by Lucy Smoke
“There it is.” Titus’s quiet voice stops my retort before it even reaches my lips and I follow as five pairs of eyes turn towards the windows of the train.
Angels. Actual Angels with wings and flowing tunics and golden wreaths adorning their heads line the walls of Cephei and guard the front gate entry of the city. It’s a startling image—Angels. Angels, as far as I know, are only legends. They are the few chosen souls that attend to the Original Gods as warriors, servants, and companions. Their solid statue forms all repeat the same gesture, hands clasped, reaching above their heads as if holding for sign from the Gods. My hands shake as I place them against the ledge of the window and turn my whole body so that I’m kneeling on the couch with my face pressed against the glass. They look familiar as though they’re an image from a dream I had a long time ago. Just inside the city, I can see the tops of three massive pyramids with hundreds of slanted steps leading up to the temples of the three races of the phoenix. One for the ice, one for the fire, and one for the spirit.
“If we can see the city, then we should be stopping within the hour,” Booker says.
“And then where will we go?” Holden asks.
“I’ve made arrangements to rent a studio close to the Pharaoh's library.”
“Will it be big enough for all of us?” Coen leans back as though unimpressed by the display of wealth and power that the city reflects in the background of the passing land outside. He uses a rounded rock to sharpen a dagger and cut bits from an apple. Booker nods.
“This is surreal.” I’m the only one who picks up Titus’s comment since he’s right next to me on the opposite side of Holden and I turn to him with a smile. I agree. If someone had told me a year ago, I would be running for my life from my very own kingdom, leaving Matric’s city to travel to Ragnarok, coastal cities, fight highway robbers, soldiers, and bounty hunters, I might have...well, I might have passed out from laughing too hard.
I look to Coen thinking I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him. I wouldn’t have been able to escape on my own. If Obidian hadn’t thrust Titus and Holden into my life, I would never have met them or subsequently Booker and Luca. I wouldn’t have seen women with tails and spots and men who could change into dogs. I wouldn’t have met Madam Armaita and seen pieces of my past I had been too young to remember or pieces of my future that I have yet to experience. I wouldn’t have met Halcy, the silver-haired stranger who had helped us when we needed it. I wouldn’t have kissed Titus either. My cheeks flush at the last thought and I dart a glance in his direction. We haven’t exactly had time to talk about it yet.
He catches me staring and looks over curiously one eyebrow raised. “You okay?” he whispers. I nod, jerking my gaze back to the window, but I can no longer focus on the images rushing by. “Are you nervous?”
My blush deepens. How can he possibly know what I’m thinking? “Are you a mind reader?” I ask with a slightly hysterical giggle which I hope makes it seem as if I’m not hiding anything, just having a friendly joke.
“No, you just look tense.” His lips curve slightly, not a true smile but it lights up his face anyway, turning his normal serious expression into one that makes him resemble a little boy. I can picture him as a cute, small boy with miniature golden curls hanging around his face. Then I think of his mother and what he told me and the image is ruined. The reflection of the smiling little boy turns sad and my mind takes a terrible turn into a dirt poor room with a drunken woman leading men into the open door of a bedroom while a younger Titus cries from hunger.
“Nerys,” Holden hisses in warning.
I clasp my glowing hands together like the angels and pray for calm composure.
“Nerys?” Titus echoes. I slide a stiff smile his way, but try and keep myself contained, running off the images of his childhood with images of him now. Smiling at me, worrying over me like he is right now, holding me, kissing me…
“Please collect your belongings and head to the exit car. We thank you for traveling with us and welcome to Cephei, City of the Phoenix.” Appearing to come from every direction at once, the sickeningly sweet female voice makes the announcement as the train begins to slow down considerably. Coen pops the last of his apple into his mouth and I relax as soon as I realize that my hands are no longer glowing. Holden touches my shoulder as I pass him and I shoot him a grateful look. He nods once before letting me go ahead with the others.
