Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Metamorphosis: Genesis ❯ Chapter XII ( Chapter 12 )

Chapter XII

The keys jingled against one another as Lyrial pulled them from her purse. She guided the key into the lock and turned, the familiar click signaling her success. The door to the apartment opened and the brunette slipped inside. A smile decorated her pretty face as she leaned against the back of the door; it was a giddy kind of grin, the kind of grin that accompanies the most pleasant of days. She mindlessly tucked a wayward curl behind her right ear and the smile broadened. Had that really just happened? Lyrial fondly replayed the day's events in her mind, each piece perfectly retained in the pristine color of the mind. First the quiet and somewhat awkward train ride into Juniper, the brisk walk in the cold to the Park of the city, the ice skating session turned mild fondling escapade, the dinner at Blue Chopstyx, and finally the train ride home. Lyrial bit her lip and a modest blush came into her cheeks. That was the moment—the pinnacle of the outing when she first felt Chris' warm and hesitant lips touch her own. A tiny girlish squeal escaped her as she leaned her head back against the door.

In comparison to kisses seen in the movies, Lyrial guessed that the contact had not been all that spectacular. However, for some reason, the innocent peck and brush had melted her from the inside out. Her heart leapt at the idea of a repeat performance.

“I shouldn't get ahead of myself,” Lyrial said aloud but couldn't help another excited little squeal. “It was only a first date, after all,” she added and a small amount of hesitation crept into her throat. She had said `the first' as if it was the beginning of a series; there were more of this wonderful day to come, wasn't there? Judging by the success of their first outing, Lyrial felt it was safe to say that another would be around the corner. Her anticipation came to a halt as she pushed off the door and moved further into the apartment. What first caught her eye was the state of the living room. The newspaper that Kaya had been searching through was strewn all over the floor, torn and ripped like giant pieces of black and white confetti. Lyrial frowned at the mess and her eyes roved over the damage to the television that was on, displaying the hazy white and grey error screen from lack of reception.

She had noticed the subtle static sounds coming from the tube in her excited state. The brunette scooped the remote control from off the floor, dusting off a few pieces of the shredded paper from its buttons, before muting the television. The glow from the device illuminated the apartment. Lyrial figured Kaya must still be out—there were no lights on in the flat. A little unnerved by the dark and the condition of the living room, she moved to the wall to turn on the lights.

“Must you always do that?” A voice asked just as her fingers hooked under the switch. Lyrial spun around and clutched her chest.

“Sano! You have got to stop sneaking up on me!” she cried and let her hand fall back to her side. “And yes, I'm going to turn on the lights. It's creepy in here with the T.V. crazy and the lights out!” she argued before flicking the switch to illuminate the room in the artificial glow of the bulbs overhead.

“Where were you?” Lyrial stops, her hand sliding down from the switch on the wall. She frowned at the question.

“I was in Juniper, if you must know,” she replied. Sano's expression did not change with the explanation. There was a frown etched deeply into the handsome visage, a disapproving and judgmental gesture that was both reproachful and invidious.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The brunette asked finally when the mood in the living did not alter.

“You must have been gone all day—the apartment was quiet. The Witch was gone as well,” Sano said, leaning against the back of the couch, his silver eyes searching deeply into Lyrial's.

“What could you have possibly been up to for so long in Juniper?” he asked critically and the young woman turned her nose up bravely.

“I was on a date, for your information, and it was lovely.”

“A date?” Sano asked, his expression finally changing. It went from distaste to absolutely acerbic after the monosyllabic inquiry.

“Yes, is that a problem?” Lyrial asked, her defiant bravado beginning to grow in her chest. She and Sano had had their arguments before, the most recent was pretty detrimental as far as the brunette recalled. It had ended Kaya interjecting her own two cents and the Vampire taking off through the living room window. That night Lyrial had stayed up waiting for him to come back, but had fallen asleep in the hours of the early morning with a heavily guilt boiling in her gut. It had been an awful experience and it had taken days before Lyrial had been able to even look at Sano during the evenings, let alone make eye-contact. With that in mind, the girl was not in the mood for another verbal altercation but the silver haired young man's attitude was less than savory.

“Actually, now that mention it,” Sano began, interrupting the brunette's thoughts. “It is.” This time Lyrial was the one to make a face.

