A full-length novel is underway.
Sam is a recluse and makes no secret of his disdain for the company of others. But for his sarcastic butler, Sinclair, Sam sees no one. Cursed by his past, and sworn to protect an ancient codex, his days are spent restoring archaic texts, and his nights are spent cast in stone—literally—for Sam is the grotesque that guards the library that hides the grimoire from primordial creatures who would use its secrets to wreak evil in the human realm.
Zori came to Spain with dreams of attending university and becoming a master philologist. With his scholarship exhausted, and his parents no longer willing to support him, Zori is homeless and now roams the streets of Salamanca in the dead of winter in search of food and warmth. When a stranger saves him from near death, his world changes in ways he never imagined.
When ancient and modern worlds collide, will Sam allow his love for Zori to soften his heart of stone? Will Zori see the beauty within the grotesque?
~*~
Sam carefully placed the vellum under the microscope and magnified the ancient text. Bombarded by x-ray florescence, the iron ink of more than a millennium ago came to life, and the Greek script illuminated. He focused the scope and began to decipher, writing each word down in modern-day ink on plain paper.
Two hours later, Sam rubbed his tired eyes. Eventide
pulled at him and would dawn soon. He returned the vellum to its reliquary and carried
it to the airtight vault that stored such palimpsests.
He disrobed, leaving the modern clothing that gave the
illusion of being a twenty-three-year-old savant and scholar in his wake. Nude,
he walked to the 32nd floor windows that overlooked the old quarter of Salamanca and the Rio
Tormes. It was January, the dead of winter, and snow fell in a continuous
stream painting the landscape in crystalline white. He watched cars circle
Glorieta de los Milagros, a ceaseless rhythm of sorts, then his gaze drifted to
the bleak sky. It mirrored his cursed existence. Guarding the fabled codex was beyond
passé and loneliness was eating him from the inside out.
Sam glanced down and hoped beyond reason to see the
object of his desire. Nothing. Resigned, he let eventide fill him as he looked
down one last time. There he was. Sam
fought back the nocturnal pull with all his might. He wanted to feel alive and
watch the young man a few minutes longer. For all his years, he couldn’t fathom
how he’d fallen in love with a homeless young man he’d only watched from his
prison high atop one of Europe ’s most
prestigious libraries.
Sam narrowed his otherworldly vision. The young man wore
only rags, and given his nimble, emaciated frame, Sam didn’t know how he survived.
Another night of freezing cold was in store for him. A car nearly ran him down
as he crossed the street toward the library, and Sam sucked in a quick breath.
He shook his head to himself. Caring about someone he hadn’t so much as met
mystified him. He peered out the window again. The young man had disappeared.
He sighed in resignation and headed to the ancient wooden door that led to his
prison.
He quietly lifted the iron crossbar that secured the
door and it creaked open. Every damn night for seventeen out of twenty-three hundred
years in existence he’d spent chained to one structure or another. He longed
for ancient Macedon and the nights he flew free. He climbed the stone steps in
the pitch of the stairwell until he reached the top. This time he threw the crossbar
over with force, no longer able to quell his bitterness, and shoved the massive
door open.
Eventide—that moment between light and dark when night
pressed the sky—was when he felt his human emotions most. He dreaded another
night of perfect isolation. He stood on the stone terrace high above the city
with a calm belying the rage that lurked within. Alone. Forgotten. A permanent fixture
without purpose. Loneliness could kill a man. He was certain of it.
He stared at the desolate clouds. Not even stars to twinkle
on the tedium of his affliction tonight. He swelled with an aching loneliness so
severe he wondered why he hadn't disintegrated into dust. It was times such as these
when he welcomed the night. He stepped to the parapet, mounted the marble plinth
that had been his for nearly eight hundred years, and stared down at the white
city. As he spread his arms wide for nighttide to claim him he wondered one
last time where the young man had gone. His wings burst forth and folded around
him, and stone wrought him into the Grotesque that he was.
~*~
As dawn crested the distant horizon, Sam’s wings
withdrew and he came alive. Today was clear and bright, but no less frigid. He
turned to dismount the plinth and met with his butler. Sinclair irritated him
no end. He’d tried to throw him out on numerous occasions if for no other
reason than he was a belligerent old Green Man. He’d refused to go, claiming
some absurd notion of fealty Sam had never understood. What in the name of Hades was the creature doing on his terrace at dawn?
“Good
morning, Lord Samuel—”
“I
detest when you use that title and detest you
more when you use it to irritate me.”
The
old man smiled. “I beg your assistance.”
Sinclair
was a fierce warrior and could best nearly any beast in existence. He didn’t need
Sam’s help for shit. “With what?”
“Please
follow me to the boiler room.”
“Oh,
please. Not the rats again. Call the exterminators!”
“It isn’t rats. It’s a human.”
