Tom roamed the dark and lonely streets of midnight London. The few lamps sheding light were far from him and he walked well away from their light, staying in the darkness where no one could see him even if they were looking for someone. Tom had a talent to disappear when he wanted, to hide behind a tapestry of shadows to cover his steps. It was second nature to him, and he wondered if maybe his family (his real, talented family) had some strange abilities to control the night and the minds of others. It would be fitting, and he would have an explanation for his gifts.
That was the reason he was out of the miserable orphanage: he was looking for a Christmas gift the same way he did every year since he learned how to escape the sisters and cross the gate without needing the keys. The need for a present felt cynic; he wanted to give a present to the father that never came to look for him, to the parent who was nothing but the blood and bones that made Tom. What better date to give the unknown man a present than the day when another father abandoned his beloved child in a land of violence and pain?
His musings faded to nothing inside his mind when the shop he was looking for appeared in front of him. He had seen it before, though only at nights when he escaped. If he passed by during the day he would find a wall and a wooden sign hanging from it, with the drawing of a lantern and the words Lantern Waste written over it. The shop had an open sign, also made of wood. He went in and heard the tanging of a small bell attached to the door.
A man came from a door to the left of the counter, and he smiled kindly to Tom who tried to small back and could only nod. The man didn't ask why he was awake, or far from home, or without his parents. The kind brown eyes only stared at him as Tom looked around, oddly matching his wild hair. To Tom, it felt as if some lion was preying on him.
The first item that caught his eye was a pan flute on display over a cusion made with a rich and soft fabric; he touched it, expecting it to be made of some kind of wood. It was too cold to be wood, though, and it was then that Tom first read the small note attached to it.
The pan flute of Tomnus, will be made with the bones of a dying queen of winter.
Tom frowned and lowered his hand, moving to another display. A bow and a case of arrows with the quiver of a white-ish material that reflected the light from the many candles around the room had another note, but Tom couldn not make out the words because something bright caught his eye and he turned to the right. On a tall shelf, what looked like a golden egg rested in a silver candleholder that still had melted wax over it.
"Can I see that?" Tom asked the lion-looking man, widening his eyes to appear vulnerable; older people always fell for that lie. What Tom didn't know was that in that moment he really was a child in awe of all the items he could see. He did wonder about them, the pan flute and the arrows, and even the sword and shield hanging on the wall, but the egg was something different.
The man walked to the shelf and retrieved it easily. He set the egg and the candleholder over the counter, and the sound it made was sharp, more akin to steel hitting steel than tin hitting wood.
"It's yours if you give me a secret."
Tom was surprised by the man's words and the way in which he set the deal as if the trinket didn't have any value; maybe the reason why the store only opened at night was because everything was ilegal or forbidden. Instead of making him go away, the words of the man intrigued Tom. His heart sped up.
"What kind of secret?"
The man tiled his head to a side and then to the other, finishing with a shrug. Tom frowned. His legs were beginning to feel small shocks going from his feet to his legs, the same sensation he had when danger was close by and his talent bid him to run. The gaze from the man kept him still, though, and it was eerily similar to waking up in the middle of the night and being unable to move.
"I hurt people," Tom said suddenly. He was surprised by his words and by his heart's rapid beating. A shiver went through him. "The fear in their eyes when they see me is something I can't describe."
His voice was calm and cold, and the man's eyes hardened when he heard Tom's voice because he spoke with certainty and a hint of thrill. The man took the egg in his left hand and offered it to Tom.
Tom held out his hand and felt the cold material of the egg when the man handed it to him. Tom stared at the egg, his prize for being honest and the gift to the father who didn't know of him.
"Thank you, sir."
He got out of the store and ran to the orphanage. It was almost dawn; the sun was coming up and Tom didn't know how could he spend so much time in the presence of the lion-looking man without noticing the hours going by.