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Chapter two excerpt: Fight Scene

Jason’s incessant mind recognized an oddity on a day that otherwise molded itself perfectly to his mundane routine. A shadow of a girl was crossing the street in front of him, dark strands of hair escaping from underneath her bulky scarf. Her movements were strikingly decisive, footsteps planted firmly on the ground and eyes absorbing the details around her as if everything she’d seen was immediately committed to memory.

He observed the girl in his periphery, his breath clouding in the cold air.  It was late, and traffic had grown sparse, the only sounds coming from the flickering streetlights and the occasional late-night pedestrian tepidly tiptoeing around thick sheets of ice. Although it was a relatively safe area, whispers of crime remained as if trouble had been woven in the fabric of Chicago itself. By the strong set of her shoulders and steely disposition, Jason guessed she would be all right. But just as he was about to turn back into the building and she was about to tucker into a corner coffee shop, she took a sharp turn, approaching a dark alleyway instead. His mind scrambled to form an explanation that would justify this decidedly illogical decision, but he came up with none. It was one thing to walk in a large city alone at night and entirely another to waltz down an abandoned alley as if it were of little consequence. Before he could fully process what he was doing, his legs were moving in the direction the girl had walked in. 

Thanks to the barren streets, it took no longer than a minute to track her path, and Jason found himself partly hidden behind a decaying wall of brick. Hearing voices, he shrugged back into the shadows in order to properly assess the scene. Two large men, one armed with what looked like a pocket knife, cornered the girl, who, upon closer speculation, appeared close to his age. The one with the weapon leaned forward, his knife glinting against the flickering light. That was enough cause for Jason to spring into action, but something he saw made him hesitate. Something about the picture didn’t look quite right.

The girl’s shoulders were shaking, but not because she was crying. In fact, it appeared she was laughing at the expense of the other two. Her laughter grew louder and louder until the alley was flooded with nothing but it. Either this girl had a death wish, or she’d simply lost her mind.

The men seemed to concur with his silent analysis. The unarmed one stepped forward, rolling the toothpick in his teeth uncomfortably as the other chuckled darkly.

“You messed up in the head, little lady?”

By then, she’d reigned in her laughter. Her green eyes were bright with amusement and something else as well. There was a sharpness in her gaze and a cool anger in the way she regarded the men. She slowly looked them up and down, as if appraising their value, only to shake her head in dramatized disappointment, as if they disappointed her. Jason resisted the strange urge to laugh at the extremely bizarre ordeal he’d somehow become witness to.

“Hmm,” she sighed sadly, shaking her head once again. A dangerous smile flashed across her face as her eyes suddenly darkened. 

With that, she raised her palms towards the sky, where lightning suddenly appeared. A semi-circle formed around the men, effectively trapping them in a ring of heavy rain. The rain came down harder and harder until all Jason could see were minuscule needles of water springing towards them at a frightening velocity.  Hardly a few seconds had passed before the men fell to the ground. Whether the men the girl attacked were unconscious or dead, Jason wasn’t sure of. One thing he did know was that he didn’t want to stay and find out. 

As Jason leaned back into the shadows to formulate a plan to leave without the girl noticing his presence, he attempted to reign in his dizzying thoughts. Madness seemed plausible at this point. A series of hallucinations, perhaps? Maybe Carl Denning had found a way to drug his drink. It wouldn’t be the first time the old man tried to take him down...though murder seemed a bit extreme, even for a man as despicable as he. 

Jason would never pinpoint whether the next ten seconds had been a blessing or a curse, but his hysterical train of thought had been abruptly broken up by the man standing in front of him, regarding him as if he was a walking ATM. 

“Well,” the man said, smoke from his cigarette curling in the air as he smiled at Jason, exposing a set of grimy brown teeth. “What do we have here?”

“If you actually have an answer to that question, I’m all ears,” he muttered, his eyes gravitating towards the girl despite his own precarious situation. She was hunched over her victims, whispering something under her breath. But he had hardly gazed for a second before the man in front of him pressed his shoulder and swung a fist. Instinct pulled him to the present situation, and Jason found himself ducking, narrowly avoiding the hit. The self-defense courses his mother had forced him to enroll in as a child suddenly emerged from the back of his mind, and he found himself dodging one, two, three hits. A whoosh passed his face as he dodged another attack a mere second before the man’s fist made contact with his face. The speed of the man’s movements was impressive, especially given his towering, bulky frame, but Jason somehow managed to evade each attack, falling into a mellow rhythm after the first few hits. A direction would flash in his mind, replaced by the next in mere seconds, well before he could even process what his limbs were doing. 

Left. Down. Up. Down. Right. Left again. 