“Excuse me?” She asked, trying to clarify the statement.

“You dating is a problem,” he repeated, now crossing his arms over his bare chest. The Vampire had gotten into the habit of wearing the few clothes that Alan had left behind. He was quite fond of the soft cotton pajama pants for his daytime snoozes. The loose fabric caused little friction during the hours of rest and there the Vampire was not as prone to waking up with an awkward rash or imprint from his clothes. The good provided by this fact upon awakening had been soured after realizing the absence of life in the apartment.

“How exactly is that a problem?” Lyrial asked, putting her hands on her hips to mimic the appearance of an unhappy toddler. “It's not really any of your business,” she added before retracting her audacity and looking worried by the growl that began to rumble in the Vampire's chest. It was an inhuman sound like that of a wild animal, ferocious and feral, vibrating with each breath to warn of impending danger. Sano's upper lip curled in tiny fluxes, baring then hiding his fangs, ominous looking ivory that reminded Lyrial just exactly what kind of creature her flatmate was.

“W-Why are you growling at me?” she asked, her voice no longer secure but increasing in pitch, the tell-tale sign of terror growing in the throat.

“Call it obedience training,” Sano replied, making the girl swallow nervously.

“Obedience training?” she repeated quietly in the shaky breath her voice had become; the growling did not cease when the Vampire spoke, only adding a significant rumble to his words, making them seem more potent.

“That's right. You need to learn what you can and cannot do—what is and is not allowed.” As the words floated through the air towards Lyrial, the girl become more and more uncomfortable being alone with the silver haired young man. Her almond eyes darted across the apartment to her bedroom door. It was closed—her brain calculated the distance to the closed door, the fraction of a second it would take to open it, and how quickly she could lock it behind her. Her eyes flicked back to Sano. She was a fast runner but there was no doubt in her mind that Sano was infinitely faster; he was a jaguar, ready to pounce, while she was some small gazelle, ready to run for its life.

His advancement towards her continued.

“What do you mean?” Lyrial asked. “Y-You can't tell me what to do. You don't—You don't own me.”

“You see,” Sano began, waving his index finger in a condescending manner. “That's where you're wrong.” Panic rose in the young girl's throat with the declaration and once again she sought for an exit. Her eyes dashed around the room before they rested on a possible escape. The bathroom door was half-way open and the light was on and the fluorescent shower reflected off the white and blue tiles of the room, illuminating it like a safe haven. It was small and sturdy like a little fortress where Lyrial could hide until morning if the occasion called for it; and with the predatory look in Sano's eyes, Lyrial was fast realizing that this occasion called for it with some haste.

“From the moment you brought me into your home,” another step forward. The brunette licked her lips nervously to still the quivering dry little petals.

“You belonged to me.” With more than one red flag waving adamantly in her mind, Lyrial could afford to wait no longer.

“No!” She cried out and bolted—she ran past Sano, pushing him in the chest when the attempt to stop her was made. She could feel him behind her in a fraction of a second and just as a hand reached out to grasp the back of her clothes or the thick mess of curls that trailed behind her, she dove the last few feet, sliding into the tiled bathroom. She rolled onto her back and kicked the door closed, demanding a solid barrier between herself and the Vampire. Lyrial scrambled to her knees quickly and twisted the lock shut. Her panting was interrupted by a shriek when Sano started banging on the door.

“Open the door, Lyrial!” The girl shook her head back and forth and scooted across the bathroom floor, nudging herself between the toilet and the shower tub.

“Open the door!” Sano shouted from the other side, jiggling the door handle ferociously. The same animal kind of growl he had emitted earlier began a new, this time with greater volume and force. “Lyrial! Open this door!” The girl pressed her hands over her ears and shook her head once more.

“No! You're scaring me! Please, just leave me alone!” she called back and opened her frightened almond eyes in time to see the door rattling on its hinges from the vigor of Sano's entrance attempt.

“Just open the door, Lyrial—I'm not going to hurt you.” The tone was infinitely softer, though the brunette could still hear the underlying growl that laced his words. The door ceased to quake and silence followed the command. Lyrial swallowed nervously and crept up into a crouch, still lodged between the toilet and shower tub. She crawled forward a little, past the porcelain throne to reach out and grasp a towel rack for support. The girl stood and watched the door with bated breath.

