Shadows of Humanity

by J. Armand

  It was more than my severe lack of social skills that caused me to be caught off guard. The man himself was disarmingly gorgeous. He was slightly taller than Noah, with jet-black hair and stubble, olive skin, and jade-green eyes. His masculine beauty wasn’t supplemented by any hypnotic aura, or an entrancing gaze that caused a feeling of blissful intoxication. Thankfully, there was also a complete lack of fangs in his brilliant white smile. His eyes, while the same color as Noah’s, lacked Noah’s steel-sharp soul-penetrating gaze. Instead, they were friendly, and best of all they were human.

  “You would love it.” His smile was so welcoming, not at all like the cocky grin of Noah’s I always wanted to wipe off his face. It was unusual for a stranger to strike up conversation in public in New York, but I noticed a lot of the patrons here would exchange comments or even just a smile as they walked from one exhibit to the next.

  The room was so packed there wasn’t more than an inch between the two of us. I had to strain my neck to meet his eyes. He was dressed remarkably stylish for a trip to the museum, in black slacks and vest and a pinstripe button-down shirt. The top three buttons were undone, exposing faint traces of chest hair across his pecs. The somber outfit didn’t detract from his warm appearance.

  “Is that where you come from?” I scrambled to find some way to continue the conversation, hoping I hadn’t just offended him.

  “Why do you ask this? I am not from here?” he asked seriously. My face must have shown how mortified I was by my own stupidity. He laughed and patted me on the shoulder. “I am teasing you. Yes, it is my home.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go there to see the Colosseum.” I hurried to recover from my faux pas. “The architecture there is my favorite. I made a diorama of it in school once.”

  Why did I say that?

  “Ah, you are a, hm, what is the word? A scholar?” It wasn’t just his attractiveness making me nervous. It sounded as if he was using his tongue to make love to every consonant that crossed his lips. There was no rushing to finish a sentence. Every word had its place.

  “No, it was in elementary school.” I smiled. Maybe my interest in architecture was more deeply rooted than I previously thought. He smiled back. I realized he might not know what a diorama was. “Do they have that word in Italian? Diorama? I don’t know what to call it. You make it in a shoebox with papier-mâché.”

  “Eh, no? Maybe another word?”

  “It’s like this.” I pointed to the replica. “But smaller and not as professional.”

  “Ah, I see.” He was still smiling, but I didn’t think I had made it any easier to understand. “How is this? Your favorite.” He placed his hand on my back to lead me over to a display of the Colosseum.

  “Yup, that’s the one.” I forced myself to take my eyes off him to look at the exhibit. I wasn’t a touchy person and valued my personal space more than most, but when he put his hand on me I tingled. It was a completely natural feeling, without any hypnotic supernatural interference.

  “It is my favorite place in all of Roma. Many, many great battles were here. Now, not so much.” He stood so close to me as people squeezed by that I could almost feel his body heat, and when he spoke, his deep voice sounded like it was whispering into my ear. I was beginning to wonder whether he worked here because of how talkative he was. He had to be in his mid-to-late twenties, too young to be the owner or curator. Maybe he was a model they hired to walk around and entice people to donate.

  “How long have you been in England?” I took a step back to give my neck a rest. He had a slightly leaner build than Noah, but similar broad shoulders and muscular physique – both accentuated by the form-fitting European cut of his clothes. Being short was annoying, even though five foot nine was technically average. Too bad I couldn’t fly without causing a riot.

  “A very short time. I am on a visit… a tourist. I just learned this word. My English is bad, I know.”

  “No, no, it’s really good,” I assured him. “I was just wondering if you worked here.”

  “You are nice.” His smile was so sincere. Maybe the Blackbournes sent him to keep an eye on me while I’m still in England, I thought. “I think you work here, no? I see the passion your eyes have when you look at the diorama.”

  I tried not to laugh at the thought of me being passionate about something. Just a few hours ago, I had been fantasizing about lying in a field until the end of the world.

