Goudy
City, California, 2030
Echo
stood at his BMW, hands shoved in his pockets as he looked from side
to side, then back down at his boots. The cold bit into him from all
directions, the autumn air chill though summer had only recently
vanished. It would snow early this year, he could sense it, but he
forgot the cold when he heard the footsteps. Gravel crunched as he
straightened up, looking at his father with the respect eighteen
years of living with the man had beaten into him – literally.
“Where
is it?” he said. Echo nodded in the general direction of the
darkened alley where he'd killed the creature. Not even a drop of its
silvery blood stained his hands though it'd fought well. He'd been
noticing that lately – the pixies and fae were no longer as
vulnerable as before. They were learning to fight and use weapons;
the society was no longer a small, underground compound. “Status.”
“Barely
three feet tall, black hair, yellow eyes. Now deceased.” Suddenly a
very rare look of pride crossed his father's features, lighting the
usually cold winter blue in his eyes and adding a light sheen to his
dark brown hair. There was a jagged scar across his left cheek from a
particularly nasty pixie when Echo was six but even it seemed to
light up with radiance.
“Well
done Eckhard,” he said, clapping Echo on the shoulder. “We'll get
rid of these no good hooligans soon enough, don't you worry.” Echo
dropped his gaze, memorizing the expression and his father's few
words of praise. Growing up in a compound with a brusque father and a
deaf mother often doesn't fare well, but these rare moments made up
for it completely. He smelled the heavy alcohol on his father as he
walked away, toward the alley.
Grabbing
for the torch on the driver's seat Echo followed his father, the
light tracking across the small lane until it caught the reflective
light of the pixie's wings. They looked like silk but were tough as
diamonds, barely scratching when his father bent down and inspected
it with the tip of a machete. The pixie looked anything but peaceful,
her dark hair matted as it fell over unseeing yellow eyes.
Echo's
father reached for his pocket, producing a black garbage bag that he
deftly stuffed the body into. With the small body inside he tied the
plastic and flung the weight over his shoulder, looking like a very
macabre Santa Claus. He sauntered past, ruffling Echo's black hair
before he disappeared. Echo moved forward with the torch, the pixie's
silver blood glistening on the tar as he was left to pick up the
remains. A four-leaf clover, some cash and a small silver locket were
all that was left.
Curious,
Echo opened the locket to find a young human girl staring back out.
She didn't seem much younger than him, with curling blonde hair and
soft orange eyes. She had a lovely face that would look mature in a
few years time; for now she just looked sweet, like a child trapped
in a teenager's body. Her air of innocence seemed to jump out of the
photograph but there was something elfin about her delicate features,
like she was somehow connected to the pixie he had attacked.
Stuffing
the locket in his jacket he straightened, taking a vile of sour
liquid from his inner jacket pocket. When he opened it he turned his
head away, blindly splashing the substance over the silver on the
ground until it sizzled and ate away. In a matter of seconds the vile
was shut and replaced in his pocket, looking down at the tar that now
showed no signs of the confrontation. Stretching, he flexed the sore
muscles in his back and left, feeling odd as his fingers stroked the
silver jewellery in his pocket.
Echo
stepped inside, out of the cold, and shucked his jacket to the side.
His keys clattered in the bowl and the mirror hanging in the short
hall revealed the bruises and dark smudges below his eyes from lack
of sleep. He moved to the kitchen, grabbing a microwave dinner that
he promptly unwrapped and started heating up. The television on the
wall was massive, three-dimensional without the need for glasses, and
he flipped it on. A very lifelike version of the news presenter
appeared, dressed in a red blazer as she read out the words behind
the camera.
The
microwave finished as Echo stepped inside his bedroom, discarding his
jacket, T-shirt and jeans to the floor and he slipped into a pair of
black sweatpants. He put them in the wash basket as he walked back
out and he grabbed the dinner before launching onto the plush red
couch. He placed his feet on one arm, resting his complaining back
against the other as he ate and blindly watched the news.
For
a moment he just sat there, pondering about the pixie as he ate.
Before he'd killed her she had been partying with a group of
adolescents in the club Divine that was run by Mayor Grimwood.
The Mayor wasn't much different from his own father, tough and always
focused on work. As far as Echo knew the man owned every
establishment in Goudy City, aside from the Institute of Elementals.
Echo
shuddered internally. Now that had been the wrong thing to
think about. The Institute of Elementals was owned by an unknown
source who the Pixie Maintenance Society was watching very closely,
trying to learn whether it was run by humans or pixies and fae. Maybe
it was all just a big conspiracy, a cult run by over-imaginative
humans or a training camp for the supernatural.
He
ran his hands through his hair, getting up with a groan as he
discarded the package in the garbage and shuffled through his jeans.
