The Librarian - Part One
Oct 25, 2024
The Villa di Montedoro had stood in Florence for almost 3000 years. In that time, it had changed its shape to blend in with its surroundings - it had been a cave and a mountain and a villa. It had also been a fortress and a castle and, at once point, a thirty-two story high rise. One morning, however, (when time travel was involved, Lucrezia found it irrelevant to record the date) not only did it change its shape, but it completely disappeared.
Of course, anyone who had known Lucrezia di Montedoro would realize what had happened. In truth, the villa had not itself disappeared - it had simply hopped backwards, through a riftgate, and sidestepped a few oceans to land on a completely different island. Under normal circumstances, Lucrezia would have simply jumped through a gate. However, given that she had no idea how long she would need to be in Japan, she decided to bring the house with her.
So - to the human eye, the Villa di Montedoro had never been in Italy; it had always been tucked into the forested peaks of Mt. Hiei. That was because Lucrezia had placed it there in the year 1082 - nearly 400 years prior to her time in Italy.
Time travel was strange like that. She found that the best course of action with these things was to never look at them too closely.
Although the battle with Varek had been swift and devastating, Lucrezia had gambled on Varek's inability to kill the five Fae she'd left behind in Italy, and so even though she hated disappearing, she convinced herself it was for the best. When the house appeared in Kyoto, startling the locals and killing a few dozen animals from the shock, she gathered up her bags and vials and ran for the sanctuary in the mountains.
It had been one hundred Fae years since she'd set foot in this sanctuary, aptly named the Palace of Wisdom. All of the monks were new. She stepped through a large torii gate at the edge of the sanctuary, its stone pillars covered in moss and etched with ancient kanji prayers. This gate marked the threshold between the earthly realm and the sacred realm of the scholars - and although no one but she and her host knew it, it was a riftgate. Setting foot inside the sanctuary put her anxious mind a little more at ease, because for the first time in a century she was on familiar soil.
The magic of the Fae rose up to greet her as she continued the long walk through the sanctuary. Lucrezia tried not to rush - she didn't want to attract the attention of the monks, not until it was safe - but her eagerness propelled her forward. It was quiet here; the sound of distant waterfalls and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind the only noises as she hurried along.
The stone path leading into the heart of the sanctuary wound through a forest where towering cedar and cypress trees formed a natural canopy, casting dappled light over the ground. The path was uneven, worn by centuries of footfall, and yet its direction was purposeful. Occasionally she passed small shrines carved into the mountain itself, with offerings of incense, candles, and flowers left for the spirits.
She approached the main halls of the sanctuary and the air cooled, the burning scent of incense filling her senses. Here, the energy shifted, something electric, something that beckoned her forward. She approached the Hall of Eternal light, its heavy, ancient doors standing open. The light dimmed when she entered. Tall shelves, carved from dark cedar, lined the walls, stretching up towards the ceiling and filled with scrolls, books, and manuscripts in varying states of preservation. Some were delicate; their parchment thin and brittle with age. Some were more recent. It was a gathering of knowledge, preserved and collected by the Fae, and the walls whispered as she passed.
What is she doing here? It has been one hundred years.
Lucrezia traveled deeper, into the sanctums. A narrow staircase carved into the rock descended from the back of the Hall of Eternal Life, leading down into a tunnel-like passage lit by faint, flickering torches. The tunnel was cool and damp, its walls lined with strange Fae symbols in faded red ink. These were nonsense to the monks, but Lucrezia recognized Fae magic when she saw it - these were ancient, protective charms against forces seeking to invade such a holy place.
The sound of her footsteps grew hallow. The world behind her fell away, the air growing still and heavy with memory. So much memory - so many thousands of years collected here, from so many realms. So many lives and so much grief. Lucrezia didn't understand how anyone could spend more than a few minutes down here; yet the one she'd come to see ate, slept, and prayed here most hours of the day. He hadn't left the sanctuary in centuries.
Finally, she reached the Chamber of Reflection. Unlike the rest of the sanctuary, it was lit entirely by natural light filtering through narrow windows carved into the rock, giving it a soft, ethereal glow. The walls of the chamber were adorned with hand-painted scrolls, each depicting scenes of the natural world—clouds drifting over mountains, rivers winding through valleys—symbolic representations of life's ephemeral nature. In the center of the room was a low wooden table, upon which rested an assortment of scrolls, inkstones, and brushes, where her friend spent his days transcribing ancient texts and meditating on the wisdom they contained.
Sitting at the table was a Fae male, dressed in simple gray robes. He carefully maneuvered a brush over the paper before him, inscribing something Lucrezia couldn't read with precision. He didn't look up when she entered.
"Your security is rather lacking," Lucrezia said, no longer hiding her urgency. "I just walked in here."
"If they sensed you were a threat, the walls would have grabbed you," her friend replied. His voice was soft, playful; and when he looked up, a light danced in his grey eyes. "Lucrezia. How long it's been."
