by Meg Allison
The man stared a second longer before finally offering his hand to Samantha. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Samantha.”
Sure, it was. “Ms. Bays,” she corrected sweetly as she shook his hand.
“Of course, Ms. Bays,” Grant amended. “My apologies. Please, sit down, both of you, and order anything you’d like. It’s on me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grant,” Nathan told him. “But I’d prefer to pay my own check. I insist.”
The other man blinked in confusion. Yes, he really didn’t have a clue, did he? Samantha held back a sigh. It was either going to be an interesting lunch or the longest hour of her life. She glanced at Nathan and cringed at the glint of fire in his dark, almond eyes. It wasn't passion lurking there…at least, not the kind he showed to her. This was the ferocity of a different kind, sparked by years of meeting ignorant, bigoted people. She almost felt sorry for Jasper Grant. Nathan was itching for a fight whether the other man wanted one or not.
“Well, how about we go ahead and order lunch,” Grant suggested. “We can talk while we’re waiting for the food.”
“Sounds good,” Nathan said and looked at Samantha. “Are you hungry or would you rather wait until later?”
“Let’s go ahead and order, I’m starved.”
After their orders had been taken, Samantha sat back in her chair and sipped her glass of water that tasted faintly of lemon and iron. It was Nathan’s show. Let him handle it how he saw fit.
“So, Mr. Quinn,” the other man began as he tucked the red cloth napkin back onto his lap. “I understand you work as a graphic artist for Miles Graphic Design.”
“Yes,” Nathan replied. “I’ve been with them about five years now. I worked freelance for a few years after college before I decided to move back to Savannah.”
“Oh, where were you before that?”
His expression shuttered, Nathan took a sip of his drink before he replied. “New York City, where I had a few different jobs over a ten-year period.”
“Why the return?”
His gaze flicked up the other man and back to his drink. “Homesick, I suppose. I didn’t care for the city all that much. It’s too fast and loud for this southern boy.”
Nathan glanced in her direction, a crooked smile on his full mouth. Samantha couldn’t help but wonder what he wasn’t sharing. Something besides a career had been left behind in the Big Apple. The reporter seemed poised to say something, but then thought better of it much to her relief. Instead he continued with the standard interview questions.
“Why the foray into graphic novels?”
Nathan shrugged. “Boredom? The need for self-expression? Why does any writer or artist create anything? I had an idea for a story, so I wrote it down. Then I worked on the illustrations and began to market it to agents.”
Jasper jotted some notes down on a long, thin pad of paper. “How long did you work on the trilogy?”
Nathan sighed. “Oh, I spent about a year on the first novel from conception to finish. I was involved with some other intense projects at work. The other two went more quickly, I’d say about five months each.”
“Did you plan on it being a trilogy when you started?”
“No, not really. I knew the story would be longer than I could tell in one book, but I didn’t think it would take three,” he shrugged, “I was a little surprised by it all. It was the first graphic novel I had ever thought about doing.”
“So, the idea for the Lords of Moirai, did it come from any established mythology? From the Orient, perhaps?”
Samantha almost choked on her water.
Nathan blinked. “The Orient? As in Asian?”
“Um, yes, of course”
“Now why would you ask that?”
The other man’s face reddened. “Oh, uh, no reason, really. I’m just curious how the idea came about. The dragons and weaponry all seem rather…uh, Asian to me.”
“I think if you look carefully at the drawings you’ll find there’s a little of almost every ethnicity throughout the characters. Besides, the word ‘moirai’ is Greek for destiny—in English you would call them the Fates.”
“True, yes, I realize that.”
Why did it sound like a lie?
“But as far as it being based on any established mythology,” Nathan glanced around and shrugged, “No, not really, except the very pervasive idea that our lives are governed by forces outside of ourselves—our fates, so to speak. But think about it, Jasper, are there really any completely original stories out there anymore? I mean we all know about vampire legends…werewolves…fairies…ghosts. I don’t think there are any totally new concepts invented by the human imagination. We pretty much just keep reworking the same old plots and myths, don’t we?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that there would be anything wrong with it being based on actual folklore,” Grant insisted as he squirmed beneath Nathan’s dark gaze. “I just, you know, wondered where it came from. I’m not a fiction writer, Mr. Quinn. I don’t have the luxury of making up stories out of thin air, unfortunately. It’s always fascinated me how writers, such as yourself, come up with plots and characters.”
“Ah, I see. Well, it is original in those aspects, as far as I know.”
“No elements of Chinese folktales or Korean…?”
Nathan went still and Samantha bit her lip, waiting for the thunder.
“Again, why would there be?” he asked, his innocence incredibly believable.
The other man glanced at her as if looking for guidance. She stared back at him, her features carefully neutral. If Nathan wanted to torment the reporter, it was his choice. She was not going to get involved any further.
“Um, because of your…” he waved a helpless hand in mid-air, “You know…racial heritage?”
Nathan blinked. “Racial…?” He looked at Samantha. “What the hell is he talking about? What racial heritage? I’m American. I’ve never read a Revolutionary War or Old West story with dragons in them. Have you?”
