Elysia
one.
London, England 1859
Now, Raymond knew that someone had been following for quite some time. The chase began somewhere around mid-morning and continued on until tonight. Raymond had given his pursuer several chances to catch up with him, but they stayed in the background leaving Raymond to ponder why someone had been following him, if he wanted to know why, and whether it would be possible to outrun them should he choose to extend the chase.
No. Raymond was not going to be run out of town because of some mysterious person in black. He was better than that. Never mind that he had been quite informally kicked out of a prestigious fraternity that his own family had attended for years and that recently he had gambled away all of his family’s money and not to mention was going to be kicked out of the bar he was currently inhabiting.
Oh, the poisons of alcohol. They drained his systems and somehow made his voice louder. His ears were still ringing from the lyrical ranting of his own voice when he picked himself up from the uneven cobbled street and straightened his jacket, muttering to himself.
“You’d better show your face now,” Raymond barked to the empty alleyway. He knew his follower was there somewhere in the shadows; he could feel it. Might as well get his embarrassment over with. They were probably a servant his father sent to keep tabs on him.
A figure in a floor-length black cloak, hood up, appeared suddenly in front of Raymond. He hadn’t even heard them approach, but he wasn’t going to back away.
The person was smaller than he was and probably more slight. If the situation turned for the worse, he could get away easily.
“Are you Raymond Doyle?” a silky woman’s voice said from under the hood of the cloak.
Raymond’s thoughts stopped with violent images of attacking a manservant and through his drunken stupor he became even more aware of this being.
“Depends who’s asking,” he said. “Who’re you?”
Without a word, a hand snaked out of the cloak, fast as lightning, and wrapped tightly around Raymond’s throat. Her long fingers constricted around him and miraculously she pushed him up against the bar’s outside wall.
“I’ll ask only once more,” she said in that slithery voice, “are you or are you not Raymond Doyle?”
“If...you h-have t-t’ask...you’ve w-wasted your wh-whole day,” Raymond choked out. The hand loosened and released him. He coughed violently to usher air back into his lungs.
“You know who I am,” Raymond said, slightly hoarse. “Who are you and why are you following me?”
“I am in need of your services,” the woman said, ignoring the first question.
Raymond halfway grinned. “Indeed? Well my services would be happy to serve you.”
“You misunderstand me in the most vulgar way,” the woman said, turning to look at him. It bothered him that he was so exposed and yet she was shrouded by the darkness. It was an ominous stream of thoughts. “You are Raymond Doyle, son of the famous Rhys Doyle, wizard extraordinaire, are you not?”
“Don’t say that out loud,” Raymond hushed her anxiously, looking around the empty alleyway for eavesdroppers. People around these parts weren’t kin to hearing of magic and wizards; Raymond would be locked up in the nut house for sure just for thinking about it.
“I assure you, we are quite alone out here, Mr. Doyle. Now please answer my question.”
“Yes, I am,” he said tentatively.
“And you yourself are particular to the Arts, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can help me,” she said. Out from her cloak she threw something at Raymond’s feet. The alcohol in his blood made him jump, afraid she’d just tossed a hand-held bomb. Instead it was a lonely little drawstring sack, one that was filled with gold coins when Raymond opened it.
“What do you want me to do?” Raymond asked. “I haven’t dealt with magic in years. Not since—”
“Yes, not since your exile, but your bloodline suggests that even uneducated that you are powerful,” the woman said.
Raymond bristled. “I’m not uneducated. I had the best education Rhys’s money could buy.” He imagined the woman smirking at him from under her hood and it irritated him. “Who are you? Show your face.”
“Will you accept my offer, Mr. Doyle?” she asked, ignoring him again. “It’s quite a big reward for a small favor.”
Everything about this woman warned Raymond that she was bad news and that whatever she wanted with magic would not end happily. But the money called to him. This would be enough to get him a stable home and food once he got back to Elysia.
“I accept,” Raymond said, clutching the bag tightly in his hand.
“Excellent.”
The woman stepped forward into direct light and pushed back her hood.
Raymond stumbled backwards.
“Y-you’re one of...them!”