Finally, the man took an exhausted pause, giving Jason the time he needed to push him backward before leaning slightly to the left. His attacker tripped over Jason’s outstretched leg, grunting as he hit the ground gracelessly. 

Jason saw the moment the man’s eyes found the girl hunched in the corner of the alley, a new light illuminating his black pupils. Without a second thought, he picked the attacker up by his shirt and shoved him against the wall. The girl could probably take him down in a heartbeat, but she appeared to be preoccupied at the moment, and he was in no mood to take any risks. 

He slammed the man against the wall, uncaring of his pained moan. “Listen to me carefully,” he said under his breath. “You are going to walk away from here right now and never come back. If I ever find you harassing someone on these streets, a bad fall and possible concussion will be the least of your concerns. Got it?”

His voice was cold and harsh as the winds that tugged at his coat, but he didn’t care. Something inside him told him that as long as the man left this girl alone, everything would all be all right. It was odd to feel this protective over a stranger, but Jason swiftly allowed himself to believe he would be equally offended if it was any random person. 

The man nodded his acquiescence, coughing when Jason finally released him. But just as Jason turned to find the girl, he caught the glint of a long knife glaring under the light and found himself pushed against the same wall the man had been pressed against a mere second earlier. 

“How the tables have turned,” the old man snarled, the knife in his hand twitching as his fingers curled around the blade eagerly. “What was it you were saying about a bad fall, boy?”

What an abysmal way to die, he thought dryly. Perhaps he really had gone mad because, despite his obviously catastrophic situation, Jason found a smile tugging at his lips at the sheer madness of it all. 

A flash of confusion shadowed the man’s face, and Jason took the opportunity to promptly jam his knee into the attacker’s stomach. Unfortunately, the man was prepared this time, using the knife to slash at Jason’s chest. By some miracle, he managed to catch the man’s wrist in time, and both watched as he struggled to keep the blade from meeting his flesh. 

Summoning every last bit of his strength, Jason maneuvered the knife so that it was pointed toward the man’s leg and forced his hand downward. The man released a loud howl, and Jason released him, blood staining his fingertips where he’d dug the knife into the man’s leg. At least, it was supposed to be his leg. 

But instead of his leg, blood appeared to be seeping through the fabric that covered the man’s abdomen. A troubled breath escaped Jason as he watched the man collapse on the ground, a pained mewl escaping his lips.

“No,” Jason breathed, falling to his knees. He could feel the man’s life slowly ebbing away, his breaths elongating, chest falling in a slower rhythm. 

A pool of crimson surrounded the man, a final wheeze escaping him before he finally stilled. Even as adrenaline coursed through Jason, lighting every nerve in his body with a foreign euphoria, a bitter pain, the kind that would not be soothed by mere words, settled deep within him.

 It was a mistake, he begged his conscience as it dared him to argue against the damning evidence before him. He would have killed the girl. 

But even as he bartered desperately, the knowledge that there would be no redemption, that he had doomed himself to the burden of silently shouldering this crime, withered a part of him he hadn’t known existed. From that moment forward, Jason knew he would be battling his conscience every moment of every day, proclaiming his innocence and affirming his guilt in an unforgiving rhythm of self-reproach. 

Vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized his trembling hands were still gripping the blood-sheathed dagger. He dropped it, and the sharp sound it made when it touched the ground made Jason shudder. The police would be here soon. He needed to leave now. 

Jason stumbled to his feet, the world around him reduced to a haze of blurry lines and indistinct shapes. 

Murderer. I’m a murderer now. 

He was gripping the grimy wall with one hand, edging out of the alley in slow, unsteady steps, when a swath of darkness suddenly surrounded him. A brief rush of relief flooded Jason. Perhaps this really was a nightmare. But deep down, he knew it was just a sordid attempt to rid himself of the guilt he shouldered, the blood on his hands. The shadows formed a wreath of tar black smoke, disintegrating before him before morphing into the shape of a person. Hysterical laughter sat at the base of Jason’s throat, but he swallowed it as the darkness formed sharper lines, giving him the impression of a man’s lanky frame. In mere seconds, the man’s frame turned into physical matter, and a middle-aged man with unsettling black eyes and a tenuous smile stood before him, appraising him feverously. 

“Hello, Jason,” he said. His voice sounded muddled as if it too was made of murky shadows and smoke. In an unexpected move, he bowed his head in reverence before quickly resuming his former position. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

Jason shook his head, trying to evade the man, but he simply pushed his hands forward, gently urging Jason to remain in place. 

“I’m here to help, Jason,” he sighed as he craned his neck to examine the body behind him. Much to Jason’s horror, the man appeared pleased with the criminal’s death. With little preamble, the man narrowed his eyes and raised a single hand. In a heartbeat, shadows wove through the air and surrounded the man, lifting him in the air as if he weighed nothing. Jason inhaled sharply, watching as the corpse disintegrated into nothing. 

