Relics and Runes Anthology

by Heather Marie Adkins

  The burden of my fears was a little lighter after talking to Anna. She had such calm good sense it was impossible to maintain any level of hysteria around her. And she was right. I was being paranoid.

  I headed for my room to track Fynn Litson down. I didn’t know how to get in touch with him, so that left social media. Booting up my laptop, I logged onto a rarely-used fake Facebook profile. A quick search revealed only one Fynn Litson, whose profile showed a thirty-something hardcore goth in London, so not the one I wanted. But the members-only section of the school website had his email address listed on the student contact details. At least he really was enrolled there. Now it was just a matter of working out how and when to meet him, and what to say.

  I sent a message. Admittedly, it was rather cryptic but hopefully he was smart enough to work out who I was, as I hadn’t given him my name last night.

  Need to meet you this morning asap. Want to discuss the incident in town last night. Meghan Greene.

  It was still early and a Saturday, so I was surprised when an answer popped straight up in my Inbox.

  Of course. Coffee Club in town in twenty minutes. FL

  I hesitated over replying, not sure what I to say, either now or in twenty minutes. I hit the send button on a simple ‘OK’ message and logged out.

  So what the hell would I say when we met? Ten minutes later, having changed clothes twice to find a comfortable outfit, I left Anna a note and snuck out of the flat, still unsure of the words.

  5

  She’s contacted me. We’re meeting.

 

  Not my real face, though. I’ll watch for cameras. If you want her to stay, I have to see her. I get the sense she’ll run again if she doesn’t hear what she needs to.

 

  I arrived a few minutes early, ordered a cappuccino and sat in a corner booth, breathing in the heady scent of coffee. As my drink arrived, Fynn’s motorbike roared into a parking spot outside. He pulled off helmet and gloves and ran stiff fingers through his unruly dark hair.

  I paused in mid-sip to watch. Last night I hadn’t noticed how hot he was.

  He wore faded blue jeans and the silver-tree jacket again, in spite of the heat. Sensible rider, then. Tucking the helmet under one arm, he yanked a baseball cap out of his pocket and flipped it onto his head, tugging it low. Then he swung a long leg off the bike and strode into the coffee shop. His grey eyes scanned the room. When they encountered mine, he nodded acknowledgment and moved to the counter.

  He’d had training. He moved smoothly; controlled strength and graceful power; something in him always calm, centred, always aware of his surroundings. After speaking to the girl behind the counter, he strolled over to where I sat. Placing the helmet on the seat and a number on the table, he slid along the cushioned bench.

  ‘You picked my favourite seat,’ he said. ‘A warrior’s spot: back to the wall and both entrances in sight.’

  I started. After all these years, I’d done it automatically. It hadn’t occurred to me anyone would understand why. I fumbled for an answer.

  ‘Too many action movies. Delusions of being an assassin. Thanks for coming,’ I added belatedly.

  ‘Sure.’ His grey eyes met mine. His showed nothing but calm distance. Mine, I’m sure, were wary. ‘Delusions or hopes?’

  ‘Does anyone hope to be an assassin one day?’

  His smile quirked sideways. ‘You’d probably be surprised.’

  ‘Definitely.’ I slurped froth off my cappuccino. ‘Still, people are pretty weird sometimes.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you have no idea.’

  ‘Actually, yes I do.’

  He shot me a wry, amused look as his coffee arrived. He sipped it and gave a satisfied sigh. After a swift a survey of the room, he leaned forward, put his elbows on the table and clasped his mug in both hands.

  ‘So what’d you want to talk about?’

  I almost choked on my drink. I coughed and snatched at a serviette to cover my mouth. The woman at the table next to us screwed up her nose at me. Around us the bustle and laughter of early morning weekend breakfasters continued unabated; the clink of silverware and babble of talk oblivious to my confusion.

  ‘What? Well...about last night?’ I managed. Why the heck was he acting dumb?

  Hot morning sunshine streamed through the window, heating the back of my neck, in spite of the airconditioning. My legs stuck to the vinyl bench seat.

  Fynn eased out of the riding jacket, his grey t-shirt straining across muscular shoulders. He draped the jacket over his helmet.

