I’m currently working as a custodian for The Denver School of the Arts. I’ve been chronicling my experiences through social media and this blog post. I put a lot of my own complaints and frustrations down, primarily to accurately portray my true experiences. No filter. There are good days of course. One day, this could be sort of a memoir.
I refer to myself as The Teal Fairy because this is a character that I’ve created. I hope to one day write about The Teal Fairy going back to school to protect those that have the potential to grow and flourish. Schools need more fairies over firearms to ensure the safety of the youth. I also use The Teal Fairy persona as my way of expressing myself creatively outside of the written word.
Thank you for joining me on this journey!
Day Five Hundred & Forty-eight: 2/18/2025
I enjoyed my shirt and tie looks so much last week that I decided to reconstruct the fashion, but in teal for this week. I’ve already planned out my attire for each day. I’m going to incorporate a floral tie with a teal shirt each day I’m working this week. Fortunately for me, I’m only working Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I get to have two consecutive three-day weekends. It’s a short week, but I think I’m going to have this blog posting for just this week. Many times in the past I include multiple short weeks together. Even though it's only going to be three postings, I want to keep this week separate from the others.
Of course it’s Tuesday and I’m working at the elementary school. My absolute least favorite thing! After today, I only have to show up to this institution one more time this month. It will also mean we are closer away from this season. Cause I’m also over this winter too. The weather was super frigid and I was worried about the condition of the roads so I walked. It was only about two minutes, so not the worst. My toes were frozen numb by the time I reached the school, but it’s closer than DSA. I’m not going to like walking home tonight, but I thought it was the safer option. Mostly, because I’d hate to break a leg and be stranded in my 2nd floor apartment for weeks.
Each time that I work in the elementary school, I’m reminded why I hate it so much. The fact that the students don’t flush the toilets, drawing on the bathroom walls, and the fact that there are odd smells in most areas I go. I’m just not a fan. Now, this isn’t much better than what I deal with at DSA, but the annoyances I see here are expected for such young children. The more I’m around youth, the more I realize that I want to deal with adults.
At least I’ll get to ponder my predicaments in the frigid temperatures. Since I didn’t bike to work I’ll have to walk home when it’s 0 degrees. Yes, I’m insane for not bringing my bike out, but I was so worried that it would be unsafe to get home, hopefully I won’t freeze on my way home.
Day Five Hundred & Forty-nine: 2/19/2025
Don’t worry, I managed to get home last night. It was a grueling twenty-five minutes from the school to the apartment, but I managed as long as I didn’t stop moving. Today, the sun came out and the roads were very clear as I insisted that I was going to bike to work today. I couldn’t manage to walk home again. I may not mind walking to work, but I need to get home quickly.
I hate to be a hypocrite because I’m not perfect. I'm certainly not some five-star employee, so I’m not the one to be the disciplinary. However, there are times that I do chime up to either redirect bad behavior or remind others that I’m the adult in the room. Because my antics at their age were not always respectful either. Except, here I was in the teacher’s pod minding my own business when I had to be ‘that guy.’
Two girls were supposed to be in the room with their laptops. They were escorted by the teacher, so I assumed they had the right to be in there. I’m working on my writing so I’m not too concerned with their presence. Next, they disappeared for a moment and came back with snacks from the vending machine. Okay, whatever…don’t ask the custodian if he wants anything. Then, a boy came in and I don’t believe that he was given the same approval. Things escalated when one of the teachers came in to confirm that they were supposed to be there. Since the boy, let’s call him ‘L’, was scolded for being there. The girls were confronted about their misuse of the room, but one girl, let’s call her ‘S’, decided to argue and deflect blame. This drove the teacher to become irate. Rightly so in my opinion.
L was reprimanded by his teacher and left accordingly. Although, the interaction left S completely distraught. She needed to be comforted and didn’t even finish her work. At one point, they were whispering and I told them that they should be working on what they are supposed to be working on if they are in this room. She continued to sulk and was practically useless.