  “What?” he asked. “You are teasing me now! You taught me this ‘diorama.’ Is it not?”

  “It is! I wasn’t laughing at you. I haven’t ever thought of myself as passionate. It’s a long story. It’s a good thing.” He watched my mouth as I spoke. I looked away to stop myself from blushing. The more I avoided his eyes, the more I broke out into nervous laughter, until he joined in.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked. His smile grew bigger and he shook his head.

  “Is this bad? I look to your lips to see the English words.”

  A man and woman in Ancient Roman clothes interrupted us. My initial reaction was that we were either under attack or about to be. I had to do a quick scan to be sure they weren’t supernatural before I calmed down. People gathered around as the couple hosted an informative lecture on ancient times in the Roman Empire and the purpose of the Forum. The man I had been speaking with was thoroughly engaged in the assembly, so I took the opportunity to bow out and explore the rest of the museum.

  The bath area took up two floors, with a balcony supported by limestone columns overlooking the main pools. It was spectacular. There was nothing there that I didn’t love. If I ever had a home I would want at least part of it to resemble the architecture I saw. Gazing down into the tranquil steaming water and immersing myself in the serene ambiance was therapeutic. For a moment the raging storm always swirling in my head was quelled. I heard a group discussing how during the summer months the baths were opened later by torchlight. That’s something I’d like to experience, I thought.

  I carried on toward the sound of music until I found its source in a tea room adjoining the museum. Being around all that water was making me thirsty and I hadn’t had anything to eat in days. The Blackbournes had given me money before they left, and I couldn’t think of a better way to use it. While they were hospitable hosts, I hadn’t gotten the feeling they acted the way they did out of concern. I was more of an investment for the Brotherhood than a friend they cared about. They treated William the same way.

  The hostess seated me at a corner booth in the back and presented me with complimentary pastries and a menu. This was almost too classy for someone who would be scavenging for food in the dirt in twenty-four hours, if I even ate at all. I wanted something refreshing after passing through the heated areas, but the waitress stared at me like I had ordered blood when I asked if they had iced tea. The English take the sanctity of their brewed drinks very seriously. I settled for the hot tea suggested by the waitress instead, which was as pleasantly relaxing as the orchestral trio.

  “Can I sit?” I hadn’t noticed the Italian man walk up to my table and was a bit surprised by his continued interest in me. It was difficult to feel him out and I was sure he felt the same. Could he be like me? Maybe he was just a friendly European.

  “Sure.” He took a seat on the booth closer to me than most strangers probably would, but maybe I was reading too much into it. “How was the speech?”

  “Very nice. But I am sad they do not speak Latin.”

  “I don’t think anyone speaks Latin anymore. It’s a dead language.”

  “Ah, I think maybe the scholars do, no?” He watched my mouth intently again when I spoke, making me feel a bit uneasy.

  “Maybe,” I answered, and quickly sipped my tea so he would stop looking.

  “I have not learned your name. I am Gianluca.” He introduced himself with another warm smile.

  “Dorian.” I wanted to dive into the pastries before my stomach joined the conversation. I felt weird shoving food into my mout
h and offered him some.

  “Dorian,” he repeated and selected a pastry. It sounded so much better coming from him. I felt like I had been saying my own name wrong this whole time. “I see you have passion for Roma and the desserts.”

  I couldn’t hold back a laugh, which was dangerous. My second pastry was half in my mouth and I almost lost it when he joined in. It was judgmental of me, but I had assumed because of his appearance that he wouldn’t have a good sense of humor. Insanely attractive people were usually stoic, with an air of indifference – but that could have just been my high-school experience. I hadn’t really had the chance to socialize much since then and Noah was not the best counterargument.

