By: Echo
Cassiel Jareth Devereaux was born to Frank and Thadia Devereaux on December 13, 1884. No one quite understood why the young Grecian woman would name her son Cassiel, but they never asked; they had stopped trying to understand her long ago.
As the years passed they soon realized that the name had not affected the young boy, nor had he inherited his mother’s odd disposition, though he had taken after her in almost every other respect. It was no doubt the boy looked like her, with his cloud of messy black hair and sparkling brown eyes. Even his facial features resembled hers. It was only in his pale skin that he took after his father.
He grew to be a cheerful, if slightly mischievous child. He lived a relatively happy life as he grew up in Brooklyn. He spent his younger years playing games with the neighborhood boys. It was there that he received his first kiss, learned to fight, and discovered the best routes to take to run from the bulls.
It wasn’t until he was 15 that he really began to learn how fragile his world was. It was then that his family moved to Chicago. There still seemed to be a happy medium in his life. His family was far from rich, but they weren’t poor; his siblings were generally easy to get along with; and his father, while not the friendliest man around, was not the least bit mean spirited.
Out of all of his family, it was his mother that fascinated him the most. When he was younger he imagined that she was a fairy princess. Once he reached his teen years he knew very well that she was a mortal, but he always sensed something mysterious about her that intrigued him. She kept to herself most of the time, going about her duties quietly and without complaint. She never neglected to pay attention to her children, and yet she always seemed somewhat distant. Especially after they left Brooklyn, but Cassiel was the only one who seemed to notice her increasing listlessness, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
February 24, 1900
Cassiel walked as quietly as possible into the small house his family lived in. His father was at work, his sisters were in school (as he should be), and his brother was probably off in one of his usual haunts. That left only his mother unaccounted for, and she was probably still out shopping for supper. Still, he moved inaudibly through the house, his ears pricked for any sound that might tell him someone was present. He heard nothing but the occasional groan of an old board beneath his feet.
After some time he finally risked speaking. “Ma?” He heard no reply as he stopped outside of the door to his parents’ room, which was slightly ajar. “Mother?” He said again, reaching out to push the door open but hesitating at the just before his fingers touched the rough wood. He stood absolutely still, straining his ears only to be met by an eerie silence, broken only by a faint plop. He frowned and concentrated, hearing yet again the barely audible sound of a single drop falling into a puddle.
Curiously, he brushed his hand against the door, letting it slowly creek open. He froze as the crack widened enough to reveal what was in the room.
A few days later . . .
It wasn’t until Cassiel heard the hollow thud of dirt being thrown onto the coffin that the reality of the situation really sunk in. He quickly turned away from the grave. Anna ran to his side, reaching up her little hand and placing it in his. “Cassiel?”
He looked down at the little girl who was peering up at him with large brown eyes, her curly black hair framing her face. He picked the six-year-old up and held her, forcing a smile. “Yes, Anna?”
She frowned slightly and gazed at him curiously. “Is mama an angel now?”
Caught off guard, his breath caught in his throat for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah.”
She seemed to detect his sadness and immediately tried to reassure him, “Don’t be sad, she’s got nana to keep her company.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “And I’m still with you.”
Cassiel kissed the top of her head affectionately. “I know, and I’m certainly lucky to have such a dear little sister.”
Immediately after the comment he felt an indignant tug on his shirtsleeve. “What about me?”
He smiled down at the ten year old. “You too, Nat.” Like every one of his siblings, Natalie had inherited their mother’s black hair and dark eyes. Elaine, the oldest at the age of 20, differed the most. She had somehow escaped the chocolate brown eyes and had only hints of gold in her green ones. Her hair was the same raven black color as the others, but she and Cassiel had been graced with strait hair.
Elaine approached him with a tearful Meg in tow and offered a slight smile. “Do you want me to take Anna?”
He glanced at Meg for a moment. The fourteen-year-old had spent most of her life tormenting him, but now she was strangely silent, clinging to Elaine as she never had before. He shook his head, keeping an arm around Anna. “She’s fine.”
