White Raven, Night Crow: Chapter 1.1 - A New Beginning

New to urban fantasy; this was just a project that kinda came to me. Haven't developed it much yet. Feel free to rip it to bits.

~Fea

Cornyx

He stumbled forward, clutching his neck as he tried to run out of the moon-lit alley. His heart was beating several times its normal rate, his sweat dripping down his face and hands, mingled with the blood flowing down his neck.

I grabbed him and spun him around, my black eyes boring into his. He stopped fighting, relaxing in my grasp as I sank my fangs into the same place he’d been holding before, sucking the warm blood from his body as my hunger was slowly satiated.

He fell limp and I dropped him, wiping the crimson from my lips…

I bolted upright, suddenly awake in my small, old home. Silver moonlight slanted through the window, occasionally growing brighter as cars passed. In the distance, a siren wailed; someone was hurt, someone was dead, someone was in trouble.

Kicking off the sheets I stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the cold water, splashing my face. I didn’t really have hot water; the plumbing was too old. At least I could afford the place.

My shoulder-length ebon hair fell in my face as I clutched the counter. I closed my eyes as I tried to steady my shaking breath and clear my mind. I hadn’t killed, I wouldn’t kill.

Please, God, I begged. At least grant me the strength for that.

I glanced up at the clock in the corner, its infernal ticking going on and on and on, never stopping, never changing, always so damn loud!

3:04 AM.

Somehow I doubted I was going back to sleep. I didn’t turn on the lights as I went into the kitchen/living room/dining room, the ancient floorboards creaking under my step. It was small, old, and homey; unfortunately, that also meant the roof was leaky, the floor was noisy, the door jammed, the electricity flickered, rats infested the walls, and internet was a fantasy and nothing more.

The windows were closed, the curtains shut. Except for the ticking of the clock in the bathroom, I didn’t have anything that made noise — the rodents were loud enough.

I turned on the coffee pot and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, placing it on the tile counter with a clank. Trying to tune out the deafening hiss from the coffee maker, I cracked a few eggs into a bowl and added milk, whisking them.

I was 19 years old, going to the local college for my Associates’ degree - the reason I lived in a cheap, rundown shack. I was a bit of an oddball: my dark eyes drew attention, my reserved manner, my stutter. I knew I could fit in normally, if I wanted to. I was strong and despite what most people perceived as shyness I was quite confident in myself.

Well, in the ways they considered, at least. I wasn’t confident that I wouldn’t eat one of their souls.

Then again, I supposed most people don’t have to deal with that kind of thing. Plopping some butter into the heating pan, I grabbed a spatula and began to cover the pan in it to keep the eggs from sticking.

I didn’t own much, either. The bare minimum of dishes and cooking implements, a couple sets of clothes, my books, a pocket knife, a pocket watch, a flip phone, and a crucifix I wore about my neck. At least I got to go to school. I was poor, but I was free and learning, which was plenty for me.

Friends might have been a good addition, but I wasn’t going to get greedy. God had finally taken pity on me and given me a home and an education; I wasn’t going to simply wish I had more.

Today was Sunday. One part of me looked forward to Sundays, the going to church and listening to the sermon, getting away from the constant chatter and hubbub of college and town, and paying my respects to Evelyn.

On the other hand, I was a demon. A demon in church. Not only did the holy ground pain me, but I was a bit afraid of what would happen if they learned what I was. They all knew who I was: Cornyx Blackthorne, the quiet boy with a hard life. The one they felt sympathy for, but who most avoided. The one who came at least once a week and payed his respects to some dead friend. The one who never spoke, the one who only listened. But as far as what? I was simply a boy in their eyes, albeit a troubled one.

The eggs hissed as I dumped them into the pan, watching as they cooked in the dark. The library opened at 8:30 every morning of the week and closed at 7:30 in the evening, excepting Sundays when it closed at 1:00 in the afternoon. I constantly appreciated the place, grateful for the quiet and the resources it afforded me.

Church was at 7:00 and went until 8:30. I’d go from there to the library to finish up my homework due the following day. Then maybe I could go down to the shack.

The shack was what I called the abandoned shed about an hour’s walk from my home. It was haunted, people said. Ghosts lived there. The Devil had a home there. Several people had died. Usually places like that had druggies or criminals or someone in there, but this one didn’t. Never knew why. Didn’t question it. It was peaceful, the closest thing I ever got to real silence. It was hard to find places like that, particularly for someone with as keen senses as mine. I could hear the heartbeats of the rodents in my wall, see the tiniest movement in pitch black, smell the fear in the air when I was hunting.

