Reapers -- The First Familiar (Reapers Chronicles Book II)

20 - Creation of Death

“Father is waiting,” Luci said, gesturing for me to get in.

Strangely, she wasn’t trying to be overly nice or friendly to me anymore. Hesitantly, I stepped into Sathariel’s study. Luci remained outside and slid the door shut.

The room was very big with interiors very much different from the other parts of the house. Everything looked modern and quite out of place.

Several paintings—ranging from sceneries to still-life to portraits to abstract—hung on the white plaster walls. Several ceiling-to-floor shelves lined the back of the room. Each glass-enclosed shelf was divided into two dozens of rectangular space, all of which contained an object that was clearly not from this island.

A typewriter. A walkie-talkie. An electronic cigarette. A sundial. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy with the words ‘Don’t Panic’ on the cover. A PSP. An abacus. A music box with a dancing ballerina. Name it and you would probably find it.

In general, it looked more like a museum full of random stuff instead of a drawing room. Wherever Sathariel got all these stuff, I was sure it wasn’t from Belial’s farm. All of these were things from my world—earth. As to how the fallen angels managed to get their hands on these things, I would sure love to find out.

Behind me, I heard the door slide open. When I looked to see who it was, I saw Vincent pulling down the hood of his shirt from his head.

He wore a dark gray sleeveless tunic that reached halfway down his thighs, paired with black pants. Strange characters were embroidered in glistening crimson thread along the tunic’s dark linings. Looking closely, I noticed that the characters were moving as in Nysmic, but very slowly. Instead of flat woven sandals with lots of strings like mine, he was wearing a pair of dark brown leather boots with several triangular buckles.

Now, that looked grand. Why didn’t I get any of that?

I dropped my gaze, my hands involuntarily pulling on my loose robe just so I could pretend to busy myself. I just realized now how it must have felt to be a Gregorian monk.

At the back end of the room was a spiral staircase that led to the second floor. Glass walls enclosed the upper tier, giving it an outdoor feel.

Before Vincent could open his mouth to speak, I ran up the stairs. It made me uneasy, just being in the same room with him. I never cared if I made a total idiot of myself around him before. But now, I was forced to think about my every move and I hated that.

A posh black leather sofa was at the back of the upper room, directly in front of a wide LCD TV, complete with speakers and disc players. Behind it was a tall granite fireplace that appeared as if it hadn’t been used even once. In a corner was a baby grand piano. A small worktable was placed near the east wall so that whoever sat there could see the whole of the orchidarium, the winding paths canopied by weeping cherry trees, the bridge over the lily pond.

Rough sketches lay on the worktable. Most of them were drawn with charcoal.

With care, I looked at the drawings and found a portrait of me and Vincent. In the picture, he was sitting on a chair similar to a throne while I was standing right beside him. There was a sketch of Byron Flynn too, and Vincent’s late mother—Roselle Sinclair—although I had no idea how Sathariel knew her. Others were just scribbles and landscapes.

“We should go back,” Vincent said, breaking the silence. “To Halo, I mean. Vlad needs me.”

I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose. The slightly sweet smell in the air helped me relax a bit. Though it was hard, I tried to sort out my thoughts.