Vermillion
Her footsteps fall, virtually silent, on the padded floor. She walks to the kitchen, hunger gnawing at her belly and picks up a banana. Carefully peeling it, she bites into it and savors the sweetness enveloping her tongue. And yet, there's something missing.
Leslie Andreas has spent her entire life in a home with padded walls and floors. There is no silverware, save for a few spoons. (Her mother says that knives and forks are too dangerous.) Their plates are plastic and shatterproof. There are no mirrors to be found.
Leslie only knows what she looks like from the few pictures in round plastic frames that are scattered around the house. They each have a thin film of plastic over the picture to protect it, but of course, no glass.
The windows are glass, but Leslie has been forbidden to go anywhere near them.
The only world she has ever known is the one inside this house. Even her doctors come to her, rather than the other way around.
Television is her only true window into the outside world. This is how she learned of forks, knives, and what she is currently missing: food with texture.
As a voracious viewer of any cooking show she can find, Leslie knows there are things like steaks that look delectable, but which seem to require a knife and fork for eating. There is no chance she will be having that with the sort of food she is allowed: eggs and beans for protein, chicken breast with no bones that she can easily pull apart with her teeth and fingers, rice, instant potatoes, small pasta, cooked frozen vegetables, and assorted fruits.
She rolls her eyes. Mush, mush, and more mush. What she wants is that steak: something she can really sink her teeth into and savor.
Finishing her banana and tossing the peel into the plastic garbage can, she stalks off and sinks into a bean bag chair in the living room. She glares at the coffee table, its edges cushioned with the protective foam used for babies, and wonders 'why?' Why, at 18 years old, is she confined to this house? Why is everything padded, soft, and rounded? Is it to protect her as she believes, or someone else?
Grabbing a book off the coffee table, she tries to read, but finds her mind unusually preoccupied by her situation. Glancing at the window, she feels a magnetic pull toward it.
Looking around, Leslie ascertains that neither her mother nor father are nearby, and quietly sneaks over to the window. She sees people her own age pass by. A guy and a girl, hand in hand. He leans in towards her, whispering something in her ear. They both laugh.
Her heart twists in her chest. That too is something she will probably never have— human companionship. Forget love. She's never even had a friend. Or a pet for that matter.
Sad and lonely, she returns to her bean bag chair—and just in time.
Her mother whirls through the house, frantic, as keys jangle in her hands. Leslie has no idea where the keys are kept. Her mother hides them, afraid that the pointy edges might cause someone harm. She is beginning to think her mother might be too paranoid—afraid that the entire world is out to get them. Maybe she needs medication.
Her mother's voice comes through, clear as a bell, but is swallowed up by all the cushioning in the house. "Leslie! I'm going shopping. You have some school work to do, so I expect you to be working on it when I come back, okay?" Her mother comes and briskly kisses her head, running a hand through Leslie's long, straight black hair and murmuring, "My sweet girl...I love you, so much."
Straightening and raising her voice back to normal she says, "Dad's at work and won't be home until sometime after dinner. You be good and I’ll see you in a bit!"
With a half-smile and off-handed wave, Leslie says, "I love you too, Mom. Have a safe trip."
A quick wiggle of her fingers in her daughter’s direction, and her mom is out the door. Leslie feels the beginnings of a thrilling and possibly terrible idea.
Rolling out of the bean bag chair, she walks to the window again. A boy of about eight years old with shining copper hair rides by on a rusty blue bicycle. He seems to feel her gaze, looking up and blowing her a kiss as he passes.
Leslie can't help but chuckle. What a funny little boy. And what a vibrant, vivacious world she is missing. Clenching her jaw, Leslie resolves that she'll miss it no longer.
The problem is, all her clothes are white and formless. Every glance she'd ever stolen through this window had shown her people in a variety of hues, but never solid white. Her mother and father wear other colors, but for some unknown reason, Leslie is confined to white alone.
With the floor giving way beneath her feet, she slinks to her mother's room – a place that is off-limits unless her mother is in it. She tries the doorknob, fearing it will be locked, but it turns, and the door swings open with a whisper as it drags across the padded floor.
Leslie holds her breath a moment, fearing her mother will catch her despite having seen her leaving the house only a few minutes before.
When all remains still and silent, Leslie paces to her mother's closet and pulls the door open. In it is a blinding variety of clothing in every color and shape.
She begins to rifle through her mother's clothing when a splash of red captures her attention. Heading straight for that sumptuous color, she reaches out and touches the garment reverently. Unlike her cotton clothing, this is sleek and silky. She places a corner of the fabric against her face, relishing how it slides over her skin.
Pulling the garment from the closet on its white plastic hanger, Leslie realizes it’s a dress. It has cap sleeves and a scarlet triangle of lace at the top of the bodice, giving the tiniest peek in through the otherwise straight neckline.
She knows this is the one. Slipping out of her institutional white cotton and into the red silk and lace, she feels as though she is coming alive. That is, until she looks down and notices the black hair all over her now bare legs.
She knows from television that women tend to shave their legs and underarms, so they are smooth—a ritual often performed in the shower. Though she doubts her mother would leave anything with blades just laying about, she goes to the bathroom attached to her mother's bedroom and slides open the shower door. To her amazement, there indeed, is a razor.
Picking it up and inspecting it, Leslie thinks about how she's seen it done on television. There is always some sort of lather on the woman's legs or underarms, so she removes the dress, steps into the shower, pulls the curtain shut, turns on the water and splashes a bit under her left arm. Then, she takes the bar of soap and lathers up.
Holding the razor as she has seen it done in commercials, she slides it down her underarm and is pleased to see a strip of hairless skin left behind. Finishing her left underarm, she switches and does her right one as well.
Swelling with pride at her cleverness, she says, "Okay. On to the legs, then!
She is very careful with her right leg—painstakingly going over every square inch of it slowly and gently with the razor. Noting how smooth her skin now is, she begins on her left leg.
Confidence blooming in her chest, she drags the razor over her skin with increased fervor. All is going well until she attempts to shave around her ankle and nicks her skin with the blade. Her curiosity piques as she sees a bead of crimson bloom on her skin. She knows it’s blood but is shocked as she's never bled before. She marvels at the color and how similar it is to the dress she's chosen. The scarlet bead rolls down her heel and lands in the bottom of the tub.
As soon as it lands, a curious thing happens. It seems as if the blood is reaching for her with small, nubby fingers at first. But then, those fingers shoot up, stretching into buds and then, fully blooming roses. Rich green stems grow inexplicably from the tub where her blood fell and those deep red blooms nod lazily from the momentum of their growth.
Quickly she finishes shaving and then, fascinated that real, live roses are growing out of a metal bath, she reaches out to pluck one. A thorn bites into her finger and she pulls away to find another ruby drop adorning her finger tip. Turning her hand to let it fall, she thinks of how much hummingbirds might like the rose blossoms.
In midair, her drop of blood grows, forming into the shape of a hummingbird, and takes wing. Its feathers turn a shimmering green, but its throat remains blood-red. Zipping to one of the roses, it takes a deep drink of nectar. She watches it flit from flower to flower, but then, seemingly full, it makes to fly off. Finding itself trapped, however, the poor creature begins to panic.
It flies in a frenzy about the room before crashing into the small window at the top of the shower. Leslie gasps as it crumples and falls at her feet.
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As that first drop of blood blooms into velvet-petaled roses, a predator awakes in a land far away—though not too far away. The scent of it, the pull of all that beautiful, life-giving power...it reaches him across the space between their worlds. He shudders and blinks to focus his now glazed-over eyes.
"Finally!" He flexes his hand, raking hooked claws over his palm. Those claws are ready to meet delicate flesh and bring a flood of red into the world.
He's been waiting just over 18 years. He had felt that power come roaring into the world almost two decades ago. And he’d come so close to tasting it. But Talon Firranor—damn him to the seven hells—had been there to stop him. He’d materialized from the shadows and stabbed Ciraz through the hand as he'd reached for the infant.
Turning his hand to gaze at the scar on both his palm, and its mate on the back of his hand, he rubs it with his thumb, remembering the pain.
As he'd pulled the blade out, Talon had spirited the baby away to gods-know-where and Ciraz Ilasbar had been waiting ever since.
But he had seen the babe. He knows she is a dark-haired female and that she will have grown to be lovely.
He doesn't care. He only wants what runs through her veins. Her beauty—a tool for vanity—is something to be used against her. But, with the power to create life, her blood is invaluable as he could use it to achieve immorality. That is what her blood would do in the right hands. And most likely, she has no idea.
He'd change that soon enough. And this time, he would not let Talon get in his way.
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Reaching down, Leslie scoops the hummingbird's small, lifeless body gently into her palm. It is limp with its unfocused eyes half lidded, and no rise and fall to its chest. Dead, then.
A tear trickles down Leslie's cheek as she steps from the shower and places the small bird on a fluffy washcloth.
Drying and dressing quickly, then finding a pair of her mother's flat white sandals, she slips them on. Leslie picks up the bird, washcloth and all, and goes to the back door of her house. For the first time in her life, Leslie wraps her hand around the doorknob and twists.
Pulling the door open, she hesitates for only a second before stepping out into the bright sunshine of her square, fenced in backyard.
The smell hits her first. The air smells so much different out here. Fresh, and almost alive. The suburb she lives in is quiet and peaceful. She can hear children playing somewhere in the distance, the intermittent rumble or hum of a vehicle, and a low chatter punctuated with bursts of occasional laughter as if there is a group of people nearby.
She glances toward the sky, blinded initially by the sun, but averting her eyes instead to the fluffy white clouds that roll across the azure sky like fat sheep in a field of blue grass. A small laugh hiccups its way out of her before she remembers the poor hummingbird in her hand.
Holding him flat in her palm, Leslie uses her thumb to squeeze the puncture from the rose's thorn on her pointer finger. The wound has sealed over, but after several attempts, she is rewarded with a glistening scarlet orb.
Unsure what to do, Leslie decides that most likely, the hummingbird would need to ingest her blood for this to work. If it works.
Angling his head against her fingers, she gently pries open his needle-like beak and squeezes her finger over it. She watches as the drop of blood falls into his mouth and spreads, crawling its way toward his throat.
Her heart begins to race, and she leans over him, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But there is nothing. No flutter, flicker, flap, or other sign of life. She gently rubs his small chest and waits a moment more.
Disheartened, Leslie walks to a tree growing out of the far right-hand corner of her yard. A morning glory vine grows up its side, its blue flowers turning their throats toward the sun, and she feels it is the best place to lay the hummingbird to rest.
Placing him gently on the ground, she goes in search of a digging tool. She refuses to leave his little body out for scavengers to prey upon.
Locating a trowel near a small flower bed that appears to be lovingly tended (her mother has a fabulous green thumb as evidenced by the flora gracing the inside of their house) Leslie turns and walks back to the tree. She is alarmed to find that something has already stolen the bird's small body.
Lifting the washcloth to ensure it hadn't somehow fallen and gotten swept beneath it, Leslie is met with only grass for her efforts. Puzzled, she glances about for the offending scavenger. A crow, perhaps? Or maybe some sort of small, furry creature?
She sees nothing. Nothing until the hummingbird zips to the morning glory flowers in front of her and takes a sip from one of their delicate throats.
Leslie can hardly breathe. Holding out a finger, she waits and hopes. Seeming to know it is her blood that created him, as well as saved him, he alights and perches daintily on her finger, meeting her eyes with his own quick, bright ones for a moment as if thanking her, before taking off and zipping into the sky.
"I saved him?" Her voice comes out as a whisper, a chill skittering down her spine. Then a surge of pride. "I brought him back to life!" Glee bubbles up her throat in a nervous cackle.
With shaking hands, Leslie places the trowel on the ground, goes back in through the house to the front door, where she exits and begins her very first explore around the neighborhood.
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Talon Firranor pulls back his bowstring in near silence. He pauses a moment to steady his breathing, ensuring his aim at the hart grazing in the forest glade will be unwavering. He draws in a deep breath, releases it halfway and then holds it as he releases the bow string with a twang. The arrow flies true, sinking in just behind the stag's foreleg—right into the most humane kill zone. The stag stumbles a few steps, drops to his knees, and falls over, kicking earth and detritus up in a single spray as he goes down.
Talon goes to the hart, looking him in the eye and speaking in soothing tones as life fades from its eyes. He reaches out, running a hand down its face, eternally surprised at the roughness of deer hair.
It takes but a moment for the stag to pass. However, to Talon, it always seems an eternity. Even those few seconds of pain are troublesome, though he does his best to ensure as little pain as possible. He'd rather go hungry than take a shot that will leave an animal to a slow death alone in the forest or being ripped apart by predators in its weakened state.
No. Only a clean shot would do for him.
Talon begins the process of gutting and cleaning the deer so he can haul it back to his cabin. Once done, he goes to wipe his hands on a rag he's brought with him, but his breath catches as a wave of errant energy rips through him.
It’s as though the world has disappeared from under his feet and every nerve is raw and standing on end; his inner core stripped bare and laid open to the world. His wards—wards that he wove almost twenty years ago—have been tripped, which can only mean one thing based on the reaction it caused in him.
He looks at the blood on his hands and says, "It can't be!" Panic grips him as he realizes what has occurred. That somehow, her blood has been shed and his wards have been tripped as a result. He knows he must hurry.
Grasping the stag's antlers, Talon translocates the deer's corpse to his cabin, appearing there in the blink of an eye. He hates to do it, but time is of the essence and the stag's flesh must not be wasted, so Talon uses magic to process the deer. He enchants his knife to do all the dirty work as he packs a small bag of essentials, not missing the feeling of more sticky blood on his hands.
Blood. So many problems brought about by blood, and blood the result of so many problems. Quickly, quickly...get to her before it's too late.
Tossing the meat into containers and adding it to his ice box, he takes the scraps out and buries them in the forest near his home using magic. Then, collecting his bag, he calls to his magic and winks out of existence at his cabin, hurtling toward the one his heart belongs to.
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Leslie knows she lives at 263 Shelly Lane, but she has no idea how the streets are laid out, nor how to get back home if she wanders too far. She tries to stay on as straight a path as possible to ensure she can get home when she wants to, remembering the few turns she happens to take along the way.
Several cars have driven past, some of them honking and waving at her—mostly men. She gives a slight wave back, unsure of what to do. Fortunately, no one seems to feel like bothering her and she continues down the street unmolested, following her nose toward the enticing aroma of coffee and pastries.
Approximately ten minutes from her home, Leslie stumbles upon a coffee shop. It smells amazing, but sadly, she has no money to buy anything as she knows is customary. From behind her she hears a deep, rich voice say, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
Turning, she sees a tall, lean, elegant-looking man. His hair is the color of dark chocolate and his eyes are an icy blue. He's beautiful. And she's staring. She knows she should stop, but she feels paralyzed by this man.
Grinning, he reveals perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth behind his lusciously full lips. His sharp, high cheekbones become even more pronounced with his wicked smile.
Extending a hand to her, he says, "Hi. I'm Cyrus. And you are?"
Shaking, she places her hand in his and feels an electric tingle run up her arm. She's not sure if it means something very good, or very bad, but she smiles at him anyway. "I'm Leslie. And I'd love a cup of coffee, thank you."
He smiles again, offering her his arm, leading her to the counter to place her order.
"Feel free to order a pastry, too.” His eyes run the length of her. “Not that you need anything to make you any sweeter."
Leslie's face heats under his attention and she squeaks, "Just coffee is fine, thanks."
Chuckling, he pays for her order and suggests that they walk and talk as they drink the coffee. "There's a beautiful little park we could sit at—like having a picnic."
She has never been on a picnic before and thinks it sounds enchanting.
"Sure. Why not? I'm on an adventure today."
Again, his chest rumbles with a low laugh and he leads her away, arm in arm, saying, "I hope I don't disappoint, then. I'm dying to get to know you better."
Allowing him to lead her, Leslie stares mostly at her coffee cup. She answers Cyrus's questions, and even has a few for him, but his height and sleek good looks intimidate her. She isn't quite sure why he is so interested in her. She looks good, but he is like something from out of this world.
It must be her lucky day.
They turn a corner and she can see the park in front of them. Leslie stops, absorbing the beautiful vista before her. Weeping willows sway gently in the breeze as leaves on proud oaks and maples rustle and dance. A pond is the centerpiece, a few ducks and geese floating serenely on the glassy surface. Benches surround the pond and a few people are throwing corn to the fowl, though they ignore them.
Cyrus quirks an eyebrow up at her and says, "Shall we?"
She nods assent, and just as they begin walking again, an approaching car begins to slow down. It comes to a stop next to them and Leslie's mother comes out of the car, her face contorted in a venomous mix of anger and fear, though it’s predominantly fear. Her voice, edged with terror, nevertheless comes out soft and seemingly pleasant.
"There you are, sweetie. Time to go home now, ok?"
Growing up the way she has, Leslie is generally very sensitive to her mother's emotions. She can tell her mother is terrified despite her admirable effort at hiding it, which is the only thing that makes her decide to go with her.
Turning to Cyrus, she notes the hard look he is giving her mother, though his face quickly softens as he notices her attention.
"It was nice to meet you, Cyrus. Thanks again for the coffee. I’ve got to go now, though."
Ignoring her mother, he places a hand against her cheek and says, "When will I see you again?"
Her breath hitches and her entire body heats to near volcanic level, but she tries to play it cool.
"I don't know. I'd like to see you again, but I doubt I'll be able to. Thank you for the coffee and showing me around."
Lifting her hand to his mouth, he gently kisses her knuckles. "We'll meet again soon. Trust me."
Her heart flutters at the soft touch of his lips, but she only graces him with a sad smile. She knows this is her one and only taste of freedom.
Leslie goes to her mother, who wraps an arm around her, steering her into the car like a small child.
Her mom drives in tense silence and guilt fills her at the sight of her mother so on edge.
"Mom, I'm –”
Her mother holds up a hand, silencing her. "Not yet. We can't talk yet."
As soon as they arrive home and her mother parks the car in the garage, she is herded inside, and the door locked behind them.
She turns to face her mom, the guilt smothering her now. "I'm sorry, mom...I don't know what came over me. "
As she speaks, her mother begins looking her over. When her gaze falls on the small, scabbed over spot on her ankle, all color drains from her face and her hands fly up to her mouth. Her voice comes out barely above a whisper.
"Oh my God, no... you cut yourself! You—you’ve bled!" Panic rises in Leslie until she is choking on it as her mother says, "He'll be coming for you..."
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Leaving the coffee shop and cursing his bad luck, Ciraz sips the sickeningly sweet liquid before tossing it into a trash can. Why do humans like that stuff so much, anyway?
He turns his dilemma over in his head, grateful for the fact that Talon hasn't shown up yet. He'd been hoping to convince the girl to come away with him. If he got her alone, he could translocate her back to his lair with no one the wiser, and no trace left behind.
