<Untitled as of Now> Chapter One

(My new story I'm currently working on. If anyone has an idea for a title, feel free to share. It does explain the Egyptian terms later in the story, but this is all I have typed up/completed. Read and enjoy!)

Chapter One

Tally sat on the cold hardwood flooring of the dance studio, ogling mindlessly at the painting on the washed-out green wall. It was a replica of one of her favorites; The Starry Night by van Gogh. She was supposed to be stretching, like the group of dancers that surrounded her, but her mind was lost in the wisps of midnight blues and fiery oranges. When her eyes re focused on the dance studio, she felt like crawling back home into her bed.

The dance studio had dust in every corner. Cobwebs floated where the walls met, swaying to their own rhythm. The bar that ran parallel to the wall length mirrors was rusty and chafed aqua-marine, but it served its purpose. In the back corner sat an outdated stereo system with waist-tall speakers that expelled black foam. The dance instructor didn’t play music until the actual dancing started, but the buzz of the chatter amongst the girls around her was enough to break the silence.

Tally was sitting with her legs in a V shape, her long legs extended out of the white chiffon skirt that clung to her tiny hips. She bent forward to stretch, reaching for the toes on her right foot. She didn’t have to reach far.

A lock of her copper red hair slipped out of her messy bun as she switched to her left foot. She tucked the wavy strand impatiently back into the bun, but it persisted on dangling in her face. She huffed, letting it sail up in the gust then smack back on her nose. Tally itched her nose and pushed the hair away in one motion.

“Alright, girls,” the dance instructor’s nasally voice echoed throughout the room, “we’re taking up the recital piece from the top. First position, please.”

Tally sighed; she could practically do first position in her sleep. She had been taking ballet for thirteen years straight. Her flawless arabesque put others to shame. She was an idol at her dance studio, J & L Dance Force. Little did they know she hated ballet.

Tally followed the rest of the girls to the bar and put her feet in first position; heels touching, feet parted in a V shape. She curved her arms and straightened her spine, eyes glued to the ponytail in front of her.

The music started slowly; the unison of an orchestra playing in perfect harmony. Her right foot extended into a forward point, little toe not quite touching the floor. The girls at the front of the line breezed gracefully in a semi-circular motion, leaping when they reached the center of the room. Tally followed robotically.

“Tally,” the dance instructor called out, cutting off the music. “You’re too rigid. Do I have to send you back to junior ballet?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well.” Tally’s voice sounded like an echo, like a ghost to her own ears. The dance studio was like a prison she was sentenced to four days a week for three hours. She didn’t know how much longer she could last.

The instructor examined Tally’s face with her hand on one hip. She finally came to a verdict when she raised her other hand and flicked her wrist. “Go. You’ll catch up tomorrow.”

She hurried out the door before the instructor could change her mind.

Tally escaped into the bathroom to change and gather her things. She grabbed her black tote bag off the rickety bench and changed swiftly into a pair of gray sweatpants. She threw on her purple hoodie, shoved her feet into her black canvas shoes and sprinted for the exit.

When Tally rushed out the double metal doors of the dance studio, she took in a deep breath of exhaust fumes. Out on the familiar sidewalks of Yonge Street, she felt much more relieved and comforted. She pulled out her iPod and popped the headphones in her ears, letting the music drown out the honking of horns.

Tally referred to her home town of Toronto as Canada’s version of New York. Though she had never visited New York, she thought she had a pretty good idea of what it would be like. Toronto sure fit the part with the thousands of buildings with windows that starred down like shielding eyes, glittering in the sun and twinkling in the night. There weren’t quite as many taxis, but there were plenty of rushing cars weaving through the early morning traffic. People devoured the sidewalk, hurrying about like a herd of elephant.

Tally’s stomach roared as she made her way through the crowds of people. She glanced up at the buildings that surrounding her, trying to decide on a place to relax and munch on something filling. She was tired of the strict ballerina diets. She was tired of ballet period. She decided Starbucks would have to do.

The Starbuck’s was wedged in between a wax museum and a t-shirt shop. Tally had previously visited the museum, and she thought the melted down crayons carved into celebrities weren’t worth the price. The t-shirt shop, on the other hand, wasn’t like the tacky and over priced ones sprinkled amongst the street. The other ones tried to fool tourists into buying overpriced shirts with an ironed on decal, but the one next to the Starbucks was one of her favorite shops because it sold the kind of shirts Tally absolutely loved to wear.

