Exit to the Right ??

It took Matis some will to school his features so that his mask didn't shatter. The drowned rat's jab had punched its way right up from his stomach to his mouth where it pushed the next words through his lips before he could stop them; not even when he noticed that the man didn't look like a drowned rat anymore. Matis' humor had not been the only thing that had rolled off him. With a shake of his head the man's clothes and hair had dried as if the man like Flo had magic, what made no sense.

"Watch yourself. All I did was ask for directions. If you don't want to help me, fine. But, why tell me that I have no place and no future, stranger?"

"Why not?" One corner of the man's mouth twitched. He waved his outstretched arm. The gesture seemed to touch upon Matis from head to toe. "I don't think you belong here. You stand there with a bottle as companion, and you wear what looks like a beggar's dress. You haven't even got pants on. What are you? Half a man? A shadow of one?"

Matis recoiled. But then he caught himself, straightened his shirt and square his shoulders. "I am wearing a kilt, you daft oaf. There's nothing more manly than that!" With his arms dangling by his side, he took a step forward and challenged, "Drag your desk steeled carcass over here and I shall show you, what I am capable of doing. What keeps you anyway? Why not just send me off my way?"

It was the man's turn to cross his arms. From the pond's shore beneath he condescended to Matis, "I don't help weaklings, liars, nor pack, but worthy men, and those whom I know well – my people first. So, find your manners and introduce yourself, if you expect me to help you on."

"My name? After all you have thrown into my direction already, after what you pretended to know about me, you ask for my name now?" Matis croaked a laugh. His eyes rolled up toward the sky just as another lightning bolt exploded. In place of thunder he hurled at the man a string of words that he felt ashamed, he dared to use. He didn't know who the man was that these words described, but it was the role he knew he was expected to play. "I shall tell you my name. I am Vlad's son, Perdita's brother, and Justin's lover. I am the strongest of the Immortals, leader of The Great Hunt. You speak with Matis."

"You forgot to mention that you are dead." The man flung his arms up when Matis took a deep breath and opened his mouth, already mad that he had to remember one of the names, besmirch the others and now had been taunted some more. "No, don't say it. I can understand that this must be a sore spot for the strongest of the Immortals. As would be the fact that you ran from your father with your tail between your legs."

"What is it to you?" Matis pressed through his teeth. The first and last time he'd met his parents in capacity as his parents, they had all been together – Justin, his sister Perdita, her partner Flo. They had made a stand before walking out on Duke Vlad, Duchess Mathilda and Flo's father Duke Guthrum. It had been the day Hel had made Justin and him the leaders of the Great Hunt so that they could live, love and fight on forever together. It should be a happy, triumphant memory.

All Matis felt though, was embarrassment. Since that day, they'd been hiding. Nothing had been accomplished. Justin's death, his death, the parents' wrath – all for nothing. Someone should have put a stop to the Duch-pack's games. They were exploiting humans, mongering conflicts to make money and gain power.

But Matis, he couldn't cope with what had happened. He couldn't even accept that these were his parents. Since he should be happy and thankful however, he couldn't talk about his confusion and frustration with anyone. He was the strongest of the Immortals after all, leader of the Great Hunt.

"Who are you anyway? I want to hear your name," Matis distracted himself from the thickening darkness inside, the one he tried to flee with lightning.

The man drew himself up. "I hide my name seldom," he said with pride. "I am Nigel."

Matis blinked, a muscle fanning at his jaw. "Why would you ever hide your name? It wouldn't make sense unless of course you have quarrels."

"Listen at you – quarrels!" The man turned the palms on his outstretched arms upwards and shrugged with a grin. "What is not can still be or might has been or is. Who knows? Time, such fickle thing that my principals are eager to play with. Not me. I only do what I am told. No matter what however, from someone like you I would always guard my life."

"Someone like me?" Matis thundered. It took all his control to rein himself in. Once it had been easier to concentrate, to dismiss words for more important notions. But back then, the words hadn't found their echo in his head. "Never mind. It would be too much trouble to come to you, to wade across the water and wet my middle when my head and my feet are already soaked – unlike you."

"Not much to wet in the middle, is there?" Nigel stroked down his tie, then straightened it while he mouthed, "Coward."

"Are you looking for a fight?" Matis asked, even though it was obvious. "Where did you find all these insults?"

Nigel set out slowly to circle the pond. "Ah them. They hit bull's eye. Each one of them, right?" His hands folded behind his back, he winked at Matis from the cover of some bushed that dipped their leaves into the water. "It's a true gift of those who ride by night. Once given magic as a gift, we steal the wits away with it."

So, Nigel was a witch, and his magic had been a gift. Matis would love to hear by whom and why, but indicating that he didn't know would be a sign of weakness. "You repay a good gift with evil mind."

"The oak must have what it shaves from another. In such things, it's each for himself." Nigel vanished from the path along the pond, where he'd been walking, and reappeared in front of Matis the next second. "I thought that was your motto. Isn't that what you did when you ran? Repeatedly? Isn't that why you disturb a perfectly brilliant spring night with your one-man show?"

"Careful," Matis warned, holding his ground. "One blow with my hammer and you cry louder than a wolf in sight of the moon."

Unfazed Nigel seized Matis' hand. First Matis thought that he would go for the whisky after all. But Nigel knotted three woolen bracelets around his wrist, each barely more than three twisted strings. "Your Justin has a lover at home. As we speak. One you know. One you suspect. One who gave us the gift of magic. It's him that you should focus on, not me."

Matis pushed the man off him. "You witless lout, I say you lie. You only say what you think will hurt me most."

"I speak out what you know to be true deep inside you, am I not?" Nigel whispered into Matis' ear. Matis breathed hard. He shook all over, but any reply died in his mouth. Waiting, Nigel scanned their surroundings from his new position with a finger tapping his chin. He suddenly jumped as if remembering something important. "Why aren't you on your way yet?"

Matis stabbed at Nigel with his finger. "Because you jerk, you have held me here for so long with your vile talk."

"What's that now?" Nigel stemmed his hands into his sides. "I've never believed that a mighty prince, strongest of the Immortals, leader of the Wild Hunt and what not could ever be - what shall I call it? - influenced, manipulated, deployed, thwarted by a lowly witch."

A lightning bolt cracked as Matis fists closed at his sides. The rain increased. "Show me the way now, before I do something exceptionally stupid to a lowly witch."

"A while to the stock, and a while to the stone; then the road to thy left, till you reach where the toad meets the biting midge – and voila, the Rainbow Bridge," Nigel soughed.

Groaning, Matis waved him off as he turned and stalked away. "No whisky for you, nutter. I don't think you need any." His free hand roamed to the bracelets to rip them off. He stopped before they snapped, needing them as a reminder for later that he hadn't made up the conversation. Instead, more lightning flashed over London and rain set in again.