by A. E. Lowan
He inclined his head to her. “I’m most grateful for any information, but there is no rush. I have worn these for six mortal centuries and they’re not going anywhere.”
Winter finished the bandage. “But now I’m curious.” She twisted around to put away the remaining wrappings and a thought occurred to her. “On the topic of curiosity…” she said as she turned back to him, “If you were looking for Arthur Reynolds, how did you know to come here?”
“We ran into a street musician not far from here, and he told us that what we were looking for was here,” Etienne replied.
Only in Seahaven would that make sense. “Average height, long curly brown hair?”
“I don’t know what's average height these days, but the hair sounds right.”
She smiled. “You met Stephen.”
Etienne nodded. “Yes, that was his name.”
Winter considered her audience, then asked, “Do you know what he is?” It was a fairly rude question to ask in Seahaven, with its general “live and let live” philosophy, but her new guests did not know that yet, and curiosity had been eating at her for years. Stephen was the first person she had ever tried purposely to soul read – and the only one she had never succeeded with. Fate had always interceded. Someone would need her, or the crowd would thicken and he would wander off. Once she had almost had him, and someone bumped into a flower stand and dumped it on her. She reasoned now as the wizard of the city if anyone besides Stephen had a right to know, it would be her.
Etienne knitted his brows slightly in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied. “Do you?”
She shook her head. “He’s been around as long as anyone can remember. At least a century, though he did not arrive with the settlers. The vampires say that one day he had just been here for a while, but no one knew how long it had been.” She gave a small shrug. “He’s never hurt anything. We assume he’s some sort of fae, but we’ve never known what kind. I was hoping you might.”
“Fae?” Etienne glanced back in the direction they had come, and then turned his eyes again to Winter. “He seemed quite human to me, if a bit… strange.”
Winter tipped her head slightly to one side, and it was her turn to look confused. “How odd.” What then was he, besides a homeless musician?
Footsteps came rattling down the stairs, carrying words that she did not understand. The sound was liquid, but not liquid like still water. It was the tumbling brook, sliding seamlessly over rocks and falls in tone. Jessie emerged from the stairwell, followed by Cian. “That was awesome! Ok, so how do you say…?”
“Jessie?” While she was on the subject…
Jessie turned her attention to Winter. “Yeah, boss lady?”
“Would you please take my card and go get Stephen something to eat?”
“Yeah, sure. Come on, Cian. Stephen’s pretty cool.” She rifled through Winter’s wallet with practiced ease and disappeared with the young prince through the store front.
Etienne raised an eyebrow slightly as he watched the two teens leave. “Stephen seemed to be making good money out there. Why feed him?”
Winter began pulling off her surgical gloves and smiled. “All the shop owners in the Historical District take turns feeding him, some of us more often than others. We know he passes the money he makes from playing on to those who are even worse off than himself and works with the street kids to better their lives. He lives somewhere under the docks at the waterfront. So, he goes hungry a lot, but it’s because he sacrifices for others. He…” a glove slipped from her fingers and she bent at the knees to pick it up. “Your jeans are freshly ripped. Did you do this on the fence?”
“Yes, but I’m not scratched.”
She shifted down to one knee and pulled at the larger rip, exposing a line of scarred skin to her examination. “Are you sure? These tears are bad.” On the other hand, she did not smell blood or infection.
Etienne tried pulling away but she had a tight grip on his pants. “No, really, I’m…”
“Little girl, what the hell are you doing?!”
Winter jerked back at the bellow, nearly falling on her backside. She felt Etienne spin around above her, hand sliding back underneath his flannel shirt, which only served to make her balance more precarious, and she fell forward onto both knees. Suddenly, she realized exactly what it had looked like and frowned. She rose to standing and placed a gentle hand on Etienne’s wrist under his shirt tail to reassure him. “I’m doing my job, Erik.”
