1 The Servant of The Fiend

Histoire's hand trembled almost violently from the cold as she shoved it into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out the two inch long, slender metal object that was the front door key. The first attempt failed when her hand jerked upward, away from the objective which was the keyhole, but upon trying the second time, she was able to fit the object in and quickly turned it sideways.

She impatiently grabbed the door handle and pushed the wooden object away, taking note of the the other sound her ears picked up along with the creaking of the door. It sounded like the scraping of paper, and she was enticed to look behind the door out of curiosity to see a rectangular envelope lodged underneath the door.

The main account behind Histoire's sudden interest in the simple, brown piece of paper was that it had not even been a week since she moved onto the property, and therefore had not yet received the opportunity to subscribe to any mailing lists. She was fairly confident in the Jaegers informing her they cancelled all their pending subscriptions.

Histoire, along with many of her classmates who were synonymously known as her teammates, was an alumni to the country's most prestigious and eminent institution for gifted students. 'Gifted' was an ambiguous, vague term used to delineate the institution, for the students were not what a normal civilian thought them to be.

The world's general population was aware of the term 'étrange', a well designated word often used to describe the institution's students. Histoire was an étrange, a baby born with what was termed 'supernatural powers'. This institution, Íroas, based in Reading, England, fulfilled all the basic requirements of a normal school, enrolling students in primary all the way to secondary level learning grades, until they would finally graduate and attend its bi-normal university simply named Íroas University.

The main difference between Íroas and Íroas University was in that the former was a primary learning base for only étranges while ÍU was a secondary learning base in Aberdeen for both étranges and normal children, the latter of which had a number that dominated its campus.

Finally having graduated from Íroas, Histoire pursued a different path by enrolling in a normal university that operated independently from ÍU for her initial year. However, due to a certain unforeseen circumstance, she returned to Reading and enrolled in ÍU, attending her first lecture a month prior.

Returning to the present, her curiousity increased because no one yet knew of her transfer to Íroas, and her new living arrangement. Safe for the actual family that previously lived in the house, the Jaegers, another close friend, ÍU's accommodation management board and the roommate she lived with for only three weeks on ÍU's campus.

They were all aware of her moving off the campus, but neither knew of her exact new location but the Jaegers. Even her estranged father, who failed to provide emotional and psychological support when it was most needed, was no longer involved in the affairs of his daughter's life. She had justifiable reasoning for her secrecy, one she wasn't yet prepared to disclose.

Blaise Jaeger was a bosom childhood friend of Histoire. Right after they both started high school, Blaise's family moved cross-country to Aberdeen, the UK's wealthiest city. Blaise later moved out of the country to study in Germany. He was an éstrange who was also her former neighbour when his family still lived in Reading.

Despite the ample distance, Histoire and Blaise never cut contact, maintaining phone calls a few times a week when it was impossible to fulfill their childhood promise of communicating everyday. She was quite surprised, and unbelievably grateful, when he called her a few weeks ago to inform her of his parents' moving to Germany to close the gap between family. A further convincing reason being that the family of Blaise's mother also lived in Germany.

Blaise heard about the inauspicious cause for leaving the campus, and mentioned Histoire's name to his parents when they decided they would rent out the house rather than put it on auction. They would be leaving in a different country, but they still loved it so, but not as much as they loved family.

The house, two story mansion to be accurate, so happened to be only forty minutes away from ÍU's grounds. It was the perfect place for her to take refuge in the meantime. With that, she came to conclude that the envelope was from Blaise.

She was in desperate need to take shelter from the droplets beating down on her form. Without another thought, she crouched down and let her wet, trembling fingers handle the envelope from the floor. She pushed the door closed behind her with her free hand. For a split, petty second, her eyes glanced over the fingertips that had been robbed of their bearings. In place of her nails was a purplish flesh. To reject the sight, Histoire immediately averted her eyes from her fingers.

She glanced up at the circular clock above the doorframe, whose ticking could be heard echo throughout the quiet room on days when there was no downpour or wailing winds. It was thirty minutes past six; thirty minutes past sunset. For the past week, she managed to maintain the same schedule. It was necessary to avoid attracting an unwanted attention that would've been highly likely to occur anytime earlier during daytime.

