by C. Gockel
Cillian’s lips tightened. “Owen is wiser than I am.” He glanced toward Niall and said something, and Niall rose and left the room.
Cillian took a deep breath, and Aria saw again how similar he was to Owen. He had many of the same mannerisms. He looked disconcertingly close to her own age, but she knew he was much older. He was too thin, as if he hadn’t eaten regularly in a long time. His shirt had been a white knit with a collar, but it was torn and stained. Through the holes, she could see the hard, stringy muscles of his chest and stomach. The dark smudges under his eyes had barely begun to fade. He had no bruises around his wrists or ankles, but he did have a long, livid red scar on one forearm from the inside of the elbow nearly to his wrist.
“Fae are not what you expected, I imagine. Few humans know anything about us, and most of what they have heard is wrong. Magic is also inaccurately understood. It is called magic because that is the closest concept in human thought, but the understanding you get from the word is partial and far from accurate.
“Magic is real, like what you call science. Imagine a bubble. The film of the bubble, the interface between the inside and the outside, is what you see as the universe. It encompasses the stars, molecules, time, everything you have ever heard of or studied. Scientific laws, physics, chemistry, etc., they apply only on the film of the bubble. Both the inside and the outside of the bubble are real, but they are not part of this universe, the one that humans inhabit. They are separate, and they are subject to separate rules.”
Cillian paused, his eyes on her face. After a long moment studying her, he continued, “Humans live entirely in the film of the bubble. Fae extend a little ways outward, so to speak. Or inward. Direction is an irrelevant concept. This is one reason it is difficult to kill us; only so much of us is present in this universe, and with time and effort we can restore our physical bodies. It is easier with help, and there are limitations, but it is possible. We can manipulate the possibilities and shape the future in ways not possible for humans, using what you would call magic.
“Yet we believe that humans and Fae are closely related. We can interbreed, though for many reasons it is not commonly done. Our physical bodies are very similar, as are our emotions and intellectual capabilities. We feel joy and pain. We love. We grieve.
“It is thought that we diverged from a common ancestor, most likely an early human. While your ancestors were learning how to make fire and sharpen sticks into weapons, a few touched magic. It changed them in ways they didn’t understand. Perhaps they studied healing first; it would have been advantageous. Their children found it easier to touch magic, but they became less human. As their control of magic increased, their bodies changed. They lived longer, they bred with each other rather than short-lived humans, and they began their study of magic early. But human newborns and Fae newborns are not as different as you would imagine. We are not human, but we are cousins to humans.”
The door opened, and Niall slipped in. He put bags in front of each of them and dropped to sit to the side again.
Cillian stared at her a moment before opening his bag. “I beg your pardon for eating in front of you. Most humans find it off-putting, but I require sustenance.” He cut the bloody heart with his knife, and Aria saw his hand shaking a little as he put the knife aside.
“It’s okay.” She swallowed. “I don’t mind.” She pulled her eyes away from his meal and opened her own bag. A thermos that radiated heat, a chunk of heavy, soft bread, an apple, and a bottle of water. “Thank you.” She looked up to smile at Niall, who ducked his head politely.
Cillian spoke as he ate. “Petro is different. We live in time, as you do, and we live mostly in the film of the bubble, as you do. Petro does not. We believe that he is from entirely outside the bubble. Sometimes he intersects it. Sometimes, when he intersects it, he chooses to appear human. But he is not human. Not even remotely.
“Fae are old. Humans are older, we think. If, as we believe, Petro exists outside of our universe, he is probably outside of time as we understand it. We think, and your science tends to agree, that time is a function of this universe. We know Petro has existed for hundreds of thousands of years, at least. Certainly since before Fae. Probably before humans. Possibly long before. We believe he is not bound by the rules we understand, and he intersects this world only when he chooses to, for his own reasons.”
Aria frowned thoughtfully.
