by T Shadow
“Kind of, I suppose. It’s nothing too troubling for you lad.” Pocketing his handkerchief, he takes my hand in his and holds them firmly, his frail, liver-spotted hands grasping my unblemished pale ones. “I have kept something from you at someone else's behest. I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have kept it from you if it was my own choice, but now I think it’s finally time that you know.”
I see Mr. Grigori in a new light. An old man who I adore has been taken advantage of, pushed over and walked on like a household doormat. As I look into his sea-blue eyes, I see the withered old man before me like I never have before. His sun-kissed skin is marked by age and shows signs of continual sun damage. But his salt and pepper coloured hair peaks out in odd directions and his mustache is unkempt and overgrown. There is a sadness around him, almost like a cloud before the storm that’s full and weighed down with the weight of the world. I can’t be angry at someone that’s been forced to do the bidding of others.
“Okay, what do you want to tell me?”
“Not here dear. Too many eyes to see and ears to hear. Come to my place later,” he pulls out a piece of paper with an address scrawled on it in shaky handwriting. “I’ll wait for you to arrive. Bring your new friends, they’ll be a good support system for you.” He uses the back of the sofa to lift himself up, and as he stands on wobbly legs, he mutters, “See you at seven o’clock.” But it was so silent, I barely heard it before the old man had made his way out of my shop, the chime of the bell following in his wake.
Finn looks at me wearing the same confused expression that I probably have strapped across my own face, but he’s one step away from the comical thought bubble that only holds a question mark. “What was all that about?”
“No fucking idea, Finn. No fucking idea.”
Leaving the sofa behind me, I start back towards the office and pace in front of my newly built desk, pondering over the old man’s words and the regimented structure of the evening. Lost in my own thoughts, I don't hear Finnegan behind me, but when I turn I see him leaning against the doorframe, his shoulder touching the wood whilst the rest of his body doesnt. It’s such a relaxed gesture in a time where the stress is heightened that if he was anymore laid back, he’d be laying down.
“Should we go home, tell the guys?”
That snaps me into action and I pull my coat off of the back of the office chair without answering. As I stalk towards the door he follows, grabbing his mountain of books from the counter as I wait to lock the door, key in hand and foot tapping in anticipation. We have bags of time before we have to be at Mr. Grigori’s place, but the nervous energy is keeping my body bouncing on the tip of its toes. It’s not long before Finnegan exits the shop, takes the key from my hand and locks the door before wrapping his arm around my shoulder and guiding me home. It dulls the nervous energy up until we reach the front door of my house, where the anxiety hits me with the force of an eighteen-wheeler truck.
I shake inside my own skin, but Finn only clutches me to his side tighter. I’d like to assume that he thinks it's because I’m cold, but he probably realises it's because I’m worried about the impending meeting. I haven’t been worried about anything for a really, really long time. But when I left everything behind, I didn’t rely on anyone to avoid disappointment. It looks like it followed me anyway.
As we enter, I see the life I have before me. There’s Remington in my favourite armchair with his paper and a steaming cup of coffee. I can’t see Leland or Landon, but I can only hope that they’re somewhere nearby. As Finn shuts the door behind us, the small red fox’s head pops up from behind the outstretched paper and his tail flicks into it happily, disturbing Remington’s mid-afternoon paper reading session. He looks as though he’s ready to scold the small mammal, but one look at my face stops him.
“Did something happen?” Lucius stops at his wary tone and looks up at me with wide eyes. It’s difficult, but I keep my expression impassive as I leave the front room and head for the bedroom where I find Leland and Landon sitting and playing cards on the bed. As they see me approach and my expression they both raise an eyebrow before staring at me as I go to the wardrobe and reluctantly change into something a bit more formal. I hear Remington bark an order from the front room and as Lucius scuttles into his hidey hole, the boys leave to listen to the play-by-play that I’m sure Finn will be giving.
