by J M Thomas
“You’re really leavin’?” His tone was incredulous, but his expression looked crestfallen.
No. I thought so a few minutes ago, but now… Stay the course, Celeste. The feelings will clear. I nodded, sliding the finished rice to the cool back burner while I waited for the beans to soften.
“Hmm.” He fell silent for a moment. “I will fix this. I’ll be back.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat, but the second the door closed behind him, I missed him and wished he’d never left. I wished I wasn’t going to leave.
Chapter 17 – A Thousand Souls
He returned in under an hour. The second Aeron burst through the door, he planted himself right in front of my seat, words spilling out like he’d burst a dam wide open.
“I get passionate, orright?” He dropped the bags in his hands to the floor. “And then I get stupid. ‘At’s what ‘appened ‘ere. There’s nuffink ‘ere what’s your fault.” He pointed at the kitchen. “You were over there doin’ the best you could wiv the best you ‘ad, then this big, ugly mallet comes in ‘ere and makes a mess of fings for no good reason.”
He shifted his weight between his feet. “And I know this. I used to be such a pill, then I worked at it, and I got better.” His hands spread wide in an entreaty. “But it’s been awhile since I’ve been up close wiv a person, innit? So, I’ll be saying sorry until my face bleeds, but I will make it right, I swear it.”
I blinked at him in confusion from my spot on the futon, setting my laptop aside. What is this? Is he… apologizing?
“And I even know what fixes it,” he continued. “I’ve gotta square wiv you, really level. But that’s ‘ard for me, and I don’t want to. But if ‘at’s what’ll fix fings between us, ‘at’s what I need to do, and I’ll work up the courage to face it, yeah?”
“All right.” I smiled a little, still unsure of what was happening here.
“But first…” He fiddled around in the bags, then produced a little cardboard box with jute twine into a neat bow. “I can’t promise it won’t ‘appen again, but if it does, you ‘ave my permission to clonk me over my ‘ead for being a wanker. I’ll do my damndest, that I can promise you.”
I took the box in both hands. Something inside shifted, rattling hollow against the cardboard. I hoped he hadn’t trapped a thousand souls in there or something, though I’m sure I wouldn’t know if he had.
“And the ovver fing…” He picked up a styrofoam takeout box, which was sweating with steam and smelled amazing. “You will eat this, and you will like it. We are not skint ‘ere, and we can ‘ave our rice and beans wiv a little extra somefin.”
“Skint?” I opened the takeout box first. It was steak fajita with bell pepper, onion, and tortillas. The earthy scent of cumin and sharp sweetness of chili hit my nostrils with the beef.
“Uhh, empty pockets. Broke.” Aeron waved his hand as if that helped his explanation make it across the gap between us.
A grin spread across my face. “Thank you, Aeron. This really is too much, but I accept nonetheless.” I closed the lid to keep the food warm, then set it on the little coffee table.
Somehow, he still had energy and desire to contradict me. “It ain’t, though. I know you may not feel that you need this, but I need to offer it to you, or else I’ll be eat up wiv guilt. Dinner’s for me as much as you, but this…” He tapped the box I hadn’t opened yet. “Is just for you.”
I untied the twine, then lifted the lid of the box. My breath caught in my throat as the sides of the box fell away.
They revealed a china teacup garden. A little plastic bonsai tree overlooked a tiny oak park bench sitting on a real moss lawn. Two incredibly tiny teacups sat side-by-side, a tinted resin filling them to look like they brimmed with tea. An aquarium rock path edged with pea-sized gravel gave weight to the garden, keeping the cup from tipping with the height of the little bonsai tree.
“It’s beautiful!” I stroked the tiny plastic leaves. They bent back to reveal a miniature, blue-feathered bird, carefully hidden in the branches. “And it can sit on my desk at work, even though there’s no light!”
“Exactly.” Aeron picked up the cactus in one hand, examining each spike as he waved me over to the windowsill. The evening light cast an orange glow through the blinds. “Which one was it what got you?”