Lucrezia sat opposite him at the table, folding her legs under her as she sank onto the mat. She took her bag and opened it, drawing out a notebook and a vial of dark, coagulated blood.
"Yorihito," she returned with a nod. "I've come with a question."
"No," Yorihito corrected. "You've come with many. What troubles you?"
He put down his brush and considered her while she opened the notebook.
"A troubling case," Lucrezia explained. She turned to the correct page and handed both the notebook and the vial to him. "That blood was taken from a person I've known to be dead for quite some time. Only - he was living yesterday, when I took the sample. I studied it and found something strange. Something I've never seen before."
Yorihito took the vial and held it up to the light, studying the way it changed with illumination. Then he turned to her carefully penned notes and read. He took in each detail, moving slowly, methodically, over each word.
"A curious case," he agreed, after a few moments of silence had passed. "And you think the answer is in his blood."
"You know it is. Only - I can't make sense of what I've found."
"There is a foreign body here, you're right," Yorihito said. Much to her annoyance, he began turning the pages of her notebook, reading her other notes as well. Lucrezia considered it as payment for his time, however; he was hungry for information, no matter how trivial.
"I've never seen its like. I thought perhaps you might know something of it - or at least know where I may look."
"I have an idea."
He gave both items back to her, smiling a kind smile. "Let's descend, shall we?"
Zephyra had expected the first day back on the job to be strange. Weird. Awkward, even. Afterall, she and Jasper had been through quite a ridiculous affair those last few weeks, and she wouldn't fault either of her associates for being unsure how to act. Once they had returned, however, and their wounds had healed, and all, it seemed, had fallen into the past, she had the briefest hope that maybe she'd been wrong.
Well, she had been. But the alternative was worse than what she'd been expecting.
The assignment in Denmark had been a failure. Although Hera and her team and tracked down one of the creatures, there were six more yet to be found. They closed the riftgates under the lake - that was a relief, at least - but there was still work to be done.
The first assignment as a team again had been to join the other Knights of the Order in finding these six monsters and bringing them back to Aetherill. Barty wanted them alive, if possible, to be interrogated and studied. They didn't know where they'd come from or how they'd gotten into the human realm. If they'd opened the riftgates themselves, they needed to know how it had been done; and if they hadn't, they needed to know who (or what) was responsible.
Jasper took a week to steady himself before returning to work. When Zephyra saw him again, her first impression was that nothing had changed. He'd replaced the clothes that had been ruined in the previous two assignments. He'd gotten a haircut. He'd even bought a newer (bigger) flask. The Mustang gleamed, shimmering in the sun. It hadn't taken long, however, for her to realize that he was different.
On the surface, Jasper was still Jasper. Still a grouch. Still anti-social. Still irritating. He'd lost something, though - like a snake without its fangs. He stopped taking the lead in missions and let Hera (of all Fae) take command. No more banter. No more witticisms. He'd never been one for laughter, but there'd always been an air of humor about him, if one could find it. Though they never spoke of what had happened, or what Varek had done, or about the two Fae they'd brought back from Italy, it always seemed to be there in her periphery.
Jasper withdrew, any hint of a personality vanishing. He did his work, did it well, and then disappeared until they had their next assignment.
This had been all Zephyra had wanted. For years, she'd been complaining to herself that Jasper's inability to control himself had been hindering all of them from moving up in the ranks. Hera was clearly favored among Barty's operatives - she was ruthless and brutal and extremely effective, and for that she was rewarded with accolades and pay and all kinds of other perks. Zephyra had been hungry for such a promotion, and Jasper, it seemed had always stood in her way. Behave - she always wanted to scream at him to behave. Well, now he was behaving, and it was an eerie thing she wished she'd never asked for.
Maybe he'd been taken in by the athrubhan Aurora. The liar. The criminal. The lunatic.
Maybe it had been something else.
Either way, she was growing increasingly exasperated by the contagious melancholy - and this was the report she gave Bartholomew Threeves, six weeks after returning from their confrontation with Varek.
"Tell me, Zephyra, is he being ineffective?" Barty asked, slouching in his marble throne. Every time she saw him, he looked more and more ill - like one who hadn't slept in weeks. "Your mission reports have come back clean, so what is your concern?"
Flustered, Zephyra said, "yes - I mean, no - he's doing the work. We caught two of the things, like Hera reported, and Jasper certainly didn't get in the way - I mean, he helped quite a great deal - "
While she fumbled around, trying to explain herself, Barty's brows rose higher and higher. Finally, she gave up trying to sound intelligent and simply said, "he's not himself, sir. It worries me."
"Worries you? Why?"
"I…" What was she to say? That she pushed him too hard? That he was depressed? That there was something about him that seemed undeniably deceased?
"Are you trying to tell me that you've come to care for him?" Barty's mouth twitched, as though he was laughing at her and dearly hoped she wouldn't notice.
