by Lucy Smoke
“Because you’re more than just a curiosity.” I’m transfixed by his gaze, the green orbs of his eyes move closer until I can feel his breath on my face, warm and slightly minty.
I want him to kiss me, I realize. Like I want Holden to trust me. Like I want Titus to open up to me. Like I want Luca to protect me. Like I want Coen to stay with me forever. I want Booker to kiss me like he did everything else in life, with great concentration. The why wasn’t important, but he made me feel safe, protected, taken care of. But, he didn’t make me feel like a burden, at least not intentionally. Right now, in front of me, with his big shoulders blocking out the rest of the world, I want to sink into a kiss with him and see what it will do. I lean closer, the heat of his lips gravitating me towards him. His eyes shutter for a split second and he blinks, breaking the spell. I suck in a breath, shocked at what I almost let happen, at what I almost did. I had already kissed Titus and now I had almost kissed Booker. What was wrong with me? I had barely any past with boys and kissing. Did being a daimon skyrocket my libido or something?
“It’s getting rather late.” He coughs, motioning to the window.
The sky has exploded into a variety of colors, fading from blue to orange and pink to a bright yellow red as the sun slowly sets behind the background of the temples, the wall of Cephei, and the lands and mountains beyond. He pulls away, backing up so quickly that I almost stumble and lose my balance. Booker reaches out for me before I catch myself on the back of the couch and his offered hand falls to his side, but his face is different now as if he knows what we almost did. Guilt creeps up my throat once more.
“I should leave you to rest, we’ll head out for the Pharoah’s library in the morning.”
“I’ll be across the hall if you need me.” I nod as he stops at the door and flashes a glance over his broad shoulder. For such an intelligent academic person, he’s built like Coen, like a fighter.
I frown his way, concerned for his sudden change of mood, but I don’t stop him when he opens the door and quietly closes it behind him.
⚜⚜⚜
Sitting alone in the studio seems like a wasteful way to end the evening even with the abrupt way Booker had left me early burrowing a hollowed point in my chest. So after I sit and stare at the already dried paint on the walls long enough, I decide to take a peek around the Courtyard. This place is, after all, taking Booker’s money so that makes us guests and the courtyard is what I would assume is the main attraction to this place.
I follow back the way we came up. Silence greets me as I wander down one of the grand staircases. There’s a small podium not far from the front door that I hadn’t noticed before and I suppose it’s where Richard, or someone else, would be standing as they await for new arrivals. There’s no one there at this time of the evening. I figure they must be off for dinner.
The opening to the courtyard beacons me and I drift through the open archway, scenting the jasmine and the beautiful plants that decorate the garden. Little stones litter the grass as a pathway leading me further into the centered nest of the building. My curiosity grows as I take the path and let my eyes roam.
From inside the courtyard gardens, I can see that the walls on this side of the building are mostly windows. With stripes of white brick in lines shooting straight up from the bottom to the roof. Vines crawl in a crisscrossing fashion over every available surface, the windows flat and dull beneath with the lack of sunlight coming from the darkened sky above. The stones at my feet eventually lead to a small alcove where a small wooden gazebo waits with a carved glowing stone in the shape of a flame flickers on a table resting in the middle.
I recognize the man sitting inside. “Luca?” Green eyes lift to meet mine and a welcoming smile spreads over his lips.
“Hi, little daimon. Come to join me?” I duck into the gazebo and take a seat across from him. “What do you think?” he asks, gesturing to the immediate area. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It’s lovely,” I agree.
“The icons are my favorite.”
“They have sculptures out here?” I ask. “Where?” Sculptures made by a Phoenix shifter are something I can’t pass up. They must be brilliant, extravagant like the city and the courtyard.
“Statues, little daimon. They have statues. Would you like to see?”
“Of course.” He chuckles at my excitement.
Luca guides me back through what feels like a maze of the courtyard, further from where I entered, and when we finally come to what has to be the center of the entire garden, my mouth gapes open. Placed in a swirl pattern, statues line the stones beneath their pedestals. Bodies swirling in curving vines, the effect is a astonishing. Blooms opening under the moon, drops of water hanging by the thinnest of threads from their petals.
“What do you think?” I jump at the puff of Luca’s warm breath slides over my ear.
“It’s…” I don’t know what to think. It’s a little difficult to put into words the images before me. I move forward, brushing my fingers along the knees of the closest statue. Two people, a man and a woman, are embraced in each other’s arms. Faces tilted to take in the expressions of the other. Draped in nothing more than the intricate plant life that covers them, I can feel the emotion behind the art.
“It’s beautiful,” I finally finish, though it’s incomparable to what I truly think. There are no words for the lush allure of these works of art.
“I’d say these are true statuettes of emotion, wouldn’t you?” Luca muses. “And between these two, a love that blossomed long ago and is forever engraved in stone will always be.”
“They’re just statues.” I hear the words from my mouth and I can’t believe I’m saying them. They don’t feel like statues. They feel like living breathing works of art. But, the practical side of me disagrees. She thinks that despite their beauty, they truly are just giant rocks. Images and depictions of things that may have once been real, but are no more.
