The Eye of Elektron: A Clean Urban Fantasy (The Sumrectian Series Book 1)

by Leigh G. Wynn

  With my help, he can complete the spell. She clenched her fist.

  “First, I need you to go into Praedean Rudio.”

  Dawn sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Yes, we know of Ansel’s special room.”

  Her palms grew sweaty as nauseating dread welled inside of her.

  “Go on up to the room. Go on! I have something to show you.”

  Heart pounding, legs shaking, she dashed out of the room and made her way to Praedean Rudio as fast as she could. When she entered the immersive hologram, she instantly recognized the plain wooden furniture distinctive of a Crimson worker’s sleeping quarters.

  Her worst fear had come true.

  At his desk, Henry sat reading by the lamplight.

  “The Atma has pardoned your previous misconduct, and we at Crimson welcome you home with open arms.”

  Three Sumrect soldiers in brown leather entered and weaved around the furniture to Henry’s desk.

  “No, no!” she screamed. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

  But she could only watch helplessly as Henry jumped to his feet in shock, his frightened eyes darting from one soldier to the next. Though his mouth moved, she did not hear a single word he said. All she heard was Quinn.

  “We also understand your current predicament—trapped at Chesterfield under Ansel’s strict supervision. DO NOT FEAR. Do as I say, and you can break free.”

  The Sumrects pinned a thrashing Henry onto the ground. Dawn knew there would be no escaping their powerful steel grips. One soldier injected Henry with a small tube of liquid. Within seconds, his body went limp. Dawn punched the air where the hologram soldier occupied.

  “Your brother Henry is currently being held in captivity. Do not worry. He’s alive and kicking… For now. If you do not return to Crimson in three days’ time, he will adopt your fate. But of course, I don’t understand why anyone would choose to remain at Chesterfield.” Quinn snickered.

  Dawn gritted her teeth.

  “The decision is yours. You stay, he dies. You say a word to Ansel, he dies. You return alone, he lives. Simple.”

  “Should you decide to return to Crimson, follow these instructions.”

  Quinn continued with his directions, but Dawn, boiling with anger, could not focus. When the Sumrect finished detailing the plan, Henry’s room was empty.

  “Remember, you have three days.”

  The silver gel fell from her ears and retracted back into the Nert. She sank to her knees beside the hologram of Henry’s bed while the Nert popped out of her skin and rolled onto the floor. Still clutching the Eye of Elektron in her hand, she pondered.

  If Vance carried out the Etherian spell in its entirety, it could mean the end of not only Ansel but the humans’ dream of a better future. Yet if she did not bring herself to Vance within three days, Henry would lose his life. There was no way out.

  She lost track of how long she stayed in Praedean Rudio, but when she finally emerged from the room, she had made her decision.

  ✽✽✽

  During breakfast, Ansel neither mentioned the early morning incident nor provided an account of his late-night expedition. Only Delia seemed oblivious. At Kai’s prodding, which involved a kick at her shin each time, Dawn attempted to bring up the Etherian spell in conversation. However, Ansel seemed adamant to avoid anything even peripherally related to the subject.

  “Clumsy me!” He spilled coffee, albeit a tad too rehearsed, over the front of his black shirt after Dawn mentioned the Eye of Elektron yet again. “Forgive my poor table manners. I’m not yet accustomed to eating with my left hand. Excuse me while I cleaned this off.” He got up and left the table in a hurry.

  “What’s up with him today?” Delia said, frowning. Dawn looked at Kai in frustration; earlier, Ansel had accidentally dumped French toast into his lap after Kai asked about the symbol.

  When Ansel returned to the table, his expression was more serious.

  “Dawn, I’m sorry if this sounds too authoritarian, but because you have become my brother’s number one objective, I must ask you to remain at Chesterfield at all times unless Delia or myself accompany you outside.”

  Has he heard Quinn’s message? The Nert grew heavy in her dress pocket.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” she said, deflecting his penetrating blue eyes.