Elaine nodded as Anna tightened her grip. “All right. Conor wants to talk to you later.”
Cassiel nodded acknowledgement and started to carry Anna home. Halfway back Elaine glanced at him and sighed. “Oh, Anna. Don’t make him carry you all the way back, you’re too old for that.”
His arms were starting to ache with the young girl’s weight, but he shook his head anyway, “I don’t mind.”
Elaine hesitated for a moment before nodding, “If you say so.”
A few hours later, after friends and family had gone back to their own homes, Cassiel sat on a chair with little Anna sleeping in his arms. He looked up as he noticed Conor standing beside him. “Hey there, C.J.” Conor muttered quietly. He had always refused to call his younger brother Cassiel.
“What is it, Conor?” Cassiel asked, trying his best not to wake Anna.
Conor motioned to the sleeping girl. “Think you can escape without waking her up? I want you to come with me.”
Cassiel hesitated for a moment before he carefully tucked Anna in bed and walked back out to Conor. “Where are we going?”
Conor smiled grimly. “You’ll see. It’s one of my privileges as an older brother, and I think you need this more than anyone.” He slung an arm around Cassiel’s shoulder and the two walked out of their home.
Later that night . . .
“Another round!” Conor yelled, slamming more money down on the bar.
Cassiel picked up the shot and quickly downed it. They had lost count of what round they were on about three rounds ago . . . or maybe four. That’s about all he had forgotten. That and how to sit on a stool without falling off. The memories were still there, engrained in his brain.
Conor laughed and slapped him on the back, making him spill most of his shot.
“But ma, Cassiel’s a sissy name!” The young boy objected, remembering his wise, older brother’s words.
His mother, a pretty young woman with dark brown eyes and curly black hair, pulled the covers up over her son and brushed a hand against his forehead. “Cassiel is a very nice name.”
“Easy for you to say; it’s not your name.” He replied in a sulky voice.
“Well, the first person to be named Cassiel didn’t complain.” She said matter-of-factly.
He eyed his mother suspiciously, “Who was that?”
She smiled, aware that she had caught his attention. “The angel Cassiel.”
“Like one of the angels that fights demons?” Cassiel’s eyes sparkled for a moment as he imagined a terrifying angel with a flaming sword.
His mother smiled a little. “Not exactly. Cassiel was the angel of tears and solitude.”
His mouth dropped open a little in shock and he frowned in disappointment. “I’m named after an angel that made people cry?”
“No, of course not.” She quickly reassured him. “He didn’t make people sad and lonely. He helps people that are sad and lonely.”
Cassiel blinked in surprise, “So he made people happy?”
The smile suddenly disappeared from his mothers face as she looked at him angrily and nodded, “Yes, he made people happy; something you never could do. You couldn’t even save me. You didn’t even try.” In a moment the blankets were crimson and soaked with the blood that was pouring from her wrists. He cried out as he felt drops of it streaming down his face-
“No!” Cassiel sat up in his bed, wiping at the wet drops on his face frantically. He calmed down enough to look at his hands and see that the clear drops were tears and not blood. He squeezed his eyes shut, realizing it had just been a dream.
He laid back down and held a hand to his pounding head, trying to remember if he had let anyone put his it into a vice. But there wasn’t much he could remember. Well, he remembered round three at the bar; that is, round three after the second time they lost count. He also very vaguely remembered throwing up in the street somewhere, or a few somewheres. Past that, he didn’t have a clue. He didn’t particularly care at this point, so long as he never did anything so stupid again.
“Cassiel,” Elaine walked in with a coffee cup and gave him a soft, sympathetic look. “I thought you might have a bit of a headache.”
He scowled and nodded, replying sarcastically, “Yeah, a bit.”
She sighed and held out the coffee cup. When he accepted it she kneeled beside him and ran a hand through his hair. “Cassiel, I know this was Conor’s idea and that you’re very upset and confused right now.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He pushed her hand away sulkily.
