by Nikki Hyson
“He’s back at the café and no, he won’t interrupt. He’ll meet me back at the flat.”
Illumination blossomed, puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. “Oh.” Cris’ possessive behavior and suspicious looks seemed obvious now. “I see.”
James looked down, his brows drawing close. “Do you?”
“I think so. He’s your boyfriend then?”
James’ eyes dilated wide, nearly hiding the blue of them entirely before sparking with merriment. He barked a laugh, breath rising white on the chilled, evening air. Then another, before surrendering to the roll of humor winding up out of him. Head tilted back, James laughed heartily for a long moment; snow catching in his beard and kissing his cheeks.
At last he drew a breath, met Lily’s annoyed look, and shook his head. “Wait till I tell him that one. No. He’s basically my supervisor. He’ll be staying at my flat for the next few weeks while his place is renovated.”
Lily, mildly miffed, reclaimed his arm. “That’s awfully nice of you.”
“Depends on how you look at it. Company apartment.” He shrugged. “He could’ve had me kicked out for as long as he needed.”
“Yeah, he’s a peach. Your company must pay really well to put up with the aggravation of late hours and annoying supervisors.”
“Not really, but the retirement plan’s to die for.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” She shook her head, red gold hair coming loose from its early morning braid. She pushed it back, wind catching the curls and pulling them over her shoulder. “I’ve never had a job with a retirement plan. I should start thinking on it.”
“It’s not for everyone.”
They continued for nearly a mile, Lily finishing her coffee while Amos did his evening number two. She used the cup to both scoop and dispose of it in the next rubbish bin they passed. The wind died down soon after, making the possibility of conversation more comfortable.
She glanced up at James. His jaw clenched, clearly feeling the contact but unwilling to return the gesture. Waiting for the light to change, she dared anyway. “What about the rest?”
His gaze shifted a little further away from her. “Rest of what?”
“James.”
It was a beckoning. He obeyed. “Yes?”
Such sorrow. Lily wavered over her words. How do I help him?
Be there. Listen. The words echoed back a memory. The moment in the pizzeria when she hadn’t wanted to let him go. It was the same speaker.
Ducking his head to see her better, the blue of his eyes captured her attention. “Lily?”
She swallowed hard. “Is there something I should be afraid of?”
His gaze swept around them, creating a barrier. “There’s always danger in the night. It’s why mankind has feared the shadows for millennia. Wise to remember it.” He looked down at her hand, and the tightness of her hold. “Cold?”
She followed his eye line, unaware of how close she’d strayed. Taking a half step to the side, she murmured a quick, “Sorry.” To save face, she let her hand linger on the sleeve of his coat.
“I don’t mind,” he said, and she believed him. The light changed. Together they stepped into the clear crosswalk. “How’s the puppy?”
“Just fine. I took her to my parents. Mom’s named her River.”
“Big name for such a little thing.”
“Dah said the same thing. Where did you say you found her?”
“I didn’t.”
Frustration hissed against the back of her teeth with the half dozen questions his non-answer spawned. It did little good. For now, Lily tried to ignore the frustration. “Well, do you know if she’s had any shots yet? Mom thought she ought to get started on them.”
James shook his head. “Sorry. No idea.”
They lapsed into silence again, slightly more uncomfortable than in the first mile’s. Lily waited until they passed the house on Adeline Road, where they’d first met, before she tried again. “Is that your company? Is that where you work?”
“Yes.”
The single word sang between them, like an arrow that couldn’t be recalled.
She tried letting him go. “James, you don’t have to see me home.” Tried releasing him from both her hold and the unspoken obligation he seemed to harbor. “I’m sure you have a hundred other things you could be doing.”
His hand covered hers, remarkable strength in just the tips of his fingers. “Please, don’t.”
Danger! flashed swift and unbidden through her mind, muscles clenching. Her eyes jerked up to his.
No threat to be found there. She knew it, but couldn’t relax.
Her head turned of its own accord, directing her to the threat of a high window where curtains fluttered, hiding one who watched. “James.”
“Please, Lily. This is the one thing I want to do.”
She found truth in the childlike confession, but guile as well. Accepting both, she looked to the path before them. “Did you see a doctor?” she asked. “After such a long walk, how are you feeling?” The hairs on the back of her neck refused to relax.
“Better.”
They paused at a crosswalk even though the way stood clear. Looking up, she saw his hard swallow. Reclaiming the space surrendered not long ago, her arm brushed his. “What is it?”
“Will you tell me about writing?”
She didn’t smile at this. Something told her it’d taken courage to ask such an ordinary question. Another something told her James feared the answer. “What would you like to know?”
“How long have you been doing it?”
“I was seven or eight. It’s different for everyone.”
“What did you write about?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “The first thing? Strawberry Shortcake I think. Or maybe Rainbow Brite? She had the horse, didn’t she? Yeah. Would have been her. I was rather horse-obsessed back then.”
“Rainbow Who?”
“You don’t have children, do you?”
“No.”
“They’re characters from my childhood. Next question?”
“The story you changed the ending to. Which one was it?”