She screamed when it began to rattle once more as if it would burst from its hinges and fall towards her.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Lyrial called out and in a moment of frenzy she ran towards the door and banged on it herself. Her less practiced fists hit the wood in rapid succession, prattling against Sano's own attacks on the household barrier. Worn, Lyrial panted quietly and slid to her knees, her fists still against the white painted wood. Her forehead rested between her fists and she closed her eyes. She could hear the shuffle of bare feet, knowing that Sano was moving around just outside the lavatory. The brunette strained to listen further but when no more sound could be detected, Lyrial reached for the handle of the door. She hesitated, her palm beginning to sweat as she held onto the metal latch that could once again bring her face to face with the enraged Vampire.

Just then Lyrial picked up the definitive sound of the front door opening. Her eyes widened as the shuffling started up again, fading away from the door she was leaning against. She carefully cracked open the door and peeked out into the rest of the apartment. Kaya was closing the front door, sticking a small piece of metal back into her coat; it wasn't a key, Lyrial knew she still hadn't gotten one for the other girl. Had she just picked the lock? The brunette watched as the rare smile on Kaya's face faded instantly upon making eye contact with Sano.

“So you're awake,” she said in a plain tone, not really bothering to hide her distaste for him.

“Good observation,” he replied and the usual tense silence of harsh remarks being bitten back fell between the two beings. Azure eyes assessed the apartment's shabby condition and instantly filled with blame towards the Vampire.

“And here I was beginning to think you had been house-trained,” Kaya said while gesturing to the torn newspaper and television that desperately searched for a signal. During her scan of the room, her sight came to rest on the bathroom door that cracked open and closed in little increments.

“Lyrial?” she asked uncertainly and the door was thrown open. The said girl ran from the safety of the tiled room and all but dove into her own bedroom, disappearing just as quickly as she had appeared.

“What was that all about?” Kaya demanded, marching towards Sano.

“How should I know?”

“Because you always terrorize her when I'm not around!” the silver haired young man rolled his eyes and scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don't know anything about Lyrial and I,” he replied. This time it was Kaya's turn to scoff.

“Lyrial and you? Let me make something incredibly clear, Vampire: there is nothing to know about the two of you because there is nothing between the two of you!” In an instant, the distance between Kaya and Sano vanished. He loomed over her somewhat shorter structure; the proximity made Kaya very uncomfortable. Her breath splayed out against his face, moving the singularly thin tresses of hair that framed his face.

“Maybe if you didn't keep interrupting,” he began quietly but Kaya held her face up bravely against the irate male.

“Interrupting what? Your predator sessions?” she responded before raising a scolding index finger up to him. “Back off,” she added earning an onslaught of growling. Sano scoffed and took a step back obediently, only to run a hand through his bangs as if controlling the motion and forbidding his hand to fly at the Witch.

“You know, things were fine until you showed up,” he declared.

“Fine?” Kaya squawked. “Fine?! Who knows what you put that girl through before I got here! I'm the only kind of safety buffer Lyrial has when you're around.”

“Oh get off it,” Sano replied casually and crossed his arms over his chest; the muscles usually relaxed from disuse in the apartment flexed tensely under the pallid skin. “You're not some great crusader or maternal warrior. Lyrial is an adult. She doesn't need you to come gallivanting in on her behalf.” The common uncomfortable silence fell between the two once more. It engulfed the living room and thickened the air with a barrage of verbal assaults left on hold.

“Fuck you,” Kaya finally responded and pushed past Sano, heading to the bedroom that had become her own. She hated giving up on an argument but the creature was immovable. It was like arguing with a brick wall. No matter what kind of brilliant remark was cooked up, it was bounced off deaf ears and transformed into an equally stinging attack directed at its maker.

“How very thoughtful of you, but I have standards,” he responded satirically. Kaya groaned in aggravation, stopping in the threshold of her room. She snapped her head in the Vampire's direction, her eyes filled to the brim with the characteristic fury that spawned from the cruel military look that usually inhabited the azure pools.

“Akal!” She spat before slamming the door behind her. Sano flinched the sound and shook his head.

