by Tatiana Vila
“Oh, but this is much more than a house,” Comus said, opening his arms to prove his point. “There's enough space for him to run and move around as he pleases. And he fills this place, don't you think?”
“What I think is that you should fill this place with lots of bloodhounds instead of a giant predator.”
Comus wrinkled his nose. “I don't like canines. They're too whiny and needy. I'm a feline devotee.”
“Get hundreds of cats then, not a freaking tiger!”
Nero stretched his mouth wide open and yawned, displaying four spine-chilling fangs that screamed danger in capital letters.
“Jesus,” Ian muttered, noticing the same thing I had. “Just get him out of our way.”
“He's harmless,” Comus encouraged.
“Yeah?” Ian snorted. “Tell that to all the people that thought the same thing and ended up with one of their claws or fangs deep into their thighs or neck. I see Animal Planet, you know.”
“Nero is different,” Comus insisted. “Besides, the collar around his neck helps to keep his spirit peaceful and balanced.”
I dropped down my eyes to the purple band and looked at it in detail. The collar had large, square shaped crystals on it that had been polished and rounded on the corners. “Are those amethyst crystals?” I asked, recognizing the beautiful purple color in them.
“Yes!” Comus clapped his hands in excitement. The echo bounced off the limestone walls and made a concerto of strident claps all around. “In fact, Smooch was the one who told me to put it around Nero. He said the gently sedative energy of the amethyst would bring peace and emotional stability to Nero's spirit. It has worked perfectly until now,” he added, stroking the crystals on the collar.
Nero stuck out his tongue in languid approval.
Ian let out a dry chuckle. “You mean, your friend from Chimera”—he did quotes with his fingers—”told you to use a bunch of stones to appease a tiger?”
“They're not ordinary stones, he-fledgling,” Comus said. “Amethyst is purple quartz, a very powerful crystal that works on psychic and spiritual realms.”
Ian sighed loudly. “Here we go again with that spiritual, dimensional crap.”
“Work out your potholes, he fledgling.” Comus pointed his finger to his head. “Work them out…”
“I already told you I do not have—”
This time Nero cut him off with what sounded like a soft, complaining growl.
“Well said Nero,” Comus told him with a chortle.
If I wouldn't have been so afraid, and my veins filled with so much ice, I would've found this funny and laughed. But, oh God, I was so far from feeling at ease with this beautiful and deadly animal, so far that I was going to have trouble sleeping tonight in my stunning bed.
“Sir,” Midlo said, as if asking permission to speak. “I also came to tell you that dinner is ready to be served.”
“Wondeeerful!” Comus screeched, shaking his fists in the air like they were maracas. “I'm positively starving.” He dashed to the staircase between little, happy jumps, with Nero following him in that languid way of his.
Midlo stayed behind with us and asked, “Are you joining Mr. Muslo?”
Ian and I looked at each other with the same concern flickering in our eyes. Since we had too much on the line, like our lives, I decided to voice it. “Is Nero joining Comus, as well?”
Midlo nodded. “He always keeps Mr. Muslo company during dinner,” he said. “But he's been already fed if that is your worry.”
Wouldn't we be lucky if that was our only worry?
I looked at Ian. “It will be rude if we don't go,” I told him, knowing my choices. Comus still hadn't told me how to get Buffy back exactly, and the last thing I needed was him holding a grudge against me for rejecting his best buddy, Nero.
“It's your call,” Ian said, giving me the chance to think this over again.
I nodded.
Ian released a deep sigh and offered his arm to escort me into the dining room with no more words. It took me a few seconds to slide my hand inside the crook of his arm.
“Let's go, Midlo,” I said, with a tight-lipped smile.
“Miss.” He bowed his head and strode forward, into the grand staircase.
Ian leaned close to me and whispered, “Who would've thought it would take a white tiger to soften your heart towards me?”
“Shut up, will you?” I said, giving him a look.
I loved my life too much to jerk back my hand this time, so I climbed down the stairs with him in worried silence, hoping dinner would be free of unfortunate events.
