by Kay Williams
I wasn’t paranoid or observant by any stretch of the imagination but he wasn’t hiding the fact he was following me around clearly assuming that I was too stupid to notice.
I didn’t know him, I had no idea why he would want to trail around after me and when I had backtracked with the excuse to buy candyfloss he had backed off as well. The fact he wasn't trying to hide and yet didn't want to talk bothered me, it meant I was walking around with a kinetic shield up and having to pick a careful path through the rest of the crowd so they didn’t bounce off it and think they had walked into me.
I stopped by the huge tent in the centre of the fair and pulled my mobile from my bag, like everyone else I was taking some photos of the tent and the Elves in full ceremonial robes who were greeting people at the entrance and helping them find their seats.
From the timetable I knew they would be dancing the ballad Iscor of the Bear. During the festival, they told the tales of the deeds of their best warriors in ballads with dancers portraying the warriors and a Bard Smith singing the tale accompanied by traditional music, which was a mix of pipes, drums and lap-harps.
Turning my phone to the side I moved in the circle getting a complete panoramic view, including my stalker. Moving away I stopped by a stall and bought a cup of tea made with honey and vanilla, and some soft oat cookies.
I fiddled with the photo until I had cut the stalker out and opened a message.
I didn’t think Carson would have sent someone to watch over me, he simply would have done the duty himself, but as Valdine had agreed during the short journey in the car all it took was for one person to break a secret for it to become public knowledge. On top of which Carson’s first telekinetic experience had been in the room of a Blood Bar, the rooms weren’t monitored or recorded but it was still public.
Carson had given me his number the night before when he had dropped me home, so it was his number I chose and attached the picture to.
‘Friend of yours?’
I didn’t expect an instant response so I was pleasantly surprised when my phone chimed a couple of minutes later as I was finishing my cookies.
‘Not a friend. No. Where are you?’
I did not like his response.
‘Hyde Park Fair.’
‘Stay public and visible. I’ll come and get you.’
That seriously damaged my calm.
“I wish you hadn’t done that.”
My head jerked up; the man who was leaning on my table looked in his late sixties, he had a thin crop of grey hair and a weak build but as he put down his cup his eyes darkened with bloodlust and he flashed his fangs.
I cursed my own stupidity, the one following me around I was supposed to see. That was the point, to fixate on him so I wouldn’t look for anyone else. I wondered how many of them there were and resisted the urge to look, it would do me no good to take my eyes off the man in front of me, he may or may not have been the leader but he was closest and was easily the biggest threat.
I put my phone back into my satchel, grateful that I had tightened the strap before entering the fair, pick-pocketing had always been a fine art in London and the Pause had only refined the skill with the use of Spells and potions.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll satisfy me yet.”
“Do I really want to know how?”
“You already know how.”
“So is this the part where you ask nicely and I let you bite my wrist and you pay me for a couple of pints?”
“No. This is the part where I Bespell you, lead you from here, tie to you to a table, and dig my fangs in to quell my own curiosity.”
“I like my idea better,” I complained.
He couldn’t hurt me with my shield up but I didn’t trust it to protect me against a Bespelling. Carson’s heavy handed one from the night in the Blood Bar had left me mindless. Even his gentle ones made it difficult to focus my talents. If this mystery man Bespelled with even half of Carson's force I wouldn’t have a hope of protecting myself. I needed to get away from the table, him and his unknown number of friends as fast as possible.
“I don’t really care what you think.”
“I offered you what you want freely. Why threaten me?”
“I don’t care about you, only what flows beneath your skin, you are nothing but a blood bag who has the unfortunate ability to talk and feel. You think nothing of sending a pig to the slaughterhouse for bacon or pork. I think nothing of leading my own food source to their fate.”
I closed my ability around the table.
I had thought that Valdine had an extreme view of the Human condition, but he at least had the good sense to ask for help and experiment for a solution, this man appeared to have abandoned his conscious when he had died. He had the ability to back up his claims as well, I could be held in thrall under a constant state of Bespelling. Once in his power he could command me to eat, sleep and drink, I would have no thought or feeling he didn’t implant. I didn't have much family, no boyfriend, even if my colleagues reported me missing, he would have no trouble in making sure I vanished off the face of the Earth.
In that moment of realisation, I wished I had some friends who weren’t afraid of me.
I was hardly a damsel in distress. I had no intention of fainting, but I was scared and
he would know that by the tempo of my heartbeat, pulse and the scent I excluded. I couldn't become paralysed by it; if I was going to give in to the fear I might as well have just let him take me. But I had to be careful too, I wasn’t a violent person in nature but I knew how to wield my abstract in inventive ways, but throwing things about here, even in self-defence wasn’t an option.
Apart from the fact that the fair was brimming over with people and I could easily hurt someone innocent of any crime, I also had to remember that Dependants were already dead, that was a fact I couldn’t escape from.