“Temperamental,” he muttered to himself and laughed. The laughter, however, faded faster than intended when a sudden heat developed in his head. His cheeks flushed to a living color as the fever spread quickly into his system. He wobbled and held his head, glaring at the closed bedroom door.

“Magick using bitch!” he hissed and hurried to the front door of the apartment. It was unbearably hot all of the sudden. It was like a fire had been ignited in his skull while the blistering vapors coursed through the rest of his body. The silver haired young man ran out of the apartment building, still clad only in the loose fitting cotton pajama pants, and into the snow. Sano dove head first into a large pile that had probably been accumulated by a street sweeper. The white collection hissed and steamed after he submerged in its cold clutches. He sighed in utter relief, rolling onto his back as the snow melted around him.

“Akal?” he repeated awkwardly. The pronunciation was foreign to his tongue; he was not incredibly familiar with the Witch language, the language of old Magick, but from the effects the spell had had on his body the definition become transparent. “Fire,” he said, mocking his own stupidity. The fury he had seen burning in Kaya's eyes had been embodied into Magick and directed back at him. Sano laughed quietly to himself in the snow, looking up at the dark clouded sky.

“If looks could kill,” he mused, crossing his arms behind his head but then hesitated. In Kaya's case, that adage was likely to be true.

 

Far from the bewildered and bemused scene in the snow, in a place that seemed to have been forgotten by time, the sound of heavy boot falls echoed through ancient stone catacombs. It was a place for reflection—on the pleasant and not; a place to remember the sins of the past and a place to forget the gruesome consequences. The footsteps stopped in front of a heavy oak door; it was splintered slightly around the edges and the heavy brass that made up the frame and hinges had darkened with time. The owner of the footsteps hesitates before opening the door. It groans in protest before it thuds uncomfortably against the stone wall.

Movement in the middle of the room distracts from sound of the primeval door. Chains rattled from the ceiling and the muffled sounds of fury echoed through the dark circular room. The figure bound by them swung lightly back and forth as he pulled against the bonds. Drool slivered from the corner of the bound, seeping from the deep embedded gag. His face jerked from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the blindfold over his eyes in vain.

“Comfortable?” the bound man strangled out sounds of contempt, shaking more vigorously in his chains. “Good,” the reply came as the boot wearing figure moved forward. He reached out and patted the bound man's cheek mockingly. The prisoner flinched at the sudden contact and lurched backwards, arching away from the touch. He swung helplessly a little from the ceiling and dirtied bare feet arched onto its toes to keep balance. In a moment of confusion, the prisoner blinked owlishly as the ragged blindfold fell off his eyes. The gag followed in similar fashion and the prisoner coughed and spit the excessive saliva that had been accumulating around the rough fabric between his teeth.

“You Hunters are as accommodating as ever, I see,” the prisoner replied, a few sweaty red bangs falling into his face.

“And you Witches are as complacent as ever,” the Hunter replied while delicately examining a table full of wicked looking objects. He fingered a thin handled whip fondly, following the coils of leather to the sharp iron tips at the end of the frayed straps.

“Well, I'd hate to disappoint,” the redhead replied before looking up at the ceiling at the chains that held his wrists. His fingers were turning purple from the tightness of the shackles and his shoulders felt as they were going to be pulled from their sockets. The muscles were stretched taut from the hold and they felt like worthless slabs of meat pulled over his stiff bones.

“I hope that good humor of yours lasts, Witch,” the Hunter mentioned as he picked up the whip from the table. “Now, what do you say to the two of us getting to know one another?” The bound young man groaned and licked his chapped lips nervously.

“May I ask what that entails?” The Hunter laughed modestly, moving behind the redhead.

“Let's just start with your name,” he replied before cracking the whip. The brunt of the force came down in between the young man's shoulder blades and he cried out sharply. His bound hands balled into fists and his body shook in the aftermath of the blow. The fierce metal tips of the whip straps ripped through the material of his shirt and cut the flesh beneath.

“A little more to the left,” he managed through gritted teeth. “I've got an awful itch I've been dying to scratch.” The Hunter tossed his head back in a lofty manner, his bangs swishing across his forehead.

