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DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All resemblances to any locations, people, or events in the real world are coincidence.
Chapter One: The Night of Aleph
“Abysses of amnesia continually opened beneath him, but he could bridge them, nimbly, by fluent confabulations and fictions of all kinds. For him, they were not fictions, but how he suddenly saw, or interpreted, the world. Its radical flux and incoherence could not be tolerated, acknowledged, for an instant – there was, instead, this strange, delirious, quasi-coherence, as Mr. Thompson, with his ceaseless, unconscious, quick-fire inventions, continually improvised a world around him – an Arabian Nights world, a phantasmagoria, a dream, of ever-changing people, figures, situations – continual, kaleidoscopic mutations and transformations. For Mr. Thompson, however, it was not a tissue of ever-changing, evanescent fancies and illusion, but a wholly normal, stable, and factual world. So far as he was concerned, there was nothing the matter.”
- Oliver Sacks, in “A Matter of Identity”,
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other
Clinical Tales
The Island of Crete
The Ruins of Knossos, Five Years Before The Present
Time: 15:37
Amongst the many stories that would circle around the Ashirra and Camarilla communities was that there was a young girl living in the ruins of an ancient city, the remnants of a dark maze that once served as the home of a terrible creature of legend: the Minotaur. Of course, Emir al-Jawar did his research – the young girl, more famously known as the Oracle of Knossos, had decided to relocate to a more comfortable setting: a small house on the other side of the island, far from her previous locations within the ruins of Knossos.
The cliff where the house could be found was once considered the most precious spot on Crete by the native fishermen; the view of the Mediterranean was unmatched, and the ocean breeze that came in during the afternoon was incredibly refreshing when it wasn’t too cold. Today was graced with a sky with no clouds, and activity buzzed throughout all parts of Crete.
Except on this cliff.
Hands in his coat, and collar folded upwards to help block some of the breeze, since it was unfortunate that he was subject to a day where the breeze was just a little bit too chilly, Emir slowly made his way to the house on the cliff. The Oracle of Knossos was a vampire, only willing to bequeath its abilities amongst its own Kindred, but Emir had more or less attained the body of a vampire, without the environmental weakness of sunlight, through the training of the magic House Merinita. He was confident he would pass the requirements to be a vampire and have his future told.
As he quickly jumped up the steps to the porch, Emir raised his right hand out of his coat pocket and tapped the door in greeting. His only reply was silence, but that was to be expected. Removing his other hand from the coat pocket, Emir raised his left leg close to his chest, and threw it out, smashing the door inwards and crushing it into splinters of wood. Amidst the sound of debris falling to the floor, shrieks and roars could be heard. Reaching for his belt, Emir removed a silver revolver and slowly walked in, turning his head towards different directions.
A shadow leaped rather quickly towards Emir, but the sorcerer was superior in both speed and strength, and with his free hand grabbed the attacking vampire by its head. The hunchback vampire Emir held tightly by the head flailed its gnarled limbs, its incredibly large dark eyes burning with anger and its scraggly gray hair flying over the place. Emir couldn’t help but chuckle – the vampire looked like an overgrown bat, and it was an amusing sight.
Shrieks came out from the surrounding areas, and Emir tossed the vampire onto the ground. Aiming the revolver towards the vampire’s head, Emir shot it several times, and the hunchback vampire was still. Snarling, Emir quickly turned backwards and dug his fangs into the shoulders of a harpy-like creature. The horrid creature screamed in pain as Emir drank some of its tainted blood, and when he released the demon from his jaws, black wings resembling that of the black creature sprouted from his back.
Two more shadows came out from the darkness, and Emir simply moved his wings, causing the shadows to stumble in mid-air before landing on the ground. Emir aimed his gun towards the back of the first harpy he brought down, before a voice in the back caused him to consider otherwise.
“Stop it!
Emir looked up and saw the person he had been seeking: the Oracle of Knossos. She was a young girl, probably no older than eleven in terms of appearance, but she was thousands of years old, and responsible for prophecies that had happened in the stories. Aristotle and Plato wrote of the Pythia, and the last of them stood in front of Emir.
“I am Erianthe, the Oracle of Knossos. Speak, intruder, and allow my…guardians to be free.”