I pointed at the very top. There was a gap where the offending spine was missing. “That’s strange. The needle’s gone…”
“Yeah, I figured we was too late, but I ‘ad to be sure.” He replaced the plant where I’d set it in the windowsill. It kinda looked like it belonged there, at home next to his bottle and cigar. I’d added a little stack of books on the other side to balance out the look. Aeron seemed to appreciate the scene it created. He pointed an accusatory index finger at the cactus. “Now, you’ve caused enough bovver for us. You sit right ‘ere and be good.”
He turned back to me with a hopeful smile on his face. “Shall we eat?”
We got our plates, then shared the futon while we ate. It was amazing—my rice and beans topped with his meat and veggies made a satisfying meal. I noticed Aeron going back for thirds and nodding appreciatively when he got a bite with everything on it.
The more I’d seen what he was like under stress, ironically enough, the more I found myself relaxing in his presence. People pretending to be invulnerable always seemed to be the most volatile under threat.
Aeron had a short fuse, sure, but, if he was being sincere, he was self-aware enough to backtrack if he saw himself going too far. The ticket would be signaling that, and I’d dealt with angry siblings enough I knew we could develop a system… if we had time.
Leaving this cozy oasis with its prickly lion felt less and less appealing by the second.
“Alright, let’s get the rest of this business over wiv.” Aeron slid his empty plate across the coffee table, patting his belly. He pivoted on the futon to face me, his index finger already hovering midair.
“Don’t take this as being an excuse for me in any way, Lessie, but I’m tracin’ back the shit a ways.”
I had no idea what he meant, but I nodded anyway, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Where to begin?” He scratched the stubble along his jaw. “First off, I get this feelin’ fings are ‘appenin’ faster than I can keep up wiv ‘em. ‘At’s puttin’ me on edge, like worse than normal. I’ve worked ‘ard to build a team of necros to take down freats—but I got nuffink for it.”
His hand scrubbed his beard again, a gesture I was beginning to think meant he was searching for words. “After last time, I fought the guild would be ready by now, but it’s not. Not even close, and I’ve run outta time. Being shut out means I’ve been coming in on the back foot, you see.”
Team of necros… A memory sparked, and I quickly rifled through my notebook back to the interview with Ethan. “Do you mean the coordinated strike team that took down that one necromancer?” I couldn’t find the spot to confirm, but it was definitely in this notebook somewhere.
When I glanced up from my note-flipping frenzy, Aeron looked impressed. “Yeah.” He blinked a couple times, grin spreading. “Look who’s done ‘er research!”
“Not really.” I laughed. “The first person I interviewed looked over my list of necros who’d used the beta mode of the server. Apparently, that psycho guy was looking for love while wreaking havoc.”
“Ain’t that always the way, though? Look at one piece of a person long enough, you see a ‘ero or a villain.” Aeron swallowed hard. “Look at the ‘ole picture, fings get muddy.”
I couldn’t help myself. “So, are they muddy? Or are things clear, and we overthink them?”
“Look at you talkin’ philosophy before scotch!” Aeron laughed once, then immediately sobered. “Some fings are inexcusable. A decent bloke at work who ‘arms innocents when ‘e clocks out needs to be stopped. If ‘e can see the path ‘e’s put hisself on and back it up before ‘e gets lost to the dark…”
A look of
pain flitted across Aeron’s expression. I got the feeling we’d somehow gone from talking about the rogue necromancer and started talking about what’d happened earlier. In that moment, I finally understood why he’d insisted on such a ridiculously-strong apology for such a little thing as making me cry.
Aeron was staring down the abyss of what he could be, clawing his way back from the edge any way he could. No, even worse, he was staring down the full potential he already had within him, trying to build guardrails around the darkest parts of himself so he wouldn’t fall in.
He saw his tendency to aggression, maybe even violence when provoked, and had to make sure those he wanted to protect wouldn’t also need to be protected from him. His apology was a weapon in a fight for his own conscience. He’d used a teacup garden to mark the moment he slipped, and a pile of food to ensure he focused on what was important: preparation for whatever came next.
“What does come next?” I asked in a whisper.