As they’re discussing strategies, possible tactics and other decisions surrounding tonight, I take the time to change into a slightly nicer jumper, change my Converses for Dr. Martens, and brush my hair just one more time. It’s then, and only then that I allow myself to make another dreaded phone call on the mobile phone from hell. I successfully manage to find Mika’s phone number amongst four others and I dial it. It doesn’t take long before she answers, I’m sure the phone only manages to ring once before it connects.
“Remi, what's wrong?”
“Mr. Grigori wants to tell me something tonight at seven, so can you come and sit with Lucius? Normally I would leave him on his own, but since the guys have been here, he’s become used to the continuous activity.”
“Yeah sure, no problem. I’ll be there at half six. See you soon.”
With no more to say, I hang up the phone and wait eagerly for half six. It’s not too long away, maybe an hour or so, so I allow myself to go to the kitchen to make a cup of fruit tea. Hoping that I’ll calm me and my thundering heart, I click the kettle on and stand slouched over the kitchen side. Just as I think I’m about to melt onto the counter top, a hand lays flat on my back and begins to make small circles which centers me in the oddest way. The kettle rumbles louder with the end of the boil and I straighten up, seeking out the guy who comforted me when I was obviously stressed.
Landon looks back at me with eyes full of sympathy. It's not often that Landon expresses his feelings and even when he does, it's always through his eyes. Those brown eyes look filled with unspoken thoughts and guarded feelings everytime I look at them and sometimes, I really wonder how Landon manages to stay sane. I nod to the question in his eyes and he resumes the circle pattern that he's making on my back whilst grabbing another cup from the cupboard. Without complaint, I make two teas and push his along to countertop so it sits in front of him, steaming hot, an inferno in a cup.
"I know you're worried." I nod my head slowly, relishing in the short, direct sentences. "It's okay to be worried sometimes. There's days where my head feels like a hurricane of problems that I can't escape, and other days… I feel like I'm amongst the trees, but there's no sound. It's peaceful, but unnerving. Almost like I'm just waiting for something to happen." Angling his body towards me, he trails his fingertips from my back to my hand before he holds it.
I pull my gaze from my hand to his face again, asking a question that would seem obtrusive if he wasn't my mate. "Why were you banished to the Wastes? What's the real reason?"
His hand grasps mine a little tighter, but not enough to hurt. More like an anchor, a tether to the mortal plane and a beacon home. "We fought in a war which helped us gain another town just outside of the territory. I was there with Remington but whilst he was off at the front, as is his place, I was at the back amongst the broken down and the slaughtered. I watched several men and women lose their lives in an instant for a petty power play by Leland's father, and I had had enough of it. Instead of trying to kill him, which was too big of a task in my eyes, I aimed a well shot arrow at Remington which caught him in the side of the chest, but didn't incapacitate him." His eyes seek out Remington in the other room, and his dark green eyes look at us, assessing.
"We weren't friends then and Remington just knew it was me. He knew I didn't like the customs or the reason behind the guard in the first place, so he did the only thing he could to get me out. Told the First Knight that I had accidentally shot him with an arrow, and if I couldn't shoot an arrow straight, I wasn't good enough to be in the guard with the rest of them." He turns to lean against the cupboards as he pushes the golden blonde hair out of his
eyes, revealing those animated spheres. "Many people hated me for that and because the punishment for being a shit shot wasn't too severe, I was banished. I had enough money to rent the only house in the Wastes that was available, and I've lived there ever since. But that day still haunts me."
I pick up my cup and bring it to my lips as I think over Landon's life. It's a bit more legible now I have all of the facts, but it also colours both of them in a new, unseen light. I never really did realise how broken my guys really were. Over the edge of my cup, I look at them all. Leland, the youngest who has experienced the most hurt in the shortest amount of time. Finnegan who was removed from battle for a ferocity that I haven't seen. Landon, a guy who might be good at fighting, but couldn't stand war and Remington, a guy who acts like the boss but would rather be anything else if he could.
It's a lot to take on a band of broken boys, as well as my disheveled self, but something tells me that we'll all make it out of this vicious cycle, one way or another.
The knock on the door before it creaks open cuts through the muttered discussions and the crippling thoughts as Mika enters. She notices us all, huddled and talking like we're trying to keep a secret and eagerly points out the time.
