Author's Preface
Canterbury, England.
March 13th, 1930.
10:43 A.M.
Mere seconds after Amory closed his eyes and focused his power, disappearing from the mysterious old hospital of 1925—he gently opened his eyes again, and he found himself standing in broad daylight atop a grassy hill, a cold breeze gusting past him as he overlooked a small English town.
Amory adjusted his hat, took a step forward, and gazed down the hill in awe, his eyes shining with wonder, feeling truly taken by the sight before him now.
Just down the way was a long, busy street of pedestrians and bicycles, as well as the occasional car, wagon, or rickshaw, many people traveling up and down the street between the old shops on a wide road of cobblestone. Men and women shuffled about, wearing hats, scarves, and brats on this chilly March day, and—as Amory slowly raised his head—his gaze landed on something captivating, a tall, elegant castle that stood high above the rest, a beautiful historic cathedral.
Amory’s eyes narrowed slightly, staring at the cathedral and studying its shape—and then, it came to him. He’d seen that very same castle-like building outside of the 1925 hospital. It was harder to make out at night than it was right now—but he was certain it was the same building, meaning he was in the very same town now as he was five years prior.
Swallowing, he stole another glimpse of the people marching up and down the street just down the grassy hill from him, sighing and fidgeting with the flap of his white suit jacket. He felt another touch of anxiety regarding the way he was dressed, feeling as if he would certainly stick out like a sore thumb now—but nevertheless, he stepped forward and began maneuvering down the hill, hoping to find out where he was.
His foot met the cobblestone, and Amory stepped onto the street, now marching alongside the pedestrians and glancing around with rapt curiosity. The small old buildings on either side of him were of a stylish design that looked almost ancient to him, and pleasing in a way he couldn’t quite describe.
He walked past a butcher’s shop, then slowed to a stop and gazed into its display for a moment, seeing dead pigs strung up by the hind legs alongside other hunks of hanging meat that dangled above a table full of prime cuts. Between the meat selections were small signs that read things like Rabbits or Prime Bullocks , and the slender white sign that was posted above the shop’s window and doorway read THE CANTERBURY CHILLED MEAT CO .
Amory stared up at the sign, his brow hardening, feeling a spark of shock inside.
“Canterbury,” he uttered, slowly facing forward again and gazing down the old street before him.
His eyes seemed to focus harder on the shops, the people, and the cobblestone path—and the longer he stared thoughtfully at the environment before him, the more it began to make sense.
Long before the time of Canterbury Lab in Mapleview, North Carolina—Valek and Vincent lived here, the place where Vincent was born, and the place that would someday inspire the name of the facility that Valek would one day run.
As it all connected together in his mind, he found himself surveying everything in this waking moment of history even more, hardly able to believe that such an incredible and beautiful town could inspire such a wickedly evil place later.
A glint of quick movement caught his attention—and Amory squinted into the crowds of people down the way, spotting a child running from one side of the street to the other.
Then—a man in a cloak appeared in his view—marching briskly across the road in precisely the same direction that the child had, appearing to be following him.
Amory made a face, then broke into a quicker stride without thinking—heading directly into the small group of people in front of him where he expected the child to emerge.
Moments later—the small boy appeared between a man and a woman who had been walking the opposite direction, skidding to a stop just in front of Amory and gazing up at him. The child wore a small gray flat cap on his head, his hairs a dirty sandy blond, and his dark wool jacket having fallen partly off him.
Amory glimpsed between the boy and the small crowd of people ahead, bending down and leveling with him.
“Hey… y’okay?” he breathed. “Is somebody following you?”
The boy nodded vigorously, turning back and glancing warily around nearby.
“Well—then come on,” Amory said, grabbing the boy’s hand and quickly marching away with him. “We’ll just play a game of hide-and-seek.”
The boy followed him without question, and Amory hurriedly led him across the street, marching down a narrow alleyway that ran in between a couple of the buildings. It was very different from any alleys that Amory had seen in movies or in Mapleview; this one was barely large enough to stand in without scraping one’s arm or shoulder against one of the walls.
They hid in the back shadows of the alley and turned around, Amory clasping onto the boy’s shoulders and vigilantly watching the end of the alleyway before him, just able to see people walking past, but for a long, tense moment, he saw no sign of the mysterious cloaked stranger.
After both of them felt certain that the cloaked man did not see them, the boy let out a cloud of breath, then turned around and peered up at his rescuer.
“Thank you, sir,” the boy said politely. “All I wanted was to do a bit of window-shop browsing for my birthday. Suppose I should’ve known better.”
Amory’s brows raised, surprised to hear that this child—one who couldn’t have been older than six or seven—spoke so mannerly and so eloquently.
Then, Amory hunched down and gave the boy a curious look.
“Um… could I ask… what is today’s date?” he inquired.
“It’s March 13th, of course,” the boy smiled. “My birthday. I was born five years ago today, and I’ve even got a pound and ten shillings to spend for it. Isn’t that brilliant?”
Amory’s mouth drifted agape, feeling another surge of shock inside and taking in a deep, calming breath. He found himself staring, examining every detail of the young boy’s face, even down to the crystal blue eyes, one of them looking just a shade darker cerulean than the other.
“Oh,” Amory choked breathlessly in surprise. “Oh my G…”
He gulped and stood fully upright again, running a hand down his face. For a moment, he simply fell silent and fidgeted in his stance, unsure of what to say or do now.
The little boy—a five-year-old Vincent Hawthorn—tilted his head and squinted oddly up at Amory.
“Y’all right, sir?” the tiny Vincent asked.
“Oh… yeah, yeah, sorry,” Amory laughed nervously. “I’ve just… just got a lot on my mind is all. Um… anyway… it’s a… pleasure to meet you.”
He offered his hand.
“Amory Evervale,” he introduced himself. “And you are?”
“Vincent Hawthorn,” the boy replied, returning the handshake with surprising firmness for someone his size and age.
“Yeah, that’s… what I thought…” Amory murmured under his breath, sighing deeply and narrowing his eyes at the end of the alley again. “So, what… what’re you doing out here all by yourself right now? Why is someone trying to follow you?”
“Can’t say for sure,” young Vincent replied with a shrug. “I was careful not to wave my birthday money about in the streets. My father says not to show money to the poor folk.”
“Okay,” Amory mumbled. “Well… where is your father? How come you’re out all alone?”
