by Trisha Telep
Rinna bit her lip. She wanted this, wanted Bale with the same intensity that she’d wanted to escape her clan. She fought a swell of panic. Somehow she had to make it through, then find time to think. No matter what, she had to get away from Bale, even if it was a mistake. Because if it wasn’t a mistake, her life was in danger.
“Rinna?”
She snapped out of her reverie, raising her head as a man approached the table. He looked the part of a successful human business man, dressed for the mild late spring weather in dark khakis and a burgundy-coloured dress shirt.
“Bale.” She immediately covered her eyes with her palms, a traditional banaranjan greeting to another of higher rank, skill, power or age.
“That’s not necessary, Rinna.”
“Perhaps not to you,” she replied, lowering her hands, “but necessary to me. Will you join me?”
He took the chair opposite hers, facing the entrance. He looked good, still fit and in his prime, dark hair curling thickly about his ears, brows like two wide slashes above dark brown eyes lit with flecks of otherness yellow, the strong chin, stronger nose. Even his mouth hinted at his power. Taken separately each feature could be overwhelming, but Bale’s features fit him perfectly. A strong, striking face, the face of a man secure in his abilities.
She remembered his eyes the most. Those eyes had regarded her with gentleness, with compassion, with consternation, and then with intimate heat. Now, those eyes stared at her with cool civility, no trace of the passion that had surprised and disturbed them both two years ago.
Bale broke the awkward silence. “Chaser Solomon called me, said that you wanted to see me.”
“Yes.”
“You know you didn’t have to go through the Chaser to meet with me,” he admonished. “She’s got enough to deal with right now.”
Rinna stared down at the table, her heart sinking. Not that she’d thought Bale would wrap his wings around her and lift her off the floor in a banaranjan lover’s embrace, but this cool distance was disconcerting and disheartening.
“I thought if the request came from the Shadowchaser and not from me, that you would be more inclined to come,” she said. “Chaser Solomon didn’t seem to mind.”
“Either way, I am here.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you wish to talk about?”
The rehearsed words fled her mind. “I wanted to thank you again, for what you did for me two years ago.”
He waved a hand. “You’ve already thanked me for that. There’s no need to rehash it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t mean just saving me from the hunter,” she said softly. “Though that was huge. You helped me a great deal that night. And afterwards.”
He nodded. “I did. Then you left.”
“I had a valid reason.”
“Yeah.” He sat back. “The classic ‘I-need-to-find-myself’ letter that humans have used for centuries. You didn’t have to do that, Rinna. I would have helped you.”
“You helped me enough. I needed to help myself. I was almost taken out by a human thrill killer, I was mouthy with a Shadowchaser, and I ran away from you – twice.” She sighed. “I was childish. Thinking that I could survive the way I was back then proved it.”
“But you have survived,” Bale pointed out. “You’re here now.” He paused. “Why are you here?”
“To ask you for another chance.” She leaned forward. “I actually took some training while I was away. Studying for a psychology degree. I know the classes are geared to human psychology, but I’ve been thinking of how to customize some of the information for the hybrid community. In particular, to displaced, outcast or lone hybrids who need a sense of belonging.”
She lowered her gaze again. “Not having a place to belong, a group to belong to, can be very isolating for those of us used to being part of clan dynamics.”
He nodded. “It can make us make mistakes, do things we deeply regret later.”
“Yeah.” Did he have regrets? She fiddled with her coffee cup, struggled gamely on. “There can also be issues for hybrids used to being loners, issues with being able to trust others in times of need. Even simple things like coordinating knowledge of threats against us from within and without can be beneficial.”
She reached for her messenger bag, pulled out a thick notebook in a binder. “I have some other suggestions, just ideas for outreach and stuff like that. Not anything particularly earth-shattering or radical, but I think it might be good for those of us who don’t want to be on the wrong end of the Shadowchaser’s blade.” She slid her binder to him.
