Fallen (14 page)

However, I could not remain in the river
forever. At the very least, Tom had sacrificed himself for me. I
had to do something, somehow, to help him. I only hoped it wouldn’t
be too little too late.

Steadily, I swam across the current carrying
me further and further away from the place where Tom had dumped me
into the Thames. After nearly ten minutes of swimming, I finally
reached a bank where I could take my leave of the river. Using my
beaver claws and strong tail for final momentum, I surged out of
the water onto the muddy bank. I had no idea where I was; if I was
even still in London at all.

Crawling up higher where cool grass awaited
me I stretched out. I could feel the familiar itch across my skin
and dizziness in my head. The form of a beaver began to change
again, returning me to my human self. Though still wet and cold, I
sighed with relief when I gazed once again upon normal hands with
five fingers.

Shivering took me over immediately. Though
human again, I wasn’t as well equipped for wet and cold as the
beaver had been. My first order of business was to find some way to
get warm. I would be less than useless to Tom if I ended up
freezing to death after all of his effort on my behalf.

I wandered toward civilization, my teeth
chattering the entire way. At some point, buildings began to close
around me again. Though I had no idea where in London I was, I did
know that I was in the city. However, without Tom’s guidance, I
quickly realized that I had no hope of finding my way.

When I could stand it no more I sat down
within a lonely alleyway near a row of very nice homes. I appeared
to be in a completely different part of the city. There were no
tenements to be found. Everything was very upscale. Yet, I remained
on the outside, impoverished and cold.

I sat beneath a window where within a
lantern burned. To feel the warmth of it was my greatest desire at
that moment. Without really understanding how I was doing it, I
drew from the heat of that flame, filling myself with its life
sustaining warmth. The chill within my members began to gradually
but surely fade until I could actually move my fingers and toes
again.

I remained there, staring at that flame,
sustaining the connection to it for as long as I was awake. I had
little understanding of how this power worked beyond what Tom had
been able to tell me. But I was grateful for even that minute
knowledge. Undoubtedly, it was the only thing that got me through
that night alive.

Waking from sleep, or so I had assumed at
first, I arose while the moon was still clearly seen, though it had
moved across the night sky by now. A wall stood before me. The
lantern from which I had drawn heat still burned in the window high
up. Everything seemed to be as it had been when I had lost
consciousness, except for the fact that my clothes were now dry and
the cold had abated somewhat.

Then a portal opened up in the wall before
me. No door had appeared, but the bricks rotated inward toward an
opening that revealed only more darkness. I felt no fear of
entering through this portal despite having no way of knowing what
lay beyond. I do not even remember the six steps that ushered me
inside.

At once, I was walking down a long winding
corridor where mirrors hung in space at odd angles. Each mirror
cast my own reflection back at me. However, each reflection bore
some strange characteristic meant to represent me in a different
way.

The first showed me a likeness with at least
twenty years of age added. My shoulders were broad, my hair neatly
trimmed though showing a little evidence of thinning. The most
striking characteristic, though, was my eyes and my expression.
This image bore a strikingly fierce countenance. These eyes had
seen many hard things; things that cause a man’s heart to become
calloused. The image faded as I walked on.

The next mirror showed me as I was, perhaps
a year or two older but no more. However, I was hideously deformed,
as though I had been mauled by some terrible beast. If not for the
constant involuntary twitching, I would have assumed this poor
creature was dead. I moved on quickly, trying to reconcile the
images I was seeing.

How could one mirror show me well-aged and
fierce of countenance while another cast me at no greater age and
all but lying stone cold in my grave? Both reflections could not be
true. However, they might both represent possibilities.

The next mirror did not cast me a
reflection, but instead showed my father and mother sitting
together. My mother’s eyes wandered toward a dark shadow moving
across the wall behind them, threatening to envelope them both
completely. My father did not appear to notice this element at all.
Again the image faded, promoting my continuance on the path this
corridor led.

