Lumen

8. An Opportunity

“What?” I gasped.

My heart was racing, blood pumping, breath hitching. He was blocking the door. I couldn't get out. How did he know? What do I do? The palms of my hands were hot. Everything was sharply focused as adrenaline spiked my veins. I fought against the urge to bolt.

“Now, now Helena, no need to look so panicked,” he purred, sauntering towards me with his hands in his pockets. “I know because I’m the same. We are a rare breed. We were very lucky the government agreed to let us use them as a cover to find more people like us, Helena.”

I stood stock still, unable to shake the baby bird feeling. What did he mean he was the same a me? Did he really mean that? What if he was bluffing? My brow was furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. I swallowed, albeit with difficulty as a large lump had formed in my throat.

“Wha-what do you mean you’re the same?” I choked out.

My body was shaking with pent up adrenaline and as Samuel moved ever closer I resisted my fight or flight instinct which at that moment was screaming to run as fast as I could from the function room and not stop until I was at a safe distance. Preferably on a train leaving Queen Street Station.

Samuel raised an eyebrow and smirked at me.

“Exactly that. I am the same as you. Is that really so hard to understand?” Seeing the confusion written all over my face Samuel gave an exasperated sigh. “We see things differently. You see them, I see them and many, many others see them too. Yours at this current moment is displaying fear. You have very little light around your face or body but with occasional flashes of light sparking outwards from your chest.”

I glanced down to where my usual glow resided to see he was right. White light sparked out with every fevered beat of my racing heart. Slowly, I met his clear blue eyes.

“How did you know?” I whispered, my whole body was rigid.

“By your eyes Helena.” I started, I hadn't expected that. “You have the Seer Ring around your pupil. That’s always the first indicator. Then during my workshop you wanted to know about the soul after death and you drew your Seer Ring during our ‘psychoanalysis’. That was just to see if anyone was aware of having the Ring. Also, there were other pointers such as you soul watching when you were supposed to be listening to Amelia. Lovely girl isn't she? Very hardworking. Does her job very well.”

At that moment Amelia appeared at the door. She was no longer the bright personality of flow charts and structure; she was demure – waiting to be spoken to.

“Yes?”

“Mr Taylor, the car is here to take you back to Edinburgh.” Her voice was quiet but strong with professional gloss. Although, I noted, she never quite met his eyes. Not to mention her glow was almost identical to how mine had been only moments before. She was scared of him.

“To take us back to Edinburgh.” Samuel corrected. “Evans obviously forgot to say again. Wouldn’t want you to be getting the train back like last week.”

He was voice was warm, lips curved into a kind smile but Ms Brown merely gave a tight lipped nod and hurried away. Samuel smirked and brought his piercing blue eyes back to lock onto my own grey ones.

“Unfortunately, it would appear we must cut this conversation short, Miss Irving.” He was purring again and he had me frozen to the spot, there was no way I could escape him. “We need more people like you Helena; you have a lot of untapped potential which is just . . . bursting to come out. Our job opportunities are wide and varied; you would be wise to consider them.”

A white and black business card hung from his fingers. My hand shook as I plucked it from him, I barely glanced at it. After my initial shock I was beginning to recover.

“Job opportunities? What kind of jobs could”-I glanced at his card again-“ ‘The Agency’ provide for me?” I snapped. “You expect me to fall at your feet in thanks? I don’t even know what the hell you’re offering and why I should even consider taking it!”

“Miss Irving, The Agency is specially tailored to people like you and me. There are a great number of things which can and will be explained to you, should you take up a position with us.”

“Uh-huh.” I had been right earlier; I did not like this guy one bit. “Well, let me tell you something, you’re not selling these ‘job opportunities’ with your cryptic manner. So why don’t you take the time to explain it before I jump in at the deep end.”

The silence was deafening as Samuel regarded me coolly. It was not only cool but seething. He was obviously not used to people answering him back, demanding to know just as much as he did about the situation. He was used to people like Amelia; content to jump however high he commanded. Slowly he took a step towards me, the sound muffled by the plush cream carpet. For the first time since he’d grabbed me I didn’t feel like the baby bird being toyed with by the nasty tom cat. I was every bit his equal. He’d said it himself. We were the same.

“Fine.” He was no longer purring but snarling; his face was set as if holding himself back. “There are things out there, Miss Irving, that cause destruction and cause people to experience the most awful pain. These things are responsible for some of the most horrendous incidents in the world. And we, that is to say people like you and me, are the only people who are able to see them. Ergo, the only people capable of killing them: the only people capable of protecting humanity against them.”

He was impassioned; blazing in a halo of burning light, pale cheeks now flushed the colour of roses and the Seer Ring in those icy eyes burned in a golden inferno. After a moment he collected himself and waited for me to respond.

“And these things, what are they called?” I inquired.

What surprised me most was my acceptance that what he was saying was true. He had confirmed to me that he saw the same as I saw. I was not alone. However, this thought made me deflate a little. My one defining feature was not so defining anymore. Granted, nobody knew of what I could do but it had stopped me from thinking I was another shovelful of compost onto the heap over the years.

“They’re called Ereptores. An Ereptor steals souls as a food source,” said Samuel curtly. He consulted his watch, a conspicuous timepiece with a large face, several smaller dials and large buttons down the side. “If you wish to know more then you may reach me on the numbers given on my card. It would be best to ring my direct line otherwise you would have to go through Amelia and I don’t always take transferred calls. Good day to you.”