Well, Talon would know. But the humans would never be able to track her. They are unable to translocate between worlds the way he and Talon can. Only Talon, or another Remnant—members of a long-lived ancient race—could detect the trail left behind.
Ciraz knows he needs to move quickly, both to get the girl, and to relieve her of that magical elixir coursing through her veins. He may be long-lived, sure, but he craves immortality.
He'll make his move tonight.
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As Talon appears in the human world, he takes in the sights and smells, a raucous cacophony to his senses, before he adjusts and gets his bearings. Stepping out from behind a large green metal box, he realizes that is where the putrid smell is coming from. A quick glance tells him it is trash and he is likely outside of a restaurant. So much food wasted and left to rot in the heat of the sun.
Adjusting his white tunic and smoothing his brown slacks, his small bag of essentials slung over his shoulder, he heads for the sidewalk he knows is in front of the building, following it like a treasure map all the way to Leslie's house. He'd never forget where that house was. Not in a million years. And if they moved, he'd know. His heart would always lead him to them.
Even if he wasn't in theirs.
Staring at the pretty little ranch-style house with its pale blue siding and bright white door and trim, Talon is overcome by conflicting desires. The small, cowardly part of him wants to turn and run. He doesn't feel strong enough to face this right now.
But the bulk of him—the strong, just part—that part knows what must be done. Set on doing the right thing, he stalks to the front door and rings the bell.
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Leslie's mother emits a small squeak at the sound of the doorbell. Swallowing her fear, she walks softly and slowly to the door, putting her eye to the peephole. Wild, jet black hair, rich brown eyes and a strong, yet sleek face stares back at her. A five o'clock shadow runs over his jaw, giving him a rough, sensual appearance. And those lips...soft and full, with slightly elongated canines hiding behind them.
A tremor runs through her and butterflies take flight in her core. Not him. How can she face him?
Attempting to move away silently, she hears a scoffing sound from outside the door followed by, "Open the door, Leeann."
Cursing under her breath, she does.
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Observing her mother's strange behavior, Leslie is terrified, wondering who is out there. She is surprised to hear a man say her mother's name. A man who is not her father.
They never have visitors.
The biggest shock of all is that her mother opens the door and the man who walks in could be a model. He is lean muscle with chiseled good looks. And yet, there is something familiar about him, though Leslie can't put her finger on it.
She hears her mother say, "You shouldn't be here." To which the man replies, "It's good to see you, too." The flush that consumes her mother's neck and face could rival the brightest sunset. And yet, her mother's face is steely. Almost angry.
The man observes her for a moment and lifts his hand slowly, moving it toward her mother's face, and Leslie holds her breath, trying her best to be invisible where she sits on the couch.
Her mother barks out, "Don't!" in a tone that Leslie has never heard her use before. The man drops his hand. He sighs.
"You know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. Where is Leslie?"
Finally, her mother turns toward her, unshed tears shivering along her lower lid. The shift in her gaze draws the man's attention to Leslie as well. His face softens and his eyes look slightly moist as well. Strange.
He steps slowly and cautiously toward her, as if she might bolt like a frightened animal. He stops in front of her, dropping to one knee, and she can see that his eyes are indeed dewy. He reaches a hand toward her as he had her mother, and she does nothing to stop him. She is too confused and curious to know what to do.
He gently touches her cheek and again she looks at his face, trying to determine what makes him so familiar. His voice comes out, choked with emotion.
"Hello, Leslie. My name is Talon, and I'm your—”
"Talon! Don't!" Her mother's shriek fills her stomach with dread.
"—father." He looks at her with hope in his eyes as Leslie feels the world freeze, everything she knows crashing down around her. She glances at one of the photos of herself on the coffee table. She notes the whisky-brown eyes, raven-black hair, a strong but small nose with a slight downward curve at the end. She brings her gaze back to this man's face...this—Talon, and realizes he is telling the truth. She looks more like this man than the one she's called father her entire life.
She feels the world start moving again, but confusion and hurt cause tears to spring into her eyes, rolling hot and fat down her cheeks as quickly as they appear.
Looking stricken, Talon reaches for her again and says, "No, no... it’s—”
He flies backward, landing on his bottom as her mother grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him away from Leslie. Glaring at him with a ferocity she didn't know her mother possessed, she points toward the door and growls, "Get out. Now."
Talon looks to Leslie one more time and then at the small, fiery, brown haired, hazel-eyed woman in front of him. For a second, he looks as if he will say something further but ultimately decides against it.
He picks up a small bag that had fallen from his shoulder and leaves through the front door, his head hanging low.
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Stupid. Stupid, ignorant bastard. Of course, she wouldn't be happy to see me. Of course, Leslie would be hurt by that revelation. All I want to do is protect my daughter and the woman I've never been able to forget. But how can I do it if they won't let me near them?
Stinging from the rejection, Talon leaves the house, walking down the sidewalk with his hands in the pockets of his pants, staring at his feet as he walks. He is unsure how to handle the situation but knows there must be a way. He is afraid that if he lingers outside the house, Leeann might come out and either strangle him or shoot him. And he'd probably let her.
Ciraz hasn't shown up yet though, so he feels safe enough walking off his anguish as he tries to come up with a plan. Besides, so long as Leslie stays in the house, she will be protected by the many wards he'd placed there as soon as he knew Leeann was expecting.
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"Mom...how? You've been lying to me all these years? Does Dad know? How could you—? What else—? ARGH!"
Sinking onto the couch next to her daughter, Leeann Andreas heaves an enormous sigh and places an arm around Leslie's shoulders, half expecting her to pull away. To her relief, she leans into her mother instead, silent tears lifting her shoulders up and down as she works to control herself.
"I'm sure you must feel like I lied to you, Leslie. And I guess to a degree I did, simply by withholding information from you. But your Dad is your father in my eyes. He's been here for you since the day you were born and has always loved you as his own. He knows you're not his though, and he knows the circumstances surrounding your conception. And yet, he wanted to keep you and love you, and I'm so glad we did."
Leslie raises her eyes to her mother's, tears brimming over and making Leeann's heart twist in a sickening manner. It hurts her deeply to see her baby girl in any sort of pain.
"You are our world, sweetie. And we'd be lost without you. But we do have much to talk about."
Leslie snorts. "I'll say."
Leeann snickers mirthlessly before continuing. "Talon is.... something else. Something magical. Not in the sappy, stars-in-my-eyes way...but in truth. Magic runs through his veins as blood runs through mine. And as a result, you have both coursing through yours."
With a small sniffle, Leslie says, "Is that why my blood can create life and bring things back from the dead?"
Shocked, her mother pulls back for a second. At her look, she explains everything that happened that morning, including the hummingbird she'd resurrected. When she finishes, her mother nods.
"Yes. Exactly those things. And more. When you were born, they did some standard blood tests at the hospital and though it hadn't developed into the life-giving force it is now, your blood still acted as a very strong beacon for one particularly foul magical creature. Fortunately, Talon was there the day you were born, and he felt that thing come for you. He saved you, and until today, I hadn't seen him since.”
“Your blood is the reason everything is padded, and that we avoid sharp objects. It's the reason you always wear white—so we could see if you ever did accidentally cut yourself." She lets her head fall back and closes her eyes as she faces the ceiling. “And it’s why Talon created spells preventing you from menstruating…we had no idea what that might cause.” She sighs. "All those precautions and look what happened anyway."
Reeling, Leslie shakes her head as if trying to clear it. "But...how did Talon end up getting you—you know?"
All openness in her mother's expression disappears., "I think it's time for you to go to bed. Maybe we will talk about that another day, but it's been a tough one today and I know I'm tired. You must be, too, so let's get some rest and see where we stand in the morning, ok?"
Grabbing some bread and cold leftover chicken breast from the fridge for a sandwich, she trudges to her room and changes into her pajamas. Leslie crawls into bed and switches on her television as she begins eating her makeshift dinner.
It is just beginning to get dark outside and she knows her father will be home soon. Normally she would run out to see him, but tonight...tonight she isn't too sure. She is still trying to process everything.
A good TV show will clear my mind. Settling on a forensics special, she snuggles a pillow and tries her best to zone out.
A short while later, she hears her father come home and the muffled sounds of her mother and father talking. But no one comes to her room, and she doesn't bother to go out.
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Darkness has settled over the town and stars twinkle merrily in the sky. Ciraz wants to knock on Leslie's window, but Talon apparently anticipated this eventuality and has set up wards. Ciraz's hair stands up with the energy they both put off and absorb from the surrounding area. If he were to touch it, it would consume him completely.
He almost feels honored that such powerful measures were taken against him. Too bad it won’t do any good.
Thinking fast, he grabs a few pebbles from the edge of the street and pelts them, one at a time, into Leslie's window. They are not big enough to break it yet can broach the wards with no ill effect.
Within a moment, her lovely young face is visible in the window. It takes her a moment to see him in the gloom, but when she does, she looks startled and confused. He does note however that her delectable blood makes her glow with an all-over rosy hue. She might not want to admit it, but she is pleased to see him.
She throws her hands up in a questioning gesture, and he motions for her to open the window. She seems confused by this and struggles for a moment, the window apparently stuck, before she finally succeeds.
"Cyrus? What are you doing here? And how did you know where I live?"
Shrugging casually, he says, "I may have stayed close enough to your car in my own to find out where the beautiful Leslie lives."
Again, the flush surges in her cheeks and down her neck. "You shouldn't be here. My parents would be really angry if they knew you were."
Grinning in a most dazzling feline way, he says, "Can you blame me for wanting to see you again? We were just starting to get to know each other. Forgive me if I wanted to know more."
"So, what? You want to interview me through my window?"
Shaking his head, he says, "No, darling Leslie. I want you to come out and play."
Even from this distance he can see the shiver that runs through her. Feels her pulse speed at his words. And he can see her contemplating.
"I really can't. I don't want to be in any more trouble than I already am."
"Leslie, you said yourself that today is a day for adventures. The day is not over yet, nor is our adventure together. Come. Walk and talk with me. Just for a little while. I will make sure you are home safe before anyone knows you've stepped out."
She is silent for a moment and frustration begins to roil in his gut until she says, "Give me a minute. I'll be right out."
Inwardly he does a celebratory dance, while outwardly he remains calm, composed, and unconcerned. He watches as she grabs a sweatshirt and climbs out the window, racing across the lawn toward him without so much as a backward glance.
As she reaches him, he extends a hand to her and laces his fingers through hers. He leads her down to the corner and as they turn, he uses his magic to whisk her away to his lair. She doesn't have time to make a sound before they are materializing in his home.
To her credit, Leslie looks at his house—a mansion, really—taking in the rich leather furniture, the gauzy curtains on the massive (steel bar reinforced) windows, and his tasteful decorations, though panic furrows her brow. She blinks once. Twice. Then, "Where the hell am I? What did you do?"
A low laugh trickles from his throat causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. He prowls up to her, pressing her against the wall with his body and raises a finger to her throat. With an audible snick, one curved claw is unsheathed, and he presses it to the delicate flesh there.
"Why, my dear, Leslie, I've only taken what I wanted. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers, much less leave—alone—with them?" She swallows around a hard lump in her throat in response, her pulse and breath fluttering.
He purrs, "Well, no matter. You're in good hands, now."
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Arriving back at the Andreas house, Talon has resolved to simply perch outside. If Leeann wants to attack him, then she can damn well go ahead. He's not going to let Ciraz get within an inch of this house.
Settling on the large oak tree in the front yard as his guard post, Talon tosses his bag up into the crook of the tree, places his foot against the trunk and grasps a branch to pull himself up when a feeling of wrongness hits him. Dread unfurls, cold and heavy inside him. He runs to Leslie's window to find it open and her room empty.
Cursing, he knows Ciraz has beaten him here and found a way around the wards. He can feel him. Why didn't I notice immediately? But he knows the answer. He was too wrapped up in his own troubles.
Following Ciraz's sickeningly sweet fetor, he locates the point at which they translocated back to the Remnant's world. Grasping his own magic, he follows their exact trail, knowing where it will lead.
He arrives inside Ciraz's massive house. His lair, as he likes to call it. Lofty prick.
He hears a small squeak that he is sure is his daughter and takes off at a run, ready to beat Ciraz's face to a bloody pulp.
Unfortunately, Ciraz had set a trap for him and he'd just fallen for it. Just as he sees Ciraz pressing Leslie to the wall, he hits a ball of energy so hard, he falls backward, unconscious.
When he awakens, he is suspended in the air by invisible tethers, trapped like a spider's meal. Sensing his movement, Ciraz spins to regard him. His arm is slung loosely over Leslie's shoulders as if he owns her, and her eyes are wide with fear, lips pressed tightly together as her chin quivers.
"Get away from her, Ciraz!" he barks, but Ciraz waggles a finger at him. "Oh no. I forgot to block that annoying voice of yours." As he goes to speak again, Talon finds he has no voice, and Ciraz laughs riotously.
"I've always wanted to do that, you know. Well, Daddy, I've got your little girl and there's nothing you can do about it except watch as I bleed her dry."
He reaches for Leslie and she tries to push his hand away, but she is no match for his strength. He wraps an arm around her back, pulling her to him as though they were indeed lovers. He unsheathes a claw and uses it to brush her glossy hair away from her neck, then nicks her skin slightly, a thin trickle of blood escaping.
Before the blood can create its own magic, Ciraz lowers his head and licks the blood from her neck, sucking at the wound before releasing her. Terrified, her legs give way and she falls to the floor.
Feeling the power of her blood, Ciraz allows himself a moment to revel in it. Talon is restrained, though he feels how he fights it. And Leslie? She's not going anywhere. She's a weak mortal despite the glorious, heady elixir in her veins.
Coming back into himself, Ciraz says, "You know, suddenly I'm feeling parched." He grabs Leslie's arm and wrenches her to her feet. She yelps in pain, following him to avoid more discomfort.
Talon thrashes against his bonds, desperately trying to escape. As they pass beneath him, Leslie looks up and Talon looses a dagger from its sheath on his belt. It falls silently and she catches it behind her back, Ciraz so bent on immortality that he does not notice.
Drawing it backward, she drives it into Ciraz's lower arm, causing him to release her as he screams. As he pulls away, she maintains her grip on the dagger, ripping it from his flesh.
Rage ripples across his face and contorts it into a mask of ugliness so foul, she would have believed a dragon lived beneath his skin. The thought sticks with her: a dragon. Maybe. Just maybe.
She raises the knife again, ready to attack and baring her teeth, but Ciraz uses his magic to trap her as he had Talon with very little effort. She finds she still has some slight movement, though not much. Clearly, he doesn't deem her enough of a threat to immobilize completely.
Stalking toward her, unsheathing his claw again he says, "I will drink my fill straight from your lovely throat, then."
As he approaches, she uses the small range of motion left to her to turn the blade and drive it into the artery in her neck. As she pulls it out, she feels the hot spray from the wound, but maintains the image of the dragon in her mind.
She feels her body growing weaker and colder by the second as all that blood leaves her, pulsing with each heartbeat. But despite that, she is exhilarated by the sight of her blood forming into the long, lithe form of a vermillion dragon. Its golden eye flicks to and fro in its head as it finishes forming and with the last bit of her strength, she wills it to attack Ciraz.
She hears flames crackle from its maw and his blood-curdling shrieks as she drifts into welcoming blackness.
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Sometime later, Leslie's eyes open and she is sure she is dead. It is warm and cozy, and a fire crackles in a fireplace with a pot of something that smells delicious cooking over it. She tries to sit up but finds herself rather lightheaded.
She hears a voice that sounds strained and distant say, "No! Don't try to get up! Not yet."
As cool, gentle hands touch her brow, she recognizes a somewhat fuzzy image of Talon.
Can it be? "Am I... dead?"
He laughs, thin and humorlessly as he says, "No. You're not dead, though you should be. Your own blood saved your life."
She finds herself giggling like a drunkard then. "How?"
He sighs. "The dragon you made. It was made of your blood and so contained your blood. For some reason it listened to me when I begged it for help. It incinerated Ciraz, so we don't have to worry about him anymore."
A touch of sadness takes her then. "So then, is the dragon—?"
"Gone? No. He's outside. Too big for my cabin. The amount of blood I needed was inconsequential to him."
She laughs again as he continues. "We cut a small spot under its wing and I collected the blood. You see, the scales are smaller and thinner around the wing to allow it greater mobility, and therefore the easiest place to make a small incision. Once I had the blood, I simply poured it slowly into your mouth to make you drink it and used my magic to heal the damage to your skin, muscle, and veins. You've still got some recuperating to do, but you'll be well soon enough."
He goes to the pot over the fire, retrieving some of the stew in a bowl. Placing a spoon in it, he walks to her, helps her sit up, and urges her to eat. "It'll help rebuild your strength."
She takes a bite, studying him before saying, "Thank you."
Once the last bit of stew has been scraped from her bowl, Talon tells her it's time to rest again. She lays back, sighs, and says, "Then I think I'd like a story."
He regards her with a puzzled expression. "Story?"
Leslie nods. "I want to know how I was conceived."
Averting his gaze and pressing his lips together, he wrings his hands and thinks. Leslie watches him and waits.
"I guess you should know. It's not the most honorable way for such a beautiful thing to happen, but...even with as ashamed as I am, I can never regret that it happened. For the fact that I had that time with your mother, and that you were the result of our union."
He pauses, considering, and Leslie stays silent, waiting for him to continue.
"Our people, the Remnants...some call us Fae...we have—gatherings—where we lure mortals in for our pleasure. Some turn them into jesters, others use them for breeding, some are cruel, and others simply want the companionship of something...other." He heaves a sigh.
"The music was playing, the wine was flowing, and your mother walked into the clearing where we were celebrating. There was something about her—an energy—that I could not resist in addition to her beauty. I claimed her immediately to prevent one of the nastier Remnants from getting their claws in her."
He turns to Leslie, raising his hands in supplication. "Please understand, I had no intention of using her for breeding. That just isn't my way. I wanted to dance with her, hold her, speak with her...maybe even taste her. But I didn't intend to do…that."
Conflicting emotions tear through Leslie as she stares at him, unsure if she should hate or pity him. "Then why did you?"
Talon runs his fingers through his hair. "Once a party is over, we are supposed to send the mortals on their way back home. If they are still alive. The effects of our magic, music, food, and wine can often be too much for many mortals. But Leeann was strong and so vivacious, so I stole her away to my home. And while she was there, I felt myself falling in love with her. Under the influence of our magic, she had no choice but to feel the same, and eventually, I was too weak, and you were conceived."
Holding his head in his hands, rubbing them roughly forward and back over his face and scalp he continues, "I finally sent her home after noticing that she seemed unwell, unaware that she was with child. And I did not know that she was wed to someone else. She just showed up and I avoided asking that question because the truth is, I didn't want to know."
