Hey y'all, here's a short story that I wrote last year and forgot
about, and only just rediscovered today. I have to warn you, though, it's got
some serious slash in it. Finally, I managed to write a story in which the
characters do more than kiss once, though don't expect too much, I didn't
really go into detail. Anyway, enjoy!
Oh yes, and to those who read The Demon Within, chapter 18 should be up pretty
soon—it's coming along really nicely so far.
Disclaimer: Jackie Chan Adventures belongs to WB, Sony Productions and, um, a
bunch of other people. Oh, and Bruce Wayne belongs to Bob Kane.
The Invitation
by Ice-chan
Sleep: a safe haven, a welcoming warmth to which one can and must escape for a
little while. Often, sleep is refreshing, relieving, and, as such in the case
of Jackie Chan, rare.
He awoke with a start when his mind had echoed the word "rare", realizing that
he had fallen asleep and that—moreover—had been *dreaming* of sleep. If that
wasn't pathetic in itself, he also had to consider that this had been a
recurring event for the past week.
As his blurry vision settled on the huge and musty book on the desk before him,
upon which, in addition, rested the sheep talisman, Jackie was once again
reminded of how much he loathed these talisman adventures. Nearly getting
squashed and constantly being hunted by an international crime syndicate was
nothing to be cheerful about. Captain Black's refusal to recognize the magical
potential of these hexagonal stones didn't improve things, nor did the fact that
researching these talismans was a time- consuming project. The "chicken
scratches," as Jade often called them, on the back of the talismans were so
tiny and dulled by age and residue that a thousand years after they were
scattered across the globe they were nearly unreadable. To make things worse,
Jackie had to finish the research within twenty-four hours because Captain
Black, despite being a staunch believer in both science and mere coincidence,
demanded that they be kept safely inside Section 13's highly secured vault. And
of course, there were his other archaeological obligations and a niece who
bored easily. Perhaps the only positive aspect of this "temporary research
position" was that he was getting a lot of frequent flyer miles.
When he absently glanced at his wrist watch and saw that it was now ten after four in the morning, and recalling that he had
been diligently working since five in the afternoon yesterday, Jackie resolved
that he had earned a nap at the very, very least. He stumbled to his feet,
almost tripping over the leg of the chair. Once he finished stretching and
cracking his bones, he turned out the light and stumbled out of Uncle's
library. When he reached his room, he was about to fall face-flat onto his bed
when he felt something rough by the pillow. He picked up the object and
realized that it was a card in an envelope. Slipping off his brown loafers,
Jackie got into an Indian style position on his bed, and he held the envelope
up to the moonlight. In neat, calligraphic script, it only read:
Mr Chan
Immediately, Jackie jumped to his feet and looked outside his window,
frantically turning his head this way and that. But he saw nothing—only frozen
shadows hiding in the dimly lit street. For what it was worth, he shut and
bolted the window.
Sitting back down on the bed, he stared down at the white envelope that bore
his name. Whoever had sent this knew that he would be here tonight, of all
nights, and knew what room he slept in. His first suspicion was that it had
been delivered by a sleek Dark Hand agent or a Shadowkhan.
What could it be, then? A threat? A ransom note? Jade was supposed to be
sleeping in her room—was she, really?
_Don't jump to conclusions,_ he tried to console himself, even though every
brain cell that he owned was screaming at him that this was definitely one of
the Dark Hand's schemes. Trembling, he began to fiddle with the flap, trying to
be neat about getting it open, until he decided to just rip a hole. He
immediately regretted it, though, recalling the Anthrax scare about a year ago;
on the other hand, that hadn't been active since a year ago, was delivered via
post service, and was generally intended for the attention of renowned
personalities. At any rate, it as too late; he had already pried from the
envelope a small note card which bore the same calligraphic font. It took
several attempts for his exhausted mind to focus on the letters, but he finally
comprehended the following:
You are cordially invited to the Summer
Solstice Ball,
which begins at twenty to four
on the morning of 21
June, year 2003.
