Legacy of a Dreamer (7 page)

“Why did it come after me?” she asked, staring toward Nick as if his unchanging figure would have all her answers. “What did that . . . boy . . . mean when he said the shadows were coming for me?”

Nick, ever her faithful, silent companion, didn’t offer her anything but something to focus on. The fact that she depended on him was silly, but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

The clanking noise started again, this time in a steady, unwavering beat.
 

“That’s it,” she said, pulling the covers off her and headed in the direction of the main light switch. She’d figure out what caused the noise once and for all, but as she passed by Nick’s shadow, something caught her attention.

The head of the shadow had moved, as if following her, and she could have sworn she saw what looked like a pair of eyes, and she gasped.

There was a menacing laugh coming from the same direction as the rhythmic noise, and she backed away, terrified. A large shadow that hadn’t been there before took up the majority of her small kitchen. It moved and swayed to the beat of the clanking, like a tree caught in the breeze.

She bit the inside of her lip, a test she did often to make sure she was awake. This felt too much like a nightmare to be real, but the sharp sting and metallic taste of blood told her she was, in fact, awake. Her back met the wall behind her as she spread her fingers out against the plaster, bracing herself and wishing she could find a way out of this.

“It’ssss time, my dear,” an evil voice said from across the room, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She didn’t know what to do or where to go. The door to the hallway was on the opposite side of the apartment, and it was impossible to get there without getting closer to that shadow.

She glanced back in Nick’s direction, not knowing what to do, but he stood there, offering no help, those almost clear eyes holding her gaze. She wanted to tell him to do something if he was real, but an almost imperceptible shake of his shadowed head kept her silent. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“What do you want from me?” she asked the moving shadow, her voice quavering in fear.

“Your death,” the thing said, taking a step out of the darkness. “Or the equivalent would be niiiiice.”

It was a grotesque creature wrapped in a thick, dark cloak, and it shuffled from side to side as it moved, its three-toed feet offering a wide base, its bald head holding no eyes or features but a yawning, empty mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth.

The clanking noise got louder as it moved closer, and Chantal noticed something hanging from the front of its robes.

“You like it?” it asked, laughing and holding up the long chain of dangling things that clanked together as it moved. They looked like little baseballs in the dim lighting, but something inside told her they were far more horrendous. “These are the heads of your kin. The ones I found while they were still in infancy.”

She covered her mouth, trying to avoid being sick. The skulls of babies hitting one another produced the sound, and she couldn’t help but let out a little cry. It laughed at her, holding up the makeshift belt so that she could get a better view.

“Don’t feel bad for them, my lamb. They had it easy, probably didn’t even feel a thing. You, on the other hand . . .”

It pulled out a long serrated blade, the edges of it coated in what looked like dried blood. Chantal moved along the wall frantically, trying to find a means of escape.

“Why? Who are you?” she shouted.

“I’m The Sssseeker, my dear. I’m the one who finds your kin and wipes them out.”

“There must be a mistake,” she said, frantic. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Oh, but you are. I can smell the scent of Grace on you a mile away.”

The creature came closer, its stench nauseating. Chantal wanted to scream but didn’t, not wanting to alarm her neighbors. She wouldn’t drag them into her nightmare.

She had the urge to fight him off but didn’t have any sort of weapon within reach. She could hear Natalie’s voice in her mind telling her countless times to make sure she bought a gun once she reached the city, but Chantal had always brushed the warning off. Now, she wished she’d listened. Hell, even a baseball bat would do right now.

The thing came closer, shuffling steps dragging it across the floor. She glanced toward Nick, hoping that he’d pop out of the shadow and come to rescue her, but he wasn’t there. His silhouette had disappeared, along with any hope she had beforehand.

She scrambled across the wall, heading toward her bed, hoping she could find something to defend herself. She pushed herself across the mattress, keeping the thing in view as she reached for the lamp. He laughed, both of them knowing she was pathetic. He raised his blade as his oozing mouth formed a horrifying smile.

“Excuse me,” a male voice said from behind the cloaked figure, making both the creature and Chantal pause. A man stepped into view, gray-skinned, dark-haired, dressed in only a black pair of jeans with those distinct eyes Chantal had seen in the alleyway. “I think the lady’s made it clear she wants you to back off. Besides, you’re kind of gross.”

The creature lunged at the gray-skinned man, thrusting his blade toward his bare torso. The man spun, melting into the darkness, becoming part of the shadow again. He reappeared behind the creature, yielding a blade of his own.
 

They fought ferociously as Chantal sat frozen on her bed. Each had the ability to move like lightning; each could disappear into the darkness.

“She will die, Warrior, no matter how many you send to protect her,” the creature said, spitting his dark venom onto the floor as he whipped around in attempt to slice at the man’s lower torso.

“Not by your hand, and not while I’m still around,” the gray man said, hacking his blade through the air and just missing the creature’s melon-shaped head.

“You protect her in vain,” it said, landing a punch to the man’s flank.

“She’s survived this long,” the gray man said, plunging his blade deep into the creature’s abdomen. It sputtered, spraying black liquid onto the floor. “And she will survive tonight, just like I said she would.” He twisted the blade, causing the creature let out a gurgled cry, and a torrent of fluid poured from the creature’s terrible mouth, leaving a puddle on the floor. The thing melted in front of her, joining the filth on the floor. Once the creature had dissolved, the remains sizzled like acid and then disappeared.