"She called to me later in the clearing where we’d met, and of course, I went to her. That’s when she told me she was pregnant. One quick probe of my magic told me it was true, and that you were mine. But she told me she wanted nothing to do with me and that her husband—a real man, as she put it—was going to care for and love you. So, I stayed away and loved you, and her, from afar. I know it doesn't excuse my previous actions—and you should know I have never participated in another of those parties since—but I placed wards around the house to protect all of you and kept tabs on Ciraz to keep him from you. He's always wanted immortality and knew he could get it by consuming enough of your blood."
He waits, expecting her to say something, but when her tongue will not oblige, he says, "Hate me if you will. I am deeply sorry, and yet...not. How can I be when it gave me the chance to know her, and ultimately, you?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Leslie slowly says, "I don't know how I feel about you. On one hand, I could almost say I hate you. And on the other, I am almost grateful for you. I'm just glad you've never done that to anyone else."
He raises his gaze hopefully to hers. "Do you think—? Do you think maybe we could have some sort of relationship, you and I?"
She regards him coolly. "Perhaps. Let's start with you teaching me about magic and see how things progress from there." Hope flares in his eyes and she says, "But, I will need to go home, too. I can't stay here. I will have to meet with you periodically." His face falls slightly, but he nods.
"How does every other Moon Day sound?"
She scrunches her face at him. "Do you mean Monday?"
He snorts. "You mortals shorten everything," and they share their first laugh together.
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A few days later, once she has recuperated fully, she officially meets the dragon she's created. Chuffing slightly, he noses her like a great horse, flaring his wings in pleasure at seeing her. She strokes his nose and rests her cheek against the rough scales on his snout. "Thank you for saving me."
Inside her head she hears the deepest male voice she's ever encountered. Thank you for creating me.
She recoils from him in shock to which she hears a rumbling chuckle in that same deep voice ripple through her mind.
What? You thought I couldn't speak to you?
Placing a hand on his snout she says, "Well...no. I didn't. But I'm glad you can." She feels his deep pleasure at her words as an almost cat-like purr that vibrates through him. "Do you have a name, then?"
You created me, so that is for you to give.
"Then I will call you Vermillion, for that is what you are. A mighty color for a mighty dragon who will change the world."
He flares his wings, raises his head to the sky, and roars. It sends a shockwave through her, but she covers her ears and laughs, which pleases him. His spiked tail twitches like that of a playful cat.
Fly with me, creator.
She runs a hand down the plated scales on his breast. Smooth and hard, they would be great armor. "Maybe another day. I have always wanted to fly with a dragon. But for now, I must go home. My parents will be missing me."
From behind her, Talon says, "They know you’re safe. And that you will be coming to me for training. I made sure of it."
She turns to him. "Thank you, Talon. I'd like to go home now, please."
Acquiescing, he places an arm around her shoulders and translocates them directly in front of Leslie's house, not caring who might see. Leeann opens the door and runs out, wrapping her arms around her daughter, great sobs wracking her.
Talon's heart sinks as David, the man who Leslie calls father, comes out of the house, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight. He raises a hand in a faint wave to Talon before wrapping his arms around both of his girls.
Talon turns to leave when Leeann comes to him. "Wait! Thank you for making sure she stayed alive."
A bitter smirk creeps onto his face. "It was her own blood that saved her."
She places a hand on his shoulder and says, "But it was you who knew what to do. So, thank you." She hesitates. “When you reached out to me, I was afraid she would die. I was afraid you’d keep her from coming home. I was afraid of so many things. But to hear that she would be well again, and that you’d be taking her under your wing while still allowing her to be with us… well—it made me feel… relieved. And grateful.” She begins to turn away but shifts her gaze to him. "I'm glad you will be training her to use her magic. It will keep her safer in the long run. And thank you for keeping us updated throughout her recovery."
With that she walks away, and Talon feels as if his heart is ripping from his chest. He translocates back home, eagerly waiting for the upcoming Moon Day when his daughter would come to be with him. It is a bright spot for him to look forward to, which he does with great anticipation.
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At the scheduled time, Leslie steps outside of her house and waits for Talon. He appears without a sound in front her and extends a hand to her. She takes it, ready to learn, and see Vermillion.
As if reading her mind, he says, "Your dragon waits for you, Leslie."
She laughs. "I can't wait to see him, either. And I have a request for you."
He gazes at her in wonder and says, "If it is within my power, I will give it to you."
She flashes a brilliant grin his way and says, "I want you to teach me how to poof back and forth between places the way you do."
He barks a laugh and says, "It's called Translocation. And sure. We can start there."
Hand in hand, they wink out of sight.
Leslie Andreas has spent her entire life in a home with padded walls and floors. There is no silverware, save for a few spoons. (Her mother says that knives and forks are too dangerous.) Their plates are plastic and shatterproof. There are no mirrors to be found.
Leslie only knows what she looks like from the few pictures in round plastic frames that are scattered around the house. They each have a thin film of plastic over the picture to protect it, but of course, no glass.
The windows are glass, but Leslie has been forbidden to go anywhere near them.
The only world she has ever known is the one inside this house. Even her doctors come to her, rather than the other way around.
Television is her only true window into the outside world. This is how she learned of forks, knives, and what she is currently missing: food with texture.
As a voracious viewer of any cooking show she can find, Leslie knows there are things like steaks that look delectable, but which seem to require a knife and fork for eating. There is no chance she will be having that with the sort of food she is allowed: eggs and beans for protein, chicken breast with no bones that she can easily pull apart with her teeth and fingers, rice, instant potatoes, small pasta, cooked frozen vegetables, and assorted fruits.
She rolls her eyes. Mush, mush, and more mush. What she wants is that steak: something she can really sink her teeth into and savor.
Finishing her banana and tossing the peel into the plastic garbage can, she stalks off and sinks into a bean bag chair in the living room. She glares at the coffee table, its edges cushioned with the protective foam used for babies, and wonders 'why?' Why, at 18 years old, is she confined to this house? Why is everything padded, soft, and rounded? Is it to protect her as she believes, or someone else?
Grabbing a book off the coffee table, she tries to read, but finds her mind unusually preoccupied by her situation. Glancing at the window, she feels a magnetic pull toward it.
Looking around, Leslie ascertains that neither her mother nor father are nearby, and quietly sneaks over to the window. She sees people her own age pass by. A guy and a girl, hand in hand. He leans in towards her, whispering something in her ear. They both laugh.
Her heart twists in her chest. That too is something she will probably never have— human companionship. Forget love. She's never even had a friend. Or a pet for that matter.
Sad and lonely, she returns to her bean bag chair—and just in time.
Her mother whirls through the house, frantic, as keys jangle in her hands. Leslie has no idea where the keys are kept. Her mother hides them, afraid that the pointy edges might cause someone harm. She is beginning to think her mother might be too paranoid—afraid that the entire world is out to get them. Maybe she needs medication.
Her mother's voice comes through, clear as a bell, but is swallowed up by all the cushioning in the house. "Leslie! I'm going shopping. You have some school work to do, so I expect you to be working on it when I come back, okay?" Her mother comes and briskly kisses her head, running a hand through Leslie's long, straight black hair and murmuring, "My sweet girl...I love you, so much."
Straightening and raising her voice back to normal she says, "Dad's at work and won't be home until sometime after dinner. You be good and I’ll see you in a bit!"
With a half-smile and off-handed wave, Leslie says, "I love you too, Mom. Have a safe trip."
A quick wiggle of her fingers in her daughter’s direction, and her mom is out the door. Leslie feels the beginnings of a thrilling and possibly terrible idea.
Rolling out of the bean bag chair, she walks to the window again. A boy of about eight years old with shining copper hair rides by on a rusty blue bicycle. He seems to feel her gaze, looking up and blowing her a kiss as he passes.
Leslie can't help but chuckle. What a funny little boy. And what a vibrant, vivacious world she is missing. Clenching her jaw, Leslie resolves that she'll miss it no longer.
The problem is, all her clothes are white and formless. Every glance she'd ever stolen through this window had shown her people in a variety of hues, but never solid white. Her mother and father wear other colors, but for some unknown reason, Leslie is confined to white alone.
With the floor giving way beneath her feet, she slinks to her mother's room – a place that is off-limits unless her mother is in it. She tries the doorknob, fearing it will be locked, but it turns, and the door swings open with a whisper as it drags across the padded floor.
Leslie holds her breath a moment, fearing her mother will catch her despite having seen her leaving the house only a few minutes before.
When all remains still and silent, Leslie paces to her mother's closet and pulls the door open. In it is a blinding variety of clothing in every color and shape.
She begins to rifle through her mother's clothing when a splash of red captures her attention. Heading straight for that sumptuous color, she reaches out and touches the garment reverently. Unlike her cotton clothing, this is sleek and silky. She places a corner of the fabric against her face, relishing how it slides over her skin.
Pulling the garment from the closet on its white plastic hanger, Leslie realizes it’s a dress. It has cap sleeves and a scarlet triangle of lace at the top of the bodice, giving the tiniest peek in through the otherwise straight neckline.
She knows this is the one. Slipping out of her institutional white cotton and into the red silk and lace, she feels as though she is coming alive. That is, until she looks down and notices the black hair all over her now bare legs.
She knows from television that women tend to shave their legs and underarms, so they are smooth—a ritual often performed in the shower. Though she doubts her mother would leave anything with blades just laying about, she goes to the bathroom attached to her mother's bedroom and slides open the shower door. To her amazement, there indeed, is a razor.
Picking it up and inspecting it, Leslie thinks about how she's seen it done on television. There is always some sort of lather on the woman's legs or underarms, so she removes the dress, steps into the shower, pulls the curtain shut, turns on the water and splashes a bit under her left arm. Then, she takes the bar of soap and lathers up.
Holding the razor as she has seen it done in commercials, she slides it down her underarm and is pleased to see a strip of hairless skin left behind. Finishing her left underarm, she switches and does her right one as well.
Swelling with pride at her cleverness, she says, "Okay. On to the legs, then!
She is very careful with her right leg—painstakingly going over every square inch of it slowly and gently with the razor. Noting how smooth her skin now is, she begins on her left leg.
Confidence blooming in her chest, she drags the razor over her skin with increased fervor. All is going well until she attempts to shave around her ankle and nicks her skin with the blade. Her curiosity piques as she sees a bead of crimson bloom on her skin. She knows it’s blood but is shocked as she's never bled before. She marvels at the color and how similar it is to the dress she's chosen. The scarlet bead rolls down her heel and lands in the bottom of the tub.
As soon as it lands, a curious thing happens. It seems as if the blood is reaching for her with small, nubby fingers at first. But then, those fingers shoot up, stretching into buds and then, fully blooming roses. Rich green stems grow inexplicably from the tub where her blood fell and those deep red blooms nod lazily from the momentum of their growth.
Quickly she finishes shaving and then, fascinated that real, live roses are growing out of a metal bath, she reaches out to pluck one. A thorn bites into her finger and she pulls away to find another ruby drop adorning her finger tip. Turning her hand to let it fall, she thinks of how much hummingbirds might like the rose blossoms.
In midair, her drop of blood grows, forming into the shape of a hummingbird, and takes wing. Its feathers turn a shimmering green, but its throat remains blood-red. Zipping to one of the roses, it takes a deep drink of nectar. She watches it flit from flower to flower, but then, seemingly full, it makes to fly off. Finding itself trapped, however, the poor creature begins to panic.
It flies in a frenzy about the room before crashing into the small window at the top of the shower. Leslie gasps as it crumples and falls at her feet.
**************************************************************
As that first drop of blood blooms into velvet-petaled roses, a predator awakes in a land far away—though not too far away. The scent of it, the pull of all that beautiful, life-giving power...it reaches him across the space between their worlds. He shudders and blinks to focus his now glazed-over eyes.
"Finally!" He flexes his hand, raking hooked claws over his palm. Those claws are ready to meet delicate flesh and bring a flood of red into the world.
He's been waiting just over 18 years. He had felt that power come roaring into the world almost two decades ago. And he’d come so close to tasting it. But Talon Firranor—damn him to the seven hells—had been there to stop him. He’d materialized from the shadows and stabbed Ciraz through the hand as he'd reached for the infant.
Turning his hand to gaze at the scar on both his palm, and its mate on the back of his hand, he rubs it with his thumb, remembering the pain.
As he'd pulled the blade out, Talon had spirited the baby away to gods-know-where and Ciraz Ilasbar had been waiting ever since.
But he had seen the babe. He knows she is a dark-haired female and that she will have grown to be lovely.
He doesn't care. He only wants what runs through her veins. Her beauty—a tool for vanity—is something to be used against her. But, with the power to create life, her blood is invaluable as he could use it to achieve immorality. That is what her blood would do in the right hands. And most likely, she has no idea.
He'd change that soon enough. And this time, he would not let Talon get in his way.
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Reaching down, Leslie scoops the hummingbird's small, lifeless body gently into her palm. It is limp with its unfocused eyes half lidded, and no rise and fall to its chest. Dead, then.
A tear trickles down Leslie's cheek as she steps from the shower and places the small bird on a fluffy washcloth.
Drying and dressing quickly, then finding a pair of her mother's flat white sandals, she slips them on. Leslie picks up the bird, washcloth and all, and goes to the back door of her house. For the first time in her life, Leslie wraps her hand around the doorknob and twists.
Pulling the door open, she hesitates for only a second before stepping out into the bright sunshine of her square, fenced in backyard.
The smell hits her first. The air smells so much different out here. Fresh, and almost alive. The suburb she lives in is quiet and peaceful. She can hear children playing somewhere in the distance, the intermittent rumble or hum of a vehicle, and a low chatter punctuated with bursts of occasional laughter as if there is a group of people nearby.
She glances toward the sky, blinded initially by the sun, but averting her eyes instead to the fluffy white clouds that roll across the azure sky like fat sheep in a field of blue grass. A small laugh hiccups its way out of her before she remembers the poor hummingbird in her hand.
Holding him flat in her palm, Leslie uses her thumb to squeeze the puncture from the rose's thorn on her pointer finger. The wound has sealed over, but after several attempts, she is rewarded with a glistening scarlet orb.
Unsure what to do, Leslie decides that most likely, the hummingbird would need to ingest her blood for this to work. If it works.
Angling his head against her fingers, she gently pries open his needle-like beak and squeezes her finger over it. She watches as the drop of blood falls into his mouth and spreads, crawling its way toward his throat.
Her heart begins to race, and she leans over him, waiting for something—anything—to happen. But there is nothing. No flutter, flicker, flap, or other sign of life. She gently rubs his small chest and waits a moment more.
Disheartened, Leslie walks to a tree growing out of the far right-hand corner of her yard. A morning glory vine grows up its side, its blue flowers turning their throats toward the sun, and she feels it is the best place to lay the hummingbird to rest.
Placing him gently on the ground, she goes in search of a digging tool. She refuses to leave his little body out for scavengers to prey upon.
Locating a trowel near a small flower bed that appears to be lovingly tended (her mother has a fabulous green thumb as evidenced by the flora gracing the inside of their house) Leslie turns and walks back to the tree. She is alarmed to find that something has already stolen the bird's small body.
Lifting the washcloth to ensure it hadn't somehow fallen and gotten swept beneath it, Leslie is met with only grass for her efforts. Puzzled, she glances about for the offending scavenger. A crow, perhaps? Or maybe some sort of small, furry creature?
She sees nothing. Nothing until the hummingbird zips to the morning glory flowers in front of her and takes a sip from one of their delicate throats.
Leslie can hardly breathe. Holding out a finger, she waits and hopes. Seeming to know it is her blood that created him, as well as saved him, he alights and perches daintily on her finger, meeting her eyes with his own quick, bright ones for a moment as if thanking her, before taking off and zipping into the sky.
"I saved him?" Her voice comes out as a whisper, a chill skittering down her spine. Then a surge of pride. "I brought him back to life!" Glee bubbles up her throat in a nervous cackle.
With shaking hands, Leslie places the trowel on the ground, goes back in through the house to the front door, where she exits and begins her very first explore around the neighborhood.
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Talon Firranor pulls back his bowstring in near silence. He pauses a moment to steady his breathing, ensuring his aim at the hart grazing in the forest glade will be unwavering. He draws in a deep breath, releases it halfway and then holds it as he releases the bow string with a twang. The arrow flies true, sinking in just behind the stag's foreleg—right into the most humane kill zone. The stag stumbles a few steps, drops to his knees, and falls over, kicking earth and detritus up in a single spray as he goes down.
Talon goes to the hart, looking him in the eye and speaking in soothing tones as life fades from its eyes. He reaches out, running a hand down its face, eternally surprised at the roughness of deer hair.
It takes but a moment for the stag to pass. However, to Talon, it always seems an eternity. Even those few seconds of pain are troublesome, though he does his best to ensure as little pain as possible. He'd rather go hungry than take a shot that will leave an animal to a slow death alone in the forest or being ripped apart by predators in its weakened state.
No. Only a clean shot would do for him.
Talon begins the process of gutting and cleaning the deer so he can haul it back to his cabin. Once done, he goes to wipe his hands on a rag he's brought with him, but his breath catches as a wave of errant energy rips through him.
It’s as though the world has disappeared from under his feet and every nerve is raw and standing on end; his inner core stripped bare and laid open to the world. His wards—wards that he wove almost twenty years ago—have been tripped, which can only mean one thing based on the reaction it caused in him.
He looks at the blood on his hands and says, "It can't be!" Panic grips him as he realizes what has occurred. That somehow, her blood has been shed and his wards have been tripped as a result. He knows he must hurry.
Grasping the stag's antlers, Talon translocates the deer's corpse to his cabin, appearing there in the blink of an eye. He hates to do it, but time is of the essence and the stag's flesh must not be wasted, so Talon uses magic to process the deer. He enchants his knife to do all the dirty work as he packs a small bag of essentials, not missing the feeling of more sticky blood on his hands.
Blood. So many problems brought about by blood, and blood the result of so many problems. Quickly, quickly...get to her before it's too late.
Tossing the meat into containers and adding it to his ice box, he takes the scraps out and buries them in the forest near his home using magic. Then, collecting his bag, he calls to his magic and winks out of existence at his cabin, hurtling toward the one his heart belongs to.
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Leslie knows she lives at 263 Shelly Lane, but she has no idea how the streets are laid out, nor how to get back home if she wanders too far. She tries to stay on as straight a path as possible to ensure she can get home when she wants to, remembering the few turns she happens to take along the way.
Several cars have driven past, some of them honking and waving at her—mostly men. She gives a slight wave back, unsure of what to do. Fortunately, no one seems to feel like bothering her and she continues down the street unmolested, following her nose toward the enticing aroma of coffee and pastries.