“Because I… left home all alone,” Vincent replied with a curt, mischievous smile. “What’s the use in my father handing me all this birthday money if he won’t let me go out and spend it? He always told me never to go out alone, but… I’ve always been able to handle it perfectly fine. All you have to do is dress up like a commoner and act like you’re one of them. No one pays me the slightest bit of mind, most of the time.”
Amory stared, squinting interestingly at him. “You sneak out a lot, don’t you…?”
“Of course I do,” Vincent laughed. “I go mad sitting around in our massive house with nothing to do… and my father’s friends are a right sight worse than all the people ‘round here. He talks badly about the poor folk all the time, but they’re usually a lot nicer to me than any of the people hanging about at our home. I’d rather be out here than in there any day.”
Amory gave him a long, vested stare, choking out a laugh and shaking his head. “Well, that’s ironic…”
“Blimey… why am I telling you all this?” the boy muttered, making an odd face at him. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
Amory fell silent, wondering how he ought to answer—but then, his eyes flickered up, spotting a hint of movement, and his heart suddenly leaped into his throat.
The mysterious cloaked man was now standing at the end of the alleyway—glaring daggers at them from beneath his hood.
Vincent turned and spotted the man, his eyes widening—and Amory grabbed the boy and shoved him behind himself, shielding the child from the stranger.
“What do you want?” Amory demanded, returning the stranger’s glare in full.
The cloaked man took a step closer, then another, his grisly, bearded face warped into a sour expression.
Then, the stranger slowly pulled something from his side—a large, rusted combat knife.
“Tha’s Victor Hawthorn’s boy,” the man grunted, waving his knife at the child behind Amory. “Innit?”
Amory took in a slow, bracing breath, his mind racing for ways out of the situation. He couldn’t just teleport away with Vincent—as teleporting in an unfamiliar area was a bad idea for him, and it might result in him appearing somewhere that was hostile or uninhabitable for a human body. No—he would have to create an opening and then simply run for it.
“Yeeeah… I’ve seen ya’ around, lad, I’ve seen ya’ around,” the man sneered, grinning wickedly and revealing a long row of crooked yellow teeth. “You think nobody’s paying right good attention, don’t yah? But I am. I always notice when you slip outta your daddy’s big bloomin’ ivory tower… and I finally gotcha… right where I wantcha.”
“Oh… you are not about to harm a child,” Amory said threateningly, cocking his head as his eyes sparkled with a brief blue shine. “Not while I’m here.”
“ Harm ‘im…?” the man cackled with a laugh. “Nooo… I don’ wanna harm ‘im… I just wanna take ‘im.”
“Ransomer,” Vincent breathed frightfully, gripping the back of Amory’s jacket and clutching tightly onto it.
Amory glimpsed down at him, then returned his hard stare to the stranger, his expression severe.
“I dunno how much Mr. Hawthorn is paying you to play bodyguard, mate… but you’ve gotta know how bloody evil he is,” the stranger continued, taking an easeful step. “Runnin’ Hawthorn Industries… making weapons of war… peddling that bloody laced opium on the side… disappearin’ people off these very streets… and lookit how everyone speaks about ‘im. Lookit how everyone around here talks about ‘im. They blindly worship him like a hero.”
Amory merely grimaced, holding Vincent firmly behind him and saying nothing.
“But your father ain’t no hero, Sonny Jim,” the man stated, wagging his knife at the boy. “He’s about the furthest thing from that a man can be.”
“I don’t care what his father is,” Amory said flatly. “Kidnapping isn’t the answer.”
“Ah yeah…?” the stranger grinned nastily, inching even closer. “You’d do well to look the other way, Sunshine… because I doubt if my pretty face is the last thing you wanna see.”
Amory jutted his hand out—and the man went flying backwards at once—launching out of the alleyway like a ball from a cannon.
The stranger’s burly body propelled out from the alley with the velocity of a missile—smashing into the cobblestone street and rolling several times before crashing into a newspaper stand across the way and knocking it over. Everyone nearby whipped around in alarm, shouting and pointing at the felled man as newspapers lay in disarray all around him.
Amory snatched up the tiny Vincent and ran; he sprinted out of the alleyway at top speed and quickly turned a corner, racing away from the scene as quickly as his feet would carry him.
One arm locked around the boy and the other raised as he kept his hat pinned to his head while he ran—Amory simply darted, ran, flew through the town blindly, paying no mind to the bizarre looks he was getting from everyone he passed by.
“The cathedral!” Vincent breathed, clasping onto his own hat. “My father’s at the cathedral right now…!”
Amory glanced down at him, nodded, and raised his head—peering out from beneath the brim of his hat and spotting the magnificent cathedral structure just ahead of him, standing tall from behind the buildings and trees.
He didn’t know where he could teleport to inside the cathedral, didn’t know where the entrances were or any parts of its structures; teleporting into it or over to it was too great a risk. He might end up zapping them directly into a structure of some kind, for all he knew.
No, he had to know precisely where he was going for teleporting to be a safe and viable option.
Amory’s eyes shot upward—landing on the tall shapely turrets of the cathedral, elegant and pointed structures that gave the old building such a castle-like look.
“Vincent,” Amory panted as he ran. “Close your eyes.”
Vincent gave him a bizarre look, then shut his eyes just as he was instructed.
Amory took a deep breath—focused intently on the nearest castle turret—and his eyes shone blue—just before he vanished from the cobblestone road.
He reappeared incredibly high above the streets of Canterbury—his free hand clasping viselike onto the highest pointed structure of the turret, and his foot planted firmly onto its solid foundation.
Now—he was standing atop one of the castle turrets with an arm outstretched, holding onto it with one hand and looking down upon Canterbury, England with a fantastic view.
Vincent slowly opened his eyes—then let out a terrified yell and scrambled to cling onto Amory, snapping his small arms around his neck and holding on for dear life.
“Hey, hey, hey… we’re fine, we’re okay,” Amory laughed breathlessly, adjusting his grasp on the boy and keeping a firm hold of him. “Look… I’ve got you. We’re fine. See?”
Vincent took in several rapid breaths, keeping his face buried in Amory’s collar for a long, fearful moment. Then, he slowly raised his head, looking out and gazing upon the incredible scenery of Canterbury seen from above.
