by Anna Kyss
Kiernan smiled. “Having fun?”
“I wasn’t sure if this was my scene at first. It seemed a little too weird. But I’m having so much fun!” She imagined telling her girlfriends back home in Portland about her adventure of sneaking through the subway to enter an exclusive club with a very good-looking boy. Maybe Kiernan was correct; it was all right to break the rules, at least once in a while.
Kiernan stiffened as he looked toward the balcony. A man sat alone, watching the dancers. Kiernan gave Meghan a little smile. “Keep dancing. I need to do something for a minute, but I’ll be right back.”
She followed his gaze. “Who is that man?”
He sighed. “That’s my father. I need to greet him.”
“Your father still goes to clubs? Wait. Does your father own this club? Is that why Barnaby treated you like you were somebody special?”
“Something like that,” Kiernan replied, as he turned to leave.
Why was getting a clear answer from him so difficult? She watched him weave his way through the crowd. Meghan was unsure what to do while she waited. Standing amidst the undulating sea of dancers, she considered her options. Suddenly, a tall, very bare-chested boy began dancing in front of her. He wore tight-fitting leather breeches and an old-style, leather pilot’s hat fitted with an antiquated pair of goggles. His feet were bare. Not content to sway to the music, he held out his long arms and spun.
Meghan stared in wonder at the boy. For such a tall guy, he was amazingly graceful. The feather-like turquoise wings that sprouted from his back waved and moved in rhythm to his dancing. The roots plunged into the flesh of his back, muscles flexing under his skin as he moved. Meghan tried to get a better look, to see how they were attached, but every time she leaned closer, he twirled away.
“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.” The winged boy bowed.
“This is my first time coming to the club. I’m Meghan.” She offered him her hand.
The boy raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Charmed to meet you, Meghan. I am Wish.”
Meghan looked up at him, unsure if he was joking. “Wish? What kind of name is that?”
He grinned. “A name that conveys the longing, desire, and hope found within all of our souls. A name that brings a smile to all, whether one is using a four-leaf clover, falling star, or birthday candle. The name of one who truly believes in magic and the power of wishes.”
Before Meghan could decide what she thought about the oversized, poetic believer, he grabbed her hands, twirling and spinning her. Her feet struggled to keep up with the rest of her body, but she found herself smiling in delight. As the song ended, Wish bowed and stepped aside. Laughing, she looked up to find Kiernan grinning at her.
“Are you having fun?”
“More fun than I would have guessed.”
“My father would like to meet you. He has invited us to dine with him on the balcony.”
Meghan studied the dance floor. She was just starting to know Kiernan. Surely they were not at the “meeting each other’s parents” stage already.
He met her eyes. “Please. My father is a very insistent man. He is used to getting what he wants.”
“Well, I am a little hungry. Next time, you need to mention any possible relative meeting before we leave the hostel. Agreed?”
Kiernan nodded, and they wove their way toward the balcony. Many of the dancers stopped to greet him, and she wondered if his popularity was due to being the club-owner’s son.
As they walked up the final few stone steps, Kiernan reached for her hand. He stroked it, his thumb leaving warm trails up and down her palm. Was her nervousness that apparent?
Striding onto the balcony, Kiernan approached a small table where a man sat in a high-backed, wrought-iron chair. She wouldn’t have picked them out as father and son. For each of Kiernan’s fair traits, the man sported a darker version: long black hair, braided intricately, against Kiernan’s shoulder-length blond locks, and eyes the same shade of black, contrasting with Kiernan’s light blue.
Kiernan bowed deferentially to the man. “Father, I would like to have the pleasure of introducing you to my companion for tonight, Meghan Kelley.”
The man rose and held out both hands. “Enchanté, my dear. You may call me Lord Killian.” He took the hand Meghan offered, brushing it with his lips.
