Soul of Evil

Prologue To Hell

Time is a linear sort of thing, but it's not smooth or level. Like a meandering river it has peaks and valleys. If one looks close enough it has something else that makes it amazing. It has bubbles, or rather it seems to be made up of bubbles. Large, small, nestled against and within one another, they cluster together like so many random thoughts to form a path. Bubbles have membranes and membranes allow for the passage of things; ideas, beliefs or events. Back up a bit and look at the larger picture once more and you'll see puddles in time, where fat clusters of bubbles move sluggishly and gather like some great pile of eternal foam.

It is in one of these puddles, like a puddle by the sea, that these events transpire. It is a single bubble, into which ideas and culture from its neighbors have seeped. It is a vast and ancient puddle. There are many social and economic seepages. There are time seepages as well, so that within this single, solitary bubble you find many things from different times and places.

Indoor plumbing co-exists easily with magic and mystical creatures. There are dragons, vampires, elves, pixies, and men. The potential of combinations between these are infinite. You have names and persona's from other bubbles in this puddle, diluted or muted by their passing through the membranes, so that they are familiar and yet they are unique unto this bubble of time. The social class system seems to have fared better, perhaps because humans are so adaptable and mutable that no matter the number of membranes they slid through they retain their sense of self, or place. Whatever the cause, social classes endure in this bubble. They give structure to its shimmering exterior.

All bubbles seem to look alike, but as they are all along the slipstream of time they must be different, or else they are not separate things. This bubble, the one we are focused on, the one in the vast, sluggish puddle in the river of time, is known only as Nexus. Within Nexus there are vast cities, rolling plains, tiny hamlets, soaring mountains and far more. It is vast and in many ways still unexplored.

There are other points in Nexus. Points that time has been gentler upon, where it has flowed through slowly, gently, shaping without corroding. In those places great stories unfold. Stories and lives. Hopes and dreams of inhabitants. Some are just human, common, uncommon, fragile and mortal, upon which time feeds. Commoner or noble, it makes no difference to time. Others are more resilient. Dragons, long ago blended with humans, like a lazy eddy of seepage, making both more than the individual parts that had combined. Dragons that appeared human, but with a thought could assume their original form. Dragons that evolved because of the human strain, to have a third form, a form of the soul if you will. Vampires, some retaining the attributes from other bubbles and places, some forming new, to adapt to this new bubble. All valid, all possible.

Even names can cross these time membranes, names from history, from literature, great names, minor names. Names familiar in works of fiction in other bubbles, become something different as they blend with what is now in this bubble.

Within our bubble there is a city. Within the city is a social-economic structure that is both Victorian and modern, nobility and clever indoor plumbing. References to writers and beings that have both been and yet will be. The city is called Midraven, a moderate-sized, sprawling city built predominantly of brick, granite and wood. The majority of its inhabitants are involved in finance and politics and it is considered noteworthy for its massive carved gates and lush public gardens. It houses all manner of peoples. No one looks at anyone too closely. Neighbors don't always know what each other is about. It is a good place to hide, to vanish, or to re-make oneself. It is a good place to have an extended life span. It is a good place to start.

Chapter 1, A Quiet Evening

Considered by many in the area to be one of the most eligible bachelors, Viscount Nickodemus Bedlam II opted to not play the social butterfly this night, but instead to spend the evening at his townhouse reading. This in and of itself was unusual for Viscount Bedlam. Being more a creature of the night then many in the area; as vampires kind of tend to be; he was often seen at parties, balls and operas throughout the city. His presence had in fact become an expected sight, but not tonight. He didn't really care if the politely declined invitations caused sad sighs or annoyance, he was his own person and point blank, he wasn't in the mood to be sociable tonight. All of this is how he came to be settled in his library, dressed in a loose cream shirt and dark green pants, his hair down instead of up in its customary ponytail, a brandy in one hand and his nose stuck in a good book. Not for the last time would he be grateful to be more than a common, garden-variety vampire. As he'd not been born human, but rather a dragon/ gypsy blend, he'd never fully lost the ability to at least drink things other than blood. In a city that had a significant vampire population, it made him both loathed and respected. The first he didn't give a damn about, and the second he exploited to the hilt whenever he needed to.