Emir tilted his head to the side; based on her tone of voice, it didn’t seem like the Oracle cared too much for these demonic creatures. He followed through with her request, and disengaged the lock on his firing hammer of the revolver. Putting the weapon away in his coat, the black wings retreated into Emir’s back once more, and he slowly walked past the harpies on the floor, stopping in front of the Oracle. The two of them stared silently at each other.
“You’re a hateful creature, a trespassing vampire that harmed the Erinyes and murdered Argus, but I shall tell you the next prophecy of the world.”
Emir smiled in response, and he watched as the girl slowly made her way to a simple wooden chair that remained undamaged. Dusting her white dress, the Oracle sat down on the chair and made herself comfortable. She took a deep breath, and then her neck jerked back, her mouth opening up in a silent scream. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and the house began to shake violently.
And in just a moment, the shaking stopped, and the Oracle’s head jerked back forward, the white of her eyes staring towards Emir. She rose from the chair, and began to levitate into the air, slowly moving towards Emir before stopping a few feet in front of him. With a snarl, the Oracle began to recite the future.
“He who reveals his mind during the Night of Aleph
shall upset the traditions of the world,
the technologies of man,
and the cultures of countries.”
Her head lolled to the side, as if to intimidate Emir, but the sorcerer stood there, still smiling with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“The fourteenth house will be born
when the center of time greets the birth of the next day.”
Upon hearing mention of the fourteenth house, the smirk left Emir’s face and was replaced with a puzzled frown. There had only been thirteen houses within the Order of Hermes, and it seemed unlikely for any group within the Traditions to suddenly create a new organization under the banner of Hermetic theory. It’s not so simple to create a new form of magic.
“Practices are broken, laws are rewritten,
for the progenitor of all that is right will be reborn,
and bring his wrath upon the world that has tainted abused his words.”
The progenitor of magic…that could only refer to Bonisagus, but why would he seek vengeance upon the world? The Order of Hermes made it its sole mission to practice Bonisagus’s wishes even to present day. The words of the Oracle began to disturb Emir – it seemed the stories of hearing the future and the reaction it makes the human mind have were true.
“All will be red, all will be gray, all will be white.
All forms of reason are abandoned, and the realm is reset,
blank for magic itself to create once more.”
Does the Oracle speak of the end of the world? Emir’s head began to hurt, and he grabbed his head, feeling himself sweat rather profusely. This was strange – ever since he achieved the ultimate replication of a vampire’s body, Emir had never remembered sweating during any occasion.
“The three beasts shall rise as the Whore becomes the Queen,
and Heaven shall be damned
when the shadows of the Scourge of God
finally takes his throne.”
Emir felt himself collapse, his head pounding. His vision began to turn black, and he struggled not to fall unconscious. He snarled at the Oracle of Knossos, who simply stood before him with an expressionless face.
“The future is what drives the mind into madness. I imagine feeling like this for a few more years would make you want to tear your own brain out.”
And with that, the Oracle grabbed a long wooden bar from the floor, a remnant of a table destroyed during the earlier battle, and the girl swung the bar with all of her strength, smashing it against Emir’s left temple, and the blow finally drove him into the oblivion.
___________________
Rancho Los Amigos Hospital
Downey, California, One Year Before The Present
Time: 20:16
Contrary to popular belief, the campus that is remembered by the name “Downey Insane Asyulm” was not in fact an abandoned hospital. Even with the occasional military drills that would happen from time, it served another purpose: home to the insane members of the magical world. Much of the units within the actual building are no longer used, but a floor underground, accessed only by means of a hidden door.
Today was the day where the Traditions send a adjudicator to check up on the magically-imprisoned inmates. Centuries ago, places like these would’ve been filled to the brim with insane magicians, but lessons were learned over time, and the rate in which mages seem to go insane due to an accident during a ritual was almost zero to none. As of now, there were only four inmates within this underground prison.
The first three were incredibly unresponsive – not uncommon, given that after the initial burst of madness, it seems like the soul died alongside the magic. There was nothing there except a breathing body, void of purpose and thought. It was truly a tragic fate, but that is one that can only happen when you do not succeed in a magical project.
Looking over the charts that were given to him, the adjudicator muttered under his breath as he made his way to the last cell.
“Name is Emil Jansen, goes by ‘Emir al-Jawar’. He was christened this name when he decided to convert to Islam, and was notorious to have aided several extremist organizations, including Al-Qaeda and the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. Judging by the interviews conducted in the past two years, he does not truly support the religion or their goals: rather, he seemingly enjoys violence, and simply put himself in a place where he could have what he believed to be ‘murder that was within the boundaries of the law’.”
