Horrible recollections burst through his mind like landmines. Death. Destruction. Lots of blood. His family was dead.
A dry sob escaped past his lips, but he was too terrified to form real tears.
Oh crap! Maybe someone found him and counted him dead so they stuffed him in some catacombs somewhere. Random basilicas littered the Czech countryside. It was possible.
But no. That didn’t make sense. Only monks and priests were buried in catacombs. He frowned, holding his throbbing head.
He closed his eyes, burying his face in his palms. So, where was he?
He forced his eyes open when the muddy visions of his family flashed again. His mother and father. How their faces looked. His little sister trembling in the shadows of something evil and considerably more massive than she was—a pool of darkness that swallowed her instantly. He remembered reaching for her, crying out, before enduring his own overwhelming pain. Had it all been a dream?
He struggled to remember what happened beyond all that—how he’d gotten here. Everything dissolved to black after the struggle and all he could recall was feeling cold. Deathly cold. Unending. He did not dream—not even of his family. There had been nothing until now, and he wondered how much time he’d lost. Everything before this moment seemed so hazy and was gradually fading further, sinking in a dark ocean of distant memory. He recalled icy water, or what felt like it, pouring down over his body, extinguishing the flames. Inhaling. And then this. Awakening.
What was he to do now that his entire family was gone? Ghostly sounds of his sister’s musical laughter reverberated in his memory and he buried his fists in his eyes to keep from bawling. He needed to focus now in order to escape from whomever had done this. He had the feeling, whoever they were, they weren’t far away now.
Nikolai jumped as something moved in the farthest corner of the room then. He hadn’t noticed it before, for it was still and elusive enough that somehow, as if by magic, it seemed to blend in with the shadows themselves.
“Wh-who’s there?” Nikolai meant for the question to come out a bit more threatening, but he couldn’t fight the break in his voice. It came with a new layer of tears he swiped away with the back of his hand. Crying burnt what little pride he had left.
“Evening,” the voice said simply. The tone was young. Masculine. Airing on arrogant. And there was an accent. He sounded…Irish?
“Who are you?” Nikolai wanted to stand, but was afraid his legs might give up on him.
He continued to focus on the figure coming into better view, his copper hair catching the muted light from the torches. And then Nikolai gasped, realizing it was the shadow who rescued him from the murderer.
Nikolai was captured by his fluid movements—the way he walked—it sent a shiver up his spine.
The man was tall and well-built. His shoulders were broad under his linen shirt, a strange coat of arms stitched in gold over one breast. He seemed something out of an older time. His shoes were polished, made of rich, shiny leather. His brilliant russet hair feathered over his shoulders, like a prince out of one of Mila’s fairy tale books. Nikolai squinted to see the smaller details. The man’s eyes were a summer green. He, at first glance, appeared normal, but Nikolai noticed then the points of his ears. A voice in the back of his mind spoke to him, telling him from where he recognized this man: the strange newspaper.
Impossible.
“Improbable,” the man purred his answer to Nikolai’s thought and began walking at a leisurely gait toward Nikolai in the center of the crypt room. “Nothing is impossible.”
The magic had finally come to claim him. Nikolai swallowed. This was it. His whole life led to this moment, though he couldn’t tell now if his destiny was to live or die.
“So, how was it?” The man’s tone remained casual. He stopped a few paces from the stone slab and shoved his fingers into his pockets, his thumbs sticking out. He narrowed his eyes, awaiting an answer.
Nikolai grimaced at him. Could he possibly be referring to his family’s death? So, it wasn’t a dream?
“How was what?” he challenged. If this weirdo wanted a fight, he…probably wasn’t going to give him one. In all honesty, Nikolai was scared as hell.
The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled, his lips twitching in amusement. “Your nap, of course.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve not slept soundly in months.”
What did that mean?
“That means,” he answered the thought again, wagging his finger. “I envy you.”
“Who are you?”
“An ally. I’m here to help you, Nikolai Marek of Moravia,” he admitted before swiftly moving to the mirror and rotating it toward Nikolai, his fingers digging deep trails into the layers of dirt as he did. The glass underneath was revealed.
Nikolai gasped at his own appearance, finally jumping to his feet from the stone bed. He did not believe the person looking back at him—didn’t recognize the boy at all. He moved his left hand just to be sure he really was staring at his own reflection.
His hair was the same, chopped brown and boring around his face. His face, though. It was similar to what he used to know of himself, though exponentially…better looking? (And he felt kind of lame for even thinking that.) He couldn’t break his focus from his own eyes….
Sure, they used to be blue. But never this blue. It almost seemed like they were lit from the inside—like they were glowing. He blinked a few times to be sure their magnificence wouldn’t disappear. His nose was straighter. His lips were fuller. His jaw was squarer. But his summer tan. He’d worked so hard to achieve it these past few days by the lake. What the hell happened to that? It had definitely vanished, leaving the palest complexion he’d ever seen on himself. Onion skin. Translucent. Iridescent. He almost looked…dead.
Nikolai immediately turned to the other man in the room who was chuckling darkly, though the sound was nothing more than snake’s hiss.
