The Dragon's Lair

[kindaemissary]

It wasn't his typical Friday night, but Nicolas wasn't there for pleasure. It had taken him close to twenty minutes to find the place, but when he got close enough he could feel the music more than he could feel it.


The Aria "Ballroom" was at the first floor of an old run down building two blocks west of the subway stop under 79th and Melbourne. Nicolas didn't spend much time of this side of the city, so it was a little difficult to navigate around, but once he got there he was in.


Normally on the weekends, Nic would head to the coast with his friends and go boating on the Atlantic. He was one of those trust-fund kids; never had to worry about not having exactly what he wanted. He'd just ask and everything else would be taken care of.


He had actually never been to a rave before. Sure, he enjoyed the loud music to an extent and the atmosphere was fine - he was used to the excessive amounts of alcohol and drugs from college parties off campus - but it was still a little weird to be experiencing it for the first time when he couldn't really do much. He knew he wasn't there to get high or drunk, but with everything happening around him it was a tad harder than he thought it would be to keep focused on his purpose for being there.


For the last couple of weeks, there had been a string of killings on this side of town. Reality was that in every part of NYC that wasn't near his neighborhood was falling apart. Whether it was robberies or an excessive amount of overdoses happening around, the city wasn't fairing too well.


Nicolas never had to deal with any of this first hand, but he saw things on the news. Disturbing and disgusting things. So while he could have been out on Cape Cod swimming in the ocean or riding a jetski on whatever flavor of the week decided to invite himself on the trip, Nic was walking around the bottom of an empty pool and nodding his head along to too-loud music. He didn't recognize anything that was being played, but that was kind of the point.


Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a pack of Marlboro blacks and put one to his lips before giving it a light. He wa a stress smoker, a driving smoker, a social smoker, a drinking smoker. Nic wasn't addicted and that was really the point. They just helped him calm down.


He sat down on a bench with a group of friends that were passing around a pipe, and he turned it down when it got to him.


The night went on like that. Nic walked around and tried to find anything that looked like suspicious behavior, but after his third drink it was kind of hard to keep his head straight. It wasn't like he was going to NYU for Criminal Justice or anything, so it was probably a stupid idea to think that he could have figured any of this out by going out to a rave.


After a while, when the group of teenagers passed the pipe back to him, he took it. He wan't going to find anything anyway. It was a waste of time to not at least take one hit. He had stopped smoking by then, and he placed the pipe between his lips and lit the pot before taking a long inhale. It was harsh in his lungs and felt a little like freedom.


He doesn't remember much after that.

- - - - - - - - - -



​

In the morning he was hungover and sore. It was still dark when he managed to open his eyes, and he didn't remember getting home, but he knew that wasn't at the Aria Ballroom anymore.


Nicolas sat up on the floor and cracked his neck before rubbing the back of it. His shoulders were stiff but that happened when you fell asleep on the floor. He pulled one of his legs towards him in a loose crossed-leg position.


It took him a couple minutes to realize he had never been there before. With all of the books on the walls and shelves in the center of the room, he would have thought he was in a library, but libraries normally have people in them, right?


He found his phone in his front pocket. There was only nine percent battery left. It was almost 10AM and there was no one around. It should have come off as alarming to begin with, but Nicolas was mostly confused. He used his hands to help steady himself on his way up and looked around when he had a better view of the building.


There had to be close to a hundred thousand books in the vicinity and aside from libraries, who had those kind of books?


Nicolas took off the jacket he was wearing the night before and folded it over his arm. His shirt was clinging to his back with sweat so the less layers the better. He continued walking through the aisles of shelves for a couple more minutes before he sat down on the floor and pulled out his phone.


Seven percent, now.


"I should have brought my charger," he muttered, scolding himself. He should have sent his parents a text, but they didn't care about him and he didn't give two shits about them either, so that wasn't really an option. Nic opened his messages and sent a quick Don't think I'm coming over later - talk soon to his friend Jaxon. Once he left, he still needed to eat and shower. He needed to sleep off this hangover more than anything. Drinking five Long Island ice teas wasn't the best idea.


He watched the battery drain from his phone as he putted around the internet, but he might as well hang out until he actually felt like leaving. It wasn't like anyone was waiting for him back at home.

 

[void31]

Damn kids.





The thought arose from an ironic concept in which wandering children were a problem for Victor Grange--as if, on a day to day basis, he found himself encountering loose juveniles that just happened to wander onto his property. Like he was an old man constantly burdened with these "damn kids" that kept loitering on his lawn and upsetting his trash cans.


But he didn't have a front yard (or any trash cans, for that matter). He had a sixteen-story athenaeum under the Empire State Building, and he no one wandered down here.


If there was any wandering to be done, there would be some reason behind it. He never would have consciously released a teenager into a field of ancient relics such as that which he owned. Restive though he was, he was no destructive moron. Not as of recent, anyway.


Given, in hindsight, he wasn't entirely sure why he'd so graciously invited this particular ankle-biter into his home. He didn't do this kind of shit because he was starved for company. More often that not it was the result of someone screwing around where they shouldn't be, looking for "answers" when there were none to be found worth the consequences--but those types of people were usually at least old enough to vote.


A child had been onto him. Victor was both startled and amused at the concept. Didn't they have better things to do these days? Smoking, drinking, sex, drugs, rock and roll, that sort of thing? Whatever it was they did to entertain themselves through the hellish trials of young adulthood?


