by Lola Gabriel
Archibald’s jaw seemed to be clenched. She wanted to put a hand up and smooth her thumb along his stubble, massage the muscles into release. She didn’t, of course.
“Lyric, I have to take you home—” Archibald tried, almost hissing it as he tried to keep his voice down. “Your father…”
“My father won’t do anything more for a couple of days. Do you think this is the first time I’ve run away? It’s a game we play, Archie, it’s me getting as far away as I can. It’s me dreaming about a life I can’t have.” Lyric felt tears rise in her and stopped talking as she cleared her throat. Her father was trying to up the ante by sending Archibald after her. Trying to scare her, make her a figure of public concern for the magical world, but she had to show him he’d misjudged her confidence. And maybe—this thought came unbidden—maybe he had misjudged Archibald too. He was trying to use the High Warlock as a pawn, to shape the world as he himself wanted and show his power by using another leader of the eternals to do so.
“You’re squeezing very tight,” Archibald said. His face swam into focus again. His eyebrows were furrowed. She was digging her nails into the skin of his hand and she hadn’t even noticed. She loosened her grip, lifted his hand, and turned it over. Her nails had left half-moons across its back, below his knuckles. Without thinking about it, she leaned over the pale hand and, unwrapping her fingers, blew gently across the livid marks she had left. Archibald gasped very quietly, and she felt her cheeks begin to redden. She was pale and she went red when she was embarrassed. Fuck.
“Shit,” she said, looking up at him, their eyes locking. His had flecks of gold in them, like a bird’s feathers. “Sorry! I must still be high. I was being very affectionate with everyone last night.”
Archibald nodded. He was chewing his bottom lip, and it was giving her a funny—
“Oh my god, lovebirds!” Lilly had opened the kitchen door. Probably she had heard them exchanging loud whispers right outside it. Lyric glanced at her, her face still fireside red. She tried to laugh, but sort of coughed, then realized she was still holding Archibald’s hand up close to her mouth. It was sitting on her palm gently, like she was presenting Cinderella with the glass slipper. His long fingers were draped over hers. She dropped his hand. Archibald immediately shoved his hands in his pockets. Stood up even more straight than he had been before, if that was possible.
There was warmth coming from the kitchen, and even with her warming charm, Lyric needed it. She stepped inside, put her hand on Lilly’s upper arm. “Shall we all look for my shoes?” she asked.
“We have them,” Lilly said. “They’re under the table. they’re kind of sticky, though. We really have to get out of here, so put them on!”
“We can go to my place,” the taller, bearded man volunteered. He was, Lyric thought she remembered, called Hamish. “My flatmates are both away. We can all nap in peace if we want.”
“Great,” Lyric said, and then she turned to Archibald, who was standing silent and tree-still behind her. “Right, Archie? You could use a nap?”
Archibald’s smile did nothing to hide his distaste. “I could sleep,” he said. “I believe only infants nap.”
Lyric raised her eyebrows at the three humans. “See?” she said. “Cranky!” Behind her, Archibald near crackled with annoyance. And yet, when they traipsed out of the front door and into the tiled stairwell outside, he followed. He even followed when, at the bottom of several flights of winding stairs, they turned to the back of the building and pulled the bolt of a big old back door open, creeping into a sludgy, shaded yard and through a smaller door to the alleyway that ran behind the tenements that were set for destruction and replacement with luxury apartments.
“Hang on,” Lilly said when they were out there, “I want one last look. I used to live here, after all.” She turned and looked up, then waved at the old building. “You did a great job,” she said to the sandstone blocks, the wooden sash windows, the rickety drainpipes. “Ah man,” she said, “I’m genuinely emotional. Gentrification, eh?”
Lyric wasn’t 100 percent sure what gentrification was, but she had certainly seen human cities change. “Remember—” she stopped herself. She’d been about to discuss the first time she and Archibald had seen a motorcar. They’d wandered off the palace grounds, his home, looking for…was it blackberries? She’d stopped herself in time.
And then Archibald said, “We were picking fruit? What was it?” He sounded dreamy, far away.
“Blackberries,” she said.
7
Archibald
The human girl, Lilly, winked at Lyric before she shut the bedroom door. Archibald looked at the fairy and wanted to be angry but found that he was too tired. She turned to face him, grinning. “They think you’re my ex,” she said. “So, you know, I guess you’re sharing with me!”
Archibald sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whatever,” he said, “as long as you don’t snore.”
Lyric looked mock shocked, opening her mouth wide for a moment. “Ladies don’t snore,” she said. “I drool sometimes, though.”
Archibald couldn’t help but smile at this. Lyric was clearly spoiled, but she was a bit funny. And all he had to do was put up with her for one night, and he would get her home and get his crystal in return. He hadn’t yet contacted her father. He had promised Albaline that he would update the king when he knew anything, but didn’t want to be seen as weak. He would have to think of something to say.
“What are you thinking about?” Lyric asked him. Archibald jumped. She had sat next to him on the bed, and he hadn’t noticed. She smelled like shampoo, and just a little like sweat. A comforting, bodily musk.