Approximately ten minutes from her home, Leslie stumbles upon a coffee shop. It smells amazing, but sadly, she has no money to buy anything as she knows is customary. From behind her she hears a deep, rich voice say, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
Turning, she sees a tall, lean, elegant-looking man. His hair is the color of dark chocolate and his eyes are an icy blue. He's beautiful. And she's staring. She knows she should stop, but she feels paralyzed by this man.
Grinning, he reveals perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth behind his lusciously full lips. His sharp, high cheekbones become even more pronounced with his wicked smile.
Extending a hand to her, he says, "Hi. I'm Cyrus. And you are?"
Shaking, she places her hand in his and feels an electric tingle run up her arm. She's not sure if it means something very good, or very bad, but she smiles at him anyway. "I'm Leslie. And I'd love a cup of coffee, thank you."
He smiles again, offering her his arm, leading her to the counter to place her order.
"Feel free to order a pastry, too.” His eyes run the length of her. “Not that you need anything to make you any sweeter."
Leslie's face heats under his attention and she squeaks, "Just coffee is fine, thanks."
Chuckling, he pays for her order and suggests that they walk and talk as they drink the coffee. "There's a beautiful little park we could sit at—like having a picnic."
She has never been on a picnic before and thinks it sounds enchanting.
"Sure. Why not? I'm on an adventure today."
Again, his chest rumbles with a low laugh and he leads her away, arm in arm, saying, "I hope I don't disappoint, then. I'm dying to get to know you better."
Allowing him to lead her, Leslie stares mostly at her coffee cup. She answers Cyrus's questions, and even has a few for him, but his height and sleek good looks intimidate her. She isn't quite sure why he is so interested in her. She looks good, but he is like something from out of this world.
It must be her lucky day.
They turn a corner and she can see the park in front of them. Leslie stops, absorbing the beautiful vista before her. Weeping willows sway gently in the breeze as leaves on proud oaks and maples rustle and dance. A pond is the centerpiece, a few ducks and geese floating serenely on the glassy surface. Benches surround the pond and a few people are throwing corn to the fowl, though they ignore them.
Cyrus quirks an eyebrow up at her and says, "Shall we?"
She nods assent, and just as they begin walking again, an approaching car begins to slow down. It comes to a stop next to them and Leslie's mother comes out of the car, her face contorted in a venomous mix of anger and fear, though it’s predominantly fear. Her voice, edged with terror, nevertheless comes out soft and seemingly pleasant.
"There you are, sweetie. Time to go home now, ok?"
Growing up the way she has, Leslie is generally very sensitive to her mother's emotions. She can tell her mother is terrified despite her admirable effort at hiding it, which is the only thing that makes her decide to go with her.
Turning to Cyrus, she notes the hard look he is giving her mother, though his face quickly softens as he notices her attention.
"It was nice to meet you, Cyrus. Thanks again for the coffee. I’ve got to go now, though."
Ignoring her mother, he places a hand against her cheek and says, "When will I see you again?"
Her breath hitches and her entire body heats to near volcanic level, but she tries to play it cool.
"I don't know. I'd like to see you again, but I doubt I'll be able to. Thank you for the coffee and showing me around."
Lifting her hand to his mouth, he gently kisses her knuckles. "We'll meet again soon. Trust me."
Her heart flutters at the soft touch of his lips, but she only graces him with a sad smile. She knows this is her one and only taste of freedom.
Leslie goes to her mother, who wraps an arm around her, steering her into the car like a small child.
Her mom drives in tense silence and guilt fills her at the sight of her mother so on edge.
"Mom, I'm –”
Her mother holds up a hand, silencing her. "Not yet. We can't talk yet."
As soon as they arrive home and her mother parks the car in the garage, she is herded inside, and the door locked behind them.
She turns to face her mom, the guilt smothering her now. "I'm sorry, mom...I don't know what came over me. "
As she speaks, her mother begins looking her over. When her gaze falls on the small, scabbed over spot on her ankle, all color drains from her face and her hands fly up to her mouth. Her voice comes out barely above a whisper.
"Oh my God, no... you cut yourself! You—you’ve bled!" Panic rises in Leslie until she is choking on it as her mother says, "He'll be coming for you..."
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Leaving the coffee shop and cursing his bad luck, Ciraz sips the sickeningly sweet liquid before tossing it into a trash can. Why do humans like that stuff so much, anyway?
He turns his dilemma over in his head, grateful for the fact that Talon hasn't shown up yet. He'd been hoping to convince the girl to come away with him. If he got her alone, he could translocate her back to his lair with no one the wiser, and no trace left behind.
Well, Talon would know. But the humans would never be able to track her. They are unable to translocate between worlds the way he and Talon can. Only Talon, or another Remnant—members of a long-lived ancient race—could detect the trail left behind.
Ciraz knows he needs to move quickly, both to get the girl, and to relieve her of that magical elixir coursing through her veins. He may be long-lived, sure, but he craves immortality.
He'll make his move tonight.
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As Talon appears in the human world, he takes in the sights and smells, a raucous cacophony to his senses, before he adjusts and gets his bearings. Stepping out from behind a large green metal box, he realizes that is where the putrid smell is coming from. A quick glance tells him it is trash and he is likely outside of a restaurant. So much food wasted and left to rot in the heat of the sun.
Adjusting his white tunic and smoothing his brown slacks, his small bag of essentials slung over his shoulder, he heads for the sidewalk he knows is in front of the building, following it like a treasure map all the way to Leslie's house. He'd never forget where that house was. Not in a million years. And if they moved, he'd know. His heart would always lead him to them.
Even if he wasn't in theirs.
Staring at the pretty little ranch-style house with its pale blue siding and bright white door and trim, Talon is overcome by conflicting desires. The small, cowardly part of him wants to turn and run. He doesn't feel strong enough to face this right now.
But the bulk of him—the strong, just part—that part knows what must be done. Set on doing the right thing, he stalks to the front door and rings the bell.
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Leslie's mother emits a small squeak at the sound of the doorbell. Swallowing her fear, she walks softly and slowly to the door, putting her eye to the peephole. Wild, jet black hair, rich brown eyes and a strong, yet sleek face stares back at her. A five o'clock shadow runs over his jaw, giving him a rough, sensual appearance. And those lips...soft and full, with slightly elongated canines hiding behind them.
A tremor runs through her and butterflies take flight in her core. Not him. How can she face him?
Attempting to move away silently, she hears a scoffing sound from outside the door followed by, "Open the door, Leeann."
Cursing under her breath, she does.
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Observing her mother's strange behavior, Leslie is terrified, wondering who is out there. She is surprised to hear a man say her mother's name. A man who is not her father.
They never have visitors.
The biggest shock of all is that her mother opens the door and the man who walks in could be a model. He is lean muscle with chiseled good looks. And yet, there is something familiar about him, though Leslie can't put her finger on it.
She hears her mother say, "You shouldn't be here." To which the man replies, "It's good to see you, too." The flush that consumes her mother's neck and face could rival the brightest sunset. And yet, her mother's face is steely. Almost angry.
The man observes her for a moment and lifts his hand slowly, moving it toward her mother's face, and Leslie holds her breath, trying her best to be invisible where she sits on the couch.
Her mother barks out, "Don't!" in a tone that Leslie has never heard her use before. The man drops his hand. He sighs.
"You know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. Where is Leslie?"
Finally, her mother turns toward her, unshed tears shivering along her lower lid. The shift in her gaze draws the man's attention to Leslie as well. His face softens and his eyes look slightly moist as well. Strange.
He steps slowly and cautiously toward her, as if she might bolt like a frightened animal. He stops in front of her, dropping to one knee, and she can see that his eyes are indeed dewy. He reaches a hand toward her as he had her mother, and she does nothing to stop him. She is too confused and curious to know what to do.
He gently touches her cheek and again she looks at his face, trying to determine what makes him so familiar. His voice comes out, choked with emotion.
"Hello, Leslie. My name is Talon, and I'm your—”
"Talon! Don't!" Her mother's shriek fills her stomach with dread.
"—father." He looks at her with hope in his eyes as Leslie feels the world freeze, everything she knows crashing down around her. She glances at one of the photos of herself on the coffee table. She notes the whisky-brown eyes, raven-black hair, a strong but small nose with a slight downward curve at the end. She brings her gaze back to this man's face...this—Talon, and realizes he is telling the truth. She looks more like this man than the one she's called father her entire life.
She feels the world start moving again, but confusion and hurt cause tears to spring into her eyes, rolling hot and fat down her cheeks as quickly as they appear.
Looking stricken, Talon reaches for her again and says, "No, no... it’s—”
He flies backward, landing on his bottom as her mother grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him away from Leslie. Glaring at him with a ferocity she didn't know her mother possessed, she points toward the door and growls, "Get out. Now."
Talon looks to Leslie one more time and then at the small, fiery, brown haired, hazel-eyed woman in front of him. For a second, he looks as if he will say something further but ultimately decides against it.
He picks up a small bag that had fallen from his shoulder and leaves through the front door, his head hanging low.
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Stupid. Stupid, ignorant bastard. Of course, she wouldn't be happy to see me. Of course, Leslie would be hurt by that revelation. All I want to do is protect my daughter and the woman I've never been able to forget. But how can I do it if they won't let me near them?
Stinging from the rejection, Talon leaves the house, walking down the sidewalk with his hands in the pockets of his pants, staring at his feet as he walks. He is unsure how to handle the situation but knows there must be a way. He is afraid that if he lingers outside the house, Leeann might come out and either strangle him or shoot him. And he'd probably let her.
Ciraz hasn't shown up yet though, so he feels safe enough walking off his anguish as he tries to come up with a plan. Besides, so long as Leslie stays in the house, she will be protected by the many wards he'd placed there as soon as he knew Leeann was expecting.
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"Mom...how? You've been lying to me all these years? Does Dad know? How could you—? What else—? ARGH!"
Sinking onto the couch next to her daughter, Leeann Andreas heaves an enormous sigh and places an arm around Leslie's shoulders, half expecting her to pull away. To her relief, she leans into her mother instead, silent tears lifting her shoulders up and down as she works to control herself.
"I'm sure you must feel like I lied to you, Leslie. And I guess to a degree I did, simply by withholding information from you. But your Dad is your father in my eyes. He's been here for you since the day you were born and has always loved you as his own. He knows you're not his though, and he knows the circumstances surrounding your conception. And yet, he wanted to keep you and love you, and I'm so glad we did."
Leslie raises her eyes to her mother's, tears brimming over and making Leeann's heart twist in a sickening manner. It hurts her deeply to see her baby girl in any sort of pain.
"You are our world, sweetie. And we'd be lost without you. But we do have much to talk about."
Leslie snorts. "I'll say."
Leeann snickers mirthlessly before continuing. "Talon is.... something else. Something magical. Not in the sappy, stars-in-my-eyes way...but in truth. Magic runs through his veins as blood runs through mine. And as a result, you have both coursing through yours."
With a small sniffle, Leslie says, "Is that why my blood can create life and bring things back from the dead?"
Shocked, her mother pulls back for a second. At her look, she explains everything that happened that morning, including the hummingbird she'd resurrected. When she finishes, her mother nods.
"Yes. Exactly those things. And more. When you were born, they did some standard blood tests at the hospital and though it hadn't developed into the life-giving force it is now, your blood still acted as a very strong beacon for one particularly foul magical creature. Fortunately, Talon was there the day you were born, and he felt that thing come for you. He saved you, and until today, I hadn't seen him since.”
“Your blood is the reason everything is padded, and that we avoid sharp objects. It's the reason you always wear white—so we could see if you ever did accidentally cut yourself." She lets her head fall back and closes her eyes as she faces the ceiling. “And it’s why Talon created spells preventing you from menstruating…we had no idea what that might cause.” She sighs. "All those precautions and look what happened anyway."
Reeling, Leslie shakes her head as if trying to clear it. "But...how did Talon end up getting you—you know?"
All openness in her mother's expression disappears., "I think it's time for you to go to bed. Maybe we will talk about that another day, but it's been a tough one today and I know I'm tired. You must be, too, so let's get some rest and see where we stand in the morning, ok?"
Grabbing some bread and cold leftover chicken breast from the fridge for a sandwich, she trudges to her room and changes into her pajamas. Leslie crawls into bed and switches on her television as she begins eating her makeshift dinner.
It is just beginning to get dark outside and she knows her father will be home soon. Normally she would run out to see him, but tonight...tonight she isn't too sure. She is still trying to process everything.
A good TV show will clear my mind. Settling on a forensics special, she snuggles a pillow and tries her best to zone out.
A short while later, she hears her father come home and the muffled sounds of her mother and father talking. But no one comes to her room, and she doesn't bother to go out.
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Darkness has settled over the town and stars twinkle merrily in the sky. Ciraz wants to knock on Leslie's window, but Talon apparently anticipated this eventuality and has set up wards. Ciraz's hair stands up with the energy they both put off and absorb from the surrounding area. If he were to touch it, it would consume him completely.
He almost feels honored that such powerful measures were taken against him. Too bad it won’t do any good.
Thinking fast, he grabs a few pebbles from the edge of the street and pelts them, one at a time, into Leslie's window. They are not big enough to break it yet can broach the wards with no ill effect.
Within a moment, her lovely young face is visible in the window. It takes her a moment to see him in the gloom, but when she does, she looks startled and confused. He does note however that her delectable blood makes her glow with an all-over rosy hue. She might not want to admit it, but she is pleased to see him.
She throws her hands up in a questioning gesture, and he motions for her to open the window. She seems confused by this and struggles for a moment, the window apparently stuck, before she finally succeeds.
"Cyrus? What are you doing here? And how did you know where I live?"
Shrugging casually, he says, "I may have stayed close enough to your car in my own to find out where the beautiful Leslie lives."
Again, the flush surges in her cheeks and down her neck. "You shouldn't be here. My parents would be really angry if they knew you were."
Grinning in a most dazzling feline way, he says, "Can you blame me for wanting to see you again? We were just starting to get to know each other. Forgive me if I wanted to know more."
"So, what? You want to interview me through my window?"
Shaking his head, he says, "No, darling Leslie. I want you to come out and play."
Even from this distance he can see the shiver that runs through her. Feels her pulse speed at his words. And he can see her contemplating.
"I really can't. I don't want to be in any more trouble than I already am."
"Leslie, you said yourself that today is a day for adventures. The day is not over yet, nor is our adventure together. Come. Walk and talk with me. Just for a little while. I will make sure you are home safe before anyone knows you've stepped out."
She is silent for a moment and frustration begins to roil in his gut until she says, "Give me a minute. I'll be right out."
Inwardly he does a celebratory dance, while outwardly he remains calm, composed, and unconcerned. He watches as she grabs a sweatshirt and climbs out the window, racing across the lawn toward him without so much as a backward glance.
As she reaches him, he extends a hand to her and laces his fingers through hers. He leads her down to the corner and as they turn, he uses his magic to whisk her away to his lair. She doesn't have time to make a sound before they are materializing in his home.
To her credit, Leslie looks at his house—a mansion, really—taking in the rich leather furniture, the gauzy curtains on the massive (steel bar reinforced) windows, and his tasteful decorations, though panic furrows her brow. She blinks once. Twice. Then, "Where the hell am I? What did you do?"
A low laugh trickles from his throat causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. He prowls up to her, pressing her against the wall with his body and raises a finger to her throat. With an audible snick, one curved claw is unsheathed, and he presses it to the delicate flesh there.
"Why, my dear, Leslie, I've only taken what I wanted. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers, much less leave—alone—with them?" She swallows around a hard lump in her throat in response, her pulse and breath fluttering.
He purrs, "Well, no matter. You're in good hands, now."
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Arriving back at the Andreas house, Talon has resolved to simply perch outside. If Leeann wants to attack him, then she can damn well go ahead. He's not going to let Ciraz get within an inch of this house.
Settling on the large oak tree in the front yard as his guard post, Talon tosses his bag up into the crook of the tree, places his foot against the trunk and grasps a branch to pull himself up when a feeling of wrongness hits him. Dread unfurls, cold and heavy inside him. He runs to Leslie's window to find it open and her room empty.
Cursing, he knows Ciraz has beaten him here and found a way around the wards. He can feel him. Why didn't I notice immediately? But he knows the answer. He was too wrapped up in his own troubles.
Following Ciraz's sickeningly sweet fetor, he locates the point at which they translocated back to the Remnant's world. Grasping his own magic, he follows their exact trail, knowing where it will lead.
He arrives inside Ciraz's massive house. His lair, as he likes to call it. Lofty prick.
He hears a small squeak that he is sure is his daughter and takes off at a run, ready to beat Ciraz's face to a bloody pulp.
Unfortunately, Ciraz had set a trap for him and he'd just fallen for it. Just as he sees Ciraz pressing Leslie to the wall, he hits a ball of energy so hard, he falls backward, unconscious.
When he awakens, he is suspended in the air by invisible tethers, trapped like a spider's meal. Sensing his movement, Ciraz spins to regard him. His arm is slung loosely over Leslie's shoulders as if he owns her, and her eyes are wide with fear, lips pressed tightly together as her chin quivers.
"Get away from her, Ciraz!" he barks, but Ciraz waggles a finger at him. "Oh no. I forgot to block that annoying voice of yours." As he goes to speak again, Talon finds he has no voice, and Ciraz laughs riotously.
"I've always wanted to do that, you know. Well, Daddy, I've got your little girl and there's nothing you can do about it except watch as I bleed her dry."
He reaches for Leslie and she tries to push his hand away, but she is no match for his strength. He wraps an arm around her back, pulling her to him as though they were indeed lovers. He unsheathes a claw and uses it to brush her glossy hair away from her neck, then nicks her skin slightly, a thin trickle of blood escaping.
Before the blood can create its own magic, Ciraz lowers his head and licks the blood from her neck, sucking at the wound before releasing her. Terrified, her legs give way and she falls to the floor.
Feeling the power of her blood, Ciraz allows himself a moment to revel in it. Talon is restrained, though he feels how he fights it. And Leslie? She's not going anywhere. She's a weak mortal despite the glorious, heady elixir in her veins.
Coming back into himself, Ciraz says, "You know, suddenly I'm feeling parched." He grabs Leslie's arm and wrenches her to her feet. She yelps in pain, following him to avoid more discomfort.
Talon thrashes against his bonds, desperately trying to escape. As they pass beneath him, Leslie looks up and Talon looses a dagger from its sheath on his belt. It falls silently and she catches it behind her back, Ciraz so bent on immortality that he does not notice.
Drawing it backward, she drives it into Ciraz's lower arm, causing him to release her as he screams. As he pulls away, she maintains her grip on the dagger, ripping it from his flesh.
Rage ripples across his face and contorts it into a mask of ugliness so foul, she would have believed a dragon lived beneath his skin. The thought sticks with her: a dragon. Maybe. Just maybe.
