by Piper Scott
11
Finch
There had been times in the past that Finch had ruminated on the relationship between cats and dragons. They had many similar traits. They were beautiful and devious and selfish and generally owned whatever space they occupied. Dragons, it seemed, also left presents like cats sometimes did. The trouble was, unlike with cats, Finch couldn’t figure out what prompted Hugh to leave them.
At first, it was a few gold coins, and they’d baffled him, but in the end he’d decided that they had to have fallen from Hugh’s pockets by accident. But then one morning he found a gold chest the size of a shoebox encrusted with cabochon rubies outside the door to his suite and realized the coins hadn’t simply been lost.
After checking to make sure Hugh wasn’t peeping on him from a nearby doorway, Finch picked up the chest. It was quite heavy. With a grunt he carried it into his suite and closed the door with his foot, then laid it on the nearby table. The latch on the front was uncomplicated and lacked a lock, so he opened it. Inside was a strange figurine of some type. Finch took it from its velvet resting place and gave it a look. It was a dragon made from silver and gold with gemstone scales. With a soft tap of the ruby button on the dragon’s back, its wings unfurled. It also appeared to be hollow, and…
Finch examined the button closer. There was a small, cleverly hidden hinge. With the touch of a finger, part of the dragon’s back fell back and Finch saw it was a pipe.
An extremely impractical, dragon-shaped pipe.
Which confirmed that the gift was indeed from Hugh.
But why in the world would Hugh give him a pipe? Finch couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He didn’t smoke, and had no desire to do so. Perhaps Hugh hadn’t realized. Whatever the case, he put both the chest and its pipe on a shelf in his closet where they’d be out of sight, but near enough to his suits that he’d still be able to see them every day.
Hugh stuck his head into the study where Finch had been working on preparations for the ball. “Did you… uh… find the trifle I left for you?”
“Trifle?” Finch asked absently. He was distracted by catering choices, particularly the sweets table, which was proving to be a headache in and of itself. What was the appropriate pudding to offer to Disgraces gathered in the hopes of winning a dragon’s heart? The Pedigree had never prepared him for this. “I suppose we could have them do a sort of trifle parfait. That might work.”
“What?” Hugh sounded entirely mystified.
Finch replayed the conversation in his head. “Did you not mean to suggest a pudding for the sweets table at the ball?”
Hugh continued to look blank, then brightened up considerably. “Oh, how silly. No, I meant the chest and pipe. Do you like them?”
“They’re quite lovely, sir. Thank you.”
The dragon stepped into the room, grinning like a carved pumpkin. “Brilliant! Have you had a chance to use them?”
Finch stared at Hugh. “Ah, no sir. I’ve never smoked.” Then he cursed himself as an idiot because just days before he’d told Hugh that he used to smoke marijuana. Damn.
Hugh looked taken aback, then he rallied. “Right!” he cheerfully proclaimed before winking at Finch. It was most unsettling. “Right. You’ve ‘never smoked.’ Of course.” And then he winked again. “Well. I should probably get out of your way. Don’t want to disturb your work.”
“Would you like to see what’s been planned so far? You could, if you wished, still make changes at this point.”
“No! That is, no thank you. I’m sure you have it all in hand and I’d hate to derail your creative and clever plans. But would you mind if I came by your rooms tonight?” Hugh looked at Finch beseechingly.
“I… I suppose you may. Although I will be in my bed by ten, sir, I do warn you. I have another early day tomorrow.”
Hugh rubbed his hands together, his handsome features positively gleeful. “Of course, of course. I wouldn’t want to impose. But this way we can talk and I won’t be interrupting you. Yes. Perfect.” Hugh beamed at Finch. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
Finch continued to stare at his employer. “Yes, sir.”
Hugh arrived at Finch’s door, true to his promise, an hour before ten at night. The first thing he said, after Finch ushered him in, was, “I was thinking of getting a treat for your girls. A peace offering, of sorts. So they won’t bite me.”
Finch was both amused and charmed. “Is it chocolate? The ladies love chocolate.”
