by C. E. Mutphy
Tokyo
A slim man, short by Western standards, not particularly handsome, but animated enough to hide it, lifted his eyes in the midst of a business meeting. He looked on a city half a world away, gaze blank with it; blank with the awakening of his brethren and all it portended. Then someone spoke his name and he brought himself back to his duty, a small job in a small company. His apology was made in fluid, flawless Japanese, and his transgression was forgiven, which, all things told, was just as well.
Brooklyn
An older woman—no, an elderly one—came out of her house to tidy snapdragons and tiger lilies in the evening sunlight as she talked on the phone. She crouched in the dirt more easily than a woman of her age might be expected to, pulling and digging at roots and plants with thoughtless practice as she nodded at the voice on the other end of the line. Then she snorted and straightened, and the years fell away until she was no more than older, silver-haired, suddenly still beautiful, and with a raw note of London’s slaughter fields in her voice when she didn’t bother to train it away. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll move on when you two have found somewhere new to settle. Be careful, darling, and give your sister my love.”
Manhattan
It is the highest point in the city easily accessible to a human, especially at night. He’s wiser than to have remained there during the day, but in the first minutes after the sunset releases him, he wings his way there and waits well above the observation deck, observing from his own unique vantage.
And as promised, not too terribly long after the sun has fallen over the horizon, she appears on the observation deck below, a broad smile shaping her face as she turns to search the building’s upper reaches for him.
She’s dressed in a copper gown that fits her curves and makes the warm tones of her skin rich even in the artificial light of a city night. She waves when she sees him, and her smile lights even more, until it reflects the joy within his own heart.
With an incautious glance around, he plummets from his waiting place, landing in a solid crouch at her side. She slides her fingers into his hair, then laughs as he stands and takes her with him. Like any two ordinary lovers, he spins her around in a circle, reveling in the sound of her delight. Reveling in holding her in his arms, and most of all, most incredibly of all, reveling in wonder as Margrit Knight touches her lips to his ear and whispers, “I love you.”
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