Noir: A Crimson Shadow Novel

by Nathan Squiers

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the term before,” Marcus had cut in, glancing again at his watch.

  Sophie, sighing at the interruption, shot him a glare, “It’s with this energy field”—she spoke with a slow and deliberate voice, daring Marcus to interrupt—“that we are able to feed.” She paused long enough to give her companion another glance before smiling at his silence. “Energy can also be taken through physical contact, usually through the writing hand of the auric user. The same goes for giving energy, just with the opposite hand.”

  “Giving energy?” Xander asked, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice, “Doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose of being a vampire?”

  Sophie had laughed at that before motioning to his stitched-up arm, “You’d be surprised how often it comes in handy.”

  Rubbing at his healed arm and the useless stitches therein, Xander had nodded his understanding.

  “Those are only the basic feeding abilities, however. Advanced control of one’s aura allows aurics to manipulate what’s around them,” she made a note of this by floating higher, though Xander hadn’t needed any more proof by that point. “Your fits of rage have had similar effects, but because you were not aware of your aura you were throwing it around blindly. You see, though your father was an auric your abilities are—for some strange reason—limited, and, unfortunately, what you do have has not been nurtured,” Sophie had said with a frown. “You just haven’t been taught the essential skills.”

  Marcus scoffed then, “Like control.”

  Sophie glared at him again, “Aside from a subconscious control of your aura and a natural drive towards magic, you are human,” she shook her head, “and your mother and grandmother had decided, after your father’s death, that you would be safer if you lived your life as one.”

  A lump had begun to form in Xander’s throat; one that had lingered and still plagued him, “My mother…”

  Sophie nodded, “Yes. Though many were upset with his decision to do so, your father was honest with her from the start.”

  Looking down, Xander fought back the wave of emotions that had started to flood his mind.

  Sophie nodded, “After your mother—”

  Xander had thrown a hard look at her before she could finish.

  She stopped herself and thought out her words: “Well… afterwards, your grandma took you in. She thought that as you grew older your abilities might mature as well and she wanted to be there to help you if things ever got out of hand.”

  Marcus scoffed at that, “She even attacked Depok when he tried to change her mind.” He shook his head, “Though she was more than two-hundred years older than him!”

  Though Xander wasn’t sure what a “Depok” was, there had been more pressing matters: “I’m finding it hard to believe that my grandmother was a vampire and I never knew about it!” he’d said as he pulled out a cigarette, noticing there were only two left in the pack.

  “Is it really so hard to accept?” Sophie asked, “How many times had she calmed your rage with nothing more than a touch?”

  Xander had been taken aback by that, “So every time she touched me…”

  “She was calming your rage and absorbing your excess powers,” Sophie nodded.

  He thought for a moment, remembering what Marcus had just said: more than two-hundred years?

  “So are vampires really immortal?” he’d asked.

  Marcus’ laugh had been loud and sudden, startling both Xander and Sophie, who almost fell.

  “Nothing’s immortal, numb-nuts,” he’d answered, still laughing, “We just don’t age like humans.”

  “So how old are you?” Xander asked.

  “Turning eighty-six in a few months,” Marcus had boasted.

  The corner of Sophie’s lip had curled upward, “A lady never tells.”

  Though her answer hadn’t satisfied his curiosity, there was still more pressing questions on his mind: “So why am I here now if my mom and grandma both wanted me to live a normal life?”

  “They wanted to protect you,” Sophie explained, “They didn’t want to see you be a part of the world that had killed your father.”

  “But we figured the shit would hit the fan sooner or later,” Marcus had added. “I mean, we aren’t the only ones who know that Joseph Stryker had a kid. It was only a matter of time till somebody would try to find you and kill you. When we found out that others were out looking for you, we decided to beat ‘em to it.”

  “But why now?” Xander had asked.

  Sophie finally let her feet touch down to the ground, “Your powers are maturing,” she explained, taking a few steps towards him, “But you don’t know how to control them properly. When your powers started…” she stopped.

  “You were broadcasting auric signals that painted a target squarely on your ass,” Marcus had finished for her, “And when your grandma ‘saw’“—he had made a point of air quoting the word—“the trouble that was coming your way she went out to try and stop them herself.”

  Xander’s eyes had widened and welled with tears, “My grandma died because of…”

  Sophie had frowned but gave a slight nod.

  Xander had frowned, fighting the urge to cry. His entire week had been one long string of bizarre happenings that had culminated in the ultimate tragedy, and it was his fault!

  All his fault…

  All because he was too busy getting worked up over some snot-nosed kid!

  Who was he? What was his role in all of this?

  “You’re thinking about my Billy,” Sophie had smiled.

  He frowned and cursed at her in his mind, watching her flinch as he did. Despite the invasion on his mind he nodded, “Who is he?”

  Sophie’s smile wavered but remained plastered on her face. “I made him,” she answered, her voice flooded with pride.

  Xander, confused, stared at her, “You made him?”

  She’d nodded, “It was Marcus’ idea. We needed to reach you without coming too close, so I fabricated him as a means of trying to reach you.”