Each successive mirror was the same in
theme, showing me scenes that either directly connected with my
life and family, or probably did even if I wasn’t aware how. I saw
our steamer trip though my father and I sailed toward dark clouds
on the horizon. I saw Tom hiding among the trees of a dense and
evil looking forest.

I saw Mr. Black sitting in his office near a
roaring blaze that licked at his form while the shadow behind him
rose up monstrously with great outspread wings. The last two were
of people I was sure I had never met. The first was of a young
girl, perhaps a year or two older, with deathly pale skin. She was
perched upon the head of a stone gargoyle looking out over
London.

I could not take my eyes off of her. Like
the other images, this one was animated. The girl turned her head
to look at me. I felt as though she could actually see me in that
moment. Her beauty was unlike anyone I had ever seen: rich milky
skin with amber curls flowing across her shoulders. Her eyes were
perhaps her most striking feature. At one moment they were golden
in color, almost glowing. The next moment they showed a radiant
crimson.

I gasped at the change, stepping back as I
realized she must be one of the Breed, like those who had been
chasing Tom and me. But how could a creature of such beauty be from
among so deadly and vile a people?

Guilt filled my mind. I had judged the girl
in the image based only upon my limited knowledge of her Breed. At
the very least, I had something in common with her and others like
her in that I was somehow also one of these Descendants of the
Fallen.

The image of the girl faded as she turned
back to her overlook of the London skyline. I walked away, finding
a final mirror holding the image of an older man whom I assumed
must be another look at my possible future years from now. However,
upon closer inspection I saw that this man’s eyes were a deep blue
where mine had always been brown, matching my hair. Still, he bore
a close resemblance to the former aged image of me. A relative,
perhaps?

He wore a beard with flecks of gray
streaking through it and a top hat that obscured his hairline.
Other than the regal manner and resemblance to my older self, the
only distinguishing characteristic was the man’s black cane. A
silver wolf’s head adorned the handle.

Strangely, the man was positioned similarly,
overlooking the London skyline. Only he and the beautiful Breed
girl had been envisioned this way. Could they be acquaintances, or
fighting on the same side against the others. Without more
information, there was no way to know.

The man’s image faded like the others. The
corridor lighting in my dream faded a moment later. When light
returned I was standing in an elegant dining room with a feast laid
out before me. A full length mirror stood in the corner.

It seemed like an eternity since the
wonderful meal that the angel had brought to me. I rushed to the
table, taking in the delicacies with my eyes. My hands trembled
with hunger. Cakes, pies and pastries mingled with roast beef,
turkey, potatoes and gravy.

I grabbed meat anxiously, devouring
handfuls. A spoon in the whipped potatoes was dipped through the
gravy bowl on its way to my eager mouth. A cookie covered with
chocolate and sugar then a piece of cherry pie. All of them were as
flavorful and scrumptious as I’d ever remembered them being.
Nothing I hated was on the table, only favorites throughout my
childhood.

Within minutes I had stuffed myself and
managed to make a thorough mess of the table and my tattered
clothing. I happened to catch my reflection in the full length
mirror in the corner. The awful image of myself standing there drew
me away from the mess I’d made of the food.

I walked over to the mirror and stood before
it, examining my reflection. “What a pig you are,” I said to
myself. “Your father would certainly be proud of you now, wouldn’t
he?”

As I noted each thing about my appearance
that disgusted me, the image in the mirror began to change to suit
how I
wanted
to appear. The more it happened the more I
concentrated on the details. My hair became clean and combed. The
dirt evaporated from my face and hands. I even felt cleaner as
these changes took place in the mirror.

My clothes were transformed from tatters to
tailored garments in my size. My wrinkled, muddy shoes became
fashionable black with a shine I could see myself in. By the time I
had finished, I realized that I looked like a completely different
person. That couldn’t hurt with Black and Sinister and the Breed
hunting for me.