“What did you do to me? What did you do to my family?”
He shook, unable to control the tears pouring shamelessly down his face. He wiped at the stuff dripping from his nose, still unable to pull the image of his sister from his mind.
The auburn-haired man stopped laughing and straightened himself, his feet shoulder-width apart. His presence was powerful enough to knock over a building. He took a few steps toward Nikolai again. “We saved you.”
We?
“We made you better. Stronger.” There was another crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “And considerably better looking.”
Nikolai peered at his own reflection again and decided he had been right about that, at least. His body appeared stronger, more toned. His shoulders were broader. But all of that wasn’t important. “What happened to my sister? My parents?”
The man leaned his back against one of the stone pillars, flipping something over his fingers. It wasn’t a coin. What was it? “Long gone, darling boy. Killed tragically. Murdered.”
“Who did it?” Something in the back of Nikolai’s mind told him the answer. The memory was more hazy and distant by the second, but it was still there, curled around his brain, throbbing and persistent against his frontal lobe. He could still hear the screams—relive the pain at the side of his throat. So much blood.
The man stepped closer to him still, until he was only inches away from his face. He could feel the chill off his breath. “You know who did it, Nikolai. You remember….”
“You?” Nikolai sniffed. The man’s face became a blur behind more salty tears.
“No.” He shook his head. “No. I told you. I am your friend. I saved you from destruction. Because you are very important. Focus. Look to the mirror.”
Before Nikolai could gather another thought, he turned back to the mirror and the room completely disappeared beneath him, almost swallowed up by the reflection. It was impossible for him to fathom what was happening. Only a few weeks ago he was an average (sort of) college student. Now, he didn’t know what he
was at all.
Colors and shapes swirled around him, though his feet still felt secured to the ground. His stomach sloshed and he gasped upon seeing where the vision took him. How was this happening?
Suddenly, he was standing back in his own home, the familiar floorboards creaking under his weight as he walked down the darkened hallway. He listened for life, but the house was silent. Maybe he was having a delusion—hallucinating. Maybe he ate a bad mushroom that took him on a crazy trip, and now he was safely back in his own house at night. The thought instantly made him feel better.
Yes. That’s right. It was only some serious nightmare.
It was over now. The shadow man, the marble hall, his reflection—it had all just been his wild imagination. He would go to his bedroom and his sister would be sleeping, curled up with her stuffed rabbit. He breathed a sigh of relief.
But then the front door burst open behind him, the thing wailing against its hinges as it smashed violently into the wall.
Nikolai shielded his face from the harsh winter wind blasting inward.
“Who’s there?”
Nikolai heard his father’s voice as it bellowed from within his parents’ bedroom. Their light flickered on, which illuminated the tiny crack between their closed entryway and the floor. Her heard his father’s heavy footsteps as he raced, probably to fetch a weapon.
Oh no.
Nikolai looked to see a baleful figure standing there, blocking the only exit from the house. He squinted at the large man as he moved into the light, noticing the details that made this monster so very terrifying. Both of its claws dug deep into the wooden doorframe until it splintered as he stood there, breathing fervently, snow flurrying in from between his feet and around his legs.
“Get out!” Nikolai cried to the figure, but got no response. The man’s brilliant pale eyes didn’t even flash in his direction. “I’m warning you! I’ll call the police!” Was he dreaming again?
His father appeared in the hallway, clutching a fire poker tightly in his right hand. “I’ll call the police,” his voice echoed. “Show yourself!” Just like the first time.
“Dad, don’t!” Nikolai cried, but his father didn’t notice him, either.
The figure lunged from the door, whipping right through Nikolai, as if he were nothing but air. He pressed his hands to his own, solid chest. How was this happening?
He cried out, reaching for his father until he was ripped away, flying again through time and space, until he landed in Prague.
Prague?
Why was he suddenly in Prague? He started to hyperventilate, his hardworking pulse suffocating him as it clawed into this throat. He glanced down at his own hands to ensure they were not claws like the monster from his house.
Sounds of horse hooves clacked behind him over cobblestones. A violent whinny darted chills up his spine and he whirled around to find himself standing in Old Town. Except…this Old Town was really really old….
He gaped at the Victorian buggies and the storefronts that all seemed familiar in design, though totally different as turn-of-the-century hats and suits filled their polished windows. People around the square were dressed in garb from the eighteen hundreds, each face pale and unfamiliar as though Nikolai were viewing a vintage film.
“What the actual fuck,” he breathed.
None of that, scolded the man’s Irish voice in his mind.
“What is this?”
Merely a vision. The mirror is steeped in dark magic. It has the ability to push through your mind—using your own abilities to show you things. I suggest you breathe. If you calm down, you might actually learn something about yourself….
Nikolai hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled arduously through his nose, his gaze flitting about the strange, however familiar, square.
Look! Look! There he is! Follow him!
Nikolai saw a different man—one with long brown hair. He was tall. Well-built. He wore a three-piece suit and a fine top hat. But there was something else about him. He moved differently than the people around him—more graceful—more fluid. Nikolai watched him snake up the steps to an apartment building entry.
