Kyle the Apprentice Warlock

7:38 AM September 15^th 2026

Central Park between the National Museum of Unnatural Science and History and the museum’s Employee Housing

Camina hated escort duty. 

With a passion.

A burning unending deep and visceral loathing is what she felt for any officer who ordered her to ‘escort’ civilians.  Almost as much loathing as she felt for the actual duty of escorting anyone to safety.  And yes, she’d been to therapy for it.  So much therapy for it.

Camina, and every officer on the gods damned planet knew that her dislike of escort duty came from the incident that made her a warlock and the fact that she – a sob caught in her throat, and she shoved it far down.  This was not the time for that.  It was never the time for that memory.  But the fact that the jackass fobbit officer in charge of this shit-show, who had obviously never commanded anything more complicated than a fucking desk, had Camina-fucking-Wattkins the Goddamned Last Line of Defense running escort duty instead of cleaning up the monsters while sending her child somewhere without informing her at all…

The rage was real and well deserved.

There was going to be a reckoning.

She was already over forty-eight hours without sleep by the time Camina was assigned to cover the evacuation of civilians from the museum.  Jim was basically unconscious on his feet.  There were rules about how long you would work a soldier, even in emergencies.  Even in combat, there were rules.  But those rules were different for warlocks - who could handle higher magical loads and therefore more stamina potions – from the rules for non-magic users in the military.  Even so, these orders… were not… they weren’t appropriate for the circumstances. 

Probably.

She was mad.  Okay?  And her ability to articulate her emotions, even in her own mind was starting to flag a bit after so many hours without sleep.  Or stamina potions.  Which she’d been entitled to but had been denied when she requested them.  Mother fuckers.

“Well, that’s the last of them.”  Jim clicked off his camera and put it away.  He had recorded video and taken photos non-stop from the moment he was tossed out of an airplane two days ago.  Camina smiled at her new protégé as he put away his camera and dusted off his hands.  “Good riddance.”  The Warlock of the Archangel Michael’s smile didn’t reach her eyes because she only knew that two members of her family were alive, and one of them was her eldest child Davelor, because he’d been out of the country when the magic collectors blew.

“That is the last of them.” Her agreement was almost depressed and more than a little angry if her gritted teeth were any indication of her mood. 

“What now boss?” The journalist swayed on his feet from exhaustion even as he rallied to her side.  The older woman turned away with a weary sigh and glanced toward the employee housing.

“Now I’m going to go looking for my kids and husband.  You should probably get some rest.  I’m sure the museum will let you take a place with some of the off duty Magicorps soldiers in there.”  The thought that she now had hours of searching to do in order to find out what had happened to her kids, made her weariness weigh upon her heavily.  Since she was at the museum, she might as well start with Kyle and work her way out from there.  When Camina had turned her head back towards Jim, he had out another of his small handheld cameras.  “Did you just record me saying that?”

“Of course, I did.”  He grinned at her as he paused the recording so it wouldn’t catch his voice.  “How could I give up on the opportunity to show the world the off-duty Camina?”  When he noticed the irritated flare of Camina’s nostrils, he added in notes of hopeful nervousness, “With the utmost respect and only share what you specifically give permission to share?  Please?”  He gave her one of those universal looks of someone pleading with their eyes and since it reminded her too much of her own kids, she relented with a sigh.

“Fine, you can tag along.  Let’s go talk to Kyle’s boss.” 

“Yesss!”  Despite what must have been extreme fatigue, Jim gave a fist pump and a little hop of joy.  There may have even been a heel-click in there but Camina was too busy rolling her eyes at his antics to know for sure.

“You ever meet a pureblood vampire before, Mister Thafesh?”  Camina questioned as she gestured for Jim to follow her up the grand front stairs of the temple-esque National Museum of Unnatural Science and History.

“Uh… no.”  He provided hesitantly as he shuffled through his pockets to find the cameras that still had memory space and juice in their batteries.  “I’ve met multiple human-hybrids, multiple generations removed.  Kyle’s the cook, right?  His boss is a pureblood vampire.” Camina laughed, her throaty tinkling laugh and it gave James Thafesh goosebumps.

“No. Mister Thafesh.  Kyle likes to cook,” Camina clarified the misunderstanding about her son.  “He’s the best cook in the family besides my youngest Anna – don’t tell her I said that – but cooking is not Kyle’s job.”

Jim followed Camina’s gaze toward a tall, slim, very fit gentleman standing in the shadows just inside the open doors to the museum.  Red eyes glowed against pale flesh topped with dark hair.  The journalist was transfixed by the glowing red eyes.  Mesmerized really.  Before he realized it, they were already halfway up the stairs.

“Don’t look into his eyes if you aren’t used to it.”  Camina cautioned him with a gentle touch on his arm to break the trance.  “He’s not even using any of his powers.”

“Oh.  Thank you.”  Came the embarrassed mumbled response from her erstwhile sidekick.  He returned to filming but no longer looking directly at the vampire’s eyes, which were far less crimson looking than they had been from further away.

“Missus Wattkins.”  The vampire greeted in his slightly accented perfect English with a broad fanged smile and his arms opened wide in welcoming.  “Always a pleasure and an honor when you grace my humble domain with your presence.”  Camina’s returned smile was far more restrained than that of the man greeting her. 

“Hello, Director Arcas.”  The warlock declined the vampire’s implied request for a hug from the open arms and instead held out a hand to shake.  Of course, the vampire refused to shake and bent over Camina’s hand to give it a kiss.  Jim’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sheer audacity of the vampire.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to finally let the museum’s experts take a look at your armor or Ascalon, are you?”  The raised eyebrowed frown Camina gave the director was a combination of amused and exasperated with an overtone of exhaustion because she was too tired for this shit.