“Let's try that again,” he said before brandishing the whip again. It came down with a crack against the redhead's shoulders. He bit his bottom lip, muffling the agonized scream that ripped in his throat. He panted quickly, breath seething between his teeth in short bursts as he tried to control the pain. A new pattern of cuts crossed with the wounds inflicted by the first attack. Blow after blow the captured endured, gritting his teeth and fighting back the sting of tears that welled up in the corners of his tightly clenched eyes.

“Stop! For God's sake, have mercy!” he screamed out, struggling against the chains furiously. He could feel the warm sticky leak of blood as it slithered down in twisted rivulets down his back. It stained the denim jeans he wore before pattering deafly against the stone floor in horrible red puddles. The Hunter lowered his raised hand, a hand prepared to inflict more pain upon the captive. He chuckled for a moment in disbelief, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

“You—a practitioner of the Dark Arts—dares to call upon our Lord's name?”

“Well it got your attention, didn't it?” the bound young man replied. His knees quaked, threatening to buckle and give out. The Hunter smiled quietly, moving to the table and setting the whip back down. The straps dangled over the side, their bloodied barbs swinging back and forth.

“Believe me, Witch, you have my utmost attention,” he said picking up a set of brass knuckles. Adorning each rest of the offensive bracer was a short spike the width of a common nail. He turned suddenly on the redhead and jabbed his fist quickly into his gut. The prisoner gasped suddenly, lurching forward against the impact. He groaned in the aftermath and slumped forward, his arms being pulled uncomfortably by the chains as he doubled over. The small punctures from the brass knuckles filled with blood before the little wells overflowed. The escaping life pressed against the remaining shreds of the young man's shirt, smearing his abdomen.

“Your name?” the Hunter beseeched, holding up the brass knuckles where his prisoner could see. Emerald eyes noted the device with wry curiosity. They admired the sharp pin-like fixtures on top of each knuckle curve, realizing that the glossy red finish decorating them was blood.

“Saint Francis of Assisi?” he mused before receiving another forceful punch to the ribs.

“Arthur Pendragon?” Another blow.

“Madonna?” Another blow. The prisoner's head hung down, his chin pressing down against the top of his sternum. He groaned and then coughed, spewing a thin spray of blood and saliva on the floor and the boots of his torturer. His knees finally gave out under the pressure and he hung awkwardly by his wrists.

“So eager to waggle your tongue, Witch,” the Hunter began, withdrawing the brass knuckles from his hand. He deposited them back on the table with a clang. “I wonder how well you would keep up if I were to separate you from it.”

“You think it's frustrating getting me to talk now? Try removing my tongue, Hunter, and we'll see how well you keep up,” he replied weakly, turning his green eyes up in a pitiful display of resistance. His throat ached and his voice was raspy from the cries of agony. The Hunter shrugged his shoulders, scanning the remaining items on the table. He picked up a long iron rod with a dulled point at the end. He moved to be behind the redhead and held the tip of the iron rod over a torch, turning it slowly.

“You really shouldn't be so stubborn, Witch,” the Hunter said, still revolving the iron rod over the flames. “This could be so painless—civil even—if you would only cooperate.” The captive laughed weakly, choking a little on the sound. As the tip of the iron rod begin to change from grey to orange, the man in chains swallowed uncomfortably. The Hunter retracted the rod from the fire and moved to stand behind his prisoner.

“No hope of compromise?” he asked weakly and turned his head to look up at the Hunter and the red-hot poker.

“Go on,” the Hunter suggested, holding rod close enough to the skin of his exposed back that he could feel the sizzling heat of the metal. The captive swallowed with difficultly again, a growing sign of his anxiety.

“Give me your name, and I'll give you mine.” There was silence and the heat of the iron felt closer than ever; he could almost hear the fine hairs on his back beginning to wilt and singe from the intensity. Sweat rolled down the side of his face and his fingers rubbed together in their binds, the sweat from his palms being more evenly dispersed as opposed to pooling in the centers of his hands and running down his forearms.

“Wh-What harm would that do, Hunter? Knowing the name of the man about to mar my flesh is my Right, isn't it?” the redhead pressed, biting his bottom lip and trying to lean as far forward as he could to escape the extreme heat that threatened to make unholy matrimony with his skin. He gasped suddenly at seeing the orange tip of the rod in the corner of his eye. The heat moved suddenly with it from his back to the side of his face. He froze, holding completely still, and watched in horror as strands of his hair curled up and began to burn from the proximity of the torture device.

