by De-Ann Black
I emailed the photograph and got a, ‘Wow! Look at you!’ message back from her.
I’d just settled down again outside when the sky darkened to a threatening grey. Dark clouds seemed to press the breath right out of the day and the scent of a storm filled the air. I’ve always been attuned to the atmosphere, to nature, to scents, and since I was little I could tell when a storm was on its way. It smelled like metal, salt and sulfur. And the fragrance of the flowers was so strong. This was a definite sign of rain.
Within minutes it was pouring down like it had a grudge against something. I ran for shelter, not to the house but under the branches of the big umbrella tree. I wanted to enjoy the energy and spectacle of it all. I love rainstorms, always have.
Then I saw lightning rip across the sky and realised that the tree was not the ideal shelter.
I was just about to run to the house when I saw the tall figure of a young man, very pale, dark hair, soaking wet, long coat, standing in the shadows near the house.
I can fight like a tiger when cornered and have trained in martial arts (jiu-jitsu) since I was ten years old. Thanks mum. However, the sight of him standing there scared the wits out of me.
‘Vesper, don’t be scared. I just want to talk to you.’ His voice was deep, resonating, and similar in accent to the blond guy who’d approached me about the charm.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded, trying to sound braver than I probably was and wondering how he knew my name.
‘Didn’t you get my letter?’
‘Sabastien?’ I murmured.
‘Yes. Trust me, I don’t mean you any harm. I came to warn you.’
‘Warn me?’
‘Yes, you’re in danger.’
‘What type of danger?’
He stepped out of the shadows, and the pale skin of his hauntingly handsome face was highlighted in the rain. He pointed behind me. ‘From them.’
I spun around to see faeries, no bigger than the Fairy moth, flying through the branches of the umbrella tree, through the flowers and the rain. Their faces were exquisite but dangerous, their wings translucent — and a sense of menace singed the air.
I don’t remember how I managed to stand my ground, but I do remember Sabastien throwing a handful of dust, like firelight, into the air. The particles fell down around me, becoming sparkling white snowflakes in the night.
He whispered something, not to me or to himself, but somehow to the night itself. And the only word I understood was spellbound.
‘Leave her alone!’ a voice roared through the storm.
The blond guy I’d met earlier was standing in the garden as if he’d appeared from nowhere. Had he?
Anger burned across the ice cold features of his face, the pale grey eyes two slivers of glistening intensity.
The menacing little faeries fled in terror, leaving the three of us alone, with only the sound of the rain pouring off the leaves.
I stood there, frozen in fear, soaked to the skin, my flimsy summer top and jeans dripping wet, rivulets of water running down my hair.
‘Come with me, Vesper,’ Sabastien said calmly, stepping closer, putting himself in front of me like a shield against the other’s rage. They were similar in age and height, both taller than me, well over six feet. I barely came up to their shoulders.
I hesitated, my senses at odds, warning me, yet tempting me. Up close Sabastien’s eyes were lilac. He was beautiful, with dark wet hair swept back from his flawless face. When he held his hand out to me, I felt my hand accept it.
‘No!’ the other guy shouted. ‘You cannot trust him. Step away from him.’
I felt Sabastien’s grasp tighten around my hand, his strong, smooth fingers urging me to side with him. ‘Who would you trust?’ he said to me in a deep, velvety voice. ‘Daire, who frightens little faeries half to death, or me, who tried to warn you of the dangers?’
Daire? Who was he anyway? What was he? And who was Sabastien? My mind was in turmoil. I couldn’t think straight, could hardly breathe, and then my own defiance kicked in, that stubborn trait in my nature, giving me the impetus to break free from Sabastien’s grasp.
I hate being pressured, being cornered. I wanted to run, to run away from both of them. Who did I trust? Neither of them. I just wanted out of there, and pulled myself free of him.
