by Unknown
“And what about them?” she asked, nodding at the tourists.
“Oh. Quite right.” He snapped his fingers again and their clothes reverted back to the way they were before. He clapped his hands and time began moving at normal speed. “I can’t take you to the club tonight. I’m sorry.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.” He rolled his eyes, looking down at her while he scratched the back of his head.
“I have to speak with her.” She tugged on his sleeve and he pulled away from her grasp. “I need to ask her about—”
“—We know what about.” He leaned in close to her and spoke with a harsh whisper. “Same bloody thing you’re always harping on about. That stupid object. I told you, no one knows anything.”
“That’s bullshit.” She pointed at the news clipping and a few reports hacked off Dr. Nambitu’s computer. “Look familiar?”
“I’ll be…” His mouth froze open as his eyes were held by the picture and reports. He took them in his hands, crumpled them up, and threw them into the river. “See? Nothing of note.”
“I made copies,” she sighed, pulling out more papers.
“The Ourea are all dead. Why do you insist on keeping this whole investigation going? In the words of that stupidly catchy children’s movie, let it go.”
“I’m beginning to think there’s a lot more to this whole thing than just a dead race of superbeings.” She put the papers back into her backpack. “An awful lot of people seem to care about this object. That bastard who stabbed me and paralyzed my friend saw fit to kill a teenage girl and leave this type of object drawn in dirt under her corpse. Why is that?”
“I don’t know what her death has to do with anything, but I can tell you that artifact is what we, Descendants, like to refer to as bad news. You mortals have been trying for centuries to find and exploit their powers. You weren’t meant to control them.”
“Then who was?”
“Angels and no one else.” His eyes shifted around as if the mere mention of angels would bring them falling from the skies. Shadows moved briskly over the streetlights, dimming their glow for just a brief second. “War is coming to this world, Emma. I suggest you batten down the hatches and get right with your maker.”
“I thought war was already here?” She tilted her head back, lowering her brows.
“That little tirade in Moscow? Please, that was a drop in the bucket performed by some snot-nosed cunt.”
“Language.” She pinched his biceps.
“Cunt, cunt, cunt.” He leaned into her face and rocked his head side-to-side, as if channeling his defiant inner five-year-old. “Please, I heard you throw out worse in your sleep. Just because it’s a word defining your naughty little parts doesn’t make it anymore vile.”
“That was once.” She slapped his face, leaving behind a red mark. The tourists on the bridge took notice, turning their attention toward Harold and Emma. “Take me to the club or I’ll start throwing a fit.”
“Please. Like these plonkers could do a thing to me.” He leaned against the railing and curled his chin hairs around his fingers. The water in the river started to split at the surface as a dark shadow zoomed toward them just above the waterline. His eyes shot down and he grabbed Emma by the wrist with his left hand. “Oh, the rules I break to save your ass.”
He flicked his right hand toward the ground, snapping his knuckles, and a wall of smoke rose up around him, shielding them. A shadowy figure levitated up from the river, towering over the bridge. A forceful gale blasted everything in the nearby radius, sending the tourists tumbling backward over themselves.
Harold removed a wand from his inner coat pocket, elongating it. A white light shone on the tip. He circled it around his head and pointed at the darkness, piercing through it. The white stream of light twirled fast toward the bridge and crashed with the force of a cyclone. Large chunks of the bridge scattered everywhere. A large spider-webbed crack spread like wildfire under Emma’s feet, crackling like a log on a hot flame. From the debris a man emerged. His skin reflected the pale moonlight. His dark hair swayed wildly in his menacing blue eyes. The smile, the rigid face, and the cleft in his chin were unmistakable.
“It’s him,” she said, trying to push Harold back. He held her at bay with one arm. She yelled, “It’s that bastard.”
“An Ourea,” Harold said in awe. “How?”