CHAPTER 14
Smiley face pancakes. I'd been expecting something fancy and elaborate, like filet mignon or Lobster Newberg—two things I would've never been able to eat anyway—but never smiley face pancakes served in plates that belonged at a ten-year-old’s birthday party.
Not that it wasn't delicious. The Belgium chocolate Midlo had used to make the smiley faces was heavenly, its creaminess and silky flavor something gods would've bargained their immortality for. And not that the plates weren't pretty awesome. I loved the colorful glitter circles and spirals on them. It was just the colossal contrast between all these…rainbow colors and ashen, gothic things that was really hard to process. Everything on the table looked so out of place, including Comus and his lollipops and his circus-y clothes, and…and the ginormous pet of the house, Nero.
I shook my head, watching the beautiful, white tiger laying sphinx-like on the floor. He was next to Comus, gazing at whatever he deemed interesting with his eyes at half mast. I wondered where he slept and prayed it wasn't upstairs.
Four scrumptious pancakes and about a pound of strawberries later, I asked Comus to tell me the exact solution to my sister's problem. I knew I was the one who had to bring her back and I wanted to know how. He answered with a satisfied sigh that he had to take care of a few things—something regarding a fabric business he had in India—the first real grownup thing I'd heard coming out from his mouth—and that he had to do a meditation to balance his chakra centers, or something like that, before showing me what needed to be done.
We agreed to wait for him in the library, which was in the far corner upstairs, and far away from Nero's room, apparently. Yep. My prayers hadn't been successful. The majestic, white tiger had, indeed, a big room on the second floor. And though I was dying to check that out—I couldn't even begin to imagine how the room of a tiger would look like—my survival instinct had much more appealing ideas. But once we opened the intricately carved door of the library, everything else was forgotten.
“Whoa,” Ian breathed, as he stepped into the warm light of the vast room. “Talk about making reading cool.”
More like making reading look epic, I thought, gaping at the floor to ceiling book-clad walls all around me. On both sides of the room, two spiral staircases with golden railing snaked up to narrow, mid-level floors. On them, thick and comfy upholstered chairs sat imperially, murmuring of a special place where mind and heart travelled together. In the middle of each wall, rolling ladders waited to be used, some of them tall enough to reach the ceiling and books that would've seemed difficult to get to. And in the center of the room, as a king wanting to be observed, rose a big globe made of bronze, its smooth surface catching the light above and reflecting it like a shy, elderly star.
It was the stuff of movies. Even I, who didn't like to read, felt compelled to take out a tome and throw myself onto one of the loveseats.
Which was exactly what I did.
“Never pictured you being a bookworm,” Ian said, sitting down next to me.
I opened the book and started flipping the pages. “Comus said it could take him hours. Better to start doing something.”
“Hmm…you're right.” I heard him shift and curiosity stirred in me. I turned to look and found him searching something in the shelves just behind us, knees on his seat.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to fin
d something reader-friendly.” He pulled out a book, eyed the spine and put it back again. “You know, that might actually be interesting and in my own language.” He threw me a look over his shoulder.
My tome was written in some weird language, so what? That didn't mean it didn't look interesting. Actually, some of the machinery depicted in these sketches was pretty cool. Sophisticated, but cool.
Okay, not that cool, but pretty illustrative.
I sighed. Who was I kidding? This was too high-minded.
I discarded the unfriendly tome and joined Ian in the hunt. “These all look fantasy-oriented,” I said, after having spotted several renowned books.
“Yep, I'm hoping to find something about Chimera in here.” He'd already piled seven books on his seat. “Something that proves how delusional he is.”
I shut my mouth and didn't say that idea had already occurred to me and that I'd been looking for the same thing. I'd honestly tried to keep an open mind regarding Chimera, but reason always barged in, leaving me in a tangle of doubt and skepticism.
He pulled out one more book and placed it on top of the pile. “I'll start with this.” He slid back on his side of the loveseat and flipped open the first book.