Before I could protest he turned on his heel and marched away. He was gone. I felt as though I had mental whiplash. What had just happened? I took another look at his card and saw it was a fairly standard affair but the card was thick and high-quality. There was a logo on the left side of a sun surrounded by interlinked circles and on the right it read:


There was also an address of an Edinburgh building, two telephone numbers, a fax number and an email address. I could contact him anyway I wanted to. If I wanted to. Putting the card away I started to make my way home.
________________________________________

It had been three days since the survey and three days since Samuel Taylor had accosted me. I lay on my bed and stared at the card. Since coming home I had stared at it a lot. I knew next to nothing about ‘The Agency’ and all it would do would give me ‘job opportunities’. Then by what Samuel had said these jobs were centred around Ereptores.

I sighed and sat up. I needed to know more about this if I was going to make a decision. Scrabbling for my phone I tapped in the direct number given on the card. It rang twice.

“Samuel Taylor speaking.” His voice was distracted, bored, even.

“Hello, this Helena, Helena Irving.” I felt ridiculous using my clipped telephone voice. “I’m calling to find out more about your offer the other day.”

“Ah, Helena! How lovely to hear from you and so soon as well!” His greeting was warm but it didn’t relax me. “What do you wish to know?”

I thought for a moment, there were many things I wanted to know. “I want to know everything. I want to be able to make an informed decision about this. You did not sell your offer particularly well the other day. To be bluntly told that you are not the only person out there with this . . . ability – it was quite a shock to the system.”

Samuel sighed down the phone, filling my ear with static. “Yes, it was rather unfortunate that you had not been informed earlier. I assumed you were in full knowledge of the Seer community. Someone has obviously been neglecting their duty. If you don’t mind me asking – how old will you be on your next birthday?”

I failed to see the connection between what Samuel had been saying and his question. “I’ll be 18 on 16th January. What has that got to do with anything?”

“I’m afraid it is very important Helena, you should have known about this a long time ago.”

As far as I could see, he was being ridiculous. I didn’t know anybody who could have told me about it. I had never said anything to anyone. Not since I was little and then that had been dismissed as an overactive imagination. I told Samuel this but was met with a cold chuckle.

“You are quite mistaken Miss Irving. Almost every Seer has a connection to another, usually by blood but that is not always the case. There are several other ways for a Seer to be born. You will have your connections,” said Samuel. He was incredibly matter of fact. I found him abrasive even at the start but it was something I got used to over time.

“It would seem that you need to have a chat with your mother. Ask her about the Taylor family and I’m sure she’ll be able to fill you in with all you need to know,” Samuel instructed. “Once you have talked, have a think about what you want to do and if you want to join us then come to The Agency building on Saturday at 10 o’clock. Good day to you.”

He’d hung up.

I found myself staring at the phone. “What the actual fuck?” I muttered. I didn’t feel any more enlightened, in fact, my head was buzzing with even more questions.

Throwing my phone down I rubbed my eyes and face, as if, instead of blood, I was trying to bring sense and answers to the surface. It didn’t work. The glowing numbers of my alarm clock were shouting at me to move; I had work, normality called.
________________________________________

I had been working at The Filling Station restaurant for nearly a year. I had landed the job not that long after my 17th birthday and had helped Noah get one there too. It wasn’t always easy, especially when the chef was in a bad mood which meant service was slow and my average tip went down. Thankfully, that night, everyone was in a good mood. We’d finally been allowed to put the Christmas decorations up which meant the season was fully underway.

“So do you know what you’ll be doing for your birthday next month?” asked Noah during a lull in service.

I shrugged in response. “No-one else will be 18 so there isn’t much point going out,” I mused. “I might have a Christmas themed party, just for fun. We used to do that when I was little. Dad dressed as Santa and then we had another Christmas dinner!”

Noah laughed; a laugh that made him light up like the tree in our window; a laugh that bathed him in soft light.

“I wish I’d known you as a kid. That must have been amazing.”

“Yeah, I used to think I was really special because Santa came to see me after Christmas. Pip ruined it when I was 8, told me it was just Dad – heartbroken I was, absolutely heartbroken.”

I hadn’t really been all that shocked. I was familiar with the glow and warmth that came from my father so all Pip had really done was confirm my suspicions.

My friend sniggered at me before hurrying over to greet a family out for their dinner. Work was far more fun when I was working with Noah. I did a circuit of the restaurant checking that people were content with their meals and taking orders for drinks. It was busy enough that I wasn’t rushed off my feet but I didn’t have time to ponder over my ‘opportunities’.

Eventually the night came to an end and the last couple went to brave the cold and windy night. Once we had banked up Noah and I walked back through town. We didn’t talk much, tiredness prevailed and the wind was buffeting us from every side; we wanted to go home. We parted ways at the train station – Noah’s mum was meeting him there to take him home.

Away from the comfort of my friend and free from distractions, the conversation with Samuel surfaced. Why had he told me to ask my mother about the Taylor family? It didn’t ring any bells in my head. I could barely keep track of my thoughts as I huddled deeper into my jacket, trying in vain to keep the cold out. It felt as though I was spinning wildly out of control; confusion whizzed through me, knocking my inner equilibrium.

Fat droplets of freezing rain came suddenly from the inky clouds, slapping my head hard as they began their lazy trail down my neck. I couldn’t help but shudder and I spurred myself on towards home. The rain picked up its pace to mirror mine until it was an outright down pour.

I ran through the rough winter’s night, the rubber soles of my canvas shoes slapping against the wet pavement. When I eventually staggered through the door of the flat I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the hall mirror. My normally shiny auburn hair was the colour of dark wood varnish and my face was flushed from the cold, droplets of rain still clung to my rosy cheeks. I huffed and shuddered as the warmth of the flat tried in vain to warm me.

The flat was quiet; all I could hear was the gentle tick-tock of the clocks and the rumble of the washing machine from the kitchen. It was no time to be questioning my Mum about my ability. It would have to wait.