by Amy Patrick
I took him up on the suggestion, grateful to have found this unexpected ally when I needed one most. I’d been told all my life how uncouth and radical the American Dark Court was, but Nox seemed like not only a good leader but a good person.
He led me to a guest suite that featured an attached bathroom and a small sitting area with a table.
“There are plenty of towels in the bathroom, fresh sheets on the bed. You relax. I’ll let you know when we have a flight plan.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“No problem. I’ll leave you to it. Call if you need anything.” He went to the door but before stepping through it he turned back to me. “Nic?”
I set my plate of food down on the small table. “Yes?”
“I’m not sure what you’re going to find when you, you know, catch up to them. I want you to know… well, my friend Anders… he’s a good guy, and he’s been through some hard stuff, too. Don’t be too rough on him.”
I read his meaning clearly. What he meant was don't beat the merda out of my friend if you find out she’s fallen in love with him.
I nodded, answering him mind-to-mind so he would have no doubt of my sincerity—lying was impossible when communicating in the ancient Elven way. I understand. I’m grateful to him—to you—for keeping her safe. Truly.
“Okay. And one more thing… don’t ever doubt that she did love you. I don't think I’ve ever seen anyone grieve like that in my entire life—I certainly never want to see it again. It’s just… no one could keep that up forever. It would kill them.”
I nodded again, this time unable to say anything but a quiet, “Thank you.”
I went back to my dinner, forcefully pushing from my mind the disturbing images Nox’s subtle warning had produced. I knew Macy had loved me once. And what I’d written in that letter stood, whether she still felt that way or not. I loved her. Her happiness and safety were my only concerns.
If she had moved on and—the thought made me gasp for breath—fallen in love with someone else… I would spend the rest of my life as her silent guardian, protecting her from every threat, without ever letting her know I was there.
6
Macy
I was breathless, having danced for the past hour to every song the old corner jukebox played. Anders beamed at me, looking as cool and unruffled as he had when we first arrived at the dungeon-dark, crowded dive bar in Neartown Houston’s hip Montrose neighborhood.
“You never told me you were such a great dancer,” I said, leaning against him in happy exhaustion and laughing. By now I was comfortable enough around him to not care whether I was a good dancer or not. I was having fun. For the first time in a long time, there were no “ghosts” hovering around me.
“You never asked,” he quipped. “And you never told me you knew the words to every country song ever written.” Pushing my hair back from my damp temples he asked, “Ready for a break?”
I nodded, and we made our way to a scarred wooden table near one of the black-painted, graffiti-covered walls. It was one of those long high-top tables you share with anyone and everyone who happens to come along, and we squeezed onto a bench together in the only available space.
“Want another drink?” Anders asked as a cocktail waitress moved in our direction.
“Water please. I’m so thirsty.”
“I bet. You’ve gotten a pretty good workout.” He flagged the waitress down and ordered our drinks.
As we waited, I looked around at the photos, and bits of paper, stolen street signs, and bumper stickers stuck to the walls and ceiling, the purple twinkle lights strewn around haphazardly, the heated pool tournament going on at two nearby billiards tables. Hundreds of liquor bottles lined the wall behind the bar, and several pairs of rather large undergarments hung from the rafters above—there must have been quite a story behind that.
“You know, this was a good idea—coming here.” I leaned toward Anders to bump my shoulder against his arm. “When I first saw this place from the outside, I thought you were nuts.”
“Haven’t you learned to trust me by now? You said you’d never been to a dive bar before, and this is the dive bar. It’s a Houston institution.” He grinned. “Plus… you’ve been begging me to play for you.” He nodded toward a keyboard set up on a small stage in preparation for the night’s live musical act.
“I don’t know about ‘begging.’ Oh, okay… I do want to hear you play.”
“What should I play for you? You want some Luke Bryan or Blake Shelton… or maybe some old-school Willie?”
“I want to hear one of your songs. What about the movie theme you’re working on?”
He glanced around. “I’m not sure this is a road-trip-love-story crowd.”
“Who cares? Nobody’s listening. And if they are, they’re probably too drunk to care. And I’ll bet you every person in here has fallen in love at least once—except for you, of course,” I added in a teasing note.
He gave me a protracted stare, and then he finally moved, backing off the bench and heading for the dark stage. When I didn’t immediately follow, he stopped and turned back to me, giving me the come-along gesture.
I followed him up onto the small stage, feeling conspicuous, though when I looked back over the bar crowd, no one was looking at us.
“Are we going to get in trouble?” I asked.
Anders gave me the universal expression for Oh please and took a seat on the stool in front of the keyboard, switched it on, and let his hands hover above the keys for a moment. I shifted until I was standing at the front of the large instrument, leaning on it slightly with my forearms, brimming with anticipation.
He started playing. The music didn't just reach my ears. I felt it reverberating through the keyboard into my arms and throughout my body, resonating in my chest where it competed with my heartbeat for dominance.
