Seducer Fey

by Cullyn Royson

  “Wouldn’t that be like your dad?”

  “No, my dad is the one who raised me—he was with me when we first met.” Eadowen chuckled giving Taban a sidelong glance.

  Taban pretended to glare back. He could see Eadowen mentally replaying the awkward way they’d met at the Canadian recruitment fair for the Talbot Mir Academy held in Ontario. A little kid with long, dark hair had tripped him and he’d fallen onto Eadowen’s lap. Though that encounter seemed to be chance, Taban remembered how adamantly his father pushed their friendship.

  “You and I aren’t as different as you think we are,” Eadowen said, blowing gently on the candle flame so that only the blue at the core of the flame was visible.

  “Are you kidding? We’re like night and day.” Taban picked the wax off the back of his neck.

  “Not many twelve-year-olds can provoke a group of people enough to make them chase a preteen off a three-story building. After that, my dad contacted a friend of the family in Scotland to come talk to me. He helped me a lot. My dad said something to my mom and the other man about forgiving them. After that, I noticed some physical similarities I had with him and figured it out.”

  Did Eadowen just tell me? Does that mean what I did actually worked? Taban wondered. I despise inconclusive data, but I’m not going to try that approach again. “Didn’t you have your genome sequenced at birth?” Taban asked aloud. “Unless he signed a waiver, your dad should know who your father is.”

  “I don’t have my genome sequenced. My parents waived the entire procedure.”

  “Is that why you never got a treatment to help you walk? I read about those things the other day. They seem to work pretty well for most trauma injuries, but they require lots of time, money, and your genome. I have a lot of money from the commercials I do. I’ll pay for the procedure if you can’t afford it. Just get your genome sequenced because they require that for any big medical procedure.”

  “You see me as needing to be fixed?”

  “No! You’re very capable, but I’m sure it’s an inconvenience.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I can’t. We have our reasons. My mother took me abroad for treatment. They used specialized enzymes to inhibit scar tissue and neural growth factor to allow my body to partially regrow the spinothalamic tract over a period of years.”

  “So you can feel in your legs?”

  “Somewhat, yes.”

  “Can I ask how your dad feels about not knowing whether or not you’re his biological child?”

  “He loves me as much as my brothers who are, without a doubt, his biological children.” Eadowen bit his lip in thought. “Assure me you won’t come on to anyone who doesn’t want you ever again.”

  “I never have and I won’t,” Taban held up his hand. “And since, apparently, you’re the only person who can see through me, you know I mean it.”

  “Good, because I want you to come home with me over Spring Break. You need a chance to get away from all this.”

  “Wha—” Taban started, then recovered himself. “I’m supposed to be partying in Miami, but I guess I can do that all summer. I’ll just book a flight from Florida, so my father won’t notice that I changed my plans. Where do you live Vancouver, Toronto, Ontario?”

  “Toronto is in Ontario. I live in Nova Scotia.”

  “What province is Nova Scotia in? Do you like speak French? ’Cause that’d be hot!”

  Eadowen rubbed his forehead and sighed.

  “Hey, how do you think I’d look as a blond?” Taban asked.

  In response, Eadowen raised an eyebrow and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  “That bad, huh? I thought I pulled it off when I dressed up as that country-pop singer from the 2010s to sing for your eighteenth birthday.” Taban admired the short white dress hanging in his closet over a pair of silver stiletto heels.

  “I guess you did pull off those ringlets pretty well. I liked the way one of your heels was dangling off your ankle while you faked playing the guitar. That was a nice touch.”

  “Oh, that was because I broke the strap when I fell trying to get to the stage. Connor had to escort me so I wouldn’t rip the dress. He’s had a giant crush on you for forever, speaking of which why aren’t you and he dating?” Taban peeled more wax off of his back. “I walked in on you two making out Sophmore year and he’s followed you like a puppy dog ever since. He’s an A-list actor now; get with him and you’re set for life.”

  Eadowen shook his head.

  “I do commercials so I stay anonymous because fame looks really annoying, but you could handle it. It’s not like the tabloids are going to have anything juicy to go on with you if you were his significant other. I mean come on, Connor Haswell is gorgeous, if I was into sleeping with guys he’d be at the top of my A-list.”