When we reach the exit with Booker on one side of me and Coen on the other, only the latter and I are curious and amazed by all that we see. People that we hadn’t seen before are crowded together around us, exiting as we are. Women dressed completely from head to toe and women dressed in scraps of nothing with men clinging to their arms possessively. I peer around at the mass of people, the air growing warmer despite the chill because of the sheer amount of people surrounding the platform in front of Cephei.
“Those leaving, please remain on the left. Those arriving, please remain on the right. Move forward and don’t forget your luggage. Thank you for traveling with us and have a beautiful stay in Cephei.” The same feminine voice carries across the crowd and people finally begin to move.
We cross over into the city much like we had into Ragnarok, groups of diversity clinging to one another in the new place. Some obviously returning or having been here before cut around the newcomers with barely contained irritation as they head in the direction of their destination. My eyes are wide open, taking in all of the sights and sounds and smells.
Booker directs us down a less crowded path and the six of us mingle among the oblivious arrivals as we follow behind our giant leader.
Stopping outside a tall white brick building that reminds me of the lower buildings of Matric’s City, Booker and Luca each reach for a door handle and pull the double entryway wide open for the rest of us to enter.
Twin grand staircases rise from the depths of the floor and curve into an elegant second floor balcony. My breath catches because the handrails and balusters are made of wrought iron with flecks of gold glimmering every time a beam of light hits it. The floor beneath our feet is heavy white marble tile, interrupted every few feet by a diamond shaped gold tile.
“Whoa.”
“Yeah.” I agree with Coen. “You can say that again.” This place is a freaking palace. Just beyond the grand staircase is a garden. The smell of jasmine and freshly cut grass permeates the area.
“Welcome to Cephei’s Courtyard. Will you be staying with us for one evening or two?” A tall older gentleman with gray hair combed over to one side of his nearly bald head appeared around one side of the left staircase, a black and white suit tucked firmly place.
“We’ll take the week, sir,” Booker says, taking the lead yet again. The old man’s eyes widen which leads me to assume most people don’t just “take the week” at a place like this. But other than the barely there widening of his eyes, the skinny little man doesn’t react further other than to say “good then, sir.” He disappears for a moment back behind the staircase as I wander forward heading towards the garden. When he reappears suddenly with an entourage of similarly dressed men and women behind him I nearly jump out of my skin.
“May we take your luggage for you?” one of them inquires reaching for my bag.
I slap his hand away, clutching my bag closer. It has all of my worldly possessions in it. No way am I letting a stranger handle my dagger or worse, the small vial of dragon’s blood that I still have sequestered away in a pocket of the satchel. The servant’s eyes blink at me in surprise and he reaches for my bag again.
“Ma’am, I assure you—”
“No!” At their startled faces, I quickly lower my voice. “I mean, I’m fine. No need to do any extra work on my behalf. Really, I’ve got it. I’ve got…uh…lady’s things in here.” The guys’ eyes round and I hear someone—probably Coen or Holden—choke out a cough of surprise. The old man doesn’t even bat an eyelash.
“It’s fine,” the old man says. “The lady’s bag
will remain with her.” The younger man looks at me curiously, but nods once and goes to collect the guys’ bags before lugging them all up the staircase. The older man turns back to us as a group and flashes a quick smile. “We welcome you all to Cephei’s Courtyard. You’ll find your rooms are well prepared. My name is Richard. If you ever have need of me. Simply ring the bells in each of your room and either myself or one of my associates will attend to you.” He gestures to the rest of his entourage. “These ladies and gentlemen are my employees and will see to your comfort. If you like, they will direct you to your rooms now.”
Booker nods in ascension. I lean in close as we begin to follow the group of Courtyard associates up the staircases to the second level. “I thought you rented a studio.”
He tilts his head down, frowning. “I did. I rented a studio for each of us.” I roll my eyes. Of course.
I can’t stifle the grimace that comes to my lips. A part of me is incredibly jealous and another part of me feels like we’re taking advantage of Booker’s kindness.
“What’s wrong?” He leans closer, his eyebrows tilting down as though frustrated he hadn’t heard me. I wave him away.
“I’m sorry,” is all I say.