  “Now we have two things together,” he added in between our laughter. We chatted about Rome, both past and present, for what felt like minutes, but when the sun set halfway through our conversation I realized we had been talking for hours. It was the best time I’d had for as long as I could remember and, as Gianluca put it, I felt “passion” in my words. I had asked the waitress for a pen so I could draw on my napkin to show Gianluca what I meant when words failed us. After a while my drawings turned into a bunch of silly hieroglyphics – stick people and animals mixed with architectural sketches. When he took the pen from my hand to draw something I swore his fingers lingered as we touched, but it could have just been my mind getting the better of me again. We paused at the sight of a small face peering over the table at us. A child from the family next to us had wandered over to see what the excitement was about.

  “Ciao!” Gianluca greeted the child with a wave and offered him one of the pastries. The child’s eyes lit up and his grin matched Gianluca’s as he snatched the dessert and toddled back to his parents, holding it up like a trophy. The family thanked Gianluca with smiles and clapping as their little boy enjoyed his prize, keeping his eyes on Gianluca the whole time.

  “You made a new friend,” I said.

  “Two, no?” He placed his hand on my shoulder, still grinning from ear to ear.

  “Are you always so happy?” I asked and smiled back at him.

  “Is this bad? I am happy to come to this place and to meet someone like you.” His hand traveled across the back of my neck until his arm was around my shoulder. “I think you are very, very beautiful.” He was looking right into my eyes. My heart raced. A minute ago I had caught myself imagining that this would happen, but now that it had, I panicked and didn’t know what to do.

  I wanted to enjoy the moment, but for once it wasn’t the fear of demons or impending doom that had me anxious. It was the other patrons in the room. I felt like all eyes were on me and it was making my head swirl with self-consciousness. The beaming little boy watched us until his mother took note of Gianluca’s arm around me and covered her son’s eyes. The family whispered to each other and exchanged glances, gawking at us like we were animals at the zoo.

  “Please, stop,” I said under my breath as our waitress passed by the table. She did a double take and tried to cover it up by removing an empty plate from our table. I watched as she ignored the kitchen and went to talk to the hostess up front, who turned to look at us. “Everybody is looking at us.”

  “Because you are the most beautiful,” he insisted and caressed my shoulder. “You are shy. I can tell.”

  “I don’t think that’s it.” My hand started to shake and I put it under the table to hide it, but that probably only made us look worse.

  “I do not understand?” Gianluca asked. He was leaned back in the booth comfortably with his arm still around me, completely oblivious to the judgmental stares. The venom spread throughout the room like a plague. It wasn’t long until the rest of the patrons and staff joined in observing the freak show.

  “I have to go.” I pulled away and jumped from the booth, throwing whatever money I had in my pocket onto the table. I had probably tipped the waitress with enough to buy a small yacht, but I would have done anything to get out of the situation.

  “Wait,” Gianluca called after me.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, trying not to let my emotions take over. “It was nice meeting you, but it’s getting late.”

  “I will walk you-” Gianluca started, but I was already out the door. I ducked around the back of a parking garage and shot up to the roof. From over the edge I could see Gianluca on the sidewalk, looking to see which way I had gone. I curled up in the darkest corner out of sight and begged myself not to start sobbing. I was stronger than this. I didn’t need love or romance to be happy. It was a weakness.

  I had thought the night couldn’t get any worse, and then rain began to pour from the night sky. The nearby sound of people running to their cars didn’t strike me as odd until I realized there were no cars on the roof. After a flash of lightning I looked around and saw three shadowed figures crackling with energy approach. The same two Asian warriors from before revealed themselves to me, this time accompanied by a geisha carrying a parasol. She was dressed in a dark blue kimono with a minimal floral design, in heavy contrast to her white face paint, which gave her a rather solemn, dignified look. Their skin was exuding a pale iridescent glow that they didn’t have during our other encounters. The two men spoke to me as they stepped forward, but I had no way of understanding them until the long-haired one held out the Muramasa. They had finally managed to reclaim it from Noah, which meant he must be dead. My heart sank, although I didn’t know if I should be feeling remorse or relief.

  “Just leave me alone!” I shouted over a crack of thunder. “You got what you wanted. Now go away!”

