by Lola Gabriel
And then he thought of what she had said about their mothers being friends, and of Erik a few days ago cutting himself off mid-diatribe because he had clearly been about to mention Archibald’s mother. Archibald looked up and opened his mouth, but just at that moment, Lilly shouted, “Ride’s here!” looking down at her phone. The lifeline of all humans, their phones. That had been a jolly quick turnaround, from abacuses to room-sized computational devices to near-enough magic in each of their palms in just a couple of centuries.
In the car, Lyric sat as far away from him as she could, in the back with Lilly while he was beside Hamish, and they both sat awkwardly tense and trying not to touch thighs too intimately. Cars were another thing Archibald never really got used to, and now they were electric and quiet and yes, also almost like magic. They made him nervous.
The nerve-wracking car pulled up on a busy street, where bright lights from many directions cut through the dark and the rain that was falling heavily, great pebbles of rain, lazy in their descent. Many of the humans passing by were already inebriated. Archibald wondered what time it was, he didn’t wear a watch, and all he had noticed was light moving to dark and that had happened before they’d even slept. When they’d had the blinds down and, moving together, the room had gotten dimmer and more like their very own cave.
Lyric’s apparent embarrassment about it, about a thing he had experienced as…well, if he was honest, as wonderful, that in itself showed her as untrustworthy. Or if not untrustworthy, then impossible to read. Erratic, maybe…
Hamish and Allan headed toward a snaking queue of young people, every single one of them underdressed for the chill and the heavy rain. Archibald waited on the pavement, feet planted in the puddle that the car doors had deposited him into, and Lilly clambered out the back, giving his arm a squeeze as she passed him. Then Lyric was squeezing out too. She had to climb over a pushed-forward seat’s back to emerge into the night, and she did so, her long coat (another thing borrowed from Lilly—apparently she only liked to enchant his clothes?) almost getting trapped in the car’s door as she thanked the driver and slammed it behind her.
“Crap,” she said, “close one. Lilly would kill me.”
“Lyric,” Archibald said as the fairy turned back around. She looked up at him, and his stomach did a stupid flip.
“Yes?” Her tone was cold. Intentionally so. Archibald took a deep breath.
“We need to talk, I think,” he said.
Lyric crossed her arms. The coat she had borrowed was open, and he could see the shape of her beneath the damp and clinging tank top she wore as a dress. Archibald swallowed.
“Look, if we can’t talk about what happened between us, then I at least need to know that you are coming back to London with me after tonight.”
He put out his hand to take her wrist, but stopped short of doing so.
“It’s wet,” Lyric said, and she turned and walked toward the queue of humans, but just as Archibald was preparing to join it with her, she walked past their friends and continued on to a shop doorway, which she ducked into.
“I’ll go home,” she said, “because I have to look after my sister. I’m sorry if my dad lied to you and took you for a ride. He does that shit a lot.”
Archibald opened his mouth, wanting to ask what she meant about all this. What she had repeatedly said about her dad, what she had wanted to tell him about his mum. His beautiful, silly, happy mother, who had been probably only the age he and Lyric were now when she had died and who had found his father and had him and…
Lyric took a step forward, and in the small space, in shadow, she seemed almost intimidating for a moment. She put her hand flat on his chest and pushed him backwards and though Archibald was almost sure the fairy didn’t want him, he was incredibly aroused by the move. He let himself be pushed back, let his shoulder blades be ground into the dirty tiles of whatever shop they were outside. His breath had left him.
“Maybe you’re right,” Lyric said, “maybe we were different people when we were little. Two little kids who have nothing to do with the two people here right now.”
Archibald looked down at her. His expression now was one of concern, and despite her angry tone, she looked young with the shadows falling across her face, scared even. He lifted a hand and put it over hers on his chest. He could feel his own breath, his own heartbeat, both just a touch fast.
“I didn’t say that, Lyric,” he said, his tone gentle. “I just said I didn’t remember, and you know I’m starting to. I’m starting to remember. The tree… I remember when you were looking down at me from the tree.”
Lyric’s expression shifted in the dark doorway. At least, he thought it had. And then, though it was an awkward motion, she turned her hand around so that their palms were together, and interlaced their fingers, and in a moment she was on her tiptoes, kissing him lightly on the mouth.
It was such a quick movement he wasn’t even sure it had happened once he had blinked and she was back where she had been a moment before. The only difference was their hands; now they were holding hands
“Why the mixed signals, Lyric? You couldn’t stand the sight of me earlier. I’m not exactly a casual sex kind of…”
Lyric laughed, she couldn’t help it. “I didn’t know what was going on and I’d showed you my electricity thingy and I…I had to…” she gestured vaguely at his clothing. “I had to do that for you, and you were being awkward. I thought maybe I made you feel like you’re a loser. Emasculated you. I mean…it doesn’t matter.”
Archie’s eyebrows knotted, and he took a step toward her, closing the very slight gap between them, then he put his spare arm out and wrapped her in a hug. “You’re worried I won’t want you because you’re good at magic?” he asked.