And he had to wonder what the kid's friends thought of his detective work. Late night excursions into the unknown for the sake of locating the mastermind behind a string of murders--is that what peer pressure was doing these days? Had he been trying to impress some mindless cheerleader captain, or a throng of stoner buddies that he'd never truly fit in with?


Victor did not take kindly to recollections of his own childhood, but he knew for a fact that he'd never been tempted to chase after a serial killer, let alone for fun. The kid was stupid, but he had balls. He'd give him that.


It was this--unbearable curiosity, Victor concluded, that made Nicolas Cardou so very interesting.


And it was Victor Grange's own confusion (an exceptionally rare emotion for a man who knew nearly everything) that pushed him to initiate a genuine, verbal, human conversation with his prey. A highly unusual occurrence in the bowels of his library, all things considered.


By the harsh light of the young man's phone he stalked his way noiselessly to the front of the chamber, hesitating at the opposite end of the shelf adjacent to the boy. And there was another thing--why was he so casual about his current scenario? His guests were often nervous, to say the least. This creature just played with his screen like they all did, so blatantly unaware. Not nervous, suspicious or panicked; just trying to entertain himself.


Victor turned to shift some books back into place, grinding his teeth restlessly. The suspense was killing him. At least he didn't touch anything. That was more than he could say for many of his guests.


With a gentle sigh, he regarded the young Mr. Cardou sans eye contact, focusing on adjusting the various tomes currently at eye level. "For a kid who woke up in a fucking library you don't seem particularly concerned."

 

[kindaemissary]

Three percent battery life. If he needed to call a cab when he decided that he was awake enough to leave, he'd have to walk to a populated street and wave one down. There was no way his phone was going to make it until then.


He tapped on a link on his feed at the same exactly time a voice from beyond spoke up. Nicolas physically jolted from where he was sitting and moved his back quickly so that he was facing the man. He didn't recognize him, but it wouldn't make sense if he did. Last night was a blur after his fourth cocktail.


"Fuck," he muttered to himself, and he turned off the screen on his phone and quickly pocketed it away. His heart was beating hard in his chest, but the guy had scared the shit out of him. It was an acceptable response.


And the man seemed to loom over him, but that was most likely because Nicolas was sitting on the ground watching him carefully and the man was standing straight up like a hawk watching prey.


Nicolas swallowed down the dry saliva in his throat and scooted back a foot or so. "I didn't think there was any reason to be concerned," he managed to say. It was compiled and he didn't sound nervous, but the atmosphere in the room had definitely shifted when he noticed the older man's presence. Nic figured he had stammered into the building trying to find a place to lay down, but maybe that wasn't the case. It sure didn't seem to be anymore.


It wasn't easy, but he tried to read the man's facial expression to figure out exactly what was going on. During one the ethics seminars he had last semester, his class was taught how to evaluate body language to see if brokers and insurance agents were on the same page as them. If they would go in on a deal or if they would leave them to dry.


He wasn't able to gather anything useful.


Nic didn't get anxious that often. He wan't easily agitated, stressed, unnerved. But this man definitely did that. It might have been the fact that he was still sitting on the ground under him that made the powerplay more obvious, but he wasn't sure.


"Do you think I should be?" he asked after a moment. He didn't get up from the ground, and while that would have been a good idea, he figured that continuing to sit was in his best interest. Especially since he didn't know exactly where he was or who the man was. "Should I be concerned?"

 

[void31]

He produced an absent shrug in response, as if he were just as oblivious to the sensible answer as his guest apparently was. "I don't know. Just seemed to me like someone your age should be a little more cautious about where he ends up in the morning." A house, a hotel room, even the backseat of a clunker he could understand, but here? Most people would have shown the barest hint of confusion upon waking up surrounded by books. Libraries often didn't make the list of places most likely to harbor hungover teenagers.


Unsatisfied with the organization of some collection on African mythology, Victor began abruptly reorganizing again; this time by age--or rather, dust gradient. His constant need for change, even in the slightest details of a pattern, had long driven him into a maddening state of mind. This compulsive desire to remain in a perpetual state of motion was evident in his appearance: his sandy hair was thick and somewhat wavy, but looked as if it'd been brushed to the side with no more care than what came with a few strokes of his fingers. The golden skin on his exposed forearms was mottled here and there with thin ivory scars that suspiciously enough took the form of fingernail imprints. There were visible creases that gathered at the corners of his eyes and lined his forehead. The corners of his mouth were perpetually turned downward. He blinked too fast and breathed too fast and shifted the tomes around as if he'd done so more than a thousand times before, with an urgency that spoke something significant of the general twitchiness in his every movement. He was restless.


So perhaps it bothered him that Nicolas Cardou was not. In a situation that would surely have pulled Victor straight into a storm of anxiety and anger like a riptide of emotion, he could not understand what there was to be so coolheaded about.


"What's your name?" He knew Nicolas' name--again, he was no moron--but he wanted to see whether the response would match the truth. If the boy was not afraid, what reason did he have to lie? Victor scowled at the empty space between two volumes, clutching its leather-bound counterpart to his chest. He shifted the book just to the left into the space, then replaced the new space with the leather tome. Another gentle sigh pulled at his lips. There was no true satisfaction to be had in this place.

