A Merric's Tale

by Margs Murray

  The old man pulled up the chalky armed person’s head. In his shiny badge, I caught the reflection. Blood trickled down the cheek from a blood-soaked rag over the left eye. I knew in an instant who’s mind I was inhabiting. Chalky dust covered the hair of the Marble Cutter.

  “No use in hurting yourself, was there? A Merric will always get you in the end. Now look to your queen. So gray the eyes of death.”

  I was back in the forest. The shadow no longer touched my skin and instead made infinity signs on the ground.

  Greer walked into the clearing and said, “We’re all set.” He took one look at me and knew something was wrong. “What happened? Is there another bird?”

  “What is that?” I pointed to the shadow before me.

  “I see nothing.” Greer stepped closer to inspect the tree. “What am I not seeing?”

  The shadow jumped once more, this time landing on a white spindly tree. I pointed again. “What is that?”

  “A young aspen. Why?”

  “No, not the tree, the shadow thingy. There.” I pointed right to it.

  Worried, Greer put his hand on my forehead like I had a fever. “You feel cold again.”

  I knew it was true, but I shouldn’t have been. It was humid. Before the shadow touched me, I’d been sweating.

  “Are there orbs out here that attack you with nightmares and make you feel cold?” I asked.

  Greer shook his head. “If that technology exists, I’ve never heard of it.”

  Great. Just great. Strange attacking shadows. Shadows. I was seeing shadows and deep down, I recognized the truth. I knew this story. I would need this cure as much as Grandma. Find the words. We didn’t have time to waste. “Any good news from your calls?”

  “Yes, we’ve got to get you cleaned up and with more than just your pack.”

  Greer threw me a Cloverfield bar.

  “I’m going to kill this guy,” I said as I opened the cherry chalk bar. “Seriously, I had a meeting all set up with Cloverfield. If I met him now—”

  “Then I shouldn’t tell you we’re going to one of his cabins tonight,” Greer said.

  “Cloverfield? This Cloverfield?” I held up my wrapper. He nodded again. “We can’t stay anywhere near him. He’s with the Merrics.”

  Greer nodded; he knew that already. “He’s a calculating man, a liar, that’s for sure, and his associations with the Merrics could lead to trouble. But don’t worry, the place is empty, and we can’t camp tonight.”

  “Greer, we really can’t stay there. I mean it. The people at L’Autre Bête talked about him all the time. They worship the guy.”

  Greer shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I’m sure they like him with all his money and pull. I’m surprised you never met him.”

  “And I don’t want to.”

  Greer paused, turned his head, and peered at me. He wanted to tell me something. I could see it in his eyes, but he seemed to think better on it and instead nodded.

  “So we aren’t going?” I asked.

  “We don’t have a lot of options right now.”

  “Let’s just stay in the tent and be safe.”

  Greer put his hand on my arm and looked me directly in the eyes. “We are fine.”

  The magic was back and I felt completely at ease.

  ~*~

  The small cabin was hidden between the huge trees of the forest, well concealed under the full green canopy.

  Greer went first. “Come on.”

  “This belongs to that Cloverfield guy?” I expected something much fancier.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I thought Cloverfield would have a mansion or something.”

  Greer took my hand. “He does. This is his cabin.”

  I stayed back. “He might be here. We shouldn’t.”

  The rain was starting slowly, but the gray sky said it would get worse… and fast.

  “You trust me, right?” he asked.

  “Yes.” At first, I said it as a knee-jerk reaction to the question, but after it was out there, I meant it, completely. I trusted him in every way I could. He was my Greer.

  “Then trust we are safe. I wouldn’t bring you here if we weren’t.”

  Greer opened the door. Directly inside was a living room and kitchen combination. A counter with chairs separated them. I didn’t see a table, so I guessed people ate at the bar. The living room had a fireplace with a wooden mantle. Greer let me go first. He closed the door and dropped his bag.