Sam’s otherworldly senses didn’t detect a heartbeat. He touched
the young man’s neck in search of a pulse and found one. “He’s alive,” he whispered.
“Indeed. Shall I call the authorities and have him hauled
away?”
The humor dancing in Sinclair’s eyes infuriated Sam. The
bastard had spied on him as he’d watched—well, okay, spied—on the young man. No doubt, Sinclair sensed his fascination
with the orphan. He stifled irritation in favor of aiding the boy. “Call the
doctor.”
Two hours later, Sam positioned the vellum with the torn
edge closest to him. With a monocle, he studied the ruin. It would take weeks
to repair. He reached for his mobile phone to call the museum as Sinclair
entered the laboratory. Sam spun, prepared to castigate him for entering the
sterile environment.
“He’s
awake,” Sinclair said solemnly.
“So?
Do whatever it is you do with starving waifs.”
“He
is quite ill and the doctor wishes to transport him to hospital. Pneumonia.”
“Well,
then, make yourself useful and see to it.”
“I
have. The ambulance is in route. Do you wish to speak with him?”
No. Yes. No. Sam had no idea what to say
to the boy. “Does he wish to speak with me?”
“He
wishes to thank whomever extended kindness to him.”
“That
would be you.”
“Very
well.” Sinclair turned to leave.
“Wait.
Does he know where he is?”
Sinclair
nodded.
“And?”
“And
what?” Sinclair asked.
That
damn humor danced in Sinclair’s eyes again. “What is it you expect of me?”
“Common courtesy?”
Sam slammed the monocle on the lab table. “For the love
of gods.” He strode to where Sinclair stood and all but shoved him through the
doorway.
They
descended in silence, the sound of the modern elevator a mere whisper on the
air. “Does he have a name?” Sam asked.
“I’m
sure he does. You might ask him what it is.”
Sam
wanted to choke Sinclair. “You’re an unmitigated bastard.”
Sinclair only chuckled.
Sam looked at the frail young man. His honeyed skin was ashen,
his light brown hair dull save for the flaxen streaks of a once wild summer in
the sun. Yet his features were those of a sculpted god, not beautiful but
striking. Sam swore softly. He should have intervened. The boy was clearly on
death’s doorstep.
Sinclair pushed a chair to him and Sam turned.
“Give him a few moments,” Sinclair said softly.
“Give him a few moments,” Sinclair said softly.
Having no idea what to do, Sam sat and waited. After an
indiscernible time, the boy’s eyes fluttered open, and the azure blue orbs left
Sam at a loss for words.
“Thank you,” left the boy’s lips before his eyes closed
again.
Sam stood abruptly. “Get him to hospital.” His whisper
was harsh.
~*~
Weeks became spring and summer, and Sam had fallen gloriously
in love. And then it ended in a painful argument.
“Where
do you go at night?” Zori had asked.
“I can’t tell you,” Sam had said firmly.
Sam had turned to stone that night, but even that didn’t
shut out the sound of Zori’s sobs as he cried himself to sleep. Sam’s perfect
loneliness had turned into an excruciating agony he could never have conceived
of.
~*~
“Do
you truly want to know?” Sinclair asked.
Sinclair’s
lighthearted demeanor was absent in the question and it frightened Zori.
“Y-yes.”
“And
you will not be frightened by the grotesque?”
Zori
swallowed hard. “He goes clubbing to get laid. That’s okay. I can handle it.”
“No.”
Zori
looked at Sinclair now, the gravity of the single word almost frightening.
“Where?”
“Follow
me.”
Zori
reached out to touch the stone and withdrew his hand on Sinclair’s sharp no.
“Wait
until the sun crests the horizon,” Sinclair said patiently.
“He’s
so... so ugly.”
“By
Grotesque standards he’s beautiful, powerful, and revered.”
Zori
peered beneath a wing to look closely at Sam’s face just as the sun dawned.
Sam
fluttered to life—and nearly fell off the building in his human form when he
saw Zori. “What the fuck did you do, Sinclair?”
“Oh my God! It’s true! I’m in love with a rain gutter!” Zori all but shrieked.
“Oh my God! It’s true! I’m in love with a rain gutter!” Zori all but shrieked.
~A full-length novel is underway.~
Wings by Luisbc Deviant Art
I can't wait to read this one.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mel!
DeleteWhooooo Hooooo Yes!!!!! Waiting impatiently :D
ReplyDeleteYou always make me smile, Deeze! Thanks for dropping by and commenting!
DeleteOh yeah!!!!!
ReplyDeleteHa ha! Thanks, Sandy!
DeletePick me to be 2 years late in discovering this one....LOL. I love this. WOuld love to read more in fact.
ReplyDeleteBut alas, I hope you continue this one... everyone would love to read it I am sure.
Thank you for the delightful tease.
Thank you so much, Pommawolf! The full novel will be out this year! Thanks for stopping by and hope to see you back here again soon!
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