He placed the cash and four-leaf clover on the bedside table, keeping
the locket in the flat of his hand as he walked back out. His phone
sat on the bench, dancing in circles as it buzzed. Scooping it up, he
stashed the necklace in his pocket and opened the message.
Institute
of Elementals confirmed. Target: Malaika. Exterminate at will.
There
was no caller identification, just a private number that never
answered when he tried calling. He shut the message, grabbing his
jeans and he shuffled from his sweatpants into them. He put on a
black shirt, sleeves tight where his muscles strained the fabric, and
he shoved on his boots with a grunt. The pixie had jabbed him between
the shoulder blades, the pain searing as he straightened up and
grabbed his keys.
The
cold pressed down on him the moment he walked outside, his jacket
back in his hand as he made his way to the BMW. It was a Z4 M model,
a convertible with two doors and a whole lot of power under the hood.
The inky black paint shimmered as he climbed inside, the engine
revving the moment the key slid in. He reached for the gear change,
speeding off to the Institute that was conveniently a few blocks
away.
Pulling
off to the side of the road, in the darkest part, he crept through
the gate and into the thick bushes. Looking at the branches he
realized that they weren't meant to grow there; the climate was
always too hot and pressing through summer. His suspicions rose and
he crept inside the main courtyard. He heard footsteps nearby as a
group of girls chatted on their way to evening classes. They didn't
notice him but he noticed one of their names.
“I
still don't see why you have to do it Malaika,” the first girl
said. He thought she was a fae but he couldn't be sure; her crimson
hair was too long and thick for him to see her ears. The shorter girl
– Malaika – tossed her wavy dark brown hair over her shoulder,
looking curvy and dangerous despite her 5'3” frame. A dagger shone
in its sheath where her long black coat billowed open to reveal full
body fighting gear. It was leather with little patches in a
crisscross against her chest where she held spare ammo. Her buckled
combat boots alone probably held more ammo than a U.S. Military
soldier. He didn't doubt she'd have a .9mm gun somewhere ready; he
crept further into the bushes until he could barely see the taller
girl.
Malaika
didn't notice; she peered at the girl with the hood pulled low over
her face. He couldn't see her face as the shadows captured it. He
cursed silently and opted for another angle but they had already
started moving away. He could see Malaika walking away; back turned
with the coat billowing like it was personally taunting him. The
red-head followed, trying for an answer. Finally Malaika stopped and
faced the red-head but he couldn't see her from so far away.
“Think
about it Rose,” she said. “You can't get her for obvious
reasons.” Suddenly there was a flare of light, bursting into the
night and Echo almost gasped; the girl just caught on fire. Her hair
turned to flame, eyes burning and twines of ribbon-like tattoos wound
down her arms where they knotted into roses around her wrists. He
could feel the heat of her body inferno like sun rays against his
skin.
Rose
looked at Malaika defiantly, eyes narrowed as she returned to her
human form. Echo was wrong; Rose was a Constituent, an Elemental in
the specialty of fire. Constituents were of five elements – fire,
water, air, earth and heart – but Echo hadn't actually seen one
before. Malaika was unimpressed, standing unmoving as she gazed at
Rose.
“That
is exactly why I've been chosen – I can hold my temper and
my human appearance better than you. I actually look normal.” Rose
snorted.
“Don't
kid yourself, Cardiff,” she sneered. “You might be four hundred
and sixteen years old but that doesn't make you any better. You're
only chosen because you're partial to their kind. I won't be
surprised if, when she comes, that they discard you.” Even with her
face shadowed Echo could practically hear her eyes rolling in her
head. She put her hands on her hips, elbows jutting from the sides of
her coat.
“Now
who's kidding themselves?” she muttered, turning on her heel. Rose
leered at her fading form until she disappeared into the shadows
completely. Her skin glowed inward, her arms and clenched fists
shaking at her sides as she fought to keep her human appearance. Soon
she stormed away, leaving the courtyard in quiet. Echo moved out of
the shadows, brushing leaves from his hair and shoulders.
The
autumn dark was pleasant despite the cold, biting at his cheeks and
probably leaving them baby-blush pink. He crossed through a quad,
trailing under a stone archway where it was darkest; the bulb had
blown, leaving it in darkness. It opened into a smaller courtyard,
stone benches surrounding a fountain with a fallen angel statue
leaning over a pedestal. Water trickled into the pool of water,
spilling like clear blood from the V between the wings that crumbled
down its back.
Morbid,
he thought, tracing the rim of the stone pool with a fingertip.
The small square of cement surrounding the fountain and benches
branched off in four directions; where there wasn't cement sat white
rose bushes and carefully manicured lawns. A few shady trees dotted
the lawn where students could sit and enjoy the calm of the tree
spirits, taking energy from them and storing it in their solar
plexuses. Echo shuddered at the thought of pixies and fae gathering
more energy; wasn't it as if they already had enough from their
half-demon origins?
