The Gemini Age: Book One

[9-1] What Lies Below - Part One

    The maze of townhouses shielded itself from the worst of the rain, yet the static structures were powerless to repel the cloak of mist that loomed around their perimeter and along their passages once the downpour eased. At the core of the cluster, the mist rose high enough to envelop any pedestrians unfortunate enough to be wandering between the houses, one more inconvenience to add to the hostility of the hidden cobblestone paths and the aloof front doors that watched walkers from behind their waist-high fences. 

    Though it was too early in the night for the street sweepers to splutter their wagons down the roads and alleyways of the city, the air had already adopted the fresh scent of the rain for itself, and the web of cool damp that licked along the back of an exposed neck would linger until the sun rose, despite the half-baked efforts of the Cold sweepers to ease the humidity in the air.

    Sam weaved another twister to clear the mist from the street ahead of him. The mist would need mere moments to reclaim its seat in the air, and many ordinary pedestrians opted to coast along the trail of light and sound left by the buzzing spotlights anchored to the outer walls of every other townhouse. 

    He, however, was no ordinary pedestrian. As the face of the Farrons, Sam had two targets etched into his back, only one of which he merited. He was prepared to account for his decisions against any opposition he came across. He was less happy to haul around the blame for his father's ruthless reign. Selling ideas in which he believed to uneducated, uninterested goons in stolen cars was difficult enough, yet with every excursion Sam found himself pitching plans and visions constructed entirely in the blue sky above. Their logic lay beyond the realm of reality, far from Sam and the Tempered assassins that stalked his every move.

    Another gust of wind revealed the unlit front garden Sam sought. His father was a proud man in an understated way; Byron sought to stand out via his absence from the societies in which he moved, his reluctance to engage with even basic courtesies such as leaving the house's front lights on for his eldest son and only daughter to find. With the windows covered by the folds of thick velvet curtains, Sam had to struggle with the wet film clinging to his fingers to make his own light and find the keyhole. He kept the light burning as he stepped inside, for Byron's frugality with electric light source extended from the outside to every room in the house itself. "Hello?" Sam called out, shutting the door behind him as he glanced upstairs.

    A door floated open on the floor above to reveal Cole's forehead lolling from the back of a seat. "Took you long enough," he mumbled, what little of his body Sam could see vanishing back behind the half-cracked door. Sam waved his light away and squirmed out of his damp coat, a frown on his face as he climbed the staircase. "Where've you been? Give me every detail, Taylor's getting all the calls tonight and I'm bored stiff listening to clueless thugs playing poker."

    Sam prodded the door open and saw Taylor's fingers fly over a long wireless keyboard, his eyes fixed on the three monitors suspended from the wall before him. Though he was intense about it, Taylor at least possessed their father's predisposition towards bossing people around from afar, even if he lacked the power to back up his muttered curses. On the other hand, Sam found that the less he thought about Cole, the better he felt towards his youngest brother. "It's not like you to object to others doing all the work," he said with a smirk. "I'd have thought you'd rather be free to doodle on your notebook, maybe throw a snarky comment Skye's way now and then."

    "Wish I could," Cole sighed, pressing a thick black line into the top corner of his notepad without looking, adept from many hours of childhood home-schooling at sketching angular 'S' shapes. "Wonder where she's gotten to. It's late to be getting back now, even for her."

    The click of Taylor's keys punctuated Sam's gasped pause. "Wait, Skye's not here? Where was she meant to go today?" Frustrated by Cole's languid posture, Sam snatched the notebook from under his pen and tossed it across the room, an act that drew a momentary scowl from the chattering Taylor. "Where is Skye, Cole?"