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My senses overload as vehicles blow past me, honking and playing music. Conversations filter into my head, and the scent of exhaust makes the air nearly unbreathable. I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to block it all out. Regaining my composure, I scan the street, not a single commoner notices my abrupt appearance in the heart of London, except for a child. Her golden hair in braids and a cowlick in her bangs forming a part in the middle of her forehead. She grimaces at me and tugs at her mother’s hand as she points and says, “That man looks weird.”
I focus my gaze square on her face and say, “You don’t see me, brat.”
The child’s face goes from a grimace to a smile as she turns around and crosses the street with her mother. Able to manipulate matter and energy, I learned the art of power of suggestion fairly young.
Buildings made with some form of commoner made material tower several stories high, reaching towards the sky. Mirrors reflect light from some, others are filled with windows. Awnings hang across store fronts and entrances and signs label each structure and street. Double decker vehicles run along the city streets. I find an alley and duck into it.
As a realm walker, even in the congested city, I stand out. My shoulder-length hair reflects any and every color around it like a mirror and my eyes change color as erratically as my hair. My skin blends with others in a crowd. I wipe my hand along a store wall in the alley, forming a mirror. There I shorten my hair above my ears, make it dark brown, round my square face and lengthen my sharp nose.
It is easiest to transform into a troll and hold that, but in London I’ll stand out more with green tail plumage. Satisfied with my appearance I erase the mirror and turn the corner onto a street and blend into the crowd. A metal cage holds what commoners call newspapers. I squat to read the headline. It is dated February 13, 2003, by commoner time. They have their own way of doing it.
In the realms we track time differently. It doesn’t start or stop. We don’t name years with numbers as they do. The headlines on the paper read Iraq may have breached 1441. The article goes on to explain that ‘1441’ is a UN resolution and some man named Saddam Hussein developed long range missiles. Whoever he, Iraq, and the UN are, and whatever long-range missiles are, is of no importance to me. I’m here on realm business, not to get involved in their drama or squabbles.
A sudden fever of unexpected deaths swells in the atmosphere surrounding me. Souls with all shades of blue spheres are emanating in this area. A blue to violet soul sphere means the soul is one of an individual that has a connection to magic. Hybrids exist in Lols as it is the prison realm where they are banished to. Their minds vampire-wiped upon banishing and false memories implanted. Most have no idea they had any connection to magic. As each generation passes, the connection thins.
When I balked and suggested they send vampires instead of me I was met with the secret truth of the mission. The chief wants to make sure it isn’t a vampire portalling to Lols for a fresh snack. It isn’t uncommon at all for vampires to return to Lols as most of them lived their first life as a commoner before dying and accepting a second life as a vampire. Blood Falls drains into Blood River which winds its way through the realm like a serpent, bending and weaving. Cities are built on it. Most vampires are content with the spoils it offers them but a few like a fresh hot snack from a beating heart on occasion. They don’t drain or kill.
My job is to find out if the deaths are caused by a vampire or commoner. If they are of commoner origin I am ordered to stay out of it. Murder happens. According to Metford it happens quite often, but the majority of murders aren’t of beings with a connection to magic. That is less common, which is why the harvesters want to be sure these hybrids aren’t vampire targets.
If they are vampires, I’m to report back immediately. Personally, I don’t care how or why they are dying, the assignment gets me a ticket out of the middle realms and I’ll drag it out as long as I can before returning to the mundane.
In a city as crowded as London I don’t know where to begin. The place is crawling with commoners. One of my skills, developed over and above my realm walker counterparts who have only barely tapped into their abilities, is tracking magic through magic. With my vision I can see things such as magic and the veils between the realms. I see building designs as three dimensional and every person inside as a heat blot. Everybody is made of energy.
Forming a map of London in my mind, I walk the streets until finding the street the last victim’s body was discovered on. It is a slim alley between old buildings similar to condos. No store fronts but awnings over entryways. Unfamiliar with the ways of commoners I’m not sure I’m in a good or bad part of London. I’ve learned commoner cities often have these areas. I prefer the seedier areas as I blend better.
The buildings aren’t as fresh-faced and clean as those where I portalled in but they aren’t decrepit. They lack care. Plenty of vehicles whiz past the alley on the main road and crowds of people stroll and mingle. In the narrow alley waves of energy vibrate in the air, targeting each of my nerve endings.
Beep! Beep! My ears go haywire as I spin on my heel to face a vehicle. Its driver waggling a hand at me to move. Stepping to the side the small blue car drives past me, right through the energy stream. Tiny bits stick to the vehicle like slime and stretch. I follow the energy with my eyes. It thins as the car drives further away.
Returning to the strong energy waves, sunlight beats down on the alley even though the air is chilly. An object shines, reflecting the sun’s beams. I lean down and collect it, holding it between my thumb and pointer finger. It’s a long, narrow tube made of a light, shiny metal such as silver. My mind flips through pages of stored memory of commoner weapons.
They are an unusually brutal subspecies. The pages in my mind stop as they find what they are searching for. Guns and bullets. Commoners have strange weapons that discharge oblong metal objects they call bullets. The bullets are housed in an oblong casing like the one I hold. Generally, casings aren’t silver, they’re aluminum, a similar shade. My next step is to determine if the casing is silver which means it is designed to kill a lycan hybrid.
Commoners store books and information in libraries, as do we. My mind map doesn’t specify individual buildings, that happens as I learn areas and note them. Commoners flag down and get into the seats of vehicles with yellow lighted signs above the windshield. I assume these are a type of public transport and take my chance on flagging one down.
I’ve never ridden in a commoner vehicle. The seat is comfortable enough but made of a strange fabric that isn’t soft to the touch. It’s certainly not Aradian. “The nearest library,” I respond after the driver with a shiny bald head and black framed circular glasses asks where I want to go.
His full lips curl in a smile under his bushy mustache. “You aren’t from London,” he says with a strong accent and points out the windshield towards a semi-extravagant building across the street, with steps leading to three arches: a window in the middle arch and a door under the other two. The glass in the windows has a similar arched pattern. “As fine a library as any.”
I thank him before stepping onto the street, dodging vehicles I cross it and walk up the steps. Pushing the door open sweet, grassy, earthy aromas blast my nose mingling with a hint of musk. I blink rapidly as the strong aromas bring tears to my eyes.
The walls hold shelves of books beneath the curve-topped windows. Long tables and chairs fill the open space. I walk up and down the shelves of books trying to make rhyme or reason of them. Each has a label with a letter/number combination. Rows and shelves are titled as fiction and nonfiction and various types of each. I cup my hands over my head in frustration. How does anyone find anything in one of these places?
“Can I help you?” asks a timid female voice. I turn my head and meet the gaze of a blonde-headed woman, her hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a knee-length blue dress that doesn’t accentuate her tiny frame but distracts from it. “You seem lost.”
You could say that. I don’t mince words with the attractive, yet wallflower, young lady, “I’m in need of something that will tell me how to test metals to tell one from another.”
She smiles, her lips wider than they appear under her stubby nose. “You’re in our fiction section. You need nonfiction.”
She continues talking as I tune out. We move to the other side of the library and through various rows of books before she stops and points downward. “You should find what you’re looking for here. If you need any other help I’ll be at that desk,” she points, her voice not as strongly accented as the man in the transport vehicle.
Skimming through the books, I find it. There are several ways to test silver; the ice cube, ring, magnet, bleach, and acid tests. Packing the information into my brain I close the book and re-shelve it.