“Er… that wasn’t quite what I was thinking. But I don’t see why not. Shall I go fetch some?”
“No, sir, I was just…” Finch couldn’t bring himself to tell Hugh he’d been teasing him. It was so inappropriate. Instead, he said, “I mean, I have plenty of it here. Would you like to give them one chip apiece?”
Hugh looked hesitant, then nodded. When Finch lifted the lid on the chocolate chips, Hugh took three. “One for each of us,” he said. He popped his into his mouth first and seemed to suck on it, letting the chocolate dissolve onto his tongue. “Mm. I say, chocolate does make one feel better, doesn’t it?” He took one more chip from the container then held it to Finch’s lips. “See for yourself.”
Finch’s heart felt like it wanted to explode from his chest. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth slightly. Hugh put the chip onto Finch’s tongue. Somehow, during the maneuver, Finch licked Hugh’s finger before he pulled it away. Finch’s eyes flew open and he looked at his dragon. His eyes were dilated and seemed as dark as the night sky, and every bit as full of stars.
“Oh,” Hugh said. “Oh, I… er… yes. I should give these to your girls. Yes.”
After Hugh turned away to feed the fearsome rats their treats, Finch lightly touched a finger to his lips. They felt like they were burning, but his finger detected no untoward heat. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
“Hello, ladies,” Hugh said. His voice quivered a little, but he stood his ground and held out a very tempting chip. Eleanor was on it in a flash. Elizabeth was just a heartbeat slower nabbing hers. “Are you placated, ladies? Promise you won’t break out and terrorize my house?”
“Their cage is quite secure, sir.”
“Mm.” Hugh watched the ladies for a few more moments, then turned around. “Tell me, Finch. Have you ever wanted something more than anything in your entire life, only to find one day that you want something else just as much?”
“I can’t say as I have, sir.” Finch could feel his pulse throbbing in his throat.
Hugh went to the couch and sat, his back straight and his hands folded into his lap. “Well, it’s a most uncomfortable situation, I can tell you. Please. Do sit down.” Hugh patted the seat next to him.
Finch drifted over and sat rather nearer to the dragon than he’d wanted. He tried to shift farther away but Hugh grabbed Finch’s knee. “No. No flying away, my Finch. Not yet.”
“I… sir… perhaps you might…” Finch floundered, something he very rarely, if ever, did. “I mean, can you not have both?”
Hugh shook his head sadly. “Obtaining one will nullify the other. These unfulfilled desires are what you’d call ‘mutually exclusive.’”
“I see.” Except Finch didn’t. At all.
“To that end, I wish to go on a small trip tomorrow. It’s not very far and, of course, you’ll accompany me.”
“Of course,” Finch echoed, feeling completely lost and without so much as a map or compass. “I am your servant. Is, um, is that the purpose for your visit this evening, or is there something else I can do for you, sir?”
“Hmm.” Hugh stood only to lean immediately down, place his nose close to Finch’s ear, and inhale sharply.
“Sir?” Finch squeaked.
“My apologies, Finch,” Hugh whispered into his ear, his voice sweet, smooth, and devastatingly enticing. “There truthfully isn’t anything else, but my dragon’s got it in his head that you smell delightful. It’s quite peculiar. It’s not often I indulge the beast, but I couldn’t help myself. I had
to know the truth and lo and behold, you smell simply divine. Isn’t that odd?”
“Yes, sir, quite,” Finch managed to say, which was, perhaps, the understatement of the year.
12
Hugh
The next morning, Hugh met Finch at precisely eleven and ushered him into his Audi. When they were safely buckled and George had begun to drive, Hugh hit a button on the back panel, which activated the car’s privacy screen.
“Thank you for coming out with me today, Finch,” Hugh said when the screen was in place and George was out of earshot. “I appreciate your company.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir.”
“Now that we have the assurance of privacy, would you like to know where we’re going?”
There was a pause during which Finch pursed his lips and nudged one of the many brightly colored gift-wrapped boxes crammed around their feet. “I would. I assume it has something to do with all these boxes?”
