Chapter One: Dans L'ombre
"Bonjour, Paris. I am Estelle Laurent for the 6:00 news. This just in: new information on the failed terrorist attack that occurred early this morning. Around 4:00, on the steps of the Louvre Museum, a man reportedly was prepared to enter and hide until opening, when he would attempt to go on a rampage. Police say the man was armed with several weapons, including a semi-automatic long gun. He is in questioning right now. Tiago Paquet is the man's name, but we have no further information regarding the culprit. Thankfully, no one was injured. The success of Paquet's arrest was due to Paris' well-known hero L'ombre—"
"REEEEEEEEEEEE—"
A squeal pierced the air. The pixelated reporter continued to speak, but no sound came from her mouth, giving her the appearance of a gaping fish.
"LOUVRE MUSEUM IS LIKE RIGHT NEAR US L'OMBRE WAS LIKE RIGHT NEAR OUR APARTMENT OH MY GOD MATTHEW—" Alfred cavorted around the kitchen, gesturing wildly with the remote. He looked as if he was having a seizure, but Matthew knew better; being a spaz was just how Alfred chose to convey his excitement when it came to… L'ombre.
"Oh my GOD, Matthew, Matthew, Matthew, what if he walked by our apartment—"
Matthew sighed and wiped his hands on a nearby dish towel. "I am aware," he began, and the amount of patience in his voice was admirable, "and I heard. And you know what? You would hear and know even more if you would be silent and unmute the television."
Alfred's response was to flail his arms harder. "Okay, but no. No, Matthew, you don't understand. L'ombre probably walked on the street in front of the apartments. He probably looked at our window, Matthew, he was right there." Alfred jabbed his finger at the window in a helpful visual. "Right! There!" He let out another noise of joy as if the sheer possibility was too incomprehensible for words.
"Oh, right there?" Matthew muttered. He massaged his temple with one hand, and, with the other, he considered committing seppuku with a paring knife. No. Too small. And then he'd probably appear on Alfred's YouTube channel as angsty clickbait underneath a title like: "The Time My BROTHER Almost DIED?! No Joke! Actually Happened! I Was SHOOK!" Definitely not worth it.
Instead, he strode over to Alfred, plucked the remote from his hands, and aimed it at the television. "Be quiet. I have to be at school soon, and I would like to hear the news now, not a rerun with the same information later."
The reporter's voice filled the room once again. "And we have the live footage here, actually you can see L'ombre appear behind Paquet—"
Alfred gasped loudly. His mouth shut with an audible snap when Matthew shot him a glare.
"—and watch as he subdues the would-be terrorist. How L'ombre knew of the attack, we have no idea. Unfortunately, we have no video evidence of L'ombre's transformation, but it can be said that he used his power to his advantage. Footage shows that he got close enough to Paquet in order to disarm the man. The police report about Paquet will be released sometime this morning, and, until then, up next we once again have our favorite L'ombre specialist who will share with us some theories…"
With the sounds of an early-morning-superhero story fading into the background, Matthew turned back towards the stove and started another crêpe. He'd heard all the theories before, could recite them in his sleep thanks to Alfred's obsession, but none of them were correct. He should know.
{-}
L'ombre was a hot topic at school as well. There was an undercurrent of whispering about the news, a subtle buzzing about terrorists and superheroes. The school's journal and student-created news channel exploded with the news, and Matthew knew that on Friday, when the copy of Le Parisien Étudiant came out, the newspaper would be flooded with comics, articles, and interviews all about L'ombre.
It was hard to walk through the halls without flushing every few seconds. I'm glad, Matthew thought for the umpteenth time, that I keep L'ombre a secret. Not only because of the obvious danger but because Matthew couldn't take a compliment to save his life. Perhaps my true superpower is my crippling awkwardness, haha. Matthew winced as he entered his classroom. That's enough pitiful inner dialogue for today.
He sat down at his desk and pulled a notebook from his backpack. Nevermind disarming terrorists, time to find the strength to stay awake in calculus after being up at four dealing with the aforementioned terrorist…
Matthew managed to make it through the day with (almost) no mishaps; he dozed off for a few seconds in personal finance before experiencing severe whiplash, in which all sixteen years of his life flashed before his eyes.
It wasn't a pretty sight.