“There,” the man said, looking pleased with himself as he turned back to Jason. “Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully. You killed this man out of self-defense. If someone attacks you, it’s natural to fight back. Therefore, you should not feel even a slither of guilt in this...situation.” Even in his clouded state, Jason recognized that the man was trying to persuade him of his innocence. But why? 

Jason narrowed his eyes at the man. “What do you want?”

“I only want to help you,” he replied soothingly. “None of this is your fault, Mr. Winstrom. I can teach you how to control your powers, guide you so that you use your abilities for good. That rush of power you experienced upon killing that wretched criminal? It fuels you.” He paused his impassioned speech, eyeing Jason with an odd look in his eyes. “You are the most powerful of us all. And just like your forebearers, you will save us all.”

As Jason pondered whether to punch the insane man in the face or kick him in the ribs, the sound of a passing group echoed from behind the alleyway. For the first time that evening, the man appeared alarmed, and he quickly grasped Jason’s hands in his own. 

“I will return, Mr. Winstorm,” he said. “And when I do, we’ll take our revenge. Together.” 

He muttered something in a foreign language, in a speech that sounded distinctly like Latin. Having learned basic Latin as a child, Jason quickly drowned out the sounds of the streets and concentrated on the man’s words. 

Umbra vivit, the man whispered in reverence before he backed into a wall and phased through it in a fogged haze. 

After the mayhem of the night, Jason allowed his mind to cling to the words, searching his memory for a translation that would leave him satisfied. But upon figuring it out, he was only left more unsettled. 

Umbra vivit, he repeated in his mind grimly. The shadow lives on.

Chapter three excerpt: Masquerade Ball

Ominous. Magnetic. Dangerous. Few words came to mind as white snow descended from the thick night sky, illuminating the sharp arches of the gothic castle. Students of Chicago’s most prized preparatory academy layered the marble entrance, glimmering under the night sky like the castle itself. Girls donned plump jewels across their necks and wrists, restlessly tugging at their skirts as boys passed, feigning oblivion with every confident stride. Every curious glance sent Arabella’s way reminded her that she probably should have felt anxious or intimidated, but the sheer madness of it all upturned the edges of her fuchsia-stained lips. Her mask had officially morphed from dress-code adherence into a somber metaphor.

After gazing at her new reality for a few more moments, she tugged at her silk skirts, reluctantly pushing through the grand doors of the masquerade party. Middle-aged men and women whispered as Arabella passed, their weathered faces painted with a mix of disdain and curiosity. As if she were the oddity here, in a castle filled with teeming socialites who apparently found pleasure in wearing gowns and gossiping about new arrivals. Really, only Malvern Prep could turn an academic orientation into a ball for the privileged. All this was a far cry from the rusting lockers and surfboard smiles of her old school. A part of her missed California, if only for the feeling of familiarity. Proximity to the sun and the seas was a given there and an impossibility here.

Circling past hallways for what felt like an eternity, Arabella finally found the ballroom and edged inside. The yellow lights glowed dimly, softly illuminating glittered masks and crystal flutes of champagne. With practiced indifference, waiters wove in and out of the room in a silent rhythm. Polished laughter and whispers of the new girl admitted to Malvern collided midair in a bittersweet cacophony. Her head dipped at the sound of her name being spoken from a stranger’s lips. Even the delicate sounds of orchestral music couldn’t soothe Arabella’s mounting unease, which only escalated as she felt someone hover beside her.

“Not a fan of Dvorak?”

“I like Dvorak.”

“The company, then?”

“Impressive skills of deduction.”

At the sound of warm laughter just soft enough to suit the stifling decorum of the orientation ball, Arabella finally angled her head to the side. She was only a little surprised to see yet another unfairly good-looking boy smiling back at her, ash grey eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I’m Noah,” he said. “You must be the new girl.”

Although he spoke unassumingly, his tone oozed the kind of confidence that could only be cultivated over years of practice. His dark suit was immaculate, polished shoes shining effortlessly under the light. The mask he wore did little to hide the subtle arches of his nose, lips, and jaw, mahogany hair mussed in precise dishevelment. These Chicago boys seemed to represent a seamless brand of perfection that could be sought but never achieved. 

“Arabella,” she tested a smile just as a trio of teenage girls rushed past them, giggling under their breath. “Though it seems like common knowledge at this point. The way people are staring at me, I may as well have come dressed in neon flannel.”

