Prologue: Crossing Paths:
It was raining... It had been raining all week, and people hardly paid attention to that little detail. They had grown accustomed to dull grey mornings and never seeing the sun after a couple of days. A bunch of kids, probable members of some punk, new-age gang for their looks and weird hairstyles, were showing off their new tattoo's and stickers that they had put on their skate-boards. Some meters, away outside a little grocery store five women, all looking like the typical housewife of America's typical family, were whispering in hushed tones. They gossiped about their neighbours and their strange behaviour: about the lady of the 5 C who was unmarried and with a child on the way, about the old man of the 7 A whose son was in prison and his grandson had yet again ended up in the Reformatory and about the teenager girl from the 1 B who dressed like a slut and had five boyfriends, while every boy in the building wanted to bed her...
Near them there was a newly-wed couple, too in-love to notice anyone but the two of them. They were holding hands and smiling goofily, their eyes locked and nearly bumping into one of the women outside the grocery store. Those people, all on the same street, seemed so very different and yet, they all had something in common: they didn't notice the girl, holding a grey umbrella above her head, walking briskly down the street.
She was petit and nobody seemed to realize she was there at all. She walked swiftly past the groups of people, her gaze fixed on the floor, a bunch of books pressed to her chest like a protective shield. She was wearing a school uniform, the kind that seemed to belong to a Catholic School for Girls only. It consisted on a white shirt with short sleeves and the school emblem sewed over a pocket, a plaited burgundy skirt and a matching blazer, that was by now soaking wet because, as the umbrella was so tiny, the girl was covering her backpack and the books she had in her hands with it, living her body exposed to the heavy rain that fell mercilessly, yet the girl didn't seem to mind.
She entered an old-looking, dark shop, and antique shop, that was dimly illuminated by some alcohol lamps placed in strategic places. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere except for the bookshelves, that where impeccable. Old, leather-bounded books were perfectly aligned, some of them looking as good as knew and others showing signs of the passing of time, their pages yellow and the leather worn-out. There was a scent of wildflowers and of a pine forest after a storm, so indescribable that it left you wondering. The girl seemed to transform there. On the street she couldn't catch anyone's eye but, when she was on safe ground, she lifted her gaze and her ice-blue eyes sparkled, seeming to glow with a light unknown. That glow disappeared when she blinked, but it had been there... It had meant something.
There was an old man behind the counter of the shop. He had a grey mane of hair that made people think about Albert Einstein. His eyes were as green as a forest and he had a smile on his face. He seemed friendly but a little worried. However the instant he saw the girl, his spirits brightened.
"Augustine!" he cried happily "Finally some intelligent mind to talk to!" he exclaimed with a heavy Scottish accent. The girl arched and eyebrow and chuckled softly.
"You are too hard on your other customers, Mr. McAllen" she replied shaking her head, while the older man studied her carefully: she was a girl full of contrasts.
She was petit, barely 5'3 and weighted eighty-four pounds, something that didn't fail to shock every single person and made some motherly woman look at her and say: 'Dear, you are way too thin! You ought to eat some more!' Her eyes were way too big and perfectly rounded. Some said she looked like a pixie, with those deep ice-blue eyes that sometimes managed to scare people out of their wits, it they had any, of course. Although she was from Argentina, she didn't look at all like a regular Latin-girl. She wasn't voluptuous, her eyes weren't dark, her hair was dark red and her skin fair, reminding people of a cross between and Irish, an Italian and maybe a German. But there was something else about her, an air of fragility, of something that people couldn't trap in words, that made her look eerie. Most people didn't like her because of that, but there were lots of other reasons why Augustine was always alone. For one: she was gifted. She was a little genius, one of those people who society couldn't comprehend nor cared to, the kind of girl who would be called geek and be shoved out of the way by that popular crowd. But, since she had experienced things like that since childhood, she had not only grown accustomed to it but had also created some kind of invisible barrier. Because everyone knows that what can't get to you can't harm you. Her own family had never really understood her. Always quiet, reading, her nose buried in some thick book ever since she had learnt to read, not going out on Saturday's nights, her eyes as sharp as ripples of ice and sometimes wearing the faraway look that characterised dreamers. Fantasy was her escape, books the way to get away form the grasp of the cruel, boring reality.
