"You think you know me so well." I scoot forward, slipping off the desk. He doesn't move, doesn't back down, and our chests brush.
Overhead the crew calls to one another. Echoes of commands as the ship grows close to our destination. All the while, Rumi and I stare at each other down a level below them. The boat rocks and we sway with it.
"I think you're fundamentally like everyone else." Then he grins, only softly, and his attention is on my lips. The air is nothing but darkness and static between us.
Rumi is everything Desmond is not. There is no financial security, there is no white picket fence and a future already planned. When I look at him I don't see myself fatigued by children I didn't want to have or busy making sure I'm meeting all the needs of my husband. He's not even human.
With him, I'm running wild.
Rumi is a choice.
Rumi is my choice.
Five years of service is what I gave him and I don't regret it. I'll work myself bloody on this ship with the sun on my back, the wind in my hair, and every day will be different than the last. A different city every week. Death behind me and life before me. Living...Rumi feels like living.
"And you're nothing like anyone I've ever met." I smile, tilting my head to his.
He leans down to me. I can close the space between us. I could taste the lips of hell if I wanted to. Shadowy hands climb up my back, caressing the bare skin of my shoulders, lifting my hair gently.
Please. My mind begs again, louder this time.
Two pounding knocks on his door take away every touch of his smoke. Rumi takes a step away and the space he had once been in goes cold in his absence.
"Girls your age never mean what they say." He looks me over again, his smile disappearing, the black clouds clearing. "If you need me to be some sort of fix, something to get out of your system..." He trails off but the dry humor doesn't reach his eyes. His gaze is sorrow filled. Empty.
Another knock.
"Captain, we are almost to port," a voice reaches us.
"Let's go find your brother." Rumi pulls his jacket off the back of the chair, slipping it on as he walks toward the stairs. He walks away easily, no second glance.
All I can do is watch as one hand lifts to cup the place where his mouth had just been, the spot that still tingles, and I shiver.
***
"The smoke’s gone." Jac arches a slender brow.
Rumi talks quickly and quietly to two older men, both shirtless and tanned. I stand next to Jac, but I can't stop watching him and every move he makes. Every movement is fluid, smooth, and confident as if he's a serpent wearing a man’s skin. Maybe he is.
"He bit me. Or maybe he kissed me," I whisper, touching my neck once more.
"What?"
"I wanted him to." I clarify but that only magnifies the confusion on her face.
"There is something wrong with you." Jac adjusts the hat on her head.
Rumi pulls himself away from the two men. The large hat he'd placed on top of his head hides his features from the late evening sun. Behind him is a larger town than my own, buildings that reach as far as the eye can see. The water here is not red with blood. Rumi isn't looking for souls to steal.
One step closer to finding my brother. We're closer to Boston.
"Are you ready?" Rumi asks without looking at me.
"Let's go." I hurry past him, heading down the gangway to the open street just past their dock. There is a current of people that flow through the street. They move around me with hardly a glance. From the ship, Rumi strolls leisurely to meet me and the crowd begins parting with a wide berth for him.
At my side, he clasps his hands behind his back and takes to the uneven stone walkways that lead through their town. We pass businesses busy with customers. A bakery that fills the atmosphere with the scent of warm bread and sugar. There's a flower shop bursting with colors and arrangements of plants I've never seen before. When we pass, I let my fingertips brush against the silken petals.
Rumi watches me, unspeaking. I stop at a dress shop and he pauses a few feet away, waiting for me. Busts are set up in the large windows where gowns as colorful as the flowers are arranged. In the back, there's a black gown, meant more for evening events than anything during the day. Sheer fabric drapes down off wide hips.
"That one reminds me of your shadows," I say matter of factly then turn away.
Rumi looks into the shop at the dress, then rolls his eyes and starts forward again.
Together we turn the corner and then he stops at a building with its doors hanging wide. It smells like singed metal and the doors and windows have all been propped open. He waves his palm, motioning toward the building like he's presenting it to me.
Mustering all of my confidence, I walk inside. The day's light shines off the intricately carved metal hilts in the line of swords and other blades. Another wall is a cluster of shelves littered with other random objects: a canister for drinks, a shelf of compasses, lengths of rope and chains, and worn leather bags.
There's a long counter where a young boy looks up, barely a teen judging by his long gangly form and the blemishes on his skin. He smiles brightly when he sees me, then when his eyes shift to Rumi in the doorway all of that fades.
"Father! You have customers!" he shouts before turning the corner and disappearing behind a swinging door.
Rumi walks along the wall touching objects like I had the flowers. He lifts a sword from the sheath it’s in, examining the blade.
"What here is going to get us to Boston?" I ask over my shoulder, approaching the counter.
"He was here."
A tall man ducks through the door. He is so tall his head would otherwise hit the frame. Black hair dots along his chin in a patchy beard and tight curls are cut close to his scalp. His eyes are a soft blue that stand out against his dark skin.
"Can I help you?" He dusts his hands off on an already dirty apron tied around his waist. Ash clings to his hands and his clothes.
"Hi." I squeak looking up at his face and feeling like nothing more than a child. "We're looking for my brother and we think that he might have come here."
