by Lola Gabriel
Archibald leveled his gaze at the rotund man. Albaline didn’t flinch. “Well,” he said, “your father must have kept all the…stuff from tracking down your mother, no?”
Archibald couldn’t blink, he was too angry. He could hardly breathe. Taking his silence as a lack of understanding, Albaline continued, “The seeing stones, et cetera, everyone was talking about all the kit he’d gathered at the time. You wouldn’t have been privy, I suppose, being underage. The manservant should know, though, he’s getting on, isn’t he?”
“Erik, you mean?” It was obvious Albaline had a bit of animosity towards Archibald’s father. And from his tone, it seemed Albaline wasn’t keen on Erik either…
Albaline nodded. “I suppose so,” he said. There was silence between the two men, neither moving at all, until finally Albaline said, “I will, of course, make it worth your while. I know there has been some unrest amongst the warlocks recently, desires for less red tape.”
Archibald had to nod. It was true. “Tape keeps things together,” he said. He felt his hand, which was resting on top of the stack of ordinances, turn into something of a claw. Possessive.
The smile of the fae’s face was hard to read. “We all have our ways of governing, young Archie, but whatever your way, would it not be helped by…” The dramatic pause was undoubtedly intentional. The beard, the waistcoat, it all screamed dramatic pause kind of guy, didn’t it? “A fae crystal,” Albaline finally said. Worth a dramatic pause after all.
Archibald swallowed. “What?” he asked, as if he might have heard wrong. Albaline just continued to smile. He knew it was a fucking trump card. One of the most magic-magnifying items in the known universe. They were created and guarded by the ancient fae. Ironically, though, the fae could use them themselves only if they had all eight. For everyone else, even one increased power fourfold. Even just his people knowing he had one… But how could he…
“You’re the reason my mother died,” Archibald said. His voice was surprisingly low, like a growl. Animal.
Albaline’s eyebrows arched upwards. His mouth opened in surprise. “Excuse me, young man? How did you reach that conclusion?”
Archibald leaned forward, “I’m not that fucking young, Albaline. Don’t patronize me. I know my father asked for your help, asked for a crystal, and you denied you had one. Denied him any help at all. Everyone else stepped up, even the damn vampires, and you—”
To Archibald’s utter shock, Albaline had begun to laugh. There was nothing to do but stop his monologue and stare at the rotund fae king.
“Sorry…sorry.” Albaline held up a hand. “It’s just…that’s what your father told you? You’re younger than you think you are, Archie.”
Again, Archibald tensed up at the nickname.
“I offered your father help. I did!” Albaline had obviously read Archibald’s expression, knew he would have to insist. “I offered him help, and he refused me. Said he didn’t need help from the fae. I hate to say it, Archibald, but your father had no respect for our people. He was prejudiced. I mean, still is, I’m sure, wherever he might be…”
Archibald opened his mouth to argue. He was going to argue. He might even have let out a “No, he…” but then, memories. The way his father had spoken about the fae king, always as lesser than. The way Archibald himself felt about fae magic. His father had said that it was because Albaline screwed him over when Miranda was taken. But what if…
It didn’t matter at that moment. He knew what it was like to lose someone. He knew how much it hurt. Whatever the truth was, this man’s daughter was missing and probably in danger. A good person would help, whether a reward was on offer or not. And Archibald tried his best to be a good person.
Archibald closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll have Erik draw up a contract. I can’t say I totally trust you, Albaline, and I know my father is flawed but…” He didn’t want to think about that, actually. “Wait in the library, please, and I will be with you shortly. We had better find your daughter before the trail gets any colder.”
Albaline’s mouth curled up at the edges. Was it a smile or a smirk? Then he levered himself up, and he was soon pulling on his jacket and heading for the door. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Archie,” he said as he grabbed the big brass handle. Outside the door, Archibald caught the quickest glimpse of Erik’s face, and its expression of disgust.
4
Lyric
Someone was outside the door. Lyric was about to get up off the futon where she was now sitting, biting her fingernails and not doing much else, but a moment later, the door creaked open.
