by Kay Williams
I was hard hearted. I was unprepared to take a joke levelled at me, or my things, with good humour. Of course I knew that that stemmed from my childhood, but I could have at least tried to get over it as an adult rather than continue to sulk about it and snap at people who had no idea of how I had grown up. It turned out that I was capable of murder and then in cringe-worthy displays of hypocrisy accused other people of having no moral compass themselves.
I was more like the Dependants then I was a living creature.
I felt uncomfortable, I didn’t know myself anymore, I was scared, not of what I was capable of, but how I would justify its use.
The tears did come then, but they weren’t for Pear or for Snow.
They were for me.
They were for the person I had been last week who’s only concern had been to find someone who thought she was pretty.
They were for the person I was now, a woman who was efficient and single minded and while professing to have a conscience couldn’t have thought of one recent occurrence of having used it.
But most of all they were for the person I was going to be next week, a frightening black hearted creature without pity, guilt or remorse.
# # #
Aolir’s mornings started early and though I was grateful to him for letting me know he was leaving the warmth of the bed and I enjoyed the nibbled kisses up my back and his whispered promise of which part of my body he intended to lick his lunch off of. I did find that the before dawn disturbance after another long night of indulgence that Aolir had used to distract me from my tears left me wide-awake and irritable.
I was a mixed bag of emotions and Aolir’s unnatural instinct to keenly understand them was a blessing and a wonder. When I told him so he puffed up under the influence of the complement and left the tent with a little spring in his step that was adorable and had the added benefit of improving my mood just by seeing it.
An hour after he had gone he was back with a bowl of porridge, toast and jam and a few strips of bacon and a deep bowl of hot water with a little pouch of Favlian soap flakes which were scrubbed onto skin, hair or clothes and then washed off. They fizzed and popped when added to hot water like bath bombs.
When I refused to move from the warmth of the bed, Aolir took it upon himself to coax me out of it, I was suitably stubborn this only encouraged him to be more hands on than strictly necessary.
Washed and dressed Aolir left me again, this time to go to work, but with strict instructions not to leave the protection of his wards. As I had no intention of making a target of myself I stayed put and watched the ballet Fredrick Harper had performed using a catch up television app on my phone, it lacked scale on the tiny screen and the speakers weren’t really equipped to deal with the recording but it was a beautiful production.
Around mid-morning Aolir returned with a snack of breakfast biscuits and fruit salad, a stack of newspapers and an armload of his own paperwork. Without a proper table to work at, he propped the pillows up against the headboard and was just content to sprawl out. A very pointed look encouraged me to share his space and I soon found myself next to him, with a crossword and the occasional, but deliberate, graze of his knuckles over my hands as he reached for paper and files.
I was ashamed that without Carson’s good-natured spelling corrections and flashes of inspiration that my attempt at the crossword was back to my usual feeble scribble and I soon lost interest in it when I became stuck.
Aolir’s work was much more interesting and consisted of a strange mix of ledgers and paper receipts written in several languages, and surprisingly Earthling looking charts and graphs, printed emails, and accounting forecasts.
“Aolir?”
“Hmm?”
“What exactly do you do?”
“I represent the stall holders that have the green and purple banners,” he answered. “I take a small percentage of either profit or goods.”
“And you in turn find them fairs in which to set up in and maximize their take?”
“Yes. There are more merchants than fairs, travelling or otherwise, and it's even rarer that they travel to Earth, the wares and the merchants have to meet very strict criteria in order to be approved for a Nexus Passport.”
“You take all of the hassle out of it; they concentrate on doing what they do best while you make sure that they have somewhere to pitch their stall.”
“I do very well for my merchants.”
“And they for you,” I smiled. “Is that why no-one can find your hoard? Because it's out there with a ‘for sale’ sign on it?”
Aolir barked a laugh and I was proud of myself for not being startled by the animal sound from a human mouth.
“No. My hoard is somewhere else.”
My phone buzzed and I climbed off the bed to fetch it from my bag, glanced at the caller ID and noted Cornwall’s number. It felt like more than a couple of days ago had passed since our argument in the museum, and I hadn’t had time to spare our friendship more than a passing thought.
Cornwall, despite how I affected him, had always been a little over protective and genuinely concerned with how I had not only gotten along with his friends but also with how his friends had treated me. He had probably read about the death at the museum and wondered why I hadn’t called him, and the way things were at the moment it was for the best that I kept him as in the dark as possible. So far Long appeared keen on coming after me directly I didn’t want anyone else to die for me.
I answered the call, the stirrings of guilt sitting in my stomach, his feelings about me aside, Cornwall had never deceived or lied to me, and as Heronsgate had pointed out, he had only lied about that much because he was struggling to get over it.
I didn’t like lying to him.
“Roberts.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
Aolir looked up from his work and I heard muffled footfalls and leather furniture down the line, the dragon cocked his head as if struggling to hear the faint sounds.
“Simon?”