Despite his exhaustion, Matthew felt a familiar tingle as the day neared its end. Now back at the apartment, the famed window looked more and more appetizing by the second, and he itched to don his suit and patrol the city for a few hours. It was risky going out two nights in a row, Matthew knew, and he should be catching up on sleep after finishing his studies. But he couldn't help it. Superhero'ing was addicting.
Not to mention that he had a tip-off, a tidbit of information received on small, secure hotline he'd rigged a while ago. Being a superhero meant that he was also a thousand other things— nurse, spy, techie, to name a few. Securing information was no issue. Now, knowing what to do with it was harder, but Matthew was confident that he knew what to do tonight.
A few minutes later, he found himself clad in black and tiptoeing toward the window. Sleep? Was for the weak.
{-}
The mansion loomed large. Its shape sliced through the sky, and it was hard to distinguish from the night due to its ebony façade. A gate studded with spikes surrounded the building, meant to shroud the mansion from visitors. Matthew felt rightfully cowed as he peered around the iron.
Through the darkness, he could make out a rolling front lawn and the main road leading to the front entrance. Both were well-surveillanced, from the looks of it, but locks were no obstacle to Matthew. Yet it seemed as if there would be no reason for him to enter the mansion tonight. I'll run the perimeter again, but I haven't seen anything suspicious. Matthew turned from the gates and walked around a stone column. It was engraved with an intricate crest. Beneath it was a word: Braginsky. The family's name, Matthew figured. It somehow sounded familiar, as if he'd seen or heard it a few times before, yet he can't quite place his finger on it.
A quarter of an hour later, nothing was out of place. No suspiciously parked cars, no shady figures, and no odd activities going on in the mansion— oh, what is that?
I swear I checked that entrance just now, Matthew thought, nonplussed. He would have noticed an open window, silk curtains fluttering in the breeze. The intruder must have made his move the moment Matthew left his line of sight. Now, he— or she— was already inside the manor, putting into place whatever insidious plan they had cooked up.
This wasn't good. Stopping events before they actually happened was his métier, his advantage, his edge, what he knew how to do. Catching and disarming a criminal was something else altogether; confrontation had never been Matthew's strong suit. I don't know what to do… He stood there for a few moments more, deliberating his options. He wanted to help. He knew he should help. But can I? What if they've got a weapon, a gun— Matthew paled at the thought. What if they've got a gun? The people inside.
He patted the pockets of his pants in search of his cell phone despite being aware that he hadn't brought it with him. Nothing to call the police. He raised his gaze to look back at the open window. What if I…?
And then he was dashing across the lawn, chanting with each breath, this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea, but walking away wasn't in his nature, not from this, never from this, and then he was leaping over the windowsill, landing in a crouch, and—
The curtains trailed listlessly against the floor. Moonlight spilled through the open window, revealing an undisturbed bed, a desk, and empty bookshelves. Matthew stood slowly, aware of the silence and how loud his heartbeat disturbed it. He was in. He was here. And he needed to move. He glanced around the room until he spotted a small table. On it was a literal lifeline.
1...1...2… There. Matthew removed the phone from its receiver and set it on the table. The police will be here soon. The thought sent relief coursing through his body, easing some of the tension that held him taut. The thought also granted Matthew a minute dose of courage. It was also enough for him to focus on the door and make a decision. At least I'll be invisible.
He concentrated, and then one moment he was there, and in the next, he was gone. In his place was nothing. Or it seemed like there was nothing. If one looked close enough, they would see that the moonlight was displaced as it shone through the room, bending curiously away from a small patch of vapor. It shifted, distorting the moonbeams further, then began to slide underneath the door.
Back on the table, the phone buzzed peculiarly, but no one picked it up.
The small patch, akin to suspended condensation, traveled down the hallway. It was efficient in its ethereal patrol, and it reached the end of the hallway in a matter of minutes. One final room remained. After a brief hesitation, it passed underneath the door.
Matthew reappeared and dropped to the ground with a thump. He held his breath, but no one seemed to have heard his graceless fall. He bit back an exhale in relief as he stood to survey the room, needing only a minute to deduce that nothing was out of place. Must be downstairs—
"Not to sound clichéd, but I have been expecting you."
A click sounded from the corner of the room. Seconds later, light flooded Matthew's vision. He began to grope for the doorknob, but the velvet voice spoke again.