The boy gazed down at everything from the highest reaches of the cathedral, his brows raising, truly mesmerized at the sight before him, the sun just beginning to peek out from behind England’s overcast sky, casting beaming rays through the clouds and shining brilliantly onto the town down below.
Amory smiled, the wind gently shifting a few of his wavy hairs from his eye, his hat cocked slightly back now, and the boy in his arm sitting slightly more upright, gathering a better view.
“He’s not gonna follow us up here , is he…?” Amory smirked, glimpsing over at the boy.
Vincent continued to ogle the gorgeous scene before him, then slowly turned his head, staring over at Amory as if he’d never seen anything quite like him before.
“Happy birthday,” Amory beamed.
Vincent gazed at him in shock for a second longer, then faced forward again—and, for a long, wonderful moment thereafter, the two of them simply enjoyed the beautiful view of Canterbury in all its glory.
When Amory’s fingers began to ache around the stone structure of the turret, he looked down and began examining the entire area around the cathedral from up high—and he spotted a stone structure down below with two larger and more rounded castle turrets on either side of it, appearing to connect the cathedral grounds with one of the Canterbury streets.
“ There we go,” Amory mumbled, turning to Vincent. “Hold on tight, all right…?”
“I am ,” Vincent breathed.
Amory laughed and nodded sideways. “Point taken…”
A spiral of blue swam through his eye—and they both vanished from atop the turret.
Amory and Vincent suddenly appeared in front of the great stone wall that harbored the wide open entryway for the cathedral, two tall structures on each side of it, and in the very center of the stone wall was a statue of Jesus Christ, sitting with his arms outstretched in a warm, welcoming manner.
Amory glanced around, seeing that scarce few people were anywhere near this area, thankfully. Then, he placed Vincent down and looked up at the entrance to the cathedral, his eyes landing on the statue of the Son of God.
“Um.” Amory made an odd face at the Jesus statue, then looked to the boy. “Are you sure your father’s in here…?”
“Yeah… he was meant to meet with a few of his mates here today,” Vincent confirmed. “He does that a lot, actually.”
“Huh. Okay,” Amory muttered, scratching his cheek. “Well…”
There was a pause, the two merely staring at each other.
“Are y…” Vincent uttered, hesitating and gazing up at him with a vexed, childlike wonder. “Are you an angel…?”
Amory stared, opening his mouth, then flashing a smile and giving him a wink.
“You betcha,” he affirmed. “I’m your guardian angel.”
Vincent ogled him, looking greatly perplexed and gently reaching up to his eye.
“I can have a guardian angel?” he muttered with breathless disbelief. “ I can…?”
“Hey… listen to me.”
Amory sank down to one knee, leveled his eyes with the boy’s, and planted a hand on his shoulder, staring perfectly into him.
“ Anyone can,” Amory told him firmly, giving his shoulder a shake. “It doesn’t matter who you are, or how you were born, or who raised you, or anything else. Everyone in the world has a chance… because everyone in the world has a choice . Your life, your ambitions, your love, and your alliances… are all yours to choose. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”
Vincent returned his profound stare, making a single nod.
Amory then gave him a smile.
“I can’t always be around… even though I’d honestly really like to,” he told the boy. “But I will definitely be there when you need me the most… all right?”
Vincent nodded again.
“Just… stay strong, and keep moving forward,” Amory advised, releasing him and standing fully again. “And… I’ll see you again sometime.”
Vincent stared up at him, looking like he wanted to say more—but something else seized his attention.
The boy turned his head—seeing someone else emerging from the large entryway of the cathedral, someone that both he and Amory recognized.
Valek stood there, slightly slimmer than Amory usually knew him to be, just as he had been in the old hospital—only now, he also wore a black cloak, a matching hat, and he carried a slender black cane as well, his fingers tapping along the top of it as his eyes narrowed astutely at his son.
“Boy,” Valek rasped, glaring fixedly at him. “What’re you doing wandering the streets?”
Vincent stared at him, then at Amory, looking hesitant to leave.
“Go ahead,” Amory urged, placing a hand on his back and gently ushering him onward. “And… don’t run away from home anymore, okay?”
Vincent peered up at him, silent, wearing a heavy, stoic face that hardly looked like it could belong on a child. Then, with a glum sigh, the boy turned and walked away, unenthusiastically approaching his father.
Amory managed to maintain his smile as he watched the tiny Vincent go, avoiding Valek’s gaze and releasing a deep cloud of breath. Feeling more or less satisfied, and knowing that he had accomplished what he’d needed to here, he turned to leave, hoping to walk somewhere more isolated before zapping himself to wherever his next destination was.
Vincent stopped before his father, keeping his head down.
Valek stared coldly down at him, his jaw slightly crooked as he grinded his teeth. “You know better than to leave the estate, boy. What have I told you? Hm?”
“I’m sorry,” Vincent murmured down at his feet.
Valek grimaced, raising his cane and—
“ Agh …!”
A muffled yelp echoed from behind him—and Amory’s shoe skidded atop the cobblestone, stopping dead in his tracks and feeling a grave, angry churn in the pit of his stomach.
Then, he slowly turned back around, gazing down the way and watching; Valek held his cane in the center, smashing the head of it into Vincent’s back and knocking him to the ground. The boy shielded himself with his arms, hunched on the street and not daring to stand back up or meet his father’s eyes.
“ Get up , you blithering little fool,” Valek hissed, extending his cane and jabbing the end of it harshly into his son’s chest. “Get up and face me. Now .”
Vincent, with a miserable look strewn across his face, choked out a quiet sob and bit his lip hard, forcing down everything he felt and slowly climbing back to his feet. With a borrowed nerve, the boy managed to raise his head and meet his father’s gaze, inhaling a long, shaking breath as he did.
Valek returned his look with a deep, unfeeling stare—then swung the cane again and hit him squarely in the head—knocking him back to the ground at once.
The boy made a pained grunt—and Amory’s heart pounded with indignation, his teeth beginning to clench, and his hand curling into a fist by his side, glaring heatedly at Valek as a wicked anger spiraled up and down him like lightning. His arm twitched, hand fidgeting, wanting more than anything to act, to send the demon bastard flying, to snatch up the young Vincent and remove him from the situation—but he remained rooted to the spot, growing more furious by the second.
Then, a soft, gentle, and familiar rasp of a voice began to gnaw at the back of his subconscious.