She raises the knife again, ready to attack and baring her teeth, but Ciraz uses his magic to trap her as he had Talon with very little effort. She finds she still has some slight movement, though not much. Clearly, he doesn't deem her enough of a threat to immobilize completely.
Stalking toward her, unsheathing his claw again he says, "I will drink my fill straight from your lovely throat, then."
As he approaches, she uses the small range of motion left to her to turn the blade and drive it into the artery in her neck. As she pulls it out, she feels the hot spray from the wound, but maintains the image of the dragon in her mind.
She feels her body growing weaker and colder by the second as all that blood leaves her, pulsing with each heartbeat. But despite that, she is exhilarated by the sight of her blood forming into the long, lithe form of a vermillion dragon. Its golden eye flicks to and fro in its head as it finishes forming and with the last bit of her strength, she wills it to attack Ciraz.
She hears flames crackle from its maw and his blood-curdling shrieks as she drifts into welcoming blackness.
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Sometime later, Leslie's eyes open and she is sure she is dead. It is warm and cozy, and a fire crackles in a fireplace with a pot of something that smells delicious cooking over it. She tries to sit up but finds herself rather lightheaded.
She hears a voice that sounds strained and distant say, "No! Don't try to get up! Not yet."
As cool, gentle hands touch her brow, she recognizes a somewhat fuzzy image of Talon.
Can it be? "Am I... dead?"
He laughs, thin and humorlessly as he says, "No. You're not dead, though you should be. Your own blood saved your life."
She finds herself giggling like a drunkard then. "How?"
He sighs. "The dragon you made. It was made of your blood and so contained your blood. For some reason it listened to me when I begged it for help. It incinerated Ciraz, so we don't have to worry about him anymore."
A touch of sadness takes her then. "So then, is the dragon—?"
"Gone? No. He's outside. Too big for my cabin. The amount of blood I needed was inconsequential to him."
She laughs again as he continues. "We cut a small spot under its wing and I collected the blood. You see, the scales are smaller and thinner around the wing to allow it greater mobility, and therefore the easiest place to make a small incision. Once I had the blood, I simply poured it slowly into your mouth to make you drink it and used my magic to heal the damage to your skin, muscle, and veins. You've still got some recuperating to do, but you'll be well soon enough."
He goes to the pot over the fire, retrieving some of the stew in a bowl. Placing a spoon in it, he walks to her, helps her sit up, and urges her to eat. "It'll help rebuild your strength."
She takes a bite, studying him before saying, "Thank you."
Once the last bit of stew has been scraped from her bowl, Talon tells her it's time to rest again. She lays back, sighs, and says, "Then I think I'd like a story."
He regards her with a puzzled expression. "Story?"
Leslie nods. "I want to know how I was conceived."
Averting his gaze and pressing his lips together, he wrings his hands and thinks. Leslie watches him and waits.
"I guess you should know. It's not the most honorable way for such a beautiful thing to happen, but...even with as ashamed as I am, I can never regret that it happened. For the fact that I had that time with your mother, and that you were the result of our union."
He pauses, considering, and Leslie stays silent, waiting for him to continue.
"Our people, the Remnants...some call us Fae...we have—gatherings—where we lure mortals in for our pleasure. Some turn them into jesters, others use them for breeding, some are cruel, and others simply want the companionship of something...other." He heaves a sigh.
"The music was playing, the wine was flowing, and your mother walked into the clearing where we were celebrating. There was something about her—an energy—that I could not resist in addition to her beauty. I claimed her immediately to prevent one of the nastier Remnants from getting their claws in her."
He turns to Leslie, raising his hands in supplication. "Please understand, I had no intention of using her for breeding. That just isn't my way. I wanted to dance with her, hold her, speak with her...maybe even taste her. But I didn't intend to do…that."
Conflicting emotions tear through Leslie as she stares at him, unsure if she should hate or pity him. "Then why did you?"
Talon runs his fingers through his hair. "Once a party is over, we are supposed to send the mortals on their way back home. If they are still alive. The effects of our magic, music, food, and wine can often be too much for many mortals. But Leeann was strong and so vivacious, so I stole her away to my home. And while she was there, I felt myself falling in love with her. Under the influence of our magic, she had no choice but to feel the same, and eventually, I was too weak, and you were conceived."
Holding his head in his hands, rubbing them roughly forward and back over his face and scalp he continues, "I finally sent her home after noticing that she seemed unwell, unaware that she was with child. And I did not know that she was wed to someone else. She just showed up and I avoided asking that question because the truth is, I didn't want to know."
"She called to me later in the clearing where we’d met, and of course, I went to her. That’s when she told me she was pregnant. One quick probe of my magic told me it was true, and that you were mine. But she told me she wanted nothing to do with me and that her husband—a real man, as she put it—was going to care for and love you. So, I stayed away and loved you, and her, from afar. I know it doesn't excuse my previous actions—and you should know I have never participated in another of those parties since—but I placed wards around the house to protect all of you and kept tabs on Ciraz to keep him from you. He's always wanted immortality and knew he could get it by consuming enough of your blood."
He waits, expecting her to say something, but when her tongue will not oblige, he says, "Hate me if you will. I am deeply sorry, and yet...not. How can I be when it gave me the chance to know her, and ultimately, you?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Leslie slowly says, "I don't know how I feel about you. On one hand, I could almost say I hate you. And on the other, I am almost grateful for you. I'm just glad you've never done that to anyone else."
He raises his gaze hopefully to hers. "Do you think—? Do you think maybe we could have some sort of relationship, you and I?"
She regards him coolly. "Perhaps. Let's start with you teaching me about magic and see how things progress from there." Hope flares in his eyes and she says, "But, I will need to go home, too. I can't stay here. I will have to meet with you periodically." His face falls slightly, but he nods.
"How does every other Moon Day sound?"
She scrunches her face at him. "Do you mean Monday?"
He snorts. "You mortals shorten everything," and they share their first laugh together.
****************************************************************
A few days later, once she has recuperated fully, she officially meets the dragon she's created. Chuffing slightly, he noses her like a great horse, flaring his wings in pleasure at seeing her. She strokes his nose and rests her cheek against the rough scales on his snout. "Thank you for saving me."
Inside her head she hears the deepest male voice she's ever encountered. Thank you for creating me.
She recoils from him in shock to which she hears a rumbling chuckle in that same deep voice ripple through her mind.
What? You thought I couldn't speak to you?
Placing a hand on his snout she says, "Well...no. I didn't. But I'm glad you can." She feels his deep pleasure at her words as an almost cat-like purr that vibrates through him. "Do you have a name, then?"
You created me, so that is for you to give.
"Then I will call you Vermillion, for that is what you are. A mighty color for a mighty dragon who will change the world."
He flares his wings, raises his head to the sky, and roars. It sends a shockwave through her, but she covers her ears and laughs, which pleases him. His spiked tail twitches like that of a playful cat.
Fly with me, creator.
She runs a hand down the plated scales on his breast. Smooth and hard, they would be great armor. "Maybe another day. I have always wanted to fly with a dragon. But for now, I must go home. My parents will be missing me."
From behind her, Talon says, "They know you’re safe. And that you will be coming to me for training. I made sure of it."
She turns to him. "Thank you, Talon. I'd like to go home now, please."
Acquiescing, he places an arm around her shoulders and translocates them directly in front of Leslie's house, not caring who might see. Leeann opens the door and runs out, wrapping her arms around her daughter, great sobs wracking her.
Talon's heart sinks as David, the man who Leslie calls father, comes out of the house, his blonde hair shining in the sunlight. He raises a hand in a faint wave to Talon before wrapping his arms around both of his girls.
Talon turns to leave when Leeann comes to him. "Wait! Thank you for making sure she stayed alive."
A bitter smirk creeps onto his face. "It was her own blood that saved her."
She places a hand on his shoulder and says, "But it was you who knew what to do. So, thank you." She hesitates. “When you reached out to me, I was afraid she would die. I was afraid you’d keep her from coming home. I was afraid of so many things. But to hear that she would be well again, and that you’d be taking her under your wing while still allowing her to be with us… well—it made me feel… relieved. And grateful.” She begins to turn away but shifts her gaze to him. "I'm glad you will be training her to use her magic. It will keep her safer in the long run. And thank you for keeping us updated throughout her recovery."
With that she walks away, and Talon feels as if his heart is ripping from his chest. He translocates back home, eagerly waiting for the upcoming Moon Day when his daughter would come to be with him. It is a bright spot for him to look forward to, which he does with great anticipation.
****************************************************************
At the scheduled time, Leslie steps outside of her house and waits for Talon. He appears without a sound in front her and extends a hand to her. She takes it, ready to learn, and see Vermillion.
As if reading her mind, he says, "Your dragon waits for you, Leslie."
She laughs. "I can't wait to see him, either. And I have a request for you."
He gazes at her in wonder and says, "If it is within my power, I will give it to you."
She flashes a brilliant grin his way and says, "I want you to teach me how to poof back and forth between places the way you do."
He barks a laugh and says, "It's called Translocation. And sure. We can start there."
Hand in hand, they wink out of sight.
Iron and Salt
**Trigger Warning: This story deals with suicide. If this makes you uncomfortable for any reason, please do not read it. Thank you.
The sign read, "Volunteers Needed! Do you want to make a difference for the entire Fae race? Notify your commander and be part of this amazing opportunity today!"
Espero read the sign and snorted. Aware that things like this cropped up when some poor grunt was needed to do dirty work no one else wanted to, he typically did not give them a second thought. His mind raced as he read the notice a second time.
They're awful scarce with the details, he thought, but my gut is telling me I should do it. The question is, why? I'm a warrior—a solider—and damn good at it! As a centaur, battle is bred into my veins and I’ve surpassed all others in wit and brutality. Why should I walk away from that?
But...maybe this would be something new and I could make a difference without cutting down enemies. War and assassination have paid the bills for ages, but perhaps it is time for a change. Besides, when I fight, I know I will win, and where is the excitement in that?
Scratching his chin pensively, he cursed and called lightheartedly, "Oh, General Onorren!" He swaggered through the barracks and out into camp in search of him. When he found him, the general was less than pleased. Despite their size difference, the Chupacabra practically dragged Espero to his office.
The door slammed behind them and General Onorren's lips exposed long fangs as he snarled, "You're one of my best soldiers and you expect me to just turn you over to the Queen as some plaything?"
Espero shrugged, "The sign says they need volunteers. I'm volunteering."
Onorren's lean, muscled stature and sharp snout were characteristic of the Chupacabras. But his affinity for cruelty was more extreme than others of his race. Normally the only blood they shed was what they drank. Onorren preferred the earth to be paved with it; able to bathe in sanguine glory wherever he went. Normally Espero was only too happy to oblige. But today, he wanted something different and refused to back down, afraid the desire and opportunity would pass him by. Crossing his arms, he stared down at the tiny general who blustered on about Espero's loss of sense and motivation as the words flew in one ear and out the other. When he finally paused to breathe, Espero retorted, "Finished?”
General Onorren cursed under his breath and called, "Juniper! In here, now!". The Spriggan burst through the door and brought twiggy fingers to gnarled, leafy brow in a salute. Onorren barked, "I'm leaving on official business. You are in charge. Make sure everyone runs their drills, and don't screw up!" Juniper saluted again as Onorren shoved past him and stormed out the door. Espero shrugged at the Spriggan and followed his general into the sunlight.
Outside, the general whistled for a ride, and a horse with an earthen body crowned with a mane of knotted grass and vines trotted gracefully to them with head held high. It regarded Espero with a look of camaraderie. He tilted his head a fraction and said, "It's nice to meet you, too." The horse tossed its head in reply as General Onorren scowled at him. The Chupacabra leapt onto its earthen back and snarled, "To the palace, horse." It high-stepped and danced eagerly, flipping a flowered tail to and fro.
Onorren's eyes bored into Espero as he bit out, "You'll obviously have to travel on foot, and you better keep up."
He nudged his horse into a canter, and Espero grinned as his well-trained muscular legs ate up the ground between him and the earth horse. Freedom, he thought, as he savored the feel of the air whipping by him. He and the horse ran side by side the entire distance; the horse occasionally making playful nips and dodges at him.
He chuckled, "I like you, horse! You don't take life too seriously the way war horses do." It gave a soft snort of approval and he laughed again.
Too soon they arrived at the palace gates and were escorted inside. The Unseelie Queen, Lonomia, sat upon her woven throne of thorns regarding them with oil-slick eyes that seemed to swallow every drop of light in the room.
As they approached her throne, Onorren swept into a low bow. Espero cringed as the general's voice came out low and groveling. "Your Majesty, I have brought you a fine specimen to volunteer for your special project. He has proven himself time and again in battle, as well as being strong, resilient, and clever."
Face still low to the floor, Onorren straightened quickly when the Queen's smoky voice snarked, "You may rise. But tell me, General, why does your volunteer not bend the knee? Does he not serve the Unseelie court?"
Turning his glare on Espero, Onorren said, "He can occasionally be a bit headstrong."
Espero shrugged and felt his legs buckle as the backs of his knees were hit by one of the spear-wielding minotaur guards. He dropped heavily to the floor, knees crunching when they hit stone. The minotaur chuckled as Espero cursed under his breath. I should have seen that one coming, he chided himself.
Rising, the Queen reached a black-clawed hand back toward her throne. An ink-spot spider the size of a cat crawled out from behind it and skittered up her arm to perch parrot-like on her shoulder. It stared menacingly at Espero as it clacked its fangs together, its carapace shining eerily in the low light.
Lonomia prowled to where Espero had been forced to kneel, her massive grey and white moth wings trailing behind her. Standing over him, grey cheekbones gaunt in the flickering candlelight, she said, "We have ways of dealing with that. I can tell he's going to be perfect for this assignment."
Espero's mind whirled. I might have made the wrong choice today. Maybe I should have stuck with beheadings and evisceration? But...my gut has never steered me wrong before, so I'll stick with this, I guess. Not like I have a choice right now, anyway.
A sharp jab to his left hindquarter forced him to stand again. He turned and showed his teeth to the guard who had now stabbed him twice. The guard grinned, then faltered as Espero blew him a kiss.
The Queen's voice echoed through the room, snapping the guard back to attention as she ordered, "Take him to his new room." She gave Espero a mock salute and sneered, "Thank you for your service, soldier."
The Minotaur's spear jabbed Espero whenever he was supposed to turn in the damp, dark hallways. Their foray ended at a large wooden door, which the minotaur stepped forward, unlocked, and waited, spear at the ready in case Espero decided to bolt.
But Espero calmly entered the room and began taking in his surroundings, searching--as he had been trained--for any potential escape routes. His heart sank as he studied the small barred window up near the ceiling he would never fit through. He had seen the thick, reinforced door on the way in, and there were no vents, grates, or noticeable trap doors. He was stuck until they let him out again. It was all he could do to keep from jumping as the heavy door clanged shut behind him.
He checked his bleeding chestnut flanks and found they were not bad enough to worry about. A day or two and it would be as though nothing happened.
A gravelly voice from outside the door said, "The Queen will come speak with you soon." The minotaur, Espero mused. "Then you'll learn what you've signed on for." He snickered to himself and Espero rolled his eyes. Really? This guy hasn't had his fill of torturing me yet?
Unable to bite his tongue Espero said, "Aww, you mean the assignment isn't to be your new best friend? I thought we hit it off really well!" The minotaur jabbed his spear under the small space at the bottom of the door, eliciting a laugh from Espero.
In one corner of the room laid a large, shabby purple cushion. There was also a small stand with a tin cup and pitcher of water, as well as a bucket--presumably for relieving himself.
Exhausted, he flopped on the stale smelling cushion and dropped off to sleep.
Sometime later, he bolted awake as a soft caress crossed his cheek and he leapt off the cushion. Hissing laughter skittered through the room as his eyes focused on the face of Queen Lonomia. She rose to match his stance, running her eyes over him and her hand down his back and flank. His guts squirmed at her touch.
"Yes, you'll do just fine." She returned to his front, lifting her chin to look him in the eyes. "Espero, is it?" He nodded curtly and she continued, laughing, "Oh, you are something different." He was not sure that was in his favor right now, so he said nothing.
She smirked and steepled her fingers. "You will be the core of a special project to help our kind with their fertility issues. Some of my mages believe they've uncovered a way to better our chances of procreating, but I needed someone who could break the mold to carry it out, and I'm certain that's you."
Espero still said nothing.
Lonomia grinned openly at him, full of excitement. "As we speak, my mages are preparing your enhancements. Once that is finished, I will give you the full details of your assignment and you will begin your work to help save our kind."
She left in a flourish of silks, and he could not help but wonder if it was spider silk.
#
As the Queen had promised, a short while later two Minotaurs showed up outside his room. They looked identical except for the head-to-toe scars covering the new one. They pulled him out of the room by his arms, then prodded him through the halls with their spears. Espero sighed. Either this was a minotaur thing, or the first one had filled the scarred one in on how much fun it was to tenderize him.
After a particularly sharp jab he hissed, "If you don't stop that, I'm not going to have any skin left back there!"
The Minotaurs guffawed and the scarred one sniped, "That's going to be the least of your problems."
He breathed deeply and straightened his spine. Ignorant, sadistic fools. Some members of the Unseelie court were particularly fond of torture, and not just the physical sort.
They ended up in a decidedly empty chamber devoid of any furniture or decorations. Several flickering torches were mounted on the walls, and manacles and chains hung from the center of the room.
Cold unease twisted in his gut as he took in the manacles, but he knew better than to show it thanks to years of battle experience. His muscles relaxed slightly as the snickering fools who had driven him here backed around the corner and out of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief was short-lived.
Nine mages strode into the room, hooded cowls drawn so far over their heads their faces were invisible. He stared at nine black holes floating atop assorted gnarled and knobby bodies, and his stomach roiled with cold as he realized they watched him in return. They slowly filed in and arranged themselves around him in a menacing circle, then waited in silence. He cocked his head to the side and clenched his jaw, waiting for their dramatic pause to end.
One mage--a particularly shriveled and gnarled individual who was hunched almost in half--broke away and approached Espero with more swagger than it seemed his mangled body should possess. As he drew closer, Espero caught sight of the twisted face within--skin like the bark of an oak housed a broken mouth and milky eyes.
Espero knew little of magic, yet he was sure this must be the head mage. Magic, as he understood it, had to consume something to create something else. Apparently in this case, it consumed the mage.
The voice that wheezed its way from the twisted creature made his skin crawl as it called, "Guards! Restrain him!" The Minotaurs returned and clamped the manacles on his wrists. He did not fight them though fear crawled over him like fire ants. He had volunteered for this, after all, and hoped what he was about to experience would do some good.
The mage smiled at him, crooked and broken teeth gleaming in the firelight as he hissed, "I like you. I hope you survive this."