The man lowered his hands to his side, palms up, and commanded the water. The river below the bridge swirled around, tightening its grip on the support columns like a noose, shaking the bridge. The Ourea clenched his fists and spun his arms like a windmill, punching the ground. The bridge collapsed.
Harold’s eyes filled with a pink flare and a transparent pink vapor trail swirled around him and Emma. A jarring frigid sensation dug its claws between her skin, muscle, and bone, pulling her apart piece by piece. When she was reconstructed, the trees, bushes, and people around her hung upside down—the ground at her feet seemingly hanging in the air. She had been through this process before, but never quite so hastily. She fell to the grass, dry heaving with just a little bit of snot and bile mixing on her face. When she opened her eyes everything was normal again.
She looked up at a small hut that sat perched on a rocky hillside somewhere on an island in the Irish Sea. She noticed Rob—Harold’s Cyclops—standing over her. He offered his large palm to help her up and she accepted. Rob helped her along a small incline lush with vibrant green grass and to the door of the shack no larger than a garden shed.
“OK then,” Harold said, slicking his curly amber hair back. “Plan’s changed.”
He grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed it in. The amulet around his neck glowed. The three of them stepped through the doorway. The lively scene was illuminated only by candlelight and filled with laughter, smoke, booze, and music. The door closed behind them and they stood in a large pub typical of the English countryside.
Harold turned to Emma, waiving his hand like a game-show hostess revealing a prize. “Welcome back to the Progeny Lounge.”
Chapter 4
The Progeny Lounge went silent and all eyes fixated on Emma. Her face blushed as she sunk in behind Rob and hid herself. A few of the other patrons approached Harold and quietly conversed with him, occasionally sending dirty looks in Emma’s direction. After several minutes of biting her tongue, trying to be polite and keep a low profile, Emma had enough. She had to speak up.
“If you’re going to whisper things about me where I can see you, then you might as well have the intestinal fortitude to say it where I can hear you.” She approached the others.
“Emma, please, stay back for just a second.” Harold put his hand up, but she quickly slapped it away.
“No. I’ve had enough of all this rubbish.” She grabbed his thumb and twisted it around. He dropped to his knees. “I want some answers. I am tired of everything being kept in the shadows.”
“So are we,” a scratchy Irish female tone called out. Emma turned her attention to the right. A skinny woman with fading blonde hair walked around the stage. Her narrow face curled upwards as she smiled, pushing her slender cheeks up. “You think you’ve got this all figured out. That the shadows aren’t too dark for you to see through, but you’re wrong. The small amounts of darkness that you’ve been exposed to pales in comparison to the vast emptiness of space left unexplored.”
“Enlighten me,” Emma replied.
“Harold, I thought I made it clear that with the events of this morning we need to play our cards closer to the vest than ever before?” She appeared to be in her mid-sixties with a few lines of wisdom etched into her forehead and cheeks. A small Asian boy about four years old wandered around behind her. She snapped her fingers at a blonde teenage girl who was wiping down the tables and the girl pulled the boy out of sight. “In fact, everyone is far too indifferent with the way they are treating the situation. What is there to be jolly about?”
“Madame Patricia.” Harold bowed his
head, removing his hat. “Please allow me the opportunity to explain.”
“I don’t have the time,” she replied, snapping her fingers. Those who worked for her immediately began scrubbing the tables down and escorting people out of the lounge. “I need to reconfigure the entrance to this place so that others can’t find it.”
“Tell her, you idiot.” Emma prodded at Harold’s side.
“There was an Ourea,” Harold blurted out, “very much alive and out in the open. Emma says he was the same one from the night she has been talking about for three years, except... I don’t know…”
“What is it?” Madame Patricia narrowed her eyes, folding her hands together. “With the armies of Zeus scattered all about Moscow and another one of his Elemental Knights showing up in London, we can’t afford to hold anything back. Do you think the Corners are rising again for another rebellion?”
“Elemental Knights?” Emma scratched her head.