I was very tempted to chime in and tell her to buck up. She was caught doing what she wasn’t supposed to be doing, so there’s no need for the show of emotions. Finish what you’re supposed to finish and move on with your day. I didn’t, but continued to work on Magick in Montague County. It was after school let out that I found out that they were given special accommodations, so that made me even more annoyed by their disrespect. If you don’t want to be at DSA then find a different school to go to! Stop ruining the experience for others.
The rest of the night was pretty uneventful, which I’m always grateful for. I finished my work early and I had the opportunity to type up these thoughts before clocking out. I’m so utterly ecstatic that I’m working three days this week. What a wonderful schedule; off three days, work three days, off three days. If only I could manage to get paid and abide by those hours on a weekly basis. This is why I write fantasy.
Day Five Hundred & Fifty: 2/19/2025
I’m utterly shocked! We had an event tonight and they ended at a decent time. I had just completed vacuuming and I was walking back up to the front to take a little break. When we have events I can’t start my bathrooms until after 9pm. So I had about half an hour to kill. While passing by the dance studio, the doors opened and the participants began to exit. I initially thought it was intermission, except they began to leave the building. Woohoo!
I sipped on some water and walked back to my area. While I waited for the building to empty out, I was able to start cleaning the bathrooms. I know it doesn’t sound fascinating, but I really didn’t want to wait until the very end of the night to finish up my cleaning. I relish my time to sit and type away my thoughts before I clock out. By the time I get home, I check out and don’t even want to think about my job.
I was mostly appreciative that the event ended early because I had to be in charge again tonight. My crew lead was covering for the facility manager, so he was gone by 5:30pm. If the event ran late then I would have to stay late to finish shutting down the building. Since I was done with my duties by 9:30, I spent the rest of my time checking the doors and writing down this blog post. I might work on Magick in Montague County some more.
The 460 page book is complete and I’ve submitted it to 30 literary agents. These unsolicited queries took time and I’ve been receiving rejections for weeks. I got two today, it defeats my resolve with each email. I know it’s part of the process, but it still stings each time I see the “unfortunately.” Below are the first 3 chapters in case you’d be interested in reading what I’ve developed.
Magick in Montague County
PROLOGUE
Montague County ought to be pronounced ‘MON-tuh-gyoo,’ if you ask the French or anyone with a mind for proper enunciation. But for Texas, words have a way of shedding their extra syllables like an old snake skin. Around here, it’s ‘MON-taig,’ rhyming with ‘plague,’ though folks will tell you it’s a far better place to live than that implies. It’s the way Southern tongues twist history into something all their own. Efficient, unbothered, and proudly local. Outsiders who get it wrong are forgiven, but say it right, and you’ll earn a knowing nod from the locals. That’s when they’ll figure you’re either from around these parts or you’ve been here long enough for the place to stick to your boots like the red clay after a summer rain.
As Montague County lies below the southern sky, its fields are thick with old secrets. Nestled within the Western Cross Timbers, on the border between Texas and Oklahoma. Stretching 937 square miles of rough earth, watered by rivers and shadowed by gnarled trees. An ancient and stubborn land where towering oaks and twisted pecans cling to sandy soil. It’s a place of shifting winds and boundless fields, caught forever between the wild plains of the west and the lush prairies to the east.
Since before recorded history, the Cross Timbers has stood as a dividing line, a wall of deep woods and tangled branches, separating the hunting grounds of the plains tribes and those of the east. Comanche and Wichita raided and defended this land, their trails hidden beneath its dense forest. These trees were a north-south corridor of mystery, marking both sanctuary and battleground. For centuries, they guarded the secrets of the native people who walked through them, and their silent shadows kept them hidden.