Zephyra's arms dropped to her sides, hands balling into fists. "I've always cared for him," she snapped. "He's a teammate - and as such, we all care for each other."
Threeves shifted, resting his chin on his fist. He considered her in a way that made her itch. Though exhausted-looking, he still exuded power; the volatile kind that could flatten the Hall of the Order if he so chose. And he was laughing at her.
"If he's doing the job then I don't see where I can help," Threeves said. "And, if I recall, your last complaint to me was something about how Jasper always found a way to sabotage your existence - although I may be paraphrasing - " (He was) " - and how, if it were in the best interests of the Order, I should have him evaluated in the hospital and perhaps interred."
Zephyra swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry. "I'm worried he's starting to remember."
"Well, is he?"
She honestly couldn't say. Jasper never confided in her, however, and she doubted she would be the first to know if something did appear in his mind.
"The experiment worked," Zephyra said. Her voice trembled, knowing that every word she spoke was a dangerous one. "It worked, and Jasper is miserable - maybe it's time…" She cleared her throat. "Maybe it's time you've put him out of his misery. For good."
The silence fell around them, heavy and dark. Zephyra waited for Barty to rage at her; to tell her she was being insolent and meddling in things that were none of her concern. He didn't however. He simply stared at her; and if he'd had a tail, she imagined he'd be flicking it back and forth. Thinking. Planning.
"Go to him, Zephyra," he said, after a long pause. As he spoke, ice slid into her stomach. "Soothe his ache. Do whatever it takes to relieve some of this…misery."
Startled, Zephyra said, "sir - I - it's not like that. I don't even know where he lives. And if I show up there - "
Barty reached into his pocket and took out a card. As he handed it to her, Jasper's address wrote itself across the surface. Like any other assignment.
"The fate of many worlds rely on this," Barty reminded her. "Don't mess it up."
Zephyra looked from the card, to Barty, and then back again. She had never been to the Gap. It was a dark place, a dangerous one - and she didn't know how Jasper would respond to seeing her there. Still, it was an assignment. She'd sworn an oath, and this was how she would keep it.
When Zephyra found the address, some hours later, she was cold and tired and, given that a fine mist had started floating down from the Upper City, damp. She parked the Superbird in an alley and picked around discarded trash and refuse. At first, she couldn't find the door. Then, she saw it: tucked into a narrow alcove, painted black and probably covered in rot. It was the most dilapidated place she'd ever seen.
When she knocked on the door, her knuckles came away with a fine black powder, further lending itself to her hypothesis of the decay. There was no answer. She knocked again, this time louder. On the third attempt, the door opened the slightest degree.
There was no light inside the home. A chain prevented the door from opening more than a few inches, and from it she saw half of Jasper's face, looking at her with a mix of exhaustion and irritation.
"What do you want, Zephyra?" he asked, his words slightly slurred. Even from a distance she could smell the whiskey on him. The one blue eye she saw was red-rimmed, swollen, bruised underneath.
"You look like death warmed over," she said. "May I come in?"
"No." He tried to close the door, but she'd been ready for this refusal, and stuck her foot out to stop him.
Jasper frowned at the foot, contemplating it in the way only the intoxicated were wont to do.
Zephyra said, "I was coming to check on you. You haven't been yourself lately, and I wanted to see…"
What, exactly? What was she there to do?
Jasper looked up at her again. "I don't remember giving you my address."
"What?" she tried to play dumb. "You must have - I just knew where to go."
"Barty sent you, didn't he?"
"Jasper, I came as a friend - because I'm worried about you. We didn't really talk about what happened, and I realized that it must be so confusing, and if you wanted to talk - "
"I don't."
Clearly. "Okay, so we don't talk - would you like company, at least? Orion told me about a party in the Upper City. They're celebrating our last mission. Maybe you'd want to go?"
He tried to close the door again, but this time she stuck her hand in the gap.
"Jasper, please," she said. Although she hated herself for it, she dug into the wounded feminine sounds she'd heard Aurora make. Aurora had always gotten her way with him, and in that last moment she'd almost succeeded in swaying him again. Maybe that was the secret, though; maybe all it took to win him over was a hint of feminine dependency -
Jasper groaned, and though he closed the door completely she knew she'd won. A moment later, the chain fell away and the door swung open, and he let her in.
He looked…awful. Worse than the last time she'd seen him, only a few days ago. His hair was dirty and he was unshaven, and the t-shirt he wore was stained and torn. He padded around the floor in bare feet and the smell - Holy Guardians, it smelled worse than the locker rooms in the Hall of the Order.
Gas lamps flickered to life as he let her in, and the sight only devolved. In the light, the purple under his eyes looked almost black. The room itself was trashed, a mess of cereal boxes and glass bottles and a host of other things from the human world that she recognized but couldn't name. He had no bed, but she could tell he'd been sleeping on the hideous sofa by the body-shaped dent in its cushions. The stove was covered in dust, evidence of his lack of appetite, and it appeared as though he hadn't so much as moved in the time between missions.