All of the other girls at Tally’s high school shopped at the Eaton Center. Tally usually shopped in the little shops around the city rather than the huge mall, mostly because she felt tacky and out of place. She didn’t have thousands of dollars to throw away on expensive clothing. Tally had a fair amount of money, but it could be better.

That wasn’t the only reason why she didn’t shop there. Aside from the prices, Tally just didn’t like the big brand name stores like Hollister; her hair and overall style clashed with the bright colored surfing attire. Instead of pinks shirts and miniskirts, Tally preferred to wear a pair of jeans with a nice top. And for that, she was ostracized and omitted from the proverbial loop.

The more she thought about it, the more she really was out of the proverbial loop. Tally wasn’t really friends with a lot of people, so she usually shopped alone. Not that she minded shopping alone. In fact, she actually liked to have her own opinions on her outfits rather then arguing over which color looked better with her hazel eyes and copper red hair.

Tally retreated inside the Starbucks and put away her headphones. The calming jazz music coming from the speakers and the smell of coffee beans made her completely tranquil. All her misery and confinement seemed to drift away.

She briefly glanced at the food in the glass showcase, trying to decide weather she wanted breakfast or brunch; even though it was only a little after nine, her mind was torn between a bacon, cheese, and egg sandwich or a ham and Swiss Panini. Her stomach told her to think fast.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” the tall girl behind the corner asked.

“Hmm…” Tally took a deep, coffee-scented breath. “I think I’ll go for the ham and Swiss Panini with a passion fruit ice tea.”

The girl called Tally’s order to another employee who echoed it before getting to work. “Alright, that’ll be five fifty-eight, please.”

She pulled out her wallet and dug around for the change; Tally liked giving exact change. The girl looked annoyed when she handed her the collection of coins, but Tally didn’t care enough to be sympathetic. All she was aware of was her frustrated stomach.

While she waited for her sandwich to be heated and drink to be made, she scanned the Starbucks. The place was practically dead; if Tally had arrived earlier, the place would’ve been hopping with caffeine-deprived office workers. The only other customer was an attractive boy about Tally’s age by the window.

She leaned up against the counter filled with stir-sticks and coffee sweeteners and admired the boy’s face. He had ink black hair that was shaggy and straight. His jaw was angular and hard, his lips asymmetrical and mischievous. The sun leaked in through the windows and illuminated his electric blue eyes. Tally was surprised; she would have thought the skyscrapers would act as a visor to the sun. Apparently she was incorrect.

He wore a vintage-wash black t-shirt that clung to all the right places on his chest. Two arms protruded from the sleeves, muscular enough to prove a point, but not enough to look terrifying. His jeans were almost white and frayed at the knees.

Tally couldn’t help but stare at the boy. He wasn’t the type of flawless men she read about in fictional stories, but he was gorgeous enough to make her heart flutter. His imperfections made him unique, almost more attractive than the shallow boys that litter the magazines. Over all he looked like a rebel, and as much as Tally tried to repress it, she had a soft spot for bad-boys.

Tally wasn’t necessarily a rebel, but she liked to think of herself as one. She wasn’t essentially a goodie-two-shoed saint, but she didn’t go around breaking laws. She just liked to stand out and be noticed rather than blending in with the crowd.

Tally’s trance was interrupted by the call of her order. “Vente passion fruit ice tea and a ham and Swiss Panini?”

She jumped off the counter she was propped up against and grabbed her food. She barely muttered her thank you before she ran to an empty table.

She occupied the table directly across from the stunning boy and started devouring her sandwich. She momentarily forgot about the boy as she consumed the meal greedily. After she finished, she felt self-conscious about her choice of eating habit. She peered up at the boy subtly to see if he was staring.

In truth, he was staring – just not at her. His eyes seemed vacant as they scrutinized the book sitting on his table. Just then he perched his elbow on the table, cupped his chin in his palm, and gazed at nothing in particular, lost in some sort of reverie.