Their existence still remains as if they were whispering worship wistfully. The mystical faiths of the Comanche and Wichita tribes reveal a deep reverence for the natural world and the Great Spirit, their supreme creator. For the Comanche, faith in strength and freedom fueled the fire of their fantasies. Meanwhile, the Wichita’s cyclical renewal beliefs center around the morning star and moon. Both tribes shared an adoration in the power of dreams and animal spirits, illustrating a complex relationship with nature, ancestral wisdom, and cycles of creation. Their energy and mysticism reverberates in the land as if their tracks were still visible. The land itself holds history and is a formidable foe to intruders.
As time has turned, the land would not bend to the will of man. In the mid-1800s, the earliest settlers named the area for Daniel Montague, a surveyor whose vision stretched no further than his own ambition. With axes and hammers, they tried to reshape Montague County to fit their own needs, carving homesteads from the dense forest and unyielding prairie. Yet even then, it resisted, sheltering mystery within its rough hills and quieting whispers beneath its knobby mesquites. Many sought to tame it, but the land had its own will. It preserved water in hidden sands, filled secret aquifers, and gave itself grudgingly to those who dared take root in its stubborn soil.
In Montague County, life carried on as it had for centuries. Days turned into years, marked by long, scorching summers and chilly, silent winters. The county’s towns flourished and faded, and yet the land held its secrets close, refusing to reveal all that it knew. It remained a place caught between worlds, bound by ancient pacts and supernatural forces that defied time.
For those who dared to seek out its mysteries, only those with fortitude can prevail. The Cross Timbers offered both promise and peril. As new generations dug into the past, searching for a way to break the chains of fate, they were drawn deeper into the heart of the land, where the shadows sighed, and the roots remembered.
In 2024, Montague County stands as a testament to the enduring balance between history and progress. The small towns are dotted with modest homes, old brick storefronts, and a scattering of newer developments that hint at modern convenience without overshadowing the area’s heritage. Residents still gather at church potlucks, high school football games, and farmers’ markets, where handshakes and familiar smiles convey unspoken trust. The world outside this picturesque county may have changed. With fast-paced cities filled with glowing screens and hurried lives, but here, time seems to stretch and breathe.
The culture of camaraderie lingers in the very air, swaying on warm breezes and whispering through the leaves. It’s a place where neighbors lend a helping hand without hesitation, where family and tradition are stitched into the fabric of daily life. Montague County hums with an unspoken bond, an essence passed down from those who once walked its trails and tilled its fields. The county remains a sanctuary of connection and a majesty all its own.
Generations of families remain rooted to the land, and newcomers are quickly folded into the rhythm of the county's quiet yet purposeful life. There is a resilience woven into Montague County’s DNA, a reminder that even in the 21st century, community, tradition, and the unseen magic of connection are what truly hold a place together.
CHAPTER ONE
The doorbell rings once. No answer. So, she rings it again. It’s a sweet melodic chime, like a little bird with an alto tweet. She stands there waiting. No one has lived in this house for years, but when she heard that it had a new occupant, Mrs. Genna Gresham became determined to provide a welcoming gift. She is patiently standing on the front porch with a large decorative basket filled with locally made cheeses, smoked meat, assorted crackers, a variety of fruits, and a few bottles of wine from Lonesome Vine. The local wine maker isn’t as refined as one of the vineyards from Napa Valley, but for North Texas it’s still palatable.
The old rock house on South Johnson Loop was once owned by Ms. Hilda Thomann, until two years ago. It’s a relic of another time. The house is a small, rugged structure made of limestone and weathered wood, surrounded by a tangle of untamed grass. It looks out of place, both sturdy and vulnerable, like it has been plucked from a charming world and set down here.
Genna's former friend, Hilda, had succumbed to a grueling battle with cancer, leaving a void that still remains in the community. Having been quite close to her, Genna felt a personal responsibility to ensure Hilda’s nephew felt welcome. She knew the house had been bequeathed to him, but it had remained vacant since Hilda’s passing. Then rumors began to circulate that a new occupant had arrived under the cover of night, small-town whispers are fueled by equal parts curiosity and suspicion. Genna resolved to take action. Determined to integrate this mysterious young man, she set out with her trademark warmth and purpose.