“The first one? Black Beauty. Ginger didn’t die. She went to pasture with Beauty.” She gauged his look, trying to cipher thoughts behind those brooding eyes. Impossible, if James didn’t wish it. “Told you I was a horse fanatic.”
“Any others? Did you change anything else?”
She nodded, unclear where this might be headed, but curious enough to continue. “Of course. Lots.” If he answered just one real question tonight, she might be satisfied. She dared asking one with a bit of meat. “Which ones would you change?”
“I don’t know. Do you think it works? Do you think it changes them?”
“It always did for me, but it would only ever be for me. The real story, the true story, will always be there for anyone else to read. I can’t change all the books. No one can.”
James fell silent, reflecting on this answer. At last, he pulled the journal from his pocket. “I’m writing.”
“What about?”
“The truth. One day I’d like you to read it. Will you?”
“Of course. I’d be honored.”
He stopped, as she did, in front of the coffee shop fronting her building. “I believe you mean that,” James said, a note of wonder coloring his tone.
She slid her hand from his arm to cheek. Again, he flinched, but held his ground. Her heart ached in concert with this silent pain. “Of course I mean it.”
“Why?”
If he could choose which questions to answer, and which to discard, then so could she.
There was something so very lost and hurt behind his sometimes stern mouth and sober gaze. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?” She let her hand fall without haste. “You’re a little warm.” He was much more than he appeared.
As are we all.
“Long walk. I’ll take the bus back.” Amos’ wet nose nudged James�
�� hand. He smiled thoughtfully. “You should get one of those service animal harnesses. Then you two could take the bus.”
“Yes, but he’d tear up half my flat out of boredom. Exercise keeps him happy.”
James bent to finger the tender fold of the beagle’s ear. “Would you really?” he asked Amos. Brown eyes gazed up, confessing more than a trace of mischief running through his blood.
He straightened. “What do you do tomorrow?”
“I’m free until noon and then I’ll be here till seven,” she said, nodding towards the café. “I picked up some extra hours.” Lily thought for a moment. “Would you like to have breakfast?”
“My pleasure. Where?”
Her head tilted again towards the gold lettering on the door beside them. “We make good pie. Afterwards we could talk. Or write. Whatever.”
“Ah, yes. Word count,” he remembered. “Behind or ahead?”
“Quick learner.” Pride in her student prompted a smile before the truth stole it back again. “Dismally behind. Got a few thousand last night, but it’s hard to write when I’m home. So many things to do.”
“What time? I’ll bring my journal.” He added, with the barest twinkle of a tease, “Leave you in peace after the pie.”
“Say, nine o’clock? Let me walk Trouble first.”
“See you then.” Sliding the journal into his pocket, James gave Amos one more turn around the base of his ear. “Take care of her,” he murmured. The beagle thumped his tail. Offering Lily a fleeting smile, James walked away.
Lily watched him draw even with the bus stop and continue on. Something told her James’ path would take him back to the cobalt blue door. She found the knowledge irritating. The building frightened her and she didn’t like being afraid of anything.
Help him. Save him. Her desire. Not her voice.
The realization should have scared the hell out her.
Surprisingly, it barely made a difference against the growing mountain of unanswered questions. This, at least, she had a base reference to measure against.
Don’t let them destroy him.
Whisper soft, the words played against her inner ear as many characters had over the years. How many of her stories had been born by such a beginning. A murmured what if? playing across her consciousness; raising questions that couldn’t wait to be answered until her pen finally touched paper. Utterly the same. Lily waited for something more. Completely different.
Tired from a too long day, Amos nudged her with his cold, black nose. She looked at him. “Ready for some toast and bed?” She could have picked one word or the other. Together they made an offer no food hound could refuse. Pulling her up the walk and to her door, Amos forced Lily to leave behind the mysteries and riddles for another day.
18
Cups clinked and steam hissed as shouted orders rang out, dispensing caffeine with fine-tuned precision. James, snug in a corner near the window, sipped his third cup of Earl Grey. Of course, he’d never actually sat in a café for any length of time before. It seemed many of the patrons were repeat customers, orders confirmed with nods before they even reached the counters. Watching the line of espressoholics come and go, with no sign of abatement, brought a level of fascination he’d never experienced in so mundane a task.
He smiled across the steaming cup. It reminded him of— What? What does it remind me of? His breath caught on a whiff of freshly mown grass, impossible to attain on a wet November morn. Thoughts shifting inward, pulling him away from the chaos of a well-run shop.
Cricket. They’d always gone for fish and chips after cricket. The bustle and familiarity of this place reminded him of…
Cricket? James blinked. I know how to play cricket?
The journal weighed heavily in his pocket, pen jabbing when it had no business to. He pulled both out, lying them on the table before him. They stared at one another for a long moment. She’d said, ‘Write everything. It will help you to remember. And heal.’
His joints only ached when he moved, and could be tolerated. The pain was nearly gone. The fever had broke with the shattered mirror and remained so. Did he want more than that? Dare I want more?