As for me, I only picked one so he wouldn't figure out what I was doing. “Are you staying here?” I said, looking at him.
He glanced at me. “Yeah, why?”
“It's too crowded.”
“Let me solve that for you.” He hauled up the pile of books off the loveseat and settled it down on the Persian rug. “There, now you have more space.” He resumed his reading.
“I want to lie down and stretch my legs.”
“You're more than welcome here,” he said, patting his lap.
My eyebrows shot up. “My head isn't going anywhere near your crotch.”
“I meant your feet, Dafne.”
“The same goes for them.”
He let out a deep sigh and closed the book with a snap. “What is it that you really want?”
“I found this loveseat first.” I decided to give him a roundabout, childish answer. “There are other places where you can go and sit.” I said, looking over at the upholstered chair across from me.
“What? We're back to elementary school, now?” he said, narrowing his green eyes in annoyance.
I crossed my arms in answer.
“Fine,” he snapped and bent to lift the pile off the floor.
I scolded myself inwardly for being a coward. Even if the short distance between us made me uncomfortable, I should've put up with it. But something was nagging at me deep down, because those few inches shouldn't have mattered. They should've bothered me, and that slight difference held too much consequential weight to delve into it.
Ian sat down across from me in silence, with the pile of books on the small, rounded table next to him. He flashed me a dark, furious glance before going back to the pages between his hands.
I took in a deep breath and pulled up my feet to the loveseat. I eased back to lie down, bending my knees up so my body would fit, and fluffed the small, square pillow behind my head. Several minutes later, two books had already passed under my scrutiny, with no signs of Chimera. I was on number three when the cloak of sleep fell down on me, wrapping my entire body with lethargic heaviness.
Before I knew it, my eyes had closed and I was dreaming.
White. Everything around me was a radiant, dazzling white. I had to shut my eyes to slivers so the light wouldn't hurt them. I walked and walked through the pristine brightness, surrounded by absolute nothingness, until the ground under my feet faded to a pale gray. And the more I moved, the more the white brilliance dulled and turned into dimness.
I was now enfolded in darkness, the silence permeating the black air a haunting melody that clutched my heart with its whispery fingers. I turned, looking for a way out, but nothing more than choking fear came as an answer. My breathing picked up and shifted its rhythm to the one of a steam locomotive at high speed. I was a step away from a panic attack. I took in deep, long breaths and counted to ten. My heartbeats began to steady, but for some reason, my breaths weren't grasping the calming pace. A shaky, broken edge rimmed them, as if I was sobbing. That's when I realized they weren't mine.
Someone was behind me.
I whirled around and…stopped breathing. Buffy. The shadows of a flickering candle danced on her profile. Her blonde hair was glued to her face, damp with sweat, and she was crying. Wet trails ran down her hollow cheek and slipped past a way too sharp jaw. She looked awfully thin, spent, and dirty.
“Buffy?” I whispered pleadingly.
She turned and her sunken eyes met mine.
I sucked in a breath. “What happened to you?” Her face was etched with sorrow, as if the whole world's misery had fallen on her shoulders.
“Please,” she uttered. “Help…”
Desperately, I stretched out my hands, trying to reach hers, but only found empty air. “How? How?” I asked, my eyes bright with tears and worry.
“Help…me…”
“Where are you?”
“Please…”
I started crying hot rivers, choking on the sadness clumping my throat. “I don't know what to do,” I told her, feeling lost and helpless. “I beg you…tell me how to bring you back.”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “Can't…”
“Why?” I said, my voice pained.
She opened her pale mouth to answer when darkness sucked her back in a blinding jerk. “Dafne!” she screamed, agony curving every letter.
“Buffy!” I called and my body started shaking. “Buffy!”
“Dafne!” Her voice blurred into a low, masculine one. “Wake up!”
I snapped my eyes open and found Ian's worried face next to me, his hands shaking my body frantically.
“What…” I mumbled, still halfway between dream and reality.
“You were having a nightmare,” he explained, releasing my shoulders.