  “I have an obligation to someone else. Acquiescing to his advances was a lapse in my judgment.” Eadowen covered his eyes with his hand. “You need to understand, Taban, you and I are like drugs—people can basically get addicted. The people you’ve been intimate with will struggle to find satisfaction in other partners.”

  “Even if that’s true I’m not going cold turkey.”

  “Then wait seventy-two hours.”

  “What?”

  “If someone asks to sleep with you make them think it over for seventy-two hours away from you. That will give them a chance to think it over with their rational mind.” Eadowen explained. “Also, you won’t have much trouble with this, but only have sex with the same person once or twice.”

  “Won’t stop most people, but sure I’ll do it unless she offers me a Lamborghini with gull wing doors like my Ferrari. I’ve been wanting one for a while.”

  “You can do the seventy-two hours thing too, right? I’ll help you get someone. What do you find attractive?” Taban said cheerily. “Like really, what do you like?” If he couldn’t attract Eadowen, he had to know who could.

  “Good. Bring me a fairy.”

  “Huh?” Taban chuckled. “A folklore fetish? That’s hilarious.”

  “More of a kink,” Eadowen clarified. “Leave me to my fantasies and I’ll leave you to that tentacle stuff you watch.” He put on his glasses and searched something on his tablet. “By the way, it says here that oxytocin can be released through massage. I would’ve preferred that.”

  “Shut up, Ea,” Taban mumbled into his pillow.

  “Ea?”

  “You poured candle wax on me. It suits you, ‘little fire.’”

  Eadowen tapped the lights off and blew out the candle. Soft light from the city shone through the window making a small rectangle on the floor between their beds. The shape was disrupted only by the dark shadow of a branch tapping against the glass in the breeze. Taban reviewed his mental list of attractive traits he might have inherited genetically. Eadowen did seem to fit most of the same categories. There were more factors involved, of that he was certain.

  CHAPTER 10

  HOW GUARDIANS DISAPPEAR

  DURING TABAN’S FIRST EVENING visiting Eadowen at his home in Halifax, he joined his friend for an evening walk to loosen his muscles from the long plane flight from Florida. Taban shivered and wondered how he could be cold when the sun was shining in a clear sky.

  “Here, take my jacket.” Eadowen handed him a windbreaker he was carrying in his lap.

  “You’re not cold?”

  “I’m wearing more than you.”

  Taban wrapped the jacket over his Strap-Shirt. It certainly wasn’t an ideal piece of clothing, but it was in vogue. Eadowen looks like he’s dressed from a hundred years ago, Taban thought as he looked at Eadowen disapprovingly. If he really is like me, maybe he wears it to seem not as attractive. Although, he also seems pretty intent on covering those scars on his neck and chest.

  “You don’t seem to mind cold swimming pools,” Eadowen remarked.

  “I move really fast in the water,” Taban replied. “We’ve roomed together since we were fourteen. It’s going to be weird not living with you this
fall.” The reality that he and Eadowen would be separated hit Taban like a kickboard accidentally launched by someone who had tried to hold it underwater. Aware of how much more difficult his life would be without Eadowen defusing whatever toxic reactions he had stirred up in others, Taban touched Eadowen’s arm affectionately. “You’re going to Smith and I’m headed to Dartmouth—not that I should be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Mir’s an alumnus. He made a few calls because he couldn’t stand the idea of me going to a place without a title.”

  “Are you saying you’re going to miss me?” Eadowen said, a hint of disparagement in his voice.

  “Of course.” Taban punched his friend’s shoulder in a failed attempt to seem chummy. Just the other night, you tell me, I’m not alone because you’re like me and now you’re leaving me, he thought.

  They made their way back to the house in silence. With the sun still high overhead Taban had trouble believing it was evening.