He shuddered. “I don’t rightly know. The Ministry sent me to prevent the fall of this city to the watchlin’ faction. So, either the city will fall, or it won’t.” He opened his mouth to add something, then seemed to decide the better of it and shut it again.
My jaw loosened. “Wait, that’s your prophecy? What does it say?”
Aeron shook his head slowly. “I’m not at liberty to discuss a necro prophecy wiv someone who ain’t a necro.” He offered a helpless shrug, a tic in his cheek looking almost like a wink. “You can see where the Ministry might not be ‘oppin’ to share its gloom and doom predictions wiv normals.”
“But I’m not a normal. You said it yourself.” I prodded him with my elbow.
“Hmm, you’re right about ‘at. In a sense, you’re worse ‘an a normal wiv your no filament. On the other ‘and…” A sense of wonder laced his voice as he slowly leaned toward me, hazel-green gaze earnest and bright. “You’re magic.” Shaking his head, Aeron gave my shoulder a little bump with his, then slid back away.
He almost kissed me there. I swallowed hard. What would I have done if he kissed me? An image flashed through my mind, of me straddling his lap, my forehead touching his, my lips touching his.
I wouldn’t finish my cost prospectus tonight, is what. I cleared my throat past the awkwardness that descended between us. “I’m going to be up late getting some work done. My manager wants me to get a list of projected costs and earnings potential spreadsheets in post-haste.”
“I’ll watch the match, then.” He shook his head again as if trying to clear it of cobwebs, then got up and put a little physical distance between us. “If it ain’t a bovver.”
“No, not at all. What I was thinking is that, since I need to stay awake anyway, if you want the futon, I’ll take the chair.”
“I dunno, Lessie. That chair has knocked me out cold on many a night.” Aeron grinned, patting the sad, flat back of the chair. “No scotch for you, then?”
“I’ll save it as my reward for finishing this mess.” I eyed my laptop with trepidation, then forced myself to get up off the couch and relocate to the armchair. It was the last thing I wanted to do.
Well, almost the last thing. One question had been burning a hold in my head so long, I finally had no others in front of it in line. I’d been wondering it since the second I’d met this walking contradiction I was gradually becoming attracted to.
“Aeron,” I said. “Tell me. What kind of magic do you do?”
His smile hit a halfway point between playful and sad. “Necromancy, to be sure. I fought you knew.” He sent me a little wink.
I gave him a look in return. “I mean specifically.”
Aeron deflated a little as he crossed one ankle over the other and leaned against a bare spot on the wall. “I’ve got a trick or two. Calling spirits to do my bidding is one. The ovver is taking control of ovver people’s spirits and summons, make ‘em do my bidding or banishing ‘em, as is my wont.”
He shook his head. “But I’m not allowed to in Wachenta, ‘because you get licensed frough the city’s guild. So… I can’t tell you why I ‘ad blood on my clothes earlier, blood on my arm, or this could all be for nought.” Genuine pain entered his eyes. “And it kills me that there’s so many fings I can’t say to you, important fings that could save your life in a pinch. Or, if the watchlin’s get their wish, could damn us all.”
My voice soft, I met his gaze. “Should I be afraid of you, Aeron?”
His breath came out all at once, as if the question stung. “Not if I can ‘elp it. Not for long, anyway.” He waved me off before I could inquire further. “Best you be getting to work, then. Go set some necros up wiv dates or summin’.”
Halfway through setting up my things, Aeron’s phone rang. I didn’t mean to listen in, but there was really nowhere else to go in the little apartment.
“Yeah, but you gotta admit, this is gettin’ a little ridiculous, mate.” Aeron’s shoulders tensed as he paced the space between the window and the futon. “I didn’t say ‘at, I just said…” He heaved a sigh. “You know what? Fine. Fine. Yeah, piss off.”
Aeron’s steps became stomps as he tossed the phone onto the futon, then snatched up our dishes and marched them to the sink. He didn’t even pretend to hide his ire.
“Need to talk?” I asked.
“Fuck, no.” His voice was more like a growl.
I smiled, pulling my earbuds out. I’ll take that as a yes. “Don or Darrel?”