Braced in the doorway, beaded curtains held aside by either hand, stood the Vampire King of Seahaven. Well over six feet tall and nearly half that as broad, the ancient Viking glowered at her and Etienne equally, his sea-blue eyes dark. “Since when is that your job?” he growled in his resonant bass.
Winter’s back stiffened and her cheeks flushed with anger, but before she could defend her honor a graceful young man ducked underneath Erik’s arm and gave him a reproving smack on his war-hardened belly. His other hand was emerging from beneath the breast of his jacket. “Stop it. Winter would never have sex with a stranger.” Michael smiled a warm greeting at Winter and then looked up at his King. “Unlike you.”
Erik scowled for another full second and then broke into a belly laugh before bending to kiss him. “You’re not wrong.” Winter rolled her eyes. So Erik was having one of those days, was he? She stepped forward, sniffing delicately. No, the smell of mead was no stronger than usual. He was just being his mercurial self. Suddenly, Erik looked up from his favorite and took a strong sniff of his own. “I smell gun oil.” His suspicious gaze landed firmly on Etienne.
“So do I,” Winter sighed. “I’m standing right next to him. I can also smell Michael’s gun.”
Etienne glanced up at her. “I didn’t think wizards could scent that well,” he murmured.
She smiled back at him. “No need to keep your voice down. They’re vampires; they can hear you around the block. And no, there is nothing special about wizard senses. I’m just a potion maker and a physician. I need a finely honed sense of smell to do my job safely and effectively.”
Erik stepped further into the room, his personality taking up more space than even his large body could muster. “Who cares about that? I want to know why you’re letting an armed stranger be alone with you.”
“He’s not going to shoot me.”
“How do you know that?”
She thinned her lips at his high-handed tone. “You know I’m an excellent judge of character.” She should have just told him Etienne was a family friend. Of course, Erik had never met him, he might not have believed her… but that was not the point. He was treating her like a child.
Erik’s eyes slid to Etienne and back to her. “What if you’re wrong?”
Winter shook her head. “I’m never wrong.”
“Dammit, it just takes once!”
“And what could you do?” she snapped and slapped her hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to take it back. A look of helpless grief flashed across the Vampire King’s face and shame burned at her core. She had wounded another friend. “Oh, Erik,” she whispered. “I am so sorry. You… you deserve better than that.” He had known her family since before the city’s founding, had watched them all die just as she had watched, only without the insulation of childhood.
Erik roughed his hand over his short black hair and cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you. Sit.”
Everyone wanted to talk to her today. “I’ll stand, but Michael, if you would like to sit, please feel free.”
Michael squeezed Erik’s hand and moved to lean against the desk. “Thank you, but I think I’ll just keep my feet. No telling when I may need to jump in and referee.”
She sighed. Michael was showing tension, which meant he was expecting more outbursts from Erik. Excellent. Being yelled at by the Vampire King was her favorite activity. She looked towards Etienne. “You don’t need to be here for this.”
He leaned back and rested a hip against the
work table, his eyes still on Erik. “I’m fine as I am.”
Winter blinked once. Was he being protective? “Erik would never hurt me.”
Etienne cocked his eyebrow. “I’m not such a good judge of character as you.”
She sighed. Please don’t let this become a penis measuring contest. Wizards were not, as a rule, religious, but sometimes a little wishful thinking couldn’t hurt. Not that it had ever done her any good in the past, mind. She stepped away from him and towards Erik. “Here I am. What do you need?” She raised her hands and spread them slightly, presenting herself as the target she felt like.
Erik pointed at her red-spotted city map. “This crap has to stop.”
Winter flushed, opened her mouth to snap again – then snapped it shut. She counted to three, and still ended up replying, “I’m sorry, but as you can see there is rather a large amount of ‘crap.’ To which are you referring today?” Her tone was arid, not as diplomatic as she could have been had circumstances – had life – been different.