“Christian,” the Hunter replied before bringing the rod downwards. The redhead screamed, his eyes widening exponentially. He thrashed from side to side as his oppressor held the heated tip against his collarbone. When Christian finally relented and pulled the poker away from the other young man's skin, the pristine white of the bone glowed in the dimly lit chamber. Blistered and scorched flesh trimmed the exposed bone while the untouched area around the damage became swollen and turned a vibrant pink. With no strength left in the aftermath, the Witch hung by his arms. His useless legs slumped in an awkward angle behind him; his knees almost reached the unforgiving coble stone that created the floor of the chamber. Stifled crying quavered through his frame and the bitter tears fell to mix with the blood on the floor.

“Your turn, Witch,” Christian mocked, pressing the heel of his boot between the redhead's shoulders. The victim cried out again as the action put extra force against his arms and he felt as if they would be pulled clear off.

“Al…”

“Louder!”

“Ale….”

“Louder, Witch!” Christian commanded, digging the heel of his boot into the back of the redhead's neck.

“Alex! Alex! My name is Alex!” he cried in haste. The weight of the boot disappeared as the echo of his words died away against the stone. The clamoring sound of the iron rod hitting the ground broke the sob laden silence and Alex flinched. Christian clapped his hands in a slow and mocking fashion, almost smiling as he did so.

“Bravo, Alex, bravo,” he said and meandered around to be in front of him. He leaned forward a bit to pat the other man on the cheek. “That wasn't so difficult, now was it?” Alex's face turned up towards Christian's and he licked his chapped lips, and after mustering what little moisture was left in his mouth, he spat. Christian closed his eyes, his brows raised in distaste.

“That was completely unnecessary,” he replied, standing up and wiping the spit from his face. “I believe our Magistrate will wish to have words with you, Alex. I trust you will be more cooperative with him.”

 

Kaya stood at the edge of the playground; it was more of a day care center than a school, she thought. The children were too young to be taught viable things like counting and reading and instead spent their time at the institution coloring, learning to share, and playing ball with one another on warmer days. Now their recess sessions involved making snowmen and having monitored snowball fights. The jungle gyms had small ice crystals dangling from them and were rarely in use during the winter, even by those brave toddlers armed with thick woolen mittens. The job of playground monitor was not something Kaya had been thrilled about, after learning that it entailed standing for half an hour or more in the snow and cold while small children frolicked around, oblivious to the temperature. However, being around so many children at once seemed to warm the usually military demeanor into an almost maternal one. It was exciting but also overwhelming to be in charge of so many at once.

“It's been nearly three days,” she said to herself while keeping an eye on two little girls who were content to build a large lump of snow and call it a castle. Kaya obliged them and complimented them on their handiwork, saying that the architectural benefit of having a dome with no windows or doors was a fantastic defensive strategy. The little girls had blinked owlishly at her before responding that they were not finished and that there would be a ramp for the Prince to come up and get the Princess who would sit on top of the castle and wait. Kaya laughed weakly, holding back her comments about tactical suicide in putting a member of the royal family on top of a castle and smiled as the girls continued their play.

“Three days and still not a word from Alex,” the blonde said to herself and looked across the snow covered playground. She rubbed her chin and exhaled slowly, the cloud of condensation forming from her lips before billowing away in the wind.

“That's not like him,” she added in a disgruntled tone. She had been meaning to ask him to tail Lyrial on her outings with her new gentleman friend but every time she had returned to the Slums Alex's corner had been bare. Time and time again the homeless man with his make-shift fire had prattled on about Lil Red and the men with lots of metal. On the third day, Kaya had given up on going to the Slums decidedly knowing that Alex would be absent. She would have to find another way of accessing the information network the redhead was so plugged into. With no news at all on his whereabouts, the Witch had begun to worry.

“Okay, everyone back inside!” She called and started to corral the toddlers off of the playground and back into the day care center. She followed behind the last of them, entering the building and shivering. The blonde was very relieved at the effective heating system inside the day care center. She supposed the people of the city wanted to know their children would be warm and safe during their working hours. She pulled her scarf out from around her neck and unbuttoned her coat as she herded the kids into different rooms depending on age group. With her duties done for the day, Kaya would usually make her way back to the apartment. However, today she hesitated. She went to the lavatory reserved for adults and moved to a sink. She splashed her face with tepid water then shook her head.