  ‘Didn’t realise we had anything to talk about. I offered help. You blew me off.’ He eyed me coolly, sipping his coffee. ‘What’d you want me to say? That I’m impressed you could beat two guys at once? I am, but it’s not unusual if you’ve done martial arts. And you did say they were drunk. I only came in after the fact, so I didn’t see much. You ok this morning, by the way?’ He eyed me without any apparent concern. ‘That sort of encounter usually has some psychological after-effects, even if you came off without any physical damage.’

  ‘I’m fine, but...’ I didn’t know how to continue.

  He raised his brows at me, just a glimmer of amusement lurking in his expression.

  I couldn’t exactly say “so what did you see me do last night?” or “did you say the word ocair?” What if he didn’t see anything? What if I’d imagined his suspicion, misheard his words, and was being paranoid? If he knew nothing we could stay - as long as he didn’t spread the story around school. The last thing I needed was to be the object of admiration or attention. The only way to stay under the radar in a new town was for me to slide through school totally unnoticed.

  ‘If you’re worried about me spreading the story around school, then don’t.’ His lips twisted into a wry smile. ‘I have no interest in making either of us the centre of attention.’

  I froze. ‘That’s bizarre. That’s exactly what I was thinking.’

  His face lit with such easy, ironic amusement that I almost missed his next words.

  ‘You’re pretty transparent, you know. Don’t play poker.’

  I glowered. I was a damned good poker player and most people found me hard to read. I’d cultivated it on purpose. He was just trying to throw me off balance. Why?

  The half-smile he gave me was wry with a hint of “don’t-give-a-shit-what-you-think” attitude. Relaxing into his seat he transferred it to the waitress as she delivered a steaming muffin. She dimpled at him in return and cast me a quick, assessing look.

  I put my half-empty cup down. The scent of the blueberry muffin made my stomach rumble. I looked away resolutely.

  Fynn pushed the plate across the table. ‘Want some of my muffin? You look hungry.’

  ‘What?’ I repeated, more to buy time that because I didn’t understand. Why did it feel like I was missing something important in the subtleties of this conversation? ‘No, I don’t want your muffin. I want—’

  ‘Hey, there you are!’ A cheery, familiar voice interrupted the tension between us. Paul Eisen sent me a quick salute from where he stood at the counter. He sauntered over, blue shirt stretching across a broad chest as he shoved a hand in a pocket of his grey cargo pants. The epitome of cool and charming. Sunlight glinted off his blond hair and slanted through his blue eyes so that, just for an instant, they seemed to glow with an inner light.

  ‘How are you after last night, Meg?’ He leaned over our table, all concern and friendliness, but his question made me wince.

  I caught Fynn’s eyes, expecting to find good humour or at least surprise. Instead, just briefly, something icy and frightening flashed. Then the shutters came down. He slid out of the booth and stood. Face to face, the two men were much of the same height. Fynn, however, was lean and graceful, the muscles in his arm and wrist defined and smooth, the angles of his face sharper. Paul was broader across the shoulders, his power all in bulk and size.

 
; They shook hands and introduced themselves politely but an undercurrent I couldn’t quite fathom passed between them. They smiled at each other but it was the smile of competitors, not friends - all tension and teeth.

  What a novel concept. I’d never had two guys squabbling over me. No. I had it wrong. This was just a standard alpha-male face off; something stone-age and unrelated to me except that I was the female witnessing it and, presumably, meant to be awed. It annoyed me.

  ‘How’d you find me here?’ I broke into their silently-aggressive eye contact.

  Paul’s face lit with roguish delight. I couldn’t help smiling back.

  ‘Called your mother this morning to see how you were. We were pretty late in last night and you weren’t well.’ He sat down beside me.

  A little too close. I scooted a few centimetres away.

  After a moment’s hesitation Fynn slid back into his seat and picked up his coffee, watching us both enigmatically.

  Paul grinned at the waitress as she placed his cup down. ‘How’s your head this morning?’

  ‘Hangover?’ Fynn’s dry question was accompanied by an even drier look.

  The waitress examined me speculatively, her eyes darting between me and the two men.