Slightly disturbed and mostly disgusted, the adjudicator continued to flip through the file, discovering that Emil was of German descent, and ultimately part of House Merinita, in which he was promptly excommunicated from prior to his acceptance into the asylum, due to his heinous activities, which came to light around four years ago.
“Acquaintances mention that he used to be a rather cocky person, but a visit to Greece seemingly changed him; he often complained of headaches, and it didn’t seem like he could sleep. He began to tear his hair off in different places during his stay in the asylum, and refused to speak or even eat. How he has managed to survive without eating or drinking was nothing short of abnormal – it seemed like he fed off the magic that floated down these dark halls.”
Well, if anything, the doctor who wrote this has a knack for fancy writing. Wonder what he’s doing now?
Upon reaching Emil’s cell, the adjudicator could hear something, much like a radio playing in the room. Looking into the charts, it seemed that the only thing Emil kept maintained was a radio that he requested upon being assigned into this room. Words could be heard – it sounded like a late night talk show. The host sounded like a fairly energetic woman, with a voice that was rather alluring.
“Good evening, L.A.! Did ya miss me? Judging by the way the boards just lit up, I’d say you couldn’t live without me. You callers sure know how to make a woman feel desirable. So many callers, so little time…but hey, don’t let your hearts get broken if you can’t reach me tonight, because I’m going to be here each and every A.M. So keep dialing that magic number, and perhaps you’ll be as fortunate as this caller. What’s your name, night owl?”
A cough be heard, followed by a tired and a rather rough voice.
“Hello, Karen. This is, um, James.”
“Hello, James. Up late, aren’t we?”
There was a silence, before the caller spoke again.
“Well, there, Karen, I work the night shift here at the power plant, and pretty much alone, and the only thing that gets me through this godforsaken shift is your pretty, little voice.”
“Why, thank you, James.”
The caller sighed again, as if he was relaxing.
“Why, I’d imagine if you were half as pretty as your voice, then you’re the prettiest woman in the city.”
“Aha. Aren’t you the gentleman?”
The radio went silent again, and the caller seemingly stretched, as the adjudicator could hear the bones crack through the speakers, and the caller groaned in satisfaction.
“I imagine you a lot, Karen. Like I said, I’m all by myself, and it can get a little lonely. Sometimes a man can’t help himself, so when I hear you, it’s like you’re here, straddling my-”
And the host cut him off, with a small laugh.
“Psh, James! There’s a little thing called too much information. Caller! You’re wiling away the evening with me tonight.”
And it was then that the adjudicator heard Emil’s voice speak from inside, as if he had a phone – an item that he should not be having. Grabbing the doorknob, the adjudicator tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Good evening, Karen.”
“Yes? I think that greeting is pretty much implied by the name of this show.”
Emil chuckled from inside the room, as the adjudicator attempted to break into the room, pounding the door and shouting at Emil to open the door.
“Do you ever worry, Karen? That the world is going to end?”
“I hadn’t felt that way since Channing Tatum got married.”
Emil chuckled again. The adjudicator could not open the door physically or magically, and was left with only trying to get Emil to open the door through ceaseless hits on the door.
“Do you have any idea how insignificant all of you are? When the skies begin to rain fire, you will be but a black spot on the street.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls, don’t you?”
“There is a red star in the night sky tonight. Tonight is the Night of Aleph, a night I have been waiting for since I learned of my future four years ago. The blood of humans, the blood of demons, and the blood of God will be erased from this existence. This is the final year.”
And with that, the adjudicator could hear Emil hang up.
“Okay, well, good luck in the next election, governor. Now then-”
And then the radio was shut off, and the door suddenly flew open, with the adjudicator stumbling into the cell. Landing on the cold floor, the adjudicator could see a dim red light in front of him, and he swiftly stood up, seeing a white-robed man with his back to the adjudicator. Emil dropped the cell phone on the ground, where it shook and then shattered into pieces. As Emil began to speak, the voice was…different. It was grand, and demanded attention, and sounded nothing like the hoarse voice the adjudicator had heard only moments before.
“You know, that little bitch was right. The madness locked up in my brain did want to make me tear my own brain out.”
Chuckling, Emil turned towards the adjudicator, and the magi almost vomited. Emil’s hair had more or less been torn off, and above his right eye was blood, and a hole that exposed Emil’s brain, which was continuing to bleed. Spreading his arms wide, Emil began to laugh once again.