“While that would have been a sight to see,” Noah chuckled. “You needn’t invest quite that much effort. Malvern Prep has a waitlist that runs for miles, yet they accepted a new student out of the blue. You’ve been the talk of the summer.” He cocked his head to the side. “Even I admit, I’m curious. What makes you so special?”

“I’m not special,” Arabella replied in earnest. At least, she hadn’t thought she was until her school counselor called her in one day to discuss summer plans. Instead of swimming on sandy beaches and working up a tan, she was forced to fill out a dreadfully long application to an extremely selective prep school located in the heart of the Midwest. As soon as the sent papers had been sent in, Arabella had thought the entire ordeal was over. But with Emilia’s sudden death, all of that seemed so long ago and so very inconsequential. Her acceptance hadn’t been a part of the plan, but her mother was considering the move to Chicago anyway; this acceptance had given her the final push she needed to be convinced.

Noah hummed, but his handsome face was colored in shades of doubt. A sudden realization struck her as she examined him; for the first time that entire evening, she felt completely at ease. Arabella wasn’t sure whether to lean into the feeling or heed it as a warning.

So instead of satisfying his curiosities, she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Are students at Malvern always this dull? Or is tonight just an impressive attempt to reach uncharted levels of boredom?”

“More the former than the latter,” he admitted, his former curiosity all but forgotten. “There are exceptions, me being one of them, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed his teasing tone. As their conversation transgressed, more people stopped dancing, instead turning casually to one another as if in deep conversation. As if they were incapable of seeing their heads turn towards the two every few seconds. Or perhaps just uncaring of the fact that Arabella and Noah could.

“You’ll be a refreshing change. We haven’t had a new kid in seven years. The last one who joined Malvern is now one of my closest friends, so I have high hopes for you.”

“Well, I do like having connections.” Despite the obvious stares and whispers flooding the room, a wry smile emerged on Arabella’s face. “And who better connected than the son of a senator.”

To his credit, Noah recovered quickly, his mouth opening, closing, then forming a small smile as he scanned her face once again.

“How did you know?”

“Oh, come now, Noah. You didn’t think the privileged were the only ones capable of doing a bit of research, did you?”

Laughing loudly, Noah grasped her fingers and spun her into the circle of dancers before she could utter another word. Now they stood closer to the center of the room. She turned to find him right behind her, sporting a wide grin as the music eclipsed to an end. Some of the couples who’d been dancing swept off towards the tables lined with decadent desserts, while others continued to sway to an invisible beat.

“I think we’re going to be great friends, you and I,” he said, offering Arabella his hand as the string quartet recommenced. But instead of pulling her into the waltz that was starting, Noah dropped her hand the second her fingers touched his. He stared across the room in a daze, grey eyes wide with shock.

“What is it? Is everything alright?” Arabella asked, growing more alarmed with every second that he stood frozen. As she searched the room for the possible cause of his strange reaction, she glimpsed a shock of black hair and emerald silk. Everything suddenly slid into place.

“Noah? Please don’t tell me a girl has somehow managed to make a bumbling mess out of the funny, charming, and handsome guy I was just about to dance with.”

Surprise evaporating in mere seconds, a boyish grin instantly slid onto Noah’s face. “You think I’m handsome?”

“Noah!” Arabella slapped his arm lightly, unsure if she was more amused or annoyed with him. “Is that all you got from what I just said?”

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s the only part that mattered.”

She shoved him once more for good measure. Curiosity got the best of her as Arabella searched again for dark hair in the masked crowd. “Who is she?”

For the first time that night, Noah appeared shy, scratching the back of his neck as a light flush appeared on his tan face. As a self-proclaimed cynic, Arabella couldn’t help but recall all the foolish teen couples from her old school. Despite her old friends’ relentless disagreement, they were all bound to fall into the same loveless trap from what she gathered. Affection only lasted until one got bored of the other’s company and somehow, they found a way to add an element of drama, if only to escape the monotony that comes with forced relationships. None of this, of course, would change the way Noah felt about this girl. Whoever she was, clearly, she meant something to him.

“A close friend of mine.”

“While that’s truly enlightening, a name might even be more helpful.”

When Noah didn’t respond immediately, Arabella craned her neck, perusing the crowd once more. Her eyes drank in the intricate décor as she scanned the entirety of the ballroom. At the edge of the ballroom, partly shrouded by a banner, was an elegant bar she’d failed to notice initially. There appeared to be two people leaning against the counter. One was Noah’s mystery girl, while the other looked to be yet another tall, well-dressed boy. She seemed to be having an intimate conversation with him, though Noah didn’t look too bothered. In fact, when he finally spotted the two, he grinned.

“Arabella,” he said. “Would you be interested in meeting my two best friends?”

“Are they like you?”

“I’d say very much like me.”

“Then no.”