Sweet Dreams.
Now Jackie was positive that he was hallucinating. Later, after a good, deep
sleep, he would call Captain Black and tell him that this research position was
simply too much for him. If he didn't quit, he might wake up one morning in a
straightjacket. Look at him, sitting intently on his bed, an imagined card in
his tight, yet shaky grip...it was preposterous...
Jackie, now quite certain that he'd lost his mind, checked his watch under the
moonlight with a sort of mad amusement. Indeed, it was twenty after four on the morning of June 21st, 2003. He glanced at the card, and to his horror
and amazement, watched as the ink slowly melted off the card and dripped onto
the wooden floor. Jackie became aware of how very tired he was...he shut his
eyes, and his body became very relaxed of its own accord; as he sank into the
mattress, he thoughts grew dimmer...
So did the lights. Two dim lights were lit in front of him somewhere;
gradually, he came to realize that they were actually quite bright. Abruptly,
his vision swam into focus: two maps were lit on a lawn, separated by a
concrete path. A woman with bushy brown hair stood in front of him; chatter
drifted carelessly in front of and behind him. He then realized that he was
standing in a line.
Jackie tried to work through this problem, having no memory of coming to this
place. But there was an odd buzzing in his head, which seemed to block out a
good deal of his thoughts. As the queue moved forward, Jackie tried to force
his mind to work properly while he surpressed his
panic, but every time he did so a strange lethargic sensation washed over him.
In the midst of his confusion, he suddenly realized that he was now first in
line, and that he was facing a podium that was elevated by a small dais. A slim
balding man stood before it, peering down at him through round spectacles.
"Your invitation, please," he asked pleasantly.
Without giving it any thought and surprising himself greatly, Jackie, already
holding the card with the calligraphy on it, handed it to the man. The snatched
it from him and grinned deviously, and suddenly almost all of Jackie's thoughts
were wiped from his mind, replaced only with a cold feeling in his bones as
though he had sold his soul to the devil.
"I keep this," the man grinned.
Jackie's body seemed to be running on automatic; with a terse nod, he walked
slowly through the double doors, which were already opened.
A gasp escaped him as he found himself in the hall of a colossal mansion. Tall
French windows encircled the room, terminating only at the two marble
staircases on either side of the room, both of which led to a balcony. A red
carpet was laid out on the marble floor, where Jackie discovered his feet and
been planted. Music pulsed from somewhere. Only a few people were scattered
around the room, talking airily amongst themselves. An usher with graying hair
approached Jackie.
He was smiling welcomingly, and Jackie felt just a tad better. "Hello, sir," he
spoke in an English accent. "The ballroom is this way, if you please..."
Jackie followed the usher through the wide passageway between the two sets of
stairs, walking along the red carpet. It ended at another set of doors, but
these were made out of some sort of strong, polished wood. As they approached,
the music became louder and louder.
The doors were pushed open, as though by their own accord, and the usher
returned to the other room. Wandering inside, Jackie had to gasp again. Well
over a hundred people were dancing to the thundering jazz music like there was
no tomorrow. Jackie was almost tempted to join them, they were so passionate
about this one night as if it were all that they had, but he knew he couldn't
dance very well. Most of the people were in pairs, but some had formed into
groups, and most of the groups were gathered round the snack bar. Jackie headed
there.
Even the h'ourderves, to Jackie's amazement, were
lavish: he helped himself to tea sandwiches of cucumber, avocado and smoke
salmon, among other things; he also tentatively spooned a bit of caviar.
He felt a light tap on his shoulder and then heard, "Hey, stranger..."
The voice was all-too familiar, and he was only half surprised to turn around
and see Viper, her darks arms crossed, her pink lips formed in a playful smirk.
Her thin frame was covered in a velvet black dress. Jackie wondered why she
wasn't dancing.