 

[kindaemissary]

"I'm not a child," Nicolas replied easily, but he seemed to relax back into his own body when the man shifted his visible attention from him to the books. If what he had said was true, then Nicolas was indeed in a library, and while that might garner some kind of physical confusion or worry into people his age, he was good at keeping collected in stressful situations. If he couldn't, he'd have way more tickets than he actually got (he only had to pay for three). And again, he probably would have had a much harder time during his scholarship interview for university.


He was decently good at keeping himself together on the outside when the inside was compelled to scream.


The man gave him that weird feeling you get when someone's following you for too long on your way home from work. It's normally just a coincidence, or they keep going once you turn after a couple more miles, but it always make your heart sink a little bit each time they follow you onto a new road. This guy, whoever the hell he was, was that driver who kept getting a little too close when Nicolas was trying to turn off at his exit only to follow him off and to the gas station. He left a worried taste in the back of his mouth.


If he replied with a real name, the guy could find him once he left if he really wanted to. Even if there was a slight interest, it was always a chance. Using a fake name could also have it's consequences, but how would he know if it was fake or not?


Nicolas breathed in through his nose and adjusted himself to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor. He needed to show him that he wasn't entirely alarmed by his situation. He had no idea who this guy was or what he wanted, but he wasn't about to get visibly concerned. If he did, the man would gain the upper hand. If he could keep himself together until he got himself out of the library, he'd be in much better hands.


"Wesley," Nicolas lied. He regretted it the second it came out of his mouth, but he would have regretted saying his real name more. He had gotten used to lying to his parents over the years about what he was doing and who he was hanging out with, so it wasn't that hard to keep his breathing regulated through a simple lie anymore. Being able to handle manipulating people came in handy when he needed to get out of an obligation at school or with his friends, but he wasn't sure if it would help him here. The man seemed a little too sure of himself. It wasn't in his body language, but it was in his eyes. He wasn't nervous like Nic was, even if their bodies shared different things.


He cracked his knuckles together in a firm grip. "Are these all of your books?" he asked, trying to change the subject. It might not work, but it was worth a shot. It would be better to keep the attention off of him for as long as he could manage it. "Is the library yours?"

 

[void31]

Victor put little effort into concealing his vexed expression. Wesley? Is that the best he can do?





Of course you're a child. The words tugged at his lips, but he bit them back. Only a child could lie so horribly. Given, Nicolas wasn't supposed to know that Victor knew his name--and he clearly did not--but still, who was called Wesley these days?


It was a good try, nevertheless. The boy hadn't looked like he was telling a lie. There were no darting eyes or stuttering words to be found. Already he was a more skilled survivalist than most adults Victor had met--although, that wasn't really saying much.


Perhaps he was a threat. Or at the very least, the beginning of one.


"They're not mine, but I do look after them." he said with measured nonchalance. He'd yet to look Nicolas in the eye when he spoke his replies. His high-strung demeanor tended to make petty things such as eye contact a great struggle for him; not because he was anxious or intimidated, but because focusing on one place for an extended period of time was a monumental task. This was part of the reason he'd chosen to remain in such an expansive dwelling: the vast variety in literature kept him almost constantly occupied.


He snatched another volume from the shelf, somehow unsatisfied with--something about it. The lining of the pages, perhaps. The way it'd been sitting a little crooked, slouched against its neighbor. He didn't know. Something.


As he was simultaneously soothing his discomfort and searching vehemently for something else to revive it, he took initiative again. "Is that what you're concerned about, Mr. Wesley?" There was a hint of what should have been sarcasm in his tone, though he'd started to wonder whether the boy would pick up on the idea that perhaps Victor wasn't buying his lies--or his attempts to change the subject, for that matter. He placed the book back its original place--straighter this time--and finally turned to face his company.


It wasn't all that he'd expected, and yet, he really couldn't have expected anything else. Young white urban boy, delightfully brunette and brown-eyed. New York's finest teenage dream. Victor crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, expectant. "Whether this place is mine or not?"

 

[kindaemissary]

He was becoming more on edge as the seconds passed, but he was better at not letting it show than giving himself over to whatever this guy was trying to pull over on him.


The man didn't seem convinced by his lie, but it could have been something else entirely. There was no way he already knew who he was and smelled the lie a mile away.


But the conversation continued to steer away from him when the man went off on a tangent about the books, so Nicolas had a few moments of relief from the anxiety from the situation. He still hadn't even seen the man's face from a straight forward view, but maybe that was part of all of this. If the library wasn't his property, why did he seem to offput that Nicolas was there in the first place? It could have been like he still smelled a little like marijuana and the tang off nicotine was drenched into his clothes, but the man didn't seem to put any notice into his physical form as he paid attention to the book shelf.


It only took a single moment for his inner self-confidence to fade away. They made eye contact when the older man turned his attention towards Nicolas with finality, like Nicolas's entire existence was insulting to him.


Nicolas gulped around the dry path in his throat and tried not to read too much into the stillness of the room. As the older man stood, towering over him still on the floor, Nicolas became momentarily alarmed.


"W-Who are you anyway?" Nicolas cursed himself for the hesitation, but he couldn't go back and change it. He gave away the fact that yes, he was indeed concerned, and no, it wasn't about the property ownership. The older man still had more physical anxiety than he, did the waver in his voice made it clear that Nicolas was the one who was nervous here.


He stood up from the ground and took a step back, placing one of his hands in the pack pocket of his jeans with his lighter and kept it there. He wasn't so alarmed that lighting a library on fire was going to be his first choice of action, but it was better than trying to use his cell phone as a weapon if he needed it.


