by S McPherson
After indulging ourselves at dinner, everyone sprawls out around the lounge. Some are on the floor or on the settee, some still sit at the table telling stories and downing mulled wine and children cavort outside, remaining visible through the open doors. I, along with Gavin, Deshilly—the green haired girl who I’ve learnt is Milo’s favourite cousin, and Milo, am curled up on an armchair trying to fight off the inevitable turkey fatigue.
‘Tempt you with another mince pie?’ Mrs Thor – Samantha – asks, offering a tray. We all groan in harmonious distaste, Deshilly going so far as to hurl a cushion at Mrs Thor’s head. ‘You realise it’s only the ninth hour. Which one of us is still a teenager?’ she tuts as she continues on her mince pie rounds. Ninth hour, meaning nine o’clock; I’m really starting to adapt to here.
‘She’s right you know,’ Milo mumbles from under his arm slung over his face. ‘We’re weak.’ He sits up, rubbing his hands together. ‘Walk, anyone?’
‘Not in this life.’ Deshilly buries her face in the arm of her seat.
‘Count me out,’ Gavin grumbles from his cushion cocoon, rubbing his protruding tummy, his freckled face flushed from eating too much.
‘Come on D—Lex,’ Milo quickly amends, and I stifle a snort.
‘Have fun.’ I wave lazily, not bothering to lift my head.
‘Nice try.’ Milo grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. I instantly become deadweight, falling backwards as if my body has turned to stone. I’m sure he’s going to let me collapse back in the chair but then my feet are in the air, as he lifts me and flings me over his shoulder.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ I wail, kicking wildly.
Milo laughs, easily keeping hold of me. ‘We’re going for a walk,’ he calls to everyone.
They all cackle as he carries me out of the room.
Once outside, he sets me down on the doorstep, handing me my shoes and coat and picks up a lantern resting by the door. It’s much colder than earlier and he smuggles out some relative’s scarves and gloves as well. I graciously accept.
‘Uncle Medylau’s quite a character,’ I say.
‘He is,’ Milo agrees, tying up his boot laces. ‘He’s a Premoniter you know?’ He brushes off his hands and gets to his feet.
‘Really? I wonder if he could tell me my future.’
‘Premonitions don’t really work that way.’ Milo extends his hand to me. I take it and he pulls me to my feet. ‘Something suddenly just happens, against their control, and they see something.’
I barely listen to him, captivated by the flicker of moonlight in his burning gaze, the movement of his lips, the flash of his teeth. The warmth of his body curling around me. Every part of me stands to attention as he pulls me closer, preparing to transport us away. Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!
Seeming to have read my mind, Milo gently strokes my cheek. He smiles ever so slightly then leans in and does indeed kiss me. He starts slowly, then seeming to crave me as much as I do him, becomes more ferocious. Joy brews from the tips of my toes right up to the ends of each strand of hair on my head. As he takes us away in a swirl of blue, I think I could kiss him forever.
DÉJÀ VU
When we finally come up for air, we’re in a forest. It’s sparse and the ground is mostly hardened sand, nothing like the forests in Taratesia. The few trees, however, stand strong and tall, some stretching up higher than the eye can see. Their leaves full with a distinct emerald gleam and the snow blanket smothering the ground beneath gives the whole area a sort of magical air. The moon and stars dimly light the area and Milo holds up the lantern which adds a warm golden glow.
‘Welcome to Deadwood,’ and he expands his arms.
‘Deadwood?’
‘Fitting name, wouldn’t you agree?’ he grins.
‘So, this is where nature hides in Melaxous.’
‘It is indeed.’ He starts to walk, guiding me past the trunks and deeper into the woodland. ‘A few years ago, we all spent the summer building a tree house out here. It’s just over this way.’
Eventually, he stops walking and I follow his gaze. Ahead of us, in a massive tree, is a ladder. Atop stands a great treehouse, complete with a terrace and shutters on its windows.
‘Whoa!’
Milo smiles, ‘It’s not too bad. Took us ages, though; teleporting wood, chopping it, stacking it up. Even Lex and Howard struggled with some pieces in Fuerté form.’
‘You poor little magic folk,’ I tease.
