

  Before they sky darkened, Nolfavrel filled every chandelier with brilliant yellow candles. All of them got so much preoccupied as well as excited as the Christmas Eve crept closer by each second. A large grandfather clock ticked that it was already eight o’clock in the evening.

  Kimberly began rummaging in the kitchen for the pans and uncooked foods; Mrs. Luciens accidentally saw Kimberly and she joined her cook for like long hours. Godfrey, Eliezer, and Alex, were all seated in the living room, playing truth or dare while Mr. Luciens and Nolfavrel chatted over the kitchen table about things that had been happening around the empire.

  When the huge clock echoed a tinkling bell, it was already Christmas Eve. Eliezer was the fastest one to arrive over at the table and was already seated in extent excitement. Godfrey and Alex followed them in silence, and was astonished to see a bucket of crispy golden chickens, a steaming fish stew, a tray full of cubed chocolates (like the ones Mrs. Hagaire baked according to Nolfavrel), jar after jar of melted chocolate drinks and coffee, and layered strawberry and vanilla cakes (the softest that Alex had ever seen).

  “Here you go,” said Kimberly. “Let us pray, of course.”

  After they prayed for less than five minutes, all of them plowed in hunger, though the crackling flames on the grate was producing less warmth now. When they had finished, Kimberly uttered a word and the plates and dishes va
nished into nothingness.

  “It is time,” Nolfavrel said, “to give gifts.”

  Eliezer cheered the loudest and Nolfavrel just smiled a frustrating one. They proceeded to towards the drawing room where a large sack lay upon the sofa. Nolfavrel hurriedly came beside it as they arranged themselves on their own.

  “Okay,” he said, and they swallowed hardly. “As I call your name, move forward, is that clear?”

  “Yes!” Eliezer intoned happily.

  Nolfavrel just smiled once again.

  “To Robert,” he began, and Mr. Luciens thankfully crawled to receive an emerald pebble glowing faintly. “This is a Concealator: It can make you invisible – or a group of people as long as you hold together.” Mr. Luciens took it and went back.

  Nolfavrel cleared his throat. “Sylvana, take this travelling notebook. All the places you want to be at are here. You just open the page and step on it.”

  “Er,” said Mrs. Luciens, “I will step in that book?”

  Nolfavrel chuckled. The book was actually old and had fragile binding along its spine.

  “Yes, this is magical. It won’t be ruined at any rate.”

  She carefully took the notebook, as though it would fall into pieces, then she returned to her position beside her husband.

  “To the Flooshardine Allimans of yours, I already gave them their Frisbee. If, in any case, you are in need of help, let them assemble it and the Frisbee will fly and seek help.” He swallowed and rummaged the sack for a black stick. “To Alex, this is your gift.”

  Nolfavrel handed Alex the black stick. “That is a magical wand. Since you are entirely non-magical, it is necessary that you have it for your defense.”

  Alex returned to his seat, totally surprised as he looked at the wand closely before his eyes. Eliezer, beside him, was turning more excited at this.

  “Godfrey, here’s yours,” he said as he bought out a blue bag with something like a quite big rock inside. “This,” he continued kindly, “is a dragon’s egg.”

  “Okay,” Godfrey said, mystified. “How will I use this?”

  “The time will come for it to hatch and you will have to take care of it. That dragon inside is not an ordinary dragon – unusual. It’s beyond magical.”

  Godfrey wrapped it with both hands like it was going to fall as he came back to his place.

  Eliezer was expecting hers now, but as she carefully watched Nolfavrel fold the sack, she realized it was empty.

  “Where’s mine?” she demanded.

  Nolfavrel looked at her. “You don’t need one, Eliezer, do you?”

  “I definitely need one, of course!” she impatiently said.

  “Ah, well, that is not going to happen. I suppose you’ve just had yours.”

  “I just did?” Eliezer repeated, though she was suppressing to turn red every second.

  “Kimberly gave you,” said Nolfavrel. “The food – didn’t you like it?”

  Her face was emotionless as she directly looked at Nolfavrel’s eyes. Anger and rage was forming inside her.

  “My gift was the food,” she complained angrily. “Are you being funny? MY GIFT WAS THE FOOD? YOU GAVE THEM ALL EXTRAORDINARY GADGETS – AND MY GIFT WAS THE FOOD?”

  Godfrey stood, but Eliezer shot him a sharp look.

  “Eliezer, dear –”

  “STOP!” she shouted, outraging. “I’M GOING TO DAD AND ASK HIM FOR A REAL GIFT!”

  She stomped her feel past them, but Alex caught her arm.

  “Hey, just for a gift?” he said immediately. “That’s not an enough reason for you to get mad –”

  “I’M NOT MAD!”

  “Easy, Eliezer,” Nolfavrel moderated. “You don’t need one like those because I gave them for purpose of defense.”

  “So I don’t deserve to be defended, is that what you mean?”

  “No, I mean – come on! We are all here to protect you. Remember, you’re a girl – you’re not suppose to divulge into combative actions –”

  “NEVER YOU MIND!” she yelled forcefully. She withdrew Alex’s firm grip on her arm and ran towards the door.

  Godfrey, Mr. and Mrs. Luciens, came running fast after her, but she opened the front door first and was gone into the darkness of the Christmas Eve.