She barely remembered growing up in Buenos Aires, Argentina's capital city, with a perfect view of huge jacaranda's trees that bloomed and became masses of lavender little flowers on spring. She missed the jacarandas a lot, there where none in New York, were she had moved ten years ago.
She had moved because her father had gotten a better-paid job there. They needed the money, so there was no other option. They had moved on winter, and all Augustine remembered of their first Christmas was an old bookshop, that had been closed a week after, and her mother taking her there to see what she wanted for the special occasion. She had wandered all alone in that big, isolated shop, wide-eyed because she had never seen before in her life so many books in one place, and had gloomily asked herself how she was supposed to find one single book to read among those shelves and shelves crammed with leather-bounded treasures. The answer had come in an odd, almost mystic way. She had been knocked out by a flying book: a blue leather-bounded book with the title carefully written in silvery characters: "Labyrinth of the Mind". It seemed little but Augustine had the strange feeling that there were thousands of things written in it. So she had bought it, despite of the fact that she was too little at that time to read it.
She hadn't had the nerve to read the book, barely allowing herself to touch it from time to time, her fingers itching to pass its fingertips through the pages, the words, the lost tales untold. But, inside her mind, there was an alarm, ringing loudly and a voice, no softer than a whisper told her gravely: 'Be careful with the Forces you unleash, little one. Reading can be a dangerous thing and knowledge a two-blade weapon'
And the old man in front of her knew all that. Her fears, her dreams, her conflicts, and above all he knew the real Augustine. The girl with the sparkling eyes that played the flute and was a wonderful writer. The dreamer with a strong belief in fantasy, the stubborn young lady with the will of iron who refused to crack under the pressure of her intelligence. The genius who cried and the dreamer who laughed. It was all Augustine, all unique and special. A pity really that no one else except a few noticed that.
"What brings you to this old place, little one?" he asked warmly, his smile showing dimples that not even time had managed to erase from his face. Augustine searched inside her backpack and produced a pile of printed sheets which she promptly gave to Angus McAllen. His eyes brightened at the sight of the story that was written in those common white papers.
"Another one, my Lady? That muse of yours surely must be in urgent need of a brake! This is the third one this month!" he exclaimed with a strong Scottish accent that made people thing of the Highlands and of people wearing kilts.
"This one I wrote a long time ago. Actually I have a severe case of writer's block ever since my birthday" the red-haired replied "And I'm kind of frustrated by that. I can practically feel the need to write, but nothing comes out of this head of mine!"
She said that in a light tone, but the old man knew that Writer's Block could be Hell for a person like Augustine. She cherished her stories as if they were written in gold and he knew that without them Augustine would loose one of her only pleasures and joys in life. It didn't seem fair, she thought wryly.
"But that's the way it is" a voice whispered and Augustine turned to see the door of the shop burst open by a gust of wind. A man entered along with the howling wind wearing an impeccable black suit under a long, British-like coat. He had a pair of dark glasses one and a hat that was slightly tipped to a side, matching his attire perfectly. His long, silvery-white hair was pulled into a ponytail and he wasn't smiling, yet Angus was.
"Good day, Mr. Inferno. Long time no see" he greeted politely, slurring the words because of his accent. Augustine held her breath as the imposing figure walked in long strides towards the counter and, instinctively, she took a step back and let the shadows engulf her, remaining unnoticed. She had developed the quality of hiding in the dark after years of avoiding crowds and people and now she was grateful for that. The stranger slid past her, never even glancing at the shadows where she was. Augustine's heart started beating fast and so loudly that she wondered if the newcomer could hear it. There was something in that man that unsettled her. Maybe it was the fact that his named meant 'Hell' in Latin, or maybe it was something else... His elegant hands moved with the elegance of a dandy and the agility of a cat and there was something in that combination that the girl didn't quite like. She had read something... in a book somewhere...
