Oh, God, no! I can't, I can't, I can't! I began to chant the simple words
in my head over like a mantra of discouragement. I can't go out there,
they'll find me, they'll kill me, and they'll kill Father! My mind whirled
in endless circles of frightened thought as I stared disbelievingly at the
door that led to a world I had never seen save from the ten-stories-high
rooftop of the Paris Opera House.
My breath was wrung from me in panic; I no longer cared about anything but shutting that damned door and fleeing back to the familiar damp obscurity of my home. Surely there were old, unused rooms in the Opera that we could use instead! Instead of this!
I had simply frozen in utter fear, unable to tear my eyes away from a gaping hole that revealed a world blooming with light even in the shadows of midnight, when I slowly registered Father's voice filling my mind, coaxing me gently along. For long moments, I resisted, but his hypnotic voice was slowly taking my brain's place, forcing my limbs to move, my breaths to slow, my shaking to cease. On he drew me like some wicked Pied Piper into a black night I feared more than any memory-haunted shadow the labriynths could form.
And on I followed, captured like a besotted sailor in the grasps of the honeyed Siren's voice.
We must have looked a strange sight, I suppose; two well-built men, so heavily cowled that not an inch of facial features were visible, one carrying a light rucksack and the other a basket with two cats. I kept my eyes on the ground, trusting Father to lead us to our destination. Panic flared within me every time I was forced to raise my head to gaze at the world around me, and Father's hand would tighten on my arm reassuringly. We said nothing as he led me through the back streets of Paris to a small apartment.
By then, the panic and the strain of even such a short walk was beginning to take effect on me – my breath came in quiet, hoarse hisses between my clenched teeth and I quivered with every step I took. I leaned heavily against the wall of the darkened entryway, raising my head only enough to glance up the shadowed stairs and to look around the room. The walls were bare, but I could see that their lack of decoration was recent, for there were spots of darkened paint where the sun had not worn away at the color, which was a dark, soothing beige. The few plants I could see were wilted and dead save for one, a long-stemmed black rose. I smiled at the sight of it and dropped the light sack on the stairs, moving over to it while Father had his back turned.
I touched my shaking fingers to the soft petals, knowing that the rose I was touching had been blooming for more than fifteen years. I had been nearly five when I had presented Father with it, the earliest symbol of my otherworldly talents. It's inner core was crafted of pure sterling silver – I had formed it myself after Father had taught me the craft. I had stood and watched the rose for quite a while, deciding in my childish way that it was too drab and grey, that it needed color.
Even now, I cannot describe what I did. I remember the building rush of power that surged through me and then seemed to slip from my fingertips, along with the image of the living black rose I had seen in my mind.
Moments later, I had held a living rose in my hand where once there had been only silver.
I smiled now at the memory, turning to face Father, who had been watching me with a curious expression on his features. He held the damnable kitten in his arms, absently stroking its head as he watched me.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, setting the kitten down to explore and coming over to me.
I nodded quietly, fingers still caressing the rose. "Do you remember this?"
He smiled. "Yes. I took it with me one night when I came out for something and I must have left it here." He took my arm gently as I cleared my throat with difficulty. "Come, let's get you settled in." I let him lead me slowly up the stairs, keeping my head down and my concentration on not stepping on the cats, which trotted up the stairs beside me.
Father continued to talk as he led me down darkened halls lined only with dust-covered, sheeted furniture. "There's a room here that adjoins the one I'll be using, and I'll put you in there… The windows all face away from the street and there's shades if you want them. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can hurt you here, do you understand?" He stopped and turned me to face him suddenly, forcing me to look him in the face. "I will not let anything happen to you…" he continued in a softer tone. "Understand?"
I nodded wearily, barely hanging on to consciousness by now. He saw this and quickly lifted me into his arms. For a moment, I struggled, but weariness covered me like a shroud and I closed my eyes, gasping against the dizzying greyness that attempted to suck me down into unconsciousness. Father held me close, pressing his lips to my fevered brow and murmuring words I could no longer hear. I did not feel him lay me gently on the cool sheets of the bed, or feel his body wrap around mine as he lay beside me, holding me and comforting me.