“Don’t sass me, miss. I know Giovanni was torn up the other night. My vampires don’t need…”
She set her hands on her hips. “‘Your’ vampires? Giovanni is Katherine’s, unless you’re laying claim to the other two vampire courts in this city?” She knew where he was going with this and was not in the mood for it. If she could derail him…
“Three.”
Erik was not the only one who could be derailed. Both she and the Vampire King turned to Michael. “What?” she asked.
“Three others, four total,” he responded, his voice a flavor of bland that only a stage actor like him could achieve. “Us, Katherine, the Servants’ lawyer Raphael, and now we have Erik’s Aunt, the Eldest Himiko.” Vampires traced linages like families. Erik’s vampire father, Marcus of Rome, shared a progenitor with Himiko, meaning Erik owed her filial hospitality in his city, which she had only taken advantage of the previous year. Raphael was a Servant of the Eldest, a senior lawyer to the vampire courts, and had settled in Seahaven at Erik’s invitation a century before.
Erik would not be distracted and waved off Michael’s aside. “As far as this goes, yes, I’m still calling Giovanni mine, just like he was before Little Mike was born. And I’m sure as hell calling Katherine mine – she’s still my queen and the mother of my son. Same goes for any vampire you want to throw in the middle of this new dispute between the lions and the sharks because you can’t keep the factions under control. Only mine and Katherine’s are foolish enough to get involved, anyway.”
Winter’s cheeks burned bright under Erik’s direct accusation. He was right, of course. But admitting it out loud was another matter entirely. If she confessed he was right, that she had no real control here – then what? The cavalry came? There was no one. She could have promised to talk to the lions and sharks – again. She could have asked for more time – again. But that would change nothing. So she kept her spine straight, stared the Vampire King down, and said the only thing that would bring about the change Erik wanted. “Then pull your vampires,” she said quietly, evenly. “I can handle it on my own.”
“What? Wait a minute…”
Etienne had moved closer to the map, reading the notes and dates – factional conflicts, injuries and deaths. Rifts sealed. The map was covered with those annotations. He turned back to face Winter, a frown etched into his face. “Are you at war?”
Winter glanced at the map and a wave of exhaustion washed over her at the sheer volume of red. She wanted more caffeine, wanted to let herself sag with weariness, to even fall onto the dubious comfort of the exam table and sleep until the world ended, but she stood straight and tall before these men and held her crumbling ground. “That depends on your definition of ‘war,’” she replied, expression wry.
Etienne waved his hand across the map. “War wears many faces.” His eyes found Erik before returning to her. “I would not let you face this alone.”
“Dammit, that’s not what I said,” Erik grated between his teeth. He glared at Etienne. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
Etienne faced down the much larger man. “Etienne, Knight of Seelie.” He did not offer his hand.
Erik noticed and did not extend his own. He crossed his battle-scarred arms, taking his time assessing Etienne. At length he finally said in an aside to Michael, “Well either he’ll be damn useful or a right pain in the ass.”
Winter thinned her lips in irritation. “And he’s still standing right here.”
Erik stepped toward her. “And you, young lady, knock it off with the dramatics. You know I’d sooner set my Theatre on fire than pull my support for you.”
Winter fought the urge to roll her eyes. Erik always did this to her – suddenly she was twelve years-old again, a little girl and not the wizard of the city. But the irritation remained clear on her face. “And is that what talking to Jessie behind my back is? Support? Don’t think I don’t know half the groups call you my ‘Uncle’ Erik and they’re not being flattering.”
“Who the hell cares? I don’t. You know as far as I’m concerned, I am your uncle.”
“You wouldn’t care. It just makes you look good. You’re not the one hearing the complaints from everyone that I’m giving the vampires too much power, too much favor.”
“And I say you’re not giving us enough.”
Winter turned away, crossing her arms. “I can’t do that.”
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
“It would upset the balance.”
Erik pointed over her head at the map. “Does that look balanced to you?” He reached out to take her shoulders and she moved out of his grasp. She couldn’t do this with him. Not today. Maybe not ever again. She utterly lacked the emotional resilience.