“You mean which dick what starts wiv D? Darrel. ‘E’s got this big idea, since the last time went so well, that ‘e can make me do whatever ‘e gets in ‘is ‘ead.” He ran a hand through his hair and blew his breath out between his lips. “I’m gettin’ tired of this shit.”
“Well, it’s not like you’ve got the fate of a major metropolis to worry about or anything.” I gave Aeron a sarcastic thumbs up. “You’ve got loads of time on your hands to run errands for your helpless buddy.”
He snorted, then fell silent, fetching his bottle of whiskey and a glass for it. Before he could sit down, his phone buzzed again. He texted his response to the message, his jaw tensing.
“One of those nights, huh?” My fingers stilled on the keyboard.
“Mmm. It’s all crashin’ in, innit? Ain’t nuffink I can fuckin’ do to stop it.”
As he sat there, arms loose at his sides, staring blankly at the ceiling, I had the sinking feeling there was going to be nothing we could do to stop the oncoming tide.
Chapter 18 – Scream
“C’mon, Aeron.” I lowered my eyebrows as I took in his uncharacteristic resignation. What in the name of all the stars in the heavens could have this guy on a chain?
Something below the surface was killing him, but getting him to open up… that was at least one glass of whiskey’s job. “Why do you feel like you have to do whatever this dip wad asks? Give him what for to his face, like you do everybody else, and be done with it.”
Was that shame crossing his features, crinkling his forehead, lowering his eyes in defeat? He sank into his seat a little further.
“Aeron?” I prodded him with a finger in his ribs from my spot in the chair. He scooted a few inches down on the futon before righting himself again, but didn’t say anything.
As he pretended to watch the rugby match on his phone, Aeron’s whiskey glass slowly drained to melted ice. He refilled it from the bottle, all in a silence so angry and deep I was afraid to break it.
Halfway between the second pour and the bottom of the glass that would mark the end of the night for him, I prodded again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Nah, Lessie, ish is my fuck-up,” he said carefully, words slurring.
I inclined my head. “But that doesn’t mean it’s only yours to carry.”
He considered this, looking me up and down with narrowed, evaluating eyes. Finally, a sigh escaped him like a cork being flung from a pressurized bottle. “I was wearing my ‘elmet when I came up. No one knew me yet, seeing as it was the first summer b
ack in Evansville. Darell, ‘e weren’t there, but ‘e worked it out all the same. Found my shirt ‘id under the mattress, stained wiv my blood all over it.”
Aeron took another swallow from the glass. “‘E says, ‘Family, now, we stick togevver. We don’t share our secrets, and we help each ovver out.’”
“He’s… blackmailing you? Over a bloody shirt? Why? How?” Perhaps I’d let him have too much whiskey before answering questions. He wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. Wait, family? They’re... related?
“Even then, I looked like trouble, Lessie.” Aeron’s brow furrowed as he leaned his elbows on his thighs. “Eighteen years old, and I could be all, ‘Good morning, gents!” and ‘ey’d act like I was about to slap their stupid fucking faces.”
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “What happened?”
“I was only a lad, Lessie. But they were, too. Mere lads.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, drained the rest of the glass, then slowly stood. “Twelve years, and it’s still ‘angin’ over my ‘ead like it was yesterday.”
I waited for the glass to clink against the stainless steel of the kitchen sink, then for the creak as he sank his weight into the futon once more, signaling an end to our conversation. I tucked the blanket’s thick bulk around my head and shoulders like a cloak and pulled up my phone, reclining the armchair.
As I searched, I added in the few details I’d gotten out of him. Summer, twelve years ago, Evansville, teen boys… then there it was, in a website archive. The whole horrible story, told by the only surviving witness in an interview with the local newspaper.
The Evans county paper called it a tragedy and a massacre. Four teens had been “hazing” another boy from the high school, one who’d been reported to practice necromancy. It was a classic case of bullies being bullies, but these had called the poor kid a filthy witch and launched a nasty cyber-campaign to make the teen’s life a living hell.
This had escalated to that night, them dragging him to the cemetery to make him perform. When he’d done nothing, they called him a liar and tied him to a fencepost at the graveyard’s edge.