He pulled the notebook closer, then opened it. Rinna watched him as he flipped through the sections. “Why did you do all of this?”
“I want to work with you to help the hybrid community here. I don’t want what nearly happened to me to happen to someone else because of fear or ignorance.”
She took a deep breath, then added, “And I hope it’s a way of showing I can be of value to you.”
“You are of value to me, Rinna,” he finally said, closing the book. “Obviously I didn’t do a good job of showing you that.”
“You did, but I wasn’t sure of what I felt or what you felt. Then I discovered that you descend from Keterach. I descend from Hetache. It’s an enmity that goes back centuries, so far that no one knows the cause. All I know is that we’re supposed to be mortal enemies.”
“Duels to the death on sight, the nursery rhymes used to say.” His gaze raked over her. “Do you want to fight me now, Rinna?”
“No. A duel to the death between two banaranjans would level most of Virginia-Highlands.”
“Not to mention a fight like that would come to the Shadowchaser’s notice.”
“Yeah.” She shuddered. “I’d really rather not be on her bad side if I can help it.”
“I seem to recall you saying that the reason you came to Atlanta was because you didn’t want to fight,” he said then. “My reasoning was, and still is, the same.” He sighed. “I know how hard it is to be alone, to try to find a place different from what you’ve been taught all you life. Seeing you, a lone female, triggered the clan instinct in me. When you left with that human male, I was angry. Seriously angry. Only the DMZ’s protective shielding prevented me from confronting you in the club. And the Chaser stopped me from immediately going after you when you left.”
He spread his hands. “Luckily, my anger turned to concern when I realized who the human was. Call it the clan instinct or male arrogance, I don’t know. But I only knew that I had to take you from him. After the danger passed and you healed, I couldn’t shake the instinct or desire, or whatever, to make you mine.”
“Really?” She hadn’t known. “You did a good job of keeping that to yourself.”
“To be blunt, I did a piss-poor job of suppressing it. Which is why I’m glad you left like you did.”
“You are?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t tell if I wanted you because you’re Rinna or because you’re a lone banaranjan female. I also wasn’t sure if your attraction to me was an after-effect of your ordeal with the hunter or because you were interested in me. I would have ignored those doubts for as long as possible if it kept you with me. Eventually though, I think it would have soured everything. And I didn’t want to sour anything between us.”
“Bale.”
“So I’m glad you left. You had things to learn about yourself, and I had things to learn about myself.”
“What did you learn?” She could barely get the question out.
Dark brown eyes flared yellow as they bored into hers. “I learned that I want you even more now than I did two years ago.”
If she’d had her wings out, they would have shivered with pleasure. “I was afraid you’d be angry, angry enough to refuse me. We are grudge-holders, you know.”
“I’ve no grudge against you.” He reached out, lacing their fingers together. “I think we’ve already proved that we’re not like other banaranjans.”
“We’re
most definitely not.” She smiled.
Bale returned her smile. “Then why don’t we start over? Have a little breakfast here at the Majestic and talk about your ideas, and where we go from here?”
“I’d like that, but I don’t think we have to start over completely. For instance, I really enjoyed that night-flying manoeuvre.”
“Good.” Heat crept into his gaze. “Because I plan on doing a lot of night-flying with you.”
“Sam!” Rinna called. “We need to order. Something tells me I’m going to need some energy!”
Answer The Wicked
A Story of the Shadow Guard
Kim Lenox
Late afternoon, London, 1883
“I shall have a visitor today,” Mr Rathburn quietly announced.
Malise Bristol turned from the upper drawer of the walnut clothes press, where she arranged her elderly patient’s nightshirts. One of the hospital’s perpetually out-of-breath, red-faced laundresses had delivered them only moments before. The linen was still warm to the touch.
Mr Rathburn’s quietly spoken words had startled her – startled her because in the nearly two years she had been assigned as his personal nurse at Winterview, he had never once received a visitor. The other residential patients of the exclusive, elegantly appointed home for the aged often had visitors, even if only barristers with papers to be signed or family members with stylish hats in hand, begging for an increase in their allowances.