  I stepped into the living room and ran my hand along the side table. Not a speck of dust. Someone took care of this place, lived here. Over the fireplace mantel were two fishing rods crossed into an x.

  Greer went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Sit back, Waverly. No Cloverfield bars tonight.”

  “So, how did you know about this place?”

  “I have connections.” Pots and pans clanged as Greer dug under the counters. “The Merric supporters are clueless to how many times they’ve helped the Galvantry. Take Cloverfield. He is on a constant vacation.”

  “So where is he now?”

  “France.”

  My stomach lurched, and I asked, “For Lothaire’s funeral?”

  Greer shook his head. “No. He’s dating a model.”

  Figures. “Is he old and gross like my uncle?”

  Greer smiled, pan in his hand. “Not old, but very ugly.”

  I walked past the couch, my fingertips gently touching the smooth leather. “You know, I’d live in a place like this even if I were rich. You can’t get comfortable in those big palaces. They’re all hollow on the inside, but this place is perfect.”

  Greer stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  He smiled and replied, “Not sure entirely.”

  On the mantle was a little toy fisherman, and I picked it up and studied the toy. It had a button on the back and when I pushed it, the little fisherman cast its line and reeled it back in.

  “What do you have there?” Greer left the kitchen and came over. “Wait.” Greer went to the side table and opened it, getting out a little fish. Greer put the man and the fish on the table. “Watch.” He pushed the button one more time. The man caught the fish. “It shows correct form.”

  “How did you know where the fish was?”

  He thought about his response before answering with “Luck, I guess.”

  “Are you sure?” There was more to it. He’d been here before, and I wondered how he knew this Cloverfield guy.

  The rain clinked against the roof, and Greer used it as a way to change the subject. “The reports said we could have flooding along streams and rivers. How about a fire? Easy, see? Just a button, right here.”

  Something was different about Greer. He was being nice, really nice. In the kitchen, I saw potatoes in a pot and a steak in a frying pan. “Is everything all right?”

  “Why?”

  “No reason.” I got this awful feeling; I was an old dog about to be sent to the vet in the morning, my days numbered.

  He returned to the kitchen and checked on the potatoes. I sat at the counter, watching him. “So you can cook?”

  Greer flipped the steak. “You could say that.”

  I watched his skill in the kitchen, and I figured it out; Greer was a chef in his real life. It made sense. He’d probably cooked for the Merrics and maybe he worked for this Cloverfield guy. He had probably been at L’Autre Bête the whole-time cooking. He’d snuck into the opera. It explained so much. That’s how he knew how to get out of L’Autre Bête. He’d known the Epps from cooking for the Libratiers. It explained why he was so disgusted at the Libratiers eating the food from the town people. It also explained his table manners. It would matter to him if he were a fancy chef. If I was right, those Cloverfield bars must have been killing him. I didn’t bother asking him. He’d deny it if I guessed right.

  “Have you cooked for anyone important?”

  “More important than a long-lost
princess?”

  “I’m not that, you know. I’m kind of a loser, really.” Geez, I thought, convincing a guy you like you’re a loser is not the best strategy. “Not a loser, sorry, not what I meant. I’m a high school graduate.” I was not helping myself.

  Greer handed me silverware and a napkin. As I took them, I noticed the dirt on my hands, under my nails. “Is there a bathroom?”

  “Right there.” He pointed to a door.

  I entered and saw the greatest thing ever: a shower with towels. Lots of soaps and lotions. In the top drawer, I found a lipstick, and in the closet, I found a washer and dryer and a white robe.

  I called out to Greer. “How much time do we have before dinner?”

  “Twenty minutes.” I didn’t need to hear it twice. I stripped down and went right in the shower. The shower was, in a word, amazing. The heat washed over my body. I stayed in as long as I could, knowing it would be rude to remain in the bathroom while dinner went cold.

  My uniform smelled so much worse after the shower. I couldn’t do it. This guy had sewn up my head and spent night after night with me. I wanted to smell good for once. I put on the lipstick and chickened out. I wiped it off. I wrapped myself up in a housecoat so thick and long, it might as well have been a blanket.

