Page 11 of The Hunchback

It was like between the day of my arrival in Paris and the following morning, they had swapped their powers. Because there was no question Frollo’s power hadn’t been particularly remarkable that first day, whereas Kwazeem had elevated mine like never before. And now this?

There was something strange going on, and I would get to the bottom of it.

For now, having been spared breakfast with Frollo—who had Praetor duties to attend—I wandered the streets of Paris, bustling with activity as the citizens frantically prepared for the Festival. A construction crew had begun building a massive dais near the landing pad where guests of honor—including High Seraph Phoebus—would sit during my performance. All around the plaza, surrounding the Well of Power, tall poles with a cushion at the top had been erected. It took me a second to realize they were extra seats for the additional Elohim who might attend and not have a seat at the main table.

The Elohim didn’t mingle with common mortals. After a few minutes of sustained exposure, the constant aura of energy emanating from them would indispose anyone with no affinity with ergokinesis, which meant the majority of the population.

More workers toiled assembling multiple long tables along the edges of the plaza, where a giant buffet would be laid out for the citizens to partake in the free feast of the Festival of Light. Over the centuries, the Festival had become a mish-mash of pagan rituals. While its true purpose was merely to refill the Well of Power so that the city and its dependencies would have electrical power for the next three to six months, other more exciting celebrations had been tacked on to it.

In its symbolism, the Festival would bring light to chase away darkness, and with it, the demons that lurked within. The population would therefore don disguises of monsters, fearsome creatures, or loose representations of things that terrify people such as death, diseases, poverty, etc. Even now, many of the stands in the open market had a plethora of costume offerings. I slowed down to examine them, in particular the masks, each more creative than the other. Knowing I had no personal use for a costume, the merchants thankfully let me be, content to give me a polite smile while ogling me with curiosity. Constantly being observed by multiple pairs of eyes could get a little irritating, but at least they didn’t bother me with unnecessary inane conversations.

The almost recluse-like life of endless training on Obscura had made me a bit of an introvert.

I stopped dead in my tracks upon reaching the fourth stall, coming face to face with the most stunningly realistic Fallen mask. It came with two options for the outfit; either a long, hooded robe, or a holographic suit that created an illusion of their greyish-blue skin and scales. Fascinated, I walked up to it and ran my fingertips over the beautiful dark-grey horns on the mask.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked a woman’s voice behind me.

Startled, my head jerked to the left, looking at her over my shoulder. In her mid-fifties, black hair streaked with a few strands of silver held in a bun, the woman’s hazel eyes stared at me with an unreadable expression.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s quite stunning and incredibly realistic.”

The woman, who visibly ran the stall, came to stand next to me and touched the silvery scales alongside the jaw of the Fallen. Kwazeem didn’t have scales there but some kind of bony spikes with rounded tips that I’d been dying to touch as well.

“Althea—commonly referred to as Old Nan or ‘the Hag’ by the less respectful youth—made it, along with the seven other masks you see here,” the merchant said, waving at them.

They were all just as flawlessly made, all of them representing real life entities deemed dangerous and fearsome by the locals. But unlike the other masks I had seen in previous stalls, hers didn’t depict them as grotesque. Her work struck me as respectful towards them.

“Her work is phenomenal. But this one remains my favorite,” I said with sincerity, my gaze returning to the Fallen.

“A Vestal drawn to a Fallen. Beware, child,” the merchant said with a knowing smile. “For some reason, their kind holds a strong appeal for yours when you are in fact meant for the Elohim. Be careful that you do not fall alongside them.”

“Fall?” I asked, taken aback by that comment.

“The few Vestals who have allowed themselves to be seduced by those creatures have lost their powers, their affinity with ergokinesis permanently severed,” the woman said in a slightly dramatic way. “They were driven out of town in shame and cast out as pariahs. The only reason they weren’t executed was because the law forbids raising a hand against an ordained Vestal, even one on whom Vesta herself has turned her back.”

That winded me. I had never heard of Vestals losing their powers, and we’d never been warned against fraternizing with the Fallen. It had been a given that any of us who became ordained would be paired with an Elohim, a Praetor, or one of the high magistrates of the Circle we would be assigned to.

“Are you sure they are draining the powers of the Vestal?” I asked, dubiously. “Before the divine wars, before they became the Fallen, the Light Bearers used to enhance the powers of the Elohim.”

“They did,” the woman conceded. “But they also fed from their energy. Why do you think that, aside from Vestals, common humans can no longer live on Elysium? Without the Light Bearers to absorb the excess energy swirling around them, the Elohim—especially the Seraphs—might as well be nuclear power cores with wings. In fact, before the Fall, the Fallen were equally called Light Bearers and Light Eaters.”

Obviously, I was aware of that part. With female births among Elohim being extremely low, it explained why many of their males attended a new Vestal’s first Festival of Light to find out if she could be their soulmate. But only a few of us received that honor. As an Anointed, the Matriarchs at the temple on Obscura where I’d been raised were holding high hopes that I would not only be one of the chosen, but that my mate would be one of the most powerful Elohim of Elysium. Some going so far as betting I would be High Seraph Phoebus’s mate.

I had hoped so as well. But now that I’d met a certain hybrid, my whole world had been turned upside down. I barely knew him, and yet…

“Since the Fall, the light of the Elohim has died within the Fallen,” the merchant continued. “Now, they hunger for it. And this is why they are banned from our cities. They suck the light out of any offspring that could become a Vestal, and turn your Vestal sisters into commoners. Involuntarily though it may be, they would cast us into darkness if allowed near us. And yet, how beautiful is the beast?”

She added that last sentence in an almost wistful way. I suddenly wondered if she had personally known or been attracted to a Fallen. Could her stern warning be fueled by bitterness? As much as her arguments couldn’t be dismissed, my experience with Kwazeem had been the direct opposite. He’d enhanced my power like never before, and part of that still lingered.

“Very,” I whispered in a non-committal way. “I would like to buy this, with both the cloak and the holographic suit,” I said, taken by a sudden whim. Having always been a by-the-book kind of woman, this new impulsive, almost impetuous side of me was disconcerting.

The female merchant recoiled, her eyes widening in shock. “Youwant to buy a costume?”

“It’s not for me,” I explained quickly. “But I have a friend whom I think might enjoy it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me but didn’t pry further. Good for her, too, because I wouldn’t have welcomed further intrusion into my personal business. While I considered myself a generally nice person, my claws swiftly came out when anyone thought to bully or control me.

“What else does Old Nan make?” I asked casually after paying her.

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