“A visitor, sir?” she enquired, closing the drawer.
He sat in his wheelchair peering out the window, which was framed by vertical swathes of burgundy silk. In the dim afternoon light, the silk appeared almost black in contrast to the grey sky on the other side of the pane. He appeared gaunt today. Frailer than in days before, and nearly swallowed by his green silk dressing robe.
“Indeed,” he answered, offering nothing more in the way of explanation.
“A member of your family?” she enquired hopefully. Though neither of them was an excessive conversationalist by nature, she had grown very fond of Mr Rathburn and wanted him to have a loving family. Only why wouldn’t they have made an appearance before now? Because, her mind supplied, they were obviously a terrible, useless lot.
“No, not family,” he answered evenly, sounding not the least bit disappointed.
“Business?”
“Thank God, no.”
“A friend then,” she prodded gently.
He was quiet for a long moment. “I suppose.”
Malise’s heart warmed with a vision of two elderly gentlemen, whiling away the remainder of the afternoon reminiscing about younger days. A visit from a friend would do Mr Rathburn good. She should not be his only companion in his final days.
Even from her perspective, as his nurse, a visitor would be a welcome distraction. Their days together followed a rather monotonous pattern, each day nearly identical to one before.
First, there was breakfast, then she would push Mr Rathburn in his chair for a walk about the grounds. If weather did not allow for such an excursion, they walked the halls instead. Next, the elderly gentleman would spend a few quiet hours squinting through his brass-rimmed spectacles at one of his many old books. Sometimes he would ask her, ever so politely, to read to him. Then it was time for luncheon and another walk. Afterwards, she would tidy his suite or draw in the sketchbook he had given her for Christmas while he wrote in silent concentration in one of his many leather-bound journals. Then, after a light repast of tea and whatever staid culinary selection the kitchen sent up, the male attendants would come and assist him into bed and she would retire to her tiny room in the hospital attic – except for Saturday evenings when she took the train into Chelsea. Sundays were her day off.
She made no complaints about the quiet predictability of their time spent together. Her life before coming to Winterview had been more eventful than she cared to remember.
Still, admittedly, she was more than a little curious about her elderly patient’s visitor. Anson Rathburn was an elegant, dapper old gentleman. His belongings – an exotic mélange of carved masks, primitive weaponry and foreign texts – suggested a life of adventure. There were also a few tintypes, some showing a smiling, handsome and young Anson Rathburn. But strangely, he had never spoken of his life before Winterview. She, as his hired nurse, had never presumed to press too invasively for details.
A sudden question occurred. How did Mr Rathburn know to expect a visitor? He had received no letter. No telegraph.
It was then she realized he did not simply look out the window now, at nothing in particular. His gaze was fixed on something there.
She crossed the room to stand beside him. Drops tapped against and drizzled down the panes, offering a distorted view of the grounds. The early spring rain had cleared the rolling, green lawn of patients, staff and guests, save for—
Stone benches lined Winterview’s central drive, and upon the furthest of these, nearly concealed by a thick canopy of trees, sat a dark-clad figure. The man wore a long raincoat and a wide-brimmed Western style hat that concealed most of his face, everything but a stalwart jaw and pursed lips. One leg was bent at the knee, its foot planted against the ground, while the other leg jutted straight on to the path before him. His hands rested against his thighs, completing a pose of pensive reluctance. Though difficult to tell much more from such a distance, she perceived a broad, well-turned pair of shoulders and fitted trousers over long, athletic legs.
“Is that your visitor, sir?” she asked, a bit breathlessly.
“It is.”
Excitement shot through her. Why? She couldn’t exactly say, other than that the “old friend” she’d imagined in her mind was very different than the apparently much younger man sitting in the rain outside.
“Would you like me to go down and invite him inside?”
Mr Rathburn smiled. “Not just yet.”