  I left the bathroom in time to see Greer plating the food. He was no novice. My guess of professions had to be accurate.

  Looming over the smell of the steak was the scent of something sweet and buttery.

  Greer watched me out of the corner of his eyes.

  I asked, “Do you have laundry to run?”

  He slowly nodded his head, and my chest fluttered. He still hadn’t turned to look at me fully.

  “Sit.” Greer put the plate down on the counter. He moved next to me and unfolded into his lap. The steak was perfect, and the potatoes were buttery, flawless—and let me tell you, I had high standards for potatoes. “I wish I had more vegetables and spices but, well...”

  He was still not looking at me. The robe must have been making him uncomfortable.

  “It’s delicious.”

  We ate in silence, but it felt like a different silence. There was an edge to it, like a breath or a moment might change everything. We were painfully quiet. My skin tingled, and my chest felt cold and hot at the same time. Even when we were both finished eating, we sat there in silence.

  A beeper in the kitchen went off. “Cookies. I made cookies and coffee.” That explained the smell. He went to the kitchen and poured out two cups, one for him, one for me. “I don’t know what you like in your coffee.”

  I wasn’t a huge fan, but it was so nice of him to get the coffee for me, I wasn’t going to mention it. I tried to get around him to get the milk from the refrigerator (the only way I drank it was with a heavy dose of cream), but before I could, Greer stopped me. “Sit back down. I can get it. What do you take?”

  “Cream.” Something about him in the kitchen, making us both something to drink, was the most attractive thing I had watched him do.

  “Want a molasses cookie?”

  “I’d love one.” Just like Grandma. He made those because I had mentioned my grandma made them, and it overwhelmed me that he was nice enough to make them. “I can’t believe you made cookies.”

  He smiled and took the coffee and cookies over to the coffee table.

  The fire crackled, and the rain on the tin roof was a steady clank, clank.

  There was something completely and utterly indulgent about the coffee and cookie I never appreciated in my other life. Greer sat down next to me on the couch and to be honest, if that moment was my last, I’d consider it to be the warmest and most comfortable in my entire life. I never wanted to leave this cabin. At the moment, I didn’t miss home, my parents, Sasha. The Merrics didn’t exist. I was happy to be where I was, warm and next to Greer.

  Greer was silent. Oh, how lovely to be in his head for a minute, to know exactly what he was thinking about me or planning to do. Mainly, did he have the same feelings for me, or was this one-sided? On second thought, I didn’t want to know. Knowing the worst might spoil the moment.

  “The cookies are so good.”

  “This is one of my mother’s recipes.”

  “Was she a cook?”

  Greer laughed. “No.”

  “So just cookies?”

  “Something like that.”

  I snuggled into the couch a little more. Greer sat close; our legs centimeters apart, and his arm draped behind me, not close enough to be around me but behind me. He made his mother’s cookies. You don’t make your mother’s cookie for just anyone. We sat silently.

  “I could stay here forever,” I said.

  Greer sighed. “We’re leaving tomorrow to catch a train to the beach.”

  That just about killed me. I wished he’d waited until tomorrow to tell me that one. “Please tell me you mean hobo style, jump the rail cars kind of thing.”

  “No, we’ll be riding in a private boxcar.”

  “So, what are we supposed to say or do?” My stomach plummeted to the floor. “The last time I was in public, a man tried to kill me, and that was before my picture was in the paper every day with an 11-million-dollar reward.”

  “25 million now, and I know.” Greer inched forward. I did too. He put his coffee on the table and turned to me. “We’ll be fine, or we won’t. The same is true every day in the woods too. We’ll be fine, or we won’t.”

  “But—”

  “Worrying about this won’t help,” he said calmly. I wished I had his confidence, but I didn’t.

  “I don’t belong in this world,” I said, but I wanted to say we. He didn’t either. We belonged somewhere else entirely, in a sane world and an ordinary place like in this cabin and on this couch, having cookies and coffee.