She sighed, but didn’t give in. “I know this is hard for you, especially since it was you that found mother but. . . “ She faltered for a moment, looking away and reaching a hand out to rest on top of his, “But this is no way to deal with it, and it’s no one’s fault, you know. She was sick and-“
He shoved her hand away angrily, unconsciously beginning to raise his voice, “I told you I don’t want to talk about it, Elaine!”
She winced and nodded, quickly standing up, “All right.” She hesitated for a moment, “Do you want me to-“
“Just leave me alone.”
With one last sigh she turned and left the room once again, leaving her younger brother to his thoughts and hoping for the best.
September 26, 1903: 11:27 P.M.
A cold blast of wind brushed past Cassiel, blowing his hair into his eyes and sending a chill through him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and pulled it tight around him as he hurried home, intent on getting there before Conor made his way back from gambling and drinking.
“C.J. Devereaux?”
He turned to see who was talking to him only to be punched him in the stomach. He doubled over slightly and quickly stumbled back a step or two, glancing up at the rather large thug standing in front of him.
“That’s a warning.” The man started gruffly, “If you’re gonna sign a marker, you’re gonna pay. Get the money soon or you’ll wish you had.”
Cassiel’s brow wrinkled in confusion for a moment, “What?”
The man’s eyes narrowed in anger and he pointed a fat, grubby finger in Cassiel’s direction, “The markers you’ve been signing at the poker games. Don’t play dumb!” He shook his head in disgust and quickly walked off.
Cassiel blinked as he started his brain to working once again. Gambling, markers. . . and the name C.J. Devereaux. He put the pieces together quickly and grit his teeth as he stalked down the street, “Damnit, Conor!”
“Damnit, Conor? Now is that any way to greet your older brother?” Conor remarked casually, walking up behind Cassiel with an amused grin on his face.
He spun around quickly and sent Conor his most fearful glare. “You’ve been signing my initials on your markers! Some guy came looking for me because of you!”
Conor put his hand to his heart in mock innocence, “I would never! Come on, C.J. My first initial is a C too. He must’ve thought you were me.”
“The guy asked for a C.J. Devereaux. In case you’ve forgotten, J is not your middle initial, it’s mine! Explain that if you can.”
Conor coughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Well, I guess it would appear that I have been signing your initials on my markers. Oops.” He shrugged and grinned a little. “No hard feelings, eh?”
Cassiel watched in shock as Conor continued to walk down the street as if nothing had happened. “You idiot! Don’t you get it?! Those guys are gonna beat the crap outta me if they don’t get their money!”
Conor sighed and turned back to Cassiel, frowning a little. “Okay, little brother, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry so much.”
He sulked for a moment as he watched Conor turn around once again, but reluctantly followed. “Fine. Just don’t sign my name on any more markers from now on.”
“But that ruins all of my fun!” Conor joked, immediately relenting once he noticed the look he was getting, “Geez, I’m kidding!”
October 3, 1903
Cassiel sighed as he walked down the streets of Queens, New York. He should have known better than to trust Conor with anything. Conor’s idea of fixing things had been gambling the debts away, double or nothing. Now that he owed twice the debt he had before, Cassiel figured he was safer hiding in New York than staying in Chicago and leaving everything to his incompetent brother.
He stopped as he saw a girl selling papes just up the street. She wasn’t a ravishing beauty, but she was pretty. Her long, wavy, sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a braid and a few errant strands had worked their way loose. She sighed and brushed them away, annoyed. She had only one paper left and couldn’t seem to sell it. He smiled slightly and walked up to her, digging out his money, “I’ll take that last one off of your hands.”
She quickly turned to hand him the paper, but froze as she saw him and dropped both the newspaper and the nickel he had held out. He blinked in surprise and knelt to pick them up. “Um. . . are you all right?” He stood up and held the nickel out again.
She stared at him for a moment more before managing a shaky smile. “Oh, I’m fine. I-I should go.” She gave him one last dubious look and hurried down the street.
He sighed and shook his head, focusing on his previous task. He paid little attention as he walked almost mechanically through the streets he knew so well. In no time he found himself at the apartment he was looking for and knocked on the door. A girl with curly, golden-red hair and bright blue eyes opened the door a little and peeked out, “Yes?”