Pressed into his chest, Lyric made a noise that was sort of embarrassment, sort of assent.
“There’s a lot we need to talk about, obviously,” Archie said, still embracing her. “But, first things first, I need to get you back to your father.”
Lyric pulled away, moving backwards in a sudden, insect-like dart. “No,” Lyric said, her voice full of fear.
Archibald was so surprised by this he let a moment of silence fall. A moment in which they could hear only the chatter from the crowd queued just ahead of the doorway they were in, and the plonk of the rain into puddles and onto the already wet paving stones of the street beside them.
“Lyric, I…”
Lyric grabbed his hand tighter and pulled, urging him out of the cover of the doorway. “Let’s just go inside,” she said. “Let’s get a drink! Talk about this tomorrow—”
Her hand in his felt like a breeze on a hot day. Like the most comfortable thing he had ever worn. And yet it sent tingles, but he couldn’t let that distract him.
“Lyric!” He pulled her back into the doorway, gentle but firm. “Lyric, you know I’m supposed to get you home. And now we have to… Don’t you…” What he was about to say was, without doubt, kind of a lot, and he didn’t think he could do it without kissing her again, so he bent and their lips met, and Lyric’s hands were soon on the back of his neck and in his hair and she was kissing him so hard. Kissing him as if he were oxygen and food and sunlight. Kissing him so hard he tasted blood a little but didn’t mind.
Lyric’s body was pushed against his too. He could feel the wet of her clothes soaking into the wet of his, and under that he could feel her heat. He put his arms around her waist, one hand in the small of her back, supporting her as she pressed, the other moving down to her ass, and then lower, hooking under her coat so his palm was on bare thigh which was sticky from rain. Steamy, almost. Then up and up until he could feel the edge of her underwear, allow himself to play with it, to stroke the very inner edge of her thigh until she moved sideways and placed her hand over his and—
Archibald stepped away, moved his hands. He left one on the small of her back, but only loosely, just showing her that he was still there.
“Lyric,” he said her name as soft
ly as he could, “we don’t have to talk about us anymore, fine, but why don’t you want to go home?”
And Archibald felt stupid. Like a total dense idiot, because Lyric, looking up at him, let her costume slip, her shoulders slumping a little, and she let him take more of her weight with his supporting hand as tears came to her eyes. He should have asked this before. The first moment he met her, he should have asked. Why did he assume this was a problem with her, not with her life at home? In that moment, Archibald was full of love for Lyric. Genuinely deep and real love. He would do anything for this woman. He was terrified.
12
Lyric
“It’s not so much about me,” Lyric said, and as she said it, she sobbed even though she had been trying to hold back the crying, so she had to start again. Archie, looking down at her, full of concern and…caring, she supposed. He was a man who cared. Archie lifted a hand and wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb. He didn’t speak, and in the silence, she had to carry on.
“My mum and my sister. I’m scared for them all the time. My mother is a lost cause at this point, driven pretty much mad. Your mum was helping her, helping us, to get away.”
They were standing close enough that Lyric felt Archie’s intake of breath. But he didn’t step away. Instead he cleared his throat.
“I don’t know,” Archie said, “what techno is, but I don’t think we need it now. I think we should go somewhere quiet, so you can tell me what is going on.”
Lyric knew at that moment that she had a choice. Escape for tonight, get in the queue, and maybe take another of the little pills Lilly had given her at the party that had made her feel so good, and have Archibald East deliver her to her father tomorrow. Or take Archie’s hand and go somewhere quiet, or as quiet as they could find on a Sunday night before a bank holiday in a city center, and she could tell him everything. The thing was, she didn't know what the next bit was if she took that option. She couldn’t see the future. Could it be worse than option one? Sure. But could it be better?
Lyric closed her eyes. To her surprise, she felt Archie lean forward and then a soft kiss, one eyelid and then the other.
“It’s okay,” he murmured in her ear. Then he kissed the side of her head too. And Lyric couldn’t help it. She began to cry properly and leaned into him, his smell, a tingle of magic, the sweat of a couple of days without a shower, and sex from earlier. Her arms found themselves around his waist under his jacket. He was so warm and alive.
“I’ve got your shirt all wet,” Lyric said, stepping back to look up at him. Archie was softly smiling down at her. “And snotty,” she added.
Archie laughed. “I don’t mind,” he said, “there’s probably some mascara for good measure.”
“Why are you so nice to me?” Lyric asked, still holding onto him. “When I’m being, you know, like this.”
Archie shrugged. “I’m just nice,” he said. “And for some reason…for whatever reason…this connection we have…”
He didn’t need to finish. Lyric nodded. “Yeah,” she murmured, and their eyes met for a long moment, so that she felt she might fall into the gold flecks, the depth of them. Then she made a surprising sighing noise and let go of Archie, wiping her face.
“Wine,” she said. “I at least need a glass of wine if this therapy session is going ahead. Let’s go to a pub. It’ll be like a really weird date.”
Archie shook his head at her and smiled. “Sounds very romantic,” he said, and then, “It’s raining, shall we?”