His answer relieved Malise. She supposed he was correct, and that his friend would come inside from the rain whenever he decided to do so.
And yet a half hour later, Mr Rathburn’s visitor had still not seen fit to call. He had, however, over time, moved from one bench to the next so that he narrowed the distance between himself and the front steps. Malise knew this to be so because she had passed by the window to steal a peek at least a half dozen times. Astoundingly, Mr Rathburn appeared to have forgotten all about him. He sat in his wheelchair at his desk, quietly reading. Another quarter of an hour passed before he lifted his blue-eyed gaze from the page. His eyes sparkled with humour.
“I do believe he must be soaked through by now. What do you say, Nurse Bristol?”
“That must certainly be true, Mr Rathburn.”
“Please do invite him up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Malise crossed the carpet, smoothing the folds of her white nurse’s apron, and turned the knob. The colder air in the hallway chilled her skin.
“Nurse Bristol?” he called.
“Yes, sir?” She paused, turning back.
“Don’t forget the umbrella.” He peered at her over his spectacles. “And his name is St Vinet.”
“Mr St Vinet,” Malise repeated, nodding. She took up the umbrella from the stand, and pulled the door closed behind her.
In the hallway, she glanced into the gilt-framed mirror, and caught a glimpse of herself: a brown widow’s peak, visible from beneath the centre fold of her white nurse’s cap; brown eyes, and a small, pale face. Invisible. She had long ago become invisible. It was why she didn’t pause for more than a glance, or to pinch her cheeks or smooth her hair. She had learned her lesson. A handsome man who charmed with smiles and sweet words was just as likely a monster as a Prince Charming. It was why she preferred the sanctuary of this place and the company of men too old and infirm to do her harm.
Winterview had once been a private residence and did not feel like a “hospital” at all. Though the pointed arches and exaggerated buttresses proclaimed it to be a gothic villa in style, certain mod
ernizations had been made for the comfort of the wealthy, aged residents. One such modernization was the electricity and another was the lift. A metallic rattle and hum came from inside the shaft, indicating the elevator was in-use, so rather than wait, she descended down three flights to the ground floor. Here, a number of small sitting areas graced the far corners of an expansive tiled floor and a fire burned on opposite ends of the space, in two matched fireplaces. Finches chirped in large cages. A few residents and visitors occupied the lobby. A number of new nurses had been hired of late. Several of them followed dutifully behind Nurse Henry, the newly hired Head Nurse, making their way toward the kitchens. Her crisply issued instructions echoed in the cavernous space. Only at Winterview a few weeks, she’d already made her mark as a strict taskmistress. She expected perfection from her staff, and strict adherence to all rules and regulations. So far, Malise had been fortunate enough not to draw Nurse Henry’s attention or ire.
Nurse Alice, a round-faced woman nearly a foot shorter than Malise, carried a covered silver tray towards the stairs. Just two weeks before, she and Alice had become roommates, sharing a boarding house room in Chelsea on their nights off.
“Where are you going in that rain, Nurse Bristol?”
“Just outside to the drive. Mr Rathburn has a visitor.”
The young maid smiled. “Mr Rathburn? A visitor? Well that’s something, isn’t it? Good for him, I say. See you at the train station for the ride in.” Her smile stretched into a grin. “Tick tock, it won’t be long now. We’re almost free of this place, at least for a day.”
“Yes, I shall see you there.”
At the double doors, Malise paused. Mr St Vinet, the mysterious visitor would be on the other side. She assumed a pleasant smile and pushed through the doors –
The afternoon light dimmed.
Intense warmth touched her skin. She gasped in confusion. For a moment, it seemed a thousand dark wings fluttered around her, battering her, blinding her in shadows.
In the next breath, the sensation was gone, moved past her. She stood on the front steps, gasping, the umbrella gripped in her hand. Rain fell from the sky at a hard slant, splattering against her skirt and apron. She spun round to see what had pushed past her, fully expecting to see that dark flock of birds, but saw nothing.