Cassiel smirked and folded his arms over his chest. She obviously didn’t recognize him, but he remembered her well. “Shame on you, Katy Fraser. The first girl to ever kiss me an’ ya don’t even remember me.”
She blinked in surprise and smiled, throwing the door open wide and hugging his neck. “Casey!”
He grimaced slightly. “Don’t call me Casey, I hate that.”
She pulled back and smiled teasingly, “Oh, I know you do. Hmm . . “ She circled around him, her eyes squinted in critical inspection. “Well, you’ve changed. You’re taller for one, and you look older.” She winked teasingly, “My but you’ve gotten handsome.”
His cheeks turned a light shade of pink at her teasing, “Oh, stop it. I didn’t come to be teased by you.”
She frowned slightly. “I suppose you’ve come ta see Jonathan?”
He nodded slightly and smiled at her, “Yeah, that was what I had in mind. Not to say you’re not a welcome sight.”
“Oh, of course.” She rolled her eyes slightly before going on, “But I’m afraid you’ll have to settle with me, because my brother isn’t here. He got a job on one of the ships and he’s always gone to one place or another.” She sighed as she saw the look of disappointment that crossed Cassiel’s features and smiled encouragement. “Well, at least come in for a while. Mum’s sleeping, but you can tell me why you’re back in New York.”
He followed her inside, took a seat, and brushed his hair back out of his eyes with a sigh, telling her what had happened. He shrugged as he finished. “So now I’m here and I’ll have to find a place to stay and a job.”
“Oh, I see.” She glanced at the newspaper he twisted in his hands as if he were trying to make a pirate’s spyglass. It was something she remembered him doing often as a child and she smiled slightly at the thought. “And the newspaper? Did you get another to make a hat with?”
His eyes narrowed slightly in confusion and he glanced down at the newspaper, quickly setting it down, “Oh um, no. There was a girl selling them nearby and it was her last.”
Katy raised an eyebrow at him and the corner of her lip twitched slightly, “Oh? Well, I suppose you could do that. It doesn’t pay much, but there are newsie lodging houses. One of them isn’t too far from here. Ravenswood, I think it is.” Her mouth twisted into an amused smirk. “Perhaps that’s where your newsgirl is from?”
“She’s not my-“ He stopped, realizing he was wasting his breath trying to keep Katy from teasing him and sighed in defeat. “Oh, all right. Where is it?”
She laughed lightly and found a piece of paper and a pencil, writing down the address. “You know where that is, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” He replied indignantly, standing to leave. “Johnny and I wandered all over that area when we were kids. I remember it well enough.”
“Well, you don’t have to get all huffy about it.” She grinned and stood on tiptoe, ruffling his hair affectionately. “You are adorable when you’re annoyed.”
His cheeks darkened once again and he brushed her hand away sulkily, “Oh, stop it.”
She shrugged casually, silent acceptance of his request. “You aren’t going to go by Cassiel, are you? You don’t want those jerks from Chicago catching up with you.”
He glanced at her suspiciously, sure she was thinking of some way of torturing him, “Now that you mention it, no. Do you have any suggestions for names?”
Obviously she did, because her eyes immediately lit up in glee. “As a matter of fact, I do. I always thought you looked like a Gavin. It means ‘white hawk’.” She added, almost as an afterthought.
“Oh, well, that’s not so bad.” He watched her for a little longer and when he was satisfied she wasn’t plotting against him, he nodded. “Gavin it is, then.”
“What? You were expecting me to offer up Casey instead?”
He blushed furiously. “Actually, yes, and don’t call me that!”
With a dismissing laugh she hugged him and kissed his cheek. “All right then, I suppose I’ll let you make your escape now. You will come back some other time, won’t you?”
“Not if you keep embarrassing me!” He tried to glare at her but smiled in spite of himself. “Good-bye, and thanks. Tell everyone I said hello.” With one last smile he left the apartment and started on his way to Ravenswood.