“They seem like that, don’t they? Unreal.” Like he’s reading my mind, Luca moves closer, offering me warmth and wisdom as he talks. “It’s a moment in happiness for them when they could have lived a lifetime or more as such.”
“What if they weren’t really people?” I counter. He lightly wraps his arms around me and I appreciate the heat of his skin as it wards off the chill the night leaves lingering in the air.
“Ah, but what if they were?” His laugh is like the smell of chocolate tickling at my nose. “I know that they were real because I know the artist. He was a man imaginative in certain ways and not in others. He couldn’t create ideas, but he could create shapes. He took real people he had met in his lifetime and made them into art that could last throughout the ages.”
“He was very talented,” I admit.
“That he was. But, he was also lonely. Hence the reason for his many statues.” Luca squeezes me as he nods to the rest of the icons.
“He made all of these?” I can’t imagine it. Sitting in an art studio day after day, working at clay and stone for hours upon hours. I would go insane.
“Love is a complex creature in many ways, little daimon. It’s greedy at times and generous at others.”
“What does that have to do with the statues and their creator?”
“He was in love with them… the statues. No, don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t that kind of love.” He laughs at my expression. “He was in love with the act of creating them. But, for someone who couldn’t create unless he saw, he hated seeing people. These statues are all of the same couple. Take a look.”
And I do. Some are singles, a woman standing, draped in cloth over one shoulder, staring into a dreamland distance that I cannot see. A man kneeling naked on his pedestal, head downcast, eyes closed. The couple once more standing, facing away slight indentations where tears would be if they were human running down their faces, the mirrored image of each other. Again and again, the same faces. I hadn’t noticed before, but Booker’s right. Some are sad, some are happy, some
are angry, but all of them the same facial structure.
“They were his closest friends, his confidantes and his life’s work.”
“Who were they?”
“Desireé and Michael were artists and lovers. They had been friends with Angelo for years before they were married. As a wedding gift to what he considered his family, he spent years sculpting their images. The good, the bad, and the real. They were his blood, no matter that they weren’t truly family and he wanted them to always have a reminder that their love was work. It was sweat and tears and everything he put forth for them. They had accepted him and so he did the only thing he knew to show them how much he loved them in return, he reminded them. He recreated them.”
“What happened to them?” Strong fingers intertwine with my own smaller ones.
“There was a great fire of Cephei, and though Phoenix shifters cannot be truly killed by flames, merely reborn, both Desireé and Michael were captured within its grasp and when everything returned to normal, Angelo found himself without his friends. They were not dead, but they were reborn as infants. They would not remember him until they grew older.”
“So, do phoenixes never die?” There was so much I didn’t know and something told me this story hadn’t even reached the saddest point. “I know it sucks that his friends wouldn’t remember him for years, but eventually they would right?”
Luca sighs. “Phoenixes die,” he says rubbing the pads of his fingers between mine. “They are one of the only creatures who understand death as well as they do. It’s a gift and a curse.” He sounds contemplative as he talks and I tilt my head back to see that his eyes are focused on the statues. “To always remain while others grow old and die. They grow old as well, but their deaths are never true until they’ve reached their last cycle. No one ever knows how many cycles they have, either. Some have only two or three others have dozens.”
“And the story?” I ask. “Angelo?” Luca pauses, glancing down.
“He wasn’t a phoenix, little daimon. He was human and when Desireé and Michael were reborn he was already well into his forties. They wouldn’t remember him for several years. That’s when–”
“He began the statues,” I finish. His smile is still just as lovely, but tinged in a sadness it hurts to witness cross his face.
“Yes.”
We remain in the garden well past the time of dinner, late into the night until the moon is high in the sky. Luca lets me look at the rest of the statues in quiet, keeping his hand locked with mine like a comfort blanket. Back in the gazebo, we sit together and listen to the sounds of the night. Employees of the Courtyard flit around, walking through the pathways and around the outside of our little nest.
“Tell me something happy,” I request, leaning into his side as we gaze out across the lavish greenery.
“What do you want to know?”
“How did you and Booker meet? That ought to be happy. You two seem close,” I laugh. “It’s like you’re twins.”
He raises an eyebrow at my poor attempt at humor only chuckling when I look back at him and waiting for a different reaction. “Perhaps another time.” He stands and reaches back for me, helping me to my feet and despite the unnecessary action I take his hand and allow it. “It’s gotten late, I’ll walk you back to your room.”
Chapter 10: The Binding
I’ve learned to recognize when I’m sleeping, especially since the strange dreams I’ve been having since the start of all the chaos in my life are centered around one person. In my dreams before, I became Obidian. This time I force myself to take control. Instead of slipping inside his mind like I normally would, I pull back.
It’s harder because we are one. One soul, one body, two minds. The difficulty is a weight pressing me down, urging me closer to the man standing centered on stone and sand. This is no dream–like the rest–this is a memory of a lifelong past.