"Happy?" he growled at her, swigging back a bottle of something dark, and collapsing back into the dent on the sofa.
Zephyra couldn't help but stare, mouth agape. Jasper watched her, putting his bare feet on the table in front of the sofa.
"Jasper, I'm concerned," she said. Being frank with him was always the best option. "This is…unlivable. And disgusting."
"You're the one who insisted in coming in."
"Yes, but you can't live like this. It's not healthy. And…" she watched as he tipped the bottle back again, draining all of it in a few seconds. When he was done, he tossed it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass breaking the silence.
"Why don't you ask for help?" she asked softly. How would Aurora say it? The wounded female, the damaged female, the one who needed saving - although it made Zephyra want to chew glass, she adopted those tones as best as she could. "We could get a…professional. Maybe even a friend - I could bring Orion in here - "
"It didn't bother you before."
"Before? Before what?"
"Before Italy. I could've been living like this the whole time, and you wouldn't have known. Why do you care so suddenly?"
"I…I've always cared." Liar, liar. Zephyra cleared off part of the low-sitting table with a foot and sat on it, facing him. "I just realized, after Italy, that I wasn't being a good friend. I thought you needed your space, but now I'm wondering if I was wrong. Why won't you tell me what's going on?"
Jasper folded his arms, staring up at the ceiling. He ground his teeth, a tic popping in his jaw.
"You know," Zephyra pressed, "it's alright. If you felt something for her. You're not stupid for that - she was pretty convincing, even for me."
His gaze snapped down to her and Zephyra fought the sudden urge to flee. That looked was usually followed by something unpleasant, if not deadly.
"Who says I did?"
Zephyra waved her hand around. "If not, explain this mess."
"Maybe I'm a manic-depressive. How would you know?"
"Or maybe," Zephyra said gently, "underneath all the brain and Mister-Super-Detective, you're a regular person like the rest of us. Thoughts and feelings and all. Would it really be that bad?"
Jasper simply glared at her. It was the most life she'd seen from him in days, and for a moment, she'd thought she'd done her job, when the fire in his eyes went out. She could've screamed from the frustration. He leaned back into the cushions, eyes glazing over.
"You did the right thing," Zephyra continued. If it had been anyone else, she would have reached over and placed a hand on his forearm. Jasper, though, was more difficult - being untouchable, she had to be much more creative with her comfort. "It was a hard thing, but a very commendable thing. And she can't hurt anyone anymore."
"Or herself," Jasper muttered.
Zephyra blinked. "Right," she said.
Something was off, though - and he swiveled slowly to look at her. "Right?" he repeated, this time a question.
Zephyra shook herself. "Yes. She's not going to hurt herself either. Barty made sure of it."
"Zephyra," Jasper said slowly, "she is in the hospital, right? Being given psychiatric treatment?"
Zephyra forced herself to swallow, trying to remember what a genuine smile felt like. That question had been a surprise, however - and Jasper was far too smart, even intoxicated, to believe it. "Yes," she said.
Another pregnant pause - and then Jasper sat up. "Thank you," he said, suddenly. He smiled, a startling thing that nearly knocked her back. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen a full-toothed grin, and they'd never been good.
"For - for what?" she stuttered.
"You've helped immensely. I feel so much better." He leapt up, swaying a little, but still giving her that eerie smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "If you don't mind, I need to be alone now - got things to do."
Zephyra stood. In the corners of her eyes, the long shadows cast by the lamps began to twitch, gathering as though ready to push her out the door. She didn't know what Jasper would do, but suddenly she didn't want to be anywhere near him. Dread crept into the edges of her mind, and she backed towards the door.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "And what about the party - "
"Can't make it," he said. "Too much to do."
"But I haven't even told you the time - "
He opened the door, and the fresh air beckoned her back to better, brighter things. Despite herself, Zephyra stepped out.
"Thank you, again, Zephyra," Jasper said. This one, at least, sounded sincere. "You've helped immensely."
Before she could answer, he snapped the door shut. She heard the deadbolt scrape against the lock and the rattle of the chain. Zephyra's mind swirled, puzzling over that smile, wondering what insanity Jasper would plan next. Perhaps he was the one who needed psychiatric attention.
She put it out of her mind, though. She'd done what Barty had asked of her, so she got back into the Superbird and drove away.
Jasper closed the door, locked it, and pressed his forehead to the door. A moment later, he heard the Superbird's engine, and not long after that the crunch of the tires as she drove away. His heart pounded, his vision swirling. He'd had too much to drink. Again.
It had been several nights of this. Ghosts that wouldn't leave. Cries that wouldn't stop. Faces that kept dragging him out of sleep and demanding that he answer. Recently, it had been Aurora's voice in his mind, begging him to remember.
