The Soul Collector

Chapter NINE

Beware of the demons walking the streets

The lengthy tree-lined avenue, located just outside the ultra modern apartment building, glowed brightly beneath the incandescent glow of towering streetlights. There was the faintest trace of the wind in the night, an airy gust sending a flurry of dry leaves across the pavement. Late fall was evident, causing many to shiver beneath their heavy coats as they sought the shelter of their homes.

A lone figure didn't appear concerned with the chill that nipped at noses and fingertips. He paused and watched the last signs of fall lift on the gentle fingers of the night air. He smiled crookedly as the leaves, butterscotch and faded amber, floated on unseen hands before rising and slipping away.

He blinked, attempting to moisten his dry eyes, and turned on the worn edge of his heel. Before him was the elaborate facade of a modern apartment complex. The edifice was upscale and elite, evident by the shining brass and chrome details. He scowled, expecting no less of the other he sought.

Through the great glass doors, the burly security guard cradled a cell phone close to his ear. The sturdy features of the man filled with mirth as he spoke and Julian ground his teeth together. His eyes narrowed and he focused on the figure located beyond the spotless glass. A tenacious smile tugged at his lips while he watched the hulking figure tremble, an inexplicable iciness settled over the foyer of the complex.

Turning, he stared across the street, his amusement vanishing. He remained where he was, lingering outside the building, his head lifted to the streetlights. His jaw tightened and his eyes darkened to the color of coal while he inhaled at the air. He inhaled again, letting a breath roll over his tongue before gnashing yellowed teeth.

He smirked and pulled the tattered remnants of his coat closer. His bitter smile increased to a leering grin that contorted his wizened features before he proceeded down the semi-deserted thoroughfare.

As he walked, the bulbs in the street lamps flickered seconds before they lost power.

Soon, the path behind him disappeared in darkness.

Julian stopped, staring at the glowing city's lights stretched before him. He tossed his lank hair over his shoulders, and lifted his chin high while he perused the stars shimmering above. Sluggishly, he inhaled the breeze once again and closed his eyes, his tongue flicking over roughened lips. His heinous smile broadened as he caught the familiar scent, a fragrance he recognized as well as his own.

Lucien had been derelict in his studies, he mused bitterly. The aroma of his brother's flesh lingered in the wind, illuminating a trail he would follow.

“What a foolish waste of a soul.” He allowed himself a feral snarl as he whispered the words. The coal colored darkness of his orbs scanned the streets, alighting on the smoky images that appeared. His vision darkened further and he focused on sepia forms, his features appearing nearly eyeless as he detected the vicious rustling of low toned whispers.

….daemon's blood

His smile broadened at the whispered words lingered. He drew his shoulders back, clutching the frayed lapels with twisted fingers, as if he were regally righting royal robes. The lines of his face creased deeper and he graced the misty figures with an imperious glare.

It was just as well the spirits of the dead knew who walked among them this very eve. He was the rightful heir of St. Lorraine, the crown prince who had yet to claim his thrown. Julian was well aware of his identity and the hushed accusations and, in truth, savored the extent of his power. He reeled about on his heel, his arms flying wide and successfully scattering the smoky images to the wind.

“Heed this warning, dear people, and ghosts of yore. Lock your windows and bar your doors!” He began in an eerie and peculiarly singsong voice, reciting the hushed words of warning echoing through his father's land many centuries ago. “Beware, for the Daemon of St. Lorraine wanders your thoroughfares this night!”

Julian's long gaited stride increased, each step bearing more of a resemblance to a lop-sided skip. He chuckled, the sound akin the crunch of dry leaves beneath booted feet, as his words lifted in the chill night air.

“Run, Lucien, run.” He chanted in a low baritone hearkening back to the forgotten days in his youth. “Run, dear little brother, for the demon of St. Lorraine is seeking your soul!”