Erik gritted his teeth in frustration and followed her. “Dammit, little girl, how many months do you think we have left before groups break out into open warfare? This skirmishing crap will lead right into it and when it gets out of hand the Eldest will get involved, and you know it.” The Eldest, who would think nothing of leveling the city if it kept the Veil of Secrecy intact.
Winter felt her backside run up against the wall counter. “So you think I should unbalance the city now, rather than later? Is that it?” She craned her neck to meet his frustrated gaze.
“What I think is that you can’t do this alone!”
“I have to.”
“Bullshit!”
Halfcocked’s version of “Bad Reputation” suddenly erupted into the small break following Erik’s exclamation. Michael pulled his phone from his pocket and bent his head to read the text message. Again, he was bland. “Erik, Katherine says if you don’t stop bellowing at Winter and interrupting her writing while she’s on deadline she’s going to kick your ass back to the Middle Ages.”
Erik turned to face the wall separating Curiosity’s from Katherine’s Retreat. “Dammit, woman, I’m making a point here!” he roared in a voice once meant to be heard over battle screams and swollen seas.
Michael’s eyes never lifted from his phone. “‘And this point needs obscenities? BTW, you’re waking the spawn from his nap.’”
“Stop calling him that!”
One of Michael’s brows twitched and he put his phone back in his pocket. He glanced at his lover. “She said, ‘Whatever.’”
Erik scowled. “No, she didn’t.”
A small smile tugged at Michael’s mouth, but he said nothing.
Erik turned back and looked down at Winter. The volume of his voice had dropped dramatically. “Winter,” he began again.
“Wait,” she said. Winter planted both hands on the Vampire King's chest and pushed him away. He let her. She would never have had the strength to move him had he not. “You’re looming.”
Erik scowled. “I do not loom.”
Michael smiled up at him. “You loom.”
He turned his scowl on Michael, whose smile did not dim in the slightest. “Well, I wasn't looming then.”
Michael rubbed a thumb
over one of his eyebrows. “Yeah. You were.”
Erik looked skyward and muttered in Norse. Winter recognized it as a prayer to Odin. He had usually had reserved it for conversations with her grandfather Dermot, but now she was hearing it directed about her. She waited until he was done. “I believe you were swearing at me,” she prompted him to continue.
The Vampire King nodded, not bothering to look abashed at his behavior. “The point I was making before my woman interrupted me,” he said, raising his voice slightly in the direction of the wall again before continuing in a gentler tone to Winter, “is that you need to let me help you. Officially.”
“The Mulcahys have always been the law in Seahaven.” Always. She could feel their eyes on her, watching her fail. “That’s not going to change now.”
His jaw clenched, but he took a deep breath. “Winter, you may be the law but you have no threat.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A wizard is capable of some very unpleasant things,” she reminded him.
Erik looked grim. “Yes, but you are not.”
Winter felt a trickle of fear for her vulnerability. Because he was right – she was simply not that kind of wizard. And she needed the fear of things in this city that could tear her flesh from bone without dropping their triple caramel macchiato. “No one needs to know that,” she said, ever so quietly.
He reached and gripped her by her shoulders and she stiffened under his large hands. Not because she feared the Vampire King would hurt her, but because she wanted him to hold her and make all the bad things go away, just as he had when she was a little girl, with a desperation that tasted like pennies in her mouth. He gave her a little shake, not hard, and she saw Etienne move protectively to her side out of the corner of her eye. “Let me help you before they figure it out on their own,” Erik said, his voice gruff with fear. “Good God, little girl, let someone help you. If you don’t trust me enough,” his voice faltered just a beat and it brought the burn of tears to her eyes, “trust the lions. Corinne is your friend; you know she’ll bring her pride to back your threat in a heartbeat.”
She shrugged gently from under Erik’s hands. “I’ll always trust you,” she said, quietly. She could not accept his offer of help, but she could not stand to hurt him again.