Lucrezia had been so sure that he hadn't wanted to, and that was why he couldn't. That didn't quite feel fair. Jasper wanted to remember, more than anything - but every time he felt close to something, it slipped away.
Varek had done something to him. He must have - his mind hadn't been still since the battle in Italy. He'd drowned out each anxious thought with the Mustang's new stereo, but at some point it had become inadequate. The sound of Aurora's agonized screaming echoed in his ears when he was asleep and when he was awake. There were other things, too - questions unanswered, boxes unopened because, in all honesty, he didn't want to know what was inside. He'd been given the rarest of chances: a completely fresh start. No strings attached. No mention of the past. And until Zephyra had arrived, he hadn't been willing to address them at all.
Now, with her car speeding away, they arrived in order:
Item, the first: Barty had obviously retrieved his car and the Superbird. It was plausible that he'd found the house in Denmark. In Jasper's recollection, the diary of Elysande Eltheron had been there - did that mean that Barty had it now? Did he even know what it was? Whatever Rohan and Aurora had wanted to do with it, did it matter that it was in the hands of the Order?
Item, the second: They'd found the seven riftgates. They'd found his clothes. Which meant that they'd found Elysande's amulet. Barty hadn't brought it up or returned it…which Jasper wondered about. Did Barty know what it was? If so - would having it cause problems for them later?
Item, the third: Umbraxis had completely disappeared in those last few weeks. Either something was happening in the realms that they didn't know about, or someone was lying about it. Sydara had been insisted that Umbraxis was a problem, but Jasper hadn't heard a peep from the Order about stopping him. What did that mean?
The fourth item had been added that day: It had been his understanding that Aurora and Rohan had been hospitalized, and, eventually, institutionalized. He'd never thought they were dangerous; simply insane. But Zephyra's visit had made him realize that he didn't know that for sure.
Jasper had never checked. He'd wanted to erase the memories of those few weeks with her and Rohan. Whatever had happened to him, whatever she'd done to his sensibilities, it hadn't been as easy to shake as he'd thought it would be. He was tormented by her screams, and this anxiety only attracted more of the unsightly ghosts. Even now, pressed against the door, he could feel one staring at him from the corner.
Jasper turned to look. She was a young female, newly an adult, and the wound that had killed her was extremely obvious.
She'd been torn in half.
She stared up at Jasper, the right shoulder splitting from her spine. He forced a swallow, eyes watering.
More and more ghosts. More and more gore. He needed a break.
Jasper turned away from the ghost. He'd be conspicuous going out in human clothes, but he no longer cared. He tugged a black hoodie over his head, grabbed his keys, and stumbled out the door.
The night was cold and damp. Autumn had taken a foothold, and winter was close at its heels. Jasper's breath fogged up the air as he clambered over piles of garbage towards the Mustang. It opened for him, but even as he sank into the driver's seat he could feel its reluctance. He was far too drunk to drive.
He turned the key. The Mustang's engine whined but wouldn't turn over. Jasper slapped the dash, and though the radio turned on the car refused to start. He hit it several more times before giving up, throwing himself back into the seat.
In the end, he just walked.
It took longer than he'd wanted to, but the cool night helped sober him a little. He crossed several streets, climbing into the Upper City. The nightlife was lively, the streetlamps illuminating the Fae as they socialized and celebrated their lives. He walked with his hood up, his hands tucked into the pockets, digging into his cuticles. He scowled at everyone who neared him and they crossed the street to avoid his approach.
He was going to feel this hangover. He hadn't been this drunk in…he didn't know. Years. A decade, maybe.
Jasper had been trying to remember the first day - the first day of being in the Order. The first mission. The first time he'd met his team, Threeves, anyone at all. He reached into that place in his mind and found nothing. This had simply always been, and he'd never noticed that everything, even his role as a Knight of the Order, had a starting point. He no longer believed it was a coincidence.
He walked for an hour, finally finding himself at the steps of the hospital of Aetherill. Although it was late, the doors still opened to him, and he found a young female working in reception.
"Good evening, sir," she said sweetly. She sat at a desk near the front door, and around her papers flew about, sorting themselves and shooting off down the darkened corridors. She tucked her blond hair behind her sharply-pointed ears and said, "come to check in?"
Jasper looked down at himself. He knew he smelled, but did he really look that bad? "No - I've come to check on a friend."
"Oh." Her face fell, but she recovered and smiled again. "Visiting hours are over, I'm afraid. You can come back tomorrow at nine - "
"Could you at least confirm that they're here? Being treated?"
She looked uncertain. After a moment, however, she opened a ledger on her desk and said, "alright. Name?"
"Aurora."
She wiggled her fingers and the words sorted themselves in front of her. "No one by that name here."
He tried her other names - Catherine. Delia. Then he tried Rohan.