A dead body couldn’t feel pain so hitting them with things though it might slow them down wouldn’t injure them, dead bodies didn’t tire so running would only solve the problem short term until I was exhausted and they could catch up. But like all Eternals they had a True Death, for a Dependant it wasn’t a wooden or silver stake through the heart; it was a beheading. There in lay the problem, if a Dependant bled and their blood entered into a new system the new host would become like them.
One droplet on a fresh cut, or a splash on the face blinked into the eyes or simply breathed in and your fate was sealed, there was no cure and no going back. That one droplet would multiply over the weeks slowly gaining momentum until there was not enough blood in your own veins and you died; only for the body to reanimate with a new hunger and the Bespelling talent to hunt for it.
I could have easily attacked this man, or any of his followers, but in such a mass of people I would never be able to live with myself if I ended the life of an innocent person in an attempt to defend my own. I would have to be very careful how I handed the next few moments; I had to hand it to him really. If he had attacked me at home I would have had no problem in throwing up him against the walls or shoving him out for the window to fall the three floors to the ground.
But here, in the open, surrounded by people, I had a distinct disadvantage.
I wasn't even sure I could pick him up and throw him far enough that he wouldn't land somewhere out of harms way. Too bad I couldn't use my talents to steal their voices; if they couldn't touch me or use their tones to subdue me with a Bespelling I wouldn't have been in any danger.
“Now,” his voice brought me back to the table I still held in my telekinetic grasp, he put down his finished coffee and I noticed that this time his voice was pitched differently and I felt the weight of his Bespelling and the command in his voice settle over me.
I didn’t wait for him to give me an order I wouldn’t be able to refuse. I threw up the table and the edge cracked into his chin, snapped his head back and thankfully shut him up. Shaking off the Bespelling, I bolted from the table.<
br />
I was aware that people called out in protest, innocent bystanders who became caught in the crossfire, but a few spilt teas, broken cups and bruises didn’t cause me much guilt in the grand scheme of things.
If I had hit him any harder he might have cut his tongue with his own fangs or I could have dislodged a tooth, the kind of damage he could do with a mouthful of his infected blood was almost too much to think about.
I had never considered myself fit or much of a runner but motivation was a powerful thing and my legs seemed to find a speed and a power born of fear I had never realised they had. I wished I had tried flying now, I could have used the escape, but now wasn't the time to go about practising with new techniques.
Fleeing was all well and good, but it was a difficult thing to do when I didn’t know how many people I was trying to get away from, or what their positions where the fair. Carson had told me to remain in public sight, but that wouldn’t do me any good if I became cornered and became Bespelled against my will. I needed to lose them and the best way of doing that was confusing their senses, which would hopefully buy me enough time to call Carson and tell him I was facing unknown numbers and would he please use whatever political power he had to abuse speed limits and rescue me.
I fled past the tents and market stalls threading what I hoped were obscure paths through the throng of people, I couldn’t leave the fair, once in the park it was open country and I would easily be run down. But I couldn’t get into a fight here either, my only hope was to hide until Carson turned up.
I needed a way of masking my scent and my heartbeat.
I spun, ducked behind a tent, threaded my way into the crowd and ran back the way I had come.
It was funny the things people didn’t see.
I liked to think that I was the kind of person who, if they saw someone running in circles and whose gaze was casting about, and they had an air of agitation, that I would stop them and ask what the problem was. Then again if anyone did try to stop me now my first reaction would be to label them as a danger and use my abstract to throw them into the nearest stall for their trouble.
I dodged around a family and ducked between two of the large tents that housed the animals; he fairs were mobile and almost completely self-sustaining. So there was everything from chickens, goats, sheep and cows for eggs milk and meat, through to ponies that visitors could ride on to the fleet of show horses, and teams of heavy shires who pulled wagons. Then there were Favlian animals, the scaled Dragonkin who came in as many shapes and sizes as their distant cousins; the dragons themselves. The gurias, which were horse-sized tigers that could be ridden, tame cave bats the size of domestic cats and a host of others I hadn’t had the chance to see.
Halfway between the tents was a cart and I ducked beside it, the scent of the animals and their manure was powerful, their keepers and the animals' hearts all running at different speeds and tempos, which I hoped would be a distraction from my own.
I hid as best I could and began to slow my breathing, trying to calm my racing heart. I started to reach for my bag and my phone but froze as the man who had been tailing me since I entered the fair paused at the gap in the tents. His nose wrinkled in disgust he took a step between the tents and I closed my abstract around the cart itself.
No-one, unless they were buying the manure, would willingly come down here so I was free to use a bit more force, I just had to hope he didn’t see me until I was ready to make my move.
A hand closed over my mouth and I was jerked back against a hard chest so fast I lost my breath, my struggles were contained as if I weren’t even trying.
“Be still,” the voice was masculine and I expected the words to be laced with a Bespelling tone, but my head remained clear and my body my own. “He will see us through my Camouflage Spell if you move.”