  “I won’t deny that. You don’t.” We were so close there on the couch. “You’re a good person.”

  “So are you,” I said.

  “I’m not.” He gazed into my eyes.

  “With as many times as you’ve rescued me? I highly doubt that, Greer.”

  “Greer,” he said as if questioning his own name. “Greer?”

  He sat back on the couch and a little further from me.

  “What? Did I do something?” I had only said he was a good person.

  He shook his head. “You’re you. You’ve been wonderful, Waverly. In the woods. I can’t...” Greer’s head hung forward, and he took it in both of his hands. “This isn’t real.”

  “What’s not real?” I couldn’t tell what he meant because this moment felt very real.

  “If you only knew...”

  “Knew what?”

  What didn’t I know? Tons. Anything, really. He didn’t answer, but whatever was upsetting him was big. Greer continued holding his head. He was struggling with something. I knew so little about him; I didn’t even know where to begin. He’d held emotions together so well that it was easy for me to forget that he was on this trip too. With everything we shared, I still didn’t know much about him. He was missing people just like I was missing people. He had a whole other life, and that life might include a family, a wife and kids.

  The thought woke me up. I moved over too and pulled my housecoat closer together. I tried not to think about it, but after a minute I was compelled to ask him, “Do you have a wife and kids?”

  Greer laughed. “No. Nothing close to it. You?”

  I laughed too. “No. I’m seventeen.” I thought about it for a second. “Wait, what day is it?”

  “July 17th.”

  “Guess I’m eighteen now.” I’d lost track of time on our hike. I’d been eighteen for over three days and hadn’t noticed.

  “Happy birthday.” Greer handed me the little fisherman from the table. “A gift from Cloverfield.”

  “Thanks,” I snickered. “So thoughtful of you.” I held the fisherman in my hands. “I was thinking of a theory on this Cloverfield guy.”

  Greer shifted uneasily beside me. “What a
re you thinking?”

  “I bet he’s living a dual life. He’s got mansions, right? He’s spending his time in Europe with some model, yet he’s got this cabin. He’s rich. He makes those chocolates, but then he makes those stupid health bars. I think he wants to be outdoorsy but more in theory than practice.”

  “Maybe.” Greer shifted over in his seat, so we were even further apart.

  “Or he’s a double agent. Maybe he’s really Galvantry.”

  Greer sat stone still for a moment.

  “I’m right!” I squealed. I’d been wrong so often I’d forgotten what being right felt like. “Aren’t I?”

  If Greer moved any further from me on the couch, he’d tumble to the floor. He grabbed the remote for the basic, boring TV. “We should watch the news or something.”

  “Wait, I am right, right?”

  “Waverly—”

  “Ha!” I was right.

  Greer turned on the TV. “What do you like watching?”

  “Anything, don’t care.” The word care came out as a yawn. The coffee was doing nothing for my energy levels.

  I tucked into my side of the couch. Greer wouldn’t confirm my suspicions, to protect Cloverfield. The two were probably friends. I fell asleep before the first commercial ended.

  In the morning, I woke up in a bed upstairs. Greer had carried me upstairs last night after I had fallen asleep.

  Lying across a sitting chair was a blue sundress, and on the floor was a pair of strappy sandals. A sun hat was hanging on a hook. Resting on the desk was a new pair of fancy-schmancy sunglasses. Greer. He had arranged for all of this. He had somehow gotten me a dress and shoes. I slipped everything on and tamed my curls with hair gel. I had to admit; I looked nice.

  When I saw Greer, he kind of knocked the sense out of me. He was wearing a white button-up shirt, folded at the sleeves, and a pair of gray pants. So close to that fantasy. So handsome.

  When he saw me, he stopped what he was doing and stared at me.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning.” He said nothing else and looked me up and down several times. It felt nice to be more like myself in front of Greer.

  “I’m going to need your ring and necklace. The ring is in your description, and the necklace is famous. I’ll give it back after the professor’s.”