‘Hey now, you jest at scars that never felt a wound,’ he chides.
‘Déjà-vu.’ As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish they hadn’t. Milo creases his forehead, perplexed.
‘What?’
‘Quoting Shakespeare; very impressive.’ I try to shift the subject but he’s eyeing me too intently. ‘He’s one of my favourites.’
‘What did you mean by “déjà-vu”?’
I fumble for a reply and eventually opt for the truth. ‘I heard you say that before,’ I sigh, ‘before I met you.’
‘What?’ Milo snorts.
‘Well…when I met you…’ and I fidget uncomfortably, ‘it wasn’t the first time I saw you.’
Milo turns to me. His blue eyes bore into mine and I look down, twiddling my fingers.
‘When did you first see me?’ His voice is like a soft caress and as he steps closer, his breath shudders across my forehead.
‘Not too long ago. In a few dreams. In one, you were pulling me and I was telling you, you had the wrong girl.’
His eyes widen. ‘You knew you’d be pulled through the portal?’
‘No.’ I furrow my brow. ‘They were just flashes of my imagination, or so I thought. I didn’t know anything, and to be quite honest, I still don’t.’
Milo twists his lips thoughtfully. At last he says, ‘It must be your untendered.’
‘My what?’
‘Untendered power. If you were born a Coltis, you would most likely be a Premoniter.’
Now my eyes widen. ‘Oh. So, it’s normal?’
He nods slowly. ‘It’s rare,’ and tilts his head to one side. ‘Did you see anyone else?’
I shake my head. ‘No, just…just you.’
The air suddenly becomes stifling, choking me. He watches me with such intensity that for a second I’m sure my heart actually stops.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
He grins and I imagine fangs. But before I can be sure, he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me in so passionately the thick air between us erupts and swirls. The lantern smashes as he drops it on the ground but neither of us reacts. I’m engulfed in Milo and our lips embrace. His hands are in my hair, caressing my cheek, guiding my hips ever closer whilst his mouth discovers mine. A four letter word races to the front of my mind, and as my heart rate quickens – although my pulse slows – and as every part of me feels paralyzed by Milo’s touch, I let that word cross the finish line. Love has won. I may have been a poor contender.
‘Well, isn’t that sweet,’ a harsh voice rasps towards us on the wind. I barely notice it at first, but then it hits me and my skin prickles. ‘Young love,’ it jeers.
Milo and I jump apart. My mind’s swimming, ripped from an almost excruciating passion and plunged into a pit of fear. Milo steps forward, acting as a shield between the warlock now before us and me. I recoil, having forgotten the menacing way their faces naturally crumple and how their slit-like nostrils emit smoke at every exhale.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Milo warns, his voice steady, strong.
The warlock sneers, slightly cocking his head to one side. ‘I could have said the same to you last night.’
I gulp. It somehow recognises us; perhaps our scents give us away.
‘It appears none of us are obeying the rules.’
I place a hand on Milo’s shoulder and peer over it. The warlock has come closer but Milo isn’t backing away. I’m not sure if this is an act of brilliance or stupidity.
‘Why have you come he
re?’ Milo keeps a hand on my hip, holding me behind him. The warlock’s sinister stare shifts from Milo to me and back. I stiffen.
‘You invited me of course,’ he growls. ‘It isn’t feasting season, but…’
‘I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.’ Milo steps forward. I go to make a sound but nothing comes out. I gag. My fingers and toes, numb. The warlock takes a step forward himself, he and Milo now less than an arm’s length apart.
‘Have I?’ he sneers, his bushy joined brow rising up his rectangular forehead, his eyes flashing red.
‘Milo!’ I shout in fear, pushing him aside.
‘Get back,’ Milo yells, wrenching me away.
In an instant too fast to acknowledge, the warlock has Milo’s arms locked behind his back.
‘Run,’ Milo tells me, his voice forceful.
‘What?’ I gasp, anxiously looking around for some sort of weapon: a jagged rock or a pointed branch; there has to be something.
‘Trust me,’ he insists as he pulls against the warlock’s grip.
I hesitate. I think he knows what he’s doing but can’t help wondering if that’s sacrificing himself for me.
