The Rise of the Rejected Mate: The Scion Book 1

Chapter 2

Noah

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I parked my baby in the driveway. She was a shiny 1979 Chevrolet Corvette Z28 in matte black, a classic beauty that was, in fact, older than me, yet in mint condition. The tan leather interior was well used but still in fantastic shape and all the fittings were original. I’d managed to buy her from an older gentleman who had really taken care of her. 

I’d saved up and paid a small fortune but hadn’t regretted it for a single minute. I had a modest two-bedroom home in a quiet suburb close to work and had an unassuming lifestyle, my only vice was my sweet ride. Just hearing her engine purr could lighten my darkest moods but somehow, it did little to help today. 

I’d woken with a deep sense of foreboding and hadn’t been able to shake it all day. I tried distracting myself as I taught my philosophy and ethics classes. I had a passion for teaching and took great delight in the bright students. I loved challenging them, their beliefs, and ways of thinking in order to develop their critical thinking skills. I wanted them to review things they took for granted and to change deep-seated ideology if it did not make objective sense. Hopefully, the process would open their minds and facilitate growth. 

My classes usually cheered me up but it hadn’t worked this time. It was as if a dark cloud hovered over me, robbing me of warmth, light, and siphoning all joy from the very air I breathed. I was usually sensitive to impending changes in the world around me and it was typically a precursor to a vision. This seemed even heavier; it seemed grave. 

I was a seer, a human who had visions of the future, futures I could often not do anything about. It was unusual for a human to have these kinds of visions. I didn’t need to be told that; I had been an outsider for most of my life because of it. My first vision had arrived when I was just an awkward thirteen-year-old. Apparently, such talents made themselves known during puberty, but usually only to witches or wizards.

I’d been sitting on my bed in my bedroom when the air around me rippled, shimmered and all I could see was white static as if looking at a TV screen that had lost its signal. The hair on the back of my neck raised and the air felt laden with electricity. My vision flickered and I found myself on the Manhattan bridge in the middle of the road, an eighteen-wheeler truck rushing straight at me. I froze in terror, mouth gaping in a silent scream. The truck passed right through me and hit an oncoming car head-on. 

I’d seen crashes in the movies, but I had no idea just how loud they really were. The vehicles smashed together, the sounds of tires squealing, metal screeching, and grinding filling the air. Naturally, the car didn’t stand a chance. It folded like a toy and both vehicles careened off the side of the bridge. The barrier couldn’t withstand the impact and was wiped out. I hadn’t managed to see the faces in the drivers’ seats. 

My vision flickered again and I was back in my room. A light sheen of sweat covered my forehead, my stomach churned and my breathing was labored. I was having a panic attack, but I guess thinking you were going to get run over by an eighteen-wheeler would do that to you, besides not knowing how you got there in the first place. I gripped the blanket by my sides tightly and tried to take slower, deeper breaths. It took a good ten minutes for me to calm down enough to try to figure out what had happened, but even then, I had no rational explanation for it. Perhaps I was losing my mind, perhaps it was just a weird daydream. Hours later, after fretting about it endlessly, I decided to let it go and just tried to forget it. 

I was sitting in the kitchen after school three days later when I heard a live news report on the TV detailing a crash on that particular bridge. I ran to the living room and saw the exact same bridge, the barrier wiped out and the headlines saying that a truck had had a head-on collision with a car. A family of four were in the car, parents and two young children. There were no survivors. They speculated as to how the car had ended up in the wrong lane of the enormous bridge, but I couldn’t grasp the details. 

I stood there dumbfounded, my mind spinning in so many different directions, how could it be? Was it even real? I had no idea what to do and couldn’t talk to anyone about it. They’d think I was going crazy, hell, I thought I was going crazy. I’d had a few more incidents just like that and it wasn’t until I’d finished high school and started studying at Yale University that I finally found someone to talk to about it. I found Thomas. Then I had been recruited to a society called the faceless and learned that I wasn’t crazy and that there were far worse things out there than me and my visions. 

I unlocked my door and went inside, dropping my keys in the bowl in the entrance hall as usual. My home was understated, everything was fairly regular as I preferred comfort over style and ostentatious design. The living room furniture was soft and plush, in muted tones of cream and earthy colors but still sparse and somewhat minimalistic. Since I didn’t have a wife and family, I’d hired an interior designer to put it all together and make my home as cozy as possible. It was money well spent.

Thomas and I had joined the faceless shortly after each other and had both ended up teaching at Yale in our respective fields. He hadn’t shown up at work today which was very unlike him, especially on a Monday. He was the conscientious type and would always let me know if he wasn’t going to make it. I hadn’t heard from him since Friday and my anxiety increased as I thought about him. I headed up to my office and powered up my laptop to check my personal emails. 

Bingo, there was an email from him. He’d sent it in the early hours of Sunday morning. 

From: Thomas Campbell

To: Noah Manson

Subject: I found it!! 

Noah, you will not believe what I just found!!! It’s the scroll, the prophecy. One of the missing vellums of the damned Codex Regius!! As we thought, it mentions the Scion as well!

I put it in our safe space, the key is where we keep things. Can’t talk much now, I’ll tell you all about it on Monday at campus. 

