The old lawyer reached across the table and took James’s hand in her paper-thin fingers. A squeeze of her hand was as weak as her age-weakened voice as she continued.
“Victor didn’t have any family left after his son died a decade ago, but he thought of you as a son. That’s why he left you pretty much everything. Since you own this townhome, we can sell his home and then pass the profits over to you. We can also auction off anything else you don’t want.”
She released James’s hand and reached down into her oversized purse. Pulling out a book sealed with a thick, ancient iron lock and metal band, she slid it open with a keychain that held two keys. The lawyer, whose name James couldn’t remember, held up the brand-new-looking bronze key and let the iron skeleton key clink against the gold Celtic knot of the keychain.
“This is for a safety deposit box in the bank across the street. I’ve already stopped by and provided them with the paperwork, so you only need to take this key in with you. It would be good to go fairly soon, since you don’t want to miss the manager who has to process everything for now. Please stop by my office later this week so that we can finish up settling his estate.”
Still unable to speak, James took the keys and let his eyes drift out the window to the blue and silver sign that shimmered in the thin fog two blocks away, just starting to burn off. With a nod of thanks, he walked the lawyer to the door.
After a few deep breaths to give the lawyer a chance to leave, he grabbed his things and walked over to the bank just a few blocks away. His phone was filled with a dozen messages from his Commanding Officer asking where he was, and he responded with a simple “Vic died last night.” Tears pressed against his eyes as he tried to keep a stoic face like he had through two tours of duty and all of the lost friends that came with it. Life swirled around him like it always did, but today it felt a little out of focus as he stepped through the sliding doors. A row of cashiers sat behind a fake stone counter, either chatting with each other or assisting the few customers who had arrived at the branch that early on a Thursday.
The manager stood from his oversized desk in the corner and made his way over to the formally dressed marine who seemed to be lost at the front door of his branch. His face was a sympathetic smile that made it clear he knew exactly who James was. As he got close enough to speak softly, he motioned James towards his desk.
“You must be Mr. O'Driscoll. I’m sorry to hear about Vic. He was a good man and an old friend. He got me back from ‘Nam alive, so I owed him a lot. He talked about you a lot, but failed to tell me that you’d outranked me when we first met, Gunny.”
A bit of his tension eased as James spotted the globe and anchor on the banker’s computer screen, and his references to the Marine Corps. Fellow Marines were always easier to talk to than random people. They understood him and everything he’d been through far better than any civilian ever could.
“I see why Vic would come here. The lawyer told me that he’d left something in a safety deposit box.”
A sad smile crossed the manager's weathered face as he took a seat and pulled out the stack of paperwork and a second key. He handed James a pen and pointed to the two yellow tabs on the second page.
“Please sign here, and then we can go get the box.”
James took the pen and quickly scribbled his name before pulling out the key that he’d been given. Without another word, the manager stood and signaled for him to follow. They walked the five feet to a normal-looking door behind his desk.
That door led to a short hallway that stopped at a second locked gate. As the gate swung open, James could see the room that seemed to make up half of the small branch. Hundreds of brass boxes protruded slightly from each wall, with some much larger ones visible on the far side of the room.
The grizzled old manager walked quickly over to the far wall with him in tow, sticking his key into one of the skinny boxes. When the box clicked with the first key, he motioned for James to put his key in the second slot beside the banker’s. Each key clicked one more time before the door swung open and revealed the steel case inside.
A quick pull slid the four-foot-long case out of its hole and let the manager free it. He quickly carried it over to the large steel table in the center of the room. When everything was in place, he turned back to James and smiled.
“I’ll leave you with your box. If you need anything from me, please let me know. This box is taken care of for the next ten years, so don’t worry about needing to take everything now. It will be here anytime you need it.”
He gave James one final smile before leaving him in the room alone. He pulled the small handle and lifted the heavy steel lid. Setting it carefully to the side, James moved back to the box and looked inside. A single sheet of paper, along with a short letter that had been scrawled in Vic’s handwriting, sat on top of a bundle of dark green wool.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
James,
If you’re reading this, I never had a chance to tell you this in person. I’m sorry that I failed to do this part of my duty as a member of the Sunrise Preservers. The book Jenny should have given to you, along with the key to this box, will have a lot more answers.
Everything in this box is critical to the survival of our people. I’m too old to fight anymore, and I hope that you will take up these weapons while I still live. But if you’re reading this, then I didn’t make it to that point.
For now, take the blade and the cloak inside this box with you. Now that I’m gone, you’ll have to protect yourself from the realms that you are about to be introduced to. Just be warned, the second you draw Claiomh Solais, you’re accepting the mission from the Sunrise Preservers to protect the people of Boston from the corrupted Fey Realm.
Good Luck
Sergeant Victor Dorgan
- The Corps knows about this mission, and they are aware that you are being prepped for it. You’ll be getting a new detached assignment to make this easier.