Apparently, Viper was thinking along the same lines: "I see you've hit the
snack bar, too."
Jackie shrugged. "I'm not much of a dancer," he admitted.
Viper appeared not to have heard him; she was looking at the dancers, head
raised as though she were looking for someone. "We're looking for our
mysterious host," she supplied. She turned to look at him. "Bruce and I."
Before Jackie could ask, Viper indicated to a tall, broad man standing behind
her with dark hair and blue eyes. Jackie dimly recognized him as Bruce Wayne,
the playboy billionaire of Gotham City. Bruce smiled
politely, but Jackie took no notice. It seemed that he was here only to stand
in the shadows...
Viper then let out a delighted gasp, and grabbed Jackie and Bruce by their
arms. "Look!" she breathed.
Jackie followed her gaze and saw someone at the far end of the room, partly
obscured by the shadows. Yet even from far away, Jackie noticed the man's
prominent cheekbones from a side angle, his aquiline nose, and an impressive
mane of white-blonde hair, which was tied back with a gold band. He appeared to
have a rather exotic wardrobe, too: a coat of forest green, complete with a coat
tail, was buttoned up to his midriff, leaving enough room to reveal part of a
lime green tie and a black blouse. A glass of what looked like Champagne in his left hand,
while keeping his right hand in his trousers' pocket, his cold pale eyes were
focused on the storm of dancers. He appeared to be considering something.
"Mr. Valmont," Viper whispered triumphantly. "He hosts these parties every
night. Never joins in himself, just sort of...watches." She turned to Jackie, a
smile playing on her face, eyes glittering mischievously. "Creepy, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he murmured, not really listening; he was too busy staring at the
stranger. "What did you say his name was?"
"Valmont," Viper replied, a trace of irritation in her voice.
"Valmont..." Jackie pursed his lips, eyebrows contracting pensively. The name
sounded familiar—his face looked familiar, too...
His stomach suddenly twisted in a knot, and he felt sick. For one fleeting
moment he realized that there was something terribly wrong with this whole
scene—he should not be here—this was the wrong crowd...
*You were invited.*
Yes, that was true, he had been invited, yes...
*You had to come.*
....So he had, true enough, he did have to come, no doubt about it...
*Stay.*
...yes, of course, he must stay, it was only proper, but...
*But what?*
"But nothing," he found himself murmuring, to which Viper returned with a
curious glance.
"Excuse me?"
"I didn't say anything," Jackie said truthfully, having just forgotten what
went on in his mind. "I wish I could talk to him," he sighed.
Viper smirked. "Don't we all? But he's usually taking care of calls from some
of his 'clients'... Okay, so I had a brief conversation with him before," she
said smugly, "but that was a while ago..."
"Really? What did he talk about?" Even Jackie found his own enthusiasm
surprising. His eyes were still glued to Valmont, who was now speaking briskly
to a butler, eyes still moving restlessly amid the crowd. It sounded like he
was giving an order; Jackie experienced an inappropriate sense of jealousy and
a strange, deep contempt for the butler.
"Actually, it's what *we* talked about," Viper corrected him irritably, "and we
talked about books. We were in the library, what did you expect? This one book
he owned, The Great Gatsby, never read it myself, but he seemed to like it..."
As the butler moved away (Jackie was relieved), Valmont abruptly turned his
stare directly to Jackie. Something about the look on his face told Jackie that
he'd known that Jackie had been staring this whole time. A few people cut
passed their line of sight, but only briefly. Jackie considered looking away,
but didn't; their eyes were locked and he did not want to spoil anything. At
first Jackie thought that this man looked reproachful, perhaps even offended,
but then he decided that he seemed almost...*inviting.* No, Jackie was sure of
it. His face was relaxed.
Normally, Jackie did not initiate these sort of things. But here, it was almost
as though Valmont had ordered Jackie to come...so he did. Ignoring Viper's
shouts of "Hey! I was talking!" and after pushing through several people,
Jackie finally reached the mysterious host.
