Scales: Book 1 of the Fate and Fire Series

by Amity Green

  New morning light paled the room around us, announcing impending dawn. We’d been up all night. It had to be close to four AM.

  “If you sleep fast, you can get a nap before the store opens,” Peter said, as we headed back upstairs.

  I yawned, feeling my forked tongue curl at the top of my mouth. We stopped at my door.

  “Good night. Or good morning,” I laughed a little.

  Without thinking, I leaned forward to give him a quick hug, feeling our armored chest plates click together. He wrapped his arms around me tightly.

  Suddenly, the rough feeling was replaced by soft skin. I was aware of every centimeter of bare flesh pressing against his. I looked up to see Peter’s human face looking down at me. We stared in unison. My breath caught in my throat and from the look of Peter, he wasn’t breathing either.

  He broke the embrace and stepped back, becoming his stone colored gargoyle again instantly. “Interesting.” He looked at me warily, backing away, staring as if I’d done something crazy to him. Like I was responsible for what happened.

  I bristled. It could have been him. I wondered if he ever considered that. My hands had become claws once more. “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours. Let’s get some rest.” He stepped toward his room.

  “Goodnight, Peter.”

  I closed my door and lowered myself gently onto my freshly made bed. I examined my thick forearms and clawed hands, amazed at how quickly they’d changed form. Definitely interesting. I was too tired to give it thought for long. Sleep crept over me quickly, putting me out like a light.

  I was startled awake what seemed like minutes later when my iHome’s alarm sounded. AWOL Nation’s “Sail” resonated through my room. I needed to spend some time on iTunes.

  I drug my tired behind up and pulled on the same jeans I’d worn to work the day before, jerked a collared work shirt over my head and grabbed a hair tie on my way out of the door, grumbling inwardly. It was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  July 10—I can’t get hugging Peter out of my mind. Seeing him up close and in his human form seems like an impossibility. To appear as humans to each other must take more physical contact than just holding claws or grabbing each other’s arms, because we did that when he took me flying. He’s held my hand and touched me before without it happening.

  From the looks of him, he is completely mystified, too. He seems a little distant. Even more so than when he’s in “stop over-reacting” mode. Not anything bad, but he has looked away a few times today when we’re talking or whatever, and that’s just not like him. I hope this doesn’t do anything bad to our friendship. He is my one source of sanity around this place, besides talking and working with the shoppers in the store ….

  I chewed on the cap of my pen, reading what I’d written. The replica bard’s bells tinkled in the entrance downstairs, announcing Peter had closed the door and was locking up for the night. By the time I set my journal aside and went to the banister to look for him, he was gone.

  Chapter 12

  Peter succeeded in avoiding me for the entire night. If that was his goal, he accomplished it. I stopped looking around for him close to midnight and decided to go to my room and get some sleep. I turned on some low music and kicked back, best as a gargoyle could, on my bed. I looked around my room.

  My window was fixed, with new blinds. My running shoes peeked from beside my desk, sad and ignored for too long.

  I missed going for my nightly runs back at the Home. I used to sneak out and cruise through the quiet halls and the grounds while the temperature was low. The feeling of being free, even temporarily, was addictive. All those times had been extremely therapeutic and taken completely for granted. My head rolled back on the pillow. Going for a run as a gargoyle was definitively out. And I worked nearly every day at the bookstore with Peter.

  But I didn’t have to be to work in the mornings until nine. During the summer in England, it began to get light about four-thirty AM. I had free time every morning in human form, before I opened the store. Time outside, as long as I stayed clear of direct sunlight. I’d be careful. Baby steps. I’d take them.

  No one checked up on me to see if I was in my room during my time there, so far.

  Butterflies took flight in my belly. Freedom. I briefly considered an important point where freedom was concerned. I could likely get pretty far in those few deserted, early morning hours before I was to report for duty at the store.

  But what then? What if the sun came out and someone saw me without Ezra stalking me, ready to bail me out? What if I got lost, was caught in the sun and picked up by some paranormal, monster-chasing unit, then put on a table in some lab somewhere while they examined me? Then, that night I would deliver a big treat and Garg Out for everyone to see.