But Sabastien wasn’t letting go. He reached out, grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to him, so close I could see starlight in his eyes. And then I felt myself falling . . . falling into their mesmerising depths. He was so hard to resist, and yet my instincts were screaming at me to get a grip of my senses and run.
I didn’t get a chance to run. Daire wrenched hold of Sabastien, pulled him away from me and threw him to the ground with a bone–jarring thud. The hem of Sabastien’s long, dark coat was edged with purple thorns. They cut right through the stems of the Cupid’s darts, scattering the flowers across the grass at my feet.
Before Sabastien regained his senses, Daire lifted me up and carried me across the wet grass to the patio. His movements were elegant, and the ease with which he lifted me confirmed my thoughts that he was far stronger than he seemed.
My arm was around his shoulder, holding on, and I felt his hair, which was long enough to touch the collar of his unusual grey jacket, brush against my fingers. Even when wet, his hair felt like silk, and the smooth texture of his skin tempted me to touch it to see if it was real — if he was real.
His profile was perfection, and I saw his dazzling white teeth through his parted lips as his breath poured like mist into the air. Sabastien was beautiful, but Daire was something else. I wanted to know who he was and why he looked at me as if it troubled him.
He put me down carefully, fixed me with a look, and then turned back towards the garden, no doubt planning to finish the fight he’d started with Sabastien. But Sabastien had disappeared.
Daire hurried to where he’d left him and searched around, but there was no sign of him anywhere. Sabastien had gone, as mysteriously as he’d arrived.
Daire walked back towards me, the soaking wet fabric of his dark grey trousers clinging to the lithe muscles of his thighs. He moved like an athlete, and I stood where I was in the partial shelter of the patio doors watching him, admiring him, even though I knew I was being foolish to think such things. Daire could be dangerous — gorgeous but dangerous. But I guess there’s always been a part of me that’s drawn to this, like a moth to the flame.
The rain ran down the broad shoulders of his grey leather jacket. It was leather, wasn’t it? Maybe it wasn’t, I thought, studying it closely. Flecks of silver sparkled here and there, and it had to be designer quality, that deliberate well–worn look that was so expensive.
‘He’s gone,’ Daire said, towering above me, lit up by the lanterns in the patio.
I was alone with him now — all alone with this intriguing stranger.
The droplets of rain trickled down his face, tracing the chiselled shape of his straight nose, high cheekbones, clean jaw line and expressive lips. My skin was naturally fair, but his was far paler. He could’ve been a model or a movie star, though I got the distinct impression that neither of these professions would’ve interested him.
‘Who are you, Daire?’ I said, looking up at him. ‘This is private property. You’ve no right to intrude. I should call the police.’
He didn’t answer me.
‘And what about the . . .’ I could hardly bring myself to say the word, ‘faeries?’
‘I tried to warn you about Sabastien,’ he said. ‘He’s a master of tricks and deceit.’
‘You’re saying he made me hallucinate that I was seeing faeries?’
‘Something like that,’ he said.
‘So there weren’t any faeries?’
He gave me a look that I’d never seen before from anyone. It was scorching, haunting, enticing. ‘Do you believe there were?’ he said.
I blinked and ran my hands through my wet hair, trying to clear my thoughts.
‘Wel
l, do you?’ he said.
‘I don’t believe in faeries. I never have.’
His expression turned to ice, and I sensed I’d said something that had cut him to the bone. His eyes glared daggers at me. Right now, I’d have said that Daire was the bad guy and taken my chances with Sabastien.
‘What?’ I said, prompting him to tell me what was bugging him.
He shook his head at me. ‘Nothing.’
‘What is it you want from me?’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’
His unfathomable eyes gave nothing away. ‘I had your interests at heart, but I see I was wasting my time.’
Grrr! He answered questions without really answering them. I felt he wanted to tell the truth, but needed to hide it for some odd reason, and yet lying didn’t come easily to him. He was telling the truth, a version of it that skimmed the facts without revealing anything. It was so frustrating.