Tally grabbed the pen that holding back her bun and pulled it out, allowing her hair to fall down in their custom, untamable waves to her shoulders. She called them whirls because they were waves that aspired to be curls, but couldn’t quite pass the checkpoint.

Aiden, Tally’s father, always told her that if she continued to doodle on her hand, she’d develop ink poisoning. The disobedient instinct within her told her not to listen, so she pushed the pen against the palm of her hand and let the pen move itself. She contemplated as her pen fluttered around, shading and flicking around in impulsive motions. When she was done her drawing, she had mindlessly created a symbol of some sort.

The sketch was a beautifully designed eye, curving and twirling like it was painted with the fine point of a paint brush. It held no meaning to her; she didn’t know what it was or where it came from. Thinking nothing of it, she pulled her back into a bun and secured it with the pen.

Tally looked down at her ice tea and twirled the straw aimlessly, allowing the ice cubes to crash against each other nosily. Not wanting to disturb the handsome boy’s daydreaming, she stopped and took a sip.

Just as she set the plastic cup on the table, the peaceful atmosphere of the Starbucks was cut short by the explosion of shattering glass. The girl and the other employee screamed and ducked behind the counter. Tally, too stunned to move, blink, or breathe, sat helplessly in her chair.

A figure emerged from the debris; it was a skinny man wearing nothing but a pair of tight fitting jeans, a leather vest, and vast amounts of jewelry. He had numerous chains – actual steel link chains – hanging from around his neck and infinite body piercings that glittered in the sunlight. Even more bizarre, he was completely barefoot, walking over the shards of glass like they were a dew-filled summer field. His hair was a long and layered series of downward spikes, seeming bizarrely similar to stalagmites. That is, if stalagmites were oil slick black and frosted blond at the tips.

Tally noticed a strange mark on right below the man’s left eye. It was a U shaped figure that forked out at each end, like the tongue of two snakes. The mark looked like a tattoo, but seemed to hold more meaning then just a tough-looking stamp.

The handsome boy shot out of his chair so fast that it fell backwards behind him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked liked a switchblade. Instead of a straight blade emerging from the handle, a green blade that looked like a lightening bold took its place. Tally couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like it was glowing.

Much to Tally’s horror, the boy approached the crazy man. “Leave, evil spirit. You don’t belong here. Go back to where you belong.”

The crazy man grinned a gruesome smirk, one that was so evil it could give little children nightmares. “Please, young warrior, this isn’t a séance. You’ll have to do more than just plead for me to go back.”

The boy’s lips turn up into a dangerous grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And then the boy hurdled himself at the man.

A yelp escaped Tally’s mouth, and as soon as it came out, she clamped her hand over her gasp and regretted ever making a sound. The man dodged the flying boy and turned slowly on the ball of his heel – how his feet weren’t bleeding, Tally didn’t have the slightest clue – and faced her with a single brow cocked. If Tally could’ve escaped his terrifying gaze, she would have checked to see if the boy was okay.

“What do we have here?” the man mused, taking slow, deliberate steps towards Tally. “An innocent bystander. Hmm…”

Tally broke free of his gaze and looked down at the table desperately, searching for a weapon of some sort. The only thing she had in possession was her cup of ice tea.

Suddenly her throat was compressing, and though the man was a good ten feet from her, it felt as if a pair of hands was locked around her neck. She clutched desperately at the nothingness, but the only thing she felt was her Starburst-wrapper choker necklace.

The force gripped tighter. Tally felt her feet leave the ground, realizing the invisible energy was lifting her off the ground. She was jerked suddenly to the left, then to the right, and then back left. Tally was swaying like a pendulum through the air.

“Ring around the rosie,” the man sang in an eerie tone. “A pocket full of posie.”

Abruptly the swaying grew more powerful, and Tally was being wrenched so hard she feared her neck would snap. Her lungs felt like shriveled prunes, dieing for a breath of fresh air to build them up again. She looked to the beautiful boy with pleading eyes.

“Ashes to ashes–”

“We all fall down,” the boy finished, jumping on the man’s back and pressing his blade against the man’s neck.

The force let go of Tally, sending her sailing through air before she hit the ground and skidded through the flakes of glass. Pain shot up through her body, but her mind was too preoccupied in the cool and refreshing gulp of oxygen that was whistling down her throat. After a few raspy breaths, her mind became fully aware of the pain, and the fight grew more intense.