"There is no need to do that, L'ombre. Stay. We have much to talk about."
Matthew froze. He looked across the room where, in the shadows, a figure sat. His face was shrouded from the glow of the lamp, but the darkness hid little else: the man was tall, stocky, and dressed in a tight sweater and black slacks. A scarf was looped across his neck, and he toyed with a glass of something amber-colored. Despite his nonchalant air, the tone of his gaze matched the ice cubes in his drink. Matthew suppressed a shiver. "What do you mean?" he asked at last, proud that his voice, albeit quiet, did not betray his unease.
"What do you mean."
"I-I mean that you, you are breaking and entering. This is an illegal activity punishable by the law." As he spoke, Matthew drew himself up, and his voice strengthened. "The police will be here soon. I suggest you go quietly—"
"Will they?" The man sounded intrigued, the question full of a blithe curiosity.
"Euh, yes, yes they will." His confidence waned as the man chuckled.
"Now, that would be a surprise, my dear L'ombre. The lines in this house have been rendered impotent. Your call was never received." He laughed again, this time leaning forward into the light. Matthew snatched a glance of gleaming teeth and paper-like skin. "Oh, you really are too much, L'ombre. Too. Much." Drink in hand, he stood, and, back turned to Matthew, strode across the room.
He stopped in front of a large window, looking out into the night as if he were contemplating something. "This may be unnerving," he announced finally. "After all, I know your name, or names, and you do not know mine. I am sure you saw my surname outside the manor; it is Braginsky. Russian. And that explains the accent, I suppose. My first name is Ivan."
He did have an accent, Matthew noticed. A clipped, slighting tone with a canorous timbre. Far more crucial were the phone lines, however. The police weren't coming, and… Ivan… seemed eerie. He was still gazing out the window, absentmindedly swirling his drink. "Well," Matthew said as he stepped backward, hoping to mask the sounds of his escape, "My name is—"
"—not important. I already know who you are." Ivan ignored Matthew's sharp intake of breath. "I know where you live, your age, your name, and anything else I could care to know. I have found out your identity, L'ombre. What does Paris' finest hero think of this?" Ivan glanced to the side and met Matthew's eyes through his reflection. A smirk curled across his face at the hero's terrified expression.
"You, you can't tell anyone," Matthew finally stuttered, his escape plan abandoned. His eyes stayed glued onto Ivan's gaze, and its unnatural, amaranthine color sent chills up his spine.
Ivan tilted his head. "I can't?"
"No, please, you can't. No one can know, it's not supposed to— it'd be too—"
"Too dangerous?" Ivan finished for him. "I should like to tell you what dangerous is. Tapping into intelligence phone lines. Disarming a terrorist. Trespassing on private property. In comparison to this, how dangerous is announcing your name to the world?" He paused, waiting for Matthew to defend himself, but the hero stayed silent. "But worry not. I have no plans to reveal your identity."
Matthew relief was palpable from across the room. "Okay," he said. "Okay. So if all is good here, and if no one is planning to break in, then I'll just leave."
"Oh, no, that's not all."
Matthew turned back, hand still on the doorknob, reluctance written over his features. He was tired of this stranger who knew too much, and he wanted for nothing more than to leave and forget the entire night.
"I'm not going to keep quiet about something like this. Not without payment. I want you to do something for me."
Of course. Of course. But if he had to pay to keep his identity secret, then the price should be no matter. Everyone wants something, Matthew reminded himself, but the thought did nothing to mitigate the sick feeling coiled deep in his stomach. "I-it depends on what it is," he said. "I'm not going to do just anything."
"Oh?" Ivan raised an eyebrow.
"Yes." This was something Matthew was sure of. "Yes," he repeated, sure that the sentiment was assertive enough to protect him from any real harm. If not… then L'ombre would be over. Matthew Williams would be over.
"Hm." Ivan wandered over to a nearby table and set down his glass. The movement was casual, overly so, and Matthew couldn't help but flinch at the sound. Ivan smirked. "Well, how about I tell you what happens if you don't do as I say." He spun on his heel towards Matthew and held up a single finger. "If I make it known to the public that you are L'ombre. Number one, the press never leaves you alone."