“Nerys, we’ve talked about this,” He says, proving that he did, in fact. I don’t respond as the rest of our group is lead through the wide hallways of Cephei’s Courtyard, which I’ve come to understand is a very expensive temporary apartment building. Matric’s Kingdom hadn’t possessed such extravagance, but Ragnarok had.
Luca, Titus, Holden, and Coen are led to their studios each door standing opposite from the other. When Booker and I are dropped off at our doors, they too are directly across from each other.
Instead of leaving me to freshen up, Booker follows me into my studio. “Nerys, what’s this about?” he demands.
I wander around the room, poking at the elaborate paintings, all depicting images from what I assume are great landmarks around Cephei such as the three temples. I don’t say anything.
He sighs before finding a place to sit on the couch that takes up half of the wall closest to the door. He reaches over to pick up a decorative mini quill pen from a holder on the side table, fiddling with the end. “That’s okay, if you don’t want to talk now, I’ll wait.”
I draw a finger away from an image of a Phoenix statue in a market square that I assume is somewhere in the city. There’s a king-sized mattress that takes up a considerable amount of space near the windows that overlook the street; I stride over to it and drop my bag onto the surface of its duvet.
Booker sighs again, dropping the quill back into its holder. “My money is your money, Nerys. So if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t.” He stands and grabs my wrist as I pass him into the tiny kitchen area. “Look at me,” he commands. I do, the pinprick pupils of his eyes surrounded by an ocean of green drawing me in. “Now, tell me. What’s wrong?” One wide palm reaches up and he cups the back of my neck while still keeping my wrist captive.
I’m scared, I think. That’s what’s wrong. But, how do I say that? It’s my fault this is all happening to begin with. Don’t I need to have the strength to handle it?
He nods and I groan realizing that instead of thinking my fears, they’ve already slipped out. “What are you afraid of?” I shake my head and turn away, but he reaches out and grips my arm turning me back around to face him. His palm is warm on my skin and he doesn’t let go. I find myself opening my mouth and words spilling out once more.
“It’s all going to end. You and me and the others, we’re all going to end someday. Maybe we’ll escape from Matric. Maybe we’ll fix Obidian, but he’ll still be there. Either way, eventually everything now will end,” I say, the words coming faster and faster as I stand there spellbound and wanting to strangle the truth out of my throat to keep it from coming up.
His dark brows lower, the confusion marring his otherwise impeccably strong features. “What do you mean?”
“I feel like a curse you have to put up with. There’s really no reason to put up with me. Coen and I just sort of showed up on your doorstep. Holden’s your friend, so obviously he’ll stay with you and Luca and Titus have grown close. Actually Coen’s grown pretty comfortable with all of you as well. But, the whole reason everyone is in this mess if because of me, because I’m a daimon. I still don’t even know how to be a daimon. I’m bringing all sorts of problems down on your doorstep. Holden got hurt, you had to leave your beautiful home. Now we’re here, in Cephei to try and fix me or rather Obidian.
It feels like too much. You don’t think it’s too much?” I gasp, my throat working in overtime. “I feel like I’m drowning under the pressure, the weight. Then I think about what if? What if we make it through this and we fix Obidian? Then what? Do we just traipse back to Ragnarok and live with you and Luca. Do I go to school? Girls are allowed to go to college in Ragnarok, aren’t they? They aren’t in Matric’s Kingdom. Will Coen go too? Do I just keep being a daimon? I mean, it’s not like we can just rip Obidian out of me even if it is kind of creepy that a guy is living in my head.”
The more I talk, the more Booker’s lips begin to twitch. I narrow my eyes on those lips and continue, “What’s so funny? This is my life I’m talking about here. It’s Coen’s life too. And Titus’s...kind of. You’ll take care of Titus, though, won’t you? I feel like he and Luca are really good friends now. Of course you will. I know you think I’m ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking about it, about the future. What does it hold for us? Right now we’ve got to deal with this.” I pause, gesturing down in my general direction. “Then Matric and then who knows what else.” I stop, panting. My lungs burn as though I’ve just run ten miles in under ten minutes. When I finally catch my breath, I look up at him in horror.