The man and the boy struggled. The boy wrapped his legs around the man’s waist and arms around his neck in a chokehold. The blade was mere inches from his neck, but the man started fighting back. Before he could force the blade into his neck, he grabbed the boy’s shoulders and tossed him across the room like a piece of trash.

The boy slid similarly to how Tally landed. Before Tally could see if he was okay, she noticed the man creeping towards her with his wicked smirk back in place. She tried to crawl backwards until she pressed herself against the far right wall. Defensively, Tally’s hands flew up to protect her face, palms out.

The man gasped, and Tally peeked through her fingers to see him stumbling back. His eyes were wide and his jaw was dropped. Tally tried to make sense of the battle – of anything – but her head hurt too much.

“No…” he says. “Two?”

“Aw, don’t back out now,” the boy taunted. Scratches covered his arms, but the most prominent injury was the bright red scrape running down his cheek. He smiled, and the blood oozed out. “The party was just getting started.”

How can this boy be so calm about this!, Tally wondered.

“I underestimated you, warrior. Your friend here isn’t as pathetic as I thought she was.”

The boy couldn’t think of a response, so he aimed his blade for the man’s heart and threw. Before Tally could scream, the knife pierced into the man’s chest. Too horrified to look away, she watched as the man fell to his knees. She dared a glance at the man’s torso instead of dripping blood, an eerie black cloud of smoke started escaping from the wound.

“In the name of the holy goddess–”

“No,” the man interjected, but the boy didn’t stop.

“–Isis, I banish you from this world. May–”

“No!”

“–your soul return to the Underworld, where you will remain forever damned in the clutches of malevolence and injustice. Go, evil BA! Return to where you belong!”

“No!” the man cried one last time, dragging it out like the howl of a dog.

Unexpectedly the smoke started to twine with the air and spiraled into a funnel, creating ghostly wails as it twirled. Slowly the image of the man grew weaker until Tally could almost see through him. A film of him lingered as the smoke coiled like a deadly whirlpool. Finally, the man disappeared and the whirlpool died down.

Silence hung like thick, lost fog. Tally stared at the boy, whose eyes were wild, and was too shocked to move. He smiled at no one in particular and put his knife back away. The boy sauntered to the counter calmly, the glass crunching under his black skater shoes like gravel. He touched his fingers to the wound on his cheek and cussed.

Tally’s arms were shaking from holding up her weight and her hands stung from the glass lodged in them. Her neck still felt sore, and she was afraid there was permanent damage done.

“Newbie?” the boy questioned without looking at Tally, pulling napkins from the counter to dab his cheek with.

Tally stared with panicked eyes, still too shaken up to speak.

“Let me go scavenge the place for survivors, and then we’ll split and heal up. We don’t want the cops to catch us and start asking questions.” He hopped over it the way hockey players jumped onto the ice and disappeared in the back.

Tally’s head was spinning. Was it from the injuries or confusion? She couldn’t tell. The only thing she was aware of was the throbbing that seemed to be coming from every inch of her body.

“All clear.”

Tally’s head shot up with a start. The boy’s exhilarated smile turned mocking. “You must be a newbie. They always freeze up and get jumpy. Don’t worry; I won’t publicly humiliate you.”

There was a hard thumping coming from somewhere, and it took her a minute to realize it was her heart. She was still stunned from the whole scene that had taken place. She tried to calm down her racing pulse.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Still bewildered, Tally nodded.

His smile started to fade; she could tell he was impatient with the silence. “Listen, Helen Keller, I can’t help you out if you don’t talk.”

“I’m–” Tally’s voice came out rough and hoarse. She paused to clear her throat before starting again. “A little sore, but nothing serious. You?”

“Yeah, peachy,” he said dryly. “You have a name?”

“Tally. It’s actually Natalia, but nobody but my father calls me that,” she answered, not too sure why she was telling a total stranger this. “You?”

“Blayke. Blayke Stammler.”

He walked to Tally’s side and offered a hand. Tally took it cautiously and allowed him to help her up. Blayke’s grip was strong and comforting at the same time, like her father’s. When she was up, she dusted the debris off her pants.

“You can’t draw the Emblems with pen and expect them to work. You have to use your stele.”

