Chapter Text
It wasn't a fine day in London, but when was it ever?
James stepped out from his carriage, looking around at the gloomy day before him. Passerbyers kept wide birth of him as he wandered out onto the street, fear rippling through them like a wave. Heads were kept down and conversations were kept short.
Walking down to the river side, James heard one of the working men whisper to another, It's him. Simon's prize.’ and had to remind himself not to react.
These men were beneath him, he reminded himself. To even acknowledge them would be above their rank.
Paying his attention back onto his job, James observed the wreck of what was once a 'okay-ish' riverside.
The amount of damage that had been done was impressive, he had to admit. It looked as though a whole ten barrels of dynamite had gone off, blasting through everything in its way. The Pier was twisted to the point of uselessness and the ground of the riverbank had great black scars running along it from where the black fire had lashed out.
‘-Mr. St Clair,” Captain Maxwell came up to him and bowed. ‘As you can see, we’ve dredged almost all the cargo. Some of the larger pieces can be salvaged. And of course the–’
‘You lost the boy.’ He interrupted, daring Maxwell to correct him.
James turned towards Simon's men, who were lingering like cockroaches around the edge of the bank. ‘Who was in charge?” he asked, a razor edge to his voice.
Silence rang through the men.
Then, movement. A young man with brown hair and broad shoulders stepped out of the crowd and stood before him.
‘I was.’ He spoke bravely, dropping down onto one knee.
James looked down at the man, pausing for a long moment. ‘Bad kitty,’ He frowned.
The man's face went red with embarrassment and James had to fight a smirk off his face as amusement swirled inside of him.
‘I accept any punishment Simon wants to give me.’ the man spoke, eyes downcast and face still red.
‘You let Stewards board the ship.’ James stated coolly, watching him for a reaction. ‘You let them kill your men. And now the one thing Simon wants is in Steward hands.-'
A voice cut in before James could say more. ‘The boys only been missing a few hours. He can’t have gone far. And as for the attack- If it had just been Stewards, Tom could have fought them off. It was the boy who- You saw what he did to the ship. We weren't warned. We had no idea that the boy was- that he could-’
James’ eye twitched. ‘Your son’s best quality,’’ he stated, -and he knew it was the man's son, for they looked too alike for him to be anything else- ‘is that he doesn't make excuses.’
The man's mouth closed shut with a snap.
‘I’ll find him.’ the man beneath him spoke, and James glanced down at his determined expression.
‘No.’ he corrected. ‘I'll find him.’
James turned away and pulled off his gloves. The three Remnants swung off their horses and came to stand guard around him. He did not shudder at their closeness like the men around him did, he had long stopped being unnerved by them.
Taking in a deep breath, James summoned his magic to bubble just beneath his skin. It was an odd feeling, wielding his magic, it was warm and soothing, but held an undercurrent of danger even as it sat just under palms. He could do so much damage with it, but in turn, it could do so much damage to him.
A dockman shakily came to him and handed over a bloody cloth. A piece of the boy's clothing he assumed.
Closing his fist around it, he pulled his magic out through him and in towards the cloth. As he pulled his magic out of him, he could sense others around him reacting to it, shrinking away as it slid over them.
Ignoring them, he concentrated on the cloth, feeling his energy drain from him. Simon had never had him use his magic to track someone before, and he wasn't sure he even could. But he couldn’t fail Simon now, not when he was so close to getting what he needed.
Pouring more and more magic into the cloth, James was so focused on it that he nearly missed the splash of a crate falling into the water. Flinging his head up, he only had seconds to envelop the crate with his magic before it slammed into him.
He threw his arm out, shaking as he caught the crate mid fall within his magic. His breath came out short and fast as his arm strained under the weight of the barrel.
Throwing it quickly to the down to the side, the crate shattered to pieces.
James breathed once in hard, and then he was scanning the crowd for who had just tried to kill him.
Watching the crowd, he was almost worried he wouldn't find the person because surely they'd fled, when, there, his gaze locked in on one boy in particular, standing beneath a crane with two people beside him.
Found you.
The boy looked to be around his age, with a tumble dark hair framing his handsome face. Their eyes didn’t meet but James felt at that moment as though the world had narrowed down to them two, an invisible line of connection pulling them closer.
Forcing his eyes away, he quickly barked out an order for the Remnants to give chase as the boy started running, his companions following.
Watching them flee, James frowned as a feeling akin to disappointment stirred in him.
Stepping back into his carriage, he couldn't help but think of the boy again.
Later, James found himself thinking of the boy again. Of his dark eyes and intriguing face, and of his stupid recklessness of trying to drop a crate on top of him.
He's dead, he tried telling himself. The Remnants got him and he's probably dead in a ditch somewhere.
But no matter what he told himself, he couldn't ever quite get himself to believe it.