Wildlings, as a general rule, tended not to hold grudges or let little slights lead to petty behaviour. The animals within them were too honest to be truly adapt at vindictive attitudes, they would snap and snarl, they would get whatever it was bothering them off their chest and then they would move on as if they had never set eyes on you.
They weren’t really emotionally invested in long term regret, if they felt that something was worth salvaging even after tears or harsh words they were the first ones to apologise or try to mend the bridge. It made no sense that Cornwall would call and not say anything, even if it was something tart or angry he had maybe thought of since the last time we had spoken.
Just as I was about to hang up someone sighed on the other end of the line, the phone clicked where it was removed from its cradle and a familiar voice spoke with the same calm disinterest as it had before but the slight echo told me I was still on speaker-phone.
“Your friend is being most uncooperative in refusing to beg for his life.”
Aolir snarled and moved off the bed to my side in a way that was more of a slither than I thought the human body was capable of.
“Asking a wildling to beg is like asking a Dependant to enjoy life,” I answered.
“Don’t test me. I am not in the mood.”
“I read about the death of your friend in the paper, can’t say I’m sorry.”
“You murdered him,” Long’s response was tight and frightening in its level of cold hatred.
“It was self-defence, he was trying to kidnap me, and it is not my fault he fell.”
“We both know you pushed him!”
Aolir gave a little shake of his head, his eyes held a warning and I decided listened to it.
Perhaps it was magic, perhaps it was just because he was a dragon but even though we hadn't known each other long he had always been able to tell what I was feeling, and I trusted him to know when I was about to push one butto
n too many. Long and his men had already proven that they were more than capable of killing mercilessly in an effort to get hold of me, and I didn’t want anything to happen to Cornwall because I was safe.
“What do you want with Simon?”
“You have no close family,” Long answered after a long minute, his voice dropping back to its usual level of disinterest before it changed to a sneer in an effort to insult me. “Your mother was a whore who fooled a man that you were his daughter for eighteen years before he discovered the truth and left without a backwards glance.”
Aolir’s expression became soft and compassionate.
I remembered the day Leslie Falk had left, I had called him my father for eighteen years and I told him I didn’t care about blood, I told him he would always be my dad, he had told me all I represented was eighteen years' wasted investment. Falk had called a few months later to apologise for the words spoken when he had been deceived and angry. I had forgiven him as best I could, but to some extent, too much damage had been done in that moment. We barely spoke now except a few words on birthdays and little letters enclosed with Christmas cards.
My mother would never tell me who my father actually was but there had to be a telekinetic out there somewhere who had passed on his genes to me. I never felt inclined to find him, she had a habit of using whoever came into her life for whatever they were worth and when I had begun to do well and her requests for money became more frequent I cut contact altogether as well.
On top of which my abstract kept every semi interested man on the other side of the Thames so it was no wonder that Long had resorted to threatening a friend. I wondered how he had known about Cornwall though, had his men been at the museum the night Carson had picked me up? Was my life so technologically insecure that my emails or phone had been hacked? A more chilling thought had me worried that they had seen Heronsgate’s unconventional arrival and he and those he called friend would soon be targeted.
How did one decision ruin my life and affect so many others?
If I could go back I would have taken myself home instead of paying for a chair that night in Night Terrors. If I never met Carson I would never have known that my abstract could be past on and Long would never have found out that I was telekinetic.
In the end it didn’t matter how Long had done it, only that it had happened and now Cornwall’s life was in my hands. Hands that had held another friend when he had died because of me, and hands that, in the next instant, had returned the atrocity with a calm lethal purpose just as equal to Snow’s had been against Pear.
I wasn’t sure I deserved to hold Cornwall’s life.
“What do you want?” It was a dumb question really. I knew what Long wanted, but I needed him to say it, I needed Cornwall to know how much trouble I was in if he didn’t believe it already
“I want you strapped to a surgical table bleeding into a glass for the rest of your worthless life,” Long hissed.
The scent of smoke brought my head up and I was momentarily struck dumb at the sight of Aolir’s scales stained in anger and black smoke curling up from his nostrils. If I ever needed a reminder in the future that this man was not a man I would only ever have to think of this moment.
“And I don’t want anyone else to die because of that want,” I answered.
“I was hoping you would be agreeable to a trade. Killing people is easy, making them disappear is more complicated.”
“If handing myself over to you is the last decision I ever make I’m sure you won’t begrudge me a few requests,” I answered.
“Hannah!” Cornwall’s sudden protect was cut off by the sound of a hard smack of flesh on flesh.
“Don’t!” I was in no position to give orders but the word escaped and if Aolir hadn’t grabbed my free arm I would have gone and given myself up.
I knew Cornwall worked in a small office in Barnet dealing with residential and land entitlement, but he was interested in all applications of the law and enjoyed a challenge. If I had been charged with murder it had been Cornwall I would have called to defend me.
“Sit still.” Long did a fair imitation of a purr. “There’s a good kitty, you had your
chance to speak.”