“Exposing my mind in the Night of Aleph, how fucking literal! Well then, Oracle of Knossos, I’ll do exactly what you said I will: make this world burn and build something new out of the ashes!”
With a roar, Emil began to tear himself, and the gore that landed on the floor splattered on the adjudicator’s face, who was paralyzed with both disgust and intense fear. First was the skin, then the muscles, and the organs underneath, and what stood before him was a skeleton, covered in blood with what remained of Emil Jansen surrounding the floor around him.
The skeleton looked at its own bones, but was unable to speak due to a lack of vocal chords. Deeming that an issue, the skeleton bent the pinky finger of its right hand, and the pieces of Emil Jansen rose up into the air, before colliding towards the skeleton, creating an incredibly bright light.
The adjudicator opened his eyes as the light dimmed away, and what stood there was not Emil Jansen, but someone…something….else.
The gray-skinned man looked at his own naked body, satisfied with a form that could be almost considered perfect in all aspects. Walking over to a corner of the room, the man threw on clothes: pants and a hooded robe similar to what Emil had worn only moments before. The adjudicator continued to watch as the man literally did a spin on the bloody floor, not caring for the atmosphere or the environment, seemingly absorbed in his own world. And it was then that their eyes met.
Smiling, the gray-skinned man crouched so that his eyes were almost level with the adjudicator’s, and extending his smooth, gray hand, held the adjudicator’s face by the chin, turning it in both directions as if to inspect the terrified face in front of him.
“Seeing how you’re the first one to witness the birth of magic itself, Aleph shall let you live. But you shall live with only one purpose in mind: to speak of my return.”
With his other hand, Aleph used the sharp nail of his index finger to write a character on the man’s forehead, and the adjudicator screamed in pain as he felt the command cut into his skull, and after Aleph removed the nail from the adjudicator’s forehead, the magi fell unconscious. Standing up, Aleph licked the blood of his nail, smiling in response to the sweet taste.
“You know, before magic was all about the fancy rituals and the ugly flashiness that you see all over the world today, it was all about words and blood. Maybe a hair here, a body part there, and occasionally, the heart of a human or animal, but often times, a cut to the hand and some words were more than enough to achieve whatever you wanted.”
Shaking his head, Aleph shrugged.
“I’m not sure what changed, but hey! I’m here to make it all back like it was, from the very beginning.”
And with those final words hanging in the air, Aleph walked out from the cell, leaving the adjudicator unconscious in a room covered in blood. It had been far too long since Aleph returned to this world, and he was going to make good use of this opportunity.
____________________
The Foreign Embassy
Moscow, Russia, The Present
Time: 11:09
The past year has brought an incredibly amount of change into the world. The rise of a single terrorist who calls himself “Aleph” marked the global event of the year, and it was with no surprise that essentially all federal and intelligence agencies are now after this man, regardless if these organizations were part of the magical world or not.
Week after week, it seemed like the next tragic event was due to “Aleph”. The BOLO sent out all over the world marks him as “Emil Jansen”, a former supporter of the Middle Eastern extremist groups, which wasn’t far from the truth. However, only those who had an education in the background of magic truly understood the name “Aleph”.
Aleph was recorded under several different iterations. However, Bonisagus stressed that despite the different names, whether it be the Apocalypse, End of Time, or Eschaton, Aleph did not refer to only the Omega, but also the Alpha. His return, much like the Church’s belief of the return of Jesus Christ, signaled the end of the world.
However, Aleph did not promise a new world, pure and full of promise.
“Aleph is a complicated existence. It loves humanity, and expects the best out of mankind – but on the flip side, it also has a severely limited amount of patience, and if we, as its ‘children’, do not fit what it wants out of us, it will rid of us, because it ‘created’ us. This has lead me to believe that Aleph may be the Demiurge, the being who designed and fashioned the living and physical world. However, it seems to me that Aleph and God are not one and the same – they are enemies, fighting over control of the Throne in Heaven. Aleph is more primordial than Satan himself, and therefore more evil, for Aleph has waged war upon God longer than the existence of Hell.”
-Bonisagus, The Origins of the Arcane Studies
Those were the words the first sorcerer used to describe Aleph. The gray-skinned man, standing on top of the Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed, chuckled as he shut the book, which began to burn from the bottom. How unfortunate that mankind had evolved from the God-fearing race they once were into these creatures of arrogance. Opening the palm of his left hand, Aleph allowed the ashes to scatter into the wind.