“Oh,” said the girl entering the room, “you are awake. Good.” She walked over to Lyric and leaned down, passing her a plate of food. “Eat it,” she said, “it’s all there is.”
All there was turned out to be a thick doorstop of toast, with steaming, yellow scrambled eggs on top of it. Better than gruel. Lyric took it, and then took the knife and fork the girl had just produced from her pocket.
“Thanks,” she said, for lack of anything else to say. The girl was wearing high-waisted, eighties-style jeans and a man’s t-shirt tied in a knot to make it into a DIY crop top. She looked tired, bags under her eyes, and yesterday’s lipstick and red wine still stained her mouth. Her hair was short, maybe even buzzed and grown out a bit.
“Eat quick,” she said, “we’re going to have to get moving. They’ll be coming to inspect the place, or worse. Last night wasn’t as sly as we’d hoped. I mean…obviously.”
Lyric’s mouth was full, so she could only nod, anxiously. Her heart was beating quickly, but she was too wrapped up in food, too hungry, to really dig down into her fear.
“Sorry about last night, actually,” the girl said. “I didn’t know they were going to be that strong.”
Lyric’s jaw hurt. She only noticed when she took a bite of toast, the crusty bread tough to tear and even tougher to chew. “Ah,” she put a hand up to touch it, and the girl got down on her haunches, concerned.
“I’m not surprised,” she said, looking at the side of Lyric’s face.
And then, there was the sound of a buzzer. The buzzer of an entry phone, and it was incredibly loud.
“Fuck!” said the girl. Then, “Ah, okay, shit, do we hide?”
Lyric swallowed her toast. “I don’t know,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t even remember your name.”
“Lilly,” said the girl. And then there was the noise of someone creaking on the old floorboards into the hallway and picking up the entry phone.
A few second passed. Then a couple of minutes, and then voices. “She’s in there,” said a young man’s voice in the hall. In here? Was someone here for Lilly?
No.
Lyric didn’t really recognize the man in the doorway, but she knew she had seen him before. He was in shirtsleeves and pressed trousers, brown leather brogues. He looked like a professor or maybe a magician. And he had the fizz of a magical being around him.
Shit. Suddenly, Lyric was cold. She was wearing the dress she had put on last night, no tights and no sweater. She had borrowed it from Lilly, in fact, and then enchanted it a bit shorter when no one was looking.
“Have they hurt you?” asked the strange man in the doorway. Warlock, she thought, but she didn’t know how she knew that. He had a shock of reddish-brown hair, and dark brown eyes. His expression was dead serious. His chin was beginning to get stubbly, red stubble, brighter than his hair.
“What?” Lyric asked. She stood. God, she was light-headed. And she might be sick.
“Who is this?” Lilly asked. “Do we need to get rid of him? He’s not a cop, is he? He looks kind of coppish.”
And then it came to her. “This,” she said, “is Archibald East, and I haven’t seen him for a long time.”
5
Archibald
Even using the seeing stone, it had taken Archibald hours to find Lyric’s likely location. First, he had gone to Manchester, where there was
strong energy, shadows of her all over the city center. But, no luck. He was exhausted. He had apparated and disapparated more times than he liked to count, finally finding himself in Scotland and, after searching through the night, at the front door of this Glasgow flat. And now...
Lyric was standing in front of him in a filthy living room with no furniture save a dirty blue futon. There was rubbish everywhere. Lyric was barefoot and wearing a short, black dress. Her hair was white-blonde, as it had been even when she was a child, and her eyes a deeper, friendlier blue than her father’s. A blue that spoke of life—water, sky, deep breaths. She was slim, skinny even, her face heart-shaped. She looked cold. Her arms were crossed, and he couldn’t tell whether it was for warmth, or in judgment.
“Are they…how are you being kept here?” Archibald managed, looking around the room, and then back into the hallway he had entered through. There were two young men, and beside Lyric was a woman who looked about the same age as Lyric and himself but also looked…human? So, she might well be hundreds of years younger. Archibald’s stomach was flipping and flopping. Something wasn’t right.