“Alex, where have you gone?” she asked, staring at her reflection in the cheap consignment store mirror that hung in the facility. Looking into the water flecked glass, Kaya frowned. An idea started to come to life, it started out as a forbidden notion but festered in her subconscious before it compelled her to move to the entrance of the lavatory and lock the door. She couldn't afford to have someone walk in on what she was about to do.

Mirror Magick as a whole was a dangerous art. It involved calling upon a world that was meant to be separate from the living plane at all times. It was a dangerous practice, one Kaya was superior in performing. She turned off the lights of the lavatory and moved back to the mirror she had been looking into. She clutched either side of the sink with both hands and looked into the eyes of her reflection. The azure clashed and she took in a deep breath to steady herself.

“Alex. Where are you? Give me Sight!” She clutched the sink more solidly and swallowed the nervous lump in her throat.

“Heydir!” The mirror became outlined in a bright red light and Kaya felt a tug deep in her belly. She held onto the sink tightly and felt as if she let go she would be sucked forward and straight into the mirror. Her reflection raised a finger to her lips, gesturing for silence. Kaya's arms began to quake at the strength needed to remain attached to the sink. The image of the mirror shifted and her face melted into Alex's. Blonde hair turned red and blue eyes darkened to green. The cheek bones became higher while the chin lost its feminine softness. The image of Alex coughed violently and blood spewed from his mouth, projecting through glass of the mirror and onto Kaya's face. She flinched but dared not let go of the sink to wipe it away.

Bruises appeared on the Mirror Alex's face, deep burns on his shoulders, and obviously broken bones.

“Where!? Where!?” Kaya demanded and the image turned heavy green eyes up towards hers.

“I don't know,” it replied before fading away. The red light surrounding the mirror began to flicker as Kaya's concern for her companion overshadowed her concentration.

“No! Don't go! Tell me where you are!” she cried and it felt as if the room began to shake. The doors of the toilet stalls started swaying with intensity before slamming open and closed in repetition. The lights that hung from the ceiling swung violently, nearly breaking free. The image of a clock tower faintly drifted into the mirror's surface before the red light finally died away and all went still. Kaya gasped for air and let go of the sink. She fell sideways to the floor and caught herself haphazardly. Looking up at the now cracked mirror, Kaya panted.

“A clock tower?” she asked uncertainly and looked around the dark lavatory. She crawled to the door and turned on the lights before sitting down, her back against the tiled wall. It had been a while since she had engaged in powerful Magick; Magick was a finicky thing—like an upset house cat, if it was ignored, when you called upon it, it was uncooperative and sometimes downright rude.

“Clock tower…..Bell tower,” Kaya whispered, beginning to piece the mirror's riddle together. “The Cathedral,” she said finally and banged the back of her head against the wall softly. The homeless man had tried to tell her about the abduction. Lil Red was no stray kitten as she had dismissed and it was certainly not Animal Control that had absconded with her companion.

“Hunters took him to the Cathedral. There must be a Magistrate here or in Juniper,” she concluded and balled her hands into fists. Hunters were notoriously cruel, especially to Witches; it made no sense really, since Witches had the closest resemblance to humans than other Supernatural races. Aside from the slight points to their ears, Witches were very much human in appearance. Her fury was overcome by sadness and she rested her head in her hands.

“Who am I kidding? I'm too out of practice to go alone. I wouldn't…be much of a challenge to an entire coven of Hunters by myself.” Thugs in the street where different; they were untrained men with little real fighting experience—they were brawlers. Hunters, on the other hand, were highly skilled assassins that specialized in killing her kind. She would need to be in top condition to go solo on a rescue mission and there was little time to get back on her game before Alex was too far gone to save.

As she wallowed in her dilemma, another forbidden notion wormed its way into her brain. She sat up and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her azure eyes were wide in disbelief at her own thoughts. Yes, alone it would be a suicide mission, but she wasn't alone—not entirely. There was another Supernatural being that had just as much against the Hunters of this city as she did. An unlikely rescue duo was about to emerge to stand against the most terrifying defense mankind had:

“Sano.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Metamorphosis: Genesis