The library was one of the many rooms in what he called his "townhouse" where there was no sign of his darker inclinations. The floor was a rich teak, interspersed with exotic hand woven rugs in greens and creams. The walls, what could be seen of them, were a warm cream color, which accented the rich oak of the bookcases and had well spaced copper wall sconces with green candles. There was an elaborate bar tucked in one corner, a massive green marble fireplace in the center of the wall next to it, and elegant leather chairs with matching tables before the fireplace. At the far end of the room were more soaring book cases, and a heavy oak desk that was almost large enough for a small child to sleep on. There were also several tables for research. The back wall was hung with velvet drapes that blocked any and all light from the French doors that lead out to a balcony.

Sipping now and again from the snifter, and turning the pages one-handed, using his strikingly long crimson nails to flick the pages, he heard the distant pounding on his front door. He never glanced up, but he did pause in his reading. Bloody hell, he thought taking a sip, now what? He gave a soft snort of annoyance, hoping feverently that it was just some page sent to harangue him for not being at such-and-such's party. He started to put the book down and go deal with the incessant pounding on his door, however the sound of Phillips brisk steps reassured him that everything was under control. His Chamberlain was extraordinary at chasing off people when Nick didn't want to see them. As he knew he'd made the instructions quite clear earlier when he'd awoken regarding guests and social engagements; mainly there were to be none; he went back to his book without a second thought.

Less than a week before Scythe Arkenlight had stood in her tower, jotting a last few notes in her book when she became aware of time. Aware of in the sense that much had passed. It was easy for her to lose track of it, here in her tower, overlooking the small hamlet, whose name she'd forgotten now. Her experiments kept her amused, at least while they lasted. Scythe pushed a stray strand of her red hair off her face with an exasperated sigh. Eyes the color of dried blood looked over at the remains of her last subject, then back to her book of notes. If I don't take these to Tala now, she thought grimly, she'll come looking for me and them and she'll bibble and blather at me for months, all with that horrid green crayon. Scythe knew her twin too well, as she should.

Despite her appearance, Scythe and her siblings weren't exactly human. Scythe's family was human in form for the most part, but the Arkenlight clan is not really what they seem. Some would call them demigods, derived and born of a far older race, with extraordinary powers that most see and perceive as godlike. These powers are derived and based on each individual member's soul, and come to the forefront of their persona's only with maturity. In short, their souls are the souls of a god, tremendous power, but due to its need of a body, they are not quite gods.

With another sigh, she started to gather a few things, when another thought occurred to her. Setting the book down, she walked swiftly over to the wall of her tower. The wall was covered almost floor to ceiling with small holes. They were an inch to an inch and a half in diameter and lay flush against the dark stone. She tapped her finger nail against her teeth as she scanned the wall, finally reaching to a hole above and to her right, extracting a small scroll. Walking back to the desk, her velvet gown making only the softest of whispers, she unrolled the scroll. I thought so, she thought, rolling the scroll back up with a smile. Looks like I'm going to kill two birds with one stone. Deliver my notes, thus keeping Tala from being an annoyance and see if this Lord Nickodemus Bedlam fellow will part with a book. Tossing the scroll on the table, she picked up her book of notes and a cloak. With a purposeful step she headed toward the door of her tower, giving her latest victim a gentle pat on the shoulder, or what had been a shoulder, as she went by, "You just wait here for me, I'll be back my dear."

With light steps she made her way to the bottom of her tower and once outside paused to look up. It's dark gray stones seemed to almost shimmer in the pale moonlight as she pulled the door shut. She had no real concerns as to the locals trying to get into her tower, but one could never be too careful, which is why she grimly locked the massive door before beginning the walk into the hamlet to secure transportation to Midraven.

