The White City

Chapter 9

“No?” He let go of her to take a peep at his hands. “But I felt it. I had the sparks too.” His eyes found Laylah’s. Though his voice held emotion, it never fully reached his eyes. Those enchanting brown eyes held something Laylah couldn’t distinguish.

Laylah glanced over her shoulder. Kain was out of sight and the cold night air crept up on her. Her fingers drummed on the opposite arm as dread welled up. She needed to find Kain. And quick.

She forced her hand into the middle of her chest, clasping them in a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” she said. She glid one foot behind the other as she tried to slide further away from him unnoticed.

Raziel had his focus on his hands solely. He didn’t notice the young maiden as she moved towards the square. She had succeeded if Kain hadn’t shown up behind them. “Laylah,” he said, or rather, yelled. The sound of his voice startled both Laylah and Raziel. Laylah hurried to spin around on her heels and ran towards the voice.

Raziel came to his sense behind her. A narrow gaze lifted and bored into her neck, but she heard no footfalls come after her. She lifted her skirts. Her feet slipped as she turned right. With effort, she managed to stay on her feet as she ran towards Kain. He stood at the same spot they had been earlier right before entering the square. He pulled his expression into one of worry as his eyes rolled around to scan the square.

“Kain,” Laylah said, reaching him. She hunched over, her arms finding support on her knees. Her breathing came out in short puffs as she fought to regulate it.

The old hag laid a comforting hand on her back. As she stood there, bent over, they were about the same height. His grey hair grazed her chin. She stiffened, drawing step back.

“What happened?” the old chap asked as Laylah gazed over her shoulder. She could glimpse the entrance of the alley. There was no sign of Raziel.

“I-I.” Inside the complex mind of Laylah did thoughts spin. Should she tell Kain about Raziel or keep her mouth shut until she was sure of her relation to the boy? “I thought I saw someone.”

A spark lit in the pits of Kain’s eyes. He guided her to an upright position. “Could it be your familiar? Was it the same boy?” Kain led them away from the square with one last glance over his shoulder.

Though the answer pushed at the inside of Laylah’s mind, she didn’t open her lips. Kain’s earlier words rung in her head. The stone would attract her familiar. It would show her, her familiar. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that the stone showed her Raziel and he then appeared out of nowhere. There was more to it and she was set to find out. She would no longer try to shove everything away and was ready to work to find out what the hell was happening.

Raziel had found a tavern and launched into the seat by the counter. A lady with a plump chest on display whipped down the counter with a dirty cloth. A band enclosed around her head to keep her short, frizzy, black hair from falling into her face. Plastered on her face was a huge grin. It caused her wrinkles to show. She kept a close eye to Raziel, who had dumbed every piece of gold jewelry he owned into a sack hanging in his belt. The lady moved over to him, pushing her chest out and draping the cloth over her forearm.

“What can I get for you, chap,” she asked and settled right in front of him. The inn was more or less deserted. Raziel was only accompanied by an outgoing lady and a drunk addict in the back.

Raziel ran his hand along the edge of the wooden counter. His eyes followed his actions with ease. He had draped the fur cape over the counter beside him. He pressed his lips into a thin line and his hair capped the intensity of his gaze. “Ale,” he said in a deflated tone, not elevating his gaze to meet the ladies.

The lady rolled her eyes and drifted away from the counter. She nodded her head but doubted that the young man saw the movement. She left Raziel to his thoughts as she went to fetch him a mug of ale.

Raziel sat in his thoughts, none of them about his kingdom or father. They were all about a little white-headed girl and it provoked him.

His eyes kept tracing the veins in his fingers. He ached for the warm feeling of the sparks, the thrill of being so powerful. More powerful than the king. But the girl had told him that he was no man of magic. You couldn't miss the truth in her voice. No one could. Raziel was no magician. But he had seen the magic flow in his system. He had felt it. You couldn't deny that either.

He clenched his fist only to spread them again. He continued the process until the places were his nails dug into his skin drew blood. The lady had come over and put down his ale in a thick wooden mug. Foam from the top spilled down the sides and stained the wood. She stared at the blood dribbling from his hands, shoving her eyebrows down.

Raziel felt her stare and raised his gaze to meet hers. His steel cold eyes kept her gaze and watched as her expression went blank. She hurried away and left Raziel alone. Raziel’s moody aura could frighten a grown man. He might only have been a young man, but in some way, power had always radiated off of him if he concentrated. A bit like Laylah.

