Fallen (10 page)

I stood without looking directly at him. I
walked past him without getting any closer than I had to. The man
reeked of a strange body odor that hinted at earth mingled with
something metallic I couldn’t quite identify.

Sinister’s steps were virtually silent as he
ushered me toward the door beyond the main room. Tom was already
waiting, wearing his hat. His fiery locks had been combed for the
first time I’d ever seen. This gesture alone spoke volumes about
the authority of the man I was about to dine with. I would never
have imagined Tom combing his hair even if his life had depended on
it. Then again, perhaps that was exactly the kind of dyer situation
I was about to enter into.

We took the stairs down to the street where
an omnipresent fog waited to receive us. The sky was heavily
overcast and night seemed to be well on its way. As we approached
the street, I heard the heavy breathing of several large
animals.

The fog parted like a curtain, revealing a
shiny black carriage with a pair of black mares hitched up in front
waiting restlessly to be on their way. The driver wore a black
frock coat and pants. His face was hidden by shadow though I had no
idea where such darkness could have originated from. Yet it
remained upon him like a cloak hiding his features. Even my ability
to see beings like Tom could not reveal his identity.

The driver gazed at us with glowing red eyes
that sent a shiver of fear running up my spine. “Enter,” he said in
a terribly raspy voice that did nothing to dissuade the sense of
doom gathering in my mind.

The carriage door swung open before us of
its own volition, revealing a deep red velvet interior that made me
immediately wonder if it had been drenched in blood prior to
arriving here. I gave Tom a sidelong glance. He pretended not to
notice then stepped forward, resolutely climbing into the
carriage.

With Tom inside and Mr. Sinister still
standing behind me, I quickly followed, sitting beside Tom on the
velvet upholstery. The smell of cinnamon was nearly overpowering,
certainly beyond good taste. Some other aroma lingered beneath the
surface, almost hidden but not quite.

Mr. Sinister, strangely, did not follow us
into the cab. Instead, he stood without, closed the door and then
watched through the window, grinning devilishly. Almost instantly,
the whip cracked against horseflesh. The cab gave a lurch forward,
and the world outside blurred.

I turned to Tom. “Why didn’t he come with
us? What’s going to happen?”

He gave me an annoyed glance. “Shut up,” he
hissed. “We’re here already. And mind your tongue. We’re in enough
trouble already.”

I turned back to the window. The scene
outside had changed, but the world was still again. The door began
to open.

“Well, go on,” Tom said.

He shoved me toward the door. I scooted from
the seat and stepped out of the carriage. We were no longer in
front of Sinister’s tenement dwelling. Instead, a grand estate
stood before us.

Tom got out of the carriage behind me. We
stood on a pea gravel driveway, while the carriage exited. The
house itself was four stories with tall windows and terraces spread
across the front of each floor. Several spires rose from high spots
in the roof.

I almost overlooked a number of figures
stationed at odd places upon the grand structure. At first I had
thought them to be gargoyles of a sort, until I noticed the eyes.
They were wide like an owl’s with red-rimmed irises, gazing down
upon me from at least a dozen positions.

They were as still as statues, but my
sensitive sight was able to pick up the slightest rise and fall of
their chests. They were most certainly alive, but didn’t seem at
all friendly; more like panthers focused upon prey grazing beneath
their perches.

“Don’t stare,” Tom whispered as he started
up the drive toward the main doors where another, more familiar,
form waited.

Mr. Sinister stood by the main doors as they
parted before us. He grinned at me as Tom and I passed over the
threshold. I wondered how the man had come so quickly to the
estate. The carriage had passed from London proper to this
countryside estate with such speed that time hardly seemed to have
passed. How could Sinister have gotten here before us?

I felt like a rabbit with the trap falling
down around me. Passing into the house, a chill sensation enveloped
me, as though I had passed into some other realm. Something about
this foreboding reminded me of our time passing through Faerie.
Only this felt much darker.