The mirror faded as well as the table behind
me, but my new look remained, and my belly still felt full. I could
still taste the food I had been eating a moment ago. But wasn’t
this all a dream? I certainly had thought so until the room faded.
I found myself standing on a busy street during the middle of the
afternoon the next day. I was back in the real world again.

Almost immediately, I was set upon by a
horde of street vendors, no doubt drawn in by my dressier
clothing.

“Pistachios, young master?”

“Roses for your lady, sir?”

“Black your shoes for you, sir?”

“Tell you your future, young sir?”

I backed away cautiously as hands came out
feeling the material on my coat, pawing at me for valuables that
might be easily taken by quick hands.

“Leave off ‘em!”

A lad, likely my age, had appeared, coming
to my aid. He quickly shooed away the worst offenders. The others,
finding that they would enjoy no patronage from me, soon gave up as
well. The boy’s streetwise confidence immediately reminded me of
Tom and the other boys running with Mr. Sinister, though I had
never seen this person before. I was grateful to him, but started
on my way without speaking to him.

“Pardon me, sir,” he said as I backed
away.

“Yes?”

“If you don’t mind my saying, you seem a bit
lost to me….Name’s Digby,” he said, offering his soiled hand.

I shook it somewhat reluctantly. Not because
he was dirty…I had just come up with this clean look a moment ago.
I simply knew better by now than to trust people. Tom had proven
his trustworthiness to me, having risked his life in order to
deliver me safe from the clutches of Mr. Black. I owed him my life,
if I could only find my way back.

“Brody,” I replied. “Now that you mention
it, where am I?”

“Whitechapel,” the boy replied. “Where are
you going?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” I said. “I was with
a friend, but we got separated. I suppose I should head back up
river.”

“Who’s this friend you’re trying to get back
to?” Digby asked.

“His name is Tom,” I said cautiously.
Examining him carefully, I felt like he was what he appeared to be:
human. However, he could still be working for Sinister or
Black.

“Older fella or young like us?” Digby
asked.

“Definitely younger,” I replied.

Digby smiled knowingly. “Sure, I know the
bloke you mean,” he said.

“You do?”

“Sure, I can even take you to him,” he said
proudly. “Come on!”

Digby started through the crowd ahead of me,
waving his hand for me to follow. I glanced around me. Having no
other alternative, I decided that Digby seemed honest and sincere
enough for my purposes. I just had to find Tom. And it made sense
that someone like Digby should know a fellow like Tom who got
around.

I kept pace with the boy as we wound ever
deeper among the inhabitants of Whitechapel. Most faces followed me
with curious looks, no doubt wondering why such a fancy lad was
running around down here in their world. No one else on the streets
was dressed nearly so good. I worried that those curious looks
might turn to disdain if I lingered. Instead, I kept up with my new
guide.

Digby paused after we had rounded a corner.
“Look,” he said conspiratorially, “I don’t want to offend you or
anything, but those clothes make you sort of conspicuous.”

Of course, I’d been afraid of the same
thing.

“Here’s my idea,” he continued. “I’ve got a
way to get us out of Whitechapel that will keep us off of the main
street. I don’t want someone knocking you on the head because they
see those clothes and assume you have money.”

“Believe me, I appreciate that,” I said.
“And when we get to Tom, I’ll see that you’re rewarded for your
help.”

Digby smiled. “Well then, try to keep up,”
he said. “I can move pretty fast.”

“No problem,” I countered.

No sooner had I said it than Digby took off
through the alley. As promised, I took off after him, staying right
on his heels. We shot through the narrow alley then ducked under an
overhang and through a doorway with the actual door missing. The
lighting was sparse and the air damp, but Digby kept going and I
followed.

After several quick turns through the
basement of an abandoned building, we emerged on the street again.
However, Digby was quick. We were down another alley almost
instantly, three more turns and then running through what appeared
to be another rundown building.