Chương 111: Chapter 069 I’m Your Father Now

Jack found himself standing in the grand dining hall of Viscount Tides' mansion. The long mahogany table stretched farther than his eyes could see, and the brass chandeliers dripped liquid aether-light that hissed like acid when it splashed over the marble floor. Seated around the room were twelve nobles; their top hats and bonnets were white with trims made from blood, their robes flowed like living shadows, and their faces stretched into waxy masks of uncanny politeness.

At the head sat Inquisitor Simmons, his quill scratching across parchment without ink. Each stroke rang louder than it should have.

"Sit, Jack," said Simmons, though his lips didn't move and his voice came from everywhere. Jack blinked and found himself sitting in a chair that wasn't there before. It was too tall; his feet were left dangling, as though he were a child again. He opened his mouth to speak, but the nobles began to grow. Their white hats and bonnets unravelled into writhing tendrils of bloody hair, their faces bulged like drowned corpses, and their clothing tore to reveal bloody and bloated flesh.

They laughed without sound, teeth clicking like wooden knives. One of them leaned across the table, his arms stretching far too long, and sniffed him.

"He smells of fate." A monstrous tongue licked Jack's neck and the side of his face where it was once badly scarred.

"No!" Jack tried to stand, but Simmons looked up, and he could no longer move or speak. The inquisitor's face wasn't flesh but paper, blank and waiting for ink. He opened his mouth, and instead of words, he inhaled. Jack felt the tug in his skull. His thoughts, memories, and secrets were all being pulled from him in a tide of cruel whispers. Failure… Pathetic… Murderer… Blood mage… Jack clutched his head, but the memories were still ripped away…

his mother's smile, his father's approving voice, Polly's laugh, even Zia's frightened little hand as it held his while they walked home. Simmons swallowed them whole, his paper face filling with ink as though Jack's mind was staining him. The dozen blood nobles rose. Their limbs cracked and lengthened, their eyes rolled back to show the whites, and they began to crawl across the table like monstrous insects dressed in finery.

Laughter filled the hall now, high and shrill, bouncing off walls that warped into endless echoes. Jack stumbled back. Everywhere he turned, he saw his reflection; he was small, trembling, with teeth gritted. The monstrosities bore down on him. Run, before it's too late, he thought, though Jack knew the thought was no longer his own. He bolted, but the hall stretched longer with each step, and the nobles were chasing.

His pursuers had too many arms and mouths; their white hats now transformed into bloody red spider legs clattering across the marble in pursuit of their prey. The door to Baron Greaves' mansion appeared, but the beautiful carving of Apollo, the sun God, was replaced by an eldritch horror with bulbous eyes and obsidian claws trying to break free from the sculpture. Jack threw open the door, and he was home. His mother, his father, Polly, and Zia stood in the courtyard.

Relief crashed over him like rain quenching a long drought. And standing before them, with a broad, unsettling grin, was Baron Greaves. His cloak was lined with thousands of gold coins, and his hands were outstretched in welcome.

"They're safe now, Son." Greaves grinned.

"I saved them for you, my boy." Jack collapsed to his knees.

"Thank the Gods…" His mother reached for him, but Greaves stepped between them. With the same grin, he drew a thin blade from his cane and drove it through her chest. Anna's breath caught in a wet, bloody gasp. She fell to her knees, and blood spread across the front of her dress like an infection.

"Why, Jack?" Her eyes widened beyond normal.

"Aren't you supposed to protect us?" Jack screamed in impotent silence. His father roared and charged with a pen held high, but Greaves slit his throat in a single, casual stroke. His father spoke, but not from his mouth, but from the gaping wound.

"It's all your fault! Why do you always fail us?" Polly shrieked, clinging to Zia, but the Baron tipped his top hat and raised the blade once more. The two girls' heads tumbled to the ground with wet thuds. Both sets of eyes focused on Jack and blinked before bloody tears poured forth like a plague of locusts. No. Jack still couldn't speak. He tried to run to them, but the ground had turned to tar, holding him fast. He screamed in silence until his throat tore, his arms reaching helplessly towards his family.

Greaves smiled down at him, bloody tears of the two crying heads spattering his polished boots.

"I'm your father now, my boy." His face morphed into a monstrous stag, and two streams of hot breath snorted from his nostrils.

"I'll see you at the hunt. Cain's on the menu." Jack still couldn't move. Behind him, Simmons loomed, his paper face splitting down the middle like an open book. He saw his stolen thoughts and memories fluttering out like trapped moths, burning to ash in the aether-light. The nobles' laughter returned, chittering and monstrous, and Jack's own mocking voice joined theirs…

"Killer… Murderer… Filthy blood mage…" Without warning, he was freed, and the nobles, Simmons, and his dead family vanished as if none of it had happened. For a few moments, he was floating while looking down at himself sitting in his mom's kitchen at home; he was talking to an old man with long, dark hair whom he didn't recognise. The Jack below was chanting, "Choose inquisitor, kill blood mages, protect Zia…" The man glanced at him, shook his head in disappointment and clicked his fingers. Jack woke with a start.