Raziel took a sip of the liquid, the familiar taste soothed the nerves he had yet to discover. Yet, it did nothing to wash away the memories of her.

The door was thrust open and a cold gush of wind swept past Raziel. From the corner of his eyes, a small shadow edged into the pup. White garments covered his frame. Dirt coated his pants from his ankles to his knees. The lady behind the counter was once again ready to serve her customer. A smile, dull and flat, found its way to her lips as she leaned over the counter. “Gentleman,” she said to gain his attention. “What is your stomach asking for his fine evening?”

The man slid onto a stool near Raziel. Locks of gray hair stuck out from under the hood. His arms fell on the counter and his fingers tangled with each other. “Water, please. A glass of water.”

The lady nodded her head, but a confused expression smeared across her face. She took a mug and went out in the back before returning with a filled glass of water. She shoved it over the counter. The man snapped out his hand and caught it. He lifted it and for a moment it disappeared into his hood as he took a sip.

Raziel was busy with his drink again as he emptied it down his throat. Frothy foam emerged from the corner of his mouth and slithered down his chin. He smacked the mug down again, gaining the man’s attention.

“Hard night?”

Raziel slipped his gaze to the man. His eyes bore into the side of the man’s face. He hadn’t turned to look at Raziel as he spoke. He kept on sipping his water with deliberate movements.

“That’s one way to describe it,” Raziel said with a burst of dry laughter. His fingers strengthened around the mug. He gawked into the golden liquid.

The man scooted closer, shifting chairs until he sat right beside Raziel. The crumpled fingers traced the rim of his mug. He had yet to reveal his face.

Raziel rolled his shoulders back, feeling a bit heat from the person beside him. He could hear the man’s short breathes as he puffed out air and inhaled it again.

“Never have we met such fine gentleman in this inn. Where did you come from?”

Raziel snorted, not to be impolite, just surprised by the question. Raziel gazed down his body. He did wear finer garments and the pure white fur beside him wasn’t seen among these folks. He should have used his mind before leaving his home. “Does it matter?” Raziel lifted his hand to hail for the hostess. He caught her attention by snapping his fingers.

The man let a laughter roll off his tongue. It felt the void of silence as the lady strode over to their seats. Her gaze slipped between Raziel and the man. She had an eyebrow raised in suspicion, but she didn’t comment on the uncanny gathering.

“One more.” Raziel forced the mug over to her, his gaze only lingering on the man. The lady took the mug and vanished again. It left the man and Raziel alone to a conversation the man was long from fulfilled with.

“In these parts, who you are doesn’t matter. What you will become. That is a horse of another color.” The man laughed again, finishing up his glass of water.

Raziel laced his fingers with a strand from his blazer. He tore his eyes from the man to focus on the woman preparing his drink. He considered the man’s words for a moment. Raziel drew his eyebrows down. “Strange,” he said. “I believed that the cycle of deprivation ruled in our kingdom.”

Once more, Raziel heard the man let out a low chuckle. “Each mundane have the powers to break the cycle if they wish. You simply have to fight for it.”

Raziel let out a grunt in skepticism. Never had such strange words reached his ears. In his mind, you became what your parents were. You didn’t fight for your beliefs but adopted your parents. Yet, poking in the back of his mind, the words from the man meant something to him. Maybe magic could be his? If he really wanted it.

“I thank you for your wisdom.” Raziel let a soft smile grace his lips. The hostess delivered his ale and he slurred a strong hand around the mug. The sleeve of his arms skidded up to reveal his wrist.

The man’s arm flinched out, gripping around Raziel’s wrist. With a strong yank, Raziel lost his grip on the ale, spilling it on the counter. The old man didn’t seem to care as he took in Raziel’s wrist and mumbling something like I knew it, under his breath.

The man was stronger than expected and Raziel hung halfway down his chair as the man inspected his wrist. Raziel had his eyes widen in shock. He choked on his words of protest, not sure what to say. That movement had taken him so much by surprise that he didn’t even pull back. He let the man run his finger over his wrist as ale dripped on his trousers.

With curiosity boiling in his system, Raziel let his eyes wander to the hold. Right under where the man curled his finger around Raziel's wrist, were a black mark. It was a reversed s, were the bottom tail ended in a spiral. From the middle of the reversed s grew out another string which curved into a crooked u. One dot drifted over the crooked u while another sat right under the reversed s.

“The sign of the familiar,” the man said, his eyes wandering up to meet with Raziel’s. Raziel met a pair of power-hungry eyes, knowing this man was long from trusted.