Title: Black Rose, Part II
Part: The Wicked
Author: Cyberpunk2909
Webjournal:
Fandom: Sweep Books series
Rating: R
On Going series: Roses of Binding
Classification(s): Song-fic based chapters (All chptrs)
Warnings: See previous chapters
Pairing(s): Cal/OC, Cal/Every character (with obvious exceptions ppl :p) Cal/Ciaran (Yes! I am a sick and twisted soul!)
Author's Note: The LOOOOONG awaited Part II of Black Rose in which we delve inside of Cal's head. Holy Jesus H. Christ, Batman! Um…Wrong story…riiiiiight.
Alright after an ungodly, long ass writer's block (six frickin' months!), I have been slowly, but surely getting back into the groove of things, so if this don't sound like previous chapters, you know why. Now! Onward ye merrily, mightily writing pens!
O we are wearied of this sense of guilt
Wearied of pleasure's paramour despair,
Wearied of every temple we have built,
Wearied of every right, unanswered prayer,
For man is weak; God sleeps: and heaven is high:
One fiery-coloured moment: one great love; and lo! we die.
Oscar Wilde, Panthea
Chapter Seven: The Golden-Eyed
The world was dark.
Dark like the shadows underneath one's bed in the deepest hours of night's twilight. Dark like the void of space is dark, with the absence of stars' light and universes' fire. Dark like the cosmos at the beginning of time, when the silence of creation was thick and alive and teeming before exploding into a brilliance so white and so powerful it shocked the darkness and the darkness fled in its wake.
It was that type of dark.
Hunter breathed, but could feel no breath escaping his lungs, swallowed but could not feel the reassuring leap of his throat muscles working. He couldn't feel his feet, his hands, his fingers, his toes. He couldn't hear his heart beating in the cave of his chest even though he knew it was thundering like a panic-stricken deer running from its predator.
And for a moment he was gripped in the same thralls of panic: Where was he? What was going on? What happened to the small study? Kennet? His father? Ciaran and Killian? And, mostly importantly, what happened to Morgan?
There was an absence of life in the world around him.
He licked lips he could not feel, clenched into fists ghosts of his hands, breathing deep, ghostly brow creasing, jaw tightening, swallowing a phantom dry throat again. He stepped forward on phantasmic feet, faltering slightly, unsure of which way he should turn. Left? Right? Keep going forward?
This darkness was impregnable.
Hello!
His voice was a dull, hollow echo. It ricocheted around him as if he were standing in the center of the reverberating halls of an acoustical cathedral.
Hello!
MORGAN!
DA!
CIARAN!
KILLIAN!
Nothing answered save his own voice coming back to his ears and the silence. Hunter grew uneasy; was this type of thing supposed to happen? Was he supposed to be walking alone in a world where he couldn't see not two feet in front of him? Was this the workings of the spell?
Hunter stepped forward, but stopped again when he felt a sudden tendril of cool air brush across his face. He froze as the brush of fingers moved like silk along his jaw.
He-Hello…
His voice non-voice faltered as the sounds of clinking glasses and the low, murmuring din of a large crowd of people gathered floated to his ears. But whoever the phantom crowd was their voices sounded muted and indistinct as if he were standing behind a thick, closed wooden door straining to catch snatches of conversation. He did catch a few words:
"…Simply fantastic…"
"…Outdone yourself…"
"…He's like a little ang—…"
Hunter strained his ears, leaning forward on existent non-existent feet, hoping to hear more. But none was forth coming, and he was left to ponder over the snippets he had heard.
Who were the voices talking about? He'd never heard any of them before in his day-to-day goings about. Were they people Cal knew? Was this one of the situations Kennet said the spell would show him? What was it: Times or periods of high emotions?
But before he could ponder further, Hunter heard the briefest whisper of a strange something rustle behind him: the flutter of owl wings? The hiss of silk soft clothing sliding across skin? He turned on ghost feet and looked behind him with eyes that were there not there. But there was nothing save the darkness before him and the murmuring din of voices behind.