  Eadowen went to the side of the house that had a ramp, while Taban took the front steps. Eadowen’s father, Daray Tolymie, opened the door. His broad-shouldered but otherwise slim frame was silhouetted against the orange glow of the chandelier. The accent of a violet tie highlighted his narrow, grey eyes. A silver pin held his black hair, which fell over the shoulders of his double-breasted suit. The swanlike way he poised in the doorway completed the elegance of his appearance. Barely taller than Taban’s sternum, Daray commanded a presence that filled the room. The tremors in Daray’s hands and the slow pace at which he moved contrasted to the rest of his youthful appearance. Ea did say Daray raised him from birth. Was he younger than me when Ea was born? Taban thought.

  “Good evening, Mr. Mir.” Daray intercepted Taban’s train of thought. “Did you enjoy your perambulation?”

  “We did.”

  “I’ll have dinner ready in a half hour. I hope you will excuse us for a moment. I need to speak to Eadowen privately.”

  “Not a problem at all.”

  “This way.” The flickering light from the circular hearth illuminated Daray’s delicate features.

  “Donovan took your luggage upstairs for you.” In the far corner of the room Eadowen’s father leaned over another couch facing a television. “Donovan, have you finished your homework?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Taban, Eadowen’s roommate. He’ll be staying with us all week. Please help him to feel welcome,” Daray said. “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.” Daray picked up a walking stick by the door and used it as he exited the living room.

  “Hi, I’ve seen you on Eadowen’s video calls, remember me?”

  Donovan looked at him for the first time. His grey eyes widened and he snapped back to his game.

  “What’re you playing?” Taban touched Donovan’s arm. Recoiling, Donovan fumbled with his game controller and turned away. Taban was surprised by such a vehement negative response, until the color of Donovan’s cheeks clarified the situation. When he looked around for something else to occupy his time, he noticed another person had entered the room. She had her back to him, seemingly entranced by the flames of the hearth. Her little black dress had long sleeves and showed off the curve of her waist. She turned as though she sensed his gaze. It was then that Taban remembered Eadowen also had a fifteen-year-old brother. Though Daray was the senior, Aydan looked like a rough sketch of his father that had been taken out and hung in the rain, which was by no means an insult. Donovan and Aydan had both inherited their father’s long face and eyes set a little too high. These features made them striking, but looked a bit odd on further inspection.

  Seeing the way Taban carefully inspected him, Aydan held up his palm with his thumb, pointer, and middle finger extended to form a bar sign used by heterosexuals primarily to make their sexuality known to potential partners of the opposite sex. Taban showed Aydan the same sign, but with the back of his hand to resemble the British sign for “up yours.”

  “You there, come help me with my boots,” Aydan commanded. He flopped onto the sofa and stuck a stiletto boot out. Taken aback by the address, Taban went over to the circular sofa. Fearing removing a boot while standing would send him into the fire, Taban sat on the floor to assist.

  “Hi, I’m—”

  “Taban Mir. Eadowen told me to watch you like a hawk and to tell you I can throw a card at forty-five meters per second with accuracy.” Aydan unfastened a large clip letting his hair fall out of an updo. “That might not seem intimidating to you, but it will if I also inform you that I prefer knives.” He flipped his wrist; the clip opened revealing a blade. He took the small razor out of the clip and hurled it across the room into the center of a knothole. Smiling at Taban like a slasher film villain, he cocked his head to the side.

  “You must be Aydan.” Taban pulled off one boot. “Nice to meet you too.”

  A pointed boot toe tilted Taban’s chin up. “A pleasure.”

  Up close Taban noted the makeup contouring Aydan had used to sharpen his features, as well as eyeliner, mascara, and eyebrow penciling to enhance his appearance. Knowing that Aydan was not naturally as striking as he at first appeared, Taban liked him a little better, but distanced himself from the magician anyway. He has pointy things, Taban thought, rubbing his tattoo. I don’t like sharp things. Browsing the shelves, Taban occupied himself with a book on Greek mythology. An hour later, Daray came to invite them to dinner.

  “Sorry for the delay. I burned some of the food,” Daray explained.

  Taban hadn’t smelled anything burning, but he acknowledged that the house must be well ventilated considering he wasn’t bothered by the fire burning in the marble chimney.