Nicolas wasn't really sure what to do in this kind of situation. People didn't tend to make him uneasy. He knew about self-defense, but living in a world where people had guns and knives he didn't think he'd ever have the need.

 

[void31]

Victor smiled. It was a dry, bitter thing, as if he'd just been made the butt end of a joke and was struggling to brush off the shame.


"Does it matter?" His eyes widened somewhat, as if he were speaking to a child that couldn't understand the simplest of concepts. His voice was lilted with the standard East Coast drawl--vowels obnoxiously stretched, r's practically nonexistent. It wasn't quite as intimidating as he sort of wished it was, but it suited a restless, wiry, quick-thinking man with far more bark than bite, such as himself.


He'd yet to uncross his arms, clearly unhappy with Nicolas' current line of questioning. "What's with the interest in me? You're the one who wasn't invited, kiddo." That wasn't entirely true, but he'd always found it more effective to make them as nervous as possible beforehand. He had to give the guy credit, though—some adults were pissing themselves at this point.


His hands twitched, yearning for something to occupy them. He crushed the urge to go back to the shelves. All the same, he was unbearably impatient—fingers quivering, toe tapping, teeth grinding. Nicolas' responses were far too brief for Victor's taste. He was too accustomed to things moving quickly; given, he was usually the one to make them move, but this kid was like a rock. Moving him was taking more effort than Victor was willing to sacrifice.

 

[kindaemissary]

Nicolas opened his mouth to bark back something in retort, but he held himself and swallowed the words. There was no need to make the man more agitated than he already seemed, even if had the audacity to smirk at him like he was an idiot. "Obviously not," he said, and he moved back a tad on one foot. He wasn't that intimidated. Not really.


He kept one hand in his back pocket, fingers gripping the lighter tightly. He wouldn't do anything with it, it wasn't likely at all, but it gave him that extra feeling like he was in control of something throughout this whole situation. He didn't think he had control anywhere else.


It was hard not to pay attention to the man's incessant twitching, but Nicolas managed to keep watching his eyes. "It's not like I planned to wake up in a library," he countered. "You think I woke up this morning with the idea in my mind that I'd be here, somewhere I've never been before with nothing but my wallet, cigarettes, and a half dead cell phone?" He took a deep breath and glanced away from a second before shaking his head and looking back at the other man. "Where is this place, anyway? It looks like no one's been here in years."


The building was old, but it was obviously taken care of. The books were old and wrinkled on the shelves, the floor was dusty, and the wallpaper looked a little droopy. There were a couple windows here and there but nothing close enough so that Nicolas could even get a good look outside.


He turned his attention back towards the man and scratched his neck with his free hand. Even through all of the nervous ticky exterior, the man was something else. Nicolas wasn't sure if he was attracted to or frightened by him, but most of the time they fell into the same box. He had wiry eyebrows and thick dark hair, broad shoulders that looked like they could carry an entire other person. His stature was unsettling. Nicolas took another step back on the opposite foot and scrunched his lips together. "I told you who I was," he recalled, leaving out the unspoken even though it was a lie. "I think the least I deserve is a name."

 

[void31]

He recoiled somewhat, as if burned by the audacity of that final statement. "You don't deserve anything," he sneered. "You're in my house, Wesley." The fictional name was spoken with bitter disdain, revealing Victor's incredulous annoyance. He didn't like being lied to. He couldn't imagine anyone really did.


Nevertheless, he was tempted to answer the question. Perhaps he should lie too. "Victor." Or not. "Victor Grange."


Usually after such a curt introduction he'd at least throw his hand out for a quick gesture of trust, but the truth was that he didn't trust Nicolas Cardou. No one who was that detached could be trusted. Victor was an intense, emotional man, perpetually active and prone to abrupt changes in mood. He spoke a mile a minute and cursed in between every word, never really monitoring his colorful gradient of tones. Considering the person he'd spent the most time with was none other than himself, the fact that someone else could stand here before him and guard their expressions and body language so closely was shocking, to say the least.


He found himself liking the way the young man stuttered, if only for that sliver of feeling that he could connect to. It was like finding just the right spot to scratch to kill that pesky itch--satisfying, but only temporarily.


Victor tapped his fingers on his own rib cage. When Nicolas moved backward, he moved forward.


"And I never said I wanted you out." Shit, he needed something to hold. Parched pages were beckoning him from a nearby desk, but he resisted. Fiddling with his books would just put the kid more at ease.


With long, slim fingers he plucked at the clean white fabric of his dress shirt, thoroughly unsatisfied with the feeling. He needed something he could move--something like--


Victor became abruptly aware in that moment that Mr. Wesley had been tucking one arm behind his back. He's hiding something. Victor frowned. His affinity for small objects and a sudden yet intense urge to know what was being hidden from him snatched all his attention away from his attempts at intimidation. Give it to me. The thought lingered at the back of his mind, instinctive. It surfaced whenever a friend was holding anything that could fit in the palm of their hand--keys, wallet, pen. Give it to me. Let me see it.





He didn't ask Nicolas to give it to him. For all he knew, it could be something entirely unamusing to hold--or nothing at all. Or something with the potential to kill him, which was unlikely, but possible.


Victor sidestepped around the boy and craned his neck, frowning deeply as he tried to peer around him without moving behind. "What've you got there?"