‘Can’t you just give me a straight answer?’ I’m sure he couldn’t miss the exasperation in my voice.
‘Give me a straight question,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Let’s start with the basics.’ From everything mum had taught me about being a journalist, when confronted by someone who doesn’t want to give a straight answer, work your way around them. Throw some questions at them they don’t expect. And so I began by asking, ‘What do you do? Have you finished school? Are you at college?’
His lips curved into a smirk and he seemed amused by this suggestion. ‘I’ve finished my education.’
‘Where do you work? Do you have a job?’ I said, ignoring his attitude.
‘I’m of independent means. My family left me an inheritance — land, property, white gold —’
‘White gold?’
‘Yes,’ he said without any elaboration.
‘So you’re a rich kid?’
The muscles in his jaw tightened. ‘Depends on what value you place on wealth.’
‘My mum’s a journalist and works hard,’ I said, defending where my values lay. ‘She raised me without any help from anyone. We’ve never been rich but we do okay.’
‘What about you? Do you contribute?’ he dared to ask, his tone assuming that I didn’t.
‘The past couple of years I’ve earned money taking photographs and writing features for magazines,’ I said, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I use the money to help pay for things I want, as spending money for my trips to Edinburgh, and on clothes.’
He smiled when I mentioned clothes, making me feel like I was some sort of frivolous shopper which couldn’t have been further from the truth.
I continued under his disapproving stare. ‘I don’t earn a lot but it makes me feel like I contribute and it is good experience which is invaluable.’ Without giving him a chance to remark, I turned the focus back to him. ‘Do you live in Edinburgh?’
This question made him pause. What was so difficult about it? Either he lived in the city or he didn’t.
‘I live near here,’ he said.
His words lingered in the air, awkward, unfinished. What was he hiding?
‘You sure about that?’ I said.
‘Quite sure.’
‘Okay.’ I sighed, reckoning this was the nearest to the truth he was going to reveal. ‘What about Sabastien? What’s his story?’
‘You seem very interested in Sabastien. Perhaps you should ask him yourself?’
Unless I was mistaken there was a hint of jealousy in his voice.
‘Maybe I will,’ I said, ‘if I ever see him again.’
‘Sabastien doesn’t give up that easily,’ he said in a warning tone.
‘What’s to give up?’ I said.
He looked at me that way again, like I troubled him. Then he said, ‘You.’
I laughed. ‘Me?’
He nodded, staring at me with those intense grey eyes.
‘Sabastien doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him, unless Orlaith’s wild assumption that I have a secret admirer is true.’
Daire’s expression was unreadable. He looked like he’d shut down his emotions and was giving nothing away.
I couldn’t fathom him out, so I pressed him for a response. ‘Do I have a secret admirer?’ I felt that this was so exciting if it was true. What girl in their heart of hearts wouldn’t want someone like Sabastien as a secret admirer even if it was just a notion? A guy who would write a romantic letter (come on, it could have been) in invisible ink that only she was meant to read at midnight. My imagination was working overtime, but it was such an exciting thought.
He looked at me strangely.
‘Well, do I?’ I said, challenging him.
‘Yes, you do have a secret admirer.’
‘And . . .?’
‘And I’d better go now. Get some sleep. You look tired. Things will look fine in the morning.’
‘I wish,’ I said.
He looked at me and nodded.
‘Goodnight,’ he said, and I thought he was going to bow, but stopped himself and hurried away. He didn’t leave via the house. He climbed over the garden wall, jumping up, grabbing hold, pulling himself to the top as if he was as light as air, and then disappeared into the night.
I should have been relieved that he’d gone, but I wasn’t. The atmosphere in the garden was subdued, as if he’d taken the energy with him.
I stood there gazing out at the rain, shivering, trying to unravel my thoughts.
Moments later, a flash of lightning ripped across the sky. I took this as a warning, and stepped inside.