“What?” Lyric asked, cocking her head to the side. “Have you been talking to… Guys,” she was addressing the three young humans now. “Can Archie and I have a minute?”
The men just behind Archibald stiffened their spines at this, but the short-haired girl in the room with Lyric nodded and shot them a look. “Sure, babe. Let us know if you need us, okay?” She walked to the door, slipped past Archibald, and took the two men firmly by the elbows. “Come on,” she hissed, pulling them away.
Archibald looked back into the room. Lyric was sitting down, a plate of food on her lap. She was muttering to herself. Archibald walked toward her, pushing the door gently so it closed behind him.
“Sorry,” Lyric said, looking up. “Warming charm, I’m fucking freezing. Didn’t want to do it around those guys.” She patted the futon beside her. “Park it,” she said, and Archibald gingerly bent and sat on the edge of the blue material. “Sorry about calling you Archie, I seem to remember you hating it? That was a long time ago, though, we must have been kids…before…” She stopped. Looked at her eggs. “Well, it’s been a long time since we were friends.”
Archie was confused. He felt himself frowning. Had they been friends? He remembered some flashes of the slight, pixie-like Lyric, and her sister, ten years younger and trailing them around the palace as they ran too fast for her. It didn’t matter now, though, did it?
“Do you want any?” Lyric proffered her fork. Archibald was about to say no, but his stomach grumbled as if on cue.
“Sure,” Archibald said, and took the fork, piling eggs into his mouth. When had he last eaten? “Sorry,” he said when he had swallowed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He had left his jacket, with his pocket square, somewhere in Manchester. “We need to get out of here,” he said, trying to regain some level of control over the rescue he was trying his best to carry out. “Are the humans guarding you for the vampires? Your dad said…”
Lyric grinned, laughed, covering her mouth with the back of the hand that held the fork now. Her fingernails were bitten, but also painted a duck egg blue. “You have been talking to my father. Did he send you? What did he tell you?”
Okay, now Archibald was really confused. He breathed out and it felt as though he were deflating. An old party balloon.
“Just that you had been taken…like…”
Suddenly, Lyric’s face was stormy. “He used your mother?”
Glad not to have had to say it, Archibald nodded.
“That old bastard,” Lyric said. “That snake of a man.”
Archibald didn’t know what to say. He was silent for a moment, as beside him Lyric became tense. He had just realized his mouth was hanging a little open when suddenly the fairy smacked her closed fist down on the futon beside her. “I left a note. He knew I was safe. He’s posturing, showing me his power.”
“I don’t understand,” Archibald said, surprising himself with his honesty.
Lyric turned to him, visibly exasperated, her cheeks pink with annoyance, her eyes shining with it. “I just needed to get away, so I left. He knew I wasn’t leaving for good. I just needed a rest from his crap.”
“Who,” Archibald asked, “are the humans?” He gestured vaguely at the door, the flat beyond it. “They are humans, right? They have that vibe.”
“Yes,” Lyric said, “so keep your voice down a bit. I met them in Manchester the night before last, they’re grad students up here. There was a big party because these flats have been sold to a developer.” Lyric looked a bit startled. “Actually, we have to get out of here really soon. Can I explain later? In just a bit? I’m going to stay with Lilly.”
Archibald was flustered by this. He stared at Lyric, smoothed down his hair. “I…I’m really tired, Lyric. I need to get you home.”
“No,” Lyric said, “I won’t go, not yet.” She took a deep breath. Her eyes were filling with tears. She lifted a hand to wipe them before any actually managed to fall, and then she smiled at Archibald. “Do you remember the time we lost my little sister?” she asked. “We were playing hide and seek at your place, and we couldn’t find her anywhere, not anywhere at all. Eventually, your mum found us in an airing cupboard and helped us look. My sister wasn’t even upset. She was proud of herself for being so good at hiding. She didn’t know we’d been frantic. She was tucked up in the eaves of the east wing…”
He could see the little girl’s bare feet sticking out from a crawlspace, her toes wiggling. His mother’s pale hand reaching up to tickle one…
He blinked, and the memory was gone.