Today she did face an unwanted problem; it began to rain heavily while she was on her way home, emphasizing winter's brutal nature. Carrying not an umbrella nor a raincoat because she didn't anticipate the rain, she had to run the ten minutes away from the nearest bus stop to the mansion, managing to shorten the normal time to seven minutes.

She was drenched to the bone upon arrival.

"I was hoping to avoid a cold this season. But I suppose a fever would be worse," she muttered to no one who was around to listen to her complaints and stood up straight, relinquishing her back of the heavy load that was her backpack. As though it contained nothing fragile, she let it drop to the wet floor with a loud thud.

She untied her soaked sneakers and threw them aside where the carpet didn't reach. Once done with that task, she brought her free hand up to weakly grasp the soaked lump of the false green hair and moved it away from her long, raven hair. The wig dripped water onto the floor.

The expensive, white carpet in the foyer covered only two thirds of the room, and the few feet from the door was a cold, polished wooden floor. The Jaegers moved away temporarily and there was no need to drag along everything in the mansion. Histoire was responsible for keeping the building stable and clean until their return.

Everything fragile such as the high-priced paintings and vases were moved to the basement. And, for a different reason, the televisions and all sharp utensils in the kitchen were stored away as well.

Black strands of hair clung to her rosy cheeks and forehead. She threw the wig to land beside the shoes. Unsurprisingly, her natural hair was soaked as well. Ignoring the items on the floor, she made way to the staircase on the right side of the room. As she walked past it, she tossed the envelope onto the table beside her laptop in the middle of the room. Upon reaching the bottom step, she took of her glasses.

Histoire's eyesight was not troublesome or disrepaired. A wig and a pair of glasses made for the perfect disguise. She hung them by their arms on the railing, but they slid down the diagonal surface to the floor. She didn't notice. She hurried up the stairs to the nearest of the many bathrooms and grabbed a towel off its railing and draped it over her head, blinding herself for a few seconds as she roughly dried her hair.

She didn't tremble as much as she did a few minutes ago and once her vision was returned to her, she stopped before the mirror. Histoire found herself unconsciously leaning towards the reflective surface. Once she was sure that her special emerald, idiosyncratic contact lenses were still in place, she returned the towel to its previous place and left the room.

She could not remember the true colour of her irises. She listened to the rain as she made her way across the mansion to her room. The silence in the building did not bother her as much as it did when she first arrived. She could not complain about it since she was the one who dismissed the servants of their duties. The recently employed ones, I mean, for the former went along to Germany with the Jaegers.

The room was not exactly hers, but it was where Blaise would sleep before he moved away. His manly scent lingered in the air, the sheets and everything. It was all delusional but would not be convinced otherwise. It lured her to his room and she refused to rest anywhere else. After all, he was her first love. It wasn't requited though because Histoire never received the chance at making a proper confession.

Once she had shed the drenched clothes and wore dry, comfortable ones, she moved to leave the room. But not before her eyes caught sight of the black, rectangular item placed abandoned on her beside table; a journal. It went untouched for months until the moving day and was left there for the past week. The longer she went without touching it, the happier she was.

"Not today either," Histoire said, the words intended for the inanimate object. She had the option of keeping it out of sight, but that option was not recommended. Emergency protocols demanded she keep one close to her being at all times. She kept one in her backpack as well.

Suddenly, no thanks to the cold, she froze in place before she bolted past the door and returned to the top of the stairs in the foyer. She hurried down the stairs faster than she had climbed them and practically lept to the backpack still soaked and discarded on the wet floor. Her heart raced as she hastily pulled the zipper and shoved her hand inside.

She pulled out a plain, white box, not wasting any more time by turning it in every way to see all its sides. Luckily, the box was not wet and she was able to sigh in relief before standing up. She walked to the table in the middle of the room and pulled out a chair. The box was torn apart before she sat down.

The new cellphone was untouched by the water and was not at all damaged. She would hate to have to buy another one because of her neglect. And only the gods knew how long it would take for her to get another one. She had to discard the first because a rambunctious brat decided to invade her privacy. She despised cyber criminals.

She sat the phone down and turned to the envelope, curious as to why Blaise would send a letter rather than the usual phone call. She had to remind herself that she discarded her phone and bought a new just a few hours ago, but he had the option of dialing the house's landline to make all easier.

