Fallen

by James Somers

  I gave him my best sardonic glare. “Try me.”

  The room was mostly dark except for the lantern sitting upon the table next to us. The other boys were in the next room, apparently asleep for the night. Tom leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s a war going on, Brody,” he said.

  I began to run down the different conflicts I had heard about in my head. Tom cut me off.

  “Not a human war, but one among the Fallen,” he said.

  “You mentioned them before,” I replied. “Who are the Fallen?”

  “It’s difficult to explain, really,” he said. “Not-quite-humans would be a way to look at it. Fae, like me.”

  “You?”

  “And many others not like me,” he explained.

  “Like Sinister?” I pushed.

  “Perhaps,” Sinister said, coalescing from the shadows upon the wall behind Tom.

  I nearly leaped out of my skin at the sight of him suddenly standing in the room with us. His eyes had a feral glint, like a wolf closing upon his prey. The rest of him, dressed in his tattered, black clothing seemed to melt into the darkness.

  Tom had not turned around, but closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. He didn’t speak, waiting to be addressed, having been caught in some transgression only they two understood.

  “Cat got your tongue, Tom?” Mr. Sinister asked. “Why don’t you go on?”

  “I’m feeling a bit tired at the moment,” he said. “I should put Brody to bed. He’s had a busy afternoon.”

  Sinister’s eyes never left mine. “Indeed. Perhaps, Brody would like to explain how he managed to destroy the rag doll he saw on the street today.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I was trying to get away from it. That thing attacked me.”

  “Defensive posturing only, I’m sure,” Sinister said. “They aren’t made to attack people.”

  “What are they made for?” I enquired.

  Sinister paused before providing anything further. His eyes narrowed to slits. “The war dear Tom mentioned,” he said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Sinister brightened. “I didn’t expect that you would. Nevertheless, you have been granted the honor of meeting someone very important. Our benefactor, Mr. Black, has invited you to dinner at his estate tomorrow evening. Tom will attend with you.”

  Tom’s eyes darted to me anxiously. He didn’t like what we were being told, but he said nothing. Still, there was an unsaid warning in his eyes. I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Mr. Sinister grinned. “None at all.”

  Invitation

  My sleep, again, was fitful at best, though I cannot remember my dreams that night as I had others. Still, something didn’t feel right, as though some invader had spent the predawn hours probing my subconscious mind for information and then left without leaving any prints by which the intruder might be identified. I had no idea what the day would bring, let alone the evening with this Mr. Black. However, Tom and I did not venture out at all with the other boys residing under Mr. Sinister’s care.

  Sinister was nowhere to be found when I awoke that morning. Tom was sitting by the hearth, prodding a skillet full of sausages and bits of ham. He didn’t look up when I walked into the room to find everyone already gone.

  “Morning,” I said half-heartedly.

  Tom simply grunted. Clearly, he wasn’t pleased by the situation we were both in. I wasn’t sure if I should broach the subject of our evening just yet.

  “Is anyone else here?” I asked.

  Tom stopped prodding the sausages in order to remove the skillet with a thick rag. He tossed the pan onto the long table. “Sinister’s gone, if that’s what you want to know.”

  I let out the breath I had been holding. My relief was palpable. But that didn’t mean I was out of danger by any means.

  I walked over to the table and picked up two sausages from the pan. They were still good and hot, so I blew on them for a moment, trying not to burn my fingers. “Are we going out today?” I asked.

  “Confined to quarters,” Tom said. “Sinister don’t want us wandering off before our dinner date with Mr. Black. Boy, you really did me a favor didn’t ya?”

  “I didn’t mean to get you into trouble, Tom,” I said. “I don’t even know what happened yesterday.”

  Tom grunted again. “No control, asks all kinds of questions. Now we’re really in for it,” he complained.

  “What did happen?” I asked. “And who is Mr. Black?”

  “Well,” he said, seeming to settle in for a good explanation, “apparently, you not only have the Sight, but you have some measure of power as well.”

  “Power?”

  “Some call it magic, but that’s not quite accurate, strictly speaking,” he said. “We’re descended from the Fallen. They have great power, so we also have some of those same abilities. It varies, of course, depending upon your heritage and all. Pretty complicated really.”

  “The Fallen? You keep saying that, but what does it mean.”

  “Angels, mate,” he said darkly. “Now, do you see the mess we’re in?”

  A sense of foreboding was creeping up my spine, but I still shook my head.

  “We are descended from fallen angels, all of us Fae; though we’re known by different names to different people. Some of us are like Sinister who runs the Breed in London. Others are called by different names: elves, dwarves, goblins, werewolves and such. But all of us came from various fallen angels cohabitating with humans.”

