Chapter 4

Feeling as if scorching fire was coursing through his veins, Abbott tried and failed to breathe. It was almost as if there was a boulder upon his chest- and maybe, according to this paper, there would be soon.

What did O’Leary have planned for him? Why would the man risk his business just to torture him? Maybe that was his backup plan, just in case Abbott left while he was gone. But if the man was planning different gruesome ways to kill him, was it truly worth staying? Abbott weighed the options heavily in his mind as he stood completely still, still in shock. His hands trembled so badly he couldn’t hold onto the paper any longer, and it fluttered to the ground as if in slow motion. It landed on the ground and slid across, carried by some unseen breeze, to the floor right at Abbott’s feet.

He almost left it there and never thought of it again. He was good at that after living with Alastair for so many years. There were just some things that were so traumatizing that Abbott had learned to forget them completely- it was an art that he had perfected. He almost decided to walk away, to return up the stairs and give himself over to the kidnappers who were surely searching for him upstairs, thinking that a quick death by hanging would surely be better than whatever O’Leary had planned for him. It would be so easy; he would never have to deal with the older man again.

He was no stranger to these kinds of thoughts- many nights he had lain awake in bed, fingers pressed against the cold metal of the blade underneath his pillow, the same knife that was currently tucked into the waist of his trousers, freezing against his leg in the warm room. It would be so easy.

He drew the weapon out of where it had been hiding and looked at it for a long while. What he had to do was easy. What wasn’t easy was convincing himself to do it. He knew it was certainly an option, but was the situation that desperate?

He went to tuck the blade back into his waistband for another time, but froze when the glinting of the metal caught sent a small beam of light reflected onto the paper that laid at Abbott’s feet, nearly forgotten in the midst of the tornado of his emotions.

There was more writing on it.

A small paragraph, scrawled messily in the middle of the page. It had landed on its back when it fell, and it beckoned Abbott to pick it up and read all it had to offer. Abbott couldn’t read the small print from where he stood, and he was frozen for a good minute while his body and brain fought over what to do. His body wanted badly to reach down and grab the paper, taking in all it had to say. His brain, on the other hand, wanted to leave the paper where it was, and never have to think about it again.

His heart broke the silence. He leaned over and lifted the paper up in two hands, delicately, as if it were a bomb that could explode at any moment, taking Abbott’s life and the entire Empyrium with it. Squinting in the light, which had gone dim, Abbott struggled to make out the words. Some of the writing didn’t make too much sense to his brain, as it appeared to be in a different language. Could… could it be the language that the woman in his visions kept speaking in? If so, what did Alastair have to do with her?

He pushed aside the thought and moved on to the words he recognized. Bits and pieces stuck out to him as he tried to patch them together, despite his limited reading vocabulary.

The boy… useless… transfer of powers to me… will likely kill him. Spell???

Abbott couldn’t feel his body. He had gone completely numb, as if he wasn’t even a part of this world anymore. It felt as though he was a bystander, watching the situation unfold through the eyes of someone else. Someone who was going to be killed, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t about him.

But who else would it be speaking about? Abbott was the only boy with powers that O’Leary had contact with, as far as he knew. It sounded like Alastair was developing a spell to remove Abbott’s powers and give them to himself- a spell that would kill Abbott in the process. Would he have to be a sacrifice? Maybe that was what all of those terrifying drawings were. O’Leary was finding the most painful way to kill him to make a sacrifice in order to gain his vision abilities.

If there was any doubt in Abbott’s mind about staying in the Empyrium before, all traces of it were gone. He sprung into action, turning frantically around the room, searching for a way out.

The room was filled with dusty shelves, all of which were covered in a lovely collection of magical objects and ingredients. And the body parts- one shelf was completely lined with jars in which floated pieces of dismembered bodies, both human and animal alike. A jar full of eyeballs seemed to track his movement as he stumbled around the chamber, following him with the pupils. Watching him.

Was this what Alastair meant when he said he had eyes everywhere? If so, he likely knew that Abbott was in his secret room, and had found the note. He wasn’t safe anymore. He had to get out, and get as far away from the Empyrium as possible.

He noticed a small beam of light filtering in from the ceiling in the corner. On shaky legs, he scrambled over there and looked for how to get up. There was certainly another trap door, and a short rope dangled from the edge of the panel. He stood on the tips of his toes and stretched his weary fingers in the air, trying desperately to grab the frayed end of the rope. He… just... couldn’t quite reach. He practically screamed in frustration.

As if answering his call, three multicolored orbs detached themselves from the wall where they waited and drifted over to him. As if by magic, the rope suddenly seemed to be longer, or maybe he was taller? Either way, he could easily grab the rope now, and he pulled sharply, the panel dropping down and releasing a set of stairs with a loud groan. He cringed and paused, hoping that the people upstairs hadn’t heard it, and with an acknowledging nod to the orbs that had helped him out, he stepped up the stairs and into the outside world for the first time he could remember.

He didn’t have any sort of light to be able to see in the dark, but he could tell that he was outside of the Empyrium. He turned, seeing the building behind him, and fled.

His feet pounded against the cobblestone steps in a one-two pattern, sounding almost like he was dancing. He liked the idea of that better. He was simply dancing, and not running for his life down a road edged by buildings, so many buildings. Surely someone was watching him, and if everyone in the town thought he was a murderer…

There was only one person he knew that might be able to help him.

He needed to find Finnian.