What's going on here? He wondered to himself, as his phantasmic brow creased in concern. What's—
The caress was simple, a brush of someone's hands playing wistfully in his hair before traveling like a summer breeze down his back. It seemed to rush through his skin after a moment. Through skin and muscle, twisting around his sinew, wrapping around the very marrow of his bones; Hunter gasped, but the breath was stolen from him as an alien presence stole into his mind…
There were whispers…
Can't…
The visions too much…
Need release…
I always see the Hammer…
The Lady…
The Knight…
The Wizard…
The Prophet…
Must…
Can't get away…
Hurts…
Hurts…
Hurts…
Make it stop…Make it stop…
Make it…
And then he was swept up in a tide of emotions, a living memory wrapping around his spirit, his soul, tying his fate irrevocably to the boy—the young man—he'd sworn he hated, loathed with every ounce of his being…
The emotions embraced him, and quite suddenly, so subtle, but still so sudden, he was no longer Hunter Niall, but a young, olive-skinned, golden-eyed boy standing at the edge of a cliff face, wondering briefly what it would feel like if he were to fall…
… Cal stood, frowning at the crashing coastal waters just off the edge of the cold cliff face as clouds churned in the sky above and the ocean lay like a writhing, disturbed blanket below. He stood and breathed deep of the salty, sea air, licked his lips and tasted the bittersweet tang of it on his tongue. Behind him, standing like an old hag bracing itself against the winds, sat his mother's manor. At one time it had been beautiful—you could see it in the way the columns reached up in towering heights to hold up the roof overhang that rested above the door. You could see it in the way the window shutters banged mournfully against the buildings walls, knowing that at one time or another they had been fixed to open and close without so much as a peep. You could see it in the way the bay window looked out over the beaten cliff face and towards the frothing sea.
Perhaps at one time that window had been used to see which ships would be coming into harbor, but no longer…Now it stood open, allowing the cool breeze that was blowing off the ocean swells into the attic—the place that had become his room.
Below the manor's bulking height, down a winding, twisting road and a steadily dropping slope rested a town. A small town, its population only reaching into the low thousands. A real homey place, his mother had said. Easily trusting. Before they had arrived here, Selene Belltower had had this place scoped out.
There was a court house, a jail and a police station that sat in the same red bricked, two story building that rested at the town's very center. From there, every other building seemed to expand outward like a spiral: the elementary and middle schools sat next to the local church, the high school in back of the local supermarket, a row of strip malls and one or two bars, and lastly, the houses sprang up like shoots of weeds from the earth.
Cal grunted, remembering the disdainful look that had crept upon his face as they passed the houses and denizens of the town driving toward the manor. He remembered, and could feel the disdain creeping upon his young, thirteen-year-old features again. He felt as if he were in Salem, Massachusetts, just before the outbreak of the witchcraft hysteria. This town felt like a powder keg with a lit fuse burning a slow, steady path towards the gun powder. The feeling twisted inside of him, much like the sea twisted with the tale-tell signs of a coming storm.
It was just something…Something in the air…Something that told him that everything that his mother had planned, everything that she had contrived would fall to pieces…Nothing good could come out of Rest haven Falls.
"Cal…"
He turned at the sudden call of his name and saw his mother waving from the back door of the house. Her hair was pulled back into a stern white and black, salt and pepper-colored bun, her golden eyes, so much like his and yet completely different, were gleaming with an inner fire as he glanced back one last time at the churning sea waters then turned back and walked toward his mother's beckoning voice. She was wearing a skirt of the deepest midnight blue, a shirt of elderberry purple and a black shawl hanging about her shoulders like a spider's web; he often thought of his mother as a spider: weaver of fates, mistress of time, but also the great trickster, the huntress, the deceiver…
He hid his thoughts within the depths of his mind as he approached his mother and her golden eyes took on a sharp, piercing quality. He had had an unnatural fear as child that when his mother had fixed him with that look, she was reading his mind. Perhaps it was the common fear of all little children, but even now—thirteen and standing an inch or two under the sweeping curve of her chin—he was still gripped by the apprehensive thought and buried his musing under a thick blanket in his mind to ponder on later.
"Yes, Mother," he said rather formally and saw the wince pass through her eyes before it was swept under a mask of calm. He knew she hated it when he called her that, but how could he think of her as anything less? She was Selene Belltower and he was Calhoun Blaire. Their lives weren't the peaceful, serene happiness of normal families. They were witches, powerful ones, belonging to a powerful Clan. Such niceties didn't exist for the likes of them.
"The last furnishings for your room have been set in place," she replied stiffly. "You can go and take a look if you'd like."
Cal smiled at her briefly, and she was caught off guard; he didn't do that much around his mother either. He nodded, still smiling and said, "I think I will. Thank you, Mother." And swept passed her through the small pantry before stepping through the doorway that lead into the kitchen. He could almost imagine the surprised look on her face evaporating into small satisfaction.