"Sorry," she said, and Jasper could tell she meant it. "Is there any other way I could help? If you need a doctor - "
"I'm not the one he needs help," he answered, a little too sharply. She recoiled from him, and he said, "I'm sorry. I'm in a bad mood tonight. Thank you for checking."
Then he left, aware of the strange look the receptionist gave him, and not entirely bothered by it. Aurora wasn't at the hospital. It was likely she never had been. He'd had his suspicions, but until seeing Zephyra, he hadn't quite bothered to find out the truth.
The trek back to the hovel was miserable. By the time Jasper returned home, he was cold and wet and shivering so badly that it began to hurt. The walk had sobered him up, however, and in that long, miserable journey he'd come up with an idea of what he needed to do.
He didn't like it.
That was the thing, though, that he'd never been able to reckon with about himself: he didn't like leaving things unfinished. For better or for worse, unanswered questions gnawed at him until he was forced to face them. Curiosity drove him to strange and often dangerous places. And tonight, an inexplicable knowing worked at his attention until it gave completely, and it was all he could think about.
For the first time in days, Jasper took a little bit of responsibility for himself and showered, shaved, and donned the cleanest thing he could find. It was another hoodie, but at least it didn't reek of sweat and mildew. Without really thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed a rucksack from his closet and packed a few necessities - toothbrush, hair styling cream, soap, a change of clothes - and then grabbed armfuls of blankets.
He dragged these items out to the mustang and threw them in the back seat. The Mustang rumbled its approval, as though he was doing something not completely delusional and insane. Jasper went back to the hovel and took a final look. On second inspection, he grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey and a few boxes of cheery-ohs, and the last clean hoodie he could find. He also armed himself with a pocket knife and a cigarette lighter - one never knew when it could be needed, and magic wasn't always reliable. Satisfied, he left the key on the table and turned towards the door.
It wouldn't matter if he succeeded or not tonight. No matter the outcome of his plan, he wouldn’t make it back to the hovel.
He didn't want to, anyway. The walls had grown eyes, staring down at him at all hours. The ghosts had become regulars. Even now, they watched him from the doorway, ever curious about what he was going to do.
Jasper sat in the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine turned over.
The familiar sound of Radiohead leaked quietly through the speaker - a song that had comforted him for hours on end in those past few weeks. Tonight, however, it was too soft. Too pensive. He needed something that would energize him, remind him of who he was.
I am Jasper Nightingale, he thought, as he tapped through the radio channels. I am the Master of Shadows.
Finally, he landed on the BeeGee's. The song infuriated him. It reminded him of the strangling grip of Bartholomew Threeves, and it made him smile while he pictured how angry Barty was going to be.
Dressed in black, nearly invisible in the darkness, a solitary figure slipped behind the guards stationed outside of the Hall of the Order. He crawled through the shadows, undetected by the Fae who'd been unlucky enough to receive the night shift. No one dared breach the Hall of the Order; that was why Jasper didn't think that getting in would be difficult. Getting out, however, would be the gamble.
Jasper had long passed the point, however, where he minded any of that. He had taken a rather fatalistic stance on the whole prospect: these questions needed to be answered, and the only day he wouldn't care about them would be the day that he died. So, by his estimation, he either found the answer he was seeking or he died trying - that was the only logical response. (Naturally, if he had something else to live for, the answer may have been different; but as it was, he had the car, and it wasn't as though he could take the loyal Mustang into the afterlife).
He had no difficulty navigating the halls. He knew exactly where he was going, and his shadows whispered at his ankles, alerting him to guards and then hiding him when they passed. Jasper climbed many sets of stairs into the high reaches of the spidery place, until he found the office of Bartholomew Threeves.
There had been a time when Jasper had truly thought Barty had lived here in the Hall. If Barty had a family, he certainly never spoke of them; and Jasper had never seen him leave the Hall, other than to attend business meetings. Jasper had also only seen Threeves' private office one time (and it was a very unpleasant time), and it did appear as though someone slept here quite frequently. In the years that passed, however, he'd learned about Barty's private residence in the Upper City and had also heard that Threeves only slept here when they were on the brink of war.
So - unless the nest of lies was larger than Jasper estimated, Barty should be safe in bed on a night like tonight.
The door was locked, but it wasn't spelled. That made it easy for Jasper to slip his shadows through the lock and open it. Then he slipped inside and tugged off his hood.
The interior of the office was the same as he remembered, if a little more cluttered: it was large, and had a window overlooking the glittering city of Aetherill. Jasper crossed over to look out. The mist of the night gathered on the glass, refracting the nightlife below. From here, high in the spire, he could make out the streets of the city, the parties taking place, the carriages trotting back and forth. It was a breathtaking sight, and Jasper fought the urge to open the window and look out.
There wasn't time for this.
He turned and went back to work. The room was cluttered with bookshelves and covered with dust. Jasper ignored these and went straight for Barty's desk, unlocking drawers and carefully rifling through the contents. It was the last, deepest drawer that caught his attention, and when he opened it, he kneeled to get a closer look.