A warm shower, change of clothing, and cup of hot chocolate made me feel less anxious. I’d secured the house to within an inch of its life. I’d even set the old security alarm on the patio doors. Orlaith never used it and I was surprised it was still working.
Of course, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t even attempt to go to bed. It wasn’t that late anyway, and I was sitting on the sofa sipping my hot chocolate when two things happened that were weird. The first was a phone call from my mum in New York. I’d never heard her so excited. Basically, she’d had the offer of a lifetime. I was over the moon for her. There was an opening for a journalist on one of the prime time television slots in New York and she’d been offered the job — a two year contract. She would be reporting her news stories on national television. That’s if she accepted the job. But one thing was making her unsure — me.
‘Grab it with both hands. It’s what you’ve always wanted, what you’ve worked hard for,’ I said.
‘Yes, but what about you? They want me to work the next couple of months in New York. I won’t make it to Edinburgh. And we’d have to leave London for a couple of years. What about your school work?’
They’d sprung the opportunity on her right out of thin air. Apparently someone who admired her work had recommended her for the job at the eleventh hour. They’d been looking for a go–getter journalist who was also easy on the eye. Mum was a looker. She always had been. At thirty–four she could’ve passed for twenty–six, and had a modern summery beauty going on.
‘You won’t get a chance like this again,’ I said. ‘Take it. Take it for you, for us.’
‘It’s a lucrative deal, kiddo,’ she said in an excited whisper.
‘Say yes, mum. Just say yes.’
And so that’s what happened.
I relaxed back on the sofa and drank a toast with my hot chocolate. ‘To us, mum. Go get them!’
Living in New York would be great. As for school, well I intended going into journalism so being right in the heart of the Big Apple with my mum working in the media would be no bad thing.
Then the phone rang again. I assumed it was mum needing to reassure herself that I really was okay with the plan. I was wrong. It was Orlaith calling from Glasgow. She’d been offered the chance of a lifetime too.
By now my mind was working overtime. What were the odds of both of them being offered these? However, I brushed my suspicions aside as Orlaith enthused about being invited to London
to show her work at one of the top galleries, with the promise of licensing. Someone had seen her paintings at the exhibition in Glasgow and wanted to buy the rights to use her faerie and flower images on prints, tableware and linen. It was another great money deal. Of course I was delighted for her, and reassured her I’d be fine on my own. Yes, Midnight was going with her. Even the cat was welcome.
The whole deal was perfect. Too perfect?
My mind drifted to Daire’s gorgeous face. It was perfect. Perfect except for one flaw — the silvery scar. Arguably, Sabastien was absolute perfection. His lilac eyes sparkling with hidden thoughts I couldn’t fathom . . .
Time must have slipped away, because when I blinked out of my daydreaming, my hands were cupped around a mug of cold chocolate. Where had the time gone? This thought was becoming too familiar. I took the cup through to the kitchen and poured the dregs away.
As I rinsed and dried it, I saw something flickering in the depths of the garden outside the kitchen window.
One word came to mind — faeries.
I closed the kitchen blind, flicked off the light and went through to the lounge, trying not to be tempted to peek through the patio doors. Temptation got the better of me. I almost wished it hadn’t, because I saw Sabastien standing in the garden.
He knew I’d seen him.
It crossed my mind to make a run for it out the front door into the street, or call the police, but there was something about Sabastien that made me hesitate. What was I going to say anyway? There was this gorgeous guy in the garden and he was warning me about faeries. Yeah, I think they’d lock me up first.
‘Please don’t worry,’ he shouted. ‘I lost something. I came back to look for it.’
He walked towards the house.
‘Stay where you are!’ I shouted, but he couldn’t hear me clearly.
He frowned.
I hurried to the small vent on the patio doors and called to him through that. ‘Stay where you are. Don’t take another step.’
He stopped where he was.
‘If you step on the patio you’ll set off the security alarm.’ I pointed to the little flashing red light that indicated the alarm was on.