I shook salt and pepper onto my eggs then poured myself my coffee before sitting down at my rickety table to eat. After a quick prayer, I didn’t waste much time as I wolfed my food down. I’d learned young to eat fast if I wanted to eat at all; otherwise, someone was likely to steal it from my plate.

By the time I finished eating and had changed into my clothes - slacks, a white button-up shirt, black tie, and a vest - it was 4:15.

Still three hours to kill.

Slipping my pocket watch into my vest along with my knife, I slipped outside and started down the road. The first rays of the sun were just beginning to lighten the night sky as I went along the street. Several crows were on the lampposts, their black feathered cloaks ruffled against the night chill.

One bird stood out like a sore thumb. That one was gray, with a black face and throat and dark feathers on his wings. A Hooded Crow, Corvus cornix. I’d looked it up when he first arrived. I wasn’t too keen on the wildlife, but I had time and there was a book at the library. He wasn’t supposed to be in the area; his kind was from Europe. I didn’t know how he’d arrived. An escaped pet, perhaps.

A few cars drove about the mostly vacant streets, lights shining through the morning haze. It wasn’t really a good idea for me to be out that early alone. At night would have been worse. I’d done both plenty of times before, but it’d gotten me into trouble, too — the chain of my pocket watch attracted unwanted attention.

People were surprised to find out I lived in a rundown building in the downtown. They usually assumed from my well-groomed appearance and my watch that I was higher class than I was. It was all thanks to Evelyn: the watch, the clothes, the fact I was out of jail and into the world again.

I turned the corner and headed down to the park.

When I reached the park, it was 4:45. I killed fifteen minutes by walking it, then another fifteen by following my footsteps. I tired of that soon enough and started down to the church; it was early, but the grounds weren’t a bad place to wait except for the holiness of the place. At least the flowers were pretty.

I never got there.

In all the movies, secret agents have sleek black vehicles that must cost a fortune, with leather interiors and not a speck of dust to speak of inside or out. They wear expensive black tuxedos and sunglasses so you can’t see their eyes. A gun is under their jacket and gadgets are hidden about their person. They’re formal and curt and seem to be unable to lose no matter the odds.

As it turns out, real agents just blend in. They use the same vehicles we do, wear the same clothes, speak the same way. You wouldn’t know the difference, not unless they were after you.

I was walking down the street, still several blocks from my destination, when an old pick up with a camper shell on the back pulled up and two men came out of it. They were both about the same size as I, one of them a bit larger and stronger, the other on the smaller side. They wore jeans and t-shirts, but I could smell the metallic scent of metal mixed with the tang of gunpowder; they had loaded weapons.

“Into the car, Blackthorne. We know what you are,” the larger of the two said. At this point I was being flanked, the big man on my left and the smaller one on my right.

The more sensible part of myself warned that I should listen; it was two to one, they were armed, and they were probably equipped to take me down. But the demon blood in me was strong and it’s message spoke of fear. It told me to run, to fight, to do something, anything, but get into the car.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t think I was. I turned and bolted, vaulting the fence of someone’s home and disappearing into the suburbs. This was my turf, my land, my territory, and no one would hunt me on it.

The thumping of my heart in my ears…the yells of the men as they gave pursuit…the steady ticking of my watch…

Over the fence, around the building, up the wall, onto the roof, to the next house over; get to where you have the high ground, the advantage, then defeat those humans.

On the ground, racing across it with the speed and grace of a panther; vault the fence, hit the earth, don’t stop. Around the corner, down the street, away from the car, into the abandoned home.

No light, many hazards, a place I knew well.

There were more than two of them. I could hear the heartbeats, sense their body heat; there were no less than seven of them.

Stay quiet, keep to the shadows, wait for them to come to you.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The bang as the door came down.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Lasers from gun sights, footsteps flooding in as I silently leapt to the rafters.

Tick. Tock.

They barked orders, looked for me.

Tick.

A laser on my head.

Tock.

I pounced as instinct took over, slamming the man into the wall and knocking him unconscious.

Gunshots, sharp pains across my body, the rush of adrenaline as I turned to the next target, knife out of my pocket and in my hand.

Throw the knife into his neck, take in the scent of blood, leap to the one closest.

Fire, blood, lightning.