“You move silently,” he said. “I was thinking about what the hell I’m going to tell your father. I promised to bring you back.”
Lyric looked at him intently as he spoke, then nodded her head. “Promised you a crystal, did he?” Archibald opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he found himself nodding.
The fairy sighed and let herself fall backwards on the bed so that she was staring up at the ceiling, at the crown molding around the light fitting.
“He has six, you know. Maybe he’ll even give you one, if he believes you really think I was kidnapped. He’s worried about you. I’ve heard him talking about how when you grow up, get confident and loosen up a bit, you’ll be a great leader. He doesn’t like that, because he’s a shitty one.” Lyric let out a small, humorless laugh.
Archibald couldn’t read Lyric. Not at all. Was she messing with him? He bent over and unlaced his shoes, took them carefully off and pushed them under the bed, neat as anything. Then he pulled off his hoodie and his white t-shirt and folded both, stood up, and laid them on a chair in the corner of the room.
“Are you always this neat?” Lyric asked, her eyes following him around the room.
Archibald shrugged. “I have a lot to keep in order,” he said. He was exhausted, felt, in fact, like he might cry. From tiredness, yes, but also from confusion. Reluctantly, he had come out to search for a kidnapped girl he used to know, and…now this. Was he being played, and if so, by whom?
“I know you do,” Lyric said, “but when we were kids you were wild. You had a lot of your parents in you. I loved your long curls, and you were always splashed with mud, always thinking up adventures.”
Archibald felt his whole body tighten at the mention of his parents. “Well,” he said, and he sounded gruffer and more harsh than he meant to, “that didn’t work out for them, did it? Being wild.”
Lyric shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, “your mother was betrayed and your dad…well, he’s mourning still. And it’s good of you to take over. But you’re alive, you know, you need to live.”
“I know,’ Archibald said, “a whole country of warlocks needs me, of course I have to live.”
“No!” Lyric almost snapped this, sighed a little sigh, and then she stood up and pulled her dress over her head and dropped it on the floor. “I mean, enjoy life,
be happy, live. Don’t you want that?”
Lyric was slight, her skin milk-white. Her undergarments were mismatched, boy shorts in buttery yellow and a soft black bra. She turned to rifle through a drawer for a t-shirt that belonged to, presumably, Lilly’s housemate, and her shoulder blades flickered like wings. He wondered what her wings looked like; in fact, he almost opened his mouth and asked to see. He stopped himself. Archibald turned away from Lyric and unbuttoned the stupid jeans.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said, pulling the jeans off.
Lyric’s fingers were chilly on his back, and he almost jumped. “We can share,” she said. “Do you remember our sleepovers, when we were maybe twelve? I used to climb into your bed then, when we were kids…”
Archibald shook his head. The feeling of tears pushing at his throat were back. “No,” he again almost snapped. “I don’t remember! I mean…I sort of remember. I know we played together as kids.”
Gently, Lyric rubbed his back. “You have knots,” she said, “lots of knots.”
It hurt, but in a good way. Archibald’s instinct was to move, to shy away from the touch, but his trousers were still around his ankles. And anyway, it felt good. He bowed his head, let out a small and unintentional moan.
“See?” Lyric said. “You need to take care of yourself. If you want to take care of other people, you need to take care of yourself.”
Archibald felt his head nod, though he didn’t think he had asked it to do anything of the kind. And then, as suddenly as it had arrived, Lyric’s hand was gone from his skin and she was sitting on the corner of the bed. Finally, Archibald got himself free of his jeans and he turned to look at her properly. She was wearing a big tank top now, and, to Archibald’s surprise, she had unfurled her wings so that they flickered behind her shoulders, freed by the size of the tank top and pulling it tight across her small chest, so that both her breasts and her nipples were visible through the ribbed fabric.
“I took my first little flights with you watching,” she said. “You told me to jump out of a tree, and I was scared, so you did it first and you said you were fine, but after I managed not to hit the ground, you were so happy that you jumped up and then fell over again because you’d actually sprained your stupid ankle.”
Lyric’s wings were blue like her eyes, and gold in places. They shimmered in that way fairies’ wings did, lightly veined with light and bathing her face in a glow that made her more beautiful than ever. Because, yes, as irritating as she could be, she was beautiful.
Archibald shrugged. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it’s a blur. Everything before—”
Lyric patted the bed beside her. Abruptly, she tucked her wings away. The left one went in smoothly, the right had to fight the tank top a little and she lifted the fabric at her shoulder with the opposite hand.
Feeling somewhat like a naughty school boy, Archibald sat. Lyric clicked, and the light overhead went out. Again, Archibald jumped. Lyric let out a little laugh like a tinkle of bells beside him. She clicked again, and a warm bedside lamp came on.
“Sorry,” she said, “that wasn’t supposed to be ominous. I should have done it the other way around.”
“Might have been a good idea,” Archibald said. He looked Lyric up and down. She didn’t have a wand.
“I’m good with electricity,” she said, shrugging. “I’m very…plugged in.” She laughed at her own dumb joke, then added, “No, seriously, though, I can, like, tell it what to do. Whatever. It’s a whole thing.”