‘Go,’ he urges more aggressively as the warlock drags him back, baring a set of hungry fangs. ‘GO!’ he bellows, flinging his head back and smacking the warlock in the jaw.
Terrified, I race off through the woods, leaping over raised roots and narrowly missing logs and fallen branches. I don’t get far before my fear of the warlock shifts to my fear of losing Milo. I come to a halt as abruptly as if I’d smacked into something hard, and turn around.
I scream as Milo appears in front of me.
‘I told you to run,’ he growls, pulling on my arm. We race off. I don’t even try to see where I’m going anymore, trusting entirely to Milo.
‘We need to lose him before we leave the woods,’ he pants, ‘throw him off our trail.’ I keep pace with him and soon can no longer hear the grunts and scuffles of the warlock as he bounds after us. Milo swiftly scoops me up and I lock my legs around his waist. Blue shines around us and then we’re gone.
We appear not far away from where we were. Not stopping, we’re off again in another haze of sapphire. He teleports us from place to place in the forest; a wave of blue being all I register before we twirl and materialise elsewhere. It’s so chaotic I start to laugh and see a smile creep across Milo’s face. His eyes widen playfully as we dart around.
‘Slow down,’ I squeal, laughing so hard the muscles in my stomach begin to ache. We swirl so fast, the dust of blue doesn’t have time to settle but twirls above and tumbles around us as if daylight were raining down. Milo chuckles as we appear and vanish in an endless blaze. Then, finally, we stop, watching silently as the haze cascades around us like tiny shards of glass.
‘That ought to do it,’ he grins.
I’m gasping and out of breath.
He watches me, his smile fading. So many fragments of emotion seem to change his expression; hope, longing, desire…love? I feel myself slipping and adjust, fixing my legs tighter around him. I don’t look away from his brilliant blue eyes as they reflect his power still showering down on us. Then, without warning, his lips suck the last bit of air from my body as he presses them to mine, and somewhere in the distance I feel us shimmer away once more.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
‘Merry Christmas,’ Jude beams, patting Lexovia heartily on the back. She frowns and continues her lonely stroll through the farmhouse grounds.
‘And what exactly is so merry about it?’ Lexovia mumbles, teetering on the cobblestones.
‘I’m sorry; did we not retrieve the gethamot the other night?’
‘Sure. Only to discover it’s broken.’ Lexovia sulkily kicks a pebble from her path.
‘Damaged,’ Jude amends. ‘Besides, that’s just the denomatrix and Fawn says he knows a shop that can sort it.’
‘I know, but that won’t be until after New Year,’ and Lexovia struggles to maintain her usual laidback air, ‘after the portal has closed for another two weeks.’ She slumps against the stone wall of the house, eyes closed.
Jude sighs and leans beside her. ‘What’s most important, Lex, is that you have a way back. Albeit not as soon as we would have liked but it’s there. On the fourth of January, the store will reopen and the gethamot will be in full form.’
‘I suppose,’ she concedes, not admitting how much she was looking forward to being with the Thors this Christmas. The holidays always made her feel like more of an orphan than usual but the Thors always made sure she quickly forgot she was.
‘Chin up, kid.’ Jude knocks her playfully on the jaw. ‘Come on, we have presents to unwrap.’
‘We do?’
‘Aye. We do.’
Lexovia’s lips bunch with happy surprise as she follows after him. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the lonely Christmas she was dreading after all.
Mrs Edwards whistles as she busies herself in the kitchen, which is in more of a mess than usual. Her bottom wiggles as she shoves trays into the oven and dances to her own melody.
‘You will stay in touch once you go back, won’t you?’ she asks, pulling her head out of the stove and immediately starting to whisk some potatoes.
‘Umm…I hadn’t really thought about it,’ Lexovia admits, licking dough from her finger, for once happy to help out in the kitchen. She smiles at the ring the Edwards got her. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason, just…’ Mrs Edwards considers her words. ‘He doesn’t have many friends, my Jude. He adopts this persona; people find him rather odd.’
‘He does. He does do that,’ Lexovia agrees fondly.
‘I assume it’s to stop people getting too close. Don’t think many would respond as well as you to being taken to a rock in the ground.’