Her arms are becoming tired from holding the basket and sweat has begun to trickle from her pores. Eventually, she hears footsteps from inside the old stately rock house. Then, the aged wooden door creaks open. Only slightly. Not even enough for her to see the young man’s face. All she can see is his eye. The sun is shining bright onto his brown chestnut eye, except there are flecks of green that look as if tiny emeralds are embedded. She’s mesmerized by the single emblem glinting behind the door.
“Hello,” she says with a friendly drawl.
“Hello,” he replies, a touch reluctantly.
“May I come in?” she asks, offering a smile. “This basket is getting awfully heavy, darling.”
“Um…”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll just be a moment.” Genna says as she pushes through respectfully so she can put down the basket on the nearest surface.
Before he has a chance to think, she sits it down on the little table close to the kitchen. The house isn’t very big. There’s a living room, kitchen, a small bedroom on the first floor, a loft bedroom on the second floor, and a basement cellar that has more spiders and insects than comfort. She doesn’t need a tour, she spent many late nights here. Oh, how she missed her friend. She hadn’t been back in this house since Hilda’s passing.
Genna met Hilda when she first moved to Montague. She was a new wife and new to the area. It was Hilda that entered her home with a welcome basket. Some twenty years ago. Except, Hilda brought fresh produce and flowers from her own garden. A horticulturist and amateur florist. Hilda’s profession was teaching fourth grade, but her passion was to bring forth magic using her green thumb. Their friendship blossomed as if a bud had sprung open during the first morning of spring. Over the years they spent a lot of time together, whether it be at local functions or personal time between the two of them.
It was here, in this little rock house that cemented their friendship. She isn’t expecting the same rapport from Hilda’s nephew, but she’s intent on providing the same level of hospitality. However, this young man doesn’t remind her of Hilda. She knows that they don’t look alike. For one thing, Hilda was a vibrant redhead. Her hair looked like rhubarb in the sun. If she didn’t wear sunscreen she’d turn the same color as her tresses. As long as she protected her porcelain skin she had a very light complexion with hints of freckles all over. She called them her sun kisses. Every year she’d count them, but unfortunately not all imperfections can be detected. Melanoma, that had metastasized, was the cause of her malady. That’s what took her friend away.
She doesn’t want to think of that when she tries to get a good look at the young man. There aren't any lights on, but she can tell that he is tall. Well above six feet, a few inches taller than her husband. Genna is only five foot five, but her personality makes her appear taller than she really is.
She flicks on the light switch, and the sudden glow reveals his features more clearly. Recognition strikes her as she takes in his face. The young man she’d seen so often in photos. His mother, Hilda’s younger sister, shared her fair complexion, but his father’s Dominican heritage gave his skin a warm, rich tone, like coffee with a touch of cream. It’s a striking blend, full of character and depth. Though she’s watched him grow up through photographs, this is the first time they’ve met in person. The tall, dark, and undeniably handsome nephew of her late friend.
She reaches out her hand and shakes his vigorously. “I’m Genna Gresham. It is so nice to finally meet you. Your aunt was one of my best friends.” She says cordially.
“Nice to meet you too.” He replies, but he retracts his hand quickly. Nervously.
He steps away from her and begins sifting through the contents of the welcome basket, the faint growl of his stomach just audible in the quiet room. He is absolutely starving, completely forgetting to eat before he left Dallas the day before.
Hunter Barrera moved into his aunt’s rock house at dusk the night before. The rumors were correct. Though, he thought he made his entrance into Montague County in secret. He didn’t arrive until the sun had set and he assumed he was inconspicuous. He even hid his car behind the dilapidated barn out back. Who is this woman, he thought when he saw her standing on the front porch. He was in the upstairs loft when he saw her pullup. He assumed he could just ignore her, but he could also tell that she was tenacious. So he decided it was best to see what she was selling and send her on her way. Except, he didn’t know how to say no to her. She was going to enter whether he agreed to it or not.
Hunter glances at the basket sitting idly by. “Thank you for this, but I’m still unpacking.”