There were the amulets, all three of them, clustered together at the top. Jasper took these and dumped them into the rucksack.
Underneath these was Elysande's diary. Jasper's spirit sank when he saw it; this, too, he took. Underneath the diary, however, was something he hadn't expected.
The Polaroid camera.
This had been the object that had taken the photos of Ravenscroft. Jasper had known Barty had one, but he hadn't known that Barty had hundreds of Polaroid photos in the drawer.
Jasper picked up one of the photos, his mouth going completely dry as he held it up to the faint light in the window.
He was in this picture. The outfit was a strange one - one he didn't remember owning. That, however, wasn't the strangest part.
Jasper looked on the younger, happier version of himself smiling at the camera, in the middle of a great laugh. His arm was around Aurora, who was not looking at the camera but at him, clutching a glass of what looked to be champagne. She, too, looked different than the female he'd met in California - there was pink in her cheeks, her mouth open as though she was in the middle of telling him something. On the far right of the frame, Rohan stood, arm outstretched. He'd obviously taken the photo, his face over-exposed but still familiar.
Friends. They looked like friends. They were at a party, maybe; celebrating something. The background was too dark, but Jasper thought he could make out the shapes of the other bodies, too.
Without thinking, Jasper shoved the camera and the photograph into the rucksack as well. He picked up others and saw similar things - photo after photo of three of them. Some of the places he recognized: California. New York. Places in the Fae world, such as Aetherill. Some of them, however, he didn't. Something that looked to be a school, somewhere high up in the mountains. His mind began to reel and he stopped looking, taking all the photographs regardless of the subjects. If he survived tonight, he'd be able to sort through it. If not, then it no longer mattered.
The rucksack by then was full - almost overstuffed - and Jasper heaved it over his shoulders. The amulets alone told him everything he needed to know about what Barty had done with Aurora and Rohan, so he took a few deep breaths to quiet himself and began the second part of his plan.
Deep beneath the gleaming city of Aetherill, deeper, even, than the Gap, was a place so dark and deep that many in the Upper City had begun to doubt that it existed at all.
Jasper knew this place well. The city's prison had been made of iron and stone, built to hold the most dangerous criminals of the Fae worlds. In his many years working for the Order he'd seen it many times.
On this night he descended from Barty's office in the spire, down into the bowels of the city, as deep as the stairs would go. Each floor grew colder and darker, the sounds growing strange and unfamiliar. For a while, Jasper was enveloped by silence; then, the sounds of weeping began to rise from the dark.
There were plenty of ghosts down here.
The problem Jasper always had was distinguishing the ghosts from the living. As he entered the prison, there were no guards to stop him. No one in their sane mind would willingly cross the threshold, because each doorway was spelled to keep its inhabitants inside. As Jasper walked, his shadows snaked along the walls searching for the spells and guiding his footsteps. He sent them out feelers, creeping down the darkened halls, and in a few moments, they returned with exactly what he needed.
Confirmation.
His suspicions had been correct.
And Jasper, whose temper was usual foul at best, teetered very close to rage as he followed the tug of his shadows.
He moved quietly, careful not to alert the inmates that he was here. If they saw signs of life they would start to beg; if they saw him, they might try to kill him (he, after all, being responsible for many of those currently serving their time). He kept on the balls of his feet and crossed threshold after threshold, the weight of each spell heavy on him as he went. Nearly an hour later, in a deeper and darker place, the shadows dissipated.
Jasper's eyes adjusted to the dark in ways only his could, and by this strange vision the cell in front of him took shape. The acrid smell of blood and bile arrested his nose and made his eyes water, and the lack of movement in the cell made his pulse rise. Still, he found two shapes in the dark: one leaning against the iron bars, one further back, curled into a fetal position.
Both unmoving.
Jasper knelt in the dark and felt around for the cigarette lighter. The flame created a small halo of light, and by it, he saw Rohan's bruised and bloodied face, staring at him through the bars.
"Holy hell," Jasper hissed, jumping back. He hadn't expected either of the shapes to be conscious.
"What are you doing here?" Rohan hissed back, his own voice low, as though he, too, was aware of the strange things lurking in the dark.
Jasper didn't answer. Instead, he fished the photograph out of his rucksack - the first one he'd seen, of the three of them - and held it out to Rohan.
Rohan took it reluctantly. "What is this?"
"I found it in Barty's office," Jasper answered. "Along with Elysande's diary, and these."
He held up the amulets, and Rohan's eyes went wide. "You took them back," he whispered. When he looked back at Jasper, his face had changed, going from hateful to almost…hopeful.
"I want the truth," Jasper said. "All of it."
Despite himself, he listened for signs of Aurora in the cell. Although he knew it was her, huddled in the dark, she didn't move or speak or even sigh.
Rohan sat up. "Getting out of here is going to be difficult."
"I'm aware."