 

[kindaemissary]

It was impossible to hold back the flinch at the man's change in tone, and Nicolas knew the moment the fake name slipped out of his lips that the man knew he was lying. He didn't know how or why, but the chagrin of being so easily found-out put him in about the same distress that the situation had already given him. But Victor told him his name, and if he wasn't lying like Nicolas was a step forward. Or maybe a step back. It was a little hard to read the situation. Everything about Victor through Nicolas through a little loop, and he should have picked up on it the moment he made himself apparent, but apparently he wasn't as observant as he would like to think.


They were going to start dancing sooner or later if Victor kept stepping with him in rhythm. He felt like he was going to be cornered into a wall like some kind of prey, miniscule compared to Victor's presence in the room.


Nicolas tried to think of something to say that would make the man leave him alone, take a step back at least, but nothing was coming to mind. Especially with the advancement forward, Nic was a little more on edge from the increased proximity. He felt like he couldn't look away from Victor now. When the man glanced down towards Nic's hand tangled in his pocket, he took a moment to look away and collect himself before making eye contact once again.


The lighter wouldn't change anything, he hoped. He had cigarettes too, so if for some reason Victor thought he was going to burn the place to the ground, there was always that to hold onto. A single lighter wouldn't help him out anyway. It would just create a lazy flame. It couldn't destroy an entire building even if he wanted it to.


Victor getting closer yet again didn't help his slowly slipping facade. Before he was almost calm, and his exterior definitely was. Now he was barely keeping himself collected under the constant eye of Victor.


He pulled out his hand from his pocket and glanced away before facing his palm out in front of him.


You're a fucking idiot, he cursed at himself. Whatever happened to staying out of other people's business? You should have left the moment you woke up, and now instead you're stuck in a fucking library with some twitchy old man.


"It's just a lighter," he offered, and after a few more seconds he forced himself to look back at the man. He seemed to be slipping a little bit too, but Nicolas wasn't going to start pushing buttons when he was already in deep. He took a split second to take another half-step back. If he hadn't shown Victor what it was, there was a chance the situation could become even more unnerving, and he figured it was better to play at his game. "Like I said, I have cigarettes. Nothing menacing about a lighter."

 

[void31]

In that moment, Victor wasn't particularly interested in cigarettes, or any other excuse for why his visitor might have been harboring a lighter. He stared at this cheap, flimsy piece of plastic as one stares up at a night sky lush with the celestial hues of the Milky Way. His expression was that of restricted awe and wonderment, poorly concealed by wide eyes and twitching lips.


He snatched the object from the center of Nicolas' hand before his voice of reason could alert him that it wasn't the most appropriate thing to do, given the current situation (it was never very quick to influence his decisions anyway). He had no apparent interest in producing a flame; he merely turned the thing over repeatedly in his hands, a curious toddler faced with the simple delights of tiny, tangible things.


Victor ran his thumb over the smooth plastic and very nearly groaned. He hadn't been gauging Nicolas' reaction over the last several seconds, though he could conjure a vivid enough image. Only his closest friends were accustomed to the quirks that came with a ridiculously tactile person such as Victor Grange.


"You're too young to smoke." He tossed the lighter back to Nicolas just as abruptly as he'd taken it. "But I'd love to see you try to use that cheap fuckin' thing as a weapon." He was vaguely curious, too. What exactly had the guy been planning to do, if Victor had lunged at him or something? Nicolas was almost less than half his size, and Victor often gave off the impression of someone who might rip your tongue out just for kicks. And yet, Nicolas hadn't seemed afraid—apprehensive, perhaps, but not afraid. Perhaps he was used to dealing with weird, jittery sociopaths with a fetish for pocket-friendly objects.

 

[kindaemissary]

Nicolas caught the lighter in both of his hands and pocketed it back away. With each second that passed, he was more confused by Victor's actions and everything happening around them. He didn't even have the time to react when the lighter was ripped from his hand, but he did take the moment of undivided attention to take another step backwards.


No matter how hard he tried to figure out what was happening, he was still left without words every time something else came into focus. He couldn't put a finger on it, but something seemed too familiar and off-putting about the entirety of the situation. It was just out of reach.


"It's a stress thing. I don't smoke because I have to. There's a difference. Nicolas took a sharp breath and moved his arms to his sides, not wanting to grab onto the lighter again. He wasn't too sure why not. "And I wasn't going to use it as a weapon," he added as an after thought. He wasn't sure if that was true or not. He considered it, but he wasn't stupid enough to believe that a lighter would save him.


Victor was watching him like he was trying to plan his next move. He watched, alert, the way that he was looking at him, but he didn't think that there was anything he could do about it. He didn't have the upper hand. If he decided he wanted to leave and made a move to do so, Victor would always know the building better than he would. Nicolas only had a lousy lighter, and that wasn't about to do anything. He wasn't stupid enough to run either, and while there was the unsaid fact that he would need a weapon to get himself out of there, he wasn't about to chance his survival without something that could actually do some damage. For the lighter to be useful, he'd need a couple gallons of gasoline. Without it, he was fucked.


"Is there a purpose to all of this?" he asked after a few moments of silence. He didn't want to offend Victor, but he figured he might have to push if actually wanted to figure any of this out. There was no way he had got himself to a library without some kind of help all the way from the Aria Ballroom. Everything within a couple blocks radius of there was either abandoned or in everlasting construction. He wanted answers, but he wasn't going to get anything without a little push and shove. "If not, I'd really like to be on my way home and take some advil. Standing here for no reason is wasting my time."