She was beginning to feel a little sorry for the reporter. “I’m not sure, dear. Maybe Mr. Grant could move on?” She glanced at the other man pointedly, “Ask different questions?”
“Uh, yes, of course,” the man stammered. He cleared his throat. “When did you start drawing?”
Nathan tensed a bit. “Why does it matter?”
“Nathan,” she said his name with a quiet, warning note and placed a hand on his knee. He glanced at her and sighed.
“Sorry, Mr. Grant. It’s been a very long day and I suppose I’m a little edgy. As far as art is concerned, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t draw something or other. It’s just what I do.”
“Oh, okay. Did you actually study martial arts as did the lead character of your books?”
“Yes, of course, don’t all Asians?”
Samantha cringed even as she wondered if it was too late to order a stiff drink.
* * ‡ * *
“You really shouldn’t mess with people’s heads like that,” she scolded an hour later.
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You didn’t give the man a chance once he screwed up. How was he to know what you look like when you have such a, well, Caucasian name?”
Nathan shrugged. “Maybe he should have done more research? Maybe he should learn to enlist a poker face?”
She slapped his arm lightly. “You’re not being fair, admit it. I think you enjoy making people squirm. I think you were hoping he’d say something that you could pick a fight about.”
Busted. “I admit nothing.”
She laughed and his stomach did a little flip at the sound. Damn. He was falling too hard, too fast. He’d always had a thing for red-heads, but when wrapped up in a package so curvy and smart and funny, he was a goner. He mentally kicked his own ass.
You’re screwed, Nathan. Hook line and sinker. Just hop in the damn boat and hope she keeps you.
“I can’t help but wonder why your p
arents didn’t name you something more traditionally Japanese?” she continued, oblivious to his thoughts as they made their way back down Bay Street.
“I think Mom wanted me to blend in more easily,” he told her. “You know, to arrive without expectations already formed.”
“Well, I sort of understand. But then you have the shock value to look forward to—that confused expression you seem to hate. I would think if they knew the possibility from the outset, it would make the whole meet-and-greet thing easier.”
“Maybe, but she spent her entire life being pigeonholed. She was either automatically the subservient woman or the brain with a PhD in physics. Neither image fits her at all. Mom even stopped using her given name after she married Dad. Now she’s Anna instead of Ayana.”
Her delicate brow dipped and she shook her head. “That’s sad…to distance yourself from your heritage because of a few ignorant people. It shouldn’t be that way.”
“No, it shouldn’t. But life is rarely as it should be.”
He thought about those early years of grade school. The stuttered looks of surprise when new teachers took roll. Despite his mother’s best intentions, as Samantha said, his Anglo name hadn’t made life any easier. At times, it had made him stand out even more than he wished.
“Did your dad feel the same way?”
“No, he said he wanted to give me a strong Japanese name to go with his surname.” Nathan laughed. “That would really confuse poor bastards like Grant. But, as Dad always says, sometimes you must pick your battles. Apparently, he thought that particular issue wasn’t worth a war. Mom can be a tough little lady.”
“Yeah, my mom’s the same way. Petite but tough as nails.” She smiled when she spoke of her mother. Her eyes lit up with fondness, with memories. He wished he had more pleasant recollections of his own childhood. Growing up with a woman who feared his strange gift had often felt like he was riding a rollercoaster blindfolded, never knowing just when that car was going to top the hill and drop at a hundred miles an hour.
“So, she agreed on the middle name then?”
Damn. Samantha personified tenacious.
“No, she didn’t. Dad took matters into his own hands and added my middle name to the birth certificate when she wasn’t there. She gave him grief about it for years.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “That’s interesting. Did he research names or were you named for a relative or—”
“Sam,” he interrupted. “I really don’t understand what this has to do with anything. I don’t like talking about it, either.”
She blinked up at him and tilted her head to one side. “Okay, I’m sorry…it’s just…” She took a deep breath and sighed. “I tried to do some preliminary research on your family lineage this morning. I want to help you figure out where your gift comes from. Sometimes it can be one line or the other—for stronger gifts, it can be both. Anyway, I didn’t get any hits on your surname or your mother’s maiden name, so I looked up the meaning of your middle name.”
He waited but she just bit her lip. “And?” he prompted.
“Toshio means ‘a sagacious man’.”
He frowned and ran a hand through his spiked hair. The texture seemed foreign to him after having it longer for so many months. A million vocabulary words filled the files of his memory, but he managed to sift through them quickly.
“Sagacious…I’m not sure I know that one. Obviously, it means something to you, but I don’t get it.”
“Well, it’s not the most common word, so I did have to look it up myself. It means discerning,” she said. “Discerning could be referring to someone who perceives things as they really are. In other words, someone who is sensitive or perceptive.”
When he continued to stare, she huffed at him. “One of the talents of the chosen is the gift of discernment, such as between good and evil; demon and human; truth and lies. I’m just wondering that if by giving you that name, maybe your father knew what might be in store for you. Maybe he’s the one with the gift, as well. Or he knew about your mother and her people. You could be named for a gifted ancestor.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he admitted, not daring to add that this little revelation intrigued him as well. “Mom’s folks died before I was born and she doesn’t seem to have any contact with her extended family.”