He must’ve noticed my drawing, Tally thought. But what does he mean, ‘Emblems’? And what’s this about a stele?

“You do have a stele…right?” he continued when he read Tally’s confused look.

“Uhm…no,” she admitted. “What are you talking about?”

Blayke’s smile fluttered off his lips. “You mean…”

“What you just said went in one ear and out the other. Can you give me a rational explanation translated into English as to why that…thing was suffocating me when it was halfway across the room?” The panic in her voice devoured all irritation.

Blayke stared at her with an expression that echoed his thoughts; he had said way too much. “You’re not…?”

Tally wasn’t sure what he was asking.

“You don’t…?”

Blayke started pacing, spewing out fragments of questions Tally couldn’t make sense of. “But…The Wedjat…The Follower backed off…How could…?”

He abruptly stopped and turned to Tally, his expression blank. He filled the gap between them in four strides and grabbed her around the wrist. His hand was like a firm shackle.“Come with me.”

“What?!” Tally exclaimed. “No, no, I can’t…I have to–”

But Blayke didn’t pause to listen to her sputter her excuses. He dragged her from the demolished Starbucks back onto the sidewalk. The people surrounding them didn’t so much as blink. They made their way through the crowds into a dark alley.

It was damp and cold in the lane. The only other ears in the audience were those of a rat who scampered around the garbage pails. Toronto’s different personalities were amazing; you could go from shiny Volvos and tuxedos on one corner to beggers in dirty rags on the next.

“Alright.” Blayke let go of her wrist and whirled around to face her, his face enraged and perplexed. “Explain. Now.”

“I don’t know! What do you want me to explain? I don’t know anything! Whatever just happened was…was…”

“Give me your hand,” he ordered.

Tally stuck out both hands, palms up to the sky. He took her left hand in his and pulled out the knife. Tally snatched her hand and backed away, scared and confused.

“I’m just experimenting with something. If you are what I think you are, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“What do you think I am?” she enquired.

“I can’t risk exposure. You might already know too much.” Blayke’s lips mashed into a hard line before his expression turned soft. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just trying to help.”

She slowly brought her shaking hand forward. Blayke took it again, this time more softly. He gently pressed the tip of the lightening bolt to her palm.

“If this starts hurting, I want you to tell me. Don’t lie to me, alright?”

Tally nodded, keeping her eyes on the blade. He lightly pushed the blade against her skin and traced the lines of her drawing. Instead of leaving a trail of blood, the knife left lines of ink like a tattoo.

“How does it feel?” Blayke asked her.

“Good,” Tally answered. “Tingly. Like putting a cold hand under warm water.”

Blayke gaped as the full effects washed through her. Her body, painful just a minute ago, was starting to go numb.

“What? You said not to lie. That’s the whole truth,” Tally explained, panic rising in her chest.

“No. You can only be born into it…” His face lit up. “What’s your last name?”

“Williams.”

“Whoa, whoa…Williams?”

“Yes. Why?”

He ignored her question. “Impossible.”

“Not exactly. Williams is a pretty common last name…”

“You’re lying,” he accused. “I told you not to lie.”

“I swear that’s the truth!” Tally answered, throwing her hands up innocently. She felt like she was a hostage in a bank robbery gone bad.

“Aiden wasn’t married. He couldn’t have had a daughter…” Blayke mused, his face incredulous.

“How do you know my father’s name?” Tally demanded.

He ignored her again. “That’s not possible. The Ennead forbids Spiritseekers and Viziers from marrying humans. They’d be all over this in a second.”

“Yes, he was,” she insisted. “He was married to my mother, Lisa. Lisa Alcott. And what are you talking about? Ennead? Spiritseekers? Viziers?”

Blayke continued to pace, and Tally felt more scared than frustrated. She had always shared everything with her father. Was it irrational to expect the same in return? How much information had her father been keeping from her?

“What are you talking about?” Tally screamed.

Blayke sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. When he looked back up at Tally, his eyes were almost rueful.

“Natalia,” he said kindly, like a doctor giving a diagnosis.

“Tally,” she corrected him. “You’re not my father, don’t call me–”

“Whatever,” he snapped, all kindness gone. “Has your father ever told you about Spiritseekers?”