Leave , Zyon instructed.
Amory took in a deep, angry breath.
Leave now , Zyon told him again.
Amory made a slow shake of the head, merely watching from a moderate distance as Valek chided his son and raised his cane threateningly at him.
“I just told him I’d be his guardian angel,” he growled under his breath. “And then I sent him back to that .”
Then take extra care not to lie to him again , Zyon replied.
“I didn’t lie , Zyon,” Amory murmured, still staring at Valek with great apprehension, just before his gaze moved down to young Vincent, and his expression began to fracture. “You made me his guardian angel.”
Then you must behave as thus , Zyon disclosed, and go where you are needed. Nine years. Aboard his military ship. Go.
Amory continued to stare sadly at Vincent and Valek, inhaling a dismayed breath and making a peculiar expression.
“Nine years,” he breathed, shaking his head again. “He can’t be in the military nine years from here. He’s five years old…”
Different times, Amory , Zyon said clearly amid his mind. And very different circumstances around him .
Amory’s eyes traveled back to Valek, homing in on him like two black missiles.
The longer he glared at the demon, the more sickened he felt.
From the callous disregard for Vincent’s mother’s life to beating him openly in the streets of Canterbury—Valek would then go on to force his son into the military during his early teen years, just before moving to America and putting him through even worse torture from then onward.
It felt terrible to stand here, staring down the street at the two of them, long before many of the worst events of Vincent’s life had ever happened, and simply choose not to intervene.
Logically, Amory knew that—right here, in Canterbury, England, 1930—he could step in, seize the young Vincent, and simply abscond with him. He could completely prevent many of those terrible things from ever happening to him. He could take that young boy—a Vincent Hawthorn like he’d never known before, a Vincent who still had innocence, joy, and the ability to laugh and smile—and snatch him away from everything in the world that would work to torment and ruin him later.
But, as he remained standing stock still in the street, he knew that he could not entertain that childlike impulse. Removing Vincent from his timeline now would create a ripple-effect that would change and destroy everything that Amory knew to be reality in the future decades, and perhaps even create paradoxes. It simply could not be done.
Keep , Zyon stated in a flat, solid voice. Going .
Amory took in a conclusive breath, giving Vincent a final, empathetic stare before turning on his heel and marching away.
No, he couldn’t simply kidnap Vincent from time and prevent all of the bad things from happening to him.
Even for he—Amory Evervale, the Mapleview timewalker—it was not feasible to merely appear in a person’s life and rescue them from all of their hardships. Vincent had to endure every difficult event in his life in order to become the person that Amory knew later—and that person, that particular Vincent Hawthorn, eventually and hopefully still could be saved.
So—Amory shut down everything he felt best he could, marched briskly away from the Valek and Vincent of 1930, and strolled into the nearest alleyway—his eyes shining blue for a split second just before he vanished altogether.
Scapa Flow, Scotland.
October 14th, 1939.
12:52 A.M.
Just when Amory opened his eyes—he noticed many things all at once.
Everything looked, smelled, and felt quite different right off the bat; he found himself suddenly standing beneath a night sky, the scent of saltwater thick on the air, and the swift gusts of wind around him were considerably colder than they had been moments ago. Even Canterbury in the late winter was warmer than wherever he was now; he adjusted his hat and shivered slightly, glancing around and squinting through the darkness.
Then—he fell still, now gazing over the side of a massive ship, and a vast, endless ocean expanding for as far as the eye could see in every direction amid the darkness, the calm sea glistening in the moon and starlight, though the ocean’s nighttime shine was slightly obscured by fog. Just in eyeshot, he was also able to see a flat expanse of land, the nearest of the Orkney Islands, where the port of Scapa Flow resided, which was—as far as he could tell—the only small sign of society anywhere around here, aside from the ship itself upon which he stood, and the second ship that was stationary just a ways away.
Amory’s brows raised, turning around and raising his head—gazing up at the towering structure of the ship standing high above him, and posted above everything else was a single flag of white and red, standing tall and shifting gently in the breeze.
You can’t save everyone , Zyon spoke through his thoughts once more.
Amory blinked and made a face, looking down and shaking his head once. “What…?”
You will not be able to save everyone here. Do not try , Zyon clarified. Go to Vincent. Now .
Amory stared down in befuddlement for a second, then turned and broke into a hard stride, marching across the ship floor and quickly heading toward the nearest door.
It was an odd, rounded door with a peculiar handle, and he reached for it—
Outside , Zyon told him.
Amory froze with his hand outstretched, then dropped his arm by his side, glancing up and down the outdoor walkway.
His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, finding it odd that there were apparently no lights on this ship. He blinked a few times, squinting into the darkness again—and he was just able to see a few human-shaped shadows father down the way, standing in a group along the end of the ship, holding drinks, and talking casually with one another.
Amory marched toward them, taking swift and quiet steps and eyeing them with intrigue. As he steadily drew nearer, the distant voices of the men slowly became easier to hear. It appeared to be a group of six people, all wearing sailor hats and uniforms of the same dark color, trading conversation with the occasional laugh or sip from their beverages.
“Right shame that she’s stuck here,” one of the men remarked, gesturing to the center of the ship with his bottle. “Ol’ girl has proven herself in battle more than any of them know or care.”
“Well… this isn’t the same war as before,” another man commented. “Can’t help that she’s outdated now. She did brilliantly in the first war, but this one has newer toys. Can’t expect to fight a machinegun with a musket, y’know?”
“The Daisy’s just as old as the Great Oak,” a third man said, pointing over at the ship that was anchored beside theirs.
“Yes… and she’s sitting here living out her retirement years just as ours is,” a husky man laughed, taking a brief swig. “Doesn’t rightly matter. Long as we’re here, we’re luckier than most. Especially our lord and master.”
Then, the husky man used his free hand to clasp onto the shoulder of a younger sailor—the only one of the group who was wearing a dark, thick overcoat.
The young man in the overcoat then chuckled, shaking his head and taking a drink from his own bottle. This man had sandy-blond hairs that were just long enough to get a bit stringy in the center, though most of it was covered by his sailor’s hat. He had a handsome face and pronounced cheekbones, his eyes a mismatched shade, one a darker blue than the other.
Amory slowed to a stop just behind the group of people, peeking past a few of them—his eyes landing on the teenaged Vincent Hawthorn in the dark sailor’s overcoat.