“You could always ask.”
He glanced at her. “No, I’m not sure I can.”
“Why? Are you afraid of what you’ll find out?”
He narrowed his eyes, recognizing the taunt for what it was. “You are not going to trick me into researching my family. Besides, I think if she had been knowledgeable about so-called gifts, she would have handled my childhood a whole hell of a lot better than she did.”
Samantha stopped at the corner and glanced up and down the busy street. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Also, I never suggested you should research your own family tree. That’s part of my job as a counselor to the Sentinels, not yours. I just thought you could make it easier for me if you already knew things about your progenitors. If not, fine. I’ll do it myself. It won't be the first or the last time.”
“Now wait just a—”
He reached for her arm but she was already starting across the intersection. He followed, jaw clenched. How the hell could one curvy woman be so damn annoying?
“Samantha!” He called as she sidestepped a small red coupe.
Traffic moved like molasses and people were notoriously quick to stop for pedestrians, but he still held his breath as he dived in after her. It was a busy afternoon, even for the shop district. He jerked around, looking for a safe passage and trying to keep one eye on her progress. With four cop-brothers, he’d have thought the woman would have learned to be more careful.
The car horn followed by a scream jerked his stomach into his throat. He scanned the spot ahead where he’d last seen that shining red hair. She was gone. Then pedestrians started gathering where she’d last been. Nathan pushed his way through. God, if anything happened to her…
“Let me through,” he commanded.
Several pairs of eyes turned to him as he reached her. Sitting on the petal-strewn pavement, Samantha held one hand to her bleeding head, the other still clutched the shattered bouquet. His stomach plummeted, taking most of his blood supply with it. He swallowed and moved toward her with shaky steps. The man kneeling at her side looked up in surprise.
“Is she with you?” the man asked.
Nathan dropped to his knees. “Yes, she is. Samantha? Sam, honey, are you okay?”
She looked up at him with dazed, clouded eyes and his heart lurched. “Someone pushed me.”
His stomach tightened even more. “What?”
“I didn’t see anything,” the other man insisted. “She just came out of nowhere. I wasn’t even going twenty but I didn’t see her until she fell into me. I couldn’t stop. I didn't see anything else, I swear.”
Samantha shook her head, eyes filled with tears. “But I’m sure…” She looked around them and stopped. “Someone shoved me from behind. I could feel hands on my back.”
He glanced up at the driver, who shook his head. “Like I said, I didn’t see anyone near her, but then again, I didn’t really see her either.”
Nathan looked at the people surrounding them. “Did anyone see anything?”
A few voiced in the negative while several took a less than subtle step away. So, they didn’t want to get involved, huh? Damn idiots. No one would admit to anything—everyone too afraid of being accused or having their day disrupted.
“Nathan, take me home, please.”
He looked down at her and felt his stomach lurch. He never dealt well with blood. Seeing her like this only made the sensation worse. “I think we should wait for an ambulance.”
“No, I don’t care. I’m fine. I just want to leave.” The sound of a siren’s sharp bleat cut through the air.
“Sounds like they’re here already,” Nathan said. “At least let them check
you over and look at your head.”
He could feel her frustration as she shook her head. “I’m not going to the hospital.”
“Okay, if the EMT’s say you’re fine, you don’t have to go.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Excuse me sir, please move aside.”
Nathan stood as the paramedics pushed through the crowd. He watched one unpack equipment as the other examined Samantha. Heart in his throat, he took a step back, feeling lost and impotent. He fought back the urge to charge forward and hoist her into his arms. She wouldn’t appreciate caveman theatrics. But the knowledge that she had come so close to death made him want to break something with his bare hands. It made him feel so damn angry and useless all at once… God. He hated feeling like that.
“No, I’m not going,” he heard Samantha say. “I’m fine. The car just bumped me. All I need is a Band-Aid and some aspirin.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you may have a concussion,” the first medic told her. “You should go to the hospital for some tests. The doctor may want you to stay overnight for obser—”
“No!” She struggled to stand as the man tried to hold her back. “I’m going home.”
Nathan pushed himself between her and the medic. “Hey, come on, you’re going to hurt yourself more if you keep this up.” She looked at him, blinking back the tears that shimmered in her green eyes.
“Hey…” He brushed a lock of hair from her bloody forehead. “Let me talk to them, okay?”
Her lips parted as if she would protest. But instead she sighed. He turned to the paramedic.
“Listen, she seems okay,” he said. “I’ll take her home and make sure she’s looked after.”
“Sir, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. Concussions can be tricky.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m not going to force the lady to go to the hospital.”
“Fine, have it your way,” the other man replied. “But I’m reporting this.”
“Do what you have to,” Nathan agreed.
He helped Samantha to her feet. She leaned against him and he felt her tremble. His heart softened. He was in so deep he knew he’d never be free. Heaven help him, but he didn’t even want to try. All he wanted to do was take care of her—to hold her until she felt safe.
