Forever Here

by Harold Wall

  "Ri showed up yet?" she called to Finn when he boogied near enough.

  "Fire pit!" he shouted back. "Wouldn't let me light it."

  Outside, then, where the crowds weren't. That sounded like bliss: the camouflage of darkness, and Riose. He wouldn't ask anything, wouldn't poke or pry.

  Sunny

  broke away from the dancefloor, breathing hard. There was a merry buzz in the air that made her feel a little giddy, like she was on the first day of holiday.

  She found a solid wall to lean against, a cold glass of something to clutch and best of all, space in the press. Sunny tipped back her head and let it wash over her. It had been a

  long time since she'd felt such warm emotions.

  Except – there. Like a flaw in silk, something that might unravel the night.

  She felt her way along the emotion like Theseus in the labyrinth. At its end, no minotaur just a very pale girl with a smog of brown hair and a sullen mouth. She was listening,

  albeit reluctantly, to Will Ratner. All the while, her resentment swelled like a boil.

  Still. It wasn't the virulent hate she'd felt at school. And it couldn't be – the other thing she could pick up was the glimmer of power in the girl. A witch, and a fairly powerful one at

  that.

  Will broke away, nothing coming from him but a faint determination. He spotted her and made a beeline over. "Hey Sunny. You okay on your own?"

  "Taking a breather." She gestured to Finn, who had executed a handsfree backflip to wide acclaim. "How does he keep it up?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Practice. Lots of it. Him and Arch got into breakdancing a couple of years ago. Between them, I think they've broken three ribs, dislocated a shoulder and

  Finn has definitely faceplanted into the floor before. They're pretty much the definition of suffering for your art."

  "I'm not sure it's art," she said thoughtfully.

  He grinned. It was a nice smile, she supposed, if you liked teeth. Which Celia apparently did. "I wasn't talking about the acrobatics."

  "What were" Finn was laughing with a girl. "Oh. Okay."

  "Uh huh." He nudged her. "Be careful, Sunny. He's fun and he's goofy, but Farrier's kind of a mayfly. All surface, no substance. Not the sort of guy for someone like you."

  "Someone like me?" she echoed. It sounded wellmeant, and he even felt earnest.

  "A class act," he clarified. " Speaking of, have you seen Cee?"

  "She went outside."

  "Thanks. I think the grand finale's about to start." People had formed a circle around Finn and Arch, who had the poised look of two people about to execute a plan of grandiose

  proportions. Or possibly desperation. "Catch you later."

  He left her in a puddle of solitude. It took her a moment to place her feelings. She felt offkilter, like she stood on shifting ground. He'll fall heart and soul, said Celia.

  no substance, countered Will. Both of them shone with conviction. But one of them had to be wrong.

  It bothered her, badly. She wasn't entirely sure why.As

  Celia closed the doors, relief swept over her on the velvety summer air. The weight of being watched was gone.

  Set back from the barn, the fire pit had been installed in rough fashion, nothing more than a piece of steel someone had hammered into a curve. Leaning over it, intent, was Riose,

  prodding bits of coal into place.

  "Pretty sure the party's in there," he said without looking up. "And the people."

  There was an edge on that she didn't understand. "Which is why I'm out here. No one's staring at me."

  "Ah." He frowned, and sprinkled something that smelled highly flammable over the coals. "Haven't Finn and Arch assaulted the dancefloor yet? That should distract everyone."

  "They've seen that sideshow every year. My bruises, on the other hand, are a novelty." She shifted uneasily. "Everyone's staring."

  "Well, you flattened Kirsty," he said wryly. "Everyone wants to see what giantslayers look like these days."

  "That's my excuse for hiding out here. What's yours?"

  There was the scrapefizz of the match flickering into life. Riose held it gingerly over the coals.

  "Hiding's not" He glanced up, and the match tumbled down. With a whoosh, the fire leapt up like a great gold hare springing from its hindquarters, and burned away the rest of his

  words. Nothing remained but his naked expression.