She quelled her inner “eww.” While his father shared Kiernan’s good looks, something about Lord Killian unsettled her. She tried to focus. “Lord? Is that a real title or just how the club-goers refer to you?”
Kiernan cringed, and she realized she must have said something offensive. Meghan knew she hadn’t been prepared for the meeting-the-parents ritual.
Lord Killian gestured toward the silver-domed trays on the table. “There will be time later for all of your questions. But for now, dinner awaits.”
As they sat, a man stepped out of the shadows. Meghan stifled a gasp. His black waistcoat, starched collar, and cravat looked like a turn-of-the-century butler uniform. The man bowed, revealing small paper wings covered with tiny words. Peering closer, Meghan recognized a few words from her French class: “le poisson,” “le champignon,” and “les asperges.” Were his wings made of restaurant menus? He lifted the domes of the silver platters, served the food without speaking, then retreated into the shadows. The meal was certainly more formal than dinner at her home.
Silence filled the balcony. Kiernan studied his plate. His father stared at her, his hands folded. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to make her uncomfortable or waiting for her to start the conversation.
She took a deep breath. “So, Mr. Killian, Kiernan mentioned that you enjoy the writings of Charles Darwin.”
Kiernan cringed again at her “Mister.”
Lord Killian wiped his mouth with a napkin and nodded. “Ah, yes, I do appreciate the masterful words of Mr. Darwin. Charles was wise beyond his years and far ahead of his era when he published his findings. Tell me, Meghan, have you studied Mr. Darwin’s work?”
“I’ve always liked science. During my senior year, I took an Advance Placement biology class, and we read portions of On the Origin of Species.”
“And what did you think of your readings?”
“Well, it was quite interesting. I had never really thought about how we got to this stage of the evolutionary process.”
“And Mr. Darwin’s thoughts about ‘survival of the fittest’? Are you familiar with those?”
Meghan was surprised at the formality. She had gone out with Kiernan expecting to have a fun and carefree night in London, but she ended up being interrogated about evolutionary and Darwinist principles. Kiernan was silent and only picked at his food. She hoped, after dinner, they would be able to return to the dance floor.
Forming her thoughts carefully, she replied, “Darwin believed that some species developed a competitive advantage over other species, and that this advantage allowed them to thrive. Over time, the individuals with the advantage would pass on that trait to younger generations, spreading the trait, while individuals without the competitive advantage would slowly diminish.” The conversation felt as nerve-wracking as her senior exams.
He looked pleased. “My, Meghan, you are an intelligent young woman. I must say that I am impressed.”
She perked up. Maybe the dinner hadn’t been a complete disaster.
Lord Killian looked down at her still-full plate and waved his hand toward it. “My apologies, Meghan. I have monopolized our dinner with conversation, allowing your food to grow cold. Go ahead and eat, my dear.”
She nibbled bites of the different foods arranged on her plate. Many of the foods were unusual, and she couldn’t place their origins. Not the typical English-style meat-and-potatoes pub fare, all of the foods were plant or grain based. The rich and complex flavors surprised her. She ate quickly and heartily, stopping at intervals to display some semblance of table manners. When dinner was done, the menu-winged man stepped from the s
hadows again and hastily removed the dishes. He paused at Kiernan’s still full plate, looking at Lord Killian for permission to take it. With Lord Killian’s nod, he grabbed the last plate, and scurried back to the shadows.
Lord Killian sat back in his chair. “I have so enjoyed getting to know you, my dear. I have some business to conduct with my son, but I would like to extend an invitation for you to stay here tonight.”
Meghan startled. “There are sleeping chambers here, in the nightclub?”
He smiled. “We try to make sure the needs of our guests are met. The Underground has all the comforts of a downtown block in London.”
“Um, I have a room at the hostel. They’ll wonder why I didn’t return. I really should be getting back,” she muttered.