 

[void31]

Victor narrowed his eyes. Fair enough.





He pulled a chair from a nearby desk situated between shelves and straddled it, his arms folded across the top, amber eyes regarding Nicolas skeptically.


"Why don't you tell me your name first, Wesley?" Again he spoke the faux title with bitter conviction. It wasn't so much the fact that he'd been lied to that burned at the back of his mind, but that he'd been lied to so horribly. The very least the guy could do was pick a more believable name.


"Because we both know—" He caught himself twitching to get up, stopped, and settled for drumming his fingers on the back his chair. "That lying to me isn't gonna get you out of here any quicker."


His mouth twisted and twitched. He was frowning again, though he usually was. "And then we can start with why you're so goddamn interested in everything that's been going on lately."

 

[kindaemissary]

Nicolas took another step back when Victor pulled out the chair. His shoulders jerked against his will and then crossed his arms across his chest as if they would shield him from anything that could go wrong.


He wasn't customarily this intimidated when it came to strangers, but these weren't the average circumstances. Victor Grange was different, and not in the way Nicolas expected. His physicality didn't give off that much of a menacing atmosphere, but he spoke in clipped words and Nicolas knew that he wasn't playing a game anymore.


It was stupid to have lied; he just didn't think that everything would be turning out this way. He glanced away for a moment. "Nicolas," he murmured and switched his attention back to Victor.


For a few minutes, he actually forgot about the reason why he was out last night in the first place. He didn't go out to drink and hit a bong. Nicolas tilted his head to the side slightly and looked Victor over a second too-long to the point that he was staring. His attention darted back to the older man's face. "That's why I'm here," he said with conviction. There was no doubt in his mind anymore. Even if he had got to the library himself, Victor had to be the one that let him stay there.


He had known he was watching out for him the whole time, and that must have been how he knew that Nicolas was lying about his name.


"I didn't think I would find anything," he admitted, and he moved another half-step back. There was a bookshelf behind him, but there was a few more feet of free space until he would step into it. He took another away from Victor. It was getting obvious that he was uneasy. "I knew that everything was happening around here, but I didn't think that going to Aria would actually lead me anywhere." He quirked his lips to the side and increased the pull on his arms. "I guess I was wrong."

 

[void31]

Victor leaned forward, somewhat entranced by this increase in visible emotion. "Really?" He raised his eyebrows. "Then what were you so damn interested in?" If there was one thing he could be relatively certain of, it was that the average teenager of today was not spending the majority of his or her time trying to enact vigilante justice. He'd never thought that Nicolas was intent on actually finding whoever had committed such unspeakable crimes (read: him), but a fascination alone was reason for concern. Victor had made far too many mistakes in the past to be easygoing now; even a curious child was a potential threat.


He sneered again in response to those few brief heartbeats when Nicolas' attention had strayed from his face. Such a petty slip could have been for a number of reasons (and he didn't dare let his mind wander), but whatever the reason, Victor didn't appreciate it. He had enough to deal with already without hormone-drunk teenage boys looking him over.


"Something you wanna share?" He draped his arms over the back of the chair and tilted his head, mouth slightly agape, perpetual sarcasm dripping from his words. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult, because he hadn't tried to make it this difficult.


The only reason he'd had any reason to organize a personal meeting with Nicolas Cardou was because of his family. Wealthy, upper class, business-involved individuals were often his least favorite type of people, right behind law enforcement and the more recognized vigilante. When the former produced the latter, Victor became reasonably anxious.


Given, Cardou hadn't ever come close enough to warrant a physical interference (unlike many others of the same nature), but Victor had to wonder what exactly he was doing. None of his friends, family, or acquaintances had been killed; no teachers, pets, familiar faces, nothing. He hadn't known these people. So why was he risking his life to figure out why theirs had been taken?

 

[kindaemissary]

There had been no indication to point Nicolas to Victor specifically as the person behind the crimes, but the mood around the room kept shifting. Victor was also the one to bring up the murders, and that was something in its own right. He basically pointed the finger at himself and waved a red flag. Even if he wasn't the one killing people, he had to know something. Otherwise he wouldn't have known that Nicolas was curious about the case.


"I'm wasn't trying to seek anything out," he said after a moment's hesitation. There was no need to comment back on Victor's acknowledgement of his roaming eyes. His eyes stayed on the older man's face from then on, not wanting to stir up anything else. "I thought by putting myself in the setting where these things kept happening, I could put some pieces together. Going to Aria was a weak lead, but at least one of the victims was there before they died. It was better than doing nothing and waiting for a news report to come in."


Nicolas shifted the weight on his body onto one foot and felt the pressure of his phone in his back pocket. There was no doubt that it was dead by now, and if he ended up needing to call someone he was fucked. It's not like this side of town had payphones anymore.


When Nicolas was in his first year of university, he spent the night in the slumps for a community service project. He was thinking a lot about joining a fraternity at the time, and even though he didn't end up doing so, he made sure than his philanthropy ventures seemed appropriate before rushing. There was a lot less violence then, but there was still more than there was where he grew up, and additionally, went to school.


He saw a homeless man shoot a rat with a taser so he had something to eat, and for the first time in his life, he felt like the rat.