Blaise's actions were nothing to dwell on and Histoire picked up the envelope and tore away at one of the shortest edges. She peeked inside and there lay two papers, a bright pink and a white one, neatly tucked into the envelope. The pink paper drew her attention more and she pulled it out first, reading through its contents as soon as she could see the words.

The letter was written in such a neat and formal fashion that it seemed more like an official report than a friendly letter. Then she realised it actually was a report. She became baffled as her eyes gradually went over each word. But the greatest shock came in the form of bold letters in the middle of the report.

"Verification of Pregnancy," she read, her heart skipping a painful beat. That abnormality was her queue to immediately stand up, knocking over the chair she was seated on. At that moment, damaged furniture was the least of her concerns.

Histoire was appalled and speechless for the few seconds before rational thinking decided it was the time to perform its duty. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, setting the chair upright. She sat back down.

For the love of relief, she had not laid with a man in months, let alone taken a trip to the gynecologist.

The report was written by a Dr. xxxxxx as stated on the top of the page. The report was a confirmation addressing the recipient of a four week long pregnancy. She remembered the second paper and pulled it out as well, skimming through it in hopes of clearing the misunderstanding.

It did. However, not in an expected way.

"I am heartbroken that you would suspect me to be lying to you, but I've sent the proof you asked for. I hope it will be enough to move you to finally reclaiming the courage you tossed aside and take responsibility for..."

The message went on but Histoire felt she had read enough.

She averted her eyes to the bottom of the page where another name was printed, a Miss Taylor xxxxxx. Before she discovered the message, the thought that the report was intended for Blaise's mother was already floating in her mind, but the white paper erased the thought and she was left uncertain of what to think.

The report did not confirm Histoire's or Lorelei's pregnancy, but rather of some other unknown woman. It was sent by a female, which made it only natural for the next assumption to be that it was intended for one of the men of the house.

Now, because Histoire still had a bit of passion for Blaise, she refused to believe he was the spineless coward who would discard a romance because he refused to take responsibility. Appearances stated that Miller was wholly devoted to Lorelei, but Blaise had not set foot in England in years. This Taylor would've sent the report to Germany otherwise.

Tossing aside the suspicion she had towards Blaise would mean suspecting his father instead.

As common courtesy, Histoire could not remain quiet about the discovery. It was possible Taylor was not yet aware of the family moving away and could send another letter. Histoire had to pass it on to the right person. Not the Jaegers, though, as that was likely to cause problems for the family. She would return it to Taylor and explain the situation to her.

Histoire then flipped over the envelope to see the return address only to be mystified. She then burst out in a short laughter. There was a slight oddity on the recipient's address, she suddenly noticed. The house number was off by a single digit. The envelope was in truth addressed to the house across Carelsen Street.

She was motivated to laugh at her ineptitude. The mailman must have been clumsy with the address, probably a recently hired employee. Histoire heaved a sigh and stood up, tucking the papers back into the envelope. If that was the case, all she had to do was walk to the mansion across the street and explain her mistake. As soon as possible would be best.

Histoire was not yet familiar with many of the neighbours on the street. However, Eloise was well acquainted and friendly with a few of them. Eloise was the name of the persona Histoire adopted when she moved onto Carelsen Street. It was the perfect cover because no one had realised who she truly was yet.

Histoire doubted the little information she accumulated about the young married couple that lived across the street through gossip would ever be useful, until this very moment that is. Apparently they were no more than three years older than her.

She never learned their names, but the husband was known to have worked alongside his father in a private investment company. He was affluent with an impressive rapport to match.

Eloise's new, chatty friends could not have exaggerated. His house was shockingly larger than the Jaegers. This was a neighborhood of wealthy and famous persons alike after all.

The only reason these rich folk bothered themselves with her was because they believed her to be a part of the Jaeger family, not for a certain reason she believed at first. The neighbors across the street would only take interest in her for either of the two possible reasons, yet she was eager to meet them.

She hurried to her room to prepare a dry wig and returned with an umbrella. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, she found her glasses at the base after spending a minute searching for them. With that, she picked up the envelope and abandoned the warmth of the house to enter the rain.