  I knew it would be no use to try and communicate, and even if I could I doubted they would break the curse at my request. How long will this go on for if I can’t die?

  The wind spirit inhaled dramatically. There wasn’t anything up here to take cover behind and a lot of innocent people below could get hurt. I knew I could beat two of them, but had no clue what the woman would add. I flew back to bring the fight to a less populated area. The man exhaled a razor-sharp gale that cut down to the bone. I fell from the sky face-first onto the concrete roof and staggered to my feet in a pool of my blood. The wounds healed, but my clothes were shredded.

  The rain picked up into a torrential downpour and winds churned to monsoon levels. Pedestrians screamed as geysers erupted from the sewers. The waterspouts flooded the streets and the parking garage roof, which was enclosed by cement walls on all sides. The water was up to my ankles and I knew what was coming as the long-haired man charged a bolt of lightning into the Muramasa. I had the choice between flying and being cut to ribbons, or staying down and being electrocuted. These spirits always had their bases covered and it only got worse the more of them there were.

  Visibility was terrible, but I could just make out the trio’s faint illumination as they circled. I lashed out at one of them with a shockwave that sent deep fractures across the structure in all directions, shaking it to its core and setting off car alarms. The barricading walls broke and let the water drain out on to the street. For all the damage it caused, whichever spirit I’d hit was unfazed. The two men charged me head-on, alternating fist and sword, merciless wind and brutal lightning. My body was pummeled and torn apart in seconds, leaving me writhing in anguish.

  Adrenaline pumped through my compromised veins and culminated in a detonation of psionic energy. The roof caved in, smashing the cars under it to scrap metal, but the three spirits jumped down after me with hardly a scratch. The geisha erected a prismatic shield, negating any damage to herself, and the man in black and white flickered incorporeally into the wind to dodge. I couldn’t find the lightning spirit, which worried me. It wasn’t long until he made himself known by stabbing me through the back. My body felt cold, yet images of hellfire and brimstone flashed in my head as the blood was sucked from my heart. The Muramasa didn’t just drink blood. Vance said it had an aura and now it was giving me visions of Hell. The sword itself was alive and it was evil.

  Flashbacks of burning took over and another, m
ore powerful telekinetic shockwave was expelled in all directions. The katana and the spirit wielding it were flung back, along with a hail of rubble. The cars in the lot were thrown like toys. Still the spirits remained intact. They were so much stronger this time. What was going to happen to me when they couldn’t kill me – or would they find a way?

  I tried again, this time focusing my fury on the spirit with the sword. He was crushed against the stone wall until it broke. The man was forcefully propelled out the hole as the other two spirits bore down on me. Flashing lights and the sound of sirens and hysteria flooded in from the outside. The lights inside grew dim and I knew this would put me at an even greater disadvantage. I flew out and up to another rooftop, from which I witnessed the chaos erupting in the city.

  The light from street lamps and buildings dimmed, but didn’t shut off. Even people’s car lights and cell phones dimmed, as did the moon peeking through the storm clouds. All sources of light weakened to such a point that their radiance served no purpose. This was not a blackout caused by the storm or rushing waters. I had a horrible feeling of dread. This darkness wasn’t natural.

  The spirits paused in their pursuit of me to take note of the surreal change in atmosphere. They seemed as perplexed as everyone else. If they weren’t causing the darkness, who was? The brief respite from battle ended when the wind spirit leaped through the air at me. A fourth shadowed spirit appeared beside me, this one larger than the other three. I flew to the side to avoid them, hoping it was so dark that no one below would see me – not that that mattered anymore.

  The fourth shadow grabbed the wind spirit out of the air by the neck. This new shadow wasn’t like the others. It took the form of a terribly imposing black knight clad in heavy metal and chainmail armor. This was no human playing dress-up or a hunter donning the garb of his ancestors, but a being of living shadow. The blackness swirling around it was darker than the moonless sky. I had seen this in the past. Rozalin had commanded a form of sentient darkness in Aurelia’s chateau.