The world spun and I stumbled back, struggling to get my bearings.

Tick.

I collapsed as all went black.

Branwen

Why won’t you answer me? Please, answer me! I’m all alone! Help me! Help! HELP!

I turned up the music in my earbuds in a futile attempt to quiet the voice next to my ear. There wasn’t anything there. I couldn’t see anything, feel anything, smell anything.

I sure as hell could hear it, though.

I was 17 years old, dark-haired and ebon-eyed. I wore a black trench coat, boots, skinny jeans, and a black t-shirt. I didn’t wear make-up and my hair was simply in a braid in between my shoulder blades. I trudged along the streets to school, backpack slung over my shoulder and the sounds of an orchestra in my earbuds.

I was an A student at the local high school. I was a junior and still just as much of an outcast as I had been when I started. I had a grand total of zero friends.

Human ones, anyways.

I did have something not many others had: a feathered flock of the neighborhood crows that would gladly let me join into their fun.

Please, I’m begging you! the distressed voice cried. I tried desperately to tune it out, to make it go away.

I’d never mentioned the voices I heard for fear that I’d be discounted as crazy. It was all I could to to keep up with life as it was. I was bored, I was frustrated, I was lonely, and had voices yelling at me to listen to them all the time.

A white raven with blue eyes leapt onto the curb next to me, cocking her head up and uttering a croak. Why there was a raven in the middle of suburbia — much less a white one — I had no idea. She’d been there for as long as I could remember. I’d dubbed her Alessa, meaning “defender of the people.” Not that ravens were the most renowned protectors or anything, but I liked the name and thought the meaning was badass.

Why, why won’t you even look? I’m all alone, please help! You’re the only one! I just want my sister, please, please!

Ignoring the voice, I dropped a bit of my toast I was wolfing down on the way to school to Alessa, who happily took the morsel and flew up to a lamppost with it.

Stepping over a puddle, I pulled up my coat around my neck against the chill breeze. It was overcast — dreary and gray to match my mood — and the monotone clouds had the promise of rain. So long as I got to school before the drizzle began, I was perfectly fine with whatever the weather wanted to do.

As it turned out, the weather wasn’t particularly considerate and decided that dumping buckets of water on me was a fine idea. Growling something about clouds and wet and rain, I pulled up the collar of my coat and hurried. I had a hat in my backpack, but I was running late as it was.

You can hear me, can’t you? Then why won’t you answer? I’m begging, please, please, please!

The day just got better and better. I picked up speed and turned the corner to school, quickly getting under cover in the halls and depositing my backpack on a hook before slipping into the classroom, barely on time.

At lunch, I finished my homework and started The Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King, ignoring the rest of the world to the best of my ability.

I tried, anyways. It was a bit hard with voices yelling in my ear. There were several voices at school: the lonely kindergarten voice who wanted to find her mom; the lament of a depressed 7th grader who only wanted to figure out the way out of the labyrinth of school buildings; then there was the one that dwelled in my classroom who had an English accent.

I was damn proud that I pulled off an A+ for all the racket they put up. It took everything I had to ignore them, not to talk to them, to listen to the teacher, to do my work.

I didn’t think I was crazy. Of course, the hearing of voices from nonexistent or invisible people, some with accents, was definitely a sign that there was something seriously wrong with me.

“Branwen! Are you even listening?” my teacher, Mr. Smith, snapped.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, what?” I glanced up, trying to ignore the voice that kept talking to me.

Branwen, that’s your name?

“Solve the problem on the board!”

I looked up at it and had missed most of the class; now I had no idea what to do.

Branwen, are you even listening to me?

“I don’t know the answer,” I mumbled.

“What? Speak up, Bran.”

Bran?

“I said, I don’t know,” I repated, agitated and tired.

Bran!

“What was it you were doing then, during the class while the rest of you were learning?” he demanded.

Great. Now I was going to get a lecture.

Bran.

“Shut up!” I finally snapped at the voice in my ear. The whole class went silent.

Mr. Smith just looked at me down that beak-like nose through the spectacles that made him look like an owl. Come to think of it, he did seem very owl-like. Just slightly less wise, I supposed.

“Go the office. Now.”

I obeyed, getting to my feet and disappearing down the hall.

I went home exhausted, frustrated, agitated, and stressed. I could hear the voices of my parents in my head already:

“Really, Branwen? What in the world possessed you?” my mom would say. I’d try to defend myself, fail because I couldn’t admit I heard voices and proceed to get grounded.

