The sound of my father yelling in the living room of our apartment startled me awake. I slammed my head on the headboard as I sat bolt upright on my bed. Rubbing at my throbbing forehead, I tried to make out what was going on, to no avail, I couldn’t make out who he was shouting at, just that he was angry. I groggily wiped the sleep from my eyes and squinted at my alarm clock, it read 5:24 AM. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I groaned.

I fumbled for my glasses through a haze of sleep and shoved them on. Who in the world could be here this early? My dad and I lived alone and I couldn't remember the last time he had a visitor. I got up and stretched, then straightened out my pajamas. I opened the door and I heard the most regal and velvety voice I'd ever heard coming from the living room. it wouldn't have sounded out of place in a throne room. 

"I know not why you are so surprised Samuel. You know who I am. Did you honestly think that I would just forget about the deal?"

"I had thought that the deal was void when Emma died," he growled. Emma? Are they talking about mom? Mom had died when I was in my early teens in a freak accident.

Creeping into the living room, I found the voice belonged to a beautiful redheaded woman. It was hard to pin down her age. She could've been anywhere between 30 and 50. She wore an elegant ocean green dress that went past her feet and a fancy necklace made of gold with numerous precious gemstones embedded in it. It only served to strengthen the royalty comparison. Beauty doesn’t begin to cover how she looked. Supermodels wished they looked this good. You’d think her outfit would look out of place in our tiny apartment, but it was more like the apartment was out of place with her. 

In front of her was my dad. He's fairly built for a guy in his fifties. His short dark brown hair was messy, and he had on a shirt with the periodic table on it and a pair of gym shorts. He looked like he was ready to throw down at a moment's notice. I looked back at the strange woman. She turned to me as I approached. She looked eerily familiar, but I’m sure I’d never met her before. You don’t really forget someone like that. 

Despite all of her beauty I felt no attraction towards her. Not because I'm gay or anything like that, I definitely like women. It was more that my instincts were screaming at me that she was dangerous and not to be trifled with. Living in the big city most of my life taught me to listen to my instincts when something seems off. These that don't tend to get wrapped up into all sorts of trouble.

She smiled kindly and gave me a nearly imperceptible bow. "Greetings young one. Samuel, would you do the honors and introduce us please?" the woman asked.

"Umm, hi I'm-." I offered but a flicker of panic came across dad’s face as he interrupted me.

“His name is Lucas. Lucas, this is Glaistig, an old friend of me and your mother's.” 

What kinda name is that? I wondered, but didn't vocalize it. Probably wouldn't make for a great first impression. Dad continued hurriedly. “Lucas could you return to your room please? I’d like to finish our discussion before I have to go to work.” Glaistig narrowed her eyes at dad, but said nothing.

The pharmacy he worked at didn’t open for another three hours and it was only a five minute walk away. Whatever was going on it must've been wicked important for him to plan to talk for around three more hours about it.

 “One moment before you return to your room, please, if you don't mind, Samuel,” Glaistig requested.

Dad nodded, although he looked like he wasn't happy about it. She produced a weathered tome bound in black leather from behind her back. I had no idea how she had managed to hide it; I could've sworn the book hadn't been there a second ago. On it was an emerald green triangular shape made of interlaced arches. Other than that the book was blank on the outside. 

"Happy 25th birthday child. You will find this useful in the days to come." She assured me, cryptically. She was starting to weird me out a bit. What with her wildly fancy outfit, her showing up at the crack of dawn out of nowhere, and gifting me an old-ass book.

"Uhhh, t-thanks," I stammered as I took the book, wanting nothing more than to go back to my room and get away from this creepy wannabe noblewoman. It was much heavier than I expected and I nearly dropped it. The book was warm to the touch and the weight shifted oddly as I moved it. The edges of the pages seemed to be coated in shiny silver paint.

"Do nothing until I come and talk to you. I mean absolutely nothing," Dad warned. I nodded confusedly and turned to leave, grateful that I didn't have to be in the same room with the bizarre woman anymore.

“Oh Lucas, happy birthday by the way,” Dad added as I left. I gave him an appreciative nod and hurried back to my room without another word.

Sitting down at my computer desk, I did what anyone would do in that situation; I opened the book to a random page. It took me a second to process what I was looking at. The surface of the pages were moving as if it were a liquid, it looked exactly like mercury. The strange substance reacted to how I moved the tome as if it were a bucket of water and not thin pages. On the silvery pages there were runic symbols that resembled crackling electricity and indecipherable diagrams. It was a language I didn't understand if actually in one at all. The symbols subtly floated in place on the surface of whatever this substance was. They moved with the ripples of the liquid. 

I stood there dumbstruck just staring at the book on the desk. I raised a finger to prod the liquid-like page and nearly toppled out of my chair when my phone rang loudly, making a very unmanly squeak of surprise in the process.

"Goddammit all," I swore. "What now?" I closed the book and placed it on my desk. I walked over and snatched up my phone, heart still pounding from the sudden power metal of my ringtone. I glared at the screen and saw that my best friend, Mark Johnston, was calling. We had met in fourth grade, when he stood up to a guy bullying me for drawing characters from a show about a warrior princess. I had really been into that dorky show. We'd been friends ever since. I answered the phone.

"Yea?" It came out as an angry rasp. I winced a little. I hadn't meant to sound that angry, but I hadn't quite caught my breath from being startled. I heard Mark's androgenous voice, sounding a bit panicked on the other end of the line. 

"Hi Lucas. Umm sorry, did I wake you up?" he asked apologetically. If he's calling this early, it had to be for a good reason.

