Chasing Boston

by Grey, Rebecca

  His drink hits the counter. He stands. "I should leave. I shouldn't have agreed to this."

  It's a shame it had to come to this...I thought he might actually come around.

  "Sit down." I snap my fingers and he lowers back into his seat, his eyes large and frantic with the knowledge that the action was not commanded by his own mind. The skin that had darkened with a blush earlier is red again. From anger? Fear? Frustration? Carefully, I cup his face in my hand, running my thumb over his lips. His mouth is perfect.

  "Boston, Boston, Boston, this would be so much easier if you would just tell the truth. Though I do admire someone with a little bit of a backbone." I smirk. "Others tend to ramble on to me about their pathetic lives within the first minute of meeting. You can't tell me that you weren't drawn to me as I was drawn to you."

  He doesn't answer because I don't let him. That pretty little mouth stays clamped shut. I give him a good slap on the cheek before I drop my hand.

  My body craves these bargains now. I'm drawn to places either filled with souls begging to cross over or humans on the brink of losing themselves to some sort of deep torment. What torments Boston?

  Finally, I reach into my pocket, frowning when my fingers touch the damp fruit, and pull the apple from my pocket. I spin it between my fingers, slowly bringing my attention back to his panicked expression.

  Setting the core down between our drinks, I reach into his jacket pocket. Boston sits perfectly still, a patient pupil because I've forced him to be. It's so disappointing. People are never who I want them to be.

  The few coins I'd brought with me weren’t to spend. I don't need them. They’re simply because I liked the way they made me feel human. For just a short time I was one of them. Then this criminal, disguised as a proper man, took them from me.

  He's just like the rest of them, but I can still offer him some kindness. I can still give him whatever he needs...in exchange for his commitment to me and my ship.

  "Why would you try and pickpocket me?" I knock my knuckles against the counter. "I could just give you money if that's what you want. At a small price."

  Another snap of my fingers and I release Boston from the grips of my power. He sags forward, taking in a sharp breath. One hand rises to his chest, the other back on his sword.

  "Talk," I demand.

  "What are you?" Boston rasps, and to his credit, he only draws closer making my pulse race. "You're not human."

  "No. I'm not." Bitterness laces every word. "However, what I am is neither here nor there. I can help you." I poke him squarely in the chest. "Why did you steal from me?"

  "My family needs money."

  "Why?"

  "My father's business ventures are failing."

  Truth. Also a lie. Oh, he's smart.

  "I can force the truth from you, you know. It won't feel the same as what I just did. Taking from you in that way will hurt; the words will burn up your throat like fire." I sip the last of my drink. "You don't care about money."

  "I care," he stutters.

  I slam my fist into the bar top, rattling all the glasses, with a sound as deep as thunder. Boston swallows, looking around but nobody jumps to help him. The only ones watching are my men at the back of the bar who've all been in Boston's position before.

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I continue with a sigh. "Please. Please, don't make me do it. I want to be the nice guy here, but you humans make it so difficult." I motion for him to continue, a second chance before I make him speak with honesty.

  "My sister."

  A sweet tendril of joy lights inside of my chest. There it is. That's what he's hiding. I relax into my seat, grinning.

  "She's almost twenty and my father can't support her anymore so he's marrying her off."

  "Poor girl." I deadpan.

  "No, no, you see, Millie is special. She's meant to do something...something." He lights up with passion then, his hands slice through the air as he speaks, unable to contain himself. "She isn't meant for marriage. At least not with him."

  "You don't like her beau?"

  "Desmond? He's fine, I guess. It's not him, it's just that Millie was made for adventure. She's a free spirit and I'm terrified that it will ruin her."

  "And?"

  "And I can tell she's already miserable." He purses his lips. "She hides it well, but I can tell."

  "So?" I press. Out with it, boy.

  "So, if I can get enough money or save my father's business I can save her from that fate."

  Everyone has someone they'd trade their life for. For Boston, it's his sister.

  "Isn't it the proper thing to do? Isn't she expected to marry and leave the family?" All their problems always feel so small to me and they still make the bargain.

  "I can't explain it. It just doesn't feel right." He rubs at his brow, propping himself up against the bar. "I just want her to be happy."

  "Well, the good news is you came to the right monster."

  Boston shivers in his seat. Good.

  I clap my hands together, rubbing my palms in anticipation. "You want money to save your family, to save your sister from a marriage she doesn't want?" He nods. "I can help you find a treasure that will solve that."

  "A treasure?" He sounds doubtful.

  "Yes. That's what I said, didn't I?"

  "Okay..."

  "I'll direct you toward the treasure, and if you're able to get it and save your family from their obvious impending doom, then you just need to do one thing in return."

  "Whatever it is. I'll do it."

  He doesn't even hesitate. Cocking my head, I examine him from his dark hair all the way down to his unblemished boots.

  "You'll work with me, for me, as a member of my team."

  "For how long?"

  He's bright enough to ask. Good boy.

  "How many years is your sister worth?"

  "She's worth the rest of my life," he says it quickly, then his eyes go wide as if he's realized what he's done.