“Whoa,” Amory mumbled faintly to himself, choking out an astonished little laugh. “He’s fourteen here? He looks like a grownup already…”
His eyes traveled up and down Vincent for a moment, thinking that he hardly looked any different from how he remembered him from ‘88, save for the age lines and the scars. Vincent must have been one of those people who hit their teenaged growth spurt rather early in life…
“I can’t imagine why you would ever call me lucky,” Vincent remarked with a laugh, glancing over at the husky man who’d grabbed his shoulder. “ Me , of all people.”
“Oh… come off it,” the husky man laughed, letting go of him. “If that prat hadn’t been court-martialed, then you wouldn’t have been put in charge of this oh-so-dangerous situation.”
“Oy… give him some credit,” a skinnier man countered. “He did earn it, y’know. Vincent here has got quite the reputation. I wouldn’t expect you to know all about that, but some of us were aboard the dreadnought with him, and he saved some lives.”
“Right… but he’s still hardly outta the bloomin’ cradle,” the husky man chided dismissively, glancing over at Vincent with a pompous sort of smirk. “I’m not saying he’s not earned some recognition… I’m just saying it seems like a bit of an oversight to give someone a position of leadership when they’re as young as some of our sons are.”
“I am right here , you know,” Vincent told him straightly. “If you keep talking about me as if I’m not here, then I might just as well walk away. Then again, maybe it’d do you some good to go without leadership. See how well you get on then.”
The husky man let out a snide laugh, shaking his head at him.
“See how well I get on? When? When all the action happens?” the husky man mocked, spreading his arms out and looking around at the open sea, as if waiting for something to appear from the darkness. “Mate—they put you in charge of a do nothing job. Can’t you see that? Like I said—you’re lucky. You’re lucky to be out here where nothing is ever gonna happen that you’d have to answer for.”
“Oh… don’t be so sure,” Vincent murmured ominously, gently swishing his drink around. “You never know when or where an enemy might strike.”
Then, Vincent looked up from his drink—and he locked eyes with Amory.
There was a long, quiet pause in the air.
Amory inhaled, his heart making a nervous jump.
Vincent merely stared, his brow hardening slightly, eyeing him with an unreadable visage.
The other five men followed their leader’s trail of vision, spotting the newcomer and giving him a series of odd looks, muttering questioningly to one another as they did.
Amid the many vexing things that Amory felt—a touch of displacement seemed to spark up inside him. It was a brief difficulty processing what he was seeing and hearing, a momentary mental stunting, an odd sort of time-travel shellshock that he’d felt a few times before; it felt particularly strange to be staring at Vincent Hawthorn as practically an adult only mere minutes after he’d seen him as a child.
Nevertheless, he shook it all away, forced it to the back of his mind, stepped forward, and offered his hand politely to him.
“Hello,” Amory smiled.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed slightly more at him, and he reached out and returned the handshake.
“Ah… who is this?” the skinny man inquired, pointing over at Amory and perking his brow at Vincent.
“Some entitled minted bloke who’s a long way from home,” the husky man snarked, scanning Amory up and down. “Oy… you know you don’t belong here, right? People like you are supposed to start the wars. People like us actually fight them.”
“Be quiet,” Vincent ordered sharply, shooting the burly man a hard glare.
“Oh, c’mon… he looks like a rich wadded fat cat , dunn’ he?” the husky man chortled, swatting over at Amory. “What the bloody hell else could he be…?”
“An old friend,” Vincent said definitively, turning back to Amory and meeting his gaze with a serious look.
Amory stared back at him quietly for a moment, taking another deep breath and feeling genuinely surprised that Vincent seemed to remember him. He’d only actually met him once before at this point in his life—and it was during that hectic birthday of his, wherein they fled from a criminal and ended up standing on the highest point of the Canterbury Cathedral. He’d honestly expected Vincent to have blocked out that memory or dismissed it as a dream by the time he got older.
But—here he stood, gazing at him with full recognition, as if he, too, had only just experienced his fifth birthday minutes ago.
“The last time I saw you,” Vincent said, raising a finger at him and eyeing him intensely. “I barely got out of a bad situation. A fairly dangerous one.”
Amory swallowed and made a nod.
Vincent withdrew his hand, arching his brow at him.
“Am I correct in expecting the same this time?” he inquired.
Amory’s mouth drifted agape, thinking this over and wondering how he should answer. In truth, he really was here to help him avoid some form of danger—but he had no clue what the danger was. He was just blindly following Zyon’s guidance and figuring it all out as he went along.
“How’d you know?” Amory managed, breathing out a laugh.
Vincent stared quietly for a moment. Then, he scoffed out a faint little laugh and took another sip of his drink.
“My father always said you were a bad omen,” he informed.
Amory blinked and squinted at him. “Wha…?”
“Well…” Vincent nodded sideways. “He said you were there when my mother passed away during childbirth… and you also showed up the day that another ransom-seeker tried to have a go at my father through me, which used to be disturbingly common, actually…”
“I’m not a…” Amory uttered, shaking his head once and running a hand down his face. “Ugh… you know what? It doesn’t matter. I guess I get why you’d see it that way…”
“Oh, I don’t,” Vincent replied simply.
Amory stared, his eyes narrowing.
Vincent chuckled. “My father does. He has a different idea of ‘luck’ than I do. Usually, if he’d call something a bad omen, it’s something that I’d call it a good one. For instance… the whole scenario wherein I survived my mother dying during childbirth, despite the staggering odds against me… or, that little situation whereupon I was actually rescued from that ransom-seeker, and I did not , in fact, get nicked right off of the streets as a boy. You see… me, personally… I would call those things good luck for me, but hey. To each their own. I suppose.”
Amory choked out a laugh, smirking and feeling the strangest sense of deja-vu for a time that had not even yet come to be. Even being as young as ever, with a classic English accent and not even having gone to America or met the thirteen-year-old Amory yet—Vincent still had the very same wit that he always remembered of him, and he made him laugh in just the same sort of ways he always had.
“So. What is it this time?” Vincent wondered, tilting his head.
Amory tried to reply, sighing again and thinking of no real way to explain.
Brace for impact , Zyon whispered to him.