If he was impressive at a distance, Jackie decided, he was infinitely more
exquisite close up. He had to be at least six feet tall, and with his broad
shoulders and blank stare he was rather intimidating. Also evident were the
lime green vines embroidered on his velvet coat: they curled upwards and
branched out into a network of vines at his shoulders. He seemed to shine with
a sort of brooding glory that Jackie could not quite place.
Valmont appeared to be examining Jackie in return. Once had had finished, the
corners of his mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly, and his eyebrows were
half raised as though he were pleasantly surprised.
"Ah, Mr. Chan," he spoke finally; Jackie noted that his voice was not
particularly deep, but rather soft, and his English accent was faded. "There
you are. I've been looking for you, you know."
Jackie blinked. "You—have?" he stammered most ungracefully.
Valmont seemed amused by this; his smile widened and he only raised one
eyebrow. "Of course," he answered slowly. "*I invited you.*"
Time seemed to freeze; Jackie stood, still as a statue, staring at the
stranger, his heart pounding in his throat. Valmont held out a hand, and he
took it without a thought.
Suddenly, they were gliding along the dance floor, hand in hand, an arm
gripping Valmont's shoulder while Valmont himself had an arm curled around his
waist. Jackie had no recollection of starting to dance of when the vibrant jazz
music had been replaced with the calming sounds of the violin and piano. It
sounded like Mozart. He found that he was staring up into Valmont's icy eyes;
they stared back, glistening almost...*malevolently.* It made Jackie nervous,
and he wanted more than ever to get away from this man. But his desire to run
away, like all of his thoughts and feelings regarding leaving, slowly melted
into nothing.
"You're awfully tense, Mr. Chan," Valmont sneered.
"You're—" but he couldn't bring himself to refuse, to push away, to leave the
party—"...an awfully good dancer."
Valmont let out a soft laugh of cold mirth. "Why thank you, Mr. Chan...you
aren't too dreadful yourself."
When the music ended, the dancers dispersed, but Valmont didn't let Jackie go.
His smell, Jackie noted, of the barest of a vanilla cologne, was intoxicating.
Valmont pulled him closer and murmured into his ear, "Follow me."
_It isn't as though I have a choice,_ Jackie noted vaguely as Valmont led him
away from the dance floor. Jackie didn't resist.
Outside was a garden, and it seemed luminescent with green as the plants
encircled a small circular pool of water. Upon closer inspection, Jackie saw
that there were beautiful snow white lily pads floating atop the black water.
Around them, a few people were gathered here and there, laughing merrily; one
woman even patted Valmont's shoulder and giggled incessantly.
"Let's go somewhere more private," he murmured as the woman headed back to the
ballroom.
Valmont led Jackie to the very edge of the garden; they were concealed by a
giant rosebush. From far away, another world, it seemed, they heard the merry
chatter of guests as the jazz music resumed, but it didn't matter; Jackie had
his head raised, his heart racing, captivated by Valmont's stoic expression.
They were close now, just as they had been when they were dancing, with Jackie
in his arms. Valmont's eyes, however stoic, seemed to tell a story of their
own; the paleness of his blue eyes were like ice, and Jackie actually felt
himself shiver, cold. They were contracted, too, so the pupils were only a tiny
black dot. Jackie cryptically regarded them as being the center—the center of a
circle, the X mark where the pirates' treasure was buried, the center of all
things, the meaning of life itself...
Everything was moving in slow motion; Valmont was clasping Jackie's hand, then
he was kissing it with his warm lips, but even if he wanted to, Jackie could do
nothing. He felt as though he had no mind of his own. He couldn't tear his eyes
away from the stranger's, could barely blink, because he was looking directly
into the universe—he could see all of the stars, planets and constellations.
