These Dark Waters

Prologue

                                                          P R O L O G U E 

   The boy sat with his back towards the theatre, a cigarette behind his ear and a devilish smirk on his lips. It was a cold night but that didn’t seem to deter his entertainment: two scantily clad night clubbers, both whose cheeks were the colour of roses. The taller of the two held her dangerously high heels in one hand and a stolen wine glass in the other, their drunken laughter carrying on the breeze.

He often wondered what it was like to be free; to have the trivial worries of a mortal man. Receding hairlines and money woes almost seemed like a blessing in comparison to his current situation.

Which, really, was nothing short of hell.

“What this realm needs,” Bastian began, “is a new plague.”

Dmitri watched as the girls staggered away down a side alley, “As if the sixteenth century wasn’t bad enough?"

He supposed the modern age was slightly better than the rat infested, disease ridden, piss-streets of London. At least people bathed in this era. Although, dare he admit, he missed a time before the Revolution. Before iron locomotives and towering skyscrapers. Things were much simpler when all one had to worry about was catching the Black Death. 

“You wore greasepaint and stockings for half a decade, thinking it would draw in the crowds."

“It seemed to work for Shakespeare.” Dmitri quipped, despite shuddering at the awful memory. Oh, the things I do for aether. 

Bastian snorted, “Shakespeare was an excellent poet.” 

Dmitri remained silent, watching as the night drawled by. Stars glittered in abundance overhead and the moon was crescent and bright. Behind him the theatre creaked and groaned, as if it breathed on corrupted lungs. Its windows had been boarded up long ago, the glass either shattered by stones or just simply missing. Red paint peeled from the front doors and weeds grew through the cracking asphalt. It’s neon sign no longer shone it’s dazzling crimson. Rather, this is what it would look like to those without the Sight. 

Bastian rummaged around in his army jacket pockets, hooting in triumphant glee when he retrieved one single broken match. Dmitri watched him from the corner of his eye as his companion reached up and flicked the match head across his curled horns, his long goat-like ears twitching. 

He brought the sputtering match to a slightly chewed cigarette hanging between his lips and puffed once, twice, to get the thing to light. Bastian offered the now-blackened matchstick to Dmitri who shook his head and turned his attention back to the night club. 

A group of teenagers sauntered up to the sandstone steps. Six large pillars held up the ornate over-hanging roof, of which an intricate design of the city’s emblem was carved. The building itself was similar to a Greek Parthenon in shape, but its smoke stained brick walls and blacked out windows suggested it had long ago passed its prime. 

There was one girl to the edge of the herd that caught his eye. She cast an unnerving glance at her surroundings and tucked her arms across her waist. She was wearing a red blazer and ivory dress, which seemed to do little to warm her and unlike her intoxicated friends, she wore a pair of sparkling pumps. Sensible. 

Dmitri didn’t know why she stood out. She wasn’t particularly interesting to look at. Her cheeks were blotched red from the cold and every so often she would rub her temple, as if something was irritating her. She was small and fox-like, with a thin nose and wide eyes. Perfectly ordinary. So why did he catch himself staring?