Part Two
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Castian slipped from his room, leaving the door hanging open behind him. His bare feet moved silently over the hard woods floors.
He stopped at the desk. Crumpled and discarded papers sat everywhere across it. Art from quick sketches to elaborate designs, writing in Deric's cramped and scrambled hand. Castian swallowed. The pit inside him felt like it was drinking up all the emotions he should have till he was empty. Only empty. Part of him almost wanted to feel the pain, he'd barely let himself. Couldn't. Anger bubbled up out of the pit inside him. Not a new feeling. It was familiar, so familiar. Could you be born with loss? Maybe. He thought he might have been. It wouldn't be surprising. No, it would be up to par with the rest of his shit life. It would make sense. God, this was getting dark, even for him. Castian wrested his thoughts back.
Slowly, he slipped into the chair Deric has spent so many of his hours in. He picked up a piece of paper, it crinkled lightly under his fingers. Writing that he could see in the dark spilled over the page. With a glance over his shoulders, Castian turned the lamp on. If Taff came up to investigate the light, he just might let out a little bit of the mounting anger in his direction. Maybe. Probably. His eyes scanned the writing. It wasn't like Taff could really fault him for wanting to look through his friend's desk. Not and seem rational. Taff liked seeming rational, the murderous bastard. Castian had barely spoken to him in the week since they'd come back from killing Lincoln. He'd said nothing more than a few words in reply to him after tumbling out his report, wondering the whole time if Vellis might be wrong, or just a liar.
All Taff had done when he'd finished him report, was sigh and give him a long look. Castian had left out everything after killing Lincoln aside from the running. So no confession that he knew Taff had killed his one and only friend, or done some unnamed thing to Vellis. So, no being murder on the spot, he supposed. The senator had been sitting behind him. He had stayed inside the field to protect himself against a change in the timeline. Apparently nothing in his timeline had changed for him, even though Lincoln's assassin had been a boy in his late teens with white hair and really bad Latin pronunciation. Castian found out, more by piecing together than anyone informing him--who would do something like that, actually telling him anything seemed to be permanently off the menu--that the government in the senator's timeline had actually hired, or more likely threatened, the other assassin. But if Lincoln had lived, the fortunes of a certain senator's were predicted to take a severe blow by his financial timeoligist. And in came their little underground killing game. He breathed out sharply through his teeth. With an effort, he pried his mind from the topic. Like he actually could. Taff, that bloody, stinking piece of murderous shit--
Taking another breath, he shut down the string of hard edged thoughts. That was enough. Enough. It wasn't like he could do anything about it. Yet. He glanced down at the paper. It was covered every inch in words. Deric had loved writing. He lifted the paper away and froze. Sticking out from where it has sat was the edge of a drawing done in black charcoal. Carefully, he pulled it up from under the rest.
Light spilled over it, relieving a woman with jet black skin and white tattoos. No. fur. A tail curled around her feet, long claws came off them. The face had the almost human quality to it that the girl's had. Under the drawing was a line of thin words: They call themselves Al'faen. Or, the Al'fae.
Somewhere, a door open and shut. The page was shoved in his pocket before he'd finished reacting, the light off. Castian shot into his own room. The lock clicked after him.
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And so the plot thickens with this instillation of really pissed assassin kid. Deric seems to have been a very interesting person, what do you think?
YOU ARE READING
An Assassin In Time
Science Fiction(ON HOLD) If time couldn't hold you, what would you do? Castian was born inside a Field, outside of time. He has no timeline. He belongs nowhere, and anywhere. The Field he was in was destroyed when he was young, and he and four other children...