"When you think about it," Nicolas started, "it's actually weird that the general public isn't as curious about everything as much as I am. If people actually cared and spent time looking into events such as these, this side of the city wouldn't be in such a depression." He bit the inside of his cheek and rolled back his shoulders. "Maybe all those people wouldn't be dead."

 

[void31]

Maybe. Victor peered up at the other through his dark lashes. He hadn't said anything direct or blatantly obvious, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to believe that this young man wasn't already deeply suspicious of him. Really, was there any evidence in his favor at this point?


He almost wanted Nicolas to make an accusation. He had to have known that Victor was the one behind all this violence--or at the very least, the one who had smothered all investigations into it. Why else would he have brought him here? He didn't want recognition for his work (God, no, the very thought of public attention disgusted him), he just wanted some acknowledgement for what he'd made so very clear. He wanted the pure and honest truth laid out between them, not concealed behind layers of caution and fear.


Then again, he couldn't just come out and say I did it.





Victor squirmed.


Then he rose up out of his chair, stretching in the process until his spine popped. He drummed his fingers against the solid wood and ghosted forward until he was all but bearing down on Nicolas.


"It's none of your concern that all those people are dead." He tapped a cool forefinger against the other male's collarbone. "You're rich, you're smoking with your buddies on the weekend, what do you care?" For a moment his expression of disgust had returned, deepening the shallow creases in his skin. Victor shook his head as if it were the most difficult thing in the world to comprehend. "Listen. I think you're a weird fuckin' kid, so I'm gonna take you home, get it? And when you get there, stay there. Because if I find you out prowling around the streets again sticking your nose where you don't belong, I'm gonna break every damn bone in your body and leave you on the curb. Understand?"

 

[kindaemissary]

Nicolas stepped back so that he was against the bookshelf, and Victor moved with him until his finger was pressed against the bottom of his neck. It was easy for people to regulate their breathing when they needed to gather their thoughts, but thinking clearly was hard enough considering the proximity.


He knew the threat wasn't a laughing matter. He could see it in Victor's eyes that if Nicolas did indeed come back, he'd be a pile of mass and bones before he knew what hit him.


Everything seemed to make sense, then. He wasn't positive that the man was behind the murders before any of this, and while he had some sort of idea once they began talking, this was definitely the moment of truth. There was no reason to be skeptical of Victor anymore, but all the more reason to be afraid. If the repetitive intimidation to stay away wasn't enough of a confession, Nicolas didn't know what was.


"So you're just going to let me go?" The question came out a little unimpressed, half disbelieving. "You have the one of the only people that know the truth right in front of you and you're just going to see me off with a warning?" As he spoke each word, he felt the pressure of Victor's finger against his collarbone. "Do you think I'mn not going to come back just because you tell me not to? I might not have a real reason to be here, but isn't the fact that I'm here enough to concern you?"


Nicolas dropped his hands from their crossed position so that they were at his sides in case he needed to make a quick move. "I know your name. I could go to the cops."

 

[void31]

"You could go to the cops." Victor mused aloud. He could. "But you won't."


He curled his fingers into Nicolas' collar, pulling him through row after row of lofty oaken bookshelves that remained ever-watchful in their private shadows. The deafening silence went unbroken around the rhythmic echo of their footsteps against solid marble floors. Everything had an echo down here--footsteps, voices, breathing. It would drive a man to levels of insanity that Victor never again wanted to breach.


He smirked when they arrived at their final destination: a grand oak desk situated against the far wall between two thick, sable curtains that extended from floor to ceiling, its surface alight with the dull yellow glow from a small lamp. Lying in one corner was a plain manilla folder.


"You think I don't take these things into consideration?" He released his grip on Nicolas' shirt and pinned him instead with an accusatory copper-colored eye. He flipped the folder open and spread out its contents slowly: everything from old photographs to hospital records to copies of school work.


"I know about you, your parents, your teachers, all your buddies..." He flipped through document after document, holding them securely between his fingers so as not to misplace anything that might become important if Mr. Cardou did make such a decision. "So yeah, sure, you could go to the cops. You could also shatter both your legs in a horrible accident. Then your parents could get in a nasty fender bender, some of your buddies might drown at a pool party sometime next week--" He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth and shook his head. "I dunno, Nic, sounds like a little more trouble than it's worth, don't you think?"

 

[kindaemissary]

As Victor grabbed his shirt and jerked him forward, Nicolas barked out a "Hey!" but strode the rest of the way behind him listening only to the sounds of labored breathing and his own shoes scuffing against the hardwood. He knew that he shouldn't have kept pushing. It was a bad idea, and he knew it. All of this was. If he had stayed away from Aria and left the case alone, he wouldn't be in this mess.


The amount of paperwork that about him and his life that was stuck inside that envelope was alarming in its own right, but the wicked look in Victor's eyes was really set his mind is perspective. There were copies of prescription refill receipts and every ticket he had ever gotten, information about each of his father's investment properties, his mother's gym address. It was exceedingly nerve-racking.


"You've done a fair share of research," he remarked. It was mostly an intimidation tactic, he knew. If Victor didn't want to scare him, he wouldn't have pulled all of this together. Nicolas could have moved away from Victor - there was no hand forcing him to stay still - but he had cold feet. If he stepped away, it was a challenge. It was him denying the proof that Victor had, saying that Victor wouldn't keep his word. Nicolas didn't know for sure if the threat was empty or, but with everything laid out in front of him he really didn't have too much time to figure that out.