Before he could stop it, Espero's eyes widened and he felt himself pull at his shackles. But nothing comes without pain in the Unseelie court, and he was about to become a sacrifice to better his race. Hopefully.
Catching himself, he retorted, "Me too. The world would miss my beautiful face too much if I didn't."
The mage laughed--a strange, garbled sound as though his throat had collapsed in on itself long ago. "They will anyway." He turned and made his way back to the other eight mages, completing the circle they had formed around their captive.
Espero allowed the sick, cold feeling in his gut to twist and coil as the mages raised their hands in front of them and began chanting. Every part of him wanted to fight as a molten glow shimmered into existence in the hands of each mage. It umbrellaed over him and his heart hammered against his ribs. He tensed and thought, what have I done?
He sucked in a breath and the mages' chanting rose in volume as they uttered three sharp words and abruptly stopped. The air was pregnant with tension for a split second of silence, then the dome began to shrink, forming to Espero's skin and searing every inch of it. A ragged scream tore from his throat as pain consumed him.
Bones shifted, reforming into painful new patterns--forcing him into a shape he had never known. He grasped for reality; tried to understand and analyze what was happening to him, but the heat and pain were too much. At one point, he thought his human head and torso had migrated to the middle of his horse-like back instead of heading it. And, was that another appendage where he used to be? No matter how hard he tried to understand, it quickly came back to agony and screams.
A moment later, drowning in pain, he dove into welcoming blackness.
#
When he awoke, he was surprised to feel the grit of sand under his face. He was also shocked at how raw and tight his entire body felt--how foreign.
As his eyes focused on the hand resting near his face, his heart sank. Devoid of skin, it looked like a hunk of raw meat some predator had spat out. His gaze traveled back along his arm only to discover it looked the same.
With great effort, he shoved up from the sand as the sibilant whisper of waves caressing beach reached him.
He tried to push himself up and realized he was indeed now in the middle of the horse's back he used to head, as though he were a permanently fused rider. And in front of him, still resting in the sand, lay a skinned, sharp-toothed, three-eyed horse head.
He studied this new appendage with great interest. The two eyes on the sides of its head were closed, or at least the one he could see was. The third eye--a huge, bulbous red thing--sat in the center of its forehead, open and unblinking. It did not appear to have lids.
He reached forward, flesh pulling tight, and patted its neck gently. "Wake up, horse." When it did not respond he whispered, "Please?"
Its lids lifted, revealing eyes of abyss-black, which stood in complete contrast to the middle red one. It snorted and swung around to look at him.
"Hey, I guess we're...sort of--partners now."
The horse head snorted again and lifted, and Espero found without its dead weight, he was able to push up to a standing position. He winced as his entire body burned and staggered to a small tide pool where he gazed at his reflection in horror.
He raised shaking hands to his face--once strong and handsome--now hideous and gruesome. He had no skin, no lips. Just haunted eyes, a raw, sunken face, and permanently bared teeth like an acid-soaked corpse.
His body consisted of gnarled, naked muscles; veins pulsing purple, blue, and black over them. And the horse head--it seemed to have a mind of its own, but only for itself. Espero still had command over his own original body.
He almost jumped out of his skin (if he had had any to jump out of), as someone spoke behind him. "You'll get used to it."
He raised painful eyes to see Queen Lonomia exiting a nearby cave, followed by seven of the mages who had changed him. They looked decidedly more shriveled and knotted than when he had last seen them. Good.
He gestured to the mages. "What happened to the other two?"
Lonomia pursed her lips and said, "They were consumed by the magic used to change you."
He laughed bitterly. "Well that's a small blight removed from the world, then."
Lonomia cocked her head at him, squinting her eyes. "But they will have unleashed something far worse as far as humans are concerned."
His stomach did that awful twisting thing again.
She clasped her hands together in front of her, clearly delighted. "Now, let me explain your assignment. It is a well-known fact that humans tend to be extremely fertile as a race. With some experimentation, our mages discovered that through consuming human souls, we are infused with increased fertility. However, its effects are temporary, so we need a constant supply of fresh souls."
He groaned inwardly. I don't think I'm going to like this....
She rambled on, not noticing his trepidation. "You are charged with harvesting souls. You will live beneath the waves and collect souls in this special flask." She handed him a small shell-shaped bottle on a cord and slipped it over his head. It burned against his flesh and all he wanted was to rip it off and throw it into the waves.
Seeing the look on his face, she mistook it for concern of a different sort.
"Don't worry, you're equipped to breathe underwater now. Or rather, the horse head is. Your new appendage is a Kelpie, and there are gills in its neck. Fortunately, that feeds oxygen to you, too, just as you supply it with air on land."
It was in that moment he noticed the horse head did not have true nostrils--just thin slits in its gory flesh.
Lonomia looked at him hungrily, "Glorious, no? The mages really made you into something special. We're calling you Nuckelavee." She raised her gaze and pointed skyward.
"Every New Moon, you will leave the ocean and enter the cave you just saw us come from. It is a portal to my throne room. There, I will collect the souls from you to be used by the mages, and through your efforts, our race will flourish."
Espero ground his teeth together, casting about for an escape.
Sensing his intentions, Lonomia narrowed her eyes at him and said, "I will have others of our race watching you. They will keep me updated as to your progress." His heart sank again. "I look forward to seeing you at the next New Moon, Espero. Happy hunting." She strode away with a sharp wave of her hand to the mages, who fell in line behind her as she entered the cave.
He raised his eyes as a seagull shrieked above him. Then, making eye contact with the kelpie head, he said, "Well, off we go, then."
As they waded into the waves, despair and resignation settled over him like a lead blanket.
#
It’s a funny thing to be attached to a kelpie's head, he mused. The blasted thing is always hungry and would rather drag me to a bed of kelp than work! Espero retained control over the actual body and won these battles of will, though the victory never came easily. And though it did not speak, Espero's mind would occasionally receive messages in the form of images--like snapshots of whatever was important to the beast. He tried to reply in kind but was rewarded with some form of acknowledgement only once in a great while.
It was not great company but, in this lonely existence, the kelpie head was better than nothing. He had come to realize it had a distinctly male identity. Thank the gods, he thought on more than one occasion. Espero had always been rather hopeless with females, relying on his strength and looks to get him by. He was still strong, but the good ship "Handsome" had sailed. Hanging with one of the boys was much easier.
Studying the brute one day as it continued its endless pursuit of food he said, "You need a name, horse." It had been a year after all, and yet it seemed as if they were only passing acquaintances despite inhabiting the same body.
The kelpie’s face swiveled around to gaze at him, that fathomless red eye sifting through his very essence. It blew bubbles at him and turned to snap at a passing clownfish. Unfortunately for the fish, he caught and ate it.
"Well, you do," he persisted. The kelpie ignored him. "I can't just call you 'Horse' for all eternity!"
Coughing a chunk of fish tail out, the kelpie head urged him toward where it sensed a small shark was hiding. Apparently, it was still hungry.
"Oh, no you don't! Not until you have a name." Resting a finger on his chin, he perused his memories and thoughts of the kelpie, searching for something that would capture his personality. "I'm going to call you Aeron." The kelpie unleashed a squeal.
Clapping his hands together Espero exclaimed, "Right, now let's go get your main course."
As Aeron finished his favorite meal, sharing a few bits with Espero, his head whipped skyward and a sharp keening sound burst from his mouth. A human approached.
Time for work.
Espero patted Aeron's neck and began swimming upward as the red eye on the kelpie's forehead glowed brightly, guiding him toward the soul he would soon harvest.
They had harvested so many already. Shipwrecks (some caused by the very sight of them), grabbing hapless swimmers, and sometimes they encountered a soul that had been ready to depart anyway.
Today was a day for the latter. Espero could already feel the despair and hopelessness pouring from the wounded soul above him. As they drew closer, the despair remained, but his skin thrummed with the vigor contained in that same fragile body. Whoever it was, they were not truly ready to end their life.
He felt the soul tip off the clifftop and plummet toward the rolling waves and propelled himself toward it, powered by the urgency coursing through him. He watched the water fall away beneath him as he rose to a dizzying height and caught the girl in his arms. He cradled her and used his body to shield hers as they slammed into the surface of the sea.
He was so accustomed to pain that it only took him a moment to recover. Aeron struggled to swim downward, ready to drown the girl as they normally would.
But Espero had other plans. He swam up, breaking into briny air, pulling the girl's head above water. Aeron gave him a questioning look and Espero shook his head in response. Snorting, the kelpie had no choice but to be dragged along for the ride.
Once on the beach, Espero placed the girl on the sand as far from the water as he dared to go. He also steered clear of the cave entrance. He did not want Lonomia to scent her and come looking.
He studied her, searching for what caused such pain, but found nothing. She could not be more than fourteen years old. What could have made her want to jump like that?
The girl came to a moment later. Upon seeing Espero, instead of screaming as most did, she reached up to touch his face. He pulled back as if she had tried to slap him.
Her voice was soft, pained, and full of concern. "What...happened to you?"
He shrugged, "That's not important--I'll always be this way. Let's talk about you."
She gazed warily at him through eyes the color of freshly turned earth. Her dark hair fanned around her in the sand, clinging in strands like errant tentacles.
"No," she replied curtly.
He sighed. "Listen kid, I'm supposed to kill you and steal your soul." Her eyes widened and a hand flew to her heart. "Letting you die would have made it easy for me. But this..." He sighed heavily. "...this probably won't." He paused, thinking, "A piece of you needs to keep living. I can't steal that away...there's something in there that burns too hot and bright to be snuffed out."
Her eyes welled with tears, so he quickly continued, "Now, I don't know who hurt you or how, but they aren't worth this. You hear me? You can get through this. I can feel you're going to be something amazing. Promise me that I didn't save your life for nothing. Promise me you won't waste this precious life you've been given!"
Nodding as she gently swiped a runaway tear from her cheek, she said, "I promise."
Espero stood, Aeron still gazing indignantly at him as he helped the girl to stand.
"I'm Naia." She shook the hand he had pulled her up with, still not bothered by his appearance. Poor girl must be delirious.
He dipped his head. "I'm Espero, and this dopey horse head is called Aeron. We're kind of cursed to be together for eternity." He could not help but smile as she giggled in response. He had not heard that sound for a year, his life typically a soundtrack of screams and the eerie silence of drowning.
"Now Naia, I want you to go live your life to the fullest. Have a long, happy life, and stay away from this spot." She tried to look away, but he gently brought her chin around and met her eyes with his own. He urged, "Okay?"
She nodded, and Espero flinched as she practically jumped on him and hugged his waist. He patted her on the back and after a moment, she turned and left without another word.
A gull called overhead and Espero cursed. His mind raced, and feeling he was being watched elsewhere, too, Espero glanced around until he noticed Aeron's glowing red eye studied him, the feeling of judgement in that stare overwhelming.
"Shut it, horse. It was just something I had to do." Aeron tossed his head but seemed to let it drop as they returned to the sea.
After that day it was impossible for Espero to reap souls as he had. Something about that girl and her energy had changed something in him, and he could not break away from this new path.
In the days following, his reaping went something like this:
A man had become caught in the undertow and all but drowned. Espero harvested his soul. He also harvested the soul of a child who had gotten tangled in some underwater debris, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "You had a lot more living to do, little one. I'm sorry that happened. And I am sorry to do this to you, " he mumbled as he opened the flask so it could suck the tiny soul in. He hated to steal such a young life, but there was no saving the wee thing by the time he had gotten there.
Another woman had plunged from the cliffs above, leaving her body broken by the surface tension of the water. Her soul slipped into his shell-shaped flask as her body drifted to the seabed below, an almost willing participant in the harvest.
With her, Espero had not needed to intervene. She had been ready. And when he had reached her, all semblance of life was gone.
And it went like this until the next New Moon when it was time for Espero to face Queen Lonomia. He left the sea, holding the small collection of souls in his hand. Aeron glanced nervously at him as he forced them to take that first step into the cave.
"Sorry, buddy. I hope this doesn't get us into too much trouble." Aeron snorted in agreement.
They trudged through the darkness as slithering and skittering things occasionally passed them by. Once, Aeron twisted around to look behind them, ears swiveling to and fro. Espero stopped walking but heard nothing. When Aeron settled, they continued, feet growing heavier with every dreaded step they made.
The passageway eventually opened into Lonomia's throne room where rich tapestries adorned the walls. Black crystals glittered sharply across the ceiling, kissed by amber firelight that swelled and retreated like the ocean's waves.
The Queen reclined on her throne with a trembling satyr as her footstool. Plucking an eyeball from a tray in front of her, she sucked it into her mouth, popping it between her teeth like a grape. She gave one to her spider who sank its fangs gleefully into the orb. After licking a hooked claw, she cleared her throat and addressed him with a honeyed tone.
"Espero. How's the reaping business?"
He shrugged, "Slim pickings these days."
One corner of her mouth quirked up in a particularly nasty smirk. "That's not what I hear from Greyback."
A shrill cry echoed through the throne room as a gull soared in from some unknown corner, shifting into the pale, naked form of a sharp-nosed, small-eared, beady-eyed man. As he strode to the Queen's side, Espero noticed that he did indeed have a grey back as he did in gull form.
Espero said nothing.
Lonomia snarled, "Apparently, some damaged little trollop was enough to break you." She waited, receiving only silence in return. "What do you have to say for yourself, Espero? Speak, or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to Greyback!"
Greyback licked his lips.
Sighing, he tried to explain. "She wasn't a trollop. She was still a child, and someone had hurt her deeply. She was not ready to die, and I refused to be the one to steal the flame from a candle still meant to light the world. It made me think of how many thousands of souls I have stolen indiscriminately over the years, and I felt sick. Men, women, children...and so many not ready to be snuffed out. Yet I did!” He paused to breathe and steel himself before continuing. "But, no longer." His throat thick with emotion, Espero struggled to clear it. "I will only take souls that are ready to depart, and I hate handing even those over to you knowing they will never cross into the Great Beyond; that they'll be fertility pills to be consumed and burned up."
She glared at him, eyes sparking in the firelight with jaw clenched and lips pressed tightly together.
Espero raised the shell she had given him to collect souls, disgust written all over his face.
"In fact, you can't have these either." He smashed the shell to the floor, delighted as pieces scattered around his feet. His laughter rang off the rock walls as wispy souls rose up and out of the throne room.
Lonomia stalked over to him and hissed in his face, "I had such high hopes for you." She stepped back, quickly leashed her anger, and said off-handedly with a flip of her hand, "Kill him."
The Minotaurs and Greyback charged him, but he was ready.
"Okay, Aeron, see the guys in black hoods? Get 'em!"
They charged through the throne room, Espero stealing a spear from the guard beside Lonomia's throne as he barreled toward the remaining seven mages. The same words raced around and around in his mind. I will destroy them. They won't do this to anyone else ever again.
Lonomia’s scream rent the air as he skewered the first Mage, its twisted body flopping on the end of the spear like a fish as he added a second to it. Flinging them off, he felt Aeron ripping into a third, his sharp teeth shredding its throat as black blood poured down its chest.
The remaining four mages attempted to reach the safety of the guards, but Espero swung the bladed edge of the spear, decapitating the nearest one with such force that the head rolled several feet after hitting the floor. Its skin was so blackened and twisted, it was impossible to tell what he might have looked like once. Espero felt he had done the mage a mercy, whether he wanted it or not.
Aeron bit into the back of another mage's neck, detaching its spine from the base of the skull and tearing it out with a sickening sound. The mage dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Espero lunged, his spear driving home through the eyes of two more mages as they simultaneously turned at the sound of his galloping hooves. They convulsed on the spear and he released it, allowing them to fall. They did not get back up.
Bloodlust sated, Espero's hearing came roaring back and he realized Lonomia was still screaming.
"Kill him! KILL HIM! He's ruined EVERYTHING!"
With his mission completed, he braced for impact as the Minotaurs raced at him, spears angled to bite into his flesh. Greyback rushed at him, small dagger raised, looking too eager for it to taste Espero's blood.
Espero opened his arms wide, inviting the pain he knew was about to come.
He took one last deep breath and sighed. I've done what I can to protect the world from them. Now this will end, and I'll be free.
He closed his eyes, awaiting impalement, when a small body crashed into his. A series of small metal projectiles clattered on the ground.
His eyes popped open to see Naia standing protectively in front of him, iron nails scattered across the floor between them and Lonomia's thugs. She took something out of a basket she held and showered the floor with it. Salt.
Lonomia and her gang of nasties hissed and shrieked, frantically searching for any opening in the nails wide enough to pass through. Luckily, Naia had good aim and a shockingly ample supply.
A few sprites flew down from the ebony crystals above, their wings humming as they searched for a way to count the salt grains. Their angry buzzing increased as their frustration grew.
Naia dug around in the basket again when Espero, noting the unobstructed exit, scooped her into his arms and tossed her across his shoulders to race out of the cave. They burst into the light of day and still he kept running.
It had been night when he had gone to meet with Lonomia, but time moved strangely in their world. Worried someone might see him, he carried her up and away as far as he dared into the cover of tall, waving grasses. If he ventured much further, he would be within clear sight distance of major roads, and he could not chance that. They stopped and Aeron began eating the slender stalks, the sound of his chewing obnoxiously loud.
He dropped down beside her and for the first time he could remember since childhood, allowed himself to cry. Naia sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder as she let him stew in his emotions. Is it so obvious I need this release? That I haven’t let myself feel so much in many, many years?
Finally, he pulled himself somewhat together and croaked, "Why, Naia? Why didn't you let them kill me? Why did you come?"
For a moment she did not speak. Then, softly, "Because you saved me. I wanted to thank you."
Holding his head in his hands, he shook it slowly. "You should have let me die. I told you to stay away!"
A whisper. "You didn't let me die."
"That was different."
"How?" Still soft, but more demanding now.
"You're young, innocent, and someone else had made you feel all that pain. Despite what your mind told you, your soul still wanted to live. I could see its fire and could not let it be destroyed. I couldn't steal it away, either."
Raising his eyes to look at her, he appreciated that she did not flinch under his gaze. "I'm hideous. A freak--both inside and out. I have shed buckets of blood for centuries. Sometimes in the name of war, and some simply in the name of duty. It doesn't matter, though. Blood spilled is all the same and my soul is permanently stained with it; I'm drowning in it. Worse, I liked it…for a while, anyway."
Naia was silent for a long moment. She watched his face with soft, dewy eyes. "You're not hideous to me. When my world was full of ugly, you were the most beautiful thing in it. And you didn't spill my blood; you saved me and gave me reason to live. I have a feeling our stories aren't much different, actually.” He scoffed and she persisted, "I'm serious. For instance, the killing you were doing - you said some of it was in war. Did you start the wars?"
He shook his head.