My dad would shake his head and send me upstairs and I’d miss dinner.

Alessa croaked from a tree above me.

“Sorry, Al, I don’t have anything for you right now,” I told her.

“Crrrrk.”

“I really am.”

“Rrakh.”

I walked past her, ignoring her.

She croaked again, more insistently, following me.

“Go away!” I barked. “Get! I don’t have time for you!” I knew it wasn’t fair to take out my anger and frustration on her, but I was too tired to care anymore.

The bird disappeared into the sky.

Sighing, I started back down the road again when a man fell into step with me.

“Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to be Branwen Blackthorne, would you?” he inquired. He looked pretty standard: jeans, work boots, stained t-shirt. He was big and strong with deep tan skin.

I looked at him rather oddly, not sure how he knew my name and a bit freaked out. “Uh…maybe. Why?”

“We know what you hear, Branwen. I’m here to take you with me.”

Okay, this was officially freaky. I stopped mid-step and backed away from him several paces. “Who are you?”

“We wish you no harm. I just need you to come with me.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Where was Alessa?
“Please do this by choice. We know what you hear, Blackthorne. We can help you.”

“I don’t hear anything, that’s —” A sharp pain in my neck; the sidewalk coming closer as my knees buckled. The world blurred, spun…

Oblivion.

Auryon

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

how does your graveyard grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells,

and rolling heads all in a row!”

My maniacal cackle. I was crazy, and I didn’t care. Chuckling, I leaned against the wall. It was a small, bare cell — I was eighteen and doomed to solitary confinement for the rest of my life. It was my own fault, really. I’d always had an obsession with blood but it never was a problem until I started killing.

That was when I learned that death was almost better than blood; crimson like roses and scented like posies.

“Ring around the rosies…” I hummed to myself, lone eye shining in the shadows.

There was one bed there. No windows, no pillow, no blankets. They didn’t want me to use any of them as a weapon — something that they were perfectly aware I was capable of.

I walked along the wall nearest the door. In the corner there was a little camera watching me. I’d tried to break it multiple times, but never succeeded; it just wouldn’t shatter, which was odd, considering it was glass.

I was bored. Beyond bored. I wanted to do something. To kill someone, or at least to hurt them. I wanted blood. I supposed I could break my nose by slamming into the wall, but then there’d be the guards, and they’d be so annoying and talking and all that endless yammering and yelling and grabbing me.

Did you know that a human has 1.5 gallons of blood?

A heartbeat outside; footsteps approaching; judging from the size of the heat mass, probably a man, and a large one.

The key scratching in the lock, and the door opened.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructed. Sighing, I turned around and put my hands behind me as the handcuffs were clasped around my wrists. Chains were put on my ankles, too, just to make sure I didn’t pose a threat.

Funny how simple threads can create the illusion of safety, is it not?

I was pushed outside and through the labyrinth of corridors and halls, passing many security checkpoints. They put me in a cage, like a dog. On the other side was a chair, with a woman in it.

Her eyes were piercing and gray and she had short, silvery brown-black hair. She wore no makeup and her attire was practical: boots, jeans, a t-shirt, a jacket. I could smell the tang of gunpowder and metal and knew then she had a loaded gun.

“Name: Viper. Number: 3141. Offense: serial murder. Sadistic, crazy, with a lust for blood. Lost right eye in an accident, along with all memory of before. Has a serpent tattooed on base of neck; purpose and time obtained unknown,” she said in a cold, crisp voice, reminiscent of an icy wind.

“Impressive.” I drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did you simply read my file, then?”

“No. Much more than that…Viper. Funny how you’re missing a last name; did you just forget that part when you gave yourself a new one?” There was a glint in her eyes, one that I couldn’t quite place.

“I simply thought it unnecessary.”

“Must be getting rather dreary in that cell of yours, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. “There’s plenty to do once you learn how to play the game; you don’t even need to read the rules.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, you’re going to have to find another game. Things are changing.” She stood up.

“Really? How…interesting.” I sidled up close to the bars of my prison, eye glimmering.

“Interesting? Perhaps. We’ll see.” She was right in front of me now. I could reach my arms through the bars and grab her, if my wrists weren’t chained together.

Quick as an adder, she struck, jabbing something into my neck. I stumbled back as the world blurred, spun…

All went black.

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Thanks, I appreciate you taking the time to read. Hope it wasn't too boring ;)