Now, Raymond knew that someone had been following for quite some time. The chase began somewhere around mid-morning and continued on until tonight. Raymond had given his pursuer several chances to catch up with him, but they stayed in the background leaving Raymond to ponder why someone had been following him, if he wanted to know why, and whether it would be possible to outrun them should he choose to extend the chase.
No. Raymond was not going to be run out of town because of some mysterious person in black. He was better than that. Never mind that he had been quite informally kicked out of a prestigious fraternity that his own family had attended for years and that recently he had gambled away all of his family’s money and not to mention was going to be kicked out of the bar he was currently inhabiting.
Oh, the poisons of alcohol. They drained his systems and somehow made his voice louder. His ears were still ringing from the lyrical ranting of his own voice when he picked himself up from the uneven cobbled street and straightened his jacket, muttering to himself.
“You’d better show your face now,” Raymond barked to the empty alleyway. He knew his follower was there somewhere in the shadows; he could feel it. Might as well get his embarrassment over with. They were probably a servant his father sent to keep tabs on him.
A figure in a floor-length black cloak, hood up, appeared suddenly in front of Raymond. He hadn’t even heard them approach, but he wasn’t going to back away.
The person was smaller than he was and probably more slight. If the situation turned for the worse, he could get away easily.
“Are you Raymond Doyle?” a silky woman’s voice said from under the hood of the cloak.
Raymond’s thoughts stopped with violent images of attacking a manservant and through his drunken stupor he became even more aware of this being.
“Depends who’s asking,” he said. “Who’re you?”
Without a word, a hand snaked out of the cloak, fast as lightning, and wrapped tightly around Raymond’s throat. Her long fingers constricted around him and miraculously she pushed him up against the bar’s outside wall.
“I’ll ask only once more,” she said in that slithery voice, “are you or are you not Raymond Doyle?”
“If...you h-have t-t’ask...you’ve w-wasted your wh-whole day,” Raymond choked out. The hand loosened and released him. He coughed violently to usher air back into his lungs.
“You know who I am,” Raymond said, slightly hoarse. “Who are you and why are you following me?”
“I am in need of your services,” the woman said, ignoring the first question.
Raymond halfway grinned. “Indeed? Well my services would be happy to serve you.”
“You misunderstand me in the most vulgar way,” the woman said, turning to look at him. It bothered him that he was so exposed and yet she was shrouded by the darkness. It was an ominous stream of thoughts. “You are Raymond Doyle, son of the famous Rhys Doyle, wizard extraordinaire, are you not?”
“Don’t say that out loud,” Raymond hushed her anxiously, looking around the empty alleyway for eavesdroppers. People around these parts weren’t kin to hearing of magic and wizards; Raymond would be locked up in the nut house for sure just for thinking about it.
“I assure you, we are quite alone out here, Mr. Doyle. Now please answer my question.”
“Yes, I am,” he said tentatively.
“And you yourself are particular to the Arts, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can help me,” she said. Out from her cloak she threw something at Raymond’s feet. The alcohol in his blood made him jump, afraid she’d just tossed a hand-held bomb. Instead it was a lonely little drawstring sack, one that was filled with gold coins when Raymond opened it.
“What do you want me to do?” Raymond asked. “I haven’t dealt with magic in years. Not since—”
“Yes, not since your exile, but your bloodline suggests that even uneducated that you are powerful,” the woman said.
Raymond bristled. “I’m not uneducated. I had the best education Rhys’s money could buy.” He imagined the woman smirking at him from under her hood and it irritated him. “Who are you? Show your face.”
“Will you accept my offer, Mr. Doyle?” she asked, ignoring him again. “It’s quite a big reward for a small favor.”
Everything about this woman warned Raymond that she was bad news and that whatever she wanted with magic would not end happily. But the money called to him. This would be enough to get him a stable home and food once he got back to Elysia.
“I accept,” Raymond said, clutching the bag tightly in his hand.
“Excellent.”
The woman stepped forward into direct light and pushed back her hood.
Raymond stumbled backwards.
“Y-you’re one of...them!”
♠ ♠ ♠
the magic beyond