“Oh, if you’d like some help I’m a wonder at organization.” She says with an infectious smile from ear to ear.
“NO!” He blurts, startling his first guest. “I mean, I just want to be alone.”
“Oh, no worries darling. I’ll be out of your hair in a shake and a waggle. However, I want to give you my information in case you need anything. We all loved your aunt and I can tell you I won’t be the last to bring forth a welcoming gift. If you need anyone to wrangle the rabble you just let me know.” Genna then hands Hunter a card with all of her contact information.
“Thank you,” he says genuinely.
“Not a problem,” Genna says as she whooshes out of the rock house as quickly as she’d entered it.
He closes the door quietly and waits for Genna to leave in her white mom-mobile. At least that’s what he thinks of her SUV. Something only a mom would buy to shuffle around her offspring with pride. Something he never experienced. He didn’t grow up with a mother, just a domineering grandmother. It’s not like he was jealous, but he always had a tinge of remorse when he met a major motherly type. No time to wish for something you didn’t have, he thinks to himself. He’s exhausted. He decides to examine the contents of the basket later. For now, he wants, no, needs to get more rest before another unexpected guest arrives.
CHAPTER TWO
She felt a little slighted, but she didn’t anticipate a long winded meeting with the young man. She’s not an empath, but she could tell that he wasn’t in the mood to be hospitable. It’s a Saturday morning and she has a lot to do. There are a myriad of items on her list that won’t get completed if she doesn’t tackle them personally.
When she arrives home, her husband Garth is making pancakes and bacon for the brood still living at home; Lindsay, Meegan, and Caleb. Her oldest, Decklan, is away at college. He’s a junior at Texas A&M University. Garth and Genna’s alma mater, where the two met. Garth was studying rural agriculture and business studies while Genna was focused on veterinary sciences. He was a charming small town boy and she was a vivacious cheerleader. They met in economics. Not the most romantic setting, but they would spar in class and eventually Garth garnered the encouragement to ask her to study with him. They studied, but ended up talking until they were asked to leave the library. He made her laugh and she made him feel special.
Their bond deepened, becoming inseparable as their desires intertwined. Raised to believe that intimacy was reserved for marriage, they wrestled with the teachings of their faith. Yet, the intensity of their passion proved too powerful to deny. In a moment of shared vulnerability and longing, they expressed their love through the act of physical union, defying the boundaries they once believed unbreakable.
It only took one time and Genna became pregnant. So, they decided to get married as soon as possible. However, her parents were against the marriage and dissolved their connection with their own daughter. They still haven’t reconciled to this day. Rather than being distraught, she leaned into the relationship with her new in-laws that loved her. The wedding was a small affair in Garth’s hometown. Held at the Catholic church in Montague, TX.
She left college and moved in with her in-laws. Her husband would visit as much as possible, but they agreed that he should focus on his studies and graduate. She believed that eventually she would finish her degree, but at the time, she cared more about the living being that was growing inside of her. It was also important to her to nurture the new family that she had acquired. Though, she had no clue that her father-in-law was going to pass so suddenly.
On his forty-second birthday, Garth’s father had a massive heart attack. While they were having breakfast that morning, everything was normal. He was jovial, excited. They were discussing the plans for the day when it all occurred. A clot had found its way into his artery cutting off the blood flow to his heart. He was a young man with no signs of heart disease. Yet, he clutched his chest as his face turned as red as a tomato. Within ten minutes, the muscles had ceased and he lost consciousness. If anyone had known CPR, they would’ve performed the necessary function to help. His wife ran to the phone to call 9-1-1. Genna never left his side as he faded away. He died in her arms. He never got to see his son graduate college. He never got to meet his first grandchild.
Genna had never felt so helpless. When she whispered, “he’s gone,” it felt as if all of her oxygen had been pushed out of her. That’s when her mother-in-law screamed, it was a shriek that embodied all of her pain in one brief moment. Burying Garth’s father should’ve brought them all together more, but the anguish was too much for his mother. She killed herself six months after the funeral.