  Running away was not an option. Yet. I needed to think about it more. But I could go for an early morning run as long as I was careful and didn’t stay out too long.

  And if Ezra found out and decided he was pissy? Well, then I guess I’d be testing Peter’s theory about Ezra not staying mad at me long. I’d cross that bridge when and if I came to it. I really didn’t see what could possibly go wrong if I was careful about the sun and sure to be back in time for work in the mornings.

  Although I was exhausted from getting nearly no sleep the night before, I had to tamp down my excitement at the thought of getting out of the store. I reset my alarm for four, right before predawn light would begin to gray the streets outside. I could almost smell the dew covered, potted lavender and Italian coffee stands already.

  The next day would be the best day I’d had in over two weeks.

  * * *

  I skulked. For the first time in my life I was afraid to see someone coming at me on the sidewalk. The sun wasn’t even shining and I dodged, swerved, and sought cover, a sugar statue in an impending rainstorm.

  I jogged along at a good pace at first, the fresh air bolstering my outlook, cool morning breeze adding just the right chill for a good run. Then I saw the first stranger I’d seen in days. I dove into a skinny alleyway and untied my shoe so I’d look legit tying it. I’d been damaged by the transformation. More than my physical appearance had been stolen. My sense of character had withered and I doubted my ability to be seen by another person without— … what?

  I didn’t even know what would happen if someone saw me. The way the change was supposed to work was when the sun wasn’t on me, I looked like regular-girl Tessa. Pink skinned. Blondish hair. No freak show. My heart thumped too fast and I struggled to get a full breath.

  Getting out of the bookstore would take practice. I wouldn’t give up. I waited for a break in the passers-by and ran straight back to the bookstore.

  Bottom line—I was so scared of someone seeing me that I wasn’t willing to take a chance outside. That would have to change. I, myself, was so scared of what I’d become, that I receded. I felt my usual, bubbly self take a backseat to trepidation.

  I would not give up. Rolling over and settling weren’t me. I’d be back.

  * * *

  July 15—I went for my fourth run today and it felt great! Way better than the first day. There’s hardly a soul out that early, the sun’s not even close to clearing the horizon line of tall buildings yet, and I feel like I’ve got most of Covent Gardens to my freaking self! It’s better than running the halls at the Home could ever be on its best night.

  I was gone from the store today because I ran farther. And yesterday I was majorly paranoid. I made it simple, taking a long look down the lane, and staying close to a building in case the sun came out. It’s been a while since I was able to work out this way so the first time I grew tired soon after I first got out. This morning I ran for just over an hour and I loved every second.

  I used to be a worshiper of the sun. I am now a servant of shadow.

  I’d better go get a shower. After that I need to find the laundry room so I can wash my sweats. I had to run in shorts today, w
hich was a little cold when I first stepped out into the back alleyway, but as soon as I’d run for a couple minutes I felt fine.

  I LOVE me some London in the morning!

  * * *

  After my shower I dressed in my pink work shirt, white skinny jeans and a cute pair of fawn colored leather boots. I put on a little mascara, dangly earrings and curled the ends of my hair into long spirals that hung around my shoulders and down my back. I felt great. A little happy, even. Energy thrummed through my veins from my run and the exhilaration of being free from the bookstore, out into the city I loved on my own terms.

  I started a “kicked back” alternative rock playlist on my iPod, filled my backpack with laundry, and left my room bopping merrily as Death Cab for Cutie’s “Where Soul Meets Body” set the tone for an excursion into the back of the bookstore in search of laundry facilities.

  Normally I would ask Peter when I needed help finding something but he’d been so distant since our short, revealing hug that I didn’t feel the urge to get him out of bed just so I could wash my clothes. If he was in bed. I didn’t know much about Peter, really. For all I knew he didn’t sleep much, either. He wasn’t chatty, or easily giving with information about the things he did when I wasn’t around. He was a master of stepping into a different vibe to work in the store, but after hours, he was quiet and most times, gone.