Thomas

I sat back and whistled as I exhaled, my skin prickled and my heart beat faster in excitement. A missing Codex Regius vellum, damn… no wonder he didn’t want to call or text that information, it was classified and these emails were the only comms secure enough for such sensitive subjects. It was also standard procedure between us to let each other know as soon as we had found anything. We worked as partners although unofficially.

The faceless had been hunting the missing vellums of the Codex Regius for over a thousand years along with other relics, scrolls, and powerful magical items. We were human but we were well aware of the various types of supernaturals that lived alongside us even if the majority of the human population wasn’t. Our main purpose was to maintain the balance of power, and allowing any of these powerful items to fall into the wrong hands could have catastrophic consequences.

Initially formed in Europe in the twelfth century by faculty members of Oxford University, the society had immigrated to America in the late sixteen hundreds, figuring that it would be much easier to remain hidden while searching for artifacts in the under-developed country.

It was a beneficial decision, allowing members to establish themselves as pillars of communities and enabled them to amass wealth and esteem. It also provided much more security for the relics they had been protecting. When Yale University opened its doors in the beginning of the eighteenth century, a number of members were on the faculty, including the Dean and the next generation in the student body. 

The tunnels and secret chambers below the university were constructed specifically for the faceless and the protection of the relics. As technology progressed, we installed top-notch security systems since the collection held many powerful and valuable items which could easily tip the already precarious balance of power between species. 

No doubt Tom was planning to move the vellum there as soon as he could. If it were to get out that he had taken possession of it, it would attract a number of dangerous individuals, not to mention the various countries who would try to lay claim to it as well. I hated such politics and should any of those countries actually manage to get their hands on it, it would only be stolen from them anyway. We still didn’t know if it held any sort of magical power either.

That just made his absence all the more suspicious. He had been planning to be there, he mentioned talking to me on Monday. The feeling got worse. 

My phone rang. It was Trent Griffin, the current leader of the faceless and also the distinguished Dean of Yale University. Trent was a six-foot-two rangy man with a regal bearing that spoke of his upper-class origins. His steel-grey hair and icy blue eyes lent weight to the rumors that he had royal blood. Added to that, he ran the university as if it was his kingdom and everyone treated him like their beloved king. He was a natural-born leader. 

That was not good at all. My hand shook as I swiped to answer. 

“Trent?” I answered, dread washing over me. 

“Noah, I have some bad news,” Trent said, he was never one to beat around the bush. I held my breath. “Thomas was found dead in his apartment late this morning by his cleaning lady.” My jaw went slack and my mouth gaped as the breath left me. “The police were called in and they estimate that he died sometime last night. It seems he had a heart attack. There are no signs of forced entry or any type of struggle, but it still seems suspicious to me,” he continued. 

“No way. Thomas was the healthiest person, you know that. He was only twenty-five years old for God’s sake. It’s just not possible,” I argued, a hint of desperation in my voice as if my denial could somehow bring him back. 

Thomas was quite literally the picture of health, burly and fit as a fiddle. He insisted on a healthy diet and worked hard at his fitness levels which I teased him about all the time. His healthy lifestyle combined with his natural good looks made him quite attractive to the opposite s*x. Despite his imposing and muscular figure, he was always shy with the ladies at first but once he relaxed, he had them eating out of the palm of his hand, another thing I teased him about incessantly.

“I know that. They suspect he may have been using some hard drugs since they can’t explain it otherwise. They’ll test for it. You and I know there are many other things it could be. We will do our own tests and investigation as well. I just wanted to tell you myself; I know you were close,” he concluded, his tone gentle. 

“Thanks, Trent. Please keep me informed,” I requested. 

“I will. You let me know if you have any visions that could help us, okay?” I agreed and hung up. 

That explained the feeling. I sat forward and rested my face in my hands as the reality of it sank in. A lone tear made its way down my cheek followed by another and another until it created an endless stream, and my shoulders shook with sobs. Thomas was the first friend I’d made at Yale as a student, the first person I confided in about my ability, the person to introduce me to the faceless. He was the first person I could just be myself with and he accepted me wholeheartedly, weird visions and all. He had always been there for me over the years. He was the brother I never had. 

Who could have done it, who would have wanted him dead? I thought back to the email. It had to be connected to the vellum, but they wouldn’t know where to find it would they? Did they manage to get into his emails? I had to get it before anyone else did, but I would have to be careful not to be followed. I’d have to wait a few days and make sure nobody was watching me.

I thought of the prophecy. We had seen references to the prophecy in various scrolls and legends over the years but had never had any solid information. It was said to tell of the Scion, the descendant of the warrior Jarl, who would hold the fate of the world in his hands. 

As much as I wanted answers to the age-old mystery, it wasn’t worth the life of my closest friend. Since he was gone anyway, I needed to ensure the safety of the vellum. It was his legacy, a crowning achievement for which he would be remembered. I would make sure of it. 

I pulled the whiskey decanter closer and grabbed a glass from the tray, pouring a generous amount. I lifted the glass. 

“Skál, Thomas,” I toasted my friend and took a long gulp of the liquid fire.