It would begin within the Foreign Embassy Building, which in another world would’ve been the U.S. Embassy. In here, two figures of great importance to this tale were here, getting their visas checked out and waiting for an interview before they could explore “Glorious Russia”. These two people were Ecaterina and Marut.
The former was a college student who had an assignment to oversee a much-anticipated ceremony; the Europa Summit, a day where the world kings of Europe would convene and discuss the current states of affair. Outside of the war on crime, no conflicts existed between other countries, and this event simply solidified the world peace.
The latter was a former underground fighter, who simply decided to see the world. It has been said that if you look past the concrete and modernity of Moscow, you could see the art that was found all over the city, and truly appreciate the human creativity. This experience was so be a form of catharsis, something that Marut definitely needed.
And entering the building was royalty itself: the former Yugoslavian princess, Draga. Here in Russia, her influence isn’t all that powerful, but members of the Embassy gave her a bow of respect as she walked by. Today, she had received a letter from a one “Meera Taylor”, who had asked for Draga to appear. Of course, the words “Princess in the House Quaesitor” was more than enough for Draga to take the letter seriously. These three people, who supposedly had no relations to each other, were not connected at all in every person’s mind within that building, save for one.
The red-haired woman was chewing bubblegum, wearing a white coat over the top of a black swimsuit, leaving her midriff and most of her torso exposed. Crossing her legs across each other, the woman watched the three move around, doing their businesses. Checking her watch, the woman grumbled and stood up, leaving the gum stuck under the seat she had just been sitting on.
Ecaterina and Marut felt themselves rudely dragged away from the desks, and as the agents they had been talking to gave a protest of surprise, the two of them found themselves in the strong grip of a bombshell redhead, who was not heading towards a black-haired girl.
The red-haired woman tossed both Ecaterina and Marut on the floor in front of Draga, and raising the sunglasses off her face, Meera Taylor spoke with a sense of urgency in her voice.
“You damn kids are taking too long with this stuff! We have about twenty seconds before the building decides to collapse on itself, so come with me if you kids want answers, and your lives.”
____________________
Triad Mansion
Shenzhen, China
Time: 2:18
Jonathan and Max were lead down a hallway by some frightening-looking figures, who told them that the leader of House Ex Miscellanea wished to see them. Now, given that these two imposing men were clearly part of the mob, it was of no doubt to Max that the leader of House Ex Miscellanea and the supreme leader of the Triad (and effectively the ruler of China) were one and the same. Did Jonathan have this same thought? It was very unlikely, because he could care less when there was this beautiful hallway to admire, with the tapestry and the portraits.
The two mobsters stopped in front of a surprisingly simple door, and one of the two men knocked a couple of times before opening the door and ushering the master and servant pair into the room.
The room was decorated very…simply. It had the red walls, with the same pattern matching that of the outside hallway, but the tapestry had no flashiness to them, just a surprisingly pleasing scarlet color.
In the back of the room was a black leather couch, and the person sitting on top of the couch was a young girl, dressed in black shorts and a fur-trimmed jacket, smirking at the two.
“Hello, dear cousin Jonathan. I am the Supreme Leader of this organization, Caixia Hsu. Please, come take a seat.”
Speaking in Mandarin Chinese, Caixia ordered the two mobsters to leave, and they bowed their heads as they shut the door. Patting the seats on both of her sides, open for the two men to take a seat, the young girl (who was probably not legal) smiled expectantly for them both.
“Well, come and take a seat. I’ve waited quite a bit for you two, and I would appreciate it if you do sit down as to make this all the more…simple.”
____________________
Unknown Location
Tokyo, Japan
Time: 18:43
Christian Dior was not a man who could be initially taken aback by the appearance of another man. But this man, who called himself Koshima, was quite honestly the most beautiful man Christian has ever met. He had the characteristics of a female: the thin wrists, the small face, but the way Koshima carried himself around, well it was just too attractive.
When offered a chance to go to Tokyo for a gig by the mysterious Koshima, who had approached him after an event in London, Christian managed to re-collect his composure, and accepted the offer given that he hasn’t seen the City of Bright Lights for himself yet. Thus, he was put on a plane to Japan.