Utterly enchanted by this strange spell, his mind was a haze, and it felt like
it was floating like a hot air balloon. His body was frozen, but it reflexively
obeyed the commands that were whispered into his ear with a naturalness and
grace.
Now he was undressed, in a squatting position. The stranger's arms were draped
around him as he nuzzled his neck. Jackie melted in his arms like ice cream on
a hot summer day. He was pleasantly warm, perhaps deliriously so, but it didn't
matter. He could barely hear the guests inside the ballroom now—he barely
remembered that there even was a ballroom. Thorns from the rosebush pricked
against his bare feet; all of his senses, touch, sight, hearing, smell and
taste were enhanced, and it all made him excited. He half turned at Valmont's
uttered command, enough so that he was partly facing his instructor. Valmont
lowered his head and delivered a gentle kiss. One kiss turned into several, and
they were all soft and warm and moist. They were not greedy; they were slow,
careful, maybe even loving.
They hid behind the rosebush till dawn. When the sun peeked over the horizon,
painting the sky with a lush pink and orange, Jackie and Valmont lay on the
grass in each others' arms, counting the now fading stars. As the mystery of
the night died away, Jackie had the unpleasant notion that this reality would
die as well.
Apparently, Valmont had the same idea. He leaned over to look into Jackie's
eyes, and Jackie became delightedly, helplessly lost in the stranger's. But he
did take note of some expression in them. Hooded by his eyelids and dark, thick
lashes, they conveyed an air of sorrow.
"I fear that it is time for us to part," the stranger announced, his voice
thick and melodic. Now it was Jackie's turn to be sorrowful.
But before he could speak, the stranger pressed one finger over his lips.
"Hush, love. Let me explain. Tonight was the most enjoyable night I've had in a
long time, and I have you to thank. But alas, all things must come to an end.
What you must remember, though, is that the end—"he produced something from the
inside of his forest green coat; it was a card—"is just the beginning of
something new."
A shadow was cast over half of his face, and his eyes were a darker blue, but
just as beautiful and mysterious. A small smile—a rare gem, for very few things
made him smile—formed on his lips. Jackie smiled too, and Valmont caressed his
face briefly. Then he leaned over to whisper something in his ear.
"I invited you here," the stranger spoke, "and even though you at first tried
to resist, you can never escape or disobey me unless I give you back your
invitation. Take it." The card was then thrust into Jackie's unhurried hand,
and as soon as this was done, everything began to spin into a whirlpool of
darkness. He could hear the music and chatter floating above him, moving
farther and farther away. As he drowned completely in this oblivion, the
stranger's last words rang dimly in his mind: "We'll meet again, Mr Chan—in the real world."
As the sun's blinding light pierced against his eyelids, Jackie groggily came
to. Groaning, he turned on his side so that he wasn't facing the light of day.
He was still exhausted, as though he had awoken from a drugged sleep. Peering
sleepily around his room, he momentarily forgot where he was. Then he
remembered that he'd opted to spend the night at Uncle's. Why, again? Oh, right—how
could he forget—he had been working on that stupid talisman. After almost
twelve hours of researching, he had gone to bed. But before that, something had
happened...he had found a card, an invitation...
Jackie sprang out of bed like bread out of a toaster. That dream, he recalled
with horror, was so vivid and real. He could remember the comfort of Valmont's
velvet coat, the smell of his soft cologne, the way he himself had been so
persistently obedient, how he had enjoyed every moment of it...
He was about to convince himself that all of it—even the invitation itself—had
been a dream, but then he became aware of something rough and thin in his hand.
It was the invitation, or rather, it was the note card, and it was blank. It
fluttered to ground as Jackie let it slip between his fingers. His shoulders
sagged and his knees knocked together.
Now, it became more urgent to quit his "temporary research position."
But when he reached for his cell phone to call Captain Black, he pictured
Valmont's icy eyes, and he froze.
Just as he had in the dream.
THE END
