The Heart Of Asariel

Bonus || Kasper

Hi! To celebrate my stint as an Editor's Pick last month -- and surpassing 5k reads during that time -- I thought I'd put together a bonus chapter as a thank you for all the attention. This is set a short time before the events of the book and provides a little insight into Kasper's backstory, aka our slightly tragic science kid. I had a blast with his narration. He's fun.

Also the words kind of piled up so I apologise for its length. But I hope you enjoy all the same :D

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The gun was nothing special. A simple, decade-old pistol, painted the colour of dust, its edges catching on the moonlight that cut through the slatted window in sharp silver. In a way, it appeared at home on the beaten worktop. Perhaps if Kasper concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that it was a kitchen implement as harmless as a spoon or a whisk. It seemed a more comforting delusion than reality.

What part would a gun play in cooking? His fingers tapped an incessant rhythm on the wooden surface as if they could type out the answer in morse code. His bouncing knee knocked into the plinth to provide a beat.

Could it stir stew? In an industrial-sized bowl, maybe. Its barrel was too fat to be of much use.

He cast a senseless glance at the empty shelves. It was fortunate the kitchen's musty air twisted so sickeningly with the anxiety knotting his insides, or the thought of stew might have spurred a murmur from his stomach. As it was, bile rose to the back of his throat instead.

He swallowed it, his lips pressing together. The hours of the evening had slid by like sludge, but night finally sat clad in black outside. He needed to move, now.

In a hasty jerk of a movement, he shoved himself off his stool, snatched up the gun, and fled towards the door.

The cold air hit him like a tram. It hadn't been much warmer inside, but the wind was thin enough to rattle in his bones. Wrapping his spare arm around his chest, futile as it was, he broke into a jog.

Fast, he urged himself. If nothing else, he'd always been quite skilled at being fast, moving swift enough that he could stay unnoticed without really trying. His mother used to joke that he'd make a good spy. He hoped he was doing her proud now, much as he winced at the thought.

Spy. Assassin. The two could merge for tonight.

The gun weighed in his hand, a prickly lump of metal that bit into his palm and ached against his joints no matter how much he fidgeted with it. If he wasn't careful, he was going to press the trigger prematurely by accident. Unfortunately, the lightning threads of energy that lent him speed also had a tendency to twitch in every inconvenient muscle, and his nerves were having a field day right now. His head buzzed. Any moment now, he might spontaneously combust.

"Focus," he murmured as he dodged from one street to the next, eyes darting upwards to track the outline of buildings beyond. He had to focus. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he failed.

Another turn, and it loomed into view, piercing the sky with the grace of a knife dipped in ink. Its sparse windows winked at him, gleaming as darkly as the evil that dripped from the tower's every shadowed edge. Curling his fingers over the bricks of the corner he peered around, he allowed himself a brief, rushing surge of anger, one that granted him the glare he focused on the tower. If only he could somehow snap the building in two. Maybe if he had a big enough laser, he could achieve it. It was a pity teenage boys from the slums weren't allowed the equipment to craft their own lasers.

Focus. It wasn't the tower at fault, but its core, the name that leaked off it and rained fluid fear on the streets around it. The name belonged to a person. And people would topple just fine with a well-placed bullet.