What he didn’t expect was to have a bag thrown over his head, and Christian was thrown into presumably a small car, the back-seat too, where two men (one of them Koshima, based off the fairly-light voice) were arguing in the front. It felt like hours before the car stopped, and Christian was dragged out of the car, being forced to walk up a slope blind.
The sudden burst of light and the warmth indicated Christian was probably inside of a house somewhere, and some more shouting in Japanese. Was Christian inside of the home of some Yakuza big-shot? It was difficult to tell.
“Well, take the fucking bag off his head!”
And then the bag was literally torn off of Christian’s face, and he winced as the rough material scratched his face and the bright light shined through right on his eyes. Looking around, Christian was seated with a few other people in what appeared to be a circular table, much like the Round Table from the Arthurian legends. Either these sort of tables were in style now, or the host wanted to promote a sense of equality.
Sitting in chairs around the table were three other people that Christian did not recognize. Why bring them all here? Why gather them here?
“I apologize for the um, austerity, of this reception. I’m not exactly in a good place when it comes down to my funds.”
Christian followed the direction of the voice, and found himself looking towards a tall, Asian man with an eye-patch over his right eye, looking for a bottle of drinks to share around the table.
“Oh right, introductions. I’m the leader of the newly-formed Marduk Covenant. Our newest addition is Christian Dior, who likes to bring the sounds and stuff into whatever wild events he goes to. Some Chianti?”
The man generously poured a glass of wine and set it in front of Christian.
“The fellow there with the handsome haircut is Frederico Hainen Fulc-Este. Your haircut really is astounding, you must tell me who did it for – oh, right, well, he’s from Italy and was brought here on a recommendation. You want Chianti too?”
And a glass of wine was set in front of Frederico.
“Again, I apologize for bringing you all here with bags over your heads, but I do enjoy making these sort of first meetings exciting. And I apologize to you two because you’re minors, and therefore can’t partake in this faboulous drink.”
Drinking the wine, the man smiled at Omer and Jamie, both of them sitting there, clueless as the rest of them (except for Frederico, since he was informed ahead of time and was not actually “kidnapped” and brought in with a bag over his head).
“The kid with the glasses is Omer Bazan. He runs a moderately successful coffee shop and people think he’s smart, but know this, Omer: I’m smarter. The girl next to him is Jamie Hawgood, who was also recommended to me via the Church; she goes by “Oscar” because she’s so grouchy. See! She’s making the face, c’mon, give me the face!”
Laughing to himself, the man shook his head once more before downing the glass of wine.
“And as for myself, you can call me Takeda. I welcome you fine, young, fledgeling mages here today. You ask yourselves how I know of your potential. Well, for three of you, I was informed by a third party, but for you Omer, your coffee was legitimately magical, and I cannot help but think you also got the touch. Of course, I know at least three of you shall be fairly talented in magic, but again, Omer, don’t feel bad if you’re not like these three – I picked you off from that coffee shop to make your life more exciting, and you should be more than happy with that.”
As Takeda kept on talking, the doors opened up and food was served right in front of them – cuisines of various kinds, whether it be Asian, European, and the like. The doors remained opened as the servers left, and Takeda was talking in his own little world. Everyone was essentially free to leave the room, but the food smells so…amazing.
____________________
Buckhead Plaza
Atlanta, Georgia
Time: 14:36
Far, far away from the French estate that Minerva and Gideon learned to call home, they had been given a mission from the main house to track down a woman – Odette Lyons. Although the purpose of this mission was to simply follow this person of interest, it seemed as if the reasons behind this mission had almost nothing to do with the magical world.
Based off what they managed to learn about her, Odette was something of a high-clientele escort, who only caters her night services to the men who can pay her, and it seems as if these wealthy men of Atlanta became regulars. It leads one to question whether or not a high-ranking and wealthy mage happened to get caught up in this business. To put it simply, it felt like an incredibly waste of time.
But the funny thing is who Odette’s companion was: a tanned, blue-haired girl. That person was most definitely the chef of House Tytalus, Anabelle. Now, as to why she’s walking arm-in-arm with the “Queen of Atlanta” Odette Lyons is one thing.
Unknown to Minerva and Gideon, Anabelle was on a similar mission, and was promptly dismissed from her services as a chef. Odette Lyons was apparently much more important than the cooking, and Anabelle just had to get close to her and sway this “non-magical whore” in her family’s side.
But really, Odette was such a gentle person, and she has no magical ability that Anabelle saw so far. What could the magical world possibly want with this woman?