Cillian ate another bite, licked his fingers, and continued. “Things that one would think would interest him usually don’t. He has ignored great sweeps of history, battles, plagues, and empires rising and falling. He may have watched, but there was no evidence of him taking any particular interest.
“However, sometimes he follows events and people that one would not expect. We don’t know why some things interest him and others don’t. He interacts with us very little, and he never explains himself. Sometimes, when he follows a particular Fae or human, he begins as soon as they are born, which seems to support the idea of him interfacing with time differently than we do. Yet, we believe he has been surprised; perhaps he does not know or understand the future in its entirety.
“Sometimes he takes action. Sometimes he merely observes. Fae sometimes sense his presence, when he lets us, but humans don’t. Sometimes there seem to be several of his kind on earth, but they might all be him. We are only present in the film in one location, where our bodies are. We believe he can touch in one or more than one place at a time. Or none. Sometimes he appears as a human. Sometimes he appears as… something else.
“I doubt it’s possible for Fae or humans to threaten him, or even to deliberately interest him. We have no idea what he is capable of. We believe he has a sense of morality, but it is not ours. He is cruel, in that he thinks nothing of killing for his own reasons. But he doesn’t seem to take pleasure in it; most of the atrocities in history have been of human doing, not his, and we believe he could do much worse if he wished. He does not appear to be malicious or evil. He requires nothing of us and is usually reclusive.”
Aria swallowed.
“He has spoken to Owen more than anyone in memory, but even that isn’t much. A handful of times, a few sentences each, in over two hundred years.” Cillian’s eyes rested on her face.
“What is he, then? Do you know?” Aria’s meal was forgotten in front of her, and Cillian nodded to it, indicating that she should eat. She unscrewed the top of the thermos to find a thick chicken and dumpling soup. The smell comforted her.
He licked his lips. “He has been called many things. Petro is a name he gave Dandra once, and Owen used it when speaking with her. Owen knew him as Conláed and Drake at different times.” He watched her face as he continued, “The name you would probably recognize is Dragon, but that generally refers to only one of the physical forms he takes, when he chooses to take a form at all.”
Aria swallowed hard. Her throat seemed tight, and she felt her heart thudding unevenly.
“We need his help if we are to have any hope of rescuing Owen in time. He can supply the energy we need to heal, I think, if he so chooses. The problem is that he has never shown any interest in speaking to any of us. Even to those who can sense magic, he is hard to find. It is possible to sense his location if he lets us, but if he doesn’t wish to speak with us, he will not be there when we arrive.”
Cillian’s eyes had not left her face. “Although he seems not to care what we think of him, he can take offense, even when none is intended. If he did not want to be sensed, we would not be able to sense him. But we can. He must be letting us, and that may mean he wants to speak with us. But it may not. If we approach him too quickly or too slowly, or have misinterpreted the invitation, things will go badly. The opportunity will not come again, either.
“We assume it has something to do with Owen, because he has taken an interest in Owen in the past. However, Owen has also been in danger before, and he has done nothing. We wonder if the difference now is you.”
Aria’s heart skipped
a beat. “Me?” Her voice felt squeaky.
“Have you not wondered why you are here, privy to discussions that humans have not entered for ten thousand years? Why you saw Owen when he wished to be unseen, and why he did not kill you for it? He should have, by logic. I would have. But he didn’t.
“Petro once told Owen something that might have been a reference to you. That may have stayed Owen’s hand. Or it could have been Owen’s unusual beliefs. But it makes us wonder if Petro’s invitation is meant for you. We don’t know whether taking you to see Petro will increase or decrease our chances of speaking with him or of receiving his assistance. But Owen cannot wait for us to recover normally. They have given me as much strength as they can, and I would not wish to face a vertril, much less infiltrate wherever they are keeping him. We need Petro’s help.
“This is our best chance. Our only chance. We need to decide what to do and then do it immediately. What do you think?”
She swallowed. Her voice failed her at the enormity of the question.
“Is there anything you sense? Do you know something that will help us make the correct decision?”