His chest heaved as though he had sprinted a mile uphill; sweat clung to his skin. The sheets twisted around his legs felt like binding ropes, and for a moment, he couldn't tell whether he was still caught in the nightmare's claws or if the world around him was real. His mouth was dry, and each breath rasped as though his lungs had forgotten how to work. He dragged a trembling hand across his face. More nightmares… They're never going to end.

He shut his eyes tight, but that only brought the images back: the grinning nobles swelling into monsters, Simmons devouring his thoughts, and Greaves' bloodstained hands reaching out for his family.

"It's just a dream," he whispered, but the sound of his own voice rang hollow. He forced himself upright, untangling the sweat-damp sheets with jerky motions. His nightclothes clung to him, clammy and uncomfortable; he rubbed his arms to banish the chill crawling along his skin. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The room began to feel solid again, the nightmare's grip loosening.

Jack sat there for a long moment, gripping the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. He could still hear his heartbeat in his ears, but he willed himself to steady. It was already morning, and he had to pretend to be normal. He headed to the bathroom and peeled off the soaked nightclothes.

"I'll feel better after a hot bath." He closed the bathroom door.

Jack straightened and squared his shoulders before forcing himself to smile as he entered the kitchen. A new day waited, whether he was ready for it or not.

"Good morning, Mom. You need any help?" Anna greeted him with a warm smile, flour dusting her apron.

"Morning, Son." She continued to cut carrots with rhythmic thunks.

"I'm way behind on an order." She pointed toward a pile of potatoes with her knife.

"You could help with peeling those."

"No problem." He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a peeler. The mundane task grounded him, allowing him to return to family normalcy before diving back into the noble snake pits. As he peeled potatoes, a smile formed. An hour later, he was sitting at the table eating breakfast with his parents: fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, fresh bread slathered in berry jam. Polly and Zia were still asleep, likely dreaming of pranks and adventures with Sir Donkey Don.

"You have an appointment in a couple of hours?" Jack's father asked while he ate breakfast. Jack nodded, swallowing a bite.

"Nine o'clock, but I plan to get there early." You could never be sure with nobles if nine sharp meant nine sharp, or be there by eight-thirty, or even be at the door by eight.

"Make sure to be courteous at all times." William tapped the table for emphasis.

"Whoever you're meeting with will report back your behaviour to the Baron."

"I'll be on my best behaviour, Dad." He smiled at the advice.

"Do you still plan to go on a walk tomorrow?" His father nodded.

"First thing in the morning, seven sharp."

"I'm looking forward to it." Jack held back a tear at the thought of spending the morning with his father. His dad smiled before returning to his breakfast.

Jack crossed the cobbled street and entered a tailor's shop frequented by noble mages and other high-class patrons. The air smelled of lavender oil, pressed linen, and rolls of fabric; silks and velvets lined the walls. It reminded him of Thorn and Tallow, though richer, more deliberate. High-class patrons browsed, a mage examined enchanted threads, her murmured appraisal spell humming under the chandeliers.

A young woman in her early twenties greeted him with a bright, dimpled smile that lit the room brighter than the aether-chandeliers. Her auburn hair was pinned in an elegant twist, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You must be Jack. Our new Novice Time Mage." She extended a manicured hand.

"I'm Kimora. One of Baron Greaves' assistants."

"Jack." He shook her hand and activated pseudo [Blood Omen]. Not fate-touched. Is she even aware of blood mages? He determined she wasn't important to the Fates.

"Thanks for helping me out." Kimora's smile deepened as her gaze swept over him like a jeweller inspecting a flawed but valuable gem.

"That's what I'm here for. The Baron asked me to prepare you for the Academy in any way you require." She stepped closer, touching his upper arm as if testing the cut of his sleeve, her fingers lingering, tracing the muscle. A spark shot up his skin.

"Mmm, strong build. Have you any questions before we start? Or shall I take the lead?" Jack swallowed, pseudo [Rogue's Tongue] auto-piloting his response.

"I'm not certain of what I need, so I'll leave myself in your very capable hands." He leaned into the skill's guidance, adding a playful wink he immediately regretted. She tilted her head, her green eyes glinting in the light, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.

"That makes my job much easier." Her voice dropped to a confidential whisper, breath warm against his ear as she leaned in.

"So many young nobles walk in here with expectations, insisting on outdated styles and ignoring good advice. But you… You seem different. Refreshingly obedient." Jack chuckled.

"I can imagine." He whispered back, conspiratorial, "They aren't always the smartest people in the room… though they always believe they are." Kimora laughed, a soft, melodic sound; her hand rested on his forearm for balance.

"Oh, Jack, I think you and I are going to have some fun today." Her eyes locked on his, holding a beat too long, lashes fluttering. He smiled back. Is she flirting with me? His pulse quickened at the thought.