It was beautiful—the melody and the sight of his hands moving deftly from one end of the instrument to the other, his fingers flying in the dark. The sound was so full and complex, it seemed like more than one person was playing. Anders’ skill as a musician was undeniable, but what really got to me was the song itself.
It was pure emotion translated into musical notes, alternately amusing and uplifting and then lilting and melancholy, tugging at every last one of my heartstrings. And I thought those had been snapped long ago. The incredible thing was he’d made this harmonic creation—from his own heart and mind. How did that work? How could someone create something out of nothing like that? Especially something as remarkable and affecting as this? It seemed like magic.
But of course, he was magical—he was Elven—and this was no doubt his secondary glamour. Though if you asked me, it could have been his primary one.
As the song ended and I opened my eyes, I realized the rowdy late-night crowd had gone quiet, every bit as mesmerized by Anders’ talent as I was. The applause began then grew and grew until it was a roar punctuated by clinking bottles and appreciative yells of praise and calls for more.
Anders didn’t look at any of them. He looked at me, his eyes leery, his face surprisingly vulnerable.
“Anders,” I breathed, nearly too overwhelmed to speak. “I…”
Before I could get my thoughts out, people started rushing the stage—mostly female people.
“It’s the keyboard player from The Hidden,” one woman exclaimed loudly. This caused more seats to empty until the dance floor in front of the stage was filled with bar patrons screaming, “Anders!” and reaching out to touch him and grasp at his clothing.
He stood from the stool and raised one hand, yelling, “Thank you. Thanks very much,” to be heard above the clamor. With his other hand, he gripped mine and started pulling me toward the backstage door.
Together we ducked through it, he slid a lock into place, and we darted down a short passageway to the kitchen, through its heated clattering busyness and out into an alley beside the bar. Then we looked at each other and laughed.
“Wo
w. That was…” I shook my head, unable to come up with adequate words to describe what I’d seen.
He widened his eyes and blew out a breath. “Yeah. That’s what it’s like—only I’m not usually so close to the audience. And we have security guards at our shows.”
“Yeah—I can see why.”
“We should get out of here in case any of them gets the bright idea to come outside.”
I nodded my agreement and accompanied him toward the sidewalk. Our hotel was only a few blocks away, and we’d walked here earlier, enjoying the colorful, thriving neighborhood. It was much quieter now, though certainly not deserted. Trying my best to keep up with his impossibly long-legged stride, I realized our hands were still linked. Filled with embarrassment, I tugged mine away, which earned me a speculative side glance from Anders.
He didn’t mention it, though. Instead he asked, “So… what did you think of my song?”
His gaze went back to the sidewalk ahead as he waited for my reply.
“Oh. I thought it was…” I paused, searching for the right words to describe the experience of listening to his music. Because it was an experience, complete with sights and sounds and feels. It was different from anything I’d ever encountered before.
“You didn’t like it,” he said, sounding no less than crestfallen. As if my opinion truly mattered after the overwhelming approval he’d gotten back there from the crowd.
“No—I mean yes, I did like it. I liked it so much I’m having a hard time coming up with a way to express how much I liked it.”
“You don’t have to say that,” he muttered.
I stopped in place on the sidewalk. After another step or two Anders realized it and stopped as well. He turned back to me with a quizzical glance. I closed the gap between us and came to stand directly in front of him, making sure he was looking right at me before I spoke.
“Anders. I loved it. It… affected me. I don’t know how to describe it, but your song… the way you played… it did things to me.”
One corner of his mouth quirked, and his eyes went to the side as if he wanted to smile but wasn’t quite ready to let himself.
“You are… gifted,” I went on. “You have a beautiful, incredible gift. Before, when I’ve encountered glamours, I’ve had mixed feelings about them, about whether they’re a good thing or a bad thing. But yours—I know it can’t be anything but a good thing because of the way it made me feel.”
His face, which had been softening and reddening with emotion, now creased with displeasure. “I don’t have musical glamour.”
“You don’t? Are you sure?” I was truly confused.
He huffed a laugh devoid of humor. “Yeah. I’m sure. As far as music goes, I might as well be a human.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his derisive tone. “Oh that would be the worst thing in the world, wouldn't it? I’d hate to be a mere human—oh wait…” I grinned up at him, watching him realize how insulting his statement had been to present company, as in me.
He let out a reluctant laugh. “I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant it. Well, okay maybe it was how I meant it, but now I’m sorry I said it. Some humans are okay.”
“Lame apology accepted,” I said with a pert nod. “You know, it’s hard for me to believe you don’t have musical glamour, but if you say so, I guess I do. And that leaves me to conclude… you don’t need it. You are an incredible songwriter and musician all on your own—no magic tricks required.”
For several long moments, Anders stood there looking at me, frozen, not saying a word. Sounds of traffic and the incessant tapping of suicidal moths dive-bombing the nearby street light filled the silence.
And then he leaned down. I thought he was planning to hug me, and I leaned forward to return the hug, but as his face got close to mine and he didn’t turn his head, I realized what was really happening. He meant to kiss me.