As the urge to get out of the store as fast as her legs could go grew stronger, Augustine started eyeing the door carefully, mentally calculating how long it would take her to ran out of the store and down the street and the whole thing bothered her. She had never felt afraid of any person in her life. Her stoic posture, icy temper, cynicism, dry sense of humour and acid wit had guaranteed her the upper hand in everything concerning intimidating or confronting people and now she was cowering before a total stranger that hadn't even done so much as to look at her! It was a disturbing train of thoughts.
'The unbeatable Queen of Ice has finally met her match!' a mocking voice whispered inside her head. It was a high-pitched, taunting and maddening little voice that seemed to be there not to help her or advise her, but to molest her .
Sighing soundlessly the girl shifted her weight for one foot to another and, suddenly, something fell from her opened backpack. Her eyes widened slightly as she recognized the blue leather-bounded book she had bought so many years ago and she eyed it with curiosity. How the Hell had it gotten into her bag, for crying out loud?
She bent down and gently picked it up, her eyes warming instinctively. She had a special gentleness and kindness when it concerned books, such care that her human relations had ever experienced. But just as she was cleaning the dust from the cover of the little book a voice, another very different voice that sounded child-like and tender warned her:
'Look up, look up!
Without doubting she lifted her gaze and her eyes met a heated mismatched gaze that stared down at her through dark glasses. Her entire body froze in the spot and her mind went black for a couple of seconds. The only things she could hear were the ticking of the old pendulum clock and the furious pounding of her heart when suddenly, the book gave her a little electrical shock and reality kicked in.
"Damn!" she swore, quickly putting the little book inside her bag and storming off the antique shop, ignoring the surprised cries of Angus McAllen.
"Child, you're forgetting your umbrella!" he shouted, pointing at the mentioned object that laid on the floor, dripping. The girl didn't even bother to turn around as she answered that she would pick it up later, but she had remembered some urgent matter that needed her attention.
'Yeah, like getting as far away from this place as possible' she thought in a daze as she ran down the street, shivering from the chilly air and the fact that she was soaked from head to toe. She didn't have time to look back at the shop she had just left but, if she had done that, she would have noticed the stranger of the mismatched eyes looking intently, his form guarded from the rain by an enormous black umbrella.
The stranger lingered by the door some more minutes, staring into the spot down the street were the little girl had disappeared. He then returned to the shop and to the old man behind the counter, who was shaking his head.
"That girl will be the death of me some day, I swear" he mumbled, sighing "She is always surprising me"
The black clothed figure arched an eyebrow and asked in a voice dripping with heavy British accent (That, by the way, I consider utterly charming) :
"I hope I haven't scared your little friend away, Angus, She seemed like she had seen..." he paused to lick his lips and an almost cynic smile appeared on his lips "... a ghost"
The Scottish man waved a hand as if to dismiss the subject.
"She is a strange girl, Mr. Inferno. Doesn't like people in general and tends to scare them away. But, as a matter of fact, this is the first time I've ever seen her run from anyone before. But it probably wasn't you, but something about her. She is special" he finished fondly, smiling tenderly.
The tall, silver-haired man decided to pry no further and, instead, asked whether he had the book he had asked him for about Celtic Customs. As the old man went to the back of the shop to look for the book the stranger took off his dark glasses, revealing his ruby-red and steel-grey eyes, which focused on a stack of papers. Looking at the signature of the author at the end of what seemed to be a short story he became interested. The signature read simply: Sabina V. Sinistra.
But before his prying eyes could go any further Angus returned with the book and, as he handed it to the tall stranger, he retrieved the papers from the man's pale hands.
"That's not for you to see, Mr. Inferno" he said simply, yet politely. Gareth, King of the Dragons and also known on Earth as Gareth D. Inferno, nodded and let go of the paper muttering something that sounded suspiciously like some Latin enchantment. An eerie gust of air surrounded him but as soon as it came it disappeared and everything went back to normal.
