“Darcy. Darcy!” at least half-a-dozen light voices were calling, so Akeen slid his pick back into its case, muttering. “That’s it. Those kids have had it.” He stood and spun around, intent on driving them off. Akeen was out from under the overhang and into the alley before he looked up. In the warehouse doorway ahead was a shadow; a darkness.
Akeen stopped, puzzled, and reached his hand out, gingerly, to touch the disturbance. There was a movement of blinding speed. Akeen’s arm was jerked aside so forcibly that he was flung, spinning, into a pile of wooden crates, dazed, his arm numb and hanging limply at his side as he sat up. The shape dropped a sack, tied closed at its top. Inside, something wiggled, struggling, and Akeen heard muffled whimpers. The shadow, manlike, but taller and much broader, glided toward him. Akeen struggled to his knees and with his uninjured arm, pulled forth his knife. He held it, trembling, as immense fear crept over him. The small blade shone in the moonlight, but gave him no security.
As he tried to stand, Akeen saw the glint of steel arcing sideways toward him and he opened his mouth to scream, raising his arm to fend off the blow. Neither happened. His forearm, then head, fell to the ground, followed by his body falling backwards into the crates with a crash. The Fiend threw the sack over Its shoulder and disappeared again into the shadows, speeding back to Its lair.
Cinder replaced the stopper to the crystal vial and deftly set it back on the shelf already overladen with dozens of bottles, all different sizes, colors and shapes: flagons, flasks, jars, decanters, ewers, phials and vials, some jeweled and some crystal, some plain. “Is there nothing in which I can interest you?” she asked Jiles Anderson, watching the smile come over his face. “You have been in three times this week and yet you have bought nothing. Ms. Sanders will think that I cannot sell her perfumes.” Cinder looked at him pleadingly, holding up yet another bottle. Her childlike face drooped into an irresistible pout.
“I know what I’m interested in,” Jiles replied. “I’ll take that,” he said pointing at the jar in her hand, “and the last three you held as well.”
“But you did not even smell this one.”
“I trust your judgment.” He moved close to Cinder, smelling her neck. “I like that, too,” he finished. Cinder giggled and backed away. She picked up the last three she had shown him, the one she was wearing, along with that she already held and took them over to her desk where she sat down. She tallied the price and showed it to Jiles. A look of astonishment crossed his face and Cinder chuckled, thinking, as she rarely did anymore, of how her father would be proud of some of the things she did; and not so proud of others.
“You’re an expensive girl, Cinder,” he said.
“I’m not. The perfume is,” she whined politely but with a gorgeous smile.
“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Jiles said as she placed the bottles in a small box and handed them to him. “It would be a shame if you did not accompany me to dinner now,” he pressed, “I mean, after helping you keep your job. Besides, you need to come and pick up your fragrances,” he said, holding up the small box and rattling it from side to side quickly. Cinder stepped forward nervously, hands up to stop him from shattering the delicate jars. “Dinner tonight? At seven bells?”
“For me?” Cinder asked, her sarcasm noted by the man. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t tonight.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No,” she said.
“Anytime?” he asked, this time more impatiently. Cinder thought for a few moments.
“Yes,” she said. “This Fornday, at eight bells.” Jiles Anderson, spice merchant, smiled as he handed Cinder the money for his costly purchase, pressing a healthy tip firmly into her palm.
Cinder cast him a big, friendly smile. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you on Fornday, then,” he said.
Cinder had worked at the perfume shop Winds of Spice, Andrelia’s most famous, for just a week. Darlene Sanders, proprietor, had been drawn to Cinder, as had most of the prospective employers she had attracted in the single hour as she stood stunningly beautiful in the market place. After a brief discussion regarding pay and benefits, foremost of which was the permission to use any of the fragrances in the store, Cinder accepted the offer of needed employment. Perfume was such a human concept that Cinder could not resist, and the aroma’s tickled her elven senses heavily.