Lord Killian shook his head. “Unfortunately, I must insist. As I mentioned, I have business with Kiernan that cannot wait. And it is simply not safe for you to wander through the dark Tube tunnels alone. I will have you escorted to one of our chambers, where you will be most comfortable.” With a snap of his fingers, two young men approached. Like nearly everyone else, they had unique pairs of wings on their backs. “Shade, Chaos, please lead Meghan to the guest chambers.”
What kinds of names were Shade and Chaos? She looked incredulously at Kiernan. Was he really going to leave her in the middle of their date?
“Kiernan? Will you please take me home?”
Staring stoically at the table, he said nothing. Meghan sighed in frustration. She wouldn’t be going out with him again. She remembered the “worst date ever” conversation from their walk through the Tube tunnels, grimacing at the truth of her words.
“You brought me down here when I didn’t even want to come, and now you’re abandoning me?” Before she could say more, she was escorted from the balcony by the two men.
Meghan grew angrier as they made their way down the staircase and through mazes of stone hallways. Trying to calm her raging thoughts, she focused on the two sets of wings. Shade’s wings suited his name. They were black as night and made from smooth panels of leather. Metal rivets held leather ties that kept the wings on his body. Chaos had much larger wings that appeared to be metal imprinted with elaborate designs and interesting shapes. The tips of the wings looked razor sharp, almost weapon-like. While the oddities had been enchanting initially, she was more than ready to leave.
“Would either of you take me back to the Tube station? I have some money back at the hostel. I’d pay you.”
Neither of them replied. Chaos opened a wooden door set in one of the stone walls. Inside, she could see a spacious bedchamber.
“If you guys are too busy, I think I remember the way myself. I’m just going to find the doorman—”
Chaos and Shade stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. Bile rose in her throat, and she nearly vomited. She really had thought that she would be free to leave. Lord Killian was pushy, and Kiernan was a jerk, but she hadn’t thought they were dangerous.
She considered her options. The doorway to the bedroom was behind her. Chaos’s sharp wing tips almost touched the floor, but there was a gap underneath Shade’s left wing. She darted toward the space.
Shade shoved her into the chamber. The door slammed shut, and Meghan could hear the grating of a deadbolt sliding against wood. She tried to pull the door open, but it would not budge. The anxiety she had felt walking through the dark Tube tunnels returned, her heart pounding, thoughts racing, and body tingling with uneasiness.
Why had Kiernan brought her to the Underground? What were they going to do? All kinds of nightmarish scenarios raced through her mind. Trying to calm herself, she surveyed the room. A large four-poster bed occupied the middle of the room, and a comfortable-looking armchair stood in front of a fireplace. Someone had already started a fire and left a supply of logs to keep it burning.
An hour later, Meghan sat on the armchair, feeling defeated. She had spent the initial thirty minutes of her captivity unsuccessfully attempting to force the lock on the door. For the next twenty minutes, she had yelled for help. Her screams had reverberated off the stone walls of the chamber, but not a soul had come to help her.
Tears filled her eyes as she realized the massive mistakes she had made during her first week in London. She was locked beneath the city, in a place nobody knew existed, and without any idea of her captors’ plans for her.
Meghan blocked out those thoughts. She needed to stay calm. Imagining all the what-could-happens would only distress her. She had fallen for Kiernan’s charm, and he had lured her to the Underground. Feelings of bitter betrayal flooded through her, and tears fell.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear someone enter until the lock slid back into place. Startled, she turned to find Kiernan behind her.
“Why did you lure me down here? Why am I locked up? Why me?”
He gazed at her sadly and reached for her hands, but Meghan jumped back, putting as much space between them as possible.
“Why?” she repeated.
He approached. “Meghan, I wish I could explain. I want you to understand. But, I just can’t right now.”
Looking at his hands, she saw a small, silver knife. “Keep away from me!” Meghan screamed. She scanned the room, searching for something to use for protection, but saw nothing. Terror bubbled up inside her.