Minerva and Gideon watched from the couches in the lobby as Odette and Anabelle entered the building and into an elevator. Odette halted other people entering the elevator, closing the door and leaving her alone with Anabelle.
Minerva and Gideon rushed to another elevator, but they were getting crowded. They knew where Odette was heading – the top floor, but the top floor was the twentieth floor of this building, so it was either waiting for an elevator or take the stairs.
As for Anabelle, well, it was rather shocking to have another woman tug at your clothes. This was hardly the spot, but that look on Odette’s face…
Could this be Odette’s magic? Could I have been wrong about her this entire time?
The temptation was so sweet, so powerful, and yet Anabelle felt like she was in danger…
____________________
Eiffel Tower
Paris, France
Time: 15:26
Mikey was definitely impressed with the sights of the Eiffel Tower. It was safe to say that the entire experience in this family trip wasn’t too terrible. His adopted family were visiting relatives from the wife’s side, although his “adopted cousin” was apparently a little girl who was the only survivor of some sick massacre six years ago.
It was safe to say that Mikey and this girl avoided each other.
So here was Mikey, high above the ground in the Eiffel Tower, taking in the sights bit by bit. Now, Mikey wasn’t what someone would call a lady’s man, but he was the sort of person that could see an attractive person and really be smitten – a terrible trait for a man, by the way.
Standing on the railings of the same platform he was on was a short-haired girl, in a white dress and dark cardigan, the wind blowing her scarf away from the tower. She was spinning and basically moving all around the rail, giggling as she did so.
Yet, she didn’t seem steady at all. Mikey considered going over to her and helping her keep her balance, but despite the gentle aura the girl gave off, Mikey felt like she didn’t want people approaching her. And yet, she’s starting to stumble, and that feeling hasn’t changed one bit.
_____________________
The Abandoned Cave
Unknown City, Unknown Country
Time: Unknown
Evangeline woke up with her limbs tied up, and her mouth taped up. Save for a single lantern, the place was completely dark. Turning her head around, she saw two kids, much younger than her, in the same situation. Both Laura and Iam were groaning, tied up in the same fashion except for some reason, Evangeline was the only one with tape in her mouth.
A scream made all three children look to the other side of the cave, where an older black man was screaming in anger. In front of DeShaun was a dark figure, and in that figure’s hand was the head of a woman, freshly removed from the torso that was now on the floor. It was such a disgusting sight to see.
“Why cry? You experienced this before – losing someone important to you. Toughen up kid, because you’re not going to have enough tears for what happens next.”
The dark figure, features invisible to all four of them in the cave, stood up with a sigh as he tossed the woman’s head into a bucket. Walking over to a dark corner of the cave, the man whipped out a cellphone, muttering into it.
The floor was littered with disposed scalpel blades: they could easily cut themselves out, but was DeShaun in a condition to do that? And the man was almost done on the phone, and if they tried to cut themselves out, it might not turn out well, based on what he just did to DeShaun’s companion.
_____________________
“Hideout of the Shadow Cabal”
Johannesburg, South Africa
Time: 11:09
Yvette decided to learn from this experience: never trust what the street says about a “trusted informant”. As she was thrown roughly against the wall, her captor bent his knees a little, smiling at Yvette.
That street punk, Johnny, just fed her information that ended up with her getting ambushed by a few masked men, and then knocked unconscious. And here she is, tied up and cornered by one of the presumed masked men.
“So this here is that lawyer from Cape Town, investigating shit in Johannesburg. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re reaching some dark, dark stuff that I wouldn’t want your pretty little fingers to be touching. Ain’t that right, Lee?”
Lee silently nodded as Manny began to poke Yvette in different places, and the lawyer was growing incredibly uncomfortable.
“C’mon, squeal for me. I like to have some fun, squeal!”
Should Yvette comply, or just fight back? She wasn’t sure, but she had been a fighter her entire life, but she was also not in any good position to resist.
Of course, the ever-quiet Lee simply watched, but with a frown. Manny never realized, but Lee really hated his current employer. He reminded him so much of that man Lee had ran away from, but the difference was that Manny paid well, that man didn’t even have a penny to his name.
Of course, this sort of behavior began to job some terrible memories in Lee’s head, and his hand reached for the sidearm he has hidden in his coat. He could shoot Manny right now. He could his father right now, and stop him from doing this to another woman like his mother.
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