  I grimaced. ‘No, migraine.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Paul put in. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so bad. She could barely walk. Wouldn’t even let me take her to the hospital. Lucky I was there, huh?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed reluctantly. ‘Thanks again, Paul. Hey, could I ask you a favour, though?’ I tried a smile. ‘Can you keep it quiet? I hate people treating me like glass or—’

  He elbowed me and chuckled. ‘Giving you a hard time? Never fear, fair maiden. I shall protect your reputation. One condition, though.’

  I winced, not looking in Fynn’s direction. He hadn’t put any conditions on silence. ‘What?’

  ‘You have to go to the movies with me tonight.’ He threw Fynn a quick, triumphant grin.

  Fynn’s face slid further into blankness. His fingertips whitened on his mug.

  ‘Seriously?’ I hesitated. This was getting out of hand. Paul was going to ridiculous lengths to ingratiate himself with me and, I assumed, my mother. I didn’t want to go out with him on that basis but I certainly didn’t want him talking about me behind my back, either.

  Paul gave an endearingly sheepish laugh. ‘Not just me. Everyone’s going. So it’s not like a real date or anything. Just get to know some of the guys at school.’

  ‘Fynn’s one of the guys at school,’ I said.

  Paul eyed him narrowly. ‘Huh. Never seen you. The other guys, then. C’mon. Won’t kill you.’

  With a sigh, I gave in. ‘OK, one movie but that’s it. This isn’t a date and I’m not going to be blackmailed into a second one. If you don’t keep your word...’

  Paul held up both hands in surrender. ‘I promise!’ He swallowed the last of his drink with a quick toss and gulp. ‘Gotta go meet up with the old man. He’s dragging me off to meet the dude running MJE’s anti-aging research team.’ He grinned ironically. ‘He keeps thinking I want to be a geneticist because I mentioned it, like once, when I was like fourteen. Doesn’t get the message and sometimes it’s easier not to argue with him. Parents!

  ‘Anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘Pick you up around five-thirty.’ He jerked his chin at Fynn in reluctant acknowledgement of his existence. ‘Mate.’ With a jaunty wave aimed at me, he strolled out, apparently oblivious to the admiring looks of our waitress.

  As he sauntered away I sighed again and turned back to my cooling cup. Fynn watched Paul leave and flicked me a narrow look. A blush stole into my cheeks. Who was he to judge who I went out with? Surely he could see it was a date under duress anyway.

  ‘I have to go, too.’ I pushed my cup away, the coffee turning bitter in my mouth.

  Around me the swell of conversation became unbearable as more morning-people filled the busy cafe. The tink of spoons on cups, the wail of a child, the high-pitched laughter of a gaggle of teenage girls; all merged into a din that thrummed against my eardrums.

  Fynn extended a hand towards my wrist, then dropped it back to the table when I snatched mine away. His expression was pensive.

  ‘Don’t go out with him tonight.’

  ‘Why?’ I stared at him. ‘What do you care?’

  He switched his gaze to where he played idly with a sugar sachet. ‘I don’t. I just don’t trust him.’

  With a short laugh, I flicked my long braid back over my shoulder and shuffled around to the edge of the booth.

  ‘I don’t trust anyone. Not you, not him, not me, not anyone. I’ll be fine.’ I collected my bag.

  When I straightened he was standing, staring down at me with those searching grey eyes. How had he gotten up so fast? He laid warm fingers on my arm.

  ‘Like you were ok last night? If you were that sick, then you were helpless.’

  ‘And he took care of me, so what? Surely that means I can trust him.’ I tried to tug my wrists free.

  His grip tightened.

  ‘Let go, Fynn. I don’t want to hurt you.’

  He chuckled. ‘You could find that tricky.’ He drew me one step closer. The scent of him filled my nostrils: leather, warmth, mown grass. I froze, anger and fear building. Darkness quivered, straining at its bonds.

  ‘Wanna bet?’ I smiled bleakly.

  He lifted his brows.

  My stomach growled and I laughed.

  ‘Look.’ I twisted free and edged towards the exit. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I guess I do need to eat something after all. And I’ve got homework. I’d better get home.’