Genna wouldn’t have survived the grief if it hadn’t been for Hilda Thomann. Garth knew this about his wife and was concerned when she arrived from the visit from the old rock house in poor spirits. She didn’t need to say anything. He knew that she wanted more from her visit with her former friend’s nephew.
He still had to ask, “how was it, what’s the young man like?”
“He’s handsome, but he had a lot on his plate. I didn’t stay long. Besides, I have a lot to do today. Tomorrow is going to be so busy. If I don’t get cooking then the Easter Supper will be a total disaster. I’ll try to connect with him another time.” Genna says solemnly.
He gives her one of his million dollar smiles and she winks back at him. For a moment she stops thinking about the young man in the rock house. She grabs herself a plate and joins her children. On Saturdays, Garth makes breakfast for the family. It’s his speciality and his only attempt at domesticity. The rest of the time he’s working on the farm. Ensuring that all the efforts of the land provides.
They currently own 500 acres in Montague County with over two hundred head of cattle. The animals keep them very busy, but the Greshams have employed Javier Mendoza as their operator. He handles most of the management on the land while Garth manages the business side. The two families have worked more like partners from father to son, and one daughter since 1878. They also grow hay, peaches, and melons.
They are very successful. Their family has also survived thanks to extensive insurance claims. Since the beginning of the 20th century, the Greshams have aligned with major companies to insure their household and land from disasters. It’s helped generation after generation. They don’t rely on these funds, as they’re funneled into high-end investments. They continue to maintain their farmland with fortitude and hard work.
Everyone is kept busy, each member contributes in their own way. Lindsay and Meegan assist in morning chores six days a week while Caleb helps out Garth in every way possible. Duties that used to fall on Decklan before he left for college have fallen onto his younger brother. The precocious Caleb will also tend to the land with Javier Menodoza when his schedule allows. The summer harvest is the busiest time of the year and all take part in their unique ways to ensure that it runs smoothly. Gathering and organizing the crops for distribution. Genna is a mother, a wife, and also veterinarian assistant at the local animal hospital. Her skills and knowledge have come in handy with their cattle a multitude of times.
Genna also manages the household with a tenacity for organization and authority. Always on top of everything. She is a master of making lists, except today she forgot a few ingredients and needs someone to go to the grocery store for her. Garth agrees and scampers off. It isn’t like him to volunteer for such a task, but he has another errand he wants to run. This gives him the necessary excuse to tackle both obstacles.
CHAPTER THREE
It’s late afternoon by the time Garth pulls up in his magnanimous pickup truck to the rock house. Rather than ring the melodic doorbell he chooses to knock on the door with a veracity that would wake the dead. He isn’t angry, but he’s insistent. When Garth gets a thought in his head, there is nothing that can be said or done to sway him.
A very skittish Hunter opens the door slightly. Afraid of whoever this is. He’s already had a slew of visitors that left welcome baskets on the front porch. He didn’t have the mental capacity to talk to each one of them, so they were ignored. Thus, there are at least four baskets lounging on the porch filled with assorted goodies for the new inhabitant to Montague County.
Only, Garth doesn’t have any welcome basket. Just his direct nature and smile. He is very cordial when he introduces himself to Hunter. Though, he doesn’t push in like his wife. The two men converse on the porch as the sun drifts lower in the sky. Casting a shadow upon Garth.
“Howdy son! I’m Garth, Garth Gresham. You met my wife earlier today, Genna. Well, I know she’d love the opportunity to get to know you better, except she’s too kind to come out and ask you personally. So here I am. I’d like to invite you to the Easter Supper at our house following mass at Saint William Catholic Church. It’s off Union Street, just a few miles from here. I can come pick you up, or you can meet us there. I would just ask that you sit with us for mass. It starts at 11 a.m. sharp.”
“But I’m not Catholic.” Hunter replies shyly.