"I didn't think so. And what would have happened to you if you refused to do your duty?" He gave her a hard look and she nodded. "So, kill or be killed. Most people would have made the same choice as you, then." He felt her hesitation before she said, "And I don't know for sure, but I'd be willing to bet you weren't born the way you are now. You seem scarred."
He barked a laugh loud enough to pull Aeron away from his feast. He regarded Espero with disdain before continuing to crunch.
Espero's voice came out as a bitter snarl. "They turned me into a freak--something they called a Nuckelavee. I was a centaur--designed for the battles they sent me into. Then one day, I saw a sign in the barracks...an opportunity to volunteer to help other Fae, so I signed up and the mages changed me into--this." He swept his hands over his body, face drawn in despair.
Aeron glared at him, mouth working the tough grasses back and forth within it.
"Don't worry, horse. I like you well enough. It's just...I miss what I was, too."
Naia placed a hand on his arm and said, "So, this is also not your fault. You were hurt, too, and only trying to stay alive. And not only that, but you inspired me to stay alive. For that I thank you."
He glanced at her out of the side of his eye. "You're welcome."
She patted him. "Now it's time to pick yourself up and go on living."
"I don't think I can. There's nothing left for me to do."
She barked, "Of course there is!" and he snorted. "Well, there is! You have been working to help the Fae all this time, but now that you turned on them, they will have turned on you, too. I think it's a lucky thing they are never going to want your services again. Now you can do some real good."
"And what's that?"
"You can be a protector. You can watch over the humans they will likely try to hunt again, and you can save others like me who are so lost in despair they cannot find their way back to the surface. It's your gift."
Espero sighed, "Aeron and I did take care of the mages. Hopefully, that means no one else is powerful enough or knows how to do this to anyone again." He looked Naia square in the eye, "And you gave them enough iron and salt to keep them busy for a while." She laughed and he paused to think.
"What were you doing down there anyway?"
She smiled impishly at him. "I was coming to see you and just followed you in." Holding up the basket she said, "I even brought a picnic!"
Despite himself, he laughed. "Do you normally pack bags of nails and large containers of salt in your picnics?"
She twirled a strand of hair around a finger and looked at her lap. "Well, no. But I was worried you would be mad I had come back. You did tell me not to."
At his incredulous look she cried, "I had to be prepared!"
He chuckled. "I'm glad you didn't listen to me."
She smiled warmly and held up the basket. "Picnic?"
At his nod, she took out food and lemonade. They picnicked together, talking, and laughing as the afternoon sun faded to evening. And before they left each other, Naia promised to come back to visit him once a week for as long as she was able.
She kept her promise and continued to visit him for years as he watched over the lost souls who wandered his way, occasionally fighting off some Fae reaper or assassin, but often battling only the person's own demons. When she visited, she would always bring a picnic of some sort. During colder months it was cocoa instead of lemonade, and meat pies instead of boiled eggs, fruit, vegetables, and cheese. Aeron always appreciated the treats. Almost as much as Espero appreciated the friendship and company.
As she grew up, Naia eventually brought a man named Jim to meet Espero, and though wary, he joined their picnics without hesitation. Years later, they wed on the beach so Espero and Aeron could watch discreetly from the waves. Espero thought he would burst with joy.
Yet the greatest day of all was when he got to meet their daughter, Ella. She looked so much like her mother. Completely unafraid, she took his finger and cooed at him from the warmth of his arms. Espero felt his heart melt all over again, stolen away by yet another fearless little girl.
Espero lived for the days Naia, Jim, and Ella came to visit. No matter how dark the world seemed, just a few minutes with them filled him with enough light to conquer anything. And when the time came for Naia to leave this world, Jim and Ella brought her to the beach, where they could all be with her until the end. His heart shattered as he watched her soul float upward, stopping for a moment to press against each of their foreheads. Espero was sure she had kissed each of them in turn. Then she floated away, leaving him to grieve with her kind husband and a daughter who looked and behaved so much like her.
A few years later, Jim passed in his sleep, and Ella came to give him the news. She gave him a bitter smile after telling him and said, “But there’s more--I’m also pregnant. I just wish…I wish Mom and Dad were still here to meet my baby when it comes.” He held her as she erupted into a puddle of tears and assured her they were still watching from the Great Beyond.
His heart broke for her, but also dared to flutter with hope and joy at the thought of another child. And as her mother before, Ella continued the picnics, bringing the two rowdy boys and fiery girl with her as they each came into the world, respectively.
Starting with Naia and on down the line, Espero had finally found a family. And Naia taught him that iron and salt--sometimes in the form of an iron will and salty attitude--can sometimes be found in unexpected places.
Every week, he meets his family for a picnic, rejoicing that such goodness exists in the world. And to this day, he lives with Aeron beneath the waves, guiding lost souls back from the depths of despair.
Espero read the sign and snorted. Aware that things like this cropped up when some poor grunt was needed to do dirty work no one else wanted to, he typically did not give them a second thought. His mind raced as he read the notice a second time.
They're awful scarce with the details, he thought, but my gut is telling me I should do it. The question is, why? I'm a warrior—a solider—and damn good at it! As a centaur, battle is bred into my veins and I’ve surpassed all others in wit and brutality. Why should I walk away from that?
But...maybe this would be something new and I could make a difference without cutting down enemies. War and assassination have paid the bills for ages, but perhaps it is time for a change. Besides, when I fight, I know I will win, and where is the excitement in that?
Scratching his chin pensively, he cursed and called lightheartedly, "Oh, General Onorren!" He swaggered through the barracks and out into camp in search of him. When he found him, the general was less than pleased. Despite their size difference, the Chupacabra practically dragged Espero to his office.
The door slammed behind them and General Onorren's lips exposed long fangs as he snarled, "You're one of my best soldiers and you expect me to just turn you over to the Queen as some plaything?"
Espero shrugged, "The sign says they need volunteers. I'm volunteering."
Onorren's lean, muscled stature and sharp snout were characteristic of the Chupacabras. But his affinity for cruelty was more extreme than others of his race. Normally the only blood they shed was what they drank. Onorren preferred the earth to be paved with it; able to bathe in sanguine glory wherever he went. Normally Espero was only too happy to oblige. But today, he wanted something different and refused to back down, afraid the desire and opportunity would pass him by. Crossing his arms, he stared down at the tiny general who blustered on about Espero's loss of sense and motivation as the words flew in one ear and out the other. When he finally paused to breathe, Espero retorted, "Finished?”
General Onorren cursed under his breath and called, "Juniper! In here, now!". The Spriggan burst through the door and brought twiggy fingers to gnarled, leafy brow in a salute. Onorren barked, "I'm leaving on official business. You are in charge. Make sure everyone runs their drills, and don't screw up!" Juniper saluted again as Onorren shoved past him and stormed out the door. Espero shrugged at the Spriggan and followed his general into the sunlight.
Outside, the general whistled for a ride, and a horse with an earthen body crowned with a mane of knotted grass and vines trotted gracefully to them with head held high. It regarded Espero with a look of camaraderie. He tilted his head a fraction and said, "It's nice to meet you, too." The horse tossed its head in reply as General Onorren scowled at him. The Chupacabra leapt onto its earthen back and snarled, "To the palace, horse." It high-stepped and danced eagerly, flipping a flowered tail to and fro.
Onorren's eyes bored into Espero as he bit out, "You'll obviously have to travel on foot, and you better keep up."
He nudged his horse into a canter, and Espero grinned as his well-trained muscular legs ate up the ground between him and the earth horse. Freedom, he thought, as he savored the feel of the air whipping by him. He and the horse ran side by side the entire distance; the horse occasionally making playful nips and dodges at him.
He chuckled, "I like you, horse! You don't take life too seriously the way war horses do." It gave a soft snort of approval and he laughed again.
Too soon they arrived at the palace gates and were escorted inside. The Unseelie Queen, Lonomia, sat upon her woven throne of thorns regarding them with oil-slick eyes that seemed to swallow every drop of light in the room.
As they approached her throne, Onorren swept into a low bow. Espero cringed as the general's voice came out low and groveling. "Your Majesty, I have brought you a fine specimen to volunteer for your special project. He has proven himself time and again in battle, as well as being strong, resilient, and clever."
Face still low to the floor, Onorren straightened quickly when the Queen's smoky voice snarked, "You may rise. But tell me, General, why does your volunteer not bend the knee? Does he not serve the Unseelie court?"
Turning his glare on Espero, Onorren said, "He can occasionally be a bit headstrong."
Espero shrugged and felt his legs buckle as the backs of his knees were hit by one of the spear-wielding minotaur guards. He dropped heavily to the floor, knees crunching when they hit stone. The minotaur chuckled as Espero cursed under his breath. I should have seen that one coming, he chided himself.
Rising, the Queen reached a black-clawed hand back toward her throne. An ink-spot spider the size of a cat crawled out from behind it and skittered up her arm to perch parrot-like on her shoulder. It stared menacingly at Espero as it clacked its fangs together, its carapace shining eerily in the low light.
Lonomia prowled to where Espero had been forced to kneel, her massive grey and white moth wings trailing behind her. Standing over him, grey cheekbones gaunt in the flickering candlelight, she said, "We have ways of dealing with that. I can tell he's going to be perfect for this assignment."
Espero's mind whirled. I might have made the wrong choice today. Maybe I should have stuck with beheadings and evisceration? But...my gut has never steered me wrong before, so I'll stick with this, I guess. Not like I have a choice right now, anyway.
A sharp jab to his left hindquarter forced him to stand again. He turned and showed his teeth to the guard who had now stabbed him twice. The guard grinned, then faltered as Espero blew him a kiss.
The Queen's voice echoed through the room, snapping the guard back to attention as she ordered, "Take him to his new room." She gave Espero a mock salute and sneered, "Thank you for your service, soldier."
The Minotaur's spear jabbed Espero whenever he was supposed to turn in the damp, dark hallways. Their foray ended at a large wooden door, which the minotaur stepped forward, unlocked, and waited, spear at the ready in case Espero decided to bolt.
But Espero calmly entered the room and began taking in his surroundings, searching--as he had been trained--for any potential escape routes. His heart sank as he studied the small barred window up near the ceiling he would never fit through. He had seen the thick, reinforced door on the way in, and there were no vents, grates, or noticeable trap doors. He was stuck until they let him out again. It was all he could do to keep from jumping as the heavy door clanged shut behind him.
He checked his bleeding chestnut flanks and found they were not bad enough to worry about. A day or two and it would be as though nothing happened.
A gravelly voice from outside the door said, "The Queen will come speak with you soon." The minotaur, Espero mused. "Then you'll learn what you've signed on for." He snickered to himself and Espero rolled his eyes. Really? This guy hasn't had his fill of torturing me yet?
Unable to bite his tongue Espero said, "Aww, you mean the assignment isn't to be your new best friend? I thought we hit it off really well!" The minotaur jabbed his spear under the small space at the bottom of the door, eliciting a laugh from Espero.
In one corner of the room laid a large, shabby purple cushion. There was also a small stand with a tin cup and pitcher of water, as well as a bucket--presumably for relieving himself.
Exhausted, he flopped on the stale smelling cushion and dropped off to sleep.
Sometime later, he bolted awake as a soft caress crossed his cheek and he leapt off the cushion. Hissing laughter skittered through the room as his eyes focused on the face of Queen Lonomia. She rose to match his stance, running her eyes over him and her hand down his back and flank. His guts squirmed at her touch.
"Yes, you'll do just fine." She returned to his front, lifting her chin to look him in the eyes. "Espero, is it?" He nodded curtly and she continued, laughing, "Oh, you are something different." He was not sure that was in his favor right now, so he said nothing.
She smirked and steepled her fingers. "You will be the core of a special project to help our kind with their fertility issues. Some of my mages believe they've uncovered a way to better our chances of procreating, but I needed someone who could break the mold to carry it out, and I'm certain that's you."
Espero still said nothing.
Lonomia grinned openly at him, full of excitement. "As we speak, my mages are preparing your enhancements. Once that is finished, I will give you the full details of your assignment and you will begin your work to help save our kind."
She left in a flourish of silks, and he could not help but wonder if it was spider silk.
#
As the Queen had promised, a short while later two Minotaurs showed up outside his room. They looked identical except for the head-to-toe scars covering the new one. They pulled him out of the room by his arms, then prodded him through the halls with their spears. Espero sighed. Either this was a minotaur thing, or the first one had filled the scarred one in on how much fun it was to tenderize him.
After a particularly sharp jab he hissed, "If you don't stop that, I'm not going to have any skin left back there!"
The Minotaurs guffawed and the scarred one sniped, "That's going to be the least of your problems."
He breathed deeply and straightened his spine. Ignorant, sadistic fools. Some members of the Unseelie court were particularly fond of torture, and not just the physical sort.
They ended up in a decidedly empty chamber devoid of any furniture or decorations. Several flickering torches were mounted on the walls, and manacles and chains hung from the center of the room.
Cold unease twisted in his gut as he took in the manacles, but he knew better than to show it thanks to years of battle experience. His muscles relaxed slightly as the snickering fools who had driven him here backed around the corner and out of sight. He breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief was short-lived.
Nine mages strode into the room, hooded cowls drawn so far over their heads their faces were invisible. He stared at nine black holes floating atop assorted gnarled and knobby bodies, and his stomach roiled with cold as he realized they watched him in return. They slowly filed in and arranged themselves around him in a menacing circle, then waited in silence. He cocked his head to the side and clenched his jaw, waiting for their dramatic pause to end.
One mage--a particularly shriveled and gnarled individual who was hunched almost in half--broke away and approached Espero with more swagger than it seemed his mangled body should possess. As he drew closer, Espero caught sight of the twisted face within--skin like the bark of an oak housed a broken mouth and milky eyes.
Espero knew little of magic, yet he was sure this must be the head mage. Magic, as he understood it, had to consume something to create something else. Apparently in this case, it consumed the mage.
The voice that wheezed its way from the twisted creature made his skin crawl as it called, "Guards! Restrain him!" The Minotaurs returned and clamped the manacles on his wrists. He did not fight them though fear crawled over him like fire ants. He had volunteered for this, after all, and hoped what he was about to experience would do some good.
The mage smiled at him, crooked and broken teeth gleaming in the firelight as he hissed, "I like you. I hope you survive this."
Before he could stop it, Espero's eyes widened and he felt himself pull at his shackles. But nothing comes without pain in the Unseelie court, and he was about to become a sacrifice to better his race. Hopefully.
Catching himself, he retorted, "Me too. The world would miss my beautiful face too much if I didn't."
The mage laughed--a strange, garbled sound as though his throat had collapsed in on itself long ago. "They will anyway." He turned and made his way back to the other eight mages, completing the circle they had formed around their captive.
Espero allowed the sick, cold feeling in his gut to twist and coil as the mages raised their hands in front of them and began chanting. Every part of him wanted to fight as a molten glow shimmered into existence in the hands of each mage. It umbrellaed over him and his heart hammered against his ribs. He tensed and thought, what have I done?
He sucked in a breath and the mages' chanting rose in volume as they uttered three sharp words and abruptly stopped. The air was pregnant with tension for a split second of silence, then the dome began to shrink, forming to Espero's skin and searing every inch of it. A ragged scream tore from his throat as pain consumed him.
Bones shifted, reforming into painful new patterns--forcing him into a shape he had never known. He grasped for reality; tried to understand and analyze what was happening to him, but the heat and pain were too much. At one point, he thought his human head and torso had migrated to the middle of his horse-like back instead of heading it. And, was that another appendage where he used to be? No matter how hard he tried to understand, it quickly came back to agony and screams.
A moment later, drowning in pain, he dove into welcoming blackness.
#
When he awoke, he was surprised to feel the grit of sand under his face. He was also shocked at how raw and tight his entire body felt--how foreign.
As his eyes focused on the hand resting near his face, his heart sank. Devoid of skin, it looked like a hunk of raw meat some predator had spat out. His gaze traveled back along his arm only to discover it looked the same.
With great effort, he shoved up from the sand as the sibilant whisper of waves caressing beach reached him.
He tried to push himself up and realized he was indeed now in the middle of the horse's back he used to head, as though he were a permanently fused rider. And in front of him, still resting in the sand, lay a skinned, sharp-toothed, three-eyed horse head.
He studied this new appendage with great interest. The two eyes on the sides of its head were closed, or at least the one he could see was. The third eye--a huge, bulbous red thing--sat in the center of its forehead, open and unblinking. It did not appear to have lids.
He reached forward, flesh pulling tight, and patted its neck gently. "Wake up, horse." When it did not respond he whispered, "Please?"
Its lids lifted, revealing eyes of abyss-black, which stood in complete contrast to the middle red one. It snorted and swung around to look at him.
"Hey, I guess we're...sort of--partners now."
The horse head snorted again and lifted, and Espero found without its dead weight, he was able to push up to a standing position. He winced as his entire body burned and staggered to a small tide pool where he gazed at his reflection in horror.
He raised shaking hands to his face--once strong and handsome--now hideous and gruesome. He had no skin, no lips. Just haunted eyes, a raw, sunken face, and permanently bared teeth like an acid-soaked corpse.
His body consisted of gnarled, naked muscles; veins pulsing purple, blue, and black over them. And the horse head--it seemed to have a mind of its own, but only for itself. Espero still had command over his own original body.
He almost jumped out of his skin (if he had had any to jump out of), as someone spoke behind him. "You'll get used to it."
He raised painful eyes to see Queen Lonomia exiting a nearby cave, followed by seven of the mages who had changed him. They looked decidedly more shriveled and knotted than when he had last seen them. Good.
He gestured to the mages. "What happened to the other two?"
Lonomia pursed her lips and said, "They were consumed by the magic used to change you."
He laughed bitterly. "Well that's a small blight removed from the world, then."
Lonomia cocked her head at him, squinting her eyes. "But they will have unleashed something far worse as far as humans are concerned."
His stomach did that awful twisting thing again.
She clasped her hands together in front of her, clearly delighted. "Now, let me explain your assignment. It is a well-known fact that humans tend to be extremely fertile as a race. With some experimentation, our mages discovered that through consuming human souls, we are infused with increased fertility. However, its effects are temporary, so we need a constant supply of fresh souls."
He groaned inwardly. I don't think I'm going to like this....
She rambled on, not noticing his trepidation. "You are charged with harvesting souls. You will live beneath the waves and collect souls in this special flask." She handed him a small shell-shaped bottle on a cord and slipped it over his head. It burned against his flesh and all he wanted was to rip it off and throw it into the waves.
Seeing the look on his face, she mistook it for concern of a different sort.
"Don't worry, you're equipped to breathe underwater now. Or rather, the horse head is. Your new appendage is a Kelpie, and there are gills in its neck. Fortunately, that feeds oxygen to you, too, just as you supply it with air on land."
It was in that moment he noticed the horse head did not have true nostrils--just thin slits in its gory flesh.