"I can live with that—"
"Don't interrupt," Ivan snarled, then he smiled again. "That's quite rude, you know. Now, the press never leaves you alone; your face is known nationally, perhaps even internationally. You won't be able to find peace in this country. Your life will be ruined. The government will want you to work for them, certain groups within the country will want you to work for them. Scientists will want to slice and dice you to find out exactly what you are. Furthermore, your enemies find out where you live. Your school. Your friends." He picked up his glass again and ran a fingertip around the rim as he glanced at the hero. "Your family." His simper deepened as Matthew's shoulders slumped in defeat. "How about it, L'ombre?"
Matthew wondered if Ivan could hear his heartbeat, erratic as it was. This was not going well. He should never have come here. If only he had— If only's won't do anything now. Get this over with. "You make a point." It was a defeated statement. "What do you want me to do?"
"It is a question of, what will I have you not do."
"Tell me."
"It is I who will be giving the commands here, but very well." Ivan took a long sip from the glass and swallowed thoughtfully as if mulling something over. After several minutes, and after Matthew had begun to fidget, he spoke: "I want to know what you are, why you are like this."
Matthew frowned. "You said that was what the government would do to me anyway, how is there any choice, then?"
Ivan drew himself to his full height and spread his hands wide. The moonlight illuminated his figure from behind; he looked unnatural, almost spectral. "I am a man of curiosity, L'ombre! We are all driven by something. For me, it is knowledge. The world is my oyster. I will crack through whatever shell is necessary to dig up a pearl. And… I will not unleash the press and an entire nation upon you. Furthermore, your family will not be in any danger so long as you cooperate with me. Thus, there is a choice, and I know which choice you will make." He tilted his head. "Also, I've never owned another person before. I am also curious about that."
Matthew stiffened. Fine, someone wanted to know more about his powers; he did as well. Fine, it was blackmail. Fine, fine, fine. But not this. Indignant, and more than a little out of mien, he snapped: "You do not own me!"
"But I do," Ivan said, the reply lackadaisical. "You have not acknowledged this yet."
Matthew's hands curled into fists, and this time, it was he that drew himself taller. "You do not own me," he repeated with finality. "I don't want to say it again, Braginsky. We have a boon, nothing more."
Ivan paused. His knuckles whitened as they clenched the glass. "Why do you not speak with such strength all the time?" he inquired, staring eye to eye with the hero. "Then, perhaps, you would not be pushed around so much."
Matthew faltered. How had he— How did he— He didn't— He opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out.
"As I thought." Ivan watched as L'ombre seemed to fold into himself. "You are out of place, L'ombre. Find it again before I force you into it."
Matthew flushed again, and chagrin fed the morsel of courage that remained. "No," he said quietly. "I will not be intimidated. I think you want this arrangement more than I don't. You won't risk losing me, losing this, so it is I who says that you are out of place. I am still a human being, and I will be treated as such."
Silence greeted his ears. Surprised at his success, Matthew assumed that Ivan had listened to his words, and he began to relax.
Something flew past his ear and smashed into the wall. It shattered on impact. Matthew turned to see dark, amber liquid streaming down the wall, dripping onto a mess of crushed ice and fragmented crystal, all that was left of Ivan's glass. At the thought of the name, Matthew's head whipped around just in time to see a figure advancing on him darkly. He backpedaled across the room, tripping over splinters of glass, raising his arms to shield himself from Ivan's wrath—
His back hit the wall.
Ivan strode closer until there was no space between him and Matthew. With an iron grip, he grasped Matthew's chin and forced the hero's head up to meet his vehement glare. "Do not forget this: as you are right now, you are trapped, L'ombre. There is no upper hand to be gained here. I have it. Do not think for one second that you can escape. You belong to me now. теперь ты мой—"
Matthew didn't know how long he stayed there, pressed against the wall, staring into the gaze of a madman. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. All he knew was that slowly, slowly, he slipped away into a wisp of vapor. And then he was gone, and Ivan's hand closed around nothing.
A/N: I can't believe I finally published this. Cannot. For one, just this first chapter has been in the making for a full year. It's been abandoned and trashed and revamped so many times. But it's here! Thank you so much for reading. I didn't go full gung-ho with editing this time, so my apologies for the mistakes I know are in here.
Translations!
112 = 911
теперь ты мой: You are mine now
L'ombre: The shadow
Dans L'ombre: in the dark