  “Thank you. That makes me feel much better.” But his tone was steeped with apprehension.

  He doesn’t trust me, she thought. And for good reason.

  “Have I scared you?” he said apologetically. “I do not want to curb your freedom. Who am I to tell you where you should be? However, at the present time, I have no better means of ensuring your safety.”

  “How can I convince you that you don’t scare me at all?”

  The response caught him off guard. Stirring the coffee slowly, he cocked his head to one side, half a smile hanging on his thin lips.

  When everyone had finished his or her meal, he rose from the table and, with a wave of his hand, sent all the plates gliding to the kitchen sink. Soap water automatically sprang from the tap. Within seconds, the dishes and table were cleaned to spotless perfection.

  “Come with me.” He motioned for Dawn to follow him.

  They ascended the floating marble stairs and entered a long-carpeted hallway that led to a stunning wall of blue hydrangea flowers.

  “This is all yours.” He winked at her as the flowers rearranged themselves to form the entrance to a lush garden.

  “I’ve been putting together this art studio the past few days,” he said as he surveyed his work.

  Art studio? Dawn was speechless. Entranced by the blooming flowers that covered the walls and hung from the ceiling, she hardly noticed the slanted desk, stools, easels, canvases, mannequins and all the art supplies she could ever dream of in neat piles on wooden shelves. Only a glass wall overlooking the lake in the back garden reminded her they were still inside Chesterfield House.

  “All the basics are here, but if you have any particular requests, just let me know. I figured you might enjoy a space for your creativity to flow while you are at Chesterfield. Do you like it?”

  She could not believe her eyes. “I love it. This… this is exquisite,” she said, trying to take it all in. “Thank you for putting so much thought and effort into this studio.”

  Ansel beamed. “It’s the least I can do to make you feel more at home.” He took a hydrangea flower and weaved it into her hair, his gentle fingers brushing her ear as he did so. In that moment, an inexplicable warmth traveled through Dawn’s body. His eyes, brimming with kindness and softened with wisdom, awoke in her a slumbering passion. For some odd reason, she felt as if he had known her for a long time. Much longer than the few days she had been staying at Chesterfield.

  Why does he have to be so mesmerizing? She withdrew her hands with a jolt. Since she was eight, she had learned to be strong, to become invisible under the mask of conformity, to survive. Humans and Sumrects alike viewed her as one of the innumerable prisoners whose existence had been made insignificant by Sumrect oppression. No one had ever looked at her the way Ansel did, with admiration, fondness and wonder, as if she was an individual worthy of time and attention.

  Frankly, she did not know why Ansel found her to be so interesting.

  “I’m sorry.” He backed away, frustrated with himself. “I-I didn’t mean—I’ll leave you to explore the studio. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Wait!” she blurted. “The lavender field in the painting… I have been fascinated with the texture. Can you show me how it was done?”

  “Of course,” she added in haste, “only if you are not too busy.”

  He paused, contemplating the request, his expression serious. Yet when he responded, his voice was light and cheery. “My pleasure.”

  For the rest of that morning, they sat by the window and painted the landscape outside while Ansel demonstrated his preferred brush strokes for various textures. Like Vance, he was a hu
man arts aficionado. Unlike Vance, he did not merely dapple here and there; his paintings were extraordinary.

  “With each piece of artwork, you can sense the artist behind it. A troubled soul? An idealist? I’m fascinated by the individualized interpretation of reality and the refreshing uniqueness of each human being which the arts celebrate. In Panatomius, Sumrects value nothing but power, to the point of sacrificing individuality.” He sighed as they painted.

  “The arts not only reveal beauty in the world, but they also expose our deepest flaws and vulnerabilities,” Dawn said.

  “Indeed, our vulnerability and imperfections connect us… beyond culture, race, species… Even across time…” There was a pensiveness to Ansel’s demeanor as he made this remark.

  Dawn suddenly felt, perhaps, this might be the right time to probe further.