Ms. Sanders hoped that Cinder’s personality and beauty would charm many a customer into purchases, and the half-elf did in fact prove good for business. Not only did the male clientele return more often that first week, ostensibly to buy scents for their loves, but Cinder was even liked, and her opinion valued, by the women who shopped there. The job did not pay well, but it was a good atmosphere and Cinder was able to meet many people; exactly what she had wanted. Her research was progressing at quite a satisfactory pace. Just as Jiles Anderson had gone out the door, Ms. Sanders came in from the back room, carrying several bottles of perfumes. Not an overly attractive woman, Ms. Sanders gave the appearance of one with her tasteful attire, soft flowing brown hair, and heavy, but skillful use of cosmetics.
“Ms. Sanders?” Cinder pressed, almost giggling.
“Yes Cinder?” she asked, turning around to look at her assistant.
Cinder raised her brows curiously and lightly said “Ding.” Almost simultaneously, the great clock sounded ‘gong’. Ms. Sander’s eyes narrowed and she tried not to smile, though Cinder’s playfulness would have been a delight to even the most dour citizen.
“I told you...”
“Ding,” Cinder repeated in unison with the tower.
“...I told you not to do that,” Ms Sanders urged. “People will think you’re a witch, and besides, it makes me uncomfortable. What do you do, sit and count the seconds?” Cinder simply smiled. Ms. Sanders sighed and turned to continue stocking her shelves with the new perfumes, unaware that her new clerk was half-elven and unaware what that would even entail had she known.
Cinder was fascinated with the clock and the humans’ need to have time measured so precisely. “It’s so...so human” she thought. Time was just a natural rhythm, the pulse of the earth, and all those of elven blood were well aware of this beat and could judge it infallibly, subconsciously, if they could manage to interest themselves in something so human long enough just to give it a thought. Time measured in hours and minutes, increments that passed so quickly for a being with an extended lifespan, was extremely interesting to Cinder. Elves, especially Cinder’s mother, never used hours or minutes and, in general, never seemed concerned with time other than to mark the passing seasons.
Dirk and Melissa walked up to the bar and Barnabus set two mugs of ale down for them. “Hi Busy,” Dirk said, smiling. “This is Melissa. She’s a friend of mine. Melissa, this is Barnabus. We call him Busy.”
“Hello,” said Busy, a smile on his simple face.
“Hi,” Melissa said, shaking hands with him.
“Where’s Malchor?” asked Dirk. “Is he still around?”
“Yeah,” Busy said. “He’s a-round...doin’ books and things. You want me to get him for ya, Dirk?”
“No, that’s all right. I just wanted him to meet Melissa. We’ll see if he comes out in a little bit.” Melissa gazed around at the interior of the Grizzly Bar, her ale half-finished as Busy rushed to the other end of the counter to fill another order.
The two, Dirk and Melissa, had been working together for four days, and though Melissa’s job was primarily in helping Dirk make his deliveries, she did also care for the horses, arranging their exercise, rest and diets. She enjoyed being with the animals: it was one of the few things she enjoyed in her life before the city. Each night Dirk dined in Melissa’s room, and before coming to the Grizzly Bar that night, they had eaten leftovers from a large chunk of beef Melissa cooked the day before. Just as Melissa began to tell Dirk that she thought the Grizzly was a nice place, a commotion at the far end of the bar sent Dirk hustling away. Melissa watched as Dirk helped Busy apologize for a spilled drink
.
“You buffoon,” chastised the angry patron.
“I’m sorry. I really am,” Busy said as he tried drying the liqueur from the man’s shirt.
“Be nice,” Dirk said to the man. “He really didn’t mean to do it.”
“Who are you, his brother?” he said knocking Busy’s hands away. The room grew quiet as the crowd of regular patrons knew that the stranger was treading on dangerous ground.
“No. I’m his friend, and he didn’t mean it,” Dirk said angrily.
“Well, you’d better teach your friend some deftness. How many shirts do you think I own?” the man snapped.
“You’d better watch it, friend,” warned an ancient and long-retired sailor named Gregory, a frequent customer and witness to Dirk’s nature.
“I’m not your friend,” the doused patron snarled, himself a sailor whose accent indicated he was from lands far to the south.