"It's half six, you better get going before you're late. I'll stay with the fox and don't forget your phones, just in case." She moves quickly out of the doorway as we all scramble to put our shoes on, Landon's taking the longest because of his laces, but they're easily tied up and in moments, so we're ready to go. As we all exit, Mika looks at me and nods, telling me silently that she's got my back. Bless her heart, what would I do without her?
As I walk away from the front door, I hear it close softly behind me. It puts the thought into motion that once again, I'm leaving my safe haven behind and walking into absolute uncertainty. I know in my heart, I'm not ready for more disappointment, but it looks to me like there is a traitor in our midst, and it's not me or the guys.
•°•
The house before us is modern, stylish, and not at all what I’d expect Mr. Grigori to own. It looks like a bachelor pad rather than an old guy's house. Seriously, there’s floor to ceiling windows in the front of the house, a long driveway, but no car, and an ostentatious front door that screams 'I have money!'. There's also a man-made moat that leads around the house and connects to the sea at the back. It surprises me the most, because I thought I knew Mr. Grigori, but from this house, it’s reaffirmed that I definitely know almost nothing about him. It doesn’t stop me from walking up to the house and ringing the doorbell to signal our arrival. It’s seven in the evening, the time he specified, so he should be expecting us.
While we wait for him, I really take in the surroundings. The self dug moat captures my attention the most because although most of the sea doesn’t touch the town, it somehow manages to touch the entirety of this property. It’s peculiar in the most maddening way. Just as I go to look closer at the moat— I’m sure I saw a fish swim past— the door opens with a slow creak and it reveals a forlorn Mr. Grigori on the other side. He doesn’t say anything as he moves aside to let us in and like good children, we meander inside quickly and quietly, shucking off our shoes at the front door.
As I’m first in the house, I notice that the impressiveness doesn’t just extend to the outside of the property. The inside of the house is dripping in expensive wood panelling, crystals decorations, and a stupidly large chandelier that takes up the majority of the hallway. It’s ostentatious, pretentious and utterly ridiculous. The chandelier has taken up too much of my attention and I don’t realise that the guys have surrounded me and that Mr. Grigori has moved into another room. It’s only the hand on my arm that disrupts the connection between me and the sparkly decoration.
Moving on, I follow the sound of footsteps into another room where I’m greeted by more windows and a perfectly good sea-view. Although these walls are not floor to ceiling, they are still big enough that you can see the water from any place in the room. Mr. Grigori stands near the window, looking out at the endless water, lost in his own thoughts but still looking how he did earlier on during the day.
He’s still wearing the rumpled clothes from earlier and when we all finally make our way into the room, he turns and gestures for us to sit. None of us take the offer, opting to stand awkwardly instead of sitting comfortably. Mr. Grigori notices our distrust and sighs loudly before turning back towards the window, slouching his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back.
“I know what you think of the house already Remi. I get it, it’s not where you would expect me to live. But really, we should always expect the unexpected. I have this place on the water because if I was subjected to a cage for the rest of my life, I wanted to be able to see the water every day, to hear it, smell it and be close enough to touch it.” He turns towards us shakily, his breathing harsh and inconsistent.
“Your behaviour is a little odd, Mr. Grigori.” As I step forwards, the guys step forward with me, “we speak little and often, but yet, you have a secret you’ve been hiding from me? And what’s this about a cage?”
He lets out a laugh that’s broken and raspy, “I owed a favour to someone who helped me once when I needed it, and when they called on that favour, I had to agree to all the terms before I could fulfill it. One of them was watching you, the other was being confined to this pretentious house until the job was done, and the last but very least term, was to be confined to this elderly man’s body until the time was right. Those were the only stipulations.”
“What?” I don’t know which one of them said it, but it emulates the exact thought I have. I didn’t expect him to be so abrupt, but I guess if I was suspended in my own life, I’d be a little abrupt too. As we all stand there, now a little fucking confused rather than just cautious, Mr. Grigori hobbles over with his palm held out. I’ve never noticed it before, but there’s a brand etched into his aging skin. I can’t really see it, so I meet him halfway to get a better look.