The man stood, his blade held out at an angle, the length of it covered in black ooze. His eyes were vacant, his mouth moving as if in prayer. Chantal watched him, horrified and amazed at the same time.

“Nick?” she said. He glanced up and captured her with his angelic eyes.

“You know, I’ve always wondered why you call me that.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Chantal whispered, a wave of revelation hitting her. “You were the one in the tunnel.”

   
“Yes,” he said in a flat tone. “You shouldn’t have been down there. It was dangerous.”
 

“Who are you?” she said, her mind trying to wrap around what she’d witnessed twice in one day. She sat perched on the edge of her bed, not trusting her legs to hold her up.

“You know, it’s late. You should get some rest.” He stepped into the kitchen, checking behind the small protruding countertop.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
 

“You look like something out of a freaking comic book.” She gestured toward him in an exaggerated motion.

He glared at her, and she shrugged, unrepentant. He had to admit that his overall look tended to be a little overwhelming, not to mention what just transpired in the apartment.

“Look, there’s no way I’m sleeping. That’s twice I’ve been attacked today. I want to know what’s going on. Am I dreaming? ”

“You’re not asleep,” he said, sounding somewhat like a warning and an answer in one. He took a step closer, pausing to lean on the edge of her small kitchen table to gauge her reactions. She didn’t seem like she was about to pass out.
Impressive,
he thought. Any other woman in her situation would’ve hit the dirt running a couple times by now. But her kin had always been strong, at least the ones that survived past their childhood.

“Please, just tell me what’s going on.” She stood up from her bed and took a step closer to him, seemingly unafraid. Chantal was a peculiar woman. Alone, terrorized and confused, she seemed to be handling what she’d seen as well as could be expected. Scared and now pissed, needing some answers.
 

“Curious,” he said.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She glared at him. “You know, I’m getting tired of this. My whole life has been a bunch of unanswered questions, and now this madness happens. I’m tired. Tired of the nightmares, tired of being scared and if you can’t answer my questions, you might as well just go back to your corner and leave me alone. Oh, and thanks, by the way.”
 

Thanks?” he asked, confused.
 

“For protecting me, both times,” Chantal said.

“It’s what I do, who I am.”

“What you do? Who you are?” she yelled. “I want answers. Are you going to tell me what is going on or do I figure this out by myself?”

“Hmmm, are you ready to hear the truth?” he asked.

“Ready? It seems to me that ready or not, you know more about me than I know about myself, so answers are what I need.”

“Fine,” he said, moving to stand in front of her. She instinctively took a small step backward, but didn’t retreat. He followed her gaze fixed on the “blood” left behind on his jeans. Bravery, he noted. Even scared, she demanded the truth, another attribute of her kin. “What do you want to know?”

“Who are you?”

“Well, I believe you call me Nick, though I’m quite curious as to why.”

“I don’t know. It just popped into my head.” He shrugged in response, taking her explanation with no more question. “How long have you been watching me?” she asked as she lowered her gaze that had trailed up from his stained jeans, briefly taking in his bare chest causing her to blush.
 

“You know the answer to that one.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“As you’ve seen today, you are in need of protection.”

“Okay, but why? Who is the boy? Why is that thing trying to kill me?” She looked up and threw her arms out in frustration.
 

Nick sighed, pulling a black cloth from the back of his jeans. He cleaned off his blade with one steady motion, and then sheathed in into an invisible scabbard at his hip. The sword disappeared, almost as if it had been put away into another realm. He wiped away remnants of the Seeker off his chest and his jeans, but her next question halted his attempt, causing him to pause and look over at her again.

“What are you?” she asked.

“I am a Protector,” Nick said, stepping back and leaning against the table to give her more space. “I am part of a race that is fathered by The Fallen: Warriors from Heaven who chose to follow a path other than the righteous one.”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about Angels?”

“Some lore called them that. We just know them as the Fallen. They selfishly left Heaven’s serenity, wanting control and power for their own. Their leader, a creature known as the Evil One, believed his realm of domination should be on Earth. He brought his followers here to claim it as his own.”

“So you are a child of a fallen angel and what, a human female?”

Nick nodded.

“Fifteen of the Fallen broke away from the Evil One, seeing how he turned Earth into nothing but sin and torment, corrupting souls, turning that which was meant to be beautiful into filth and decay. They called themselves The Contrites, and there are only three left that we know of.”

“What happened to the other ones?”

“They were killed,” he answered, his beautiful eyes reflecting an old sadness. “When the Contrites separated from the Fallen, they initiated a war. Without a chance at being allowed back into Heaven for their betrayal, they decided to fight against the evil here on Earth as their benediction.”

“They found pure women, taking them as their brides. Each gave birth to a new breed of warriors.” Nick stood and held out his arms. “We are all born with the gray skin of our fathers, and a mark like this one.”

On the inside of his right forearm was an intricate design, the coloring close to the ink of a tattoo yet different in clarity. Dark wings resembling a raven’s encased a heart made of twisted vines, each thick cord covered in countless thorns. The wings created a nest for the prickled heart to lie in, but neither design touched the other. Two separate but distinct markings, both beautiful and mysterious.

“The heart reminds us of the place we belong, of what we fight for.” His voice dropped low. “The wings represent our forefathers’ betrayal.”

“It’s stunning,” Chantal said. Nick withdrew his arm abruptly, his hand curling into a fist at his side.

“Warriors. Children of Angels and human women,” She repeated the words as if her mind had a hard time processing it.