Lexovia recalls her reaction that day, when she’d been almost certain he was going to kill her. ‘To be fair, I didn’t take it that well myself.’
‘So, you can imagine.’ Mrs Edwards tosses the bowl of whisked potatoes on the side and rummages in the cupboards. ‘I mean, he seems happy enough but there aren’t many his age here and those who are tend to spend most of their time upper ground.’
‘Why doesn’t he go with them?’
She shrugs, ‘He says he prefers it here. It’s dangerous to speak of any of this world when Up Top. Those who venture there tend to stay and blend in until the holidays.’
Lexovia hops off the stool she’s perched on and heads over to turn down the steaming pot of cabbage and Brussel sprouts. ‘It must be lonely for him.’
‘Not terribly,’ Mrs Edwards rushes to correct, ‘but, it would be nice if he had a friend.’
‘Well, he does, and I’ll definitely stay in touch.’
That night, Lexovia shakes her head, a smile claiming her mouth as she is once again consumed by the intoxicating environment of Feranvil Farm Bar & Grill.
‘You do this every year?’ she bellows over the music.
‘Feranvil Farm tradition.’ Jude nods, bopping along to some classic song being slaughtered by the far too drunk man wailing it out on stage. ‘Karaoke Christmas!’
Karaoke Christmas is an event held every year on the night of December the twenty fifth, to allow the people of Feranvil Farm to come together and celebrate. The entire bar is festooned with multi-coloured fairy lights. The normally emerald curtains subtly change from green to red to gold, and then holograms of reindeers, elves, Santa and Mrs Clause all dance above everyone’s heads; waltzing, skipping or stamping in time to the music.
Lexovia watches, amazed. Feranvil Farm is what she imagines Coldivor was like in the old days, when they lived in Taratesia; magic, laughter and camaraderie as opposed to the constant fear of another attack and feasting season. What she wouldn’t give to get those days back. She has only a few fond memories from her younger days, when her mother and father still existed; some of them vivid and others faded with time. She sighs wistfully.
‘My turn,’ Mrs Edwards cheers, cannon
ing onto the stage and snatching the microphone from the stumbling gent.
‘Oh no!’ Jude cringes and turns away.
‘Surely, you’re used to this by now,’ Lexovia scolds with a smile.
‘I’ll never be used to it,’ he grumbles, thumping his head on the bar. ‘She always does this silly dance and starts la-di-da-ing rather than singing the actual words.’
As if on cue, Mrs Edwards abandons the lyrics and starts gyrating on stage whilst hollering out, ‘Scooby shooby shoo bop, shoo bop.’ One arm thrusts to the side then the other follows as her hips swish from side to side in time with her chest.
‘And there it is,’ Jude groans, burying his face in his hands.
Lexovia throws her head back in laughter as Mrs Edwards kicks off her shoes, failing to notice she has conked a couple of guests on the head with them, before she begins an odd sort of stomping action.
‘Aww, there, there,’ Lexovia coos humorously, embracing Jude, ‘you’re alright, babes. You’re alright. Imagine how your dad must feel.’
They both glance over at Mr Edwards; spectacles balanced on his nose, hair flopping rhythmically as he rocks from side to side, serenading a bottle of red wine.
‘Never mind,’ Lexovia snickers as Jude slumps facedown onto the bar once more.
UNTOUCHABLE
I toss and turn in my sleep. Though now awake, I don’t remember why or what I was dreaming. As I look around, my restless heart relaxes. Everything’s okay. Everything’s better than okay: I’m in Milo’s room, on a mattress on the floor. He’s fast asleep, curled up on the edge of his bed whilst Gavin occupies the bigger half. My heart leaps and I half smile, half frown, running a hand through my hair. It’s as tangled as I feel; caught between a reality I can’t stand and a fantasy I can’t keep.
Sighing, I sit, inhaling the aroma of ligat bacon as it wafts in through the open window and I hear the odd clink of glasses and clang of cutlery. The family are leaving today so Mrs Thor is throwing together a breakfast for kings on the outdoor terrace. Milo and I won’t be joining them, though. We’re meeting Howard and Yvane for lunch. Supposedly, we’re going to tell them about us. Maybe that’s why my sleep was so agitated. Maybe that was my nightmare.