"I hope so. I've had quite an eventful time lately. So, where do we start?" She squeezed his arm before releasing with a reluctant slowness.

"Right here, with new clothes." Her eyes raked over him.

"The Baron set a generous budget, so we'll be buying only the best. Something to make those Academy girls jealous… or boys, if that's your preference." She gave him a sly wink. She is. She's flirting with me. He looked away to hide his blush. No. She's just… doing her job.

The next few hours passed in a blur of high-class shops, Kimora gliding beside him like a shadow, guiding, teasing, touching. In the tailor's fitting room, she adjusted his collar with deft fingers, nails grazing his neck.

"Hold still," she murmured, lips inches from his.

"That cut suits you, Jack. Brings out your height… and those shoulders." Her gaze lingered on his reflection, biting her lower lip.

"You'll turn heads at the Academy. Maybe even mine." Jack felt heat creep into his cheeks and looked away, pretending to examine a row of cufflinks. She can't be flirting. Not with me? Despite the obvious signs, he couldn't accept it. After his family died at the hands of Baron Greaves, he'd spent most of his time as a loner. With a scarred face, he never attracted the attention of the opposite sex—at least not in a positive way.

In a boutique, she accidentally brushed against him, reaching for a velvet cloak, her hip pressing against him.

"Oops, clumsy me," she giggled, not moving away immediately.

"Try this on. Midnight blue, matches your eyes." She helped drape it, fingers trailing down his back.

"Perfect. Mysterious… dangerous. The ladies will swoon." By the time they reached the scribe's emporium, he was half dizzy from her perfume. She leaned over his shoulder to view the book he was reading.

"Advanced runecraft, impressive choice." Her hair tickled his cheek, the scent of lavender and vanilla overwhelming.

"Smart and strong. You really are full of surprises, Jack." Jack blushed harder. This? Had to be pity… or a trap? They hit a jeweller for pins with the Academy crests. Kimora clasped a silver chain around his neck, her fingers lingering at his collarbone.

"There. Now you're irresistible." Her voice husky, eyes half-lidded.

"If I were enrolling, I'd be distracted all term." Jack froze. Is she…? No. I look sixteen. By the early afternoon, they'd spent over 200 gold on clothes, books, and other items suitable for the Academy, hunting, and other events he might attend now that he was under the Baron's wing. They finished the shopping trip at one of Lundun's most refined restaurants. Jack bit into a forkful of honey-glazed goose and smiled.

"Delicious, though my mom's cooking is still better." Kimora raised her eyebrows, feigning offence with a hand to her chest.

"This is one of the top destinations in the city, Jack." She leaned forward, cleavage accentuated, her eyes narrowing.

"Challenge accepted. You'll have to prove it sometime." He gave a nervous chuckle.

"My mom's an Expert Cook. Before my younger brother was born, she worked at The Marquis Banquet."

"Really?" Kimora leaned closer across the table, her eyes filled with curiosity.

"That's one of the best restaurants in Lundun. I'm jealous… my cooking skills are limited to toast and sandwiches." She reached for her wine, fingers brushing his hand, lingering, tracing a circle on his skin before pulling back. Jack froze, fork mid-air. S he is flirting with me. Why? He forced a smile.

"I-I think she's the best cook in the entire Kingdom." Kimora chuckled while sipping wine.

"High praise. Perhaps one day I'll be lucky enough to try one of your mother's dishes." She tilted her head and batted her lashes.

"Or cook for you myself. A private dinner? I could use a taste-tester… someone to judge my skills." Jack's brain short-circuited; even [Rogue's Tongue] didn't help.

"Uh, yeah. Maybe." Dessert arrived, a chocolate torte. She fed him a bite from her fork; their eyes locked.

"Open wide," she said playfully, "Good boy." He complied, his cheeks burning. Trap? Test? Or…? He cast [Assassin's Mark]. He'd avoided it so far, in case she had a blocking skill, but he had to know. Healthy, repulsed, no armour, minor protections. Jack's eyes widened. What t he hell. Repulsed? The flirting continued, and Jack played along to not let on that he knew. He felt anger well inside and resisted the urge to draw his dagger. What a bitch. Greaves is behind this. Fuck. How could I be so damn gullible?

He touched the side of his face where it used to be badly scarred. No one could like me. After dinner, they parted outside, the sun painting the streets gold. Kimora hugged him goodbye, a full press, her arms around his neck, their bodies flush.

"Today was fun, Jack. More than expected." She pulled back, but not before whispering, "Message me if you need… anything. Day or night." A peck on the cheek; her soft lips lingered.

"See you soon, handsome." Jack watched her go, each step deliberate, each sway of her hips part of the act. He knew. Yet despite knowing it was some sort of ploy concocted by Greaves to manipulate him, Kimora's laughter, scent, and touches lingered longer than expected.