My heart leapt up to block my airway. What do I do? Stop him? Let him? At the last second, just as his lips brushed the side of mine, I averted my face and pressed it into his chest, pretending I hadn’t realized his intent. My arms squeezed him briefly, then I let go, backing away with a smile and a cheery tone.
“It’s getting pretty late, isn’t it? I had no idea how long we stayed at the bar, and we’d better rest up if we’re spending the day at the rodeo tomorrow. That’s why we’re here, after all.” I turned one way then the other on the sidewalk, momentarily disoriented by the night’s surprising turn.
Anders didn’t immediately respond but stood looking at me, his head bobbing slightly, as if he was giving himself a little talk.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” he finally said, motioning for me to come along as he started down the sidewalk again.
I was hoping that was the end of it. Anders had shocked me, and I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. I needed time to process.
We’d become friends over the past two months of traveling together, having every meal together, living in close quarters—often sleeping in the same room for the sake of security and economy—completely cut off from everyone else in my life. It was impossible not to like him—he was… likable. Adorable, really. And no matter what he’d said about working on his music, I knew he was making a sacrifice to be here with me.
Since he’d joined me on the road, I had begun to change, to heal. His consistent presence and never-ending optimism had done what I thought was the impossible—pulled me out of my grief-stricken depression and reignited my interest in living again. I would always be grateful to him… but I wasn’t sure about my other feelings toward him.
Apparently he was wondering about the same thing because after a minute of walking together in silence, he said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”
My pulse thudded in my neck and ears. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I’ve had a great time with you these past couple of months. We get along great, and I’m really comfortable with you. I think of you as one of my closest friends now. What would you think about… a relationship upgrade?”
Oh boy. Here we go. “Yes. We are friends, but Anders—”
He lifted a hand to the side, out in front of me. “Hear me out, okay? I’ve given this some thought. I’ve spent time with a lot of girls, but I’ve never been this close to any of them before. You and I have fun together, we get each other’s humor. Neither of us snores. I think you’re about the cutest girl I’ve ever seen, and I don’t think you hate the way I look. In fact, if I remember correctly, you once even used the word, ‘amazing.’” He lifted a brow and smirked.
“Yes, but—”
He ignored my attempt to interrupt and forged ahead. “In my book, this…” He gestured between us with one hand. “Is just about as good as it gets. Add bonding to that, and I think we could be really happy together.”
I choked on the thin night air. “Bonding?”
“Yeah. From what I hear, it’s a lot of fun. And it seems like the natural next step—especially to an Elven guy who’s half a year past the usual age.”
“But… if we were to…” I could hardly say the word. “…bond, then you would never be able to be with anyone else… in that way. Nic told me it was a one-partner-for-a-lifetime kind of deal.
“That’s true. There’s one of me and one of you. Why not us?”
“Well…”
I searched my shell-shocked brain cells for some logical reasoning. On one hand, I was flattered. This was a big deal for him. It meant no more band-bunnies. He’d always seemed to enjoy that aspect of celebrity quite a bit—even more than the other guys in the band. He must have been sincere about how much he liked me. And maybe he was right—maybe a close friendship with a nice guy like Anders was as good as it was going to get for me. I would never love anyone again—at least not the way I loved Nic. Maybe after we’d spent a few years together, I’d grow to love Anders in some lesser, un-epic way. But something about that just seemed… wrong.
“What if we do this, ‘upgrade’ our
relationship as you said, and then you meet someone and you're instantly blown away by her? What if you fall madly in love with another girl, and you’ve already bonded yourself to me?”
He released an impatient sigh. “I promise you—that is not going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it never has. I’ve certainly dated enough girls by now. If it was going to happen, it would have. Not everybody has the capacity for mind-bending, soul-scorching love.”
I had my doubts about that, but he seemed so certain. I supposed he knew himself better than anyone did, and I should trust his word.
“What about the eternity thing? I’m not immortal. You are. What’s going to happen when my life is done, and you’re left alone with the mark? Forever.”
“At least I’ll have had a damn good time for a few decades.” He laughed. “No, seriously. It doesn’t matter. The fun of the whole bonding thing probably wears off after a while anyway. And it’s not like all this virginity is doing me any good right now.” He stopped and grabbed my hand to pull me to face him.
“I think it’s a brilliant plan,” he said. “It makes perfect sense. It gives both of us what we need. If I’m never going to fall in love, and you're never going to fall in love again, we might as well not fall in love with each other—right?”
In a way, it did make sense. But it was all happening too fast. I needed a good night’s sleep and time to think.
“I… don’t know.” I wrinkled my nose in an apologetic gesture.
“Yes, you do, Macy. If you’d open that steel trap of a heart a teensy crack, you’d see—it’s the best thing for both of us.”
Anders gave me an intense, soul-penetrating look, and for a moment I got a flicker of butterfly wings in my chest, a glimpse of a potential future for us as bond-mates. The prospect left me a little dizzy.
