Nocturnal, BK 1 of Lightwalkers (completed)

XI -Seth

Seth

I'd been searching for hours, trashing our townhouse in the process and I still hadn't found anything relating to the Orion's Order. This was driving me insane. There had to be something else!

I yanked the last drawer from the desk, up-ending it to scatter papers, clips, staples and other odds and ends that collected over the years. I dropped the drawer on the floor and started to shift through the papers. Old bank statements, junk mail, birthday cards; in other words, nothing.

I left the office and sank on to the couch in the living room. With a frustrated sigh, I picked up the knife to get a fix of calmness before I did something I really regretted. I wasn't sure what, but I could feel it coming.

Deep breaths in and out.

A serene peace filled me and I felt like I could think clearly again. I closed my eyes and pressed the cool metal of the hilt to my forehead, praying to the knife, to God, to Dad; whoever was listening out there. I just needed to find a clue. I needed to help Jon!

Sitting back on the couch, I surveyed the destruction I'd caused. If Mom was here to see this, she'd have a cat. I looked up at her painting on the wall. It was one of the most hideous landscapes I'd seen, but she'd always been so proud of it. The black frame hung at an angle, I'd probably knock off center when I brushed passed it earlier. An edge of a hole stood out against the green paint of the wall, partially hidden by the frame.

Since when did we have a hole in the wall? I stood, walked over to it and carefully removed the painting. Behind the picture, was an alcove. Hope rushed through me. This was it!

The niche was small, the opening only about the size of a brick, but it was deep. I reached in and pulled out a black velvet jewelry bag. Next came a dusty file folder that two white envelopes fell out of as I moved it. Jon's name was handwritten across the front of one. Picking up the other, I found it was addressed to me.

I was stunned. I didn't recognize the handwriting on them, though they were both the same. I opened mine, pulling out the paper that was inside. It was a letter. My hand trembled slightly as I held the paper.

Dear Seth,

Happy eighteenth birthday. I hope that this letter finds you well. I'm sure you've grown into a wonderful young man and I'm sure by now, your powers are starting to awaken. Don't be afraid of them. Train them. The more you use them, the less they will bother and hurt you.

Your mother should have given you a gift with this letter. That knife has been passed through our family, father to eldest son since long before the Heroic Age. It symbolizes our family's connection to Orion and marks you as the future leader of the Order. It's yours by right, and I have no intention from keeping it from you.

But, it will be my duty as Leader of the Order that will prevent me from telling you this in person, and while I do not regret the work I've done and the lives I've protected, I do regret the time I've lost with my family.

I'm hoping I've protected you enough that you'll have a chance to create your own future. To be and do whatever it is in your heart.

But, know this: Everything is decided by fate, and the harder you try to go against your fate, the harder it will pull you back to its path.

Be strong, Seth, and conquer your fate.

Love, your father,

Elijah

I stared at the letter in my hand, and tried to make sense of what I'd just read. My eighteenth birthday. Mom had passed away right before it two months ago. She hadn't had the chance to give this to me. Had she known that all this would happen?

My powers? I sighed. Vampires, secret organizations, super powers. When had I fallen into a comic book? I folded the letter back into its envelope. I'll deal with it later, I told myself. Right now, I needed to find Jon and help him. If my powers helped me, great. Until then, I wasn't going to worry about them.

Taking everything back to the couch, I spread it all before me on the coffee table. The file folder had a thick stack of documents in a language I couldn't even identify, let alone read. But, clipped with them were three photos. All of my Dad, who I recognized from the album I'd found with Jon in the safe.

In one he was really young, maybe Jon's age, standing with a group of guys of various ages. Although he was one of the youngest in the picture, it was clear that he was the center of attention. I turned the photo over. There was a list of names and a smudged date.

Looking at the next two, they looked to have been taken at some sort of party when Dad was older, maybe in his twenties. There was one of Dad alone, his glass raised in some sort of toast and a huge smile on his face. But in the last picture, Dad had his arms across the shoulders of another man. He was taller by a few inches, making it a stretch for my Dad. His dark hair and eyes almost looked too dangerous next to my father's. The back of the photo listed his name as Bryson Fisher.

I put the photos down. I was so sure this had been it. But, besides some strange documents, there really wasn't anything here. Nothing that was really part of the Order.

My eyes fell on the little velvet pouch. I picked it up, untying the little strings. A tangle of silver chain came out of the bag. Once knots were out of it, a silver round disk and plain wedding band style ring swung freely. The disk had Orion's constellation pressed into the soft metal, like it was a saint's coin. The words aut vincere aut mori circled the edge.

The feel of silver in my hand was familiar, but I couldn't place the sensation. I frowned at it, watching it swing back and forth.

I looked at the photos one last time. That's when I saw it. Bryson Fisher wearing the same pendent I held in my hand. It didn't have the ring on it, but the little round disk was exactly alike as far as I could tell. I pulled the other pictures closer, inspecting the best I could to see that, everyone one wore the same necklace.

They were all part of the Order.

I headed for Jon's room. The door to it was open, and literally, it was like stepping into a cave. His room was the smallest of the bedrooms in the townhouse. The curtains were pulled shut over the unmade twin sized bed that took up one side of the room. The other side was packed full of electronics. LED lights blinked from the numerous computer towers. I turned on the monitors that covered his desk. Opening a browser, I started my search for Bryson Fisher.