"And how do I know you aren't tricking us? Barty's been trying to get information out of us for weeks. Who's to say he didn't send you down here to do his work for him?"
Jasper set the lighter on the damp stone floor. "Hold out your hand," he said to Rohan, who did so, watching in bewilderment. Jasper took out the pocket knife, digging the tip of the blade into his thumb. As the blood welled, he dragged it across Rohan's palm and said, "I renounce the Order and Bartholomew Threeves, in exchange for the truth. All of it. Once I've gotten you to safety."
Rohan's eyes glistened in the light, welling with emotion Jasper couldn't name. He tucked away the blade and the photograph. Slowly, Rohan closed his palm and whispered, "I accept those terms."
As Jasper gathered up the rucksack, Rohan retreated back into the cell. He shifted to the female still laying still.
"She's out cold," Rohan explained. "She's been pinned. I'll have to carry her, so I won't be able to help you."
The other stirred at the sight of the limp body, and for once it was welcome. Jasper couldn't explain the anger, the rage he felt - but didn't push it away. This was the person he needed right now. Not tired, apathetic Jasper; the one that could kill.
The one that could destroy.
The one that commanded his shadows into arms of steel, wrapped them around the iron gates of the prison cell, and began to pull.
Rohan gathered up Aurora's limp frame, watching as the stone around the bars began to crack and then crumble. Jasper strained against the weight, but he could feel it starting to give. The other Fae's powers were weakened by the iron, but he, probably for the same reason he could read runes and had no memories of his life and had a second person prowling around his subconscious, was unaffected by the element.
The iron screeched, the sound painful in the relative quiet; and then it gave way, falling forward. Jasper jumped back. Rohan stepped out of the cell, and for a moment there was complete silence.
"Stay close to me," Jasper said to him. Rohan nodded, clutching Aurora to himself, and then the wailing began.
It was a confusing noise, a mingling of enraged prisoners and the spells surrounding the cells igniting to warn the Knights of the Order that security had been breached. They had a matter of minutes before the knights would arrive. Jasper's vision sharpened at the sound, the Other clawing to the front of his senses. He didn't fight it for control, but stepped aside, until he was simply an onlooker to the unfolding scene.
The world around him became bright. Shadow-like hands reached behind him and grabbed at Rohan and Aurora, tugging them close. They began to run through the prison, while spells began to activate, the thresholds they passed glowing. Ahead, the Knights of the Order stationed at the Hall would be waking, arming themselves, racing for the depths. The Other knew the way, however, and guided them through the narrow halls.
They ascended, the air growing warmer. Shouts echoed overhead. Feet pounded above them, and when Jasper rounded the next corner, there were at least a dozen knights, staring at him in disbelief.
"Jasper Nightingale, what a surprise," one said.
Jasper didn't answer. The Other wouldn't let him. It sent a thousand shadowy-spikes at them and threw them aside, and in moments the smell of blood filled the air.
Up, up, up they went - and more and more Knights of the Order fell as they passed. Jasper began to smell smoke. The floors rumbled, the Hall creaking. When he reached the main floor, smoke billowed out at their heels, following them up the stairs. Still, they didn't slow. The spells surrounding the Hall of the Order, as well as those laid directly on the prisoners now escaping, activated in rapid motion and summoned a barrage of evils Jasper had only ever heard about, much less seen.
An escape from the prisons of Aetherill was very nearly impossible. Jasper, Aurora, and Rohan were about to discover why.
This is the report given to Bartholomew Threeves, by a very distressed Malcolm, on the night the prisons beneath Aetherill were breached.
Someone with great knowledge of the prison's schematics entered unhindered, breached cell block four-hundred-twenty nine, tore down the walls of cell number 19876, and escaped with two prisoners labeled highly dangerous.
In their wake followed a series of explosions and mass hysteria, and a total number of 27 prisoners also escaped from cell block four-hundred-twenty-nine. In response, the wards around each of the cells summoned forty-eight of the nearby Knights of the Order, and thirty-seven were en route (recalled from other realms).
Hera, appointed director of recall, was dispatched to retrieve the rogue knight and the two prisoners he harbored. She took fifteen of the responding officers, including Jasper's team members, Zephyra and Orion.
Two hours after the event, no one had seen or heard from any of those dispatched - but there was great chaos in the city, following a car chase that had ended with the opening of an unsanctioned rift in the middle of the street
Malcolm, sweating, passed the dispatch to Threeves and fixed his eyes on the floor.
"There's something else, sir," he said, his voice hardly above a trembling whisper.
"Yes?" Threeves asked.
"It's…your office."
"My office?"
(Threeves was not currently in his office - he was at home, in his nightshirt).
"It was burgled. We can assume it was Nightingale…as the camera was taken. And all the artifacts from the Denmark case."
Threeves, entirely not himself, lit the dispatch on fire, threw it at Malcolm, and screamed.
Click here to continue to Part Two
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