“I…I haven’t thought about that. I don’t think ever… I need to sleep, Lyric. But first I need all this explained to me. I don’t know why your father would lie. Are you being told to say this?”
Lyric smiled a weird, soft smile at him. She was pretty, he thought, in an almost see-through sort of a way. Like she was made of light.
“I promise,” she said, “I’ll come back with you soon. I just…look, I can’t bear your outfit. And I don’t want to freak out my friends.”
“You just met them, according to your story—”
“Yeah, my new friends,” Lyric shrugged. “I make friends easily. And I like them. Can we charm your clothes into something more…normal?”
Archibald found himself barely able to talk. “Why would we do that?”
Lyric sighed and crossed her arms across her chest. “Because,” she said, “if you don’t, I’ll disappear again and you will have to chase me. You look tired, Archie. And before you make a fuss, I know only your mum called you that, but Archibald is way too formal. And anyway, maybe you should get used to thinking about her. Are you still fun? You used to be so much fun, but I don’t get that from you now.”
Archibald closed his eyes and imagined chasing the shadow of this girl to Dundee, Aberdeen, Orkney. “Charm me, then,” he said, “but nothing wild. I mean it.”
Had the power shifted? Maybe he was just tired, but Archibald felt like he was being played from both sides. He had expected to find a vulnerable taken girl, but instead… she was a force of nature. However, she had ended up here, he was going to have to somehow crowbar her back home. He would have to if he wanted the crystal, and increasingly he did. He would never even have to use it, use the power, but having it would make ironing out the creases in his rule so very, very much easier. Reputation was a lot of the battle.
Archibald looked down. He was now in a white t-shirt, black jeans, boots. He had a hoodie on over it. Lyric reached out and fingered the edge of the hoodie. “You look good,” she said, “you should wear t-shirts. I can see all your muscles.”
Archibald looked down. The t-shirt was, to his mind, too tight. He zipped the hoodie up, shifted so it covered more of him.
“Spoilsport,” Lyric said, and stood up. “Ugh, I wonder where my shoes are. Honestly, I don’t remember much of last night. Humans are strang
e things, but they do know how to party. And they have some great substances to help them.” She nearly tripped over a bottle. “Oops,” she said, righting herself and kicking it away, “we made a mess. Oh, and Archie, let’s call you…an old friend? That’s true, though boring. An ex? Then we can make up a story. You can be a love rat. Or I can!”
Archibald was still sitting on the futon and began scrabbling to get himself up in the tight jeans just as Lyric reached the door. In a moment, she was out of it and calling to Lilly.
“Archie’s going to hang out for the rest of the weekend if that’s okay, guys. He had a big work week, but he’s in his civvies now and ready to party! Well, he will be after a nap anyway.”
6
Lyric
She didn’t realize she was going to be quite so forward, quite so ballsy. Her heart had been in her mouth when Archibald had walked in. And then thinking about her father trying to pull the wool over his eyes…make her out to be a victim. A different sort of victim than she was.
A good way to forget about it—more fun. More wine. And she would be back in time to find her sister. She always went back to find her sister. She took the warlock’s hand… High Warlock, in fact, and dragged him down the corridor to the kitchen where she could hear the humans packing up. He resisted her pull for a moment. His hand was warm and soft—not a day’s manual labor—that’s what her father sometimes said about her hands. Her painted nails and thin fingers. Not that he had ever done anything like hard labor either, but logic was not the fae king’s strong point. Thinking about it, about him, Lyric was getting angry. She looked up at Archibald before she pushed the kitchen door open. He was standing close to her, his shoulders stiff. She remembered him being a happy child. Light on his feet and good at climbing trees. But a lot had happened since then. And now the boredom of his bureaucratic rule was infamous… here were jokes. (“A warlock walks into a bar, and the bartender asks what he wants. Just wondering if you have any ink going spare, the warlock says. I’ve run out and I’m only halfway through my admin for the month.”)