“This Ourea had control of the water, but the one Emma talked about had control of the Earth. She swears that they’re one and the same, but an Ourea can only control one element, not many.” Harold looked around the room and all were silent. He stepped toward Madame Patricia and two guards stood in his way. He put his hands up. “Either Zeus is back and creating new Elemental Knights, or they’ve learned to evolve.”
“Zeus? You mean like the Greek god?” Emma smirked, not really believing what she was hearing. “This is too much. I want real answers.”
“Is it so hard to believe that Cyclopes, Warlocks, Changelings, Witches, Druids, Ourea, and much more exist, but not a god of mythology?” Madame Patricia looked at Emma and smiled, walking toward her. She wrapped her arm around Emma and nodded at the bartender to fill a glass with water. They sat at the bar. “By now you’re well aware of the world behind the world which many of us like to keep hidden, but you know nothing of the war that has kept us all silent over the millennia. Zeus is no more a god than you are one of us, but he was an angel. A very powerful one with an ambitious goal. He was an Archangel, and as such the impact he made on the human world was a big one. The stories of mythology were merely the tools used by Zeus’ detractors to discredit him and refocus the world’s attention.”
“An angel? Like the devil? Does that make him a demon?” Emma asked.
“Hardly.” Madame Patricia scooted the glass of water closer to Emma, nodding. “Drink this. It will help.”
“Help with what?”
“This.” Madame Patricia put three fingers to Emma’s head and a charge of energy flowed into Emma’s mind. She began to share consciousness with Madame Patricia. The inner voice inside their heads became one. Images of streaming lights and flashing balls of fire swirled together in every color of the rainbow. Slowly, the lights constructed images of elemental creatures as Madame Patricia spoke.
“Those of us who meet in this lounge are the descendants of various legions of angels and their human consorts. We were all once born in different realms and have fled to Earth, deserting our kind in the hopes of living a better and more peaceful life. However, we do so knowing that we can never return to be among our people or make ourselves known for fear of facing judgment from the angels still obedient to God’s will.”
“Where do Zeus and the Ourea come in?”
“The Ourea were created by Zeus in an attempt to mimic human life. Just as God fashioned man from the dust on the ground, Zeus saw fit to create his own version in much the same way. The first to be created were made from dirt, controlling the elements of earth. However as his ego grew, so did his creativity. Soon the elements of water, fire, air, and electricity were all formed into what would become the Elemental Knights known as the Ourea. These beings were created to be like humans, but soulless and with great powers to help protect Zeus’ quickly expanding Corner. Zeus’ legion—the angels under his command—would procreate with human life, creating some of us, the Descendants. The Ourea were our first protectors.”
Madame Patricia pulled her fingers back and Emma’s mouth dried up. Her head had a surge of throbbing pain rushing through it. She grabbed the glass of water and downed it in one gulp. She slammed the glass back down on the bar, panting.
“Our abilities aren’t gifted to us by some sort of magic.” Madame Patricia ran her hand through Emma’s hair, rubbing her temple. She looked at Harold, smiling. “Though some of us have a humorous sense of theatrics, we really don’t need magic wands to do what we do.”
“Yeah. This is as useless as tits on a boar.” Harold pulled out his wand and snapped it in half.
“Emma, we don’t intentionally keep you in the dark to torment you or play with your head. We do it to protect ourselves. This place was created as an outlet for us. A way to escape and replenish the pillaging of time. When we enter the human world, we do our best to hide our abilities so that we don’t snare the attention of those who would look to do us harm.” Madame Patricia stood up and walked among the crowd. “Many of us here lead very normal lives out in the human world. Some of us longer than others as you can tell by the lines on my face. I’ve been a mother or wife to many people over the years and I’ve had to watch loved ones die over and over. Even though some of my children would go on to share my gifts, I was never spared a single tear. But that’s the life I chose. It’s one I feel I have the right to live. I can’t control the circumstances of my existence, but I should be allowed to control the manner in which I live it.”