"Well, I'm afraid I can't stay to chat this time, my friend. I have urgent business to attend to" he said smoothly, smiling in a way that showed well his twin fangs, as white as ivory and as menacing as two blades. The Scottish man had a sudden and almost desperate desire of cross himself and mutter a prayer, but he held that stupid impulse back and smiled shakily. That man, whenever he was about to appear almost human, had a way of reminding the shop owner of his sinister air.
"Well, I'll see you around, Mr. Inferno... Have a nice day" he mumbled, trying hard not to shudder as the mentioned man tipped his hat, threw him another one of his vampire-like smiles and walked out of the shop, his exceedingly huge umbrella in one of his hands, acting as a cane, but he didn't get wet. Somehow, rain just didn't seem to touch even a hair of his perfect silvery white mane or the tip of his black hat. And, for some reason, that seamed to terrify Angus McAllen more than the fangs or the mismatched gaze.
Only night will ever know
Why the heavens never show
All the dreams there are to know
Paint the sky with stars
Who has paced the midnight sky?
So a spirit has to fly
As the heavens seem so far
Now who will paint the midnight star?
Night has brought to those who sleep
Only dreams they cannot keep
I have legends in the deep
Paint the sky with stars
'The stars... What do they have that it makes me feel such... long? Such desire to embrace them, to reach for them? Why does the sky make me so happy and so utterly sad at the same time?' Augustine wondered silently as she looked at the night sky from her room, the attic. It was all pitch back ant the only light was the one that casted the CD player, where the CD of Enya was playing, ever so soft and always harmonious. She lied on her bed, eyes closed and eyelids caressing the pale skin that seemed even paler under the moonlight that shone through a huge window. After some moments she stood into a sitting position, indian style, still on her bed, wich was an old-looking, canopy kind of bed, with heave, midnight blue drapes that weren drawn back and matched the also midnight-blue bedspread that had embroided a map of the nightsky with silver strings. All the contellations were represented, each on their original position, the stars that formed them with their names written next to them. It was a real piece of art, and a gift from Angus, long ago.
"The stars know everything..." she whispered in the empty room and, though her eyes were closed, she could see the sky as clear as if she was staring at it through a telescope "And I am hungry for their wisdom..." she continued, her voice echoing for no reason at all "What d o you want from me... Why do you hunt me so?"
Time seemed to stop for a second and Augustine felt like she was about to touch the other half of herself, the one she knew was dormant. But at the last moment, when she could feel herself starting to feel complete a knock on her door brought her back to cool, harsh reality. Damn...
"Augustine, dear, dinner is ready" her mother said softly. The red-haired, steel-blue-eyed girl shook herself to be rid of the tiredness that had enveloped her whole body all of the sudden and stood up, sighing.
"I'll be right there, mother" she whispered, always so formal. Her mother had given up on trying to get the girl to call her simply 'mum' and thought that, though weird, it was simply the way her daughter was, and didn't mind it at all.
"You are off the hook for now, stars, but I swear that one day, no matter what costs me, I WILL get an aswer from you... About everything" she muttered before shutting the door.
And she did fulfil that whispered oath, but the costs were higher than she had expected.
Author's Note: New format, ladies and gentlemen! I finally learnt how to work with the html format and I immediately applied it to write my new fanfic. This is just a teaser, a preview. Fortunately I finished school for this year so I'll have plenty of time to write my three fanfics and The Masks we were is ending soo, so I felt like I could handle to juggle three stories at the same time.
This is a self insertion as you know and, before jumping into doing it I asked for the opinion of my readers and you all gave me a thumgs up so I am going for ir. Wish me luck... The character is based on me. Most of the things that happened to her actually happened once to me, so it's kindo of hard to write them, but I am trying to be true to myself. I hope you like it. My muse does, and she has thousands of ideas to torment me in the story (She is quite a vindictive little thing, you see).
Well, see you soon on The Masks we Wear and The Night of the Blue Moon. Please tell me honestly what you think about this new story.
Hugs and peaches to you all...
Sabina (Or, if you like, Augustine from now on)