"No you didn't. just startled me. What's up?" 

"Could you come over?" he hesitated and then added, "I-I think I saw something I wasn't meant to."

"What do you mean?" 

"It's hard to explain. I'm trying to figure that out."

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is what I wanted to say, but what I said was, "Alright I'll head over as soon as I can. See you in a few." 

 "See you soon, and Lucas, please bring your dad's gun?" he plead. Fucking hell this morning just keeps getting better and better. I decided not to question the request. If he thought it was that serious and he was in real danger, I'd help him end of story. I owed him that much for all he's done for me over the years. 

"Ok, I'll try," I replied and hung up the phone. The freaky book would have to wait. 

I placed the book on my desk and hurriedly got dressed in jeans and shirt with a punk band's logo on it. I put on my black fake leather jacket and went to open the door to the hallway. I took my time turning the knob and slowly pushing the door open trying not to be caught sneaking into dad's room. 

Peered around the corner I saw they had moved to the sofa. They looked like, while they were still not exactly friendly with each other, they were at least a little more relaxed. I overheard the next bit of the conversation and that immediately changed.

"So you told the child nothing," Glaistig calmly asked. "I would ask why you have not done so."

Her voice was steady and controlled as a moment before but under that polite exterior was growing fury that promised a reckoning, the likes of which are seldom seen outside legends. I double timed to get the old pistol. 

I slipped into the room next to mine, and peeked out from behind the door to make sure they hadn't noticed. I hastily closed the door and turned around to find dad's old pistol. Dad’s bedroom was fairly typical besides a large chemistry set on a table. He had wanted to become a chemist when he was young but became a pharmacist instead. He turned his love of chemistry into a somewhat dangerous hobby. 

Dad kept a worn duffle bag in his closet where he kept an authentic World War 2 pistol he bought for a song back in his traveling days. He had a habit of maintaining the old thing even though he never bought it with him when he went out. I opened the closet then checked under a pile of dirty clothes where the duffle bag was supposed to be. Instead of the old bag was a brand new heavy duty hiking backpack, Complete with a sharpened spade, a bundle of thick hemp rope, two bedrolls, and a small tent strapped to it. 

I wasn’t really sure what to make of that, so I went ahead and opened up the bag and rifled through it. Among normal camping gear I found a stack of $20 bills wrapped in rubber bands, both of our passports and gun permits, about a week's worth of MREs, and four vacuum sealed plastic bags with different colored powders. The bags were each marked with different letters; S, I, R, and C. "Holy shit, this is a bug out bag." I realized. I filed that information away under 'shit to worry about later' along with the dawning realization that in the best case scenario I was going to be late to work. 

"Happy birthday to me," I muttered darkly.

Underneath the pile of mysteries I found the attachable rifle style stock that doubled as a holster for the gun. In it was a boxy pistol with a bright red number nine engraved on its broomstick handle. Next to it was an unfamiliar shoulder holster and a plastic bag full of clips. I awkwardly put the large wooden holster under my jacket and stuffed a handful of clips into an inside pocket.

Returning the rest of the gear to the bag, I went to the living room. They were now standing near the door. Glaistig had her eyes locked on dad's every movement.

I cleared my throat to get their attention and they turned to me. "I'm going to Mark's place,” I announced, “He needs my help with something." 

"This isn't really a good time for that. Can it wait?" Dad asked.

"No, it can't,” I assured him, “He might be in trouble."

"Do me a favor and bring the Red 9 with you. You can never be too careful."

I was taken aback by this. He'd never wanted me to touch the thing outside the couple of times he brought me to a range to teach me how to shoot. 

"I, umm, already have it."

I opened my jacket to show the shoulder holster. I could've lied and pretended to go get it, but I hate when I have to lie about things. In any case, I didn't think there'd be much of a point to lying. I had expected him to be upset that I went into his room and took the pistol, but he just asked me a question.

"Good. Where's the book?"

Relieved he wasn't mad about it, I answered. "It's in my room."

"Bring it to me before you leave, please."

I quickly returned to my room, grabbed the book, came back and handed it to him. Glaistig's veneer was wearing thin as her expression turned to naked hate. Her voice however remained polite.

"I regret what must be done but you have forced my hand. Samuel Andrew Page, on next we meet, it shall be as foes. Good day." I wilted as she turned to me. 

"I shall like to speak with you when time permits. Good luck young one. Be weary of the shadows," Glaistig said. She gave me a gentle smile and left. 

"Who the fuck was that?" 

"The bitch who got Emma killed." He paused in thought, then he added, "You should go help Mark. I'll be fine."

"What the fuck, she killed Mom? You told me that was an accident!" I gasped.

"Whatever made you get that relic of a gun is more important. I'll answer your questions later," he promised. 

"She sounded like she wanted to kill you, are you going to be safe? Will she come after me?" I asked worriedly. 

"No, she would never hurt you, but don't trust her a bit. She's wily as she is pretentious." 

I glanced in the full length mirror next to the door. I had a blocky frame, a sharp angular face, and was about 5’11. My naturally pale skin had taken on an ashen quality since I don’t go out a lot. My shaggy auburn hair was in greasy tangles. 

I’ve often been told that I’d be very handsome if I put a little effort into my appearance, I don’t see it though. No matter how much effort I put into my looks I always look like shit, so I just stopped trying.

I grabbed my keys and wallet off the entrance table then left through the door. I closed the door behind me and sighed deeply.

"What the fuck is going on?" I asked the empty hallway as I left to protect my friend.