“Gifts, Finch. They’re gifts.” Hugh smiled, but even when trying his best to act positive, a trace of sorrow sobered his voice. “They’re for my nephews. Alistair’s whelps turned seven last week, and Sebastian’s whelps are turning eight in the next few days. My brothers have organized a party to celebrate. I wouldn’t have asked you to accompany me, but I’m feeling especially vulnerable after meeting my father’s mate. I’ll be the only Drake there without a bonded mate and children of his own, and…” Hugh pushed a noisy breath through his nostrils. “Well, I didn’t want to be alone.”
Finch’s expression immediately softened. “Sir…”
“But you needn’t worry—I organized my purchases to make sure there were presents from you as well.” Hugh scooped the nearest box up. “See?” He examined its label, saw its benefactor was listed as “Uncle Hugh,” and tossed the box aside. It clanked and jingled as it fell. “Not that one. This one, though”—the box was wrapped in glossy purple paper accented with golden pinstripes—“this one is definitely from you.”
It wasn’t.
Hugh scowled and tossed it over his shoulder. It made a great crashing noise on impact, like a very expensive anvil.
“Where the devil are your gifts?” Hugh muttered. He rooted through a few others, but they were all labeled as from him. Several more tossed boxes and many clanks and clangs later, he shook his head. “All of yours must be in the trunk, but let me assure you, they exist. I made sure of it. I even inscribed the gift tags myself.”
“That’s… that’s very kind of you, sir.” The tips of Finch’s ears had taken on a cheerfully pink tint, which Hugh assumed was from joy at his thoughtful and inclusive gesture. “Did you wrap them yourself, too?”
Hugh blinked. “How did you know?”
Finch reached down to smooth a mangled piece of tape stuck to the side of one of the gifts. “No reason.”
“It’s because I didn’t use enough tape, isn’t it?”
“Sir, I can assure you that is not the case.”
“Is it the paper, then?” Hugh wrinkled his nose. “None of the paper I bought came in the correct shape.”
Finch opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Wrapped presents are supposed to have edges that meet neatly as well as triangular side pieces,” Hugh explained. “The paper I received was one large rectangle. I had to cut out triangles and tape them to the sides to get them to look even remotely like traditional gifts.”
Finch opened his mouth again and shut it just as quickly.
“It was terrible.” Hugh shook his head. “I have no idea where you go about procuring the proper paper. I paid an exorbitant amount for mine and it still wasn’t right. I suppose that’s why gift bags exist, but where’s the fun in that? Had wrapped decorative boxes existed when I was a whelp, I wouldn’t have wanted anything but. Not only can you claw them to pieces, but some of the papers have metallic sheens. As a young dragon, I would have gladly collected as much of it as I could to add to my hoard.”
“I’ll write a strongly worded letter to the manufacturers on your behalf, sir.”
“You are a treasure, Finch.” Hugh patted his knee, eliciting more pink from the tips of Finch’s ears. “I hope you realize how dear you are to me. I’ve never known an Attendant who goes so above and beyond for their employer. Which is why I got you this.” From the mess of boxes at their feet, Hugh retrieved two gifts. One was the size of a shoe box, the other no larger than a stack of coasters. Both were wrapped in metallic purple foil. “These are for you.”
The pink tipping Finch’s ears veered toward red. “It’s not my birthday, sir.”
“I know, but you’ve gone out of your way for me today, and I wanted to show my appreciation.” Hugh laid both presents on Finch’s lap. “Please, don’t wait—open them now.”
“Which one should I open first?”
“The larger one,” Hugh insisted. “It’s the one that will be most immediately useful.”
Carefully, Finch lifted the larger box and held it in both hands as if to weigh it. Then, after a moment spent in reflection, he tipped the box to the side and picked away the tape securing the triangle cutout on the side. Despite how gentle he was, the paper beneath tore. From there, Finch ripped the rest of it off, unveiling a plain white box.
As far as packaging went it was a little bland, so Hugh had enhanced it by inscribing “FINCH” in bold letters across the top in purple marker.