Like the release of smoke, the image pans out, clearing into a large arena of some kind. Four alcoves with flags hanging from their high balconies flutter down: Red, Blue, Green, Purple. In the center of each flag is a round symbol, a twisting of knots crisscrossing like a pile of snakes slumbering in a nest. Although I am not with him, I can feel every emotion pouring through my spirit guide. Despair. Anger. Loss. Torment and misery so deep it writhes like twisting tendrils of venom in my gut. What has happened?
Fat links of chain circle his neck, running from hooks anchored in the stone beneath his bare feet. I can feel the cold of the metal around my neck and arms even though I’m merely playing witness to this scene. Skin like the softest onyx, stronger than any human man, shivers and a glimmer of the beast beneath slithers to the surface.
“Dragon.” A young male voice calls down from the red clothed balcony. “This is your trial and binding. You have been accused and found guilty of the worst crime a spirit guide can commit. How do you plead?”
“You have already tried me, found me guilty, and now you ask how I plead?”
Rumbling like a waking volcano, Obidian’s voice traverses the room and even I, though I am not real in this recollection, can feel the tremors of the building and the unease of the judge and jury.
“How do you plead?” Another, softer, voice repeats.
“I am guilty.” There are no gasps of shock from the invisible faces hiding in the shadows of the balconies. I suppose there wouldn’t be if they’ve already tried him.
“You shall be bound eternally, and you shall neither see nor feel the touch of your lover again.”
“Is she happy?” The words are choked as they slip from Obidian’s lips. Lips that are pinched down in an agony so ripe with fever, it cuts me. “Just tell me, in the afterlife, is she happy?”
I reach out, unable to stop myself from offering comfort to him, and the absolute wretchedness of the suffering inside leaves me dizzy, my vision blurring as the scene continues forth.
“She is no longer your daimon and no longer your concern,” the first voice replies.
“Please, I must know. I cannot bear to think of her suffering as I am!”
“She remembers you not,” the second voice, the softer one that sounds like bells and spring wind, soothes.
Thank you, Gods. I accept the binding. His mouth neither moves nor forms the words, but with the thought in his mind, long wisps of smoke in each color, from each balcony, reach forward, aiming straight for his heart.
They speak as one, “Through the shadows, we walk hand in hand with spirits and are once again reborn. You are so bound.”
Wait! I scream internally, though as this is a memory, it goes unnoticed and changes noting. I’m confused, but I know something important is about to happen. I can feel a stretching in my chest like my soul knows Obidian is about to suffer and I can’t bear to simply sit by and do nothing. But, I have to. This isn’t happening now; it’s a memory that has already passed. It doesn’t make it any easier to endure.
The curls snap around Obidian and I watch, helpless, as each one slithers around his limbs, flashing white hot before settling into his skin.
“Should the gods choose you to guide others beyond your death, you will be able to enhance your charges’ powers, and guide them silently. For every unnecessary interaction you have with your charges you will grow weaker. Your powers will be siphoned if you cannot withstand the punishment bestowed upon you.” The third voice is a deep baritone and as he speaks the hidden figures in the shadows stride forward, two males and two females.
In the red is the first speaker, a male child no more than thirteen with blond locks curling in a halo around his head. The blue is the second speaker, a beautiful woman with alabaster skin and eyes prominent and such a deep brown, I feel as though I’m falling into a vat of the richest oil. Her features are undoubtably feminine. The third speaker is a tall, wide chested man with skin darkened from seemingly endless sunny days. Rich chocolate brown hair sweeps across the top of his head and golden eyes glitter with predatory danger as he strides out over the green fab
ric. The fourth and final judge and jury, the silent one, is the second female. Skin brilliantly unmarred, made of the finest looking jet gemstones and eyes that are the bluest labradorite with lightning strikes of darkness cutting through the pools of color. In a blink, they are standing on the ground, circling my spirit guide. Their differences are even more noticeable, the shades of skin color that range from pale sunlight to midnight itself. They chant, the air spinning, twisting.
Tornados begin to form around each of Obidian’s limbs, the swirling masses closing in. All I can do is hold onto the thread that connects our minds, trying to keep him from sinking into the abyss I know is clinging to him inside, begging him to let go. Could this be a change happening? Has something I’ve done reversed a decision by the Gods that happened thousands of years ago? Can he even feel me in his memory as I can feel him?
Panic crawls beneath my skin and I can feel a throbbing in my head rise up, fierce and painful. He can’t die here. He still hasn’t met me. He hasn’t done all that he needs to do. It’s not over, I won’t let it be. But, there’s nothing I can do. This has already happened. Watching him is heartbreaking because though we’ve never truly talked, not in length, not in depth. Years of his life flow into my mind. Emotions. Love. Sadness. All of it encompasses who he is. He’s one of the last dragons. Alone in spirit. He was chosen for the position of spirit guide because of all his knowledge and power. Yet, all I see inside him now is a cavern of loneliness and it shakes me to my core.