  A touch of familiarity at that. “Do you have a Bible here? I’ve lost mine with all that’s happened.”

  “The Book? Are you kidding? Haven’t you figured out where you are yet?”

  I honestly had not quite figured out where I was yet.

  “Are you sure?” I begged.

  “Wait a minute,” Tom said, thoughtful. “Ratty Pete…I think he has one stashed somewhere under his bunk, maybe.”

  Tom dashed across the room to one of the bunks and tore away the hay sack mattress, revealing the flat board beneath. He lifted this as well, scrounging beneath it. He latched on to something blindly then brought it out where I could see.

  “A Bible!” I shouted.

  “Hush!” he hissed. “Do you want to bring Sinister back? I sure wouldn’t want him to find the Book in our dwelling. He’d have a fit for sure.”

  “Let me have it,” I demanded, snatching the tattered King James from his hands.

  I flipped, arriving at Genesis chapter six. “Oh,” I said.

  “What is it?” Tom asked, looking over my shoulder. “Who are the Sons of God?”

  “That must be who the Fallen are…angels that sinned against the Lord by taking human women for their wives to have children by them.”

  “Giants?” he noticed. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “There are real giants among your kind?” I asked.

  “They’re not my kind, but they do exist. They just don’t usually show themselves out in the mortal world. Too conspicuous.”

  “What kind are you?” I asked, noticing his ears again. “An elf maybe?”

  “Well, that’s where the myths come in, don’t they?” he said. “We usually go by Fae as a general term, or the People.”

  “Are there many of your kind?”

  “Not so many as mortals, of course, but many,” he confirmed. “Not that mortals would know it. We see to our secrecy well. Still, some mortals have the Sight and see us for what we are. But you’re a curious one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wonder who you came from,” he said.

  I considered the matter a moment, while Tom stared at me curiously.

  “Tell me about your parents, Brody,” he said, grinning.

  “Now, wait a minute,” I said. “My parents were as mortal as they come, Tom. There’s no way I could be descended from the Fallen.”

  He considered it, scrutinizing me. “Yeah, you’re right religious too…
that wouldn’t fit.”

  “Just because I’ve put my faith in God?” I asked. “Don’t any of you believe?”

  “Believe he exists? Of course,” Tom confirmed. “After all, I couldn’t be descended from the Fallen if it was all hogwash, now could I? But that ain’t the same thing is it?”

  “No,” I replied. “My faith is a trust, not simply knowledge of God’s existence. The Bible states that even the devils believe that God exists. I suppose they would have that knowledge even more than men.”

  Tom folded his arms. “See?” he said. “And there ain’t none of them that have been offered any saving. So why should I be any different coming from them?”

  “But doesn’t it concern you?” I asked.

  “That’s why there’s a war going on, mate,” Tom said. “And you’ve managed to stumble right into the middle of it.”

  Tom and I spent the rest of the afternoon without speaking much to each other. He seemed more than a little bitter about the reproach his people had been shown due to their heritage. He was without hope. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like.

  Descended from fallen angels. What a terrible situation to be born to. I felt very bad for Tom. But then he was so resigned to his fate and angry too. The suggestion that I might also be related to the Fallen, because of my ability to see him as he was, had shocked me completely. Sure, I had managed to destroy that sickening doll creature, but it was purely accidental. For all I knew, the thing had simply malfunctioned in some way; gone haywire and exploded. I didn’t know, or want to know.

  If there was one thing I was sure of, it was the fact that my parents were completely normal. My mother had died when I was very young. Some kind of unknown disease had caused her to waste away before my father’s eyes over the course of my first year. He had described it to me only once, when I was ten-years-old. The details were chilling.

  My father was a pastor and had been since before I was born. He had never described any strange creatures, like the ones I was witnessing recently, nor had he shown any sort of magical abilities at all. At least that’s how I would have described these things that Tom could do. I had no other word for it at the time. No matter what suspicions Tom might have had about my heritage being similar to his, he had to be wrong.

  By the time the other boys arrived back in Sinister’s tenement lair, I was left in the wash room by myself sulking while Tom handled business in the outer room with the others. I sat upon a bench that lined up against the far wall, waiting for the inevitable dinner date with one Mr. Black. I still had no idea how he fit into all of this, but if he was Sinister’s benefactor then he was calling the shots.

  Within an hour of the boys arriving, I felt a chill creeping up my spine. The room seemed somehow not quite right. I realized this was the same feeling I had experienced when first meeting Mr. Sinister. Sure enough, he came around the corner through the doorway a moment later.

  “It’s time, Brody,” Mr. Sinister said, his voice as icy as ever.

  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.