“You really shouldn’t have, sir,” Finch murmured, although he sounded pleased. “My duty is to serve you. You don’t need to reward me for it.”
“Nonsense.” Hugh flapped a hand. “I enjoy spoiling you. Go ahead and open it, Finch. I have a feeling you’ll enjoy what you find inside.”
Finch offered him a smile and removed the lid.
The smile decayed when he laid eyes on the box’s contents.
“It’s a… bag,” Finch remarked, flummoxed. “A Ziplock bag. And it’s full of… tiny bundles of sage?”
“Take a closer look.”
“Yes, sir.”
Finch lifted the bag by its resealable top, which was wise, since the main compartment was stuffed absolutely full and looked ready to burst. According to Gabriel, the pool boy, it weighed half a pound, but Hugh hadn’t thought to verify its weight before wrapping it. Regardless of its mass, it was impressive, and that was what was important. Finch deserved as many impressive things in his life as Hugh could afford.
“Sir, what is this, exactly?” Finch asked, both looking and sounding no less mystified than he’d been prior to removing the bag. “They’re too small to be smudge sticks. At least, too small to be any type that I’m familiar with.”
Hugh had never heard them referred to as “smudge sticks” before, but Finch was a fount of new and exciting vocabulary from which Hugh was eager to imbibe.
“Do you think they’re small?” Hugh craned his neck to get a better look at the bag. He’d studied it for a while before stuffing it in the box, but without a basis for comparison, he had no idea what was standard and what was a disappointment. “I was told that they were of exceptional size and quality. If they’re no good I’ll return them and demand a superior product. I’ll admit, I’m not well versed in… well… herbal recreation. You are the superin master.”
“I—” Finch froze. Then, slowly, he turned his head to stare at Hugh, eyes as big as dinner plates. “Is this marijuana?”
“It is!”
Finch jammed the window button on his door so hard, the damn thing nearly broke.
“Finch?” Hugh blinked, then caught on. “Oh, I get it. You’re wanting to put your present to use immediately and you don’t want to hotbox the car. How considerate of you! I had no idea you were such a fiend for the stuff.”
The window continued its slow descent. Finch was nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement—or maybe pain. With as much force as he was putting on the button, the latter did seem possible. Poor Finch’s fingertip was turning white from exertion. He must not have known that North American car wi
ndows unrolled at a constant speed no matter the pressure put on their buttons. It was sweet. Hugh would have to look into importing a car from England. He hadn’t known that their window buttons functioned differently, but Finch was the expert, and it did seem like there was some kind of disconnect going on. The expense would be worth it to help Finch feel at home.
“I figured we would wait and sneak off to be naughty halfway through the party,” Hugh explained while Finch and the bag of weed vibrated beside him. “But I can see the benefits of smoking prior to arrival. I don’t suppose you have a lighter? It’s no matter. It just so happens I was born prepared.” Hugh lifted his hand with a flourish and extended his index finger. A jet of flame danced to life from its tip. Finch looked at the digit as if it were diseased. “Oh, Finch, don’t worry—it’s quite sanitary. Now, how do you do this without a pipe? I know it’s possible. Do you just take a cluster from the bag, set fire to it, and suck the unlit part between your lips, or…”
Mid-sentence, the window reached the halfway mark, and Finch pitched the entire bag through the opening with as much force as he could. It sailed skyward and disappeared into traffic, never to be seen again. Hugh, mouth agape, scrambled around to look out the back window, but the bag was well and truly gone, lost to the wilds of the highway.
Finch, meanwhile, had collapsed in his seat and was gasping for breath like he’d just run a race.
“What the devil just happened?” Hugh asked, too astonished to know what to feel. “Finch, you chucked your present out the window!”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Finch gave him a long look and asked in a thin voice, “Sir, how much marijuana was that?”
“Half a pound.” Hugh frowned deeply. “I know it isn’t much, but it was all Gabriel had. Would you like more? I’d have to ask, and it will probably take some time to source, but I’d be happy to do it for you.”