“It’s refreshing,” Lyric said, and as she stepped out of the doorway, she looked up at the dripping sky, closed her eyes, and let the cool rain wash her face of tears. Then she stretched.
“Ah!” she said. “Okay, I’m ready. Let me just tell Lilly.”
They found a pub down a cobbled lane close to the train station. On the way there, they didn’t talk. They passed groups of people going home, and groups of people going out, and the rain fell heavily and lazily around them. Archie’s hand found Lyric’s. Their palms were damp from the weather, but Lyric didn’t mind. It was a strange, new kind of comfort, the warmth from Archibald’s hand. It made her feel solid. Solid in a way she didn’t remember feeling for a long time. Not since, she was pretty sure, she was a child. Since her family was whole, and his was whole too, she supposed.
The pub was old and wood-paneled and small and topsy-turvy. They got a bottle of red wine and went up a set of stairs to a room full of books where they sat next to one another on a sagging leather sofa, which was comfortable, surprisingly, but tipped them together so they bashed elbows and laughed and their thighs were squeezed together. It still steadied her there, Archie’s presence. His real, physical being.
Lyric poured their wines and took a sip of hers, and then took a deep breath. Archie was looking at her with a totally open face, ready to hear her.
“So, I’m going to tell you everything quickly, because I’ve not said it all before and I don’t even know if you’ll believe me.”
Archie put a hand on her knee. “I will,” he said, “and you know there’s no love lost between your father and my family. He told me it was my dad who refused help and maybe I wanted to believe him.”
Lyric realized she had basically just suggested that Archie was going to react negatively to this whole thing. “Sorry,” she said, cutting him off. “I know this is all very weird and I don’t know where to start.”
Archie withdrew his hand from her knee and took a sip of his wine. He shrugged a small shrug. “The beginning?” he suggested.
“Yeah,” Lyric said, her voice not as strong as she’d wanted it to be. She really wasn’t used to this level of gentleness from a man. “I suppose that makes a lot of sense.”
She straightened her back, shifted in the cozy hug of the sofa. “So, I didn’t really know a lot about who my dad was until I was a teenager. Until, I suppose, I last saw you. Just after that. I mean, the last time I saw you before this time, obviously.” She could feel a blush rising. She took another gulp of wine, as if that would help a blush. “I don’t know,” she said, “whether my mother was hiding it from me or whether he was less bad.” Then she corrected herself. “Actually, I do know, of course my mother was hiding it from me. Protecting me. That’s the sort of person she was, she helped. And that’s what sent her mad eventually, protecting my sister and me. Allegra and I didn’t know what was going on. Allegra hardly knows now… Anyway, my father is controlling. He’s not a strong fae, he never has been. You know that male fairies, they just don’t have the magical chops of the women.”
Archie nodded, then he brushed her hair from her face. “You know, I love that about you, that you’re so powerful…”
Love? The blush was back. “Uh…so, yeah.” She tried to distract her thoughts from the word and looked at her wine glass. Topped them both up. “What I’m saying is, my dad tamped down my mum’s magical abilities, keeping the castle enchanted as best he could, keeping her under his thumb by using Allegra and me as pawns. Saying he’d hide us away and never let her see us if she stepped out of line. Probably she was sent to marry him because of his title. He was my grandmother’s only child. I can’t imagine that they were actually meant for one another. I mean, who even finds their mate?”
“My parents did,” Archie said, and his tone wasn’t annoyed. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at Lyric, but away into the middle distance. She didn’t think he could even see the room. Lyric slid her hand into Archie’s and squeezed.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” she murmured to him. “I’m really sorry…about my father. Your mum…”
Archie was back in the room, and he turned to look at her. “Wait,” he said, “where’s your mother?”
Lyric shook her head. She was going to cry again. “She’s in our castle,” she said, “but not really. She’s barely there these days. I’m not sure she knows who I am. She’s retreated totally. She was getting ready to run with us, with Allegra and me, and your mum was getting her out.
And…look, Archie, I don’t know who took your mother all that time ago. I really don’t, but I wouldn’t be surprised if my father was involved. Not at all. And I do know that he could have helped. He could have handed over his stupid fucking crystals, if nothing else, but he didn’t.” She felt Archie tense up beside her but decided to carry on. “He thinks that if he gets all of them, all the crystals, they’ll work for him. I don’t know why he thinks that. He’s too much. He’s afraid of me. He… the things he did to my mum… and he sends me on all these stupid meetings with distant fae royalty from Australia and Japan and Poland and none of them have chins or a magical bone in their bodies and it’s all because—” Lyric was getting angry. The tears gathering in her eyes were hot, angry tears, not the scared tears from before. And her face was getting hot, but it wasn’t embarrassment. “It’s all because,” she said, her voice growing louder, “my stupid father is afraid of me. Afraid I’m better than him. I’m good like my mother, and I’m powerful, and he’s a stupid, scared, mean little man, and there are people I need to protect.”
And that was when the lights blew.
13