"I'm supposed to remember everyone who walks into my shop?"
Thinking back to my brother’s letter I blurt out, "We think that he's traveling to find something called the Treasure of Talifi."
The man squints. "I suppose he would have brown hair like you. And freckles."
"Yes!"
"Your eyes look different," he says slowly.
"My brother has green eyes."
Rumi walks slowly around the room finally leaning against the counter next to me. He drums his fingers impatiently.
The blacksmith looks at Rumi. "And who are you?"
"No one of importance," he purrs. "I'm here to help Millicent."
"Millie." I correct, narrowing my eyes at Rumi. "How many times must I ask you to call me Millie?"
"Maybe just one more time might do the trick." He smirks, turning toward the man behind the counter. "So, what exactly did you give the boy? A map... or?"
"A blade."
Boston's good enough with a sword. Father ensured that. 'Too many pirates,' he had warned Boston about the sea. And now at least I know he has something to use as protection.
"What sort of blade?" Rumi asks, letting a little bit of his power darken the room.
The blacksmith stands to his full height and places his hands firmly on his hips. He doesn't move away from Rumi but very clearly leans away. "The hilt warms when you're going the right direction of what you want and it goes cold when you're going the wrong direction."
"No such blade exists." I stare at him, a regular man, or so it would appear.
"I'm a demon born again to man and you think it odd that this man might have a taste of magic in him?" Rumi looks bored, unsurprised.
He's right. I've seen powers that shouldn’t exist but do. There has to be more magic in the world than Rumi.
"A wizard?" I ask.
The b
lacksmith bellows with a boisterous laugh. "Hardly. I'm merely gifted."
Rumi cuts in, not interested in having a laugh with the man. "So, what can you give me to help me to find this boy?"
The man laughs again, this time under his breath. "He was headed for Drowntier Trove. What makes you think he is alive?"
"Because he has to be." I place both hands on the counter, leaning into it. Rumi slips his hand on top of mine and I'm surprised at how smooth his skin is. Slowly, I look down at his fingers on mine.
If you need me to be some sort of fix…something to get out of your system...
Is that all Rumi is? A fleeting desire I just need to try so I can realize that I don't actually want it?
"He's alive. I would know."
"Aleksander!" the blacksmith yells behind him, still watching us unenthusiastically.
The boy peeks his face out the crack in the door, his body firmly planted in the other room. Rumi turns away, lounging on the counter on his elbows when he notices how uncomfortable the boy looks. Though I suppose not many people would be comfortable knowing death is in the room. Even in the shop where heat pours out from the back, my hand feels cold where Rumi's hand had been. I stare down at my fingers.
"Go get me some stardust."
His son nods and disappears into the back. A fresh wave of coal dust and molten iron stings my nostrils. Crinkling my nose, I offer the man a polite smile. He gives me one in return.
"You must really care about your brother to be chasing after him like this," he says, stepping closer, his eyes trailing down to my empty ring finger. "A brave woman."
"I just know he would do the same for me."
"Yes, yes, yes, she's so brave." Rumi waves his hand through the air sneering. I shoot him my best glare which only makes him smile. His eyes flair, his teeth running over his bottom lip. "So brave."
"Are you two..." the blacksmith starts to ask.
Rumi perks up at that. He flings an arm over me, pulling me against his body. Where I align against him feels like a thousand little static shocks and I take in a sharp breath.
"Together?" he says brightly or at least brightly for him, his voice tainted with sarcasm. "Yes. Madly in love can't you tell? We just can't keep our hands off of each other. She holds herself like a proper lady though, doesn't she?" He slides a hand up my face, pinching my cheek ever so slightly.
My palm connects with his firm chest and I shove but he doesn't move. "What are you doing?"
"What? Are you interested in daddy blacksmith?" He turns to the man. "Where's your wife?"
The man sighs as his son returns, hands him a bag, then disappears again. "Died in childbirth." He holds up a small black bag, dangling it between us. "How will you be paying today?"
"Yes, Millicent...how will you be paying?" Rumi chides.
"I...I don't have any money."
The blacksmith looks at Rumi who sighs dramatically. "How about an extra year of life? For you or the boy."
"Aleksander!" he yells again. "An additional year of life. For the boy."
Can he do that? Would the last year be in service to him? My palms grow clammy at the idea, a nervousness that Rumi will somehow make an unfair trade and it will affect the child. I twist in Rumi's arm, tilting my mouth toward his ear. His breath catches but he doesn't otherwise notice me.
"This isn't a trick, is it? You can really do this?"
A knowing smile tightens across his mouth. "I knew you thought me terrible, but I didn't realize you thought I might be capable of tricking a child."
"I—"
Rumi turns back as the boy appears. He drops his arm from my shoulder and steps back up to the counter. "All I need is a shake of your hand, Aleksander," he whispers to the boy.
The child looks from Rumi to his father before extending his hand to Rumi. Palm to palm, a white glow shines so brightly from their grip that I have to shield my eyes. I blink away the watery tears. Aleksander lets go and takes a step back, staring down at his hand. Satisfied, his father hands Rumi the bag.