Oh, you are far too slow, jeered the Irishman in a snake-like hiss.
Again, the vision of the world around Nikolai fell away, dark hues of grays and browns bending until he found himself lurking in the corner of a modest flat. In the first moment, there was nothing but eerie silence, until….
“MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!” There was a horrible wailing coming from the other room. A woman. She was shrieking in pain. “I CAN’T DO THIS!”
“Easy, Marta, I’m here,” cooed a voice Nikolai never heard before. It was of a velvet tongue. Deep. Serene. Masculine.
His pulse was still frantic in his chest as he clung to the corner. “Are you sure they can’t see me?” Nikolai whispered.
This is the past, Nikolai. You’re not there at all. This is something I want you to see—things you should know.
Focusing harder on his breathing, Nikolai screwed his eyes shut, willing his rattling heart to ease before he peeled away from the wall and crept into the adjacent room.
It was a bedroom, dingy and small. The only illumination was from one gas lamp on the bedside table.
A woman writhed and panted wildly on the bed, her legs spread, her nightdress upped around her hips. Nikolai winced and moved around to the far corner closer to her head. He knew he wasn’t really there, but this still felt intrusive and weird. His whole face heated.
The man from the street was hunched over near her shoulders. He was holding her hand, hushing her, running lengthy claws through her hair. Claws. He was one of them—one of those who killed Nikolai’s family.
“No! He’ll hurt her!” he called to the Irishman.
Watch.
“V-Valek…” she whimpered. “I can’t do this. Please.” If her face hadn’t been a sickly shade of green and twisted in pain, she would have been beautiful. Her features were delicate. She was thin, save for the melon-sized lump at her stomach.
“She’s…is she….” Nikolai’s stomach rolled.
Yes! Hush up and watch!
“I am here now, Marta. I’m so sorry. You can do this.”
“YOU LEFT ME!” she howled.
“I never wanted you to see me this way.”
But she was in no way coherent enough to realize what he meant. A million questions deafened Nikolai’s mind, killing his focus.
“Your hands…they are so cold. Why are you so cold?” she groaned.
“Please, my love. Concentrate. You have to concentrate and breathe.”
She winced hard, her back arching, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes as she screamed almost loud enough to shatter glass.
The man she called Valek cradled her upper half against him, wiping damp hair off her face. He kissed the top of her head.
“You will be all right. I promise you. Everything is going to be all right, now.” He sounded beside himself, his face veiled in gloom, his eyes distant. Because it wasn’t the truth. He knew it wasn’t.
From under her, Nikolai could see an enormous pool of blood steeping the sheets in brilliant crimson until the only other scent in the room, aside from the damp air, was thick iron and rust.
Nikolai wretched with his hand pressed to his mouth, his other arm curling around his ribcage. “She’s going to die,” he whimpered, tears gathering in his eyes.
She bayed again, validating what he said.
“It will be all right, darling. Stay calm,” Valek eased again.
Nikolai looked on in horror as the man lifted his own pearly wrist to his mouth and bit down hard. More scarlet drops gathered around his lips. His eyelids slid closed, as though he were aroused by the very taste. And then, as Nikolai’s stomach leapt up into his esophagus, the man pressed his wrist wound to the woman’s mouth.
“Drink. As much as you can,” he panted.
“Please! Stop!” Nikolai begged, turning his face away fr
om the grisly sight, pressing his nose into the corner where the two walls met. “Get me out of here.”
He couldn’t take it. As he wiped the tears away, what he found was even more horrifying. Trails of blood were left, streaked across his hands. Panicking, he clawed at his cheeks again, only to find more blood. These were no normal tears left on his sleeve. Nikolai rushed to the small mirror on the wall in the hallway to gaze at his reflection again, but this time no one was looking back at him. Screaming, he put his hand to the glass in an effort to return back to the dismal gray room where he’d original woken up.
What is happening to me?
This is your beginning, Nikolai. The man’s strange voice echoed in his head. This is where you started.
“I am dreaming!” he called out. “This can’t happen! I’m dreaming!” No matter how hard he tried, he could not wake up. He pounded on the glass desperately. “I want to wake up! NOW!”
Nikolai heard the muffled scream of the woman, followed by a horrifying tearing sound. Cracking. Bones crunching. And then there was the wail of a small child. An infant. And then…silence.
Nikolai closed his eyes and screamed, unable to watch or hear any more. He fell to his knees, his face buried in his arm, as he continued to holler, more blood tears soaking his sleeve. A gentle touch on his shoulder jerked him to open his eyes, and he found he was in the crypt room yet again. He looked down at his sleeve to find no bloodstains there—just the wetness of normal tears.
He struggled to catch his breath after weeping so hard, his fingers balling into the material of his t-shirt over his chest, trembling.
Desperate, he got to his feet, grasping at the Irishman’s shoulders. “Where am I?” he roared, seeing red. “What did he do to her? What am I now?” The questions poured from him as he continued to bawl.
Of Blood and Magic Page 20