  Regardless, I could find my way. He just needed time to mull over what happened. And besides all that, it was high time I started exploring the massive, mysterious bookstore for myself. Ezra couldn’t truly expect me to be locked up in there all the time and not have a look around.

  I’d been charmed the first day I stepped foot through the door at Librorum Taberna and heard those little bards’ bells chime my arrival. I still loved old bookstores and the antiques there. Before work, I’d start learning the place.

  * * *

  I didn’t find the laundry room. I’d gotten hung up when I turned into the west wing of the store under the sign Trinkets. Circular racks of picturesque bookmarks, word games, book bags, even items of décor such as small, stained glass art was the stuff of “trinkets”.

  Some of the objects made their way to the cash register occasionally when I’d been working, so I knew the fun items were displayed somewhere. I dropped my bag and shopped, forgetting about the need for clean clothes.

  Before long, I’d blown my extra hour and a half before work. I had to sprint up the stairs to drop my bag of dirty laundry inside my room and run back down just in time to open up the store.

  Peter met me at the door, eyeing me as I leapt in front of him to perform my duty as the store’s designated morning sign flipper, per our bargain. I clicked open the heavy locks and swung the door wide.

  “Gorgeous out this morning, huh?” A wedge of sunlight made one of my eyes squint, dissected my face, chest and one arm, turning my body into half a “Body Works” display right in the entryway. I beamed up at him, ignoring how I must’ve looked skinless and gruesome.

  Peter pulled me deeper inside. “It’s bright out today. Best keep back from the windows, yes?” He was smiling. His eyes traced over my glossed lips, styled hair, and the cute boots. “You look … perky. What’s the occasion?”

  “What, can’t a girl express herself around this place?” I felt myself preening a bit, and stuffed my hands into my pockets to quit fluffing in front of him. “I’m just in a great mood. Let’s roll with it, okay?”

  Peter laughed, throwing his head back a little. His grey eyes sparkled with a brilliant silver lining against black lashes. His hair was loose, brushing the shoulders of his white, collared shirt. He wore jeans and a pair of athletic shoes. When he moved past me the air smelled of musk and spice. He was semi addictive to be around when he was in a good mood. Watching Peter laugh was quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes. I followed him to the check stand and manned my post behind the register beside him, craving interaction with someone other than my Garged Out reflection.

  “Well I’m glad you’re in good spirits.” He pulled a delightfully buttery smelling carton from beside the register and opened it up to display two of the most delectable looking almond croissants I’d ever seen. Confectioner’s sugar powdered the bronzed tops, mixing deliciously with sprinkled, thinly sliced, roasted almonds. My mouth watered.

  “Oh, those are beautiful.” I breathed in the aroma of amaretto and warm butter.

  “Help yourself,” he said and began counting bills and coins from a zipper pouch into the till.

  “I’ll wait until you’re done. A thing of such beauty should be enjoyed together,” I gushed.

  When he had taken all the money from the pouch he pulled two envelopes free and handed over one marked with my name. Inside were a bunch of crisp, fifty pound notes. It was payday at the bookstore. I hadn’t given it much thought. But I did work there. It made sense to get paid, but what the heck was I supposed to do with all that money? Rat hole it for a rainy day? I wasn’t allowed outside on the sidewalk, much less a trip to Harrod’s. No one knew about my morning ventures out.

  Peter watched me examine the contents of my envelope. “You won’t be confined to the store forever. You need to prove to Ezra that you won’t wander off and get hurt or do anything equally … dangerous.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you were thinking.” I knew he meant that I shouldn’t consider flat out running away.

  He looked back to the till.

  “Today just keeps getting better and better.” I’d indirectly landed my first job. Bye-Bye Steak and Shake and WhataBurger. I grinned. There wasn’t enough money in the envelope to cover the cost of me Garging Out for the rest of my life, however. The opportunity for some range of freedom in the near future was the icing.