Aria closed her eyes against the burning intensity of Cillian’s gaze. Do I know something? I know nothing. I feel fear.
He waited while she thought, patient and silent. She heard Niall writing again, and wondered distantly what he was saying.
She forced herself to begin. “I don’t think I can sense things the way you do. I have no secret wisdom or sense that tells me anything. But I know I want to help, and if Petro might be interested in me, then perhaps it makes sense for me to put the request to him.”
Niall put the notebook between them. It is dangerous to seek Petro at any time, and now the danger affects all of us, particularly Aria. Is the blood debt paid? It should have been mine, by rights, but Lord Owen claimed it. The debt was for my freedom. He gave his freedom for her. How does that weigh in the balance?
Cillian sighed softly. “Only Owen knows the weight of the debt and whether it is paid. Until we know, we are obligated to protect you as if the debt is still in force.” He looked up to meet her eyes. “But you can choose whether to approach Petro or not. I do not believe we have the right to prevent you. It is a question of wisdom. Is it the right decision?”
Aria swallowed hard. “I will go. I count the debt paid if that makes any difference.”
Niall gave her the ghost of a smile and shook his head.
“You sense nothing? And yet you would take the risk?” Cillian’s eyes remained on her face, a hint of disbelief, even censure, in his gaze.
“Yes.” She forced herself to nod.
“Then we should not keep him waiting.” Cillian stood quickly, then swayed and put his hand out to the wall to steady himself. Niall rose more slowly, one hand braced against the cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling.
Aria frowned as she looked at them. Gaunt and white as paper, they were both so weak they could barely stay upright. Her heart twisted for them and for Owen, who needed them.
“What?” Cillian asked.
“Is there anything I can do to help you? Before we leave?” She chewed her lip.
“No. Let us go.” Cillian led the way out and down the hall into the theater.
“I need to tell Gabriel.” Aria stopped outside the conference room, but it was unoccupied. She looked around, but didn’t see him, and finally settled on Bartok. He was eating with some others in a small group. They hadn’t been on the mission the night before, and Bartok seemed to be in the middle of a quiet explanation.
“I’m going out with Cillian and Niall. We might be back. I don’t know when.”
Bartok glanced between them. “Are you okay?”
She forced a smile. “Fine. Just terrified. We’ll see what happens and whether it’s justified.”
Bartok frowned and stood. “Do you need help?” He glanced at Cillian again, as if he were the cause of the problem.
Aria shook her head. “No. Thank you. I guess… see that the Fae have what they need. And get some rest.” She managed a nod and an unconvincing smile before turning away to follow Cillian toward the front door.
Niall stopped suddenly and wrote, the notebook pressed against the nearest wall.
Grenidor will extract this location from Lord Owen. They should not be here when the soldiers arrive.
Cillian nodded. “You’re right. We were too tired to consider this before.” He thought a moment. “The Hamling Train Station is still secret, isn’t it?”
Niall nodded tentatively.
Cillian made his way back to Bartok. “Grenidor is most likely torturing Owen for information before killing him. One piece he will focus on is this location. You should move immediately. It is difficult at any time to lie to or withhold information from a human, and Grenidor is experienced at torture. You have little time.”
Bartok stared at him. “You mean go now? With all the supplies?”
“Immediately. We will meet you at the Hamling Train Station. If it is not safe, find somewhere else. We will find you.”
“I don’t know that location.” Bartok frowned more deeply.
Cillian glanced toward the door. “It is likely Gabriel will know it. If not, then Eli should.” He held Bartok’s eyes and repeated, “You have little time. Move quickly.”
Bartok nodded once and Cillian turned away.
Chapter Twelve
Cillian led them out into a bright, cold early afternoon, the winter sun imparting no warmth as it flooded the street. He followed a circuitous path, walking slowly and pausing at each intersection before choosing a direction. Niall did not seem to have any argument, following without a questioning look. Cillian glanced at him once, as if to ask his opinion, but Niall only waited, and after a moment Cillian continued to lead.