  I grin wickedly and extend my hand. "The rest of your life. For your sister, Boston, so she can be happy. You could be happy with me."

  His green eyes, as vibrant as a forest lit up by the bright afternoon sun, bounce from my hand to my face. Boston grits his teeth but places his hand in mine. The energy of the deal flows between us. It consumes me like a high I have to hold onto to keep from losing myself to it. That's happened a time or two and it's never pretty when I become more demon than man. So I clamp down on the feeling and a new tattoo burns into my skin. An hourglass fills up most of the space on my back. The more time they give the bigger the mark.

  Boston has many years still to give. I drop his hand and shift in my seat, fifty-eight years if I'm reading the tattoo correctly. In a frenzy, he shrugs out of his jacket and reaches over his shoulder, letting his fingers brush over the marking on his back.

  "What did you do to me?!"

  "It's a mark of our deal. I'd say that it'll go away when your service is over but you'll be dead then, so..."

  He grabs the coat and clutches it to his chest. "Tell me how to get the treasure."

  "You're leaving now? Why so soon? Finish your drink with me." I pat the counter and my rings echo the motion.

  "How do I find the treasure?" He grinds, towering over me where I sit.

  I shrug and I can see visible waves of anger start to come off of him. I reach out with one of my shadows that linger at our feet and let the two smokey tendrils intertwine. His breathing becomes shaky when he feels the way the darkness caresses his emotion. I could make a person do more than that in bed.

  "Go to the island of Malaway. You'll find a blacksmith there who can help you." I wave him off and yank my shadows away.

  "You are supposed to help me." He points out.

  "And I did. I just told you what your first step is. Now go. Hurry off. I'll find you when you've gotten what you need." If he survives it.

  Boston stands there, just staring. He shakes his head, reaches over me for his drink,
downs the rest of it, and turns to the door. He doesn't mumble any curses under his breath or argue with me. His shoulders straighten, he clenches his jaw, then sets out for the treasure he's been promised. Determined.

  I watch as he goes. Wide shoulders, lean waist, matching height. I could find myself in love with someone like him. Pouring myself another drink, I settle back into my seat. The prickly hair along my jaw irritates the skin on my rough hands as I rub at my chin, thinking.

  Something inside of me says I'm not done. Something inside of me wants to stay here in Himond. Someone else...some other tormented being needs me. Lose one man and gain two...that's a first for me.

  11

  Before The Deal

  Millie

  The sun has gone down, and in its wake has left behind the need to hurry. Another day come and gone. Boston still nowhere to be seen. I hurry through the streets watching the dark sky where the sun had finally disappeared and beckoned day to give way to night.

  The later it gets the fewer people there are on the streets. The few that I do see are men. The women out and about becoming less and less as I head toward my neighborhood. If I was smart, I wouldn't have stayed out so late. I wouldn't have gone to the docks and I wouldn’t have stood outside the bars watching as men came and went wondering if any of them were named Rumi.

  Fear nips at my heels at every passing shadow. I've been out this late before, purposefully, yet something is in the air tonight. The darkness calls to me, every shadow singing my name as if it feels my pain. If I were a suspicious person like most everyone in Himond, I might suspect that it's a dark god that calls my name. There are no such things as dark gods. Only empty alleyways with no light and overactive imaginations.

  I will not be swept up into it. Everything that seems frightening has a logical explanation. The scariest things on the street tonight are the men that walk in packs. The closer I get to my neighborhood the less of that there is. I'm thankful for the life my father has been able to provide for us thus far, even if my time here is coming to an end.

  I stop on the porch, slipping my feet back into my shoes, and blanch at the pain where blisters have formed. The boards of our old home creak under my weight. A lantern has been lit and hangs by the door. I let myself in and almost immediately Monica pokes her head around the corner. Her face lights up when she sees me and she rights herself quickly coming to my side and taking the basket from my hands.

  "Someone had quite the day." She smiles. “Are you in love with him yet?"

  I give her a rueful smile and shake my head.

  Monica pats my arm gently. "Mr. Schuyler is a good match for you. If it's not too out of place for me to say, he might be a bad kisser but it is clear he cares for you."

  Wrinkling my nose, I answer her. "You are too bold. Desmond only wants me because he knows that I do not want him. He's a man who likes the chase. It doesn't make any sense otherwise why would he be after me when every other woman in this stupid little town practically worships the ground he walks on."

  "I wouldn't necessarily call it worship, Miss."

  I roll my eyes and start forward down the long hall. "Are my parents in bed?"

  A booming voice from the sitting room answers me instead of Monica. "No. We are not."

  I allow myself to grimace because I know Monica is the only one who can witness it. She bites her lip and holds up the basket. "I'll go get all this put up." She curtsies ever so slightly then darts back off into the other room with the basket in tow.

  My body begs for me to sit and rest, but I'm afraid once I do I won't be able to stand back up. So I shuffle into the room but stay standing near the door.

  "Mother. Father."

  "I didn't hear Desmond's carriage pull up just now. Care to explain?"

  I've lied to my father more times than I can count on my fingers and my toes. So a new lie falls easily from my lips. "Well, it was such a lovely day we decided to walk back."

