Sorry this chapter is so short, and that it's been so long since my last update. Here it is, though! Feedback is welcome!
The sorcerer strode confidently through the shadowed streets. Every inch of him portrayed a calm certainty what and arrogance that was unusual in visitors to this street at this time of night. Only his head betrayed some difference, glancing at the address of every building on the street. Finally, the sorcerer came to a large, almost Victorian house whose imposing shadow seemed to loom over the entire street. He passed it. One lot to the left was a small, modern house, well lit for the middle of the night and with windows in nearly every room. The sorcerer entered with the swift application of key into lock. He slipped in, silent on his feet.
If one were to stand outside the house, one would hear nothing, only notice that the air was growing heavy and thick. If a blind man were to stand in the room where the sorcerer stood, however, he would hear the creaking of floorboards and the faint whisper of chalk.
Finally, intricate white diagram complete, the sorcerer pulled a crumpled note paper out of his pocket and began to read in what sounded like unusually fluid Latin. For the longest time, he felt a pressure on his eardrums, growing larger and larger as the very air pressed in around him as if it tried to listen. At last some of the pressure was relieved as the entire room grew darker for a moment. When it brightened again, there was a second shadow on the far wall of the room, stretching into and over the diagram.
As the sorcerer watched, something strange happened. The shadow shrank and grew, contorting its shape in unpleasant ways as a figure grew out of it with agonizing slowness, going from two dimensional to three dimensional like a reflection stepping out of a mirror.
A man stood before the sorcerer, a man with sickly pale skin and bright green eyes. He was short in size and his hair, once mousy brown, was now primarily white and both long and silky. He wore unusual, nearly extravagant clothes of grey and silver and a long, smooth black coat with a small silvery cloak over the shoulders. The only color to the man was in those eyes and the remaining brown hair.
The sorcerer bowed, only now showing signs of fear and nervousness.
"Good morning, Remnant of mine." The stranger's voice was a clear tenor with a cultured British accent.
The sorcerer licked his lips uncertainly. "Technically it's nearly midnight, Drake sir."
The green eyes narrowed slightly. "Is it?"
"Y-yes, sir."
There was an awkward pause in the conversation for a moment until finally the strange man spoke.
"Come here."
"W-what?" the Remnant questioned.
"Come here, don't be scared, Remnant dear." The stranger's voice was soft.
Trembling, the Remnant approached the stranger. The strange man calmly lifted one gloved hand to the Remnant's cheek, stroking it as gently as if the sorcerer were a tiny rabbit and looking calmly into his eyes.
"I have a task for you," the stranger said. "Two tasks, really."
"Yes?"
The stranger's gaze grew piercing. "Get me my book," he ordered. "And return to me with it."
The Remnant blinked. "And the second task?" he asked quaveringly.
"You will learn that later, my sweet."
The sorcerer slipped quietly out of the modern house, once again in apparent control of his surroundings. A short ways behind him, unseen and unheard, came a slithering shadow with the dry hissing sound of paper on paper.