  His eyes sparkled with secret humour. ‘You don’t mean that, you’re just being polite, for once.’

  I glared at him. He was right, of course, I hadn’t been particularly polite to him so far. He hadn’t exactly been one hundred percent nice, either. He still made me uneasy in a way I couldn’t quite define. Maybe the fact he was just so damned cool and sure of himself. Paul, I understood. Fynn, I didn’t. It bothered me.

  He collected his helmet and jacket. ‘Don’t worry. I have to go anyway. My mother is expecting me home to babysit my kid sister.’

  ‘You have a family?’ Surprise made me blurt out the question without thinking. Of course he had a family. What a dumb thing to say.

  He quirked an eyebrow at me. ‘Just me, my sister and my mother. They’re my aunt and cousin, really. My parents died when I was young. My aunt took me in.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Long time ago.’ He shrugged and jerked his chin at the door. ‘Walk me out?’ As we walked, he eyed me. ‘You got interrupted before you could tell me what you wanted to talk about.’

  I’d had a chance to think about it now. ‘I just wanted to know what you thought of those men last night. Did they seem like ordinary muggers to you?’

  Fynn tilted his head and stared off into space. ‘Yeah. What I saw, anyway. I saw them in the pub before and they looked like they’d been there a while. Why?’

  ‘Oh.’ I shifted my bag on my shoulder and flapped a cooling breeze under my shirt as we stepped into the thick, warm air outside. ‘Just…not a lot of experience with this sort of thing, I guess,’ I lied.

  ‘Well,’ he returned, smiling, ‘you handled it like a pro - if their groans were anything to judge by.’

  The rush of pride I felt at his words annoyed me. At least it sounded like he hadn’t seen anything unusual. Now how to ask the other question without sounding weird.

  I shaded my face from the already too-warm sun. A few brilliant-white and grey seagulls soared through the hot blue sky. Something larger, a pelican, flapped lazily by. Flies buzzed my face and I waved them away.

  We strolled across to where Fynn’d parked his bike and I stood by as he swung a leg over. It was one of the new Honda twelve hundred roadbikes: built for speed; with clean lines and an aerodynamic sleekness in black and silver. In short, it looked dangerous – a l
ot like Fynn, himself.

  ‘Come for a spin?’ He sat back on the saddle.

  I shook my head dubiously, wanting to accept, knowing I shouldn’t. I’d always been an adrenalin-junkie but circumstances forced me to get my fixes solo. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Coward.’ He seemed more amused than bothered.

  ‘No, just not an idiot. I don’t know y—’ I stopped but the ironic look he gave me said he’d filled in the blank. I lifted my chin.

  Fynn gave an ironic chuckle. ‘Not a serial killer, in case you were wondering.’

  ‘That’s what they all say.’

  ‘Point. Let’s start again, shall we?’ He bowed formally and gathered my hand in his. ‘Hi. I’m Fynn Litson. Now you do know—’

  An image flashed into my mind. A thousand pins prickled my palm and the taste of lightning tanged in my mouth. The skin-connection with him was so strong the images blotted out the real world, leaving me blind; knees weak.

  I’d forgotten to replace my gloves.

  I wrenched free and staggered back. The after-image burned into my eyelids: a black truck; Fynn’s bike; a red car; the tearing of metal; a flying, ragdoll body; a silver Celtic tree glittering in the sunlight.

  ‘Ro—Meghan!’ His strong grip held me upright, digging painfully into my arms.

  I fought with myself, struggling against the compulsion to speak; afraid of the result if I did – and if I didn’t. Why did I only see death and destruction? I splayed my hands towards Fynn’s chest to break free. In the depths of my mind, the darkness emerged. Its hunger for power burned under my skin. I whimpered. There was no threat! Fear stayed my hands. They hovered between us like trapped butterflies. I curled them into fists against my breasts. With gritted teeth, I concentrated on slowing my heart and settling the fears roiling my stomach.

  The darkness retreated.

  ‘What?’ Fynn let go. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘No, it was—’ I stopped myself in time and backed away. ‘Just go, alright! Leave me alone.’

  Fynn opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he drew on one glove and kicked the stand up.