“All I think is that you need some manners taught to you,” Dirk said, grabbing the man by the shirt. Melissa ran forward, urging Dirk to stop.
“Who’s gonna teach me? You? Maybe the moron behind the bar?” the man asked, finally looking up from his stained shirt to gaze on the angry deliveryman and realize perhaps he had been a bit hasty in his chastisement: while Dirk was not as hirsute as Busy, his demeanor was much angrier. Dirk raised his broad fist to pummel the man when Melissa grabbed his wrist. Just the night before, the two of them had slugged their way out of a fight which had erupted around them and each was pleasantly surprised by the other’s skill. But Melissa knew that this was not the time to be fighting.
“Don’t Dirk,” she said and Dirk let the man go with a shove.
“It’s okay,” Busy said. “Don’t fight because of me, Dirk.” Dirk took a deep breath and patted Busy roughly on his broad back.
“I know, Busy,” said Dirk, still glaring at the rude patron, as if still weighing the value of a beating.
It was then that Malchor came out. Malchor was a short, swarthy, dark-haired foreigner with a large moustache. “Dirk,” he said, his hands out, silently beseeching him to be peaceful. “No fighting,” he said with a heavy accent.
“I know,” said Dirk. “I can’t help it.” He looked at the floor like a scolded child. Malchor reached up and smacked Dirk lightly on the face several times.
“Yes, yes. You can be such a good boy...sometimes. Let Busy handle himself, Dirk.”
“What about this?” the patron asked, pointing to his shirt. Malchor looked at him momentarily then spoke.
“You pay for the drink and then get out,” he said, thrusting his thumb in the direction of the door. Melissa chuckled. “This is a nice place, and we don’t like rudeness here. So leave now, or I let Dirk show you the street.” He held his palms open and shrugged, cocking his head as if saying: “That’s all.” The man threw a silver coin onto the counter and stormed out, cursing. Malchor turned to Dirk, not angry or rattled in the least. “So, Dirk, who is pretty girl?”
“Malchor, this is Melissa from Stoneheim. She works with me at the store.” Malchor shook her hand lightly and smiled, holding onto her hand with both of his, his hands both warm and soft.
“Hello. It is so nice to meet a friend to Dirk—especially one so pretty. He seldom has friends.” Malchor kissed both her cheeks, though Melissa had to lean forward and bend over ever so slightly so Malchor could easily touch his lips to her face.
“Malchor,” Dirk sighed with embarrassment.
“I’ve known Dirk since he was a little orphan, like Busy. He would run in here to get away from the bully boys.” Malchor released Melissa’s hands and reached high to grasp Dirk’s fiercely blushing face, his hulking shoulders slumped forward. “So now he chases the bullies off. And look at him, no longer a little fat boy, but instead big and strong like the ox. And the ladies...they just love him. I’m sure you know this too, Melissa.” Malchor smiled proudly as if over his own son, casting her an obvious wink. “It was nice to meet you, dear. You come back and we’ll get to know each other very well.” Malchor left, patting Dirk on the back, returning from whence he had come. Dirk brightened, smiled shyly at Malchor’s affection then introduced Melissa to all the regulars and they drank for several hours before walking to Dirk’s room.
Melissa’s slight attraction to Dirk was growing: while he was handsome and strapping, it was his honest integrity that drew her to him and her time with Dirk showed her it was not an act, but an integral part of his psyche. And while he was no genius, his knowledge of that vast confusing—to her—city made her seem brilliant and resourceful in her eyes.
While Dirk felt the same warmth towards Melissa, the two just had not told each other anything of their desires, keeping their relationship platonic. Melissa wanted fewer complications in her life and Dirk, though he liked Melissa, had trouble trusting women. Though Dirk thought Melissa was pretty, in fact possessing one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen, he liked her because she was nice, honest, and simple. They talked about the most mundane things, and neither thought the other was stupid or dumb, like others sometimes thought each of them to be.