He kept his eyes on the papers as Victor flipped through them. "I'm not going to say anything," he ensured and looked back up. He didn't care too much about his parents - they didn't really care about him either - but he still cared enough to keep them alive. His friends were something else, and that wasn't a road he wanted to take. Also, the idea of two broken legs wasn't that appealing.


It didn't really make sense why Victor wouldn't just kill him, but he wasn't about to ask. He had already provoked him to no end, and it's not like Victor was going to tell him. He didn't even say out loud that he was the murder; why would he tell Nicolas why he was getting off practically scot-free?


"I'll keep everything to myself. I don't have anything to gain from going to the police, anyway."

 

[void31]

"That's good to hear." He replaced everything in the folder and slid it back to its corner.


Another frown was stuck to his pale lips as he turned to face Nicolas completely, one hip braced against the edge of the desk, his free hand planted firmly on the other. Victor tilted his head. He had enough light now to really look at his company--relatively average-sized, maybe on the taller side. Pretty standard-looking kid. Bright eyes, nice hair. Strong features. It was hard to believe just how willing some people were to throw away such a pretty face.


"Think mommy and daddy give you enough trouble as it is, yeah?" His mouth quirked upward at the edges. He couldn't say he enjoyed needlessly antagonizing people (he didn't like putting forth the effort to do anything with ultimately more consequences than benefits), but he was fascinated in the possible outcome. For such a stony, serious, and generally odd kid, Victor had to wonder just what it would take to provoke a reaction from Nicolas Cardou.


He shifted his weight off the desk and tucked his hands in his pockets. "Y'know--" He glanced down briefly at his tapping shoe, the shiny patent leather standing out in stark contrast to dull, dusty marble. "My folks used to treat me like shit too. That's why I left. Fuckin' brilliant, don't you think?"

 

[kindaemissary]

Nicolas didn't like the way Victor looked at him. His eyes seemed to rake over every inch of his body. He kept his eyes ahead and focused on Victor's, but that was mostly because he didn't want to be surprised by some kind of attack when he wasn't paying attention. Victor had the upper hand more so than he did before, especially after showing Nicolas the collection of information he had on him.


He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. "They're not terrible," he amended, but he didn't deny what Victor had said. Sure, he might of had every single material thing growing up, but his father was always working and his mother pushed him onto a nanny up until high school, so he never really got the chance to grow any normal relationships. He had friends, but it wasn't the same. His parents always tried to shower him in gifts and money when he came home for a weekend or finished a semester of school, but it didn't make up for the fact that they weren't around throughout his childhood.


"And they're paying for my education." If there was anything holding him back from leaving his parents in the dust, it was definitely a money issue. Without them, he'd have no way of affording university. It might not have been such a big deal to other people, but Nicolas took pride in his education. He might not put too much effort in his work, but he always did well academically. He was in the top 5% of his graduating class and additionally got a hefty merit scholarship to NYU. But none of that covered the costs of living or clothing or textbooks. He still needed them.


Victor acted like he knew Nicolas's entire life, knew everything about him and wanted to prove that he could do it better. "You really can't hate someone you don't know," he added after a moment. "My parents might be shit, but until I graduate, I'll put up with it."

 

[void31]

Victor snickered, though his vague smile had long since vanished. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth as if trying to rub something off. "Hell, I never went to college, just look at me." He left it at that. He was a well-dressed man apparently living in an underground library filled to the brim with presumably priceless books, and there were a lot of ways to judge such an existence.


He shifted his jaw from one side to the other and rolled his shoulders, restless thoughts picking at the back of his mind. Finally he peered up at Nicolas from beneath his sandy bangs, eyebrows raised like he'd just asked a question, and time was running out for the answer. "You look like the type who would put up with it."


He leaned over the desk, opened a drawer, and fished around in it for a moment before withdrawing a set of keys. They didn't appear to be belonging to a vehicle, although there were several hanging from the ring. "Come on. You're going home."


With a gesture for the other male to follow, he traced the curve of the wall into the shadows. Moments later, the entire chamber was alight with a pale florescent glow. It was a vast, beautiful room, with high, arching ceilings and countless rows of shelves broken up only by the occasional desk, statue, or armchair. Mythical beasts of varying natures were carved from dark wood and set at equal intervals above huge satin curtains that lined the curved walls. The entire place was one big circle.


Victor stood at the base of an enormous winding staircase that curled against the walls like a coiling serpent. He gestured again to Nicolas, still blinking against the prompt invasion of light. "Let's go."

 

[kindaemissary]

It was hard to interpret exactly what Victor wanted to get out by continuing to comment on Nicolas's life. It would be easy to get irritated and explode, but he was almost out. No need to muddle everything up now.


He followed Victor away from the desk and glanced back over his shoulder to look at the folder again. He stayed a few steps behind the older man and watched the interior of the building change. It would have been a good idea to take the papers if he had a form of leverage, but chancing it when he could end up getting stabbed wasn't exactly the best idea he could have had.


"Why are we walking upstairs if we're leaving?" he asked. They headed up the staircase, Nicolas a few stairs behind Victor. He still didn't want to get too close. Victor might have been promising that he was going to bring him home, but Nicolas needed to keep a little bit of doubt in the forefront of his mind. If he forgot about the scare tactics and the threats, he'd be a million times easier to jump, to take advantage of.