I went still obediently and I was rewarded when the hand slipped off my mouth and the grip I was held in eased.
The Dependant moved closer, and looked directly at the cart, he advanced with
purposeful strides and leaned over it. He should have seen us, he was staring directly at us, I held still by sheer force of will over the burning in my legs that wanted me to run, while being too afraid to even close my eyes. It felt like an eternity but finally he struck the cart aggressively and stalked back towards the fair dialling a number into his phone, just before he disappeared completely I heard his snarled report that he had lost me.
My relief was short lived and the hands tightened again this time lifting me completely off my feet, in the next instant I was spun and pushed into the tent I had been sheltering next to.
I stumbled but kept my feet.
I stared in shock and awe at the inside of the tent that was luxurious, decadent and everything I had never expected a tent to look like.
In the centre was a fire pit with crackled merrily and had a kettle and a covered pot emitting a wonderful smell. Opposite me on the far left was a small empty bath tub, in the far right was a giant wooden bed laden with silk and satin pillows, furs and woollen blankets, and in the corner next to another set of tent flaps there was a plush love seat, a couple of wooden chairs covered in velvet and a delicately carved little coffee table.
I was also astonished by the clean fresh scent of the place, outside the various dung had stained the air with a heavy and unpleasant perfume that was missing from the tent despite the fact that the shelter was hardly wind-proof.
Movement dragged my attention off the decoration and to the person who had rescued me. He wasn’t that much taller than I was but he was muscular and defined, he had a thick crop of dark hair, and his eyes were a strange gold with a rim of wine red that melted into the black pupil. He crossed his arms staring at me with a little frown I didn’t understand. As he lowered his hands, I caught a glance of the ring he wore on his right thumb, it was large covering the area from his hand up to his knuckle, it was solid and unadorned with stones but the silver had been beautifully worked with a swirling pattern of ivy leaves.
“Something you find interesting?”
I looked back up at his strange eyes and nearly flinched at the scowl that pinched them.
“It’s Pre-Pause. Kaverlarish I think, Travio never adorned his work with gems. It is what made them unique.”
“It could be anything from a modern replica to a similar style,” he replied. “What makes you think it is genuine?”
“The band under the thumb is marked with the province seal, the ivy runs counter-clockwise with the leaves all pointing inward, and it extends underneath cupping the thenar on the hand.”
“Good.”
He took it off and held it out to me, I closed the few steps nervously but he let me take the item and turn it over in my hands.
“It wasn’t made for you.”
“No.”
I opened my mouth, but shut it again, I didn’t really want to know how he came by it, I held it back out and he slipped it back on. Moving around me he walked to the coffee table picking up one of the goblets he filled it with a hot liquid from the pot brewing on the fire that smelt like jasmine and pine but was black in colour. As he stood a stray shaft of sunlight struck his skin, like oil on water a deep red tint momentarily flashed across his skin highlighting the hundreds of tiny hexagon shapes his skin was constructed from.
The sight of it made me still and I went stiff.
“You're a dragon.”
“Very good.”
The dragons of Favlas were an Eternal Race, if they had magic it was usually dedicated to one elemental power and they lived within a home range made up of it. With or without magic they were born with the natural ability to take the shape of a man or a woman with only that tell-tale sheen of colour, and the shape of their scales to give them away. He offered me the ornate goblet and I took it, this one was a replica; it was too light to have been made from solid gold and the gems were cheap dyed glass, but it was warm and it helped to combat the shaking in my hands left the by the rush of adrenaline f
rom the chase.
“Thank you.”
“So,” he drawled, the words were a soft and surprisingly soothingly hiss. “Where does an Earthling woman learn so much about Pre-Pause Favlian artefacts? Why was she being hunted by five Blood Dependants and what could they want with her?”
I nearly flinched again but he had saved my life and I doubted that he would hand me over; dragons were known for being passionate creatures, but slow deliberators. Then again if I had as long as they did to make a decision I would think everything through very carefully too.
“I work for the Pre-Pause Society, I learnt Earthling and Favlian artefacts at university. The Dependants want me for blood.”
“You study history?”
“No. Just the things of history.”
“You hoard,” The dragon smiled.
That was one thing that Pre-Pause Earthling stories had gotten right, the dragons’ love of possessions.
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” I said, sipping at the drink; it was sweet with a subtle smoked flavour that was deliciously refreshing.
The dragon offered me a chair and I sat on the edge of the love seat.
“I don’t think you are telling me the whole truth.”
“I am an abstract.”
“A Child of the Nexus?”
“Yes. When they take my blood, they take my abstract as well.”
“Really?” The dragon eased down into another chair relaxing back and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Strange how something that should have been thought of before actually ends up being a surprise.”
“Yeah, strange.”
“And you are running away from them?”
“Was it that obvious?”
“I mean,” he replied, a little reptilian smile catching his mouth. “Were you a captive?”
“No. I would be if they had their way.”