Still, the house was elegant without seeming
gaudy. Mr. Black had spared no expense for quality. We passed from
the tall foyer through another set of doors made almost entirely of
glass apart from the silver handles used to open them. I was coming
to expect all of the doors to open by themselves, which they
did.

I might have expected a butler to greet us
near the front doors, but no one arrived. In fact, as we passed
through various large rooms in the house, no servants appeared at
all. Only the gargoyles, as I thought of them, remained posted
among the shadows here and there throughout the house. Though their
eyes never left us, they did not move.

Sinister followed as we continued ever
forward, never deviating from our present course. We arrived at an
archway leading us into what I could only describe as a modest
ballroom. Polished wood floors spread out before us, bearing an odd
spiral pattern with the arms broadening as they spun out toward the
boundaries of the room.

Sitting directly at the focal point of these
arms was a long table made of dark wood that appeared very old. A
man was seated at the head of the table on the farthest end. There
were no other chairs present when we came in. However, when we
approached and the man rose from his chair to greet us, three more
chairs similar to his began to take form, as though an invisible
hand were tracing their lines before us. Those lines filled with
dark brown color and wood grain, becoming real objects that we
could now touch.

The man had stood upon our arrival,
gesturing toward the chairs, greeting us with a welcoming smile.
“Please, gentlemen, sit down.”

We did as we were bidden. I sensed that I
was actually under some unseen compulsion to obey this man’s every
word. I attempted a pause as I began to sit, just to test the
sensation. My body overrode my mind on the matter, pulling me down
into the chair.

The man’s eyes fell upon me like a weight.
We sat there for at least sixty seconds that way, no one making a
sound, before he spoke again.

“Welcome to my home, Brody West,” he said.
“As you may already be aware, my name is Mr. Black.”

I did not acknowledge whether I had that
knowledge or not. Something inside me wanted to resist him.

“Where is it that you come from, young man?”
Black asked.

“America, sir,” I answered.

Despite a desire to resist, I knew that I
was actually in terrible danger. The look in Tom’s eyes, as he
watched this seemingly innocent exchange, assured me it was the
case. If I offended Mr. Black, I would surely be killed
immediately. Tom had earlier warned me not to cross Mr. Sinister.
How much more then this man to whom Sinister answered?

Mr. Black sat back in his seat, wearing a
wan smile. “I wasn’t referring to that,” he said. “I want to know
your origin among the Fallen.”

I gasped at the suggestion, stammering a
moment for some kind of answer. I looked at Tom, but found him
closing his eyes as though this was exactly the direction he had
hoped this conversation would not take.

“I’m not sure I understand your question,
sir,” I said. “I’m human. My father and my mother were human.”

Mr. Black seemed to find some humor in my
answer. He reached for a glass of wine that I had not even noticed
sitting before him. He drained the glass before setting it down.
When my eyes attempted to locate it on the table, I could not. It
had already disappeared.

“You are human….Yet, you have sight to see
beyond Tom’s glamour, beyond the disguises of my servants like Mr.
Sinister. You are human, yet you saw one of my dolls upon the
streets of London and managed to somehow override the spell upon it
and destroy it by fire…not to mention the damage you caused to the
surrounding establishments.”

I could see where his logic was going, and
it was compelling.

“Sir,” I said, “I have no idea how those
things happened.”

He scrutinized me for a moment.

“Perhaps not,” he said finally. “Let’s try
something.”

At once, our positions changed around the
table. Mr. Sinister was sitting where I had been, Tom sat opposite
him. My chair was now positioned at the very end of the table
opposite Mr. Black. I had not experienced any sensation of movement
whatsoever. One moment it was one way, the next we were thus.

The table top had transformed somewhat as
well. Nothing at all lay upon the surface except for a metal dish
filled with liquid fuel of some kind and a strong fire burning. The
fire was positioned exactly in the middle of the table between me
and Mr. Black. I could see his face grow more interested between
flickers of flame.