Silently, Archibald nodded. “Okay,” he said, and he sounded as tired as he felt, finally.
Lyric laid a hand on his arm, and he thought maybe he felt some of the electricity she was so friendly with. A little crackle that warmed and cooled at the same time, and had his hairs standing on end around where their skin met.
“If you don’t remember… I guess it’s a trauma thing, but I need you to know, our mothers were best friends. They would do anything for one another. We can talk about this tomorrow, that’s fine, but my mum never recovered from your mum’s death. She thought it was her fault.”
“How?” Archibald asked. Lyric was looking at him with such softness, her eyes darker in the lamplight. Her lips were turned up in a sort of sad smile, and her hair was curling from the damp air.
Archibald put up a hand to push a curl behind her ear, and then his thumb was stroking her chin. Again, it was like his body wasn’t his. Lyric blinked at him, her long eyelashes accentuating her surprise before her smile became wider and she leaned in.
8
Lyric
Archie’s several-days-old stubble was becoming a beard. It scratched her face as he kissed her for the first time, but not in a bad way. She liked it. His lips were a little chapped, but he kissed gently, like he was asking a question.
Lyric leaned in to answer. She hadn’t expected this. In fact, Archibald had seemed angry at her. Had seemed a million miles from the kid she had known, admittedly, many long years ago. And he’d seemed tired. Why wouldn’t he be? Sent on a wild goose chase by her bastard father, and then finding himself on a party weekend he didn’t seem like he would appreciate.
Archibald’s hands were soft on her waist, pulling her closer to him. She let out a stupid little squeal as she was lifted onto his lap, and he pulled back to look at her.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling, their faces very close together so that she could feel his breath. “Carry on.”
Archibald smiled too. He moved back toward her, kissed her softly again. But Lyric slipped a hand into his hair, wrapped her fingers in the reddish rope of it, and pushed forward to kiss hard. To push her teeth just a little into his lower lip. Archibald moaned. Sitting on him, she could feel him stiffening beneath her thigh. The throb of his desire increased as she traced up and down his spine and then moved from kissing him to nibbling down his neck, along his collarbone. He was a beautiful man. Not too broad, though his upper arms were defined and his chest thick. He had sprigs of hair on his chest that were red like his beard. Curls of it. She moved her nibbling to his chest, and felt his need for her again under her thigh. Felt him buck.
Archie said her name, softly, like he was thinking about it. Then he was pulling her up again to kiss her, and to her surprise, he stood up and took her with him, and they both laughed, and in an ungraceful kind of a way, he turned them around and half threw her onto the bed, sending the blankets all askew.
Before Archie could get on the bed too and kiss her again, Lyric arched her back to remove the singlet she was wearing. She threw it across the room, and then slipped off her bralette. It was still in her hand, balled up, when Archie knelt on the bed to kiss her left hip, her right hip, and up her ribs, one at a time, to her nipples, which he lapped at and nibbled until she thought she might stop breathing.
Lyric pulled Archie up by his hair and kissed his mouth, her tongue fighting his a little. “I want to feel you against me,” she managed to say, breathily, into his ear, and Archie pushed himself against the wet tops of her thighs, against her wet underwear, where his fingers now went too, rubbing in circles over her panties until she felt she was about to explode.
With movements of desperation, Lyric pushed off her underwear, and then pulled his off too. She scooted down the bed and took him in her mouth. He was salty, excited, and his thighs were strong and warm under her hands, and she pushed herself against him too, as much as she could in her position.
When Archie began making little moaning noises, she backed away and looked at him. They were both on their knees now on the bed, and both panting. Weirdly, he now looked more like the boy he had once been than he had all day. His cheeks had a pinkness to them, and his eyes were shining. Lyric smiled and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What are we—” Archie started, but it wasn’t time to talk. She pushed him down, sideways across the bed, and positioned herself over him, a hand on his hip, his hand on the small of her back, and she guided him into her. They both moaned. She co
uld feel herself tightening around him, excited, and they moved together and it was like weather, like a force totally beyond her control. She closed her eyes and saw colors. Rain. Sun breaking through clouds. And she could feel his hands on her, on her breasts and playing with her nipples, and it all added to the sensation, and she could hear his gasps too, until it all built up and became something new inside her and filled her totally. She opened her eyes and saw him and his face of ecstasy and had to grab his hand and put it in her own mouth, bite down a little on his fleshy palm to stop herself making a noise everyone in the flat would hear.
9
Archibald
They must have fallen asleep incredibly quickly earlier. After…
The bed was a state, and Archie was, well, sticky. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and surveyed the room. There were a couple of pillows on the floor, and the singlet Lyric had briefly worn last night was in the middle of the rug. Nothing else spoke to what had happened.
It had happened, hadn’t it? Archibald looked at himself. Bite marks. He was naked. It had happened. A surge of sensation—and of blood—reached his crotch as he briefly thought about it, before shaking the images of Lyric’s small, perfect breasts, her face when she was on top of him and the way she writhed in ecstasy. She wasn’t in the room. She had woken up and left him alone, which felt cold. Felt, actually, lonely, in this strange flat in this strange city that she had coerced him into staying in.