Almost a week later she stepped from the carriage and shook out her cloak before looking around. The driver had said that the house she sought would be just up the road, but had refused to take her any further, saying that no sane person drove a carriage anywhere near that road after dark unless they had dark business. He'd been adamant and no amount of threatening would budge him. Scythe gave a annoyed sniff and began walking, her shoes making a brisk tapping on the stones of the road. The only other sounds were the soft guttering of the torches that lined the road. The silent facades of the granite and brick houses the only obvious witnesses to her trek. She'd been given a clear description of Lord Bedlam's residence, the only black marble facade on the street, with a copper dragon door knocker, couldn't miss it she'd been informed. She was still vexed with the carriage driver, but as she reached the middle of the long block, her vexation faded, replaced with something like relief. There, bold as you please, was the facade and the door knocker. She hastened through the black iron gate that surrounded the grounds and up the four steps to the door.

Taking a deep breath, she took hold of the knocker and banged it sharply, then crossed her arms and waited. "Someone had better answer this thing but quick." she muttered, even as she began tapping her foot impatiently. She was tired of waiting, of stupid people, of the necessity of having to even make this trip.

There was the sound of brisk footsteps, and then the door was opened by a middle-age man in livery of black and copper. "May I help you?"

Her eyes drifted up and down him, with disdain and scorn flashing in her dried blood colored eyes, "Hmmmm, yes you will help me, I seek the Lord of this Manor, Nickodemus Bedlam. I will speak with him."

Phillip drew himself upright and matched her look with one that bordered on pure snobbery. "Indeed madam... and whom might I tell him is insisting on seeing him at this hour?" His eyes flickered up and down her with hauteur. This woman, whoever she is, certainly seems to think much of herself, he thought, despite her appearance. Looks me up and down like I was a bit of lint. He'd been given strict instructions regarding visitors and guests this eve, there were to be none. He was about to close the door when she answered him.

Scythe raised an eyebrow sharply. "A friend of a guest, now go and fetch your Lord and fetch him quickly if you wish to keep that tongue," came the chilled, sharp reply, her head cocked to the side as her eyes met his.

His nostrils flared at her impudent tone, not phased by her look. If she takes that tone with the Viscount she may find that sitting or anything else for that matter will be uncomfortable at least. Be interesting to see her match arrogant looks with the Viscount though. I'd wager the rest of my salary she'd lose. That man could freeze Satan himself with his glare, he thought with amusement. "Hardly the manners of any whom Viscount Bedlam would care to associate with... however...", he opened the door further to allow her to step inside, "if madam would be so good as to wait here I shall see if the Viscount is receiving this eve." His tone was firmly polite. This was not the first, nor the last time he'd had to deal with strange women on his master's doorstep at odd hours, so he'd learned the best way to handle them, and his master. However, this might be a bit tricky tonight.

She stepped in, shooting him another glance, and lowered the hood of her cloak, shaking out her red hair briefly before smoothing it back into place, her pale complexion in stark contrast to the black of her garments. "Yes, go fetch, little doggy." ,she dismissed him with a half-wave and began studying the entryway. Beneath her feet was a polished gray and black marble floor that softly reflected the dim light from the scattered copper wall sconces holding deep green candles. As her eyes drifted up, they could not help but be captivated by the dramatic double stairway, ornately carved in black cast and wrought iron, studded with copper rosettes. The walls were pale as well, and heavy deep green velvet curtains interspersed themselves along them. The decor was sparse, but expensive. Vases on ebony tables, along with several small statues in erotic positions gave the entry hall both a noble and yet somehow sinister air.

With a faint sniff of disdain, Phillip turned on his heel briskly, moved across the broad entryway to a pair of sliding oak doors at the far end and eased one open. He knew his orders, but this woman, whoever she was, might actually intrigue the Viscount, if he handled it just right. She might give him someone to snarl at besides the staff. In any event, her arrogance and rudeness have earned her at least this little treat. "My Lord, I know you said that there were to be no disturbances, however this one might require your attention." He kept his voice low as he always did.

Nick never looked up, but turned a page, "Are they wielding a stake Phillip?"

"No, My Lord. She is not."

"She?" Nick looked up, raising a brow. "Did She give a name?"

"No, My Lord."