Kiernan stepped closer, raising the knife. He looked at her with those eyes the perfect shade of blue.
And she found herself not resisting. She felt Kiernan take her hands and draw her toward the armchair. He sat down, lowered her onto his lap, and placed the knife against her neck. Meghan had always thought she would be the kind of girl who fought vehemently if attacked. She did not realize that terror could immobilize her.
Kiernan whispered, “I am so very sorry.”
She felt the sharp edge of the knife cut into her neck and was aware of blood seeping out the edges of the small cut. And then, Kiernan’s mouth descended upon her neck.
Out of the Frying Pan
~ 3 ~
The pain was dull as she struggled to understand what was happening. She couldn’t form coherent thoughts, and her body felt frozen in place. After several terrifying seconds, so long they felt like hours, her ability to move finally returned. Meghan squirmed and twisted, trying to free herself, but to no avail. Kiernan’s strong arms gripped her, imprisoning her on his lap, as his mouth moved against her neck.
For Meghan, time stopped until he lifted his head. Fear melted into relief. He wasn’t going to kill her, at least not at that moment. She scrambled out of his lap, backing toward the fire. A drop of blood clung to his upper lip.
“Why?” she whispered.
Kiernan froze at the groan of the sliding deadlock. He answered with only a slight shake of the head.
“Why, indeed?” Lord Killian marched into the room. “I am very curious as to why you have stopped drinking, my son. My directions were clear: to drain her.”
A shiver spread through her body at his icy tone.
Kiernan’s response was equally cold. “One doesn’t guzzle a fine vintage of wine; one savors it. By drinking a cup per day, the bottle still empties, but the enjoyment of the drink lasts.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Was he actually comparing her to a wine, a commodity to be used and later disposed of? Father and son glared at each other, neither breaking the long silence. Meghan blinked back more tears. She crept backward until she felt the cold stone of the wall upon her back.
“Just see that the bottle is emptied, son. The problem with fine wine is that some become so attached to a particular vintage, they cannot bear to consume it.”
Lord Killian turned toward Meghan. “Always charming to see you, my dear.” He strode from the room. She barely held in the shudder until he disappeared, slamming the door behind him.
Kiernan approached. Her body trembled as he drew close. She pushed herself further back, but the stone wall wouldn’t give. Sadness and regret poured from his eyes, his stare conveying a th
ousand apologies. He pulled an ornate blue bottle from his pocket and placed a fragrant-smelling ointment on his thumb. As he tried to touch her neck, she flinched. A single tear welled in his eye, threatening to fall.
“This will help with the healing of your wound.” He glanced at the door, then dabbed at her neck with the salve. Goosebumps formed along the path where his thumb grazed.
He began to speak, but looked toward the door again. He mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
He trudged toward the door. His head and shoulders remained slumped as he exited the room. Why did he look even more defeated than she felt? She was still pondering that question when the lock slid back into place.
Her composure crumbling, she dissolved into tears, collapsing on the armchair and curling into a ball. The warm fire did nothing to quell the cold dread that filled her. The mistakes she had made circled in her mind: going out with a stranger, not letting anyone know where she would be, and falling for somebody who hurt her. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, and she slept.
*
Her very first evening in London, she sat in the community room of her hostel, waiting and wondering if he would really come. She felt guilty as she imagined what her mother would say about her going out with a Boy. She had made many promises and had vowed to stay safe on her first trip away from home.
And then he walked in the door. With one smile, he wiped all doubts away. Kiernan looked as good as she remembered. His tight black T-shirt and jeans contrasted with his blond hair. Odd tattoos in the forms of knots and swirls glistened on his upper arms. An intricate silver chain holding an unusual cross dangled from his neck. As Kiernan approached, he presented her with an exaggerated bow.
Offering her the crook of his arm, he asked, “Shall we?”
Meghan tossed away her uncertainties and grasped his arm. “Where to, my fine lord?” she quipped, joining in his role-play.