  Mother looked up startled from the needlework she holds in her lap. She scowls and looks down to my feet. "Why would you choose to walk when he could've driven you back home?”

  I lift a single shoulder in answer. My father stands, walking toward the window. He pushes back the long curtains, glancing down the street. I'm hoping the night is too dark and his eyesight is too poor for him to make much of anything out. That way, he can't see how empty the street is and prove that Desmond had never been here. He squints into the dark, his suspicion clear, and speaks. "So, how was your date?”

  I clasp my hands in front of me "As well as can be expected."

  "I don't understand why you're not fond of him," my mother complains "He is as handsome as can be, and with as much money as he has you'll be comfortable for the rest of your life. We want to make sure that you are taken care of."

  Father huffs a breath. "It is because she lives in a fantasy.” He paces the floor behind my mother’s chair. "I suppose now that you are home safe, I can head to bed." He points a finger at me. "I’ll talk to Desmond the next time I see him and ask why he would think the two of you walking home in the dark is smart. An act like that can ruin a girl."

  All I can do is nod and agree, even though I know that means at some point I'll have to get to Desmond before my father does and explain everything. Hopefully he'll understand. That's only if I can make it to him when I'm currently not allowed to leave.

  My father briskly kisses my mother on the forehead and crosses the room to kiss me on the cheek before he disappears down the hall. I let myself slouch against the wall when he leaves. Mother will be here for hours reading or working because she has troubles with sleep. I stare at her as she returns to her work.

  "Mother, may I ask you a question?"

  She looks back up pausing with her needle only halfway through the fabric. "Yes?" Her voice is filled with kindness and intrigue.

  I pause wondering if I shouldn't ask but quickly do before I change my mind. "Are you…happy?"

  Some shade of shock passes over her. "Of course I am happy! I have a wonderful husband. I have two beautiful children. I have activities to fill all hours of my day and more friends than I can count." The friends she speaks of are more like gossiping hens. If we fell from grace they would not care to look after us in the least bit. Those are not friends, but you cannot tell my mother that. "What more could a woman ask for?"

  "I don't know… " I push some of my hair out of my face and take a few steps before I yank my shoes back off my feet and toss them to the corner where I know one of the servants will pick them up later. "What if I want something different? What if I want to own a business? Or…start a school?"

  "Millicent you hate children. Why would you start a school?" she scolds.

  She's not wrong, though I don't hate children. I just think that they’re grubby and annoying and will take every ounce of energy out of me like the little leeches they are.

  "Or maybe something entirely new. People come up with new things all the time. Practically every week. I can come up with something; surely it isn't that hard."

  "No, no, no, no, no. Anytime someone does something new they are criticized in the public eye. No. That's not for my daughter. You will do what everyone else does. You will marry. You will have children and one day you will realize that's the happiest you will ever be."

  The happiest I will ever be? That doesn't sound happy at all.

  So, it’s just me then? Everyone else is happy with this life they’ve been handed. What is wrong with me?

  "Okay. Goodnight, Mom." It's all the energy I have left to give to this conversation.

  She whispers her goodnight behind me, already lost in her work and thoughts.

  There are nights I'm sure my mother knows that I've snuck out. I'm hardly any good at being quiet. To this day she hasn't said anything. That's another reason I think that perhaps she and I are more alike than she is willing to admit.

  She's what I will be in the future if I marry Desmond. Those are thoughts for tomorrow. Tonight..
.is all about Boston. I take the stairs slowly, trying not to appear as if I'm in any hurry. Monica is already at my bedroom door waiting to help me undress.

  "Can you just undo my corset today? I can change myself into my nightclothes," I say in passing.

  Monica nods, following me into the room. When she first started she'd tried far too often to open doors for me. I hated it. I still hate it. Simply because I do not understand what difference there is between us that she should turn a knob and I should not.

  "I hope I didn't get you in any trouble with your father," she whispers over my shoulder as she pulls at the laces.

  I hold the front of the bodice against me as she does. "No. Father will always find a reason to be upset with me. That has nothing to do with you."

  "You don't think he heard me say anything about that kiss do you?"

  "I highly doubt it. He would have said something if he did."

  She lets out a sigh of relief. "I know kissing, even in the entryway of your own home, isn't considered proper, but it's still a normal thing for couples to do in private."

  Stealing kisses when they say goodnight is incredibly normal, albeit frowned upon thing. I just don't want to be doing it.

  "Don't worry about that. I'm perfectly capable of getting myself in trouble all on my own."

  Monica whispers, "Yes, ma'am," under her breath. Her honesty always makes me smile.

  My nerves begin to overtake me. The curtains have not yet been drawn though we stand far enough across the room to know no one will be able to see us. The night waits outside the window for me and when the wind blows the branches of the nearest tree scratch against the house. It's another beckon. The breeze whistles and I swear it says my name in a high-pitched squeal. Millie. I hear it repeated inside my head. There is something about tonight…like something is stirring in the fabric of the universe, something more powerful than I can imagine.

  That only further solidifies the idea that running off to look for Rumi is exactly what I need to be doing. The gusts outside rattle me enough that when my corset has been undone and Monica heads to the door I stop her.