  It was almost shock on his face, unpolished and unpractised. And then it became something else, dark and flickering in his eyes, the opposite of the stares inside. She felt it like a

  warm breath, a frisson that made her aware of the curve of her hips, the lushness of her mouth, the lace snug on her skin.

  For a breathlessly brief moment, Riose stared at her, and she stared at him, and felt like both of them were seeing something different.

  And then the fire slumped back, tame. Shadow concealed him, as it often did.

  "not the word I'd use," he said.

  "No? What is?"

  "Hoping." There was a huskiness to his voice, barely above a whisper.

  She matched him, softness for softness. "For what?"

  They stood in a pool of silence, and he hooked his hand around his neck as if he wanted to speak but didn't know what to say. The firelight played tricks with her vision, painting

  pieces of him in gold – that stubborn jaw, the taut lines of his shoulders, tantalising slices of his face but never quite enough to read his expression.

  His lips parted

  "Cee?" Her name was accompanied by a blast of music. Will was loitering in the crackedopen doors, looking expectant. "You have got see what Farrier and Arch are doing!"

  "Guess the sideshow's still drawing the crowds," said Riose. He gave a short laugh. "Go on, you don't want to miss it."

  "If that song's what I think it is, I want to know which one of them's going to be doing the lift." She smiled at him, not sure why she felt a little lost. "Come in with us."

  His expression dimmed. "Nah, I'd better make sure we don't burn the place to the ground. Besides, I saw rehearsals."

  "Sure?"

  "Cee, come on!" called Will.

  "Certain," he said. "Go. The fun's inside."

  She turned back to Will, and the smile came easily to her lips, even knowing she was going back to all those inquisitive eyes. Because she carried the knowledge wrapped around

  her like armour: there was one person here who had looked at her and seen not a victim, not a bully, not today's story or tomorrow's debris.

  Under his eyes, she had been more than bruises or her tentative heart.

  More, too, than an old friend – though quite what, she couldn't quantify.

  "That," said Will thoughtfully, "was indescribable."

  Arch and Finn were still in the midst of congratulations and whoops as the last strains of the music faded away.

  "I did not know they'd recruited the rest of the athletics team as backing dancers," she agreed. "That's not a sight I'll forget in a hurry."

  "Not without a lot of therapy." He scooped up a couple more drinks. "I wasn't expecting fullon costumes."

  "It's Finn. He's always allin," she said. "Though I have to admit, the white dress was commitment."

  "It was the wig that sold me."

  Celia trailed him up to the loft, which smelt of sawdust and spilled sugary drinks. Old couches broke up the space, scattered with faded cushions. The eaves were full of fairylight

  constellations that barely parted the shadows.

  Will found them a sofa, soft as a cloud. He collapsed onto it with a relieved sigh. "I don't know how you do it in those heels."

  She slid down next to him, toeing off her shoes. "Briefly, that's how I do it. Sorry to spoil the illusion."

  He knitted his hands behind his head and lay back. "Maybe I'm not a fan of the illusion."

  "Careful. The illusion's pretty and glamorous. Do you really want the bare bones, bare knuckle, bareall realit
y?"

  His eyes were as dark as melted chocolate. "Bareall, you said?"

  She felt herself flushing. "Bare knuckle, too."

  "Did you really give Kirsty a black eye?"

  "I really did."

  "Over me?"

  Celia hesitated. "Mostly. She told me to keep away. I told her you could make up your own mind."

  "Not many people have fought for me." He straightened and took her arm, fingers gentle as he traced the scratches. "I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. All those guys – Mike,

  Kirsty – we used to be close. But they want one thing and I want something else, and the gap keeps getting wider. They want someone to blame, because..." He sighed. "It's easier

  than the truth."

  She'd had no idea. "What truth?"

  He was silent, moving only in the whisk of his fingers over her skin. Then he said, slowly, "You've got brothers and sisters, haven't you?"

  "One sister. Two brothers," she said. "Don't you, too?" The name came to her, buried in the list of the damned. "Jason?"

