Chapter 27 Evil Holds A Meeting
Unknown POV
"What a marvelous disappointment you always are," he spits.
I clench my hands into tight fists, teeth gritted, and head bowed as I listen to yet another one of his degrading words.
The room is cold as always, just like his heart. Polished leather chairs worth fortunes decorate the space, with designs to impress no one who matters.
"I followed your instructions. I did all you asked of me," I say with gritted teeth, my voice low.
"Except the one thing you really should've." I still. No. There will be no going back from there.
"Isn't it?"
My mouth clenches shut and a heavy fist bangs on the table in front of him, but I don't flinch. Even that is an offense.
"Answer me when I talk to you!" he seethes.
"Yes, sir." He seems to be placated by that and leans back into the leather chair.
"Coward. That's what you are and all you'll ever be."
His words don't affect me as much as it would've a few years ago, but sometimes, it still stings, nonetheless.
In front of others, he's my father, but privately, he forbids me from ever calling him 'father', according to him, only a child who has brought him great honor and power are worthy of the title.
But me? I'm nothing to him. Only a pawn in one of his demented games. No wonder my mother left, I can't blame her for running, but I resent her for abandoning me with him.
"Power isn't something you take permission for, it's what you take, what you own and possess," he enunciates like he's giving a lecture on the topic.
Suddenly the shrill ringing of a phone cuts through the air, and pausing his disastrous lecturing.
He picks it up to answer and I subtly breathe a sigh of relief. But that relief is cut short as he looks up at me and hands over the phone.
"Answer it," he growls and I take it with shaking hands, the name showing on the screen has my stomach roiling with discomfort.
I place the phone to my ear and announce my presence with just one word. "Master."
A small whistling sound filters through the speaker which let me know he's started his administrations again.
"I require your presence as soon as possible. I have a task for you," he demands.
"Yes, master." I wonder what he's up to this time around.
Then the call disconnects.
Silence descends upon us and the room temperature seems to have dropped a thousand degrees more, I almost feel cold - for someone of my kind, that's saying a lot.
My father, or rather, my spawner, clears his throat before speaking.
"Get on with it and remember to do everything he asks."
"Yes, sir." I turn to leave but he makes a sound as if just remembering something.
"Oh, and don't think you're irreplaceable. One more misstep and you're done. I have no use for a child who only brings me shame. Don't you forget it."
Oh, I won't alright. Just like all the countless ones I have heard and the brutality I've experienced.
A snarky response is just on the tip of my tongue but I swallow it down knowing it will only make my situation worse than it already is.
I've tried doing that once and the consequences were far from pleasant.
So I only respond like he wants. "Yes, sir. I won't fail you."
He waves me off and I close the door behind me.
I step on the dark, concrete floor of the building which carries the scent of rust, and rain that never quite reached the ground.
The lights overhead flickering as if unsure of whether to stay.
Everything about the place screams danger. It's so wrong, eerily quiet, and the shadows dancing on the walls make my skin crawl everytime I'm here - like souls that were forcefully taken out of their shells now linger on the walls, crying to be saved.
With my supernatural hearing, the sounds of approaching footsteps echo until he comes into view.
Dressed in shabby clothes that makes him look homeless, his shaggy brown hair frames his face and his dull brown eyes shine wildly with a high level of intelligence, like a crazed man with no hope of redemption.
"You're here." Even his voice carries little weight, but thanks to the dark magic possessing him, it's clear but almost distorted.
"Yes, master. No one followed me here." I am quick to reassure because it seems he's always paranoid about something.
I would too if all I do is to hold up in distasteful buildings and work with spells and blood and whatnots.
"Your father has informed me of your yet unfulfilled task." Before I can open my mouth to respond he shrugs, "well, it is none of my concern whatever problems ensues between the both of you."
Then he reaches into his pockets and pulls out a small vial of about three milliliters, it's filled to the brim with a purple liquid that hardly stays as he swishes it from side to side.
He hands it over to me but I hesitate. What is in there?
A raise of his eyebrow forces me to open my palm for him to gently place it in.
"What-" I swallow, "What is this, master?" I inquire, eyes fixed on the liquid.
"It's a little...gift." He doesn't expatiate on the meaning of his words.
"A gift?" I whisper.
His eyes darken with annoyance. "The content is none of your concern. You're to keep it with you in the safest place you can think of and when I'm ready, I'll instruct you on what to do."
His response only makes me want to know more but I keep my mouth shut, not willing to risk a whip or two from his shadow tendrils - that hurts like a snake's venom.
"Yes, master," I reply, voice monotone like a robot's.
"The first half of the ritual has been completed, so now, we'll be starting with the next and final ritual, and you will be my orchestrator, the link." His eyes brighten once more and when the light flickers, he's gone.
The weight of unease settles in my chest as I look down at the object, the harmless look of it is what frightens me most.