“I was…” I shook my head, driving away the drowsy sensation, and propped myself up onto my elbows. “Buffy. I saw Buffy,” I said, her name ending in a whisper.
“Yeah,” he sighed, “I heard you calling her.”
I paused, looking at the dark velvet skies through the tall window across the room. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not that much, about half an hour.”
I shifted my body, dragging my legs off the loveseat, until I was sitting. I looked at him. He was a few inches away from me, his body in a half-kneeling position. The compassion softening the planes of his face must've opened a weak door inside me because I carried on with explaining the dream. “Buffy. She was crying. She was asking me to help her.” I heard my voice fading, dying away with remorse and pain. “I…I should've helped her, Ian. I should've helped her before she was taken…away.” My words broke into a muted, piercing sob.
Ian rose and settled next to me. Then, he took me in his strong arms, wrapping them around me in a gentle, firm embrace. My first reaction was to retreat from his touch, but he tightened his hold on me, not allowing an inch to come in between us.
I fisted his shirt in my hands and felt a storm of strangling emotions thundering through me. Unable to take the pressure, my walls cracked and my defenses shattered. I buried my face in his chest and, as if a dam had burst, a torrent of tears came down my face. If possible, his hold tightened around me.
I don't know how long we lingered like that, in silence, with my shower of broken sobs suffusing the air around us with sorrow. When pain wasn't crowding my senses, or when images of a consumed Buffy weren't flashing through my mind, I could feel Ian's hand brushing my back up and down, sending waves of soothing warmth all the way through my body.
It wasn't until I reached that emotional numbness—that usually comes after a crying downpour—that I let myself pull back and look at the huge, wet mark on Ian's shirt. “I'm so sorry,” I told him, laying a hand on the damp spot, and jerked it back immediately once I rea
lized I was touching his chest.
He dropped his stare to where my hand had been and gave a small smile. “Don't worry,” he said, looking at the wet stain with…fondness? The soft light and the swell of my eyes could've tricked me, but when he pulled his emerald eyes to mine, the warmth shinning in them, like rays of light through a lush canopy of leaves, reflected that exact feeling.
I averted my eyes, tingling with the intensity of his stare, and paused for a moment. “Did you find something in those books?” I finally asked.
“Not a single thing,” he said calmly, his voice holding a musing tone, as if he was still thinking about something else. My heartbeats picked up. He cleared his throat and produced his cell phone. “That's why I Googled it. But unless we're talking about Greek mythology and a monstrous fire-breathing female creature, all that stuff of Chimera being a place in another dimension is pretty much nonexistent.”
I nodded, tangled in a mess of disappointment and nervous tension. I lifted my hand to brush it through my hair and stopped with a frustrated sigh once I reached it. It seemed my emotions weren't the only things that were a mess. My ponytail nearly had come undone and was bent to the side. A couple of strands hung loosely, others threatened to free themselves from their confinement. “Everything is a mess, isn't it?” I said without thinking, dropping my hands on my lap.
“What do you mean?” Ian asked, confusion lacing his voice like a thread of silk.
This, I wanted to say. Me feeling soft towards you all of a sudden. Me desiring things I shouldn't be craving. Me having thoughts that should've never blossomed in my mind while my sister lies in bed, waiting for someone to help her. But none of those words crossed my lips.
“How are we going to help Buffy if none of this Chimera stuff is true?” I opted to voice one of my worries. “How am I going to bring her back? I can't lose her. I already lost my parents. I can't lose her, too,” I said, lowering my tear-brimmed eyes, amazed at how water had seemed to survive my previous downpour. “I…I don't want to be alone.”
Ian closed the distance between us, one side of his hip touching mine, and placed his hand over my fingers. “Buffy is going to come back to us,” he said, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. “She's strong and knows a lot of people are waiting for her over here.” He moved his hand, slowly, on top of mine. “And you're not alone, Dafne. You have your grandma, your best friend, Linda, your aunt—even if I know you think she doesn't love you—and, well, you also have…me.” He slipped his fingers between mine and held them close. “Let me help you.”
