THE UNBREAKABLE PIECE (FIRST BOOK OF THE HIDDEN WORLD) English version

CHAPTER FORTY: ENEMY

I pushed the heavy wood with all my body; it was clear that no one had opened that door in weeks, as if time had sealed it to the floor. Outside, life continued as if nothing really important was happening, and, for the rest of the world, there was no one trying to constantly assassinate them. Besides, New York was the kind of city where time flowed differently; it never seemed to be enough.

The smell inside Blue's was different; the sour and severe aroma of coffee had disappeared, replaced by the spicy and sweet scent of magic. The ceiling lights had been intentionally broken; a single bulb hung from side to side with its dim light bathing the place. Someone had been here a few minutes ago. My heart was racing, but my steps were firm against the wood.

The counter on the table was empty, and only remnants of sugar grains and old receipts remained on the surface. The ghost of what had once been a cafe lingered in the air, filling my lungs with nostalgia. This place had been one of my favorite spots in New York, and now it was corrupted by the evil of the hidden world.

I took a seat in a chair; one of the daggers rested on the veins of my wrist, eager to come out to defend me. My hands were starting to warm up from the heat emanating from my powers; that day, I made sure to touch each of the onpixes who had visited me in my room. So, I had the gifts of water, healing, fire, earth, and air. And my father's gift, Magnetoquinesis. I could perceive each of the metals in that room, aware of every weapon on my body, even those that were not visible. Someone else was here.

Not only did the gift warn me, but also the sound coming from the back of the cafe, where some jars and cans clashing together sent a shiver down my spine. His steps were firm like mine; the truth is, we came from the same place, but his eyes were a different color, his features were different. We only shared the same mother. His smile half-formed as he noticed me, in his hands, he carried a thin and sharp dagger and a jar with a thick burgundy liquid that seemed to be blood but unusually shimmered as the light touched it.

"Amity... it's a pleasure to see you again."

"I wish I could reciprocate your words. Too bad the factor of your stupidity would give away that I'm just lying."

"I knew that sooner or later you would realize how wrong you were about the world." His eyes had a malicious gleam that sent shivers down my spine; he wasn't my Christian, this was Cade. "Always with your head buried in a book, without really knowing how life, your life, was being manipulated."

"By your filthy hands and the slimy and repulsive monster Drahceb."

Christian o Cade raised one corner of his lips; he wanted to laugh. He knew that someone inside him wanted to, but it also irritated him to the core that I spoke that way about the person he admired so much. Unaware that unscrupulous man was the one who had truly created the lie he lived in.

"What are you doing here, Amity? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

This time, it was my turn to smile at him, my eyes locked into his, still not believing it. Over the past few weeks, I had learned to live with the fact that my brother was truly alive, but seeing him here, standing in front of me, seemed almost surreal, returning me to one of my dreams. Only in those dreams, Christian was a gentle person, not the confused creature standing in front of me. His eyes were identical to those of my father, but the transparent gleam in them was inherited from Bernard. His delicate jaw and some freckles on his nose came from my mother. However, the scar that started from his collarbone, tracing its way to his chin, that one had only an owner, and it had been exclusively created by Drahceb. The day of the red battle.

"Have you ever wondered why Drahceb sent you to watch over me, to establish a close relationship with me?"

Cade shook his head but began to approach slowly, with the steps of a feline about to attack its prey. He was wearing black, but his burgundy leather jacket, the same color as dried blood, hung a few meters from us, on the chair by the window where I liked to read. Apparently, he had been busy because his hair was tousled, and his pupils were completely dilated. The only possibility crossing my mind was the vial he held in his hand. I had seen that kind of blood only in one place, in Alice's shack when Helena gave it to Eamon to drink.