His lie to Lily stood boldly across the blank pages. He hadn’t been writing. He’d never thought she’d agree to read it.
Reaching out, he touched the leather without thinking, the cover lifting between the inhale of possibility and the exhale of surrender. The pen filled his hand pleasantly, tip dipping to the empty page.
Words came. Stuttering, stammering with uncertainty, they scratched a path across the glaring white until, space spent, he flipped the page. The words continued to come:
The first time he laid eyes on her, she’d been watching someone else. Just as well. James was quite certain he’d left his mouth ajar for a full minute. It might have been longer if Arthur hadn’t called him up to bat.
“What caught your eye?” Arthur asked with a glance round the crowd.
“Nothing.”
Arthur grinned. “Ah. Who?”
“Shut it,” James growled, but he shared the grin before stepping away to take his turn. He knew he’d endure more of the same from his mates when they found out a member of the fairer sex had caught his eye. Hadn’t he just sworn off all romantic attachments over last night’s pint? There was work to be done, a name to be made, and the clock was ticking.
Across the street, Cris sat on a rickety stool. Face to the glass, back to the half-empty dining room behind him, the ironic truth that Lily lived a few yards from his favorite cafe was not entirely lost.
A small frown puckered Cris’ otherwise unlined face. He watched James’ head dip lower and lower over his scribbled words. What the devil could the pirate be writing? What had the Oracle done to him?
A flicker of emerald green caught Cris’ eye. Glancing at the door nestled to the right of the café’s entrance, he spied her.
Lily.
Having returned from her dog walk less than a quarter hour before, Lily exited her building without the little beast. Even at the distance, Cris read how she radiated a joyous satisfaction of a morning well started. The canvas tote responsible for catching his attention three years ago, swung from her left arm. Her silk scarf, today a mixture of sage and lavender, fluttered softly at her waist.
She entered the café a moment later, raising a hand to catch the attention of someone behind the counter before continuing on to James’ table. Apparently there were some advantages to the long hours she clocked on the other side of the espresso machine.
Skirting a cluster of teenagers, her step slowed. James hadn’t noticed her yet. Still writing with absorbed haste, his head remained bowed. She paused just outside of arm’s reach and waited.
And waited.
The line at the counter thinned. A tall scarecrow with straw hair moved outside his station, white cup the size of a soup bowl in hand. Lily claimed her order.
James’ head lifted at last. The barista turning away, James rose to greet her. Cris watched as Lily came forward.
Whatever they said, Cris never knew. He didn’t care. It wasn’t the words but the person that troubled him. What power did she possess? What could she do to James? Watching James throw back his head in laughter, Cris grimaced on his creaky stool. Laughing? What wasn’t she doing to him?
“Here ya are, Love,” his waitress said pleasantly, but with no real affection. She set a plate of fried eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, toast and sausage before Cris with scarce a rattle. “More coffee?” she asked, carafe half tipped to pour before he even nodded.
After nine years, six months, and two weeks, he couldn’t imagine what she’d have said if he declined.
He slid the full cup back where he preferred it, the two o’clock position. “Thank you, Haydee.” He didn’t look up.
She laid the check face down under the edge of his plate. He never ordered anything else, and five years ago she’d quit asking about dessert. Cris didn’t mind. He preferred it. “Have a good day,” Haydee sa
id, moving on to the next customer.
Only then did he lift his eyes. He watched her move with capable grace around the room. There she refilled two cups and left a bill. A little further away she took an order before sweeping away menus.
They’d played the same dance for more than nine years. At some point, after Cris had finished the mushrooms but before the toast vanished completely, Haydee’d refill his cup once more. Then, when she stepped into the back with both hands full from bussing, he’d leave money under his plate and walk out.
The same lines spoken to another girl, but at a different cafe. Same name. Same face. His girl once, but not now. Not ever.
The Guild had a myriad of ways to keep their elite in check. If a paper soul didn’t fear death, they found other means of ensuring allegiance. Everyone had someone they cared about. Cris felt certain this friendship with Lily was being allowed for the same purpose. With James’ behavior becoming unpredictable the Guild needed a new pressure point.
Behind him a crash of breaking dishes stunned several conversations into silence. Cris froze, waiting a moment longer for the sound that always followed lightning.
Laughter roared across the silence. “Hey, Baby. No hard feelings.”
Cris closed his eyes. He counted to ten, drew a breath, and then counted again. It must be Monday.
“Hey!” Gary bellowed across the grill. “I told you last week. You bother my girls one more time…”
Still laughing, the husky plumber raised both hands in a failed attempt to placate. “Settle down old man. I meant no harm. Just ask the lass.”
Gary hesitated.
Cris continued his count.
“Well, Haydee?” Gary finally asked.
“He’s lookin’ at my arse,” she shot back without a beat.
Fury cut across her every word and Cris couldn’t blame her. Smile glimmering, he lowered his head nearly to the tabletop. It’d been a month of Mondays; her patience used up somewhere in the middle of them. Ten years as a London waitress in greasy spoon left only her eyes as a reminder of the girl she’d been, but Cris thought he appreciated this version a little more.