  “So you were in my head each time I saw that kid?” Xander spoke through clenched teeth.

  Sophie squirmed under his glare and nodded once.

  “Why not just come and get me yourselves?” he’d demanded.

  “Your grandma would have sensed one of us from a mile away, and if she looked in your head and saw a clan member she’d have known we were trying to reach you!” Marcus answered, coming to the still-nervous Sophie’s aide, “That, and any other mythos that was out for your blood could have tracked us to get to you.”

  Xander frowned, “Mythos?”

  Marcus nodded, “That’s the cute term for creatures that humans would consider mythological.”

  Xander looked down, feeling the lump grow in his throat, “So I’m the target of a bunch of… mythos?” he asked, remembering the cigarette between his fingers and taking a deep drag.

  Both had nodded.

  “How many?”

  “Enough,” Marcus replied with an icy stare, “There’s no shortage of creatures across the globe that hold some kind of grudge against your father; a lot of them feel that killing his offspring is the next best thing.”

  There had been a long, uncomfortable silence.

  “So what made him so special?” Xander finally asked, “Why would so many want me dead because of him?”

  “Your father had plans,” Sophie had said, “Plans that would’ve changed the world; not just ours, but the humans’, as well.”

  Marcus nodded, “He believed that the way things were going would lead to chaos for all mythos; that our way of things would lead to a decay of the entire world.”

  “In the end”—Sophie had let out a deep sigh—“it all comes down to a bunch of narrow-minded mythos who didn’t want anything to change.”

  Marcus shook his head, “Most are content with the way things are: believing that the laws we have are enough.”

  Xander had looked in Marcus’ directi
on, “Laws?”

  Smirking, Marcus gave a nod, “Yup. We have all sorts of laws. Most of them are passed to keep mythos from doing anything stupid that might give the humans reason to suspect our existence.”

  “So who makes the laws?” Xander asked.

  Sophie smiled, “Clans have a big hand in the process of creating laws, but the end decision of what passes is made by The Council.”

  Xander looked between them for a moment, unable to stomach the idea of laws for creatures that, several hours earlier, he’d thought were only works of fiction.

  Neither seemed to notice his skepticism, and Marcus continued the explanation: “Clans—certified ones, at least—act as branches to The Council. Many of us are warriors who make sure that the laws are obeyed. Before your father, clans were nothing more than families. At that time The Council struggled to uphold its order. It was your father who thought of forming a clan that supported them. It’s taken a while, but now most of the clans that are in power work as enforcers.”

  Xander shook his head, too exhausted with the whole ordeal to go on any further with the discussion. Seeing that he wasn’t ready for any more information that night, Sophie had then walked him to his room as Marcus hurried off.

  Xander sighed, continuing to cycle the events in his mind until his head ached and the last of the stitches had been pulled from his arm.

  Go to sleep. Trepis repeated

  Xander nodded and closed his eyes, still replaying the events.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Wisdom of Depok

  Xander’s eyes shot open and he bolted to an upright position. “Who’s there?” he demanded, turning to face a darkened corner of the room.

  Xander… there’s nobody—

  “No, Trep! There’s somebody in here!”

  “Quite right,” a voice with a faint accent called out from the corner. As he watched, a pair of gold eyes emerged, shimmering as an outline formed around them, by a pale, middle-aged face. “I’m impressed. Not everyone can sense an auric that easily,” the stranger’s lips curled, “Especially when that auric is me.”

  Xander frowned, “And who the hell are you?”

  The stranger ignored his question and moved—his steps almost fluid—towards the door. “Come,” he called over his shoulder.

  Xander had always hated being told what to do, as well as ignored and startled; this stranger had done all three in less than a minute, and he didn’t even know who he was!

  He knew that he should be feeling the same hot rage he had known his entire life, but, for some reason, he didn’t. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in his head. With his curiosity peaked, he got out of bed and followed.

  “I was hoping to have a chance to talk to you when you first arrived. Unfortunately, I had some matters to attend to and was delayed. By the time I was free to meet with you I was informed that you’d already gone to asleep,” he chuckled as he glanced over his shoulder at Xander. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but I honestly couldn’t resist a visit.” There was more than a touch of pride in his voice as he continued, “Your sensing me at such an early stage in your maturation is an astounding display, really.” He looked back down the hall, and a grayish-white ponytail fell over his shoulder and swung across his shoulder.

  “You have any idea how creepy all of that sounds?” Xander glared after the old man.

  Xander! Don’t! Trepis’ voice was more desperate than usual.

  The stranger paused for a moment, “Creepy, eh?” He gave a slow nod, “I suppose I can see how it could appear that way. As it is, however, you were asleep for nearly seventeen hours! I figured you had to wake up some—”

  Xander stopped, “Seventeen hours?”

  The stranger nodded, not slowing his pace and forcing Xander to continue, “Quite a long nap, eh Stryker?” He laughed and began to descend a stairway decorated with fine art.

  “You never told me who you are.”

  “I’m aware.”