Oh his palm is a simple branding, but one I recognise well. I know because I helped design it. In the middle of his palm is a simple eye shape, surrounded by a circle with a star above it and a moon below it with a sword horizontally through the middle. It’s the mark that Radley and I used for our personal services before we got caught up in the shitty situation with Lord Draconis. But yet, it’s just another thing my sister has done to invade my life recently. For someone who hadn’t spoken to me for the best part of four centuries, you figure she’d just fuck off.
Apparently not.
I’ve had the opportunity to take in the symbol from my past, I wait for the lights to flicker and the screams of the scorned to surround us. But when that doesn’t happen, I look to Mr. Grigori who stares back at me with a solemn expression. It seems as though he thought that I could be the key to unlocking the gate to his prison. It upsets me, but then I realise this guy did spy on me, so I owe him nothing, but I still drag my finger along the sword until the symbol burns hot like fresh lava.
That's when the light show happens, but it doesn’t affect the house, it affects Mr. Grigori. The small frail man before me is swallowed up in a blue and grey light that devours his entire body from head to toe. I move backwards, unsure if a Hydra or Leviathan is about to pop out of that magical vortex and swallow me whole. The guys crowd around me, surprised by the whole endeavour as the light finally subsides, revealing a person I wouldn’t have expected to see in my entire lifetime, after-life time, or during my untimely death.
Clad in robes of varying shades of blue, with long golden hair that’s slicked back and muscles that could intimidate anyone stands Neptune, the Roman God of the sea. The God stands heads above all of us, my head barely reaching his underboob. His stormy blue eyes gaze upon us like we’re all the right answers to every question ever asked, but they soften afterwards, likely remembering the betrayal of friendship over the last seven years.
My anger bubbles inside me like a boiling teapot. It keeps building and building until I can no
longer hold in the steam. The skin on my arms and face ripples with fury and without a second thought, my beast and I merge together as one, shifting into the large towering creature that I keep hidden inside. This house accommodates my large body as I extend and my wings expand, twisting and turning with sinuous, serpent-like actions. Feeling comfortable in my own skin, I ruffle my wings before I behave like the creature I am, opening my maw and showing the God all of my teeth in an unnerving manner. My tongue licks along each tooth as I stare at him, advancing on him slow enough that he’s forced to take a step back every time I get just that little bit closer.
“Tell me,” I grumble, “how did she save your life? Because that’s what you must have owed her, right? A life debt.”
My guys hang back, reluctant to get in a fight that isn’t their own and also with a God. I’d look back at them if I could, but my attention is purely focused on Neptune and his deceiving ways. He gapes at me as though I’ve revealed a secret, chewing on his words a few times before spitting out the truth as though he wants to be rid of it.
“It was stupid. I was stuck in horse form back in that fucking Dragon Realm. The rider rode me into the ground on one of those wars, left me there bleeding and dying. I’m glad that they didn’t use guns then. She found me as the battle dwindled down to nothing but bloodless bodies and she healed me. She probably thought I was a regular horse until I shifted back and she realised that she’d struck gold.”
My pleased grumble is enough for him to relax a little, his posture slumping slightly at the prospect of not being eaten. But that doesn’t stop me with my deadly inquisition, “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing specific. She only wanted to know if you were alive, in trouble or dead.” He shrugs, impassive, “I never gave too much away, I didn’t know if you knew her, or if you wanted to. I had to do enough to stay alive, but I never wanted you to question your friendship with the old man.”
I bend my neck down so my all-white eyes can stare straight into his. Puffing a tuft of smoke out of my nostrils, I watch as he lets the smoke assault his eyes without the prospect of relief before I shift back, my clothes magically staying attached to my body. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing at all. My body posture radiates my mood, a consistent ‘I’m fucking pissed’ feeling that can be felt by everyone here. I've gained enough information that I don't have to listen to the chiseled God any longer. I’ve never been one to love long, drawn out apologies or endless begging.