  Though the dining table was set elaborately, the details faded out of Taban’s attention the instant he saw Eadowen’s bleak expression. Taban grabbed the chair next to his friend making as much of a commotion as possible to get his attention. At last, Eadowen blinked and glanced around the room as though to orient himself. When Eadowen noticed Taban staring at him, he plastered on a face that was stiffer than his usual polite smile. “Uh, hi Taban, h-have something to eat.”

  “You okay?”

  “Of course,” Eadowen replied, squeezing Taban’s leg under the table to suggest that Taban not broach the subject at dinner.

  Donovan sat hunched over a plate of sweet potatoes, carefully avoiding eye contact with Taban. As Taban accepted a silver platter from Daray, he noticed that Daray also seemed troubled. He rested his delicate pointed chin on his long-fingered hand, as though he were showing off a bracelet.

  “Mr. Tolymie, where did you get your suit? It’s very nice.”

  “Thank you. Some students …” Daray paused. His eyebrows pressed together with concern.

  “Some students studying fashion at Dal made it for him,” Aydan finished the sentence. “He likes to just be called Daray.”

  Daray looked at the table as though ashamed that he hadn’t been able to formulate his thought. The somber mood during such a delightful feast reminded Taban of the funerals he’d attended throughout his life. He decided to make conversation in the hope that someone would reveal the elephant in the room.

  “You know, Eadowen’s accent is kind of more Scottish-y than you guys.” Taban indicated Daray and Aydan. “Did you guys used to live in Scotland?”

  “We only visited. Mom was around more before I was born. She’s from Glasgow so it must’ve rubbed off,” Aydan explained.

  The mention of the Tolymie’s mother triggered a breathless silence. Daray put his head in his hands while his three children exchanged comforting looks to each other. Racking his memories of the few video chats Eadowen had let him join, Taban recalled a robust fifty-something woman who he had considered an unusual match to Daray’s youthful beauty. Annoyed that no one had bothered to tell him what had happened to Eadowen’s mother, Taban decided to continue the conversation on the topic.

  “So, um, what does Mrs. Tolymie do?”

  “She … worked …
at,” Daray slowly attempted to answer the question.

  “Dr. Artio Tolymie was a psychologist, who primarily worked in the United Kingdom,” Aydan said in such a way as to make clear that Artio Tolymie was not to be addressed in any other way.

  “So, how’d you meet Dr. Tolymie?” Taban attempted to redirect the conversation to Daray who seemed more compliant than Eadowen’s pesky younger brother.

  “I was shoved in a locker at a high school. Artio was a foreign exchange student from Scotland. She chewed out the people who put me in there and made sure I got home safely …” Daray trailed off.

  “—then she asked him out,” Aydan helped his father finish the story. “She didn’t know he was a psychologist hired to work on the bullying problem at the school. They didn’t form a relationship until we met many years later, at a conference in Scotland.”

  “Why would someone shove you in a locker?” Taban asked.

  This remark temporarily brought Eadowen out of his daze. He went into an involved narration about the horrors of bullying. Tuning out his friend, Taban wondered if it was considered bad form to ask a trophy husband his age.

  “Um, Daray, how old are you?”

  “How old do you think he is?” Aydan said coyly.

  Aydan’s just happy I’m not asking about his mom anymore, Taban thought as he did some quick addition in his head based on Aydan’s age. “Thirty-three,” he tried.

  “Hm. Must be slipping. I usually get twenty-six, but I’m somewhere in my early nineties … I’ve lost count.” Daray ran his fingers up his cheek. “Would you believe incredible plastic surgery?”

  “Not for a second,” Taban replied. Dad forced me to get some plastic surgery. The only way to get a face like that is to sell your soul, he thought.

  The pieces started to fit together. Taban recalled that Daray had met his father briefly during the prep school fair in Toronto where he’d first met Eadowen. It didn’t matter if Daray was thirty-three or ninety-four. Whatever age Daray put down when he registered Eadowen at the school must have infuriated my father, because his appearance and appeal, or “gift” as he calls it, is fading so quickly with age. That must’ve been why Mr. Mir told my aunt about the Tolymies, Taban concluded. Now my aunt wants to get a hold of their DNA … and I’m working for Abigail and since my aunt is funding her work, I’m working for my aunt. Taban glanced uneasily in Eadowen’s direction.