Putting the letter to the side, he pulled the thin golden ribbon that had been hidden by the page. As the silk ribbon released, the emerald green fabric fell away to reveal a wide-bladed short sword with a hilt that looked almost like a person with golden limbs emerging from a worn birch wood body and a gold head crowned with a single large emerald. A warm sensation drew him towards the blade, pushing him to draw it from its simple leather sheath.
For a moment, he let the sensation guide him. His hand reached towards the hilt. As his fingers brushed the emerald, a jolt of strange energy shot through him. He pulled his hand back with a jerk and let a string of curses fly like any good marine.
A few deep breaths let him gain control of himself. Still shaking the hand that had been shocked, he covered the blade with the fabric and lifted it from the box. His mind raced as he tried to understand what was happening.
With the sword wrapped in the cloak, he closed the box and notified the manager that he was done. Every step made the world around him seem to flip between shimmering and a darker version of reality. He forced out something about needing some time to process Vic’s death before stumbling from the bank.
He walked in the direction that his chaotic mind carried him, not wanting to go home, but not having anywhere else to go. For minutes, he carried the bundle clutched tightly as he walked the streets of South Boston. His mind raced in every direction, never focusing on where he was or where he was going.
The sounds of the sea and the smell of the salt pulled him out of his wild trance to see the ports and industrial facilities just a block ahead of him. Before he knew where he was, a hand darted from the shadows of the alley and pulled hard on the emerald green fabric. His tight grip on the bundle pulled him from his feet and threw him into the shadows beyond.
His eyes swam as he struck the brick wall headfirst, and the sword slipped from his grasp to clatter free on the ground. The training that the Marine Corps had beaten into him over the last nine years kicked in as two shadowy, hooded thugs approached from the end of the alley. The sword almost jumped into his hand as long, slightly curved daggers appeared from inside the pockets on the enemy's cloaks.
With a yank, James pulled the blade free of the leather sheath and held it in front of him like he’d been trained to do with his combat knife. A beam of sunlight broke through the clouds overhead and struck the blade. It ignited in a white, orange magical flame that lit the alley up like the noonday sun.
When he opened them again, the buildings and streets still existed, but they were covered with neon glowing lichen and bioluminescent mushrooms. Despite the light of the plants and sun, the world seemed dark, like it did in the moments before a storm.
The two beings that were still slowly approaching him had changed as well. Instead of the two thugs in dark hoodies and pants, they had shifted into two unnaturally pale beings with the blackest hair he’d ever seen. The attacker stared down the sword in his hand with lips pulled wide in a snarl to reveal a set of large fangs.
Muscle memory let him fight without thinking, slowly moving to put his back to the wall. Unsure where the other end of the alley led, he did his best to cut off any other attackers. His right boot heel brushed the brick wall as he took up a better fighting position. The two fanged beings split and began to move to each side of him, trying to divide his focus as one of them spoke in a snake-like hiss.
“You’ll never make it to the order with that blade, knight. We’ll take it from your corpse and finally end this war. The children of darkness will rule the Fey Realm, and your mortal realm of America will be our prey forever.”
Memories of all of the stories that Vic had told him over the last few years during their sword training flooded back to him as he shifted his feet slightly. In a flash, he lashed out with the blade faster than he’d ever thought possible. The flaming blade struck home, igniting the monster to his right in etheric flame.
James didn’t wait to see what happened to his first attacker as he pivoted and swung at the other being whose vampiric face shone in the light of the blade. The creature danced away as the flames licked its clothing. Rolling his wrist so that the momentum of the blade continued in the opposite direction, he lashed out.
It caught the ghostly pale, fanged creature on the wrist as it tried to lash out with its dagger at his back. He rolled inside the vampire’s attack and got closer. As they collided, the monster lashed out with his fangs towards his throat. He dropped his shoulder and slammed it into the brick wall behind them before it could bite him.
Two quick, burning cuts freed the knife and hand from its wrist and the monster's head from its shoulders. He turned his back on the fallen vampire and looked at the first one to fall. Instead of the dead body he was expecting, only a small pile of ash remained where it’d fallen. He walked over to the pile of ash and kicked through it until the dagger spun away to thump against the wall. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he turned back to the other dead vampire that had turned to ash as well.
James quickly collected the two daggers and the emerald green cloak that his sword had been wrapped in while the adrenaline still numbed his emotions. The years of training and tours of duty in combat zones let his body operate without his brain being allowed to fully process what he’d just seen.
The desire to fight gave way to the training that had taught them to never remain at the scene of a fight in case the enemy had friends. Wrapping up all three weapons, he quickly checked the alley for anything that could identify him or who the two piles of ash were before turning to escape. With the disorganized mess in his arms, he stepped back out into the empty midday streets and headed for home.