Algernon Black

(Chapter 1) Spoken Like a God

The woman moaned in an extravagant show for the boy on top of her.

He didn't know what turned him off more, how obviously hard she tried to be desirable or the fact she knew he wanted nothing to do with her and yet still threw herself into the performance, as mediocre as her acting was.

He flipped her over in an attempt to muffle the racket, and she released an excited groan as he did, as if she thought he was trying to excite her when, really, he was only trying to finish it faster.

Twisting her head to look back, she noticed her partner's haughty lack of interest and, in an attempt to lure him into their union, groaned out his name.

"Algernon."

The way she spewed his name snapped Algernon back to reality. Spoken like it wasn't even a name at all. And he wasn't even a person, but an idea of a man fabricated by her imagination—like a prayer to a god. Not him, but what everyone tried to make him out to be when they spoke that distorted cluster of syllables and the accursed rumors that preceded it.

"Quiet," Algernon said through clenched teeth, but it was already too late. The forced lust that had been carrying him through the act completely vanished.

He hadn't even finished before he pried himself up on the bed, clutching the edges of the mattress as black spots dotted his vision. The silk sheets were the only thing covering the lower half of his body, other than sweat and the overwhelming smell of bottled fragrance retching off the woman.

"Leave," his voice wobbled through the order as he fought back a headache.

The woman was overtly offended but started dressing. She sensed the danger in his voice and thought it best to leave before she did anything to heighten his anger—lest she risk never being invited back to the Algernon Black's bedside. It had taken her months of plotting to just get there in the first place.

"Send for me whenever you like," she said, making to place a kiss on his cheek. His glare stopped her before she landed it. She made quick work of scurrying out the door after that.

Algernon dressed before dragging himself to the bathroom to unleash scalding hot water into a tub. He couldn't wash everything about the woman off, but he at least wanted her appalling fragrance gone.

From behind, a strong light emerged as the night wind blew away a curtain from an open window. Algernon let the water run as he crossed to it. The sky was eerily black, but the full moon was in perfect position to light up the dingy room. Algernon hovered to stare at the ground below. It would be a 50-foot fall at least from here—an almost enticing end for someone as drained as he was now. But Algernon was used to this routine of constant exhaustion, where there never seemed to be any relief from the burdens of his life—even in what should be the most pleasurable highs of it.

He stared down a moment longer before he looked back at the moon, cursed the world, and closed the window. And even before he could fully turn around, he sensed the presence of another.

From the door which the woman had just left, now stood a man. He was tall, but not much more so than the distraught boy by the window, whom he shared with the same black hair. Though, his was styled and sleeked, while the younger boy's was curly and unruly by nature.

"Good evening," the man said with a smirk and voice as polished as the silk sheets Algernon had just laid on. His eyes scanned over the rustled covers before tipping his head to signal a job well done.

Algernon's anger flared, and he straightened his hand out to a sharpened letter opener resting feet away on the nightstand. The make-shift dagger flew at the intruder's forehead as if thrown by an invisible marksman.

The man simply flicked his wrist, and the weapon deflected itself into the doorframe, where it sank halfway deep into the wood.

"If you aren't satisfied with that one, shall I bring another?" the man casually inquired, as if the boy had not just attempted to murder him.

Algernon's eyes narrowed as he stalked toward his second unwanted guest of the night. "Send as many my way as you want." He gripped the dagger's hilt, standing mere inches from his intruder, before ripping free the knife. "But don't ever ask me to love them."

The man stared him down with black eyes that bled into dark green centers, glowing greener at his increasing entertainment, as they greatly did now. "Of course." He grinned and feigned a bow before taking his pleased leave.

No sooner had he gone before Algernon stabbed the dagger back into the wall with the full force of his strength. The knife settled, but now with the metal handle contorted in the imprint of his fingers and the impress of the all-black stone ring of his ring digit. Only one of the many permanent and solely personal ailments of Algernon Black.