  “Why is today so special?” Peter asked. “You’ve been all smiles since I saw you at the door. Which you were nearly late to open up, might I add.” He bit into his croissant, leaving a trace of powdered sugar on his bottom lip.

  I involuntarily licked my lip, watching. “I don’t know, just woke up in a good mood.” It wasn’t a complete lie, just a half-truth. I wasn’t sure about sharing the fact that I’d been leaving the store. I took a huge, unladylike bite of my croissant.

  Peter smiled while he chewed, watching me. “I’ll get tea.” He placed his partially eaten breakfast back in the carton and headed to the back of the store.

  The bells at the door tinkled so I put my croissant in the carton with his, wiping at my mouth to be sure I didn’t have white powdered lips when greeting a customer. I slid the till closed and went to greet the day’s first patron.

  “Good morning,” I said brightly. “Welcome to Librorum Taberna.” A man had his back to me and was looking through magazines.

  My smile faded slightly. The left over taste of almond croissant soured on my tongue.

  Kai smiled down at me. Silver-blond hair was held out of his face by a pair of sunglasses resting on the crown of his head. Eyes so brown they were nearly black locked with mine. A gold and silver twisted torc cuffed his neck. Kai looked more intense, like he’d taken a step into a primal side I’d missed seeing before. It had been over a month, and he was shopping periodicals where I worked and lived. Holy hell.

  “Good morning.” His Scottish accent was so thick it was almost a purr. He smiled easily, but something about him was off. I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Thankfully, I didn’t feel as charmed as I did before, more tentative, but I was sure it was because of the way we’d left things. I didn’t like him being in the store.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek.

  “Glad to see you again.” It slid from my tongue like an automated response. Lie. I caught the scent of something herby on him, not quite a spice, but something natural.

  “You look different when you’re not out running. Or soaking me. Or blowing me off.”

  “Likewise.” Then I caught myself. He’d seen me out running. “Not that you were running, I mean. Or soaking me … you just look better clos
e up.” I pursed my lips to keep from embarrassing myself any more. It was nice to see my ability to shove a foot in my mouth had followed me to the UK.

  He laughed. “Likewise.”

  “So, I’m going to go back over here now,” I gestured over my shoulder to the register stand. “If there is anything you need help finding, or can think of another way I could thoroughly embarrass myself—”

  “—or if I need a shower—”

  “—don’t hesitate to come find me,” I said. “Witty one, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “Glad you found a way to extend your visit.”

  “Got a job.” I didn’t want to discuss the real reasons I remained in London. He’d think I’d lost it. And although I could be pretty happy staring at the guy all day, I was still on edge being around him. The hair on the back of my neck pulled tight, standing on end.

  He picked up a copy of “Mojo” magazine. “I’ve found what I came in for.”

  We walked to the register. Peter still hadn’t returned from his excursion to get the tea. Crap! Did he have to go pick the freaking tea leaves or what?

  I rung up the music mag for him, slid the book into a slender media sleeve and handed it over. “Have a great day,” I said with a smile. I wondered if it was obvious I was trying really hard to act like it was no big deal that he freaked me out a little.

  “You, as well, Tessa.” He smiled again, taking a little too long looking at me. He pulled his sunglasses onto his nose and turned for the door. Finally. The bells sounded his departure.

  “About now you’re hoping you didn’t eat my croissant.” Peter appeared, joking like I wasn’t about to blow a gasket.

  I breathed a gusty sigh.

  He set down two mugs and plopped flat a potholder, onto which he placed a fat tea pot. Steam twisted into the air from the spout.

  “Sweet,” I said. “Let’s dig in.” I was desperate to get my wonderful, light hearted, mood back.

  Peter took a tea towel from across his forearm and poured a mug of tea. He handed it to me and said in his best, stuffy British waiter voice, “How many lumps, mum?” He bowed slightly, reminding me of the first time I’d met him all Garged Out, short weeks that seemed like a year ago. My perception of him had changed so much. I loved when he was in a good mood.