I only felt peace, as it wrapped me in its gentle arms and took me away.
My breath was wrung from me in panic; I no longer cared about anything but shutting that damned door and fleeing back to the familiar damp obscurity of my home. Surely there were old, unused rooms in the Opera that we could use instead! Instead of this!
I had simply frozen in utter fear, unable to tear my eyes away from a gaping hole that revealed a world blooming with light even in the shadows of midnight, when I slowly registered Father's voice filling my mind, coaxing me gently along. For long moments, I resisted, but his hypnotic voice was slowly taking my brain's place, forcing my limbs to move, my breaths to slow, my shaking to cease. On he drew me like some wicked Pied Piper into a black night I feared more than any memory-haunted shadow the labriynths could form.
And on I followed, captured like a besotted sailor in the grasps of the honeyed Siren's voice.
We must have looked a strange sight, I suppose; two well-built men, so heavily cowled that not an inch of facial features were visible, one carrying a light rucksack and the other a basket with two cats. I kept my eyes on the ground, trusting Father to lead us to our destination. Panic flared within me every time I was forced to raise my head to gaze at the world around me, and Father's hand would tighten on my arm reassuringly. We said nothing as he led me through the back streets of Paris to a small apartment.
By then, the panic and the strain of even such a short walk was beginning to take effect on me – my breath came in quiet, hoarse hisses between my clenched teeth and I quivered with every step I took. I leaned heavily against the wall of the darkened entryway, raising my head only enough to glance up the shadowed stairs and to look around the room. The walls were bare, but I could see that their lack of decoration was recent, for there were spots of darkened paint where the sun had not worn away at the color, which was a dark, soothing beige. The few plants I could see were wilted and dead save for one, a long-stemmed black rose. I smiled at the sight of it and dropped the light sack on the stairs, moving over to it while Father had his back turned.
I touched my shaking fingers to the soft petals, knowing that the rose I was touching had been blooming for more than fifteen years. I had been nearly five when I had presented Father with it, the earliest symbol of my otherworldly talents. It's inner core was crafted of pure sterling silver – I had formed it myself after Father had taught me the craft. I had stood and watched the rose for quite a while, deciding in my childish way that it was too drab and grey, that it needed color.
Even now, I cannot describe what I did. I remember the building rush of power that surged through me and then seemed to slip from my fingertips, along with the image of the living black rose I had seen in my mind.
Moments later, I had held a living rose in my hand where once there had been only silver.
I smiled now at the memory, turning to face Father, who had been watching me with a curious expression on his features. He held the damnable kitten in his arms, absently stroking its head as he watched me.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, setting the kitten down to explore and coming over to me.
I nodded quietly, fingers still caressing the rose. "Do you remember this?"
He smiled. "Yes. I took it with me one night when I came out for something and I must have left it here." He took my arm gently as I cleared my throat with difficulty. "Come, let's get you settled in." I let him lead me slowly up the stairs, keeping my head down and my concentration on not stepping on the cats, which trotted up the stairs beside me.
Father continued to talk as he led me down darkened halls lined only with dust-covered, sheeted furniture. "There's a room here that adjoins the one I'll be using, and I'll put you in there… The windows all face away from the street and there's shades if you want them. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can hurt you here, do you understand?" He stopped and turned me to face him suddenly, forcing me to look him in the face. "I will not let anything happen to you…" he continued in a softer tone. "Understand?"
I nodded wearily, barely hanging on to consciousness by now. He saw this and quickly lifted me into his arms. For a moment, I struggled, but weariness covered me like a shroud and I closed my eyes, gasping against the dizzying greyness that attempted to suck me down into unconsciousness. Father held me close, pressing his lips to my fevered brow and murmuring words I could no longer hear. I did not feel him lay me gently on the cool sheets of the bed, or feel his body wrap around mine as he lay beside me, holding me and comforting me.
I only felt peace, as it wrapped me in its gentle arms and took me away.