  "Had." He shook his head before her graceless apologies came tumbling out. "No need. It was kept quiet. No one wanted to talk about it – about him." He drew back – hooked an

  arm around one knee, his body a barricade. His gaze sifted to the ceiling "Except me."

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "They said Jason killed himself. He was found hanged. He was my hero, you know, like big brothers are. We were different, mostly. School was never his thing, except for football

  and track. My dad hated that, and he hated it even more when Jase dropped out and moved to the city. He got into a trade there, made all these friends. He sounded so damn

  happy last time he called me."

  "Did you talk a lot?"

  "Yeah." A wry smile. "Every week. He'd call me and we'd bitch a bit about dad, and shoot the shit, and he'd tell me about the city and his job and all the people he met. He felt like

  he was doing something worthwhile, you know? He had a purpose. And then he didn't call. And he didn't call the next week either."

  "And you knew," she said softly.

  "Yeah. I wanted to be wrong, but I knew. The next day the police were at the door. And nothing was the same after that. Nothing. I found out that no one knows what to say to you.

  And they don't want to talk about it, really. They don't want to have to hear your grief, because it reminds them they might feel it too. Turns out that they wanted the world to be

  full of parties and pep rallies, and instead I was arranging a funeral because my dad refused to do anything but pay for it."

  "Will..." she whispered, aghast.

  "None of them came. They all knew Jase. He'd given them lifts and bought them beer, and they didn't even have the fucking grace to come to his funeral." He was all rigid lines,

  taut with anger.

  "I'm sorry," she said. She reached out, brushed his clenched fist.

  "Me too." The tension dissolved from him; he opened his hand, fingers lacing with hers briefly. "I grew up, and they didn't want to leave Neverland. All of them can feel the

  distance, but they can't blame themselves, so they blamed you."

  She felt deeply sorry for him, mired in this war between human and inhuman, touched by it without even knowing it was happening. It had hijacked his grief, and she couldn't even

  tell him that.

  "There's more to it than that," she said. "Kirsty's never liked me."

  "Or anyone. Don't take it personally. And don't be scared off." His eyes sought hers and in them she saw intent, felt it in the way he drew closer. "Not yet, anyway. I've got a whole

  world to show you."

  The air seemed dimmer, as if everything was shrinking down to the space between them. She felt breathless, hot, and time slowed as she took a deep breathThat

  tasted of smoke.Sunny

  followed the girl outside. People had dispersed like dandelion seeds in the wind as the night drew inexorably on. The flicker of the fire pit drew them, and the moths too, who

  filled the air with the barelythere beat of suicidal wings.

  She, however, gave it a cautious berth. No point in being too conspicuous. Old habits died hard, harder than she had.

  Sunny searched the shadows for a likely spot where she could watch without anyone returning the favour. There – but the spot was filled already.

  He was probably trustworthy. Despite his surname.

  Riose gave her a nod as she folded onto the grass beside him. His tone was guarded. "Sunny."

  "You mentioned the Furies," she said, keeping one eye on the witch. "On my first day."

  "I did." It took skill to look so relaxed and yet to keep your hands free for attack, legs coiled to move.

  "How did you know?"

  "Aside from the fact you turned up with Kurt Schrader and Aurenna Ravija? The golden girl and the blademaster?" She caught a glimmer of a halfsmile. "It's the way you assess

  everyone. Decding whether you could take them out. The answer's always yes. And that look – it's Blue all over."

  "It's a good look," she murmured. "So what if it isn't mine?"

  "Do you really think he's your friend?" said Riose, curiosity softening the words.

  "Not in the way you mean." Blue Malefici had been a constant in her life since he first found her. She fancied she knew a little of him. "He's not kind, or warm, or...well, fun. But I

  don't think I need any of those things from him. He makes me be honest with myself. Which I hate, sometimes. He'll use me. He'll make a weapon of me. But..." She laughed,

  hearing the wrongness of it even as the words came from her. "What a weapon I'll be."

  "Yeah. I know that feeling. He's worse than Therese, sometimes."