  “Ansel?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why did you paint so many scenes of the ocean?”

  He hesitated. “Memories… oceans of memories. The waves… the water… they help me make portals to the past.”

  I wish he would stop speaking in code, she thought.

  “And what about the girl in the lavender field painting? Was she a real person?” Dawn held her breath, not sure if she had pushed too far.

  Upon hearing her question, the blood drained from Ansel’s face. He stiffened up in his seat and looked down at the paintbrush in his hands.

  “Yes,” he finally spoke after a long silence. “She was my wife.”

  Chapter 10

  The door to Gail’s holding cell was pristine. Completely undamaged.

  Vance ran his hand over the keypad lock. “You didn’t see who or what caused the explosion?” he asked the trembling guards lazily.

  “N-No, sir. We were all knocked to the floor in pitch darkness, a-and when the smoke cleared up, the door was open, a-and she was gone.” Zachary spoke to the ground, terrified to meet Vance’s eyes.

  “M-M-Maybe she left…”

  “Huh.” Vance stepped into the cell. It was a small, tiled room of faded white. The fluorescent light emitted a constant buzz, which irritated him to no end. “She couldn’t have escaped from inside with brute force. The door shows no signs of damage, so clearly, someone must have aided her escape.”

  “I s-see. Who b-b-broke in?”

  Vance rolled his eyes. “That’s for you to tell me, isn’t it?”

  “But I didn’t see anyone!”

  “Liar!”

  “No, no… I-I-I didn’t see…”

  “You’ve failed in your duties. You’ve failed me,” Vance said, his voice cold as ice.

  “Wait! I can find her!” the desperate guard pleaded.

  Two Sumrect soldiers carrying cylindrical-shaped machines marched up to Gail’s holding cell. Zachary fell to his knees, shaking in terror. The stony-faced soldiers stopped in front of Vance and awaited his orders.

  “There was someone!” Zachary’s friend, who had remained silent this whole time, suddenly spoke. “A male… about five foot eight or ten. Dark-haired. I saw the back of him when I returned from my bathroom break.”

  His abrupt statement caught Vance by surprise.

  And you are absolutely right, he thought. What a shame you decided to speak up at the last minute. Now, I must kill you too.

  He gave the signal. The soldiers fired their weapons.

  No misses.

  ✽✽✽

  Dawn did not expect Ansel to answer her so directly. His truthful response rendered her speechless.

  So it’s true.

  She had heard rumors at Crimson that Ansel had once been married. Some said the girl ran away a year into the marriage, probably scared off after being exposed to his depravity. Some said he killed his wife after catching her in a secret affair with another Sumrect. Vance never expressed an opinion on this matter, thus allowing stories of the wife’s bizarre disappearance to feed Ansel’s monster image. Some say he never actually wedded because after all, who in their right minds would ever consider a lifetime with Ansel Cassadian?

  “She was a human like you,” he said quietly. “Spunky, warm-hearted and a superb pianist. It was total taboo back then… a Sumrect and a human.”

  Dawn pictured Ansel sitting on the piano bench with the blonde beauty.

  “We married young. She was only twenty, and I, two hundred and twenty. Needless to say, we were madly in love.”

  Two hundred and twenty? she thought, astonished. I wonder how she would have felt about being married to a barely aging husband while she slid into inevitable decrepitude.

  “What happened?”

  Still as a rock, he fixed his unblinking gaze upon the garden. “She passed away. Three weeks after her twenty-eighth birthday.”

  A heaviness fell. Twenty-eight was much too young.

  Dawn could not bring herself to believe those rumors she heard, not after what she had discovered about Ansel during the past few days.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “That’s okay. It has been a little over ten years. I try not to dwell on it, but the smallest, most insignificant reminders can trigger a rush of nostalgia.” Ansel turned to her with a forced smile.

  She recalled the conversation she had with him about rising above revenge and wondered whether his insight came from personal experience.

  “What was her name?”