Lonomia looked at him hungrily, "Glorious, no? The mages really made you into something special. We're calling you Nuckelavee." She raised her gaze and pointed skyward.
"Every New Moon, you will leave the ocean and enter the cave you just saw us come from. It is a portal to my throne room. There, I will collect the souls from you to be used by the mages, and through your efforts, our race will flourish."
Espero ground his teeth together, casting about for an escape.
Sensing his intentions, Lonomia narrowed her eyes at him and said, "I will have others of our race watching you. They will keep me updated as to your progress." His heart sank again. "I look forward to seeing you at the next New Moon, Espero. Happy hunting." She strode away with a sharp wave of her hand to the mages, who fell in line behind her as she entered the cave.
He raised his eyes as a seagull shrieked above him. Then, making eye contact with the kelpie head, he said, "Well, off we go, then."
As they waded into the waves, despair and resignation settled over him like a lead blanket.
#
It’s a funny thing to be attached to a kelpie's head, he mused. The blasted thing is always hungry and would rather drag me to a bed of kelp than work! Espero retained control over the actual body and won these battles of will, though the victory never came easily. And though it did not speak, Espero's mind would occasionally receive messages in the form of images--like snapshots of whatever was important to the beast. He tried to reply in kind but was rewarded with some form of acknowledgement only once in a great while.
It was not great company but, in this lonely existence, the kelpie head was better than nothing. He had come to realize it had a distinctly male identity. Thank the gods, he thought on more than one occasion. Espero had always been rather hopeless with females, relying on his strength and looks to get him by. He was still strong, but the good ship "Handsome" had sailed. Hanging with one of the boys was much easier.
Studying the brute one day as it continued its endless pursuit of food he said, "You need a name, horse." It had been a year after all, and yet it seemed as if they were only passing acquaintances despite inhabiting the same body.
The kelpie’s face swiveled around to gaze at him, that fathomless red eye sifting through his very essence. It blew bubbles at him and turned to snap at a passing clownfish. Unfortunately for the fish, he caught and ate it.
"Well, you do," he persisted. The kelpie ignored him. "I can't just call you 'Horse' for all eternity!"
Coughing a chunk of fish tail out, the kelpie head urged him toward where it sensed a small shark was hiding. Apparently, it was still hungry.
"Oh, no you don't! Not until you have a name." Resting a finger on his chin, he perused his memories and thoughts of the kelpie, searching for something that would capture his personality. "I'm going to call you Aeron." The kelpie unleashed a squeal.
Clapping his hands together Espero exclaimed, "Right, now let's go get your main course."
As Aeron finished his favorite meal, sharing a few bits with Espero, his head whipped skyward and a sharp keening sound burst from his mouth. A human approached.
Time for work.
Espero patted Aeron's neck and began swimming upward as the red eye on the kelpie's forehead glowed brightly, guiding him toward the soul he would soon harvest.
They had harvested so many already. Shipwrecks (some caused by the very sight of them), grabbing hapless swimmers, and sometimes they encountered a soul that had been ready to depart anyway.
Today was a day for the latter. Espero could already feel the despair and hopelessness pouring from the wounded soul above him. As they drew closer, the despair remained, but his skin thrummed with the vigor contained in that same fragile body. Whoever it was, they were not truly ready to end their life.
He felt the soul tip off the clifftop and plummet toward the rolling waves and propelled himself toward it, powered by the urgency coursing through him. He watched the water fall away beneath him as he rose to a dizzying height and caught the girl in his arms. He cradled her and used his body to shield hers as they slammed into the surface of the sea.
He was so accustomed to pain that it only took him a moment to recover. Aeron struggled to swim downward, ready to drown the girl as they normally would.
But Espero had other plans. He swam up, breaking into briny air, pulling the girl's head above water. Aeron gave him a questioning look and Espero shook his head in response. Snorting, the kelpie had no choice but to be dragged along for the ride.
Once on the beach, Espero placed the girl on the sand as far from the water as he dared to go. He also steered clear of the cave entrance. He did not want Lonomia to scent her and come looking.
He studied her, searching for what caused such pain, but found nothing. She could not be more than fourteen years old. What could have made her want to jump like that?
The girl came to a moment later. Upon seeing Espero, instead of screaming as most did, she reached up to touch his face. He pulled back as if she had tried to slap him.
Her voice was soft, pained, and full of concern. "What...happened to you?"
He shrugged, "That's not important--I'll always be this way. Let's talk about you."
She gazed warily at him through eyes the color of freshly turned earth. Her dark hair fanned around her in the sand, clinging in strands like errant tentacles.
"No," she replied curtly.
He sighed. "Listen kid, I'm supposed to kill you and steal your soul." Her eyes widened and a hand flew to her heart. "Letting you die would have made it easy for me. But this..." He sighed heavily. "...this probably won't." He paused, thinking, "A piece of you needs to keep living. I can't steal that away...there's something in there that burns too hot and bright to be snuffed out."
Her eyes welled with tears, so he quickly continued, "Now, I don't know who hurt you or how, but they aren't worth this. You hear me? You can get through this. I can feel you're going to be something amazing. Promise me that I didn't save your life for nothing. Promise me you won't waste this precious life you've been given!"
Nodding as she gently swiped a runaway tear from her cheek, she said, "I promise."
Espero stood, Aeron still gazing indignantly at him as he helped the girl to stand.
"I'm Naia." She shook the hand he had pulled her up with, still not bothered by his appearance. Poor girl must be delirious.
He dipped his head. "I'm Espero, and this dopey horse head is called Aeron. We're kind of cursed to be together for eternity." He could not help but smile as she giggled in response. He had not heard that sound for a year, his life typically a soundtrack of screams and the eerie silence of drowning.
"Now Naia, I want you to go live your life to the fullest. Have a long, happy life, and stay away from this spot." She tried to look away, but he gently brought her chin around and met her eyes with his own. He urged, "Okay?"
She nodded, and Espero flinched as she practically jumped on him and hugged his waist. He patted her on the back and after a moment, she turned and left without another word.
A gull called overhead and Espero cursed. His mind raced, and feeling he was being watched elsewhere, too, Espero glanced around until he noticed Aeron's glowing red eye studied him, the feeling of judgement in that stare overwhelming.
"Shut it, horse. It was just something I had to do." Aeron tossed his head but seemed to let it drop as they returned to the sea.
After that day it was impossible for Espero to reap souls as he had. Something about that girl and her energy had changed something in him, and he could not break away from this new path.
In the days following, his reaping went something like this:
A man had become caught in the undertow and all but drowned. Espero harvested his soul. He also harvested the soul of a child who had gotten tangled in some underwater debris, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "You had a lot more living to do, little one. I'm sorry that happened. And I am sorry to do this to you, " he mumbled as he opened the flask so it could suck the tiny soul in. He hated to steal such a young life, but there was no saving the wee thing by the time he had gotten there.
Another woman had plunged from the cliffs above, leaving her body broken by the surface tension of the water. Her soul slipped into his shell-shaped flask as her body drifted to the seabed below, an almost willing participant in the harvest.
With her, Espero had not needed to intervene. She had been ready. And when he had reached her, all semblance of life was gone.
And it went like this until the next New Moon when it was time for Espero to face Queen Lonomia. He left the sea, holding the small collection of souls in his hand. Aeron glanced nervously at him as he forced them to take that first step into the cave.
"Sorry, buddy. I hope this doesn't get us into too much trouble." Aeron snorted in agreement.
They trudged through the darkness as slithering and skittering things occasionally passed them by. Once, Aeron twisted around to look behind them, ears swiveling to and fro. Espero stopped walking but heard nothing. When Aeron settled, they continued, feet growing heavier with every dreaded step they made.
The passageway eventually opened into Lonomia's throne room where rich tapestries adorned the walls. Black crystals glittered sharply across the ceiling, kissed by amber firelight that swelled and retreated like the ocean's waves.
The Queen reclined on her throne with a trembling satyr as her footstool. Plucking an eyeball from a tray in front of her, she sucked it into her mouth, popping it between her teeth like a grape. She gave one to her spider who sank its fangs gleefully into the orb. After licking a hooked claw, she cleared her throat and addressed him with a honeyed tone.
"Espero. How's the reaping business?"
He shrugged, "Slim pickings these days."
One corner of her mouth quirked up in a particularly nasty smirk. "That's not what I hear from Greyback."
A shrill cry echoed through the throne room as a gull soared in from some unknown corner, shifting into the pale, naked form of a sharp-nosed, small-eared, beady-eyed man. As he strode to the Queen's side, Espero noticed that he did indeed have a grey back as he did in gull form.
Espero said nothing.
Lonomia snarled, "Apparently, some damaged little trollop was enough to break you." She waited, receiving only silence in return. "What do you have to say for yourself, Espero? Speak, or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to Greyback!"
Greyback licked his lips.
Sighing, he tried to explain. "She wasn't a trollop. She was still a child, and someone had hurt her deeply. She was not ready to die, and I refused to be the one to steal the flame from a candle still meant to light the world. It made me think of how many thousands of souls I have stolen indiscriminately over the years, and I felt sick. Men, women, children...and so many not ready to be snuffed out. Yet I did!” He paused to breathe and steel himself before continuing. "But, no longer." His throat thick with emotion, Espero struggled to clear it. "I will only take souls that are ready to depart, and I hate handing even those over to you knowing they will never cross into the Great Beyond; that they'll be fertility pills to be consumed and burned up."
She glared at him, eyes sparking in the firelight with jaw clenched and lips pressed tightly together.
Espero raised the shell she had given him to collect souls, disgust written all over his face.
"In fact, you can't have these either." He smashed the shell to the floor, delighted as pieces scattered around his feet. His laughter rang off the rock walls as wispy souls rose up and out of the throne room.
Lonomia stalked over to him and hissed in his face, "I had such high hopes for you." She stepped back, quickly leashed her anger, and said off-handedly with a flip of her hand, "Kill him."
The Minotaurs and Greyback charged him, but he was ready.
"Okay, Aeron, see the guys in black hoods? Get 'em!"
They charged through the throne room, Espero stealing a spear from the guard beside Lonomia's throne as he barreled toward the remaining seven mages. The same words raced around and around in his mind. I will destroy them. They won't do this to anyone else ever again.
Lonomia’s scream rent the air as he skewered the first Mage, its twisted body flopping on the end of the spear like a fish as he added a second to it. Flinging them off, he felt Aeron ripping into a third, his sharp teeth shredding its throat as black blood poured down its chest.
The remaining four mages attempted to reach the safety of the guards, but Espero swung the bladed edge of the spear, decapitating the nearest one with such force that the head rolled several feet after hitting the floor. Its skin was so blackened and twisted, it was impossible to tell what he might have looked like once. Espero felt he had done the mage a mercy, whether he wanted it or not.
Aeron bit into the back of another mage's neck, detaching its spine from the base of the skull and tearing it out with a sickening sound. The mage dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Espero lunged, his spear driving home through the eyes of two more mages as they simultaneously turned at the sound of his galloping hooves. They convulsed on the spear and he released it, allowing them to fall. They did not get back up.
Bloodlust sated, Espero's hearing came roaring back and he realized Lonomia was still screaming.
"Kill him! KILL HIM! He's ruined EVERYTHING!"
With his mission completed, he braced for impact as the Minotaurs raced at him, spears angled to bite into his flesh. Greyback rushed at him, small dagger raised, looking too eager for it to taste Espero's blood.
Espero opened his arms wide, inviting the pain he knew was about to come.
He took one last deep breath and sighed. I've done what I can to protect the world from them. Now this will end, and I'll be free.
He closed his eyes, awaiting impalement, when a small body crashed into his. A series of small metal projectiles clattered on the ground.
His eyes popped open to see Naia standing protectively in front of him, iron nails scattered across the floor between them and Lonomia's thugs. She took something out of a basket she held and showered the floor with it. Salt.
Lonomia and her gang of nasties hissed and shrieked, frantically searching for any opening in the nails wide enough to pass through. Luckily, Naia had good aim and a shockingly ample supply.
A few sprites flew down from the ebony crystals above, their wings humming as they searched for a way to count the salt grains. Their angry buzzing increased as their frustration grew.
Naia dug around in the basket again when Espero, noting the unobstructed exit, scooped her into his arms and tossed her across his shoulders to race out of the cave. They burst into the light of day and still he kept running.
It had been night when he had gone to meet with Lonomia, but time moved strangely in their world. Worried someone might see him, he carried her up and away as far as he dared into the cover of tall, waving grasses. If he ventured much further, he would be within clear sight distance of major roads, and he could not chance that. They stopped and Aeron began eating the slender stalks, the sound of his chewing obnoxiously loud.
He dropped down beside her and for the first time he could remember since childhood, allowed himself to cry. Naia sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder as she let him stew in his emotions. Is it so obvious I need this release? That I haven’t let myself feel so much in many, many years?
Finally, he pulled himself somewhat together and croaked, "Why, Naia? Why didn't you let them kill me? Why did you come?"
For a moment she did not speak. Then, softly, "Because you saved me. I wanted to thank you."
Holding his head in his hands, he shook it slowly. "You should have let me die. I told you to stay away!"
A whisper. "You didn't let me die."
"That was different."
"How?" Still soft, but more demanding now.
"You're young, innocent, and someone else had made you feel all that pain. Despite what your mind told you, your soul still wanted to live. I could see its fire and could not let it be destroyed. I couldn't steal it away, either."
Raising his eyes to look at her, he appreciated that she did not flinch under his gaze. "I'm hideous. A freak--both inside and out. I have shed buckets of blood for centuries. Sometimes in the name of war, and some simply in the name of duty. It doesn't matter, though. Blood spilled is all the same and my soul is permanently stained with it; I'm drowning in it. Worse, I liked it…for a while, anyway."
Naia was silent for a long moment. She watched his face with soft, dewy eyes. "You're not hideous to me. When my world was full of ugly, you were the most beautiful thing in it. And you didn't spill my blood; you saved me and gave me reason to live. I have a feeling our stories aren't much different, actually.” He scoffed and she persisted, "I'm serious. For instance, the killing you were doing - you said some of it was in war. Did you start the wars?"
He shook his head.
"I didn't think so. And what would have happened to you if you refused to do your duty?" He gave her a hard look and she nodded. "So, kill or be killed. Most people would have made the same choice as you, then." He felt her hesitation before she said, "And I don't know for sure, but I'd be willing to bet you weren't born the way you are now. You seem scarred."
He barked a laugh loud enough to pull Aeron away from his feast. He regarded Espero with disdain before continuing to crunch.
Espero's voice came out as a bitter snarl. "They turned me into a freak--something they called a Nuckelavee. I was a centaur--designed for the battles they sent me into. Then one day, I saw a sign in the barracks...an opportunity to volunteer to help other Fae, so I signed up and the mages changed me into--this." He swept his hands over his body, face drawn in despair.
Aeron glared at him, mouth working the tough grasses back and forth within it.
"Don't worry, horse. I like you well enough. It's just...I miss what I was, too."
Naia placed a hand on his arm and said, "So, this is also not your fault. You were hurt, too, and only trying to stay alive. And not only that, but you inspired me to stay alive. For that I thank you."
He glanced at her out of the side of his eye. "You're welcome."
She patted him. "Now it's time to pick yourself up and go on living."
"I don't think I can. There's nothing left for me to do."
She barked, "Of course there is!" and he snorted. "Well, there is! You have been working to help the Fae all this time, but now that you turned on them, they will have turned on you, too. I think it's a lucky thing they are never going to want your services again. Now you can do some real good."
"And what's that?"
"You can be a protector. You can watch over the humans they will likely try to hunt again, and you can save others like me who are so lost in despair they cannot find their way back to the surface. It's your gift."
Espero sighed, "Aeron and I did take care of the mages. Hopefully, that means no one else is powerful enough or knows how to do this to anyone again." He looked Naia square in the eye, "And you gave them enough iron and salt to keep them busy for a while." She laughed and he paused to think.
"What were you doing down there anyway?"
She smiled impishly at him. "I was coming to see you and just followed you in." Holding up the basket she said, "I even brought a picnic!"
Despite himself, he laughed. "Do you normally pack bags of nails and large containers of salt in your picnics?"
She twirled a strand of hair around a finger and looked at her lap. "Well, no. But I was worried you would be mad I had come back. You did tell me not to."
At his incredulous look she cried, "I had to be prepared!"
He chuckled. "I'm glad you didn't listen to me."
She smiled warmly and held up the basket. "Picnic?"
At his nod, she took out food and lemonade. They picnicked together, talking, and laughing as the afternoon sun faded to evening. And before they left each other, Naia promised to come back to visit him once a week for as long as she was able.
She kept her promise and continued to visit him for years as he watched over the lost souls who wandered his way, occasionally fighting off some Fae reaper or assassin, but often battling only the person's own demons. When she visited, she would always bring a picnic of some sort. During colder months it was cocoa instead of lemonade, and meat pies instead of boiled eggs, fruit, vegetables, and cheese. Aeron always appreciated the treats. Almost as much as Espero appreciated the friendship and company.
As she grew up, Naia eventually brought a man named Jim to meet Espero, and though wary, he joined their picnics without hesitation. Years later, they wed on the beach so Espero and Aeron could watch discreetly from the waves. Espero thought he would burst with joy.
Yet the greatest day of all was when he got to meet their daughter, Ella. She looked so much like her mother. Completely unafraid, she took his finger and cooed at him from the warmth of his arms. Espero felt his heart melt all over again, stolen away by yet another fearless little girl.
Espero lived for the days Naia, Jim, and Ella came to visit. No matter how dark the world seemed, just a few minutes with them filled him with enough light to conquer anything. And when the time came for Naia to leave this world, Jim and Ella brought her to the beach, where they could all be with her until the end. His heart shattered as he watched her soul float upward, stopping for a moment to press against each of their foreheads. Espero was sure she had kissed each of them in turn. Then she floated away, leaving him to grieve with her kind husband and a daughter who looked and behaved so much like her.
A few years later, Jim passed in his sleep, and Ella came to give him the news. She gave him a bitter smile after telling him and said, “But there’s more--I’m also pregnant. I just wish…I wish Mom and Dad were still here to meet my baby when it comes.” He held her as she erupted into a puddle of tears and assured her they were still watching from the Great Beyond.
His heart broke for her, but also dared to flutter with hope and joy at the thought of another child. And as her mother before, Ella continued the picnics, bringing the two rowdy boys and fiery girl with her as they each came into the world, respectively.
Starting with Naia and on down the line, Espero had finally found a family. And Naia taught him that iron and salt--sometimes in the form of an iron will and salty attitude--can sometimes be found in unexpected places.
Every week, he meets his family for a picnic, rejoicing that such goodness exists in the world. And to this day, he lives with Aeron beneath the waves, guiding lost souls back from the depths of despair.