“But what about the urban legends of witches and things of that nature?” Emma pressed her palms into her eyes. “We’re not totally clueless.”
“Most of what you read about were just fanatics trying to live some sort of delusional life because theirs was too dull. However, when a Descendant does step out of line and uses his or her abilities to stir up trouble, we have people who quickly deal with the situation so that higher-powered authority figures don’t get involved. We’ve been pretty successful so far... until today.”
“What was today?”
“We don’t know,” Harold interjected, grabbing Emma by the hand. “It’s almost morning. You’ve been here too long.”
“It’s only been a few minutes.” Emma shook her head, still hazy.
“Time passes at different rates when you rift to another reality.” Madame Patricia stood from her stool. “The events of today are a mystery. We don’t know if it was a botched invasion or a reflex to some sort of sect of Descendants who got too brazen with their way of life. Either way, a watchful eye will be cast over all of us.”
“I’ll take you back,” Harold said, pulling Emma away.
“Wait a minute. One more thing.” She escaped Harold’s grasp and ran up to Madame Patricia. She pulled out the picture of the artifact at the British Museum. “I think the Ourea is after this. Now that you know I’m telling the truth about him, can you tell me what this is? Why does he want it?”
“I don’t know why he would want it as its power is useless to him.” Madame Patricia put her hand to the picture and lowered it, looking into Emma’s eyes. “But I can tell you that is a starstone. Whose, I do not know. I would have to see it in person.”
“A starstone?”
“A stone made up of angelic metal, both impenetrable and completely malleable to its owner’s will. Inside is a gem with limitless power specifically molded to each angel. Some stones are more powerful than others and some contain special abilities that only present themselves when the wielder and their stone are reunited. It seems your Ourea has his sights set on broadening his abilities.”
“But he can’t access it,” Harold said.
“True.” Madame Patricia nodded.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Emma said, standing up straight and folding her picture. “He’s not supposed to control more than one element either.”
* * *
Dr. Abayomi Nambitu stepped out of the taxi. He stood next to the front window, handing the driver a fifty pound note. He proceeded up the steps of the Royal Institution, le
aving behind his almost thirty quid in change.
He looked at his watch, making sure he’s not too late for the rendezvous with Dr. Sheila Bonnefield, the foremost materials scientist in England. He’d learned of her while studying at Michigan, having read some of the research papers she had published while working for a private genetics company twenty-five years prior.
He entered the institute and flashed a badge, the guard on duty nonchalantly glancing at it. He waved Nambitu through who scrolled through his numerous text messages. A picture of Nassim with his wife and daughters sitting around a dinner table was the first to pop up.
Nambitu came upon a lab and stood in the prep room. Dr. Bonnefield nodded at him from the other side of a glass wall, maneuvering around a table with a large slate-gray stone on top. Her platinum-white ponytail was tucked into the back of her apron and large face-sized goggles sat atop her nose.
Several robotic drills and scanners hung from the ceiling with mechanical arms that made them easy to handle. She placed the tip of a large scanner over the face of the stone and emitted several sound pulses and radio waves into the stone. Readings were quickly sent back to her tablet. Nambitu entered the room, covering himself with gloves, goggles, and an apron. He nodded at her, smiling.
“I see you are further along than projected.” He stood at the table, leaning over the stone that looked to be nearly sixty pounds. “I’m glad you were amiable enough to meet.”
“Certainly, Dr. Nambitu,” she replied, scanning her fingers over the tablet in seemingly sporadic patterns. “I’m honored you thought of me.”
“I know you’ve worked with something similar when you were with that company in the States before they inexplicably folded.”
“Indeed, but I was an analyst much lower on the totem pole back then. I never really got to be up close and personal with the artifacts.” She set the tablet aside and looked at him. “While I’m happy to see you, I have to say I’m a bit baffled as to why you’re here. I’m still in the infancy stages of analyzing this material. Though since you’re here, I have to ask why you insist on me working alone. I work much better with a team.”