  Ansel gave a quiet chuckle. He laid down his paintbrush and stood without a word.

  Instead of responding to her question, he asked, “Do you want to meet her?”

  “Meet?”

  He nodded. “Let’s take a trip back in time.”

  Baffled, she followed him until they arrived a few minutes later at the enchanting entrance of Chesterfield House.

  “Amber,” he said, staring at the light-speckled ceiling. “Her name was Amber Chesterfield.”

  Amber! Like the lights in the tunnel, the chandeliers, the memories. Like the Eye of Elektron. Suddenly, she understood. Every inch, every breathtaking creation of Chesterfield was a loving tribute to the girl in the paintings. If only she were alive to witness the beauty Ansel had created…

  “I built Chesterfield so that no Sumrect, including myself, may use his or her powers inside the house. Not only to protect her but also to preserve and cherish that humanness in her which I so adored.” He motioned to the boundless ceiling. “Above are shining portals, stored in amber resin, to a time long lost. But of course, you have already been made aware of their function.” He grinned.

  “I have?” Dawn blinked twice.

  “Am I woefully wrong to assume Kai guided you through one of my portals this morning at the rotunda?”

  He DID see us! Her face quickly turned a ruby hue. “I… this morning…”

  How could he have known? Wasn’t he just coming in the front gate when we left the garden?

  Ansel smiled, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, perhaps you don’t in fact know what I’m talking about… Regardless, I want to share with you a bit of my past.”

  A notoriously private character, Ansel rarely shared details about his past with others. How unusual he should offer to show me something so personal. Dawn was intrigued, but also suspicious.

  “To call down one of these portals, say out loud the day and Sumrectian year when the event took place,” he explained. “We’ll try for day three hundred and one in the seventh year of the Lion.”

  The words barely left his mouth when an illuminated amber piece started its slow spiral descent from the ceiling center. Its light grew dimmer until it faded altogether. Much to their amazement, the stone floated not to Ansel but to Dawn, who caught it with an instinctive reach of her hand. He watched open-mouthed as she turned over the warm stone to reveal a delicately hand-carved date:

  7th Year of the Lion, 301st Light

  “How curious… it recognizes you…” he murmured.

  “I thought only the portal’s owner can access it…” Dawn studied the stone in her hand, perplexed.r />
  The corner of Ansel’s mouth twitched. “Looks like Kai did take you to the rotunda this morning.”

  “How…?”

  “Just an inkling.”

  With a sigh, Dawn confessed, “Well… Yes. He only wanted to show me the time you saved him from the fire.”

  “Ah.”

  Her admission did not seem to bother him. Instead, he repeated once more to himself, “Very interesting…”

  “What’s interesting?”

  “When the Eye of Elektron responded to you, I thought there was a good chance you would have a similar effect on other objects in the house. Looks like I was not mistaken.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I have a theory,” said Ansel with a mysterious smile, but he did not elaborate. “Tap the resin three times while you say the words Acktum Inktus Leus.”

  “Go on,” he encouraged. “My portals are already open to you.”

  How could this be possible? Unconvinced, Dawn tapped the resin thrice and enunciated each word carefully.

  “Acktum Inktus Leus.”

  The amber ceiling disappeared. The grand staircases faded. Dawn watched in sheer shock and disbelief as the grand entrance transformed into a room she had only been in once before.

  The abandoned study.

  Except at this time, the study was in its full splendor, brilliantly lit and quite literally shimmering with life; the floor-to-ceiling bookcases were made from streams of water, just like the picture frame of the girl in the lavender field. Four other paintings of Amber hung on the walls.

  “This was the fifth year of our union,” Ansel said. “One painting for every year we were married…” His voice cracked. Walking up to the painting in front of the secret passage, he tried again, “The linearity of human time promises reprieve to those who grieve, so they can look forward, not back… so the past does not resurface from the passageway of time… but sometimes…” He stepped away from his own painting. “Here they come.”