  "Is she...?"

  "My sister," he confirmed.

  "Is that how you wound up involved with the Furies?"

  "No, actually." A poison drop of bitterness spiked his words. "It was part of my mother's divorce agreement. My father's family didn't want me to lose touch with my nature, and my mother couldn't get over her resentment enough to let me visit the enclave, so that was the compromise. Summer with the Furies."

  "You didn't like it?" she said, feeling she was moving onto treacherous ground.

  "I was four. They taught me to fight with swords. I loved it. But my mother left my sister on that enclave. She fled it, like a criminal, and she's fought every attempt my father ever made to see me."

  "You never met him?" she said, surprised. "Surely you could have taken a field trip one summer."

  "The Furies enforce the agreement." The susurrus of the leaves swallowed his sigh. "Which means my own sister stops me from visiting my father. That's what my mother did. She

  built the wall and made Therese patrol it."

  Sunny nudged him. "Could be worse. My father was King Herod, my mother's queen of the demons, and when I took a mortal wound killing him, she saved me so she could feed off my memories for eternity."

  Silence. Then Riose laughed, the sound rueful, and said, "You win, demon girl. Why are you dragging yourself out here anyway?"

  She angled a couple of fingers at the witch, who was drifting through the knots of people by the fire. There was some motive to her movement, to the way she paused at the edge

  of conversations. "Her. Know her?"

  "A senior. Witch, I think. She's just one of those people you see around." Riose leaned forward, a hound on point. "What's interesting about her?"

  "Her feelings." They came to Sunny like vibrations on a tincan telephone. "Everyone here's full of sunshine and rainbows, but not her. One conversation with Will, and I can taste

  her anger on the air like Mike's overdone aftershave."

  "Will?" The name twanged on the air with ferocity. "What would he have to say to her?"

  "They don't hang around then?"

  "No. Will's all about the jocks and the gossip girls. Or he was. He's branched out in the last few mon
ths." His displeasure was evident. "But not to mystery seniors."

  "Hmm. Don't suppose you could read her mind?"

  A pause. "No. She's got good shields."

  They watched her for several minutes. The witch spoke to no one, but she listened avidly. Evermoving, she had a hummingbird's restless energy that masked the fact she was

  alone; she always looked like part of a group, there on the fringes. It was a very clever tactic.

  "But what is she trying to do?" she murmured, half to herself.

  Before she knew it, Riose was on his feet. "Let's see if I can find out."

  "Wait" she hissed, but he ignored her.

  As he stepped out into the light, his stance changed. Suddenly there was a laziness, an arrogance about the way he walked. He scooped up an abandoned drink, and the illusion was

  complete; one mildly drunk goodlooking guy, going somewhere. As if he stumbled, he collided with the witch, and then it was an easy, clever scene: flurry of apologies, hands out,

  earnest, then flash of a charming smile, a compliment, two, and the conversation was rolling.

  She was impressed. It was a skill she'd never been taught. Had never needed, really. Someone had trained Riose Orage to be a trickster. But the most interesting thing was that he

  only did it at need. With his friends – not Furies, hell, not even supernatural – she had the feeling he was himself.

  She honed in on their emotions. From Riose, almost nothing; he was eggshellblank, controlled. From her, skeins of sensation unrolling – caution, and exhilaration and hope,

  weaving into a bright tapestry that felt just like everyone else here. Well, we were wrong then, thought SunnyThen

  a sudden ragged mothhole of fear. Fear stretching, unravelling every other feeling – until all that remained was a blackness to rival the blaze of the fire pit.

  The witch made her excuses, hiked her bag up on her shoulder, and left with ungainly haste.

  Riose returned as easily as he had left. "That was strange," he remarked.

  "Strange but harmless," she said, bemused. "She feels – satisfied."

  "What's she got..." He drew a sharp breath, and his eyes flared the bluewhite of lightning. "The barn!"

  His eyes widened, and reflected in them was a gleam as small and bright as a coin. Time seemed to slow around her; his mouth was warping into a word she should know, but