From
this section of the courtyard he moved at a brisk yet eerily silence
pace through a white rose arch and past a birdbath, a small Cupid
angel with his bow hung over his shoulder as he tipped a pot of
pretend water into the basin. He heard something shift through the
bushes nearby, dropping himself into a protective stance as he
reached for the gun in the holster strapped to his waistband. It took
him moments for his gaze to focus but when it did he could see a
frightened cat looking back at him. Its slitted yellow eyes
retracted, graceful black back arched as it hissed and skittered
away. He straightened and moved closer into the shadows.
Convinced
with what he'd found Echo moved toward the large iron gate, swung
open as its night students came in and out freely. He moved with
purpose, his breath a white cloud that blew back in his face as he
walked. Almost to the exit, he felt sudden iciness thread through him
as an unholy shriek split the night. Feeling a new urgency to move he
burst into a sprint and left through the iron, the imprisoning bars
swinging shut with a loud clang! He unlocked his car from a
long distance, surprised the key could reach it from so far and he
leapt inside. The vehicle rocked on its suspension as he slammed the
door and veered away as fast as he could.
Cold
sweat tingled the back of his neck as he drove; his hands slipped on
the wheel more than once from the moisture in his shaking fingers.
Who was Malaika in charge of? From what he could gather from his
limited knowledge she was dangerous and unlikely to go down as easily
as a normal pixie. She was taller than normal by about two feet and
with an hourglass figure, unlike the twig-thin figures most pixies
had.
He
felt fear deep inside but put on a hard front as he veered into a
park behind a Lamborghini in the car lot outside the club Divine.
Holding his breath for a moment he let it out with a sigh and
headed from the BMW into the building. The bouncers didn't even
question him despite being just eighteen; he knew they were both part
of the Pixie Maintenance Society. He walked past them and through the
cool metal door, almost knocked down by the influx of heat, bodies
and heavy bass music.
He
pushed through a group of writhing teenagers to the bar where he took
a seat in the furthest corner. From not so far away he could hear
laughing, people dancing and others making stupid drunk jokes. Fleck
– the broad-shouldered manager – moved across to where he sat,
wiping a glass dry. His balding head shone with purple and blue
lights as they flickered over the bar, his dark brown eyes black in
the lack of adequate light. He passed Echo a pad of paper and a pen,
looking around everywhere else as he reached for the pen and Echo
wrote a message in dot code. When he was done he put the pen down and
slid them back to Fleck.
With
a nod the broad guy grabbed the items, tearing the paper from the pad
as he slid it into an unmarked envelope and disappeared into a back
room. A few moments later he returned with another unmarked envelope.
Opening it Echo found a wad of cash – $3000 for his latest pixie.
He stuffed the cash in his pocket and left, moving through the
dancers like a black panther.
When
he got back to his apartment he took a warm shower, washing away the
chill and the steady ache that had settled between his shoulder
blades. The water was soft for once, not the usually heavily
chlorinated jet of water that left his body tense and his hair stiff
like straw. After drying himself and climbing back into some clean
clothes he settled onto his bed, looking at the cash he'd dropped
there. The silver locket was in his palm, the sharp etchings biting
into his fingers as he gazed down at it.
He
wondered idly what the pixie was doing with the photo. He didn't
remember them ever having particular ties to people; it was true that
they helped people sometimes but they didn't develop strong relations
with them. The girl in the picture looked similar to the pixie;
maybe, somehow, the pixie was related to the girl. Maybe a sister, if
such a thing was possible. His forehead creased the more he thought
about it.
The
girl didn't have the black hair that the pixie had, or the eyes for
that matter, but it just seemed unusual. He looked back at the cash,
his frown deepening. He'd spent cash before, but this? It felt so
wrong that it made him physically ill to even think about using it.
Grabbing the notes he got up from the bed and moved to his closet,
opening a sock drawer that he deftly hid the cash in. He placed the
locket beside it, thought differently. He grabbed the silver,
shutting the drawer before he moved back to the bed.
He
collapsed against its softness, switching off the light. Faint
swathes of street light came through the cracks in his curtain and he
rested the thin silver chain against his chest. The photograph inside
was vaguely visible, the girl smiling under a cherry blossom tree as
the image was frozen forever. He gently stroked the glass over the
photograph, noticing the feel of worn away glass under his fingertip.
The pixie had evidently done the same thing a lot.
Who
was this girl? Echo sighed, feeling consciousness evade him and the
locket clanked against his chest the moment his hand fell.
'Autumn Eventide' is the direct copyright © 2012 of M.S. Watson. Any infringement of this copyright including copying, borrowing, lending and using her work for personal use without written and signed knowledge of the author will result in legal action undertaken by the author. Respect her rights as an author.
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