Aria shivered, partly from an icy gust of wind, and partly from her thoughts. What if she failed? What if Petro didn’t tell her what they needed to know? What if he killed them all?
It didn’t matter. She had to try.
“Do you know where we are going?”
Cillian answered, “No. The route is of his choosing. I know only the next turn.”
She frowned, puzzling over that. So Petro knew where we were. And where we are now. Is this confirmation that he does wish to speak to us?
Cillian stopped in front of a door. “He is here.” He turned to meet her eyes. “Are you ready?”
Aria stared at the door. Barton & Michel, Attorneys at Law. The painted lettering was faded and worn. “Why here?”
“It is where he chose.” Cillian sounded slightly puzzled at her question. “Are you ready?” he repeated.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
The door was not locked. Would it have been locked if someone else tried it? I should ask him later. But he might not know. Cillian led them through a reception area that looked equally worn, down a short hallway, and into a tiny library, the walls lined with heavy, leatherbound books. A computer sat discreetly on a desk in one corner, and leather armchairs clustered in the corner closest to them.
Owen stood in the center of the open space, his hands clasped behind his back. “Good morning.” His voice was low, and she heard the smile in it, though his expression was subtle.
Beside her, she heard Cillian’s breaths, quick and ragged in the silence. He stared at Owen, his lips pressed tightly together. Behind Niall, the door closed, apparently of its own accord.
Owen did not look at Cillian or Niall, did not acknowledge their existence. He smiled at Aria, his blue eyes holding hers. “Do you love me?”
Aria’s heart thudded, her eyes locked on his. This isn’t Owen. This isn’t right. “Who are you?” she whispered.
Owen smiled again, a kindly look in his eyes. “Who do you think?”
She licked her lips. “I’ve been told you have many names. Which would you prefer today?”
Owen stepped toward her, eyes still on hers. “Answer my question.” His voice was gentle. “Do you love m
e?”
“I don’t know you.” She raised her chin and forced herself to keep her eyes on his.
Owen stared at her, familiar blue eyes searching her face, head cocked to the side as if he were puzzling out her strange human behavior. He smiled again. Then he was gone, and in his place stood something.
Perhaps it was a man. It might have been a young man, with bronze skin, golden hair and laughing golden eyes. For a moment, that’s what Aria saw. For a moment, she saw a beast, a lizard with golden scales and glittering green eyes, towering far past the ceiling, staring down at her with an unblinking gaze. For a moment, she saw a woman, pale and voluptuous, sensual lips curved in a smile. Perhaps it was not a man at all.
In Owen’s place stood a man perhaps twenty years old, with brown hair that flopped haphazardly over his forehead. His face was innocent, guileless, but his eyes made her blood chill. Something in them seemed cold as ice. His green eyes roved from her to Cillian, to Niall, and back to her. Petro. Drake. Conláed. Dragon.
“You may call me as you wish. It matters not.”
Aria felt Cillian’s tension next to her, and her own heart beating wildly. Her voice shook. “We have come to request your help. Cillian believes you can help us save Owen.” She wondered if he required an explanation of this, or if he already knew.
He stared at her with unblinking eyes for so long that she shifted uncomfortably. He should blink. It would make the illusion more convincing. The sudden thought was almost amusing, and it gave her courage.
“Will you help us?” she finally ventured in the face of his silence.
“Why do you wish to save him?”
Aria swallowed. Why indeed? Because I love him? Because what Grenidor is doing is wrong? Because I feel guilty? Because he’s their hope? Because Niall trusts me to ask you for help, for reasons I cannot fathom?
She licked her lips and swallowed a lump in her throat. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”
He drew back with a knowing look. “Altruism.” He stepped away, paced slowly down the length of the room and then back. “You have not convinced me.” He met her eyes with a glance so cold she shivered. “Try again.”