  Xander looked down, wondering what was going on. In the course of less than a week his entire life had been twisted, torn, dirtied, burned and collapsed. The only other time he’d felt this lost was…

  He shook his head and continued to follow the stranger, who was quick and constant in his stride. He paused to look at a painting of two naked men surrounded by wolves in a dense forest setting. The title, inscribed on the bottom of the piece, read “Midnight Hunt: Venir and Ujop’s Odyssey.” Looking back towards the stranger, Xander found that he was no longer in sight and hurried down the stairs, eager to be back in the presence of the eerie man and no longer alone in the dim stairwell with its creepy décor.

  Is that panic that I’m sensing from the son of the great Joseph Stryker? The stranger’s voice echoed in his head, startling him.

  Something clicked in his head and Xander suddenly felt the rage rising up. His muscles tightened and he heaved in a breath of air to try and cool the fire that was traveling through his body, “SHOW YOURSELF, OLD MAN. I’M GETTING TIRED OF THESE GAMES!”

  Then, as though it had never been there at all, the darkness was gone and the man was standing there in front of him as if he’d been there all along.

  “I like games, Stryker. After all my years, I find it’s one of the few things that never grow tiring,” he snapped his fingers then and Xander’s rage shut off again. The stranger, looking proud of himself, turned and continued downward, “And you’d better watch that temper, son.”

  “I’m not your…” Xander stopped himself. For some odd reason, the burning resentment that he’d always felt towards being called “son” was gone. Normally, whenever he heard it he saw Kyle in his head repeating the same line to him, but this time he actually felt eased by it.

  The stranger nodded. “You’re right, you aren’t my son, but I’d like to be able to think of you as my nephew,” he smiled.

  Xander couldn’t help but smile in return.

  A long silence followed as the two continued their long, spiraled descent. Each step was met with more darkness and mystery, and, though he knew that fear should not have been far behind, Xander felt confident and secure with the man guiding him.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, breaking the long silence.

  “To the library.”

  He narrowed his eyes and frowned, “Yes, of course! The library! It’s so obvious!”

  “Yes, it’s really quite beautiful. I go there as often as I can.”

  Xander sneered after him, “You know what sarcasm is, old man?”

  There was no response.

  “You still haven’t told me who you are.”

  “Or is it that you still haven’t heard it?” the stranger chuckled.

  Xander sighed, “Psychic shit set aside, can you tell me your name?”

  “I must say I’m disappointed,” the old man stopped and sighed. “My name is Depok.”

  There was a strange sense of energy in the name. Though Xander tried not to show that he felt some sort of inadequacy at the sensation, as it ran up his spine in cold waves he couldn’t hold back a shiver.

  At the same time, however, there was something in the name that felt familiar…

  Finally the stairs ended, leading into a marble-floored hall that stretched in either direction. In front of them, a large set of wooden doors towered. While Xander had never been one for admiration of any kind, even he had to admit that the intricate details that had been carved into the doors’ surfaces were something to behold.

  “Nice, eh?” Depok asked.

  Xander tore his gaze from the doors and nodded, “Yea, I guess.” He felt the stress of the recent events tug at his lungs, “Mind if I have a smoke?”

  Depok frowned, “I do, but I also know it won’t stop you.”

  Xander nodded, already reaching into his pocket. He grabbed the pack and dug inside it with his fingertips, finding only one left. Going in for his lighter he stopped and sighed at the realization that he’d left his Zippo back in the room. With the dr
iving urge growing worse he stared at the cigarette still clasped between his lips. Depok sighed and a thin wisp of smoke rose from the tip. Staring in amazement, Xander was met with a rush of soothing flavor.

  Xander nodded his appreciation and took a long drag, “Nice trick.”

  “Thank you,” Depok bowed his head.

  “But I’ve seen it before,” Xander smirked.

  Depok returned the smirk with one of his own, “I know. I thought I might bring some familiarity to the situation.”

  Xander looked away and took the cigarette out of his mouth. Holding it between his thumb and index finger, he scratched an itch on his left arm above a year-old scar.

  Depok looked down at it with a frown and turned away, “Did you do anything like that before your mother died?” he asked as the doors groaned and began to open.

  Xander looked down at his forearm—ignoring the new magic trick—and traced along the pale length with his pinky, “I…”—he sighed and looked up and away from the scars, “I didn’t need to.” He shuddered and returned the cigarette to his lips.

  Depok nodded with a frown as the doors squealed to a halt. Before heading inside he paused to look over his shoulder, “Kyle?”

  Xander looked down and closed his eyes. He took in another relieving inhale on the cigarette and let it out, “Kyle…”

  “We’ll discuss that later,” Depok said.

  Xander returned his gaze towards him, getting agitated, “I’d rather not.” He took one last drag and threw what was left to the floor and stomped it out.

  Depok’s voice turned serious: “That doesn’t change the fact that it needs to be discussed. And I’ll thank you not to make a mess on my floor!” At that the ashes and remnants of filter and tobacco swirled in midair and burned away into nothing. When this was finished, the scorch marks that had been left behind on the floor began to recess and were pulled away, leaving it spotless.