“Oh! That’s no problem. All are welcome at Saint William’s.” Garth says enthusiastically.
Hunter tries to come up with an excuse, but feels overwhelmed by the gesture of the Greshams. He feels completely off guard and that probably swayed his decision. So he nods his head in agreement. He’s actually never attended church before and is a little curious what it was all about. Would I burst into flames when I enter? He asks himself.
“Wonderful! See you tomorrow then! I gotta get going, I’ve got ice cream melting in the truck. Again, Saint William at 11. Have a nice evening son.” Garth says as he jumps off the porch and into his pickup truck as quickly as he had arrived.
That’s when Hunter notices it. The darkness. There is a shroud that is looming over Garth Gresham. Something beyond a dark aura. Faintly ominous, but definitely there. He’s not afraid of the dark side. Except, he was trying to get away from all of that, that’s why he’s here at his aunt’s rock house. Yet, he's learned there are no random coincidences.
He doesn’t go searching for the dark-side, but it always seems to find him. Dark tragedy has been following him his entire life actually. His mother died during childbirth. She had a massive hemorrhage and brain aneurysm when Hunter entered the world. His father died on the way to the hospital in a major car accident. Some might say that Hunter was cursed at birth, but that’s only speculation from his abuela, who ended up raising him.
His aunt Hilda wanted to take him however she couldn’t compete with the will of Isabella Barrera. So, Hunter grew up in Dallas with his abuela from his father’s side. Isabella was also a very skilled bruja. She wouldn’t ever call herself a witch even though she aligned with the witch faction of the organization known as Magick Caste. She instilled that Hunter embrace his Dominican heritage and not fall victim to “the rules of the white witches.”
She had Hunter enrolled in advanced learning curriculums as well as magical lessons from an early age. She didn’t show a lot of affection, but she showed her love language through strict guidance of the arts of magic and knowledge. She didn’t fall between the light or dark, she believed that one should follow their own path.
Unfortunately, when he was in college he was approached by a dark-sided warlock coven. He became smitten with one of its members and followed him blindly. It was his first real relationship. Hunter never had the support and love of a community. His abuela didn’t shelter him, but he was so engrossed with his studies that he didn’t have the time to build a support system.
When he found a place that felt like home, he walked towards the dark-side with open arms. He moved up the ladder, reaching level ten Incantori status with Magick Caste. He had become skilled and knowledgeable thanks to his advancement.
He was able to graduate college with high marks, but had become engrossed in the dark arts. It consumed him. He participated in many heinous spells and rituals along with his coven. It started to take a toll on him though.
He realized how detrimental the dark-side was impacting his life. He confided in his abuela when he was at his lowest. She, the staunch woman that she was, confronted the coven leader. She was determined to release her nieto from the confines of the darkest of the dark. Yes, the dark-side has shades of depravity. Levels that branch out like a virus. Except he was trapped. Unable to free himself from them. So his seventy year old abuela battled the coven leader on Hunter’s behalf. She was fatally injured and passed away tragically.
Hunter was devastated. He was in a rage, even attacked his ex-boyfriend who he believed contributed to his abuela’s death. He assumed that he had killed this warlock. Hunter didn’t stay long enough to find out if he lived or died. He escaped to Montague County to hide out. He sequestered himself somewhere that not a single member of his coven would think to look.
He’s still recovering from the effects of the dark-side withdrawal. Once one stops siphoning from others, there is a lack of control over one’s emotions, and there is physical pain. As if Hunter was recovering from heroin. The dark-side has much more addictive properties. Generally, once you go dark you don’t come back.
Here he is confronted with something dark again. Except, he has no clue what is going on with Mr. Gresham. Is it his responsibility to figure it out? He doesn’t know at this time, but he’s sure that if he’s going to attend a local church service then he should check what he frantically packed. Lucky for Hunter, most of his wardrobe is filled with custom designer pieces. His former coven had high standards for fashion. How they came by these items was never questioned, Hunter didn’t purchase them with well-earned money, but they are his belongings now.
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