There were people in the kitchen as Cal entered, a few members of Amyranth he'd become acquainted with over the past few weeks since they'd left Missouri and came here to Resthaven Falls. Ricky Travis and Mitchell Grieves, two men from the Los Angeles chapter of Amyranth, sat at the table poring over a book from his mother's personal library as Carl Meyer, a man who'd fallen in league with Selene in Missouri, stood by the stove making tea. All three men looked up at Cal's entrance and eyed him with a mixture curiosity and awe. He ducked his head, murmured a swift hello and fled the room with those eyes still watching him, burning perplexed holes into his back as he left.
He hated it when people stared at him like that, as if he were a strange creature on display. His name had been passed amongst the ranks of Amyranth in whispers and hushed voices of wonder. His golden eyes, so much like his mother's almost a mirror of amber and tiger's eye, but wholly different, were whispered of too. That was partly why Ricky and Mitchell were here. Some of the higher members of Amyranth were taking an interest in him and not just because of his mother's influences.
He stopped in the deserted expanse of the hallway, leaned against the wall and breathed. It was filled with the smell of lilac and rose, and something else, something that tickled his nose as he inhaled and tasted like a cool breeze when he exhaled.
The undercurrent of magic.
Someone was casting: protection spells, it felt like. He was becoming more and more adept at detecting types of magic, rather than feeling that initial kiss of it when he came into its vicinity. His mother would be proud of him, and with the thought of his mother in mind, Cal remembered why he'd come inside in the first place: to see his rooms.
He continued down the hall to a spiraling staircase that disappeared into the upper reaches of the house, and in the dim light of the cloudy day, he could almost imagine that he were not traversing the staircase of his mother's manor but instead was traveling up the grandeur stairways of Notre Dame. Not that he had ever been there, but it was fun to imagine. He placed his hand upon the stairway banister and started up but was stopped part way by a call from behind. He turned as Carl emerged from the kitchen doorway with a smile plastered across his lips.
Cal watched the older man's approach.
Carl was a forty-something, balding man with a robust face and a pot belly; Cal couldn't fathom how his mother could stand the man. The smile Carl was sending him now was a snake of a grin, Cal thought. Deceptively kind.
"Is there something you want, Mr. Meyer?" Cal asked in a voice that told the man clearly that Cal wanted nothing to do with him at all.
"Oh? Nothing at all, Mr. Blaire," Carl replied in voice dripping with honey. "Just came to see you up the stairs."
"And here I thought you said it was nothing," Cal replied, voice dripping with just as much sarcastic honey.
"Well, then I suppose it isn't at all then," the older man said without missing a beat. He smiled again. "But I suppose since I've got your attention for once, maybe you'd answer some questions for me?"
For once. Cal fixed the man with a sneer, but he continued to smile and smile and smile, Cal's obvious hostility not fazing him.
"You know why I'm here, don't you?" he asked.
Cal crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the man silently. Carl continued as if that were all the confirmation he needed.
"Those eyes of your's," Carl said. "There aren't many people in the world with eyes that are golden."
Cal smirked. "Sure there are. You're just blind."
"Golden." Carl looked thoughtful. "But not that shade of gold. They're like gems, you know. Tiger's eye—"
"Is there a point to all of this?" Cal interrupted irritated.
Carl smiled that snake smile of his. "Oh, just wondering. You're such a special boy, Cal. A special child."
"My mother tells me that all the time," Cal snapped. "You're wasting my time with old news, Carl."
For a moment, the man's face changed. For a split second, Cal saw something other than that dripping sweetness. Something… Something…
Cal took a step back, up the stairs with a suspicious glare. The man stepped forward, hand rising to—
—Cal looked up suddenly at the brush of something against his mind like someone bumping suddenly into him and nudging him hard in the ribs. A shadow flittered across his vision for a moment—
"Don't!" Cal hissed before the man could reach for him and quickly ascended the stairs to get away. The man was still standing at the bottom of the stairway with his hand partly outstretched as Cal disappeared around a hall besides the stair landing and fled to his room.
Author's Note: Pooh! Had to shorten it because stupid, space reasons, but that's okay! YAY! I'll have the other part posted by the morrow, but other than that, what'd you think? Anyone? Anyone?
Reviews are the golden hunny that makes pooh-bear go yum!