Dirk followed her in the door to his room, shutting it behind them and subsequently leaving them in darkness. He stumbled over to the dresser, which he had gotten from Bessemer’s—the store he worked in—naturally, while trying to light his lantern. When he reached up to grasp the lamp, his hand met something; something warm, soft, round... He jerked his arm back and felt himself immediately flush and turn red, glad there was no light to illuminate his embarrassment. Dirk could hear Melissa breathing. He, however, was not. Finally, he spoke softly, timidly, “Excuse me. I’m trying to find the lantern.”
“Oh,” Melissa said plainly and backed away, the normal volume of her voice seeming extremely loud there in the dark. Dirk found the lantern, along with his flint and steel. He fumbled but managed to light it, keeping it dim, still slightly embarrassed. He did not want his first real friend to think that he was like every other man, hoping only to bed her. Though, Dirk admitted to himself, it might be nice for the first time to make love to someone he actually cared for. But his lust was not important enough to lose Melissa as a friend.
“Here it is,” he finally said, meaning his room.
“It’s nice,” Melissa answered with politeness, not even looking around. She sat down upon the bed and took her boots off, while Dirk sat in a chair at the table, watching her. Melissa lay back on the bed then noticed his stare. She blushed, and then laughed, covering her face with her hands as she curled up facing away from him. Soon she rolled back toward Dirk.
“Why are you watching me with that funny look on your face?” she asked. Dirk hadn’t realized he had been making any funny faces. Melissa stopped laughing, sat up, and looked at him. Dirk had no idea what she wanted. “Do you like me?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Then he thought about it. “Of course I do,” he said finally, realizing that the question was as straight and simple as she was.
“Am I pretty?” Melissa asked. Dirk nodded his head several times, then managed a “yes.” They were looking into each other’s eyes, their gazes fixed. Melissa was breathing heavily: she wanted him: his strong body, his soft manner, his handsome face. She liked him; really liked him. He wasn’t the first man she had ever thought she desired, but unlike almost every man she had known, he did not seem interested.
She had a desire for him; a burning deep inside that could not be quenched with thought or words. She wanted him close, and instinctively, automatically, without thought or emotion, Melissa unbuttoned her shirt. Dirk watched. Her mind paralyzed with shame, her body continued to move, shrugging off her coarse shirt so that it slid down her back. Then she shimmied out of her pants. Dirk watched: the world, his heart, his breathing all stopped. Melissa lay naked on the bed.
Dirk walked over. And though surprised at his own lack of embarrassment, he stumbled awkwardly in anticipation. He quickly undressed in front of her. They lay on their sides, face
to face, and though Dirk had no plan, no thoughts on what to do or how to do it, he instinctively reached out and set a hand gently upon her hip. Melissa leaned forward, finally unlocking her gaze from his, closed her eyes and kissed him.
Dirk had bumped into Melissa several times while working or even fighting together. She was strong, tough and uncompromising. He had wondered, occasionally, what she felt like. He marveled that moment that no matter how rough and tough a woman was, she could still have silky skin and lips so soft that it raised the hairs all over his body. So he slid his hand off her hip, around to her back and pulled her close to him, chest to chest, and as Melissa threw her leg over his, they kissed. And they kissed more. And longer, neither feeling the need to do anything else; ever. To spend eternity in that moment would have sufficed for each.
Melissa enjoyed and flourished on his attention and the way that he made her feel physically and emotionally. It was attention Melissa had longed for; attention from someone special, someone she hoped she had found. Or maybe, someone she wanted to pretend she had found, desperately needing loved and cared for, hidden and protected from her past.
Dirk had been with few women, but enough to know that Melissa was perhaps as inexperienced as he. And unlike the others whom he had loved, Melissa never asked him to do anything, she was happy just being close to him. The extent of her aggressiveness was to touch and kiss him constantly, passionately, her femininity in that most personal moment so contrasted her normally proud and unflinching nature that Dirk thought it funny. Though not a man of the world, Dirk’s half-a-dozen times with a woman had shown him that Melissa derived her pleasure not from the flesh, but from something he could not understand and had yet to experience: her heart. Where the women Dirk had lain with lusted, Melissa loved: her warmth as unexpected as it was moving.
By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) Page 6