Amory then paused, looking down and feeling a nervous throb in his chest. He glanced over the side of the ship, then behind the group of sailors, seeing nothing, but quickly growing anxious and wondering what was about to happen.
Vincent noticed him becoming distracted and glancing in several directions, his own expression falling severe.
“I think we need to evacuate,” he remarked, looking to his men. “Get everyone on the lifeboats and get aboard the Daisy—”
BANG—BOOOOOM.
The entire ship convulsed out of nowhere—the floor quaking beneath their feet—everything jolting and shifting violently—
All the sailors staggered in their stance—as did Amory—but he raised a hand and unleashed his power—eyes brightening—and several hunks of debris flew over them in one great wave—chunks of the ship raining down over them and somehow missing them or flying off in other directions—as if all the men were protected by an invisible dome—
The torpedo had struck from a submarine—nobody sure where or how—but the ship made a long, echoing creak as segments of it continued to fall to pieces—Vincent stumbling upright and clasping onto the two men nearest him—shoving them down the way.
“Go to the Daisy— go! ” he ordered. “Get to the lifeboats!”
Vincent glanced around and grabbed the others—pushing each of them down the walkway and demanding they leave.
The men did not argue; they raced down the walkway and headed for the dock at once.
Amory’s head was spinning, hardly able to see straight—but he grasped Vincent by the arm and started down the walkway as well, expecting him to follow—but he jerked out of his grasp.
Amory wheeled around and shot him a baffled look. “What’re you doing?! We have to go—”
“No. Not yet,” Vincent stated, turning to the nearest door of the ship. “Everyone else is still inside.”
Amory gaped at him, glancing up and seeing that the tallest part of the ship—directly above their heads—was lopsided now, creaking terribly and looking dangerously close to falling.
“How many people?” Amory breathed.
“Hundreds,” Vincent replied, turning to the door and reaching for it—
“No—no no no,” Amory stammered quickly, yanking his arm back. “You don’t have time!”
“ Tough ,” Vincent snapped—ripping the door open and hurrying inside.
Amory tossed up his hands and rushed to follow him.
Amory , Zyon said warningly from the back of his mind.
Momentarily, he decided to ignore the angel—and he marched with a brisk stride down the dark, narrow hallway inside the ship, barely lit and slowly becoming crooked.
Vincent strode down the hall, hammering on each door and yelling with authority, instructing everyone on board to evacuate and informing everybody that they were under fire. Men began to emerge from the rooms and squeezed past each other, heading for the exit.
Then—a loud creaking snap echoed from outside—and the entire ship jolted—Amory and Vincent both losing their footing and smashing into the side wall.
“Vincent—Vincent, we have to go ,” Amory gasped, pulling him back and giving him an urgent look.
“ You go,” Vincent retorted, turning away and resuming his hard pace down the hallway. “I can’t.”
“Oh, for…” Amory rolled his eyes and continued following him. “God… this is payback, isn’t it? This is how you always felt babysitting me, and now it’s biting me in the ass…”
Vincent didn’t hear him; he emerged at the end of the hall to a tiny narrow stairway that led down below, and he began thumping down the stairs at once.
More and more anxious by the second—Amory followed him down the stairs, and when they arrived in another narrow hallway, both of them spread out and knocked on the doors, screaming for everyone to evacuate.
Once more, men began to leave the rooms quickly, heading toward the stairway—
The ship made a horrible convulsion again—and everyone in this hallway lost balance and hit the wall.
“All right— we’re going ,” Amory said flatly—snatching hold of Vincent viselike.
He turned and met his eyes just in time to see Amory’s brighten blue—
Then all the sudden—Amory, Vincent, and all of the men from the lower deck hallway suddenly found themselves standing outside beneath the night sky, landing on the crooked ship floor, many of them gasping in shock and wheeling around with a stark disorientation.
Vincent’s brows raised, mouth drifting agape as he glanced around in surprise.
Amory took a quick surveying of all of the men here—nine of them nearby, and eleven of them further down the way, all heading for the lifeboats—then he looked to the neighboring ship in the distance, saying a silent prayer and harnessing his power once more.
Hoping they would all appear somewhere safe and unobstructed—his eyes shone blue yet again—and everyone on the top deck of the Royal Oak instantly vanished.
They all reappeared above the deck of a different ship—their feet slamming down onto its hard floor—all the sailors utterly rattled to their cores and rushing to one another, a couple of them sinking to the floor and cradling their heads.
Amory and Vincent found themselves standing by the side of the ship—now with a grave, perfect view of the ship across the way, the Royal Oak, slowly going lopsided amidst the waters as chunks of it continued to crumble and fall, and the ship began its long, slow sink to the bottom of the sea.
Vincent stared over at it with a mortified look strewn across his face—then turned to Amory and punched him hard in the arm.
“God— damn you! ” he yelled, swatting over to the damaged ship. “ I still have people over there! ”
Amory recoiled, grasping his arm and frowning in silence.
“I told you I couldn’t leave! I told you I couldn’t go yet, dammit—what part of that did you not understand?!” Vincent snarled furiously at him. “I’m responsible for them! I need to get them out! You stupid—bloody—God—damned— fool! ”
He raged furiously—and Amory merely stood in silence with a heavy grimace, allowing Vincent to yell at him and saying nothing in response.
“I’m responsible for them—I can’t—” Vincent stammered, raking his hairs back and knocking his hat to the floor, glancing between Amory and the sinking ship with frantic urgency. “I can’t just—I can’t just stand here and watch , for God’s sake! Why would you do this? Why would you do this?!”
He continued to rant with both anger and terror, cursing Amory and gesturing repeatedly over to the Royal Oak, and many of the men nearby them, those of whom had momentarily recovered from the shock of being transported, were gazing over at the sinking ship as well, slowly removing their hats and holding them to their chests with mournful visages.
“ This is why you came back into my life?!” Vincent snapped at Amory hatefully. “Just to pluck me aside and make me watch? ! I don’t need a damned guardian angel! ”
He carried on screaming even more—and Amory still stood quietly, with an empty expression and with no response, staring into him with a distant, somber stare.