"Then you are disturbing me for...?" Nick's eyes glittered dangerously as he regarded his Chamberlain.

"Because, My Lord, she has the bearing of nobility, the dress of nobility and the mouth of a rather crass tart and is most insistent that she speak with you. I thought that perhaps, with your skill in adjusting manners, she might benefit from your elegant wisdom." Phillip paused, seeing the dangerous glint in Nick's eye. Think quick here Phillip or you're the one to get snarled at. He took a deep breath and threw out the one thing he knew would get Nick's attention. "She also mentioned an interest in a guest of yours, whom I would venture a guess to be the Lady Tala." Phillip managed to keep a straight face through his explanation, however his pale blue eyes sparkled with mirth. This should be interesting indeed.

Nick regarded Phillip levelly, then nodded. "If you have made an error in judgment Phillip, your life is forfeit." He marked his page with a finger and stood. "I will deal with her. Secure the front door and go."

Phillip gave a silent gulp at the warning and nodded. Point taken My Lord, he thought as he turned briskly to do as he'd been told. He never doubted the Viscount was not only capable of carrying out the threat, but that he'd delight in it taking a very long time to accomplish it.

Early on in his service he'd witnessed what happened to those who failed the Viscount. One of the serving girls had failed to follow the Viscount's orders regarding table settings. The wrong napkin rings had been used. The Viscount had never raised his voice, but he'd talked to the girl. Softly, calmly, he'd talked to her, until she came within easy reach of him. Then, without blinking he'd grabbed her and snapped her neck before turning and walking out of the dining room. Phillip had changed the offending napkin rings and never forgot the ease or lethal calmness that the Viscount had exhibited in exacting punishment.

Scythe couldn't hear what was being said, merely the exchange of murmured words at the far doorway. After a moment of this the man gave a curt nod, turned and came back past her. There was a soft snick as the front doors behind her locked and then the man seemed to vanish.

It was only a moment later when the doors at the far end of the entry hall slid open completely and Nick stood in the center of them, brandy snifter in one hand, and a book in the other. "So, I hear that an unknown crass mouthed tart wishes to speak with me?" his tone quiet yet slightly amused as he regarded her from his end of the entryway. Even though he'd been explicit in his orders, he could allow a bit of fluctuation when Phillip described visitors as he had this one. Clever man to catch his curiosity. She does indeed have the bearing of some sort of nobility, he thought. Something set Phillip's teeth on edge about her though.

Her eyes drifted up to him casually, though she hid a tight little smile, "Lord Bedlam I presume, and I would watch what you say, many men have lost their tongues for less than that. However, yes I will speak with you, on two matters, one involving a guest of yours and the other some books, that are in your possession." As she spoke she unclasped her cloak and draped it over her forearm. Okay, nobody said anything about him being yummy, she thought. From the way the carriage driver went on I expected the man to look like some sort of warped troll, or at the very least classic Nosferatu. Beneath the cloak, she was dressed in a velvety black gown, the front of which was cut in such a way as to subtly accent the fullness of her bosom. The waist was snug and barely flared over her hips. The skirt was slit up one side to give a flash of smooth leg as she moved.

"Indeed." One eyebrow raised as his mouth twisted into a sardonic half smile, "Well then dear.... lady..", his tone showing his doubt in using that particular word for her, "pray, won't you come sit and explain?" He gave an almost mocking little bow while extending his arm in a sweeping motion, inviting her into the room. If she's got the guts to show up at this hour, dressed like that and being sassy to boot, I think I want to know why, he thought as he made the mocking bow. "Oh, for the record madam, it's Viscount." he added in a dry tone. Best nip that little issue in the bud. He'd more than earned the bloody title and he had come to actually delight in the sound of it, not to mention the emotions it tended to arouse in common folks.

She sniffed quietly and made her way into the room, shooting him a flat glance complete with bleak smile. She walked across the room with nary a sound but the swish of her dress, and set her cloak over the back of a chair as she examined the room. The room of a spoiled noble all right; lovely. Bet Tala made him crazy with her babble and questions. She could feel his eyes following her every move.