“Let us attempt a test, Brody,” he said. “I
want you to push the flame toward me.”

The dish was clearly too far for my arms to
reach. I might have stood, or walked around the table to do so, but
I was quite sure that wasn’t what he wanted.

“I can’t reach the dish, sir.” Even as I
said it, I began to understand what his response would be.

“Very well,” he said. “I’m going to push the
fire toward you. Either you will defend yourself, or you will be
burned alive where you sit.”

Immediately, my hands were bound by living
ropes to the arms of my chair. I tried to struggle against my
bonds, but could do nothing to extricate myself. I looked at the
fire and Mr. Black’s face beyond.

His gaze intensified, staring at the fire.
The flame boiled higher then erupted toward me like the tongue of
some volcanic beast groping for a taste of its prey. I watched the
coil of fire approach as if time had slowed nearly to a
standstill.

I pulled frantically against the ropes but
to no avail. I screamed as the heat came upon me, my eyes wide with
terror, knowing that, at the very least, I would be horribly
disfigured. Most likely these villains would allow me to sit tied
to this chair while the flames consumed me. Wouldn’t Tom do
something to stop this?

The fire halted its advance abruptly,
peeling away as though hitting a window set before my face. My
high-pitched scream died away as I realized I wasn’t burning.
Somehow, I had stopped the fire. I could now feel a welling surge
of pressure within my head. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, though
I won’t say it was easy either. More like a muscle put to use after
remaining too long unused.

I tested this power, pushing back now
against Mr. Black. After all, he had told me to do so. I put my
best effort forth. The fire obeyed, veering away from me to loop
back toward him.

He hardly reacted except to grin at his own
cunning, having evidently proved the point he desired to make
concerning me. He waved his hand and the fire and bowl of fuel
disappeared in a vapor. I sat in my chair looking at him in
bewilderment. How had this happened? How could I possibly be what
he claimed?

Tom and I had been left to ourselves within
a sitting room that was comfortably furnished, located adjacent to
Mr. Black’s office. He and Mr. Sinister had deferred to it and shut
the door behind them. We could hear nothing of the conversation
they were having, no doubt regarding my fate.

Strangely, I began to wonder about what
magic Mr. Black might have placed so as to prevent the sound from
reaching our ears. The entire house seemed to be permeated with his
power and presence. But at this moment, I was far more interested
in what I was and what else I could do.

“Wipe that grin off your face,” Tom scolded
from the high back leather chair across from my own.

We were both sitting before a massive stone
hearth with a fire burning within. I realized I had been staring at
the flames, remembering the test Mr. Black had just put me through
and the exhilarating results.

“What?” I asked.

Tom sat forward, gripping the arms of his
chair. “You think something good has just happened to you, but you
couldn’t be more wrong.”

I didn’t understand his tone. “Why? What did
I do?”

His eyes narrowed on me, his voice barely
more than a whisper. “You just made yourself dangerous to
them.”

“How could I possibly be any danger to
either of them?” I asked.

“It’s about perception, Brody,” he said.
“This is a war, remember? And if you aren’t for them then they’ll
consider you against them.”

“I’m not a part of your war, Tom,” I
insisted.

He sat there for a moment, looking at me as
though I had just struck him across the face. “You must be joking,”
he said finally. “Everyone is a part of this war whether they
realize it or not. A mortal might be able to get by with that kind
of naivety but not one of the Fae. You might not know how, but it’s
just like I suspected, Brody. You’re descended somehow from the
Fallen, and that makes you dangerous. They’ll want you to join
them—”

“I can’t join this,” I said gesturing to the
room around us. “This house, those dolls…the people out there like
Sinister…it’s evil, and I serve the Lord, Tom. My faith is in
Jesus.”

Tom stood up now, incensed. “There it is,”
he said, raising his voice as much as he dared. “You’re on
His
side already, and so you say you can’t join
them
.
But if you don’t, they’ll kill you where you stand.”