He wasn’t sure how long the scene around him unfolded with morbid grace, how long the nearby sailors paid their respects and said their prayers for the fellow sailors still aboard the Royal Oak. Amory felt himself almost disconnected with the reality around him, truly disengaged with the darkness and the severity of it all, simply allowing Vincent to vent his peace—because, truthfully, he did understand the man’s anger. In fact, Amory could remember certain instances wherein the two of them were on opposite sides of the scenario—wherein Amory was the one who was angry or distraught, and Vincent was the one who played the role of the silent parent, merely waiting for the emotions to pass and for whatever lesson that needed to be learned to sink into Amory’s head.
Now, for the first time between the two—Amory was not the one who devolved into an outburst, and he was not the one who had to face the hard reality of the situation at hand. This was a young Vincent, one who had not yet gone through everything that had resulted in the wiser and calmer Vincent Hawthorn of the future, and it seemed that this was where he would first learn the lesson that not everyone in the world could be saved.
When Vincent finally stopped yelling at him, his hands were balled into fists by his sides, his chest rising and falling with his every angry breath.
“Well?!” Vincent then barked, throwing up a hand. “Say something! Say something, you blasted curse on my life!”
Amory remained expressionless, releasing a heavy breath.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
Vincent’s eyebrows shot upright, and he scoffed out an incredulous little noise. “You’re sorry? Oh… like bloody hell you are. You know what? You know what …?”
He jabbed a finger at Amory, glaring daggers into him.
“Don’t you ever come back into my life,” Vincent glowered through gritted teeth, leering at him almost threateningly. “I had better… never… see you again.”
Amory didn’t reply, didn’t look or feel hurt, and didn’t argue with him at all. He merely sighed, giving him a sad sort of look just before turning on his heel and marching away.
Adjusting his hat, facing away from the tragic sinking of the Royal Oak, and feeling a deep, insistent need to be gone from this time and place right now—Amory strolled out of everyone’s sight, closed his eyes, and calmly asked Zyon to guide him as he made his next walk through time.
He could only hope that his journey through Vincent’s life was almost over, because this was truly beginning to weigh on him.
As he strode down the ship on his own, choosing to blindly and faithfully trust the angel to land him wherever he next needed to be—he huffed out a breath and opened his eyes once more, both of them sparking blue.
Then—he vanished from the year 1939.
Mapleview, North Carolina.
December 23rd, 1988.
10:29 P.M.
Expecting to find himself in yet another foreign place, time, or country—Amory blinked his vision straight when his environment changed, and the cold winds of Scotland were no longer around him, the chilly air of the outdoors now having vanished, and the awful, echoing creaking of a sinking, collapsing ship was thankfully no longer audible anymore. The grave scene of the Royal Oak’s demise was now far gone from him, and he glanced around with a heavy sigh.
Then—he blinked, making a face.
Amory now stood in a hallway—a far more modern one than the one from the old hospital, and a wider and more normal one than the one inside the Royal Oak. No, this hallway simply looked modern, with fluorescent lighting and a white tiled floor, only some of the lights powered on, the end of the hall rather dark. This space did not look old, ancient, or out of place at all.
In fact—it looked familiar.
This long, wide hallway, with half of the lights kept off during the later hours of the night—he knew this place.
It clicked—and he took in a deep, apprehensive breath, swallowing roughly and gazing down the hallway before him, his heart beginning to pound.
“Z… Zyon,” Amory murmured weakly, placing a hand to the wall of the hallway and taking a slow, cautious step.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on the one room in this hallway that appeared lit and occupied—the one at the very end of the hall, its door open, and a man standing in the doorway, his back facing him as he spoke in a hushed, distant tone with someone that Amory could not see.
“Why?” Amory breathed quietly, his expression hardening, looking and feeling tenser than ever. “Why here…?”
He took another slow, silent step, approaching the room at the end of the hall as carefully and as quietly as he could.
Everything else has been done , Zyon disclosed to him. You are done with his past. Now comes the present and future.
Amory gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes locked vigilantly onto the man at the end of the hallway, who was standing mostly inside the office room, still not having noticed him.
He recognized the man from behind, even from here, and he felt a great, striking nervousness with every step closer to him he took, inhaling a deep breath and forcing himself calmer.
Then, Amory glimpsed to the side for a moment, seeing that one of the nearby rooms had a door that was made of slab metal, looking rather mismatched from the door across from it. He slowed to a stop for a second, looking up and down the hallway and seeing that several of the doors looked like this, not the way they always used to look here…
This is post-destruction , Zyon informed him. After they rebuilt .
Amory made a slow, thoughtful nod, then resumed his cautious pace down the way. He’d never seen the inside of Canterbury Lab after they’d rebuilt it, and he never thought he would…
He eased ever closer to the office room at the end, slowly beginning to hold his breath as he drew uncomfortably close to Valek, who still stood with his back facing him, still talking to whoever else was in the office…
Just be patient for a single moment longer , Zyon advised. And then… you may finally… act .
Amory made a final, understanding nod, slowing to a stop behind Valek and trying his best to listen intently to whatever he was saying.
Inside the office room—the demon stood facing the desk and speaking to his son.
Vincent was leaned back in his rolling chair, his old scrapbook open on the desk in front of him, turned to a page containing a very old portrait of the HMS Royal Oak. This Vincent—as Amory was just barely able to see from the hallway, and from a short ways behind Valek—was the Vincent Hawthorn that he knew, with the scarred face, the hat and the trench coat, the usually calmer demeanor, and the many, many years in his eyes.
“Despite how young you were… you were in command for her, y’know… since its previous captain got in a bit of trouble,” Valek remarked with intrigue, nodding once down at the scrapbook. “Right up until the old girl couldn’t handle battle anymore. She was anchored in Scotland… and you stayed with her and her crew, even then. Even when the Germans came with a submarine and sank her.”
Vincent stared, squinting oddly at his father.
“Was I on board when that happened?” he inquired.
“Oh yes,” Valek replied, nodding and scratching along his brow. “Quite the mystery, honestly. You were right in the blast zone of one of the torpedoes. Nobody was sure how you got out alive. Not even you. But… your crew swore up, down, and sideways that you saved many of their lives that day. That’s how you were politely and honorably discharged as a hero… right before we came to America.”
Vincent made a slow, strange nod, glancing down at the photo.
Valek gave him a grave, thoughtful stare.
“In fact,” he said, raising a finger and wagging it at him. “That… was the very first time I ever realized that I’d actually have to do something about you.”
Vincent frowned, facing him again and glaring at him.
