"Most transmutationists specialize in smithy and metalworking. Lots of money in that." It was a little difficult to keep talking to him about stuff that I had only half-heartedly read about from the books that Mom gave me, especially considering how distracting the man was. I guessed he was one of the working hands at the farm, maybe the manager, though the intensity at which he studied me, left me bit unsure of myself. It brought me back to my days at school when the most popular boy would look at me for a second, and I’d completely turn into a klutz and forget my own name. That was this man in front of me, affecting me that much.
"Too much violence, especially after the discoveries on how uranium can be used. There was a time when being a smithy specialist was very dangerous in this part of the world."
"Oh, right. I can see that." We started walking through the dust-covered road heading up to the house. Taking everything in was currently all that I could concentrate on. I would put it all together later on. "So... what do you do here?"
"I was brought on to be a caretaker after the last one passed away," he replied. "It is a lot of work, and I am only just getting started, but again, I see a great deal of potential in this place."
"Well then, Roge... Rogel..." I paused, trying to remember the name that he'd given me.
"Your aunt called me Rog," he said, like he had been anticipating my difficulty.
"Okay, Rog, I have to say that I have absolutely no idea how a vineyard should be run. I honestly don't even know what I'm doing here." I waved my hands around as we approached the house. "I'm a journalist by trade. I gave up on my heritage a while ago, so I don't know what exactly it is that you expect me to do around here."
"You can look into the possibilities that this place gives off," Rog noted. "You see the surface, but I see the bones of this place. They are well-rooted, old and powerful. In the right hands, it could be a true beauty."
"I can assure you that these"—I looked down at my hands—"are not the right hands."
"No, but mine might be, but we have workers that come in casually from surrounding villages to work the land." He smirked. "Come, let me show you to the cellar."
I still had a lot of questions, but I had a feeling that they would be met with more talk of the possibilities that this place had. He was right; I couldn't see past the surface. Maybe someone else would.
"Would you like to buy this place from me?" I asked as he pulled the external cellar door open, turning the lights on as he descended into it. "You obviously care about it, and I... don't."
"You feel like your time would be wasted here?" He turned back to look at me.
In the dimmer light of the cellar, there was something considerably different about him. The heat radiating from him was almost visible, and the gleam in his eyes almost felt like it was a little too intense to be coming from the naked light bulbs illuminating the cellar.
"In so many words," I managed to answer through the dryness of my throat.
"We can discuss that." He pulled a couple of glasses out and started filling them with a bright ruby liquid from one of the nearby casks. "But it might involve discussing how you enjoy wasting your time. We all have our vices that have no point aside from bringing us personal satisfaction."
"Sure." I took the glass that he offered me and sniffed the contents like I knew I was supposed to, while twirling the glass gently. It sure as hell smelled like red wine.
I took a sip, and while the smell was consistent with wines that I'd tasted in the past, the taste was a little off. Something coppery that filled my tastebuds in a way that made me wince.
"This place makes a strong brew, but I think you'll find that it agrees with you." Rog took a sip from his glass.
The door to the cellar opened up again, and I turned to see a familiar face coming down.
"Mr. Batten, wasn't it?" I asked, have startled to see him. "What are you doing here?"
"Just finishing the business that my firm has in the area," the lawyer answered. "I figured that since we are both here, we might as well get all the paperwork out of the way."
"That's... coincidental," I noted, thankful at least for the distraction, which let me put the glass of wine down on a nearby table as Batten placed his papers on it as well.
"Hardly," Batten replied. "Getting all of this out of the way is sort of the reason why I came here at the same time you did. Now, if you could just sign here?"
He handed me a pen and pointed at the bottoms of the pages, all asking for my signature. I put it down where instructed, but I felt something biting into my finger as I moved toward the last page.
"Ouch," I snapped, looking down to see something jutting from the pen had dug into my finger, drawing blood.
"Are you all right?" Rog asked, taking my hand immediately to inspect the damage.
"Yeah, just a... small cut." I narrowed my eyes as he squeezed my finger gently to the point where a droplet of blood hit the page.
Rog immediately pulled out a small case with some bandages inside, cleaning the cut and wrapping it up. "Not to worry."
"I'm just... some got on the page."
"No need to worry about that." Batten pulled another pen out and handed it to me. "Just your signature should be fine."
Almost without thinking, I put my name down on the final page.
"Perfect." Batten snapped the pages up with a smile. "Now, Mr. Dobre, since our business is finished, I will remove myself."
"Your... business with him?" My voice was slurring. There was no telling why, but suddenly the light bulbs felt like they were glowing just a little too brightly.
"Quite," Rog answered, ignoring me. "Have a pleasant flight back to New York."
I shook my head, but that only made the feeling worse, and I reached out to the table to regain my balance. It was only a momentary reprieve, as it felt like my knees turned to rubber.
The world was spinning, and I started to drop, feeling the fall being stopped quickly by a pair of powerful arms.
A look upwards told me, in a blurry fashion, that Rog had caught me.
"You're... strong," I murmured, reaching up to run my fingers over the bristle on his chin.
"You have no idea," he answered with a smile, making the perfectly white teeth the last thing I saw before the world turned black.
Chapter 4
I was dreaming.
The fact that I knew that I was dreaming was an oddity on its own, but there was no way that anything that I was looking at was real. I stood in a large, white room, mostly empty of furniture except for the full body mirror in front of me. The iron chandelier overhead sparkled from the lights flickering every now and then.
"It's annoying that the beautiful crystal mirror is the most realistic part of all this," I whispered, looking down at a brilliant-white , strapless dress that I wore. Lined with tiny diamonds, it glinted against the light, especially the line across my bust. My dark hair was curled, cascading down over my shoulders.
Looking this good was really the dream of any bride-to-be, but being a bride had never really made it to my bucket list.