The White City

Chapter 2

The night had fallen upon the city. Streetlamps lit up the street which Laylah walked upon. She stuffed her hands deep within her pockets. Her heartbeat drummed in her ear. The sparks ignited in her pocket as they did every few minutes. She remembered what her mother used to say, “you must learn to use the weapons you were born with.” She’d always be aware that these sparks hid underneath her skin, yet, she’d never seen them come to life. Not until she had met the unique boy outside the church.

His face still lingered before her eyes. He was a constant reminder of the fears she carried around. The fear of her own uniqueness. Yet, he had seen the same magic like her. What she saw usually, he saw when they touched.

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. With a clear mind, she wandered further down the street, her cloak pulled tight around her frame.

She arrived at an old inn. The latest guest had left the door on the hatch. A narrow stream of light shone down upon the pavement outside. Laylah went closer, the sparks igniting in her pocket. A voice from inside boomed over the silence. “More ale!” it said, the words were a bit slurred.

Laylah swallowed a lump in her throat and pushed herself against the outer wall of the inn. She tilted her head, her eyes reaching the interior of the inn. The inn was empty except two men sitting in the bar with their backs turned towards Laylah. One of them was significantly younger than the other. The bar hostess brought a jug out from the back, serving another glass for the older man. He lifted it and brought it to this lip. The golden liquid dripped down his chin.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t the old man drinking Laylah couldn't keep her eyes off, no, it was the other one. He sat with great posture and ran a hand over the rim of his glass. At times, he would give the older man beside him a small glance.

She slid closer towards the door, her heart pumping behind her ribcage. The elder man spun in his seat; half his face turned towards Laylah. She gasped, stepping away. Pablo, the priest second hand, sat halfway down the chair. Ale dripped down his chin and his white s**t buttoned up. The eye she could see rolled around in his skull as his hands fumbled to touch the young man.

Laylah rolled back and out of sight. She pressed her back against the cold surface of the inn. Her eyes found the clear night sky. The stars shone down upon her. Her rapid breaths came out in a small cloud of smoke.

She stood like that for some time, unsure of what to do. Her heart still urged her to go into the inn, however, seeing Pablo had her head spinning. The commands for her feet to carry her away didn’t go through. She kept standing there.

“Let’s get you home.”

She stiffened. That must have been the voice of the young man. And that scared her. It had been a voice she’d heard on repeat inside her head the entire day. It was the voice of the young man in front of the church.

She curled her hands into fists. Heat spread through them, going up through her arms. A single white spark sprung out of her pocket and landed upon the ground. The pavement cooled down the heat and glittering smoke blew up.

The heat kept spreading as she once again tilted her head to glimpse inside the inn. The hostess had come over to the two men. She picked up the now empty jug and returned to the other end of the tavern. She disappeared behind an opening. The young man had slid down from his seat. He straightened the white suite, gliding his hands along his torso. The lips of Pablo opened, however, the young man had elsewhere to focus. The tips of his fingers lit up with a weak white.

Laylah watched the scene unfolding. She held her breath.

The young man sprung a few steps away, lifting his hands into the air while twisting away from Pablo. His face came into view for Laylah. She studied him and the reaction to the magic. Laylah slid her hands from her pockets and held them out in front of her as well. Form her fingertips pulsated a strange, bright light. Its casted shadows across her face.

The young man clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Laylah felt his confusion. He wasn’t supposed to have it. He wasn’t even supposed to be able to see it. With trembling fingers, he gripped the edge of a table. Threads of silvery ice snaked through the veins of the wood. He doubled over, almost falling on his face.

Laylah drew in a sharp breath. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth as the young man stood upright again. With a snap, he turned his head towards the door. He catches the ice blue eyes of Laylah. The world freezes around them. The light in their hands burned brighter as they curled up their fingers.

“It’s you,” he said, his feet moving on their own towards the door. He sat into a run; however, Pablo gripped his shoulder.

Pablo had his eyes fixed on Laylah, as she stood in the doorway and presented herself. Her fingers shone bright as she shoved them back into her pocket a moment too late. “Magic.” Pablo had let the word came out under his breath, but both the young man and Laylah had heard it.

Something shifted inside of Pablo. He forced the young man behind him, dragging out a long knife from his belt. “Do not do anything stupid, Raziel.”

Raziel, the young man, had buried his own hands in his pockets. He couldn’t take in the scene that was happening in front of him. He only registered the desperate blue eyes.

Laylah toppled back into the night. The reflection of the steel knife hit her eyes. She shielded them, pulling her hood over her face. Pablo pursued her. He now stood in the doorway. He had drawn the hand with the knife over his shoulder, ready to throw it.

Laylah widened her eyes picking up her skirts. However, she was a moment too late. Pablo, fear struck in his eyes, pulled his arm forward. A dry cry left the lungs of Laylah as she encased her head with the gleaming hands.

The knife was never launched. Raziel had ejected out from behind Pablo and seized his arm before he could let go. The knife instead fell down on the ground with a sharp thud.

Hearing the knife crashing with the ground, Laylah dashed from the spot. She ran towards the alleys. Behind her, Raziel yelled out. “Who are you?”

Laylah escaped down an alley, leaving Pablo and Raziel alone on the street.

Snow was dropping from the sky, settling in the palms of Laylah as she ran. They dimmed the glow, the heat molding into coldness. She shivered under her cloak. The twilight hid her as she turned another corner, reducing her pace. No footfalls were pursuing her.

She slid down along a frozen wall, her buttocks hitting the ground. Her head rolled back and her eyes fell shut. The freezing night hair enveloped her in its protecting blanket. Thoughts clouded her mind.

Her mind settled on the name Raziel. The young man’s name.

“Raziel.” The name slipped over her lips.

In the other end of town, Raziel had taken a step out of his carriage. He now stood on the sidewalk in front of his apartment. Pablo had gone back to the church. He needed to address the obstacle of the female magician they had encountered earlier. Raziel extracted his hands out of his pockets. No light lit the fingertips. It was if nothing had happened. But he knew better.

He shook his head and waltzed inside his own little nest. He pulled off his fur jacket and slung it over the blood-red lounge which sat in front of the fireplace.

His body sunk into the fabric of the lounge and he closed his eyes. He saw her face. The pale skin and white hair were a clear image in his mind, yet, it was the ice-blue eyes that stood out the most. It was those eyes that enkindled the flame inside of him.