“You see… for me, it was all very practical,” Valek explained, placing a hand to his chest. “Brilliant and respected business owner, with a prolific criminal syndicate working behind the scenes of it all… it was a practical choice, nudging you toward that war, enlisting you so young. Having a soldier for a son certainly helped to cleanse my image for a while there. You did wonders for my reputation… and your heroics at the end did much the same. But… that is just the thing, right there.”
He took a single step closer to the desk, staring coldly down at his son.
“I expected the façade of a heroic son,” Valek told him. “Not actual heroics from my son.”
Vincent continued to stare expressionlessly at his father.
Amory leaned ever closer, gazing into the room from behind the demon with a serious visage, his eyes shifting between the two of them.
“That was the first time… that I ever saw you show some sort of die-hard loyalty towards anyone other than me,” Valek stated. “And then, it was clear to me… that a certain project I had on the backburner needed to be hurried into action. This place, and its purpose, needed to be created… sooner… rather than later. Lucky for me, it was right around the time we finally tracked down our angel.”
Vincent said nothing, inhaling a deep cloud of breath.
“If you were going to show such loyalty to any human beings who happened to be in some form of a foxhole with you… then… well, something just had to be done about that, dinnit?” Valek said. “And praise be the U.S. government, and their willingness to fund such a thing. Demons run this world, son. They needed me to keep making more demon-run people… and I needed you to remain demon-run. You understand?”
Vincent did not respond.
“Of course, I didn’t actually have to use that exact method with you until a few decades later. I did have other ways of getting through to you, though. I did try with you… I tried quite a lot, actually… and, yet… here… you are,” Valek murmured ominously. “Still managing to find ways of clinging onto lost, pathetic, and wayward little souls like Amory Evervale.”
Vincent didn’t speak to him, his jaw making the slightest hint of a twitch.
Amory felt incredibly nervous to be lingering so closely behind Valek, peering out from behind him and watching as the two of them spoke. He glanced over at the demon, then back to Vincent behind his desk, his expression growing more disturbed with every second he stood here, listening to their tense and unpleasant conversation.
“Just speaking that boy’s damned name makes me want to spit venom and fire from the tip of my tongue,” Valek snarled. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do hate all human beings… but I have never hated any human being more than I hate him. I despise that stupid, worthless boy even more than your wretched Irish whore of a mother.”
Amory grimaced at Valek from behind.
Vincent gave his father a vexed sort of look.
“Is there a reason you’re fishing for a reaction?” he asked astutely. “Feel the need to test me?”
Valek glared heatedly at him, inhaling a slow, deep breath.
“I just find it a bit strange is all,” he told his son. “How my disdain for Amory Evervale was made clearer to me… when I learned that he had become one with an angel.”
He loomed over the desk, placing a hand on it and leaning closer to Vincent.
“And now,” Valek snarled with a rasp. “That same sensation of angry, nauseated disdain that I felt for him… is the same damned thing I feel looking at you .”
Vincent returned his stare, still showing no reaction.
Amory, however, felt another jolt of anxiety shoot up and down him the moment Valek sauntered toward his son’s desk, watching from the hallway with rapt vigilance, his heart beginning to hammer even harder.
“Aren’t you wondering why I came back early?” Valek inquired. “Aren’t you curious as to why I’ve come back into town long before I said I would?”
“Not particularly,” Vincent replied vacantly.
“Oh my God,” Amory breathed with frightful realization. “Oh my God, this is it…”
Valek hovered even closer to his son.
“Because I think we need to have a little talk , son,” he growled angrily. “Did you really think that bloody mental asylum wouldn’t be given any sort of security after everything that happened? Did you really think I hadn’t gone there myself to have a look around? Did you really think I wouldn’t at least bug the place? You’re slipping, boy.”
Vincent still didn’t reveal a hint of shock on his face.
“This is when he goes missing,” Amory uttered urgently, his eyes trained on Vincent. “This is when he kills him…”
“Ah-huh,” Valek nodded, flashing a bizarre half-smile. “I heard everything… and if you really, really think you can plan some kind of rebellion against me… then you haven’t been fixed well enough yet. This is the last time, boy. This is the last time I’m gonna remind you of your goddamned alliances. Mark my words. You will fold to me—or you will die this time—because I am really not about to go through all this again.”
Vincent took in a slow, anxious, and bracing sort of breath.
Then, his eyes flickered past Valek, staring into the dark hallway behind him—and he locked eyes with Amory there.
The two of them shared a deep, profound stare in silence, Amory looking incredibly nervous and on-edge, while Vincent wore a face of only clarity and resolve.
Seconds later, when he met eyes with the demon again, Vincent merely shook his head, strangely absent of any sense of fear, hesitance, or intimidation now.
He slowly stood from his chair, leveling his eyes with his father’s, placing a hand atop his old scrapbook, and returning Valek’s searing glare in full.
“My alliances are mine to choose,” Vincent said firmly.
Valek cocked his head, his eyes beginning to sparkle and flicker with a wicked red hue.
“Such a poor choice of last words.”
His eyes glowed brighter—and at once—Vincent grabbed his face—doubling over the desk as a terrible hoarse scream escaped him—writhing in absolute agony.
Valek stood with hands pocketed, not even touching his son—but his eyes glowed red, and he focused his power down onto him, the scarred half of Vincent’s face burning, and searing, and beginning to smoke—Vincent punching the desk and bellowing in tortured pain—flumping back against his chair as his hat flew off and his hands clasped over his face—
“Die,” Valek said with unfeeling conclusion.
His eyes burned a brighter red—and Vincent’s head tossed back—a crackle of death sputtering morbidly up his throat, face charred and burnt, blood suddenly streaming down the side of his head from the corner of his scarred eye—
And Amory stepped out from the hallway—thrusted his hand forward—and released a furious scream—eyes blasting blue as a huge bolt of lightning seemed to explode out from his every fingertip—shooting directly into Valek with a great thunderclap of power and sending him flying across the room.
Valek grunted—suddenly launched over the desk and smashing through the window with incredible force. The glass shattered as the demon soared out of the building completely, landing somewhere far outside.
The moment Valek was gone from the room, Amory lowered his arm, his eyes going back to normal. He instantly moved over to Vincent—who had fallen still, lying lopsided in his office chair—and he clasped him by the arms and pulled him upright, keeping a viselike hold on him just before vanishing from Canterbury Lab at once.
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