"Thank you kindly," Rumi says though it sounds anything but appreciative. With the bag in hand, he walks around me, out the door, and toward the ship. I give the man a quick wave, quickly walking to catch up.
"Slow down!" I demand when I reach his side and realize his stride is double my own. "What was all of that?"
"All of what?"
He slows his pace, still looking straight ahead. I keep up and shove my windblown hair out of my eyes. "The touching."
"You didn't seem to mind my touching earlier."
I scoff, at a loss for words.
Rumi continues. "I wasn't about to stand there and listen to you two shamelessly flirt. You aren't the mothering type anyway."
"Who says I was going to flirt with him?" I frown at the last bit of his statement. "And who says I'm not the mothering type?"
His brows rise up his forehead till they're hidden under his hair. "Do you want to be a mother?"
"No, but you don't need to be telling me what I am and am not."
"Well, it's true so I don't see the big deal."
"The big deal is that if I wanted to be a mother, I could."
He slows to a stop. "But you don't want to."
"No, I don't." People walk around us again and no matter how we move they give us space. When I throw my hands up in frustration the person walking by shifts as if they knew it was coming.
"Exactly." He smirks and I want to smack the smile right off his lips.
I take a step closer pointing a finger at him. "Stop it."
"What?"
He's far too good at playing innocent. I huff a breath.
Rumi smacks his lips and starts again. "You like to argue."
"No, I don't!"
"Then why do you keep arguing with me?" He lowers himself to my height.
"This is ridiculous. You're just trying to make me mad. Is this why no one likes you?"
He barks a laugh. "No one likes me because they always realize that they've bargained too many years away. No one likes me because where I go death follows. No one likes me because they'll never understand what I am."
Pursing my lips, I stretch up on my toes letting my annoyance fuel me in a way I'd never dare do in my own town. My fingers intertwine with the fabric of his cloth shirt and I pull him down until I'm tipping the brim of his hat up with the top of my head.
"Quit being an asshole then," I sneer at him.
His lips part, not a smile, not really a breath, but with anticipation. My heart hammers inside of my chest but I hold onto him, I stare at him, returning the intensity he gives to everyone else.
"Ugly words from such pretty lips," he whispers. "Don't speak like that unless you want me to take you straight to my bed."
I drop his shirt, lowering off the balls of my feet. Thoughts of his mouth on my neck come barreling back into my mind. If that had felt that good what would his bed be like? My fingers drift up to my mouth and I briefly imagine what it would be like to be kissed by him, thoroughly.
"Would you like that?" He cocks his head, lifting a hand toward my cheek. Before he touches my skin he stops himself. "Are you so disconnected from your own life that you would consider it?"
"I didn't…" I clear my throat. "I never said that." His hand hovers near my face still and I turn to look at his fingers. My anger dissolves to desperation...to want.
He's not human, Millie. What are you doing?
I point a trembling finger to the bag of stardust. "What does this do?"
Muscles cord as he sets his jaw. His blonde lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he closes his eyes, lowering his hand back to his side. After a heartbeat, he turns, leading me back to the ship, talking over his shoulder. "I'll show you on the ship."
The walk back isn't the same as the walk there. Rumi doesn't slow to let me admire the city. It's a fight to keep up with him, and when we finally make it back on the ship, I'm out of breath and all the want inside of me has quickly turned back to frustratio
n.
Jac is already waiting for us on the top deck. Many of the men still dare glances at me, but none of them look at Rumi who holds up the small leather bag of supposed stardust to show Jac of our victory. She doesn't smile, merely squints at the item.
"I don't mean to be morbid, but please tell me that is not her brother."
My gut twists and even the notion that we could be carrying back my brother’s ashes at any point makes my head feel light, my body numb.
Rumi only chuckles as a response because he would find that to be funny. "Not in the least,” he says the moment both my feet are on the deck.
The crew is already hauling the gangway back up. Nathaniel included. I give him a wide berth as I track after Rumi.
"Follow me and we will take a look at what we got." Even though his tone is still filled with annoyance it's lighter than it had been. He doesn't have to tell Jac to come with him because she's already on his heels. I'm thankful for the space between us.
Rumi only lifts a finger and the door to his quarters flings itself open and smacks against the wood. Any sign of his shadows is long gone. We enter the room. All the lanterns are lit and the sun is shining in making the space surprisingly bright. He pulls off his large wide brim hat tossing it onto a hook by the door and shrugs himself out of his tan overcoat. For half a second I think he's gonna let it crumble to a heap on the floor but Jac scoops it up behind him before it falls and tosses it on the back of one of the chairs at the table.
One finger curls to beckon me over from where I've stopped in the doorway watching soundlessly. His fingers target the drawstrings on the bag next, opening it. A small cloud of red and black glitter expands from the pouch. He stretches an arm out to me, offering the contents.
"Well, would you like to do the honors?"
Urging my limbs forward, I peel away from the door. I know what standing near him will do to me. This is for my brother, I remind myself.
"What do I do?"
"Take a pinch, sprinkle it on a flat surface like this table, and think of your brother. It's that easy."
Chasing Boston Page 10