I wondered if Long was Bespelling, I remembered the compulsion in his voice but Wildlings had a natural defence against it; the animal in them wasn’t so easily tempted by promises of security and pleasure that the Human mind was.
Aolir threaded his fingers through mine, I clung to him struggling to keep a lid on my fear and on my temper while he wrote a text of his own one handed, he mouthed Carson’s name when he saw me watching him and I nodded my understanding.
“My life for his means he has to be handed over in the same condition I come to you in.”
“Deal,” Long agreed.
“Not dead, not changed, not infected, not beaten or broken,” I repeated myself.
“You act as if you don’t trust me.”
My mother had always used the phrase ‘not as far as I could throw you’ for these kinds of extreme situations but if I put my mind to it I was fairly sure I could throw Long at least a couple of blocks. More if I gave my growing anger a free rein, how dare he use my friends so shamefully? All because he was perverse when it came to his meals?
“Where?” I asked instead, using controlled breathing to keep my voice calm.
“The Pause memorial wall,” Long answered. “Eleven pm and do leave the fair where it is.”
Aolir waved his phone and I remembered who he had been texting.
“The Council will be there.”
I didn’t expect the news to be a surprise or a deterrent but I wasn’t expecting Long’s laugh.
“If you must threaten me, try to use something that is a-little off the bottom of the barrel.”
Aolir rolled his eyes and I half shrugged in return, I wished I could argue with that but if anyone had threatened me with the Dependant Council I would have laughed at them too.
“If Simon is harmed in any way I swear I will disappear and you will never see me again.”
Now Long paused and I realised that though I thought it would be treated as another hollow threat this one actually held weight.
In the fair, behind Aolir’s wards and in the presence of the dragon I was safe and protected. Long couldn’t get me here, if he wanted me he would have to lure me out and his best chance of doing so was Cornwall. If anything happened to his leverage Long would have burnt one too many bridges.
“So long as you come quietly, he will remain unharmed.”
I had no choice but to take his word for it.
The phone clicked off and the sound of it made me jump.
“You need to stay calm, Hannah.” Aolir spoke in soft tones.
I lowered the phone and shook my head, throughout the call I had had to work at keeping myself calm and in control, now there was no chance of Long hearing me I let my anger slip the tight leash I had kept it controlled with.
“No,” I answered my tones becoming as cold and hard as Long’s had been.
“Hannah.”
“What I really need, Aolir, is that man’s head decorating my coffee table.”
The dragon’s smile was slow and reptilian and shone with approval.
Aolir left me alone for a few minutes to gather my thoughts and calm down, he was right when he said that being angry wouldn’t get me anywhere, I needed to be able to think if I was going to get Cornwall out of this unscathed, uninfected and in one piece.
I had already lost one friend, I couldn’t blame myself directly for Pear’s death, I hadn’t been there to try and save him. But it was because of me that Pear had died and rather than turning that knowledge into self-hatred I turned it on the people who deserved to carry the blame, and the punishment.
Aolir spent his energy in carrying in spare chairs to make room for Carson and the Councillors who were on the way, he also brought in a couple of large folding screens that he hid the bed with. It took me a minute to reali
se that he was dividing his tent into ‘rooms’ so that anything we shared in an intimate sense wasn’t on display, considering his behaviour so far I could only think of it as a possessive gesture.
Aolir’s own words came back to me, no-one could predict affection or attraction and there was plenty of that coming from the dragon, maybe we were far too different to have anything long term. But I wasn’t going to dishonour him by assuming that because we had no clear future that meant the minute we were in was ultimately worthless, he was kind, brave, funny and loving. He deserved to be treated as such.
Aolir wasn’t the Prince Charming I had told Cornwall I was looking for, but I doubted that a Prince Charming would be all that delighted with the kind of girl who would take the law into her own hands and proclaim her own vengeance, or one who came with as much baggage as I did. Aolir was impressed with what he was thinking of as my dragon-like qualities, my collection was a hoard, my vengeance suited his lawless nature, the offhand comment of displaying my deeds as trophies was equal to the way dragons of Favlas often hung up the armour -minus the body- of anyone proclaiming themselves to be a dragon slayer.
If Aolir had met me a week ago I doubted he would have spared me a second glance but then circumstances often made strange bedfellows.
When Aolir finished fussing with everything and was satisfied with the new arrangements, I tucked myself up against his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist. I felt him start, felt his hesitation, than he made the pleased purring sound and hugged me back. It felt good to be against his chest, wrapped up in his warmth and I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.
He left soon after, only to come back several minutes later with a large platter of food and the Dependant Council.
I immediately started on a plate of cold ham and pork slices, jacket potato, salad with a side of fresh bread, cola and a giant plate of cookies.
Valdine took a seat without even a curious glance about.
Ross had done to Aolir’s space as he had done with mine. He poked everything, looked in all the drawers, made offhand comments and visibly cringed at the lack of technology, which seemed to be his mistress, his hobby and his reason for living.