“What the hell was that?” I demand, somehow certain it’s all his fault. All of the thoughts that I’ve kept to myself, buried down deep all spilling forth at once? That’s just not normal.
He chuckles, pulling his hand away from my arm and showing me a small circular symbol of some kind drawn on his palm. “It’s a mild truth spell,” he explains. “I needed to know what was really wrong and I think you needed to let it out.”
He’s right, but…
“Don’t ever do that to me again.” I glare. He nods and strides to the sink in the kitchen area, using it to wash away the ink.
I should have known that he wasn’t the type to fidget.
“To address some of your concerns,” Booker starts, drying his hands with a towel that was apparently folded into a pretty swan on the counter of the kitchenette before walking further into my studio room and dropping it into a laundry basket that I hadn’t noticed before. “Yes, I will take care of Titus, whether Luca likes him or not. You’re right, though, they do seem to have grown quite close. I will also take care of Holden, we hadn’t spoken in many years before he showed up on my doorstep with you and the others in tow, but when we were children we were very good friends. What’s mine is his. The same goes for you and Coen.” He grabs both of my shoulders and turns me to look him in the eyes again. “I think you need to take it one day at a time right now. There is a lot of chaos going on. I understand that it scares you. It should scare any normal person. But, you aren’t alone in this. Maybe you haven’t realized it yet, but we are all here for you because we care.”
“Aren’t you scared?” I ask.
“A little,” he admits, his eyes darkening. “I’m scared of you getting hurt. I’m scared of anyone else in our group getting hurt. I’m afraid I might not be able to fix the next problem that hits us or that I’m not going to be able to mend the next broken bone or whatever injury that may occur. That fear, though, just drives me to want to protect my friends even more.”
“You want me to be your friend?” A little piece of me warms at the knowledge, but Booker frowns at me.
“You already are my friend, Nerys. Did you think otherwise?” The expression on his face makes me want to lie and say yes,
but even though he’s already wiped off the spell, I can feel some of its lingering effects. Or maybe I just want to be honest with him. I’m not completely sure.
“I was just sort of dropped on you like a surprise bad luck charm. You’ve been gracious throughout this whole thing, but it’s not really your problem and I don’t know why you’ve let me hang around. I don’t know why you’ve gone so far as to do all this.” I gesture halfheartedly to the studio, hoping he understands my meaning. “Though I am grateful. I hope you know that. I’m grateful beyond belief.”
Booker pulls me closer, his hands slipping off my shoulders and wrapping around my upper back as he draws me into his chest. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of smoke and fire and parchment. It’s like sitting near the fire at the library in his dormitory apartment has imprinted the smell of books on him forever. I like it.
“I’ll admit, at first I was curious. Luca liked you so much and despite how he acts around you, Luca does not take to strangers usually. I was appalled when he asked to be my familiar, but honored as well. When I asked him why, all he could tell me was that it was right. He acted in a similar fashion when you first arrived, like you were right to be there, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. Before you ask, no he’s not psychic. But, he once told me that his mother was clairvoyant so maybe some of that trickled down into him.” I close my mouth, shutting down the question he had already answered. “Then he called you a daimon and I had heard stories, but I had never met one in person. I was–am.” He chuckles. “Absolutely fascinated by you.”
“You worry so much about Coen, about the others. You worry about yourself yes, but your concern is greater for people you care about. It’s not remarkable for a daimon, but then there’s the fact that you do have all of these issues and I want to be the one to help you.”
“Why?” I need to know it’s not just a whim. Whims are left at the mercy of the human disposition. He could change with the wind and I’ll be out. Out of friends, out of family, out of safety, and out of time. I don’t think he will, but do I really know him all that well? Maybe I should ask Holden; they’ve known each other much longer. I’ve noticed how Holden doesn’t argue or question Booker’s orders the way Coen first did and sometimes still does. I think Coen respects Booker, but sometimes his worry gets the better of him like it did in Chelsa. I don’t blame him though; it does feel like we’re all packed together in a giant pressurized machine of some kind just waiting to either pop or be crushed.
