by Alexis Davie
“Damn, Garrick, thank you,” she said, “thank you for bringing it to me.”
She could hear him smiling when he said, “Of course, Brin.”
“Okay, so it’ll be hard for you to open it. Can you find anything of mine up there in the junk? A girl’s shoe or something?” She heard him scrabbling around, heard his noise of positivity when he found something that looked like it had belonged to a young, pink-wearing version of her. Her father had insisted on femininity, for some reason, once her carefree mother was gone.
“Got it!” he cried. “It’s a welly-boot.”
Brin laughed to herself again. “Okay, concentrate, get the book. Do you have it out?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to have to go far enough away to get some strength back, because this won’t be easy, but not so far that I’m not—”
“The book’s open, what am I looking for?” Garrick didn’t know enough to sound surprised. “I guess it knows you’re there,” he said.
“What?” It shouldn’t have opened for him. Not that easily. Not even nearly.
“What do I look for, Brin?” She fumbled in her own brain, trying to regain control of the situation.
“Uh… silver, something about… doors and silver, or gloves and silver. I know there’s a protection spell…” She heard pages flutter. Garrick made a surprised noise, and then another, and then…
“Brinley, this book likes me,” Garrick said. “And, uh, I think I need to show you something.”
At that moment, the door above Garrick creaked. He put down an arm, and as she reached the top of the ladder, he dragged her out. They both tried to hide the book with their bodies, but it was too late.
Martin had taken in the scene. He dropped the door, turned a key in its lock, and retreated.
“He’s gone to tell Xander and his father,” Garrick said. “They’re… well, they went to get the idiot warlocks that are trying to—”
Brin couldn’t help herself. She had her hands on Garrick’s shoulders and pulled him down towards her as he spoke, kissing him full on the lips. He didn’t resist. In fact, he relaxed into it, his arms around her, lifting her so he could stand, until her legs were around his hips.
“Brin,” he said, pulling away for a moment, “you need to see something…” But she kissed him again, the sweet worry on his face making it impossible not to.
“I think,” she said between kisses, “no, no, Garrick, shut up…” And she kissed him again. “Look, I know this sounds stupid, but I think I might love you? Is that possible?”
Garrick smiled. He put her down, pushed her chin up, and kissed her one more time, lightly.
“Yes,” he whispered into her mouth, his breath sweet despite their long days. “I love you, too… I was waiting for you to realize. Just, look at this, will you?”
“Wait, how did you open… Did you use the book? It let you use it, as well as open it?” Garrick shrugged.
“It felt like something working through me?” It was both a statement and a question.
Brin nodded enthusiastically. “That’s just it. That’s it! But, why? Because you’re a dragon king? I don’t…”
Garrick had grabbed the book. He held it carefully, as if it were an animal. “Look! Just look, will you?”
He opened the jacket of the book; opened it easily. And out here, despite the silver still making her head swim, Brinley could feel the book’s happy thrum.
The family tree—the new branch was clearer now. Strong and healthy, and sitting beside hers, and the smudge, that smudge next to it, had become a name:
Garrick Andorson.
She looked at the book and then at Garrick.
“Oh…” she said. “Oh…”
“Yeah.” Garrick nodded. “I know.”
“So we’re—”
“I mean, I thought so,” Garrick said, “but I figured you had to work it out. Didn’t you feel it?”
The love was like a down comforter over her, over them together. Brin wanted to cry, but she wasn’t going to, obviously. They were mates. It was an ancient tradition, from a time of much smaller populations, finding the one soul you were to be bound to, but it still sometimes happened. It had happened.
“Crap!” she said, just letting it slip out.
“I mean, we’re a formidable couple,” Garrick said. “Brinley, I think you are… you are just incredible.” He was leaning over her, and she stretched up to kiss him again, was about to actually start crying, when the door above them opened so harshly it sounded like it had been kicked.
“NO, NO, NO, NO!” It was Xander’s voice, and it sounded as though he had lost all veneer of maturity. “Get off them, they’re MINE!”
Garrick looked up. He shrugged and stared at Brin.
“I’m no one’s,” she said, looking from her father to the almost purple face of Xander beside him. “Dad, I thought you’d know I’m not that easily filed away. I’m ashamed of you.”
Her father tried his innocent act again, softening his voice. “Sweetheart, I—”
She nodded in his direction, and now, although he was moving his mouth, nothing was coming out.
Xander tried to get into the open doorway, and he bounced back, again grabbing for his nose, which had smacked off the invisible barrier.
“We can get through the tunnels,” Garrick said, nodding to their left at one of the small cavemouth-like openings that led to further areas of the cellar. “It’ll take a while, but one member of the council is in chambers at all hours. Can you keep them here?”
“I think so,” Brin told him “with the help of the book.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in—”
“Woah!” She put a hand on Garrick’s arm. “Let me work on restraining them, and I’m coming with you. Give me a few minutes, okay?”
Garrick smiled at her and kissed her forehead.
“Okay, little witch,” he said. “Do your thing.”
23
Garrick
The start of their real lives together had been… something. Fittingly dramatic, perhaps, that run through the veins of London, Brinley getting them further with charms when she could, half-sick, the both of them, when they had to pass through silver-lined areas because other passageways had caved in or been closed up by humans who didn’t know what they were getting themselves involved with.
Oleg had been asleep when they’d finally reached him. It had got so late it was early again. And Garrick had knocked on his dated, pretentious coffin with a tired but firm fist, one arm around Brin, who was leaning against him, not even asking questions anymore.
She was so strong, his Brinley. She had gone through so much in the days before that, and especially in the few hours since she’d left his house. She’d explained as much on the rush through the tunnels.
But when he’d said, “I should have made you stay,” she’d shrugged.
“Well,” she’d replied, “this needed sorting out.” She had taken his hand. “Anyway, we needed to be sure… of us…”
Oleg had been suspicious, asking who it was, but he had evidently recognized Garrick’s voice.
“What did you do now?” had been his first response. But, eventually, they had assembled the council, sent out messages. They had got back south and found the four men still sleeping. A sad and soft ending to their plans. An anti-climax.
Now, weeks later, the sky was an autumn white. Garrick yawned, blinked at it out the window, and rolled over.
“Hey,” he said, “morning.” And he kissed Brin, who was just opening her eyes.
She blinked at him. Smiled. “Hey, handsome.”
He laughed. “Okay, charmer. I have to get up in a second. Will you be okay today? I’ll be thinking of you, but I have to—”
“I know!” Brin said. “I know, you’re very important, you make all the big decisions—” She must have seen his forehead crease, his mouth open to argue, because she said, “Oh, not around here, I don’t mean around here, and I’m young,
give me time. You know I’ll be on that council.”
Garrick laughed as she kissed him, properly this time, long and deep. When she pulled away, she just looked at him and smiled, and he put a hand to her face.
“I love you, Brinley,” he said, “and I’ll do what you want today, okay?”
“I know.” And she pulled him sideways onto her, one leg around him and then the other. “First this?”
“Are you…?” He was going to ask if she was sure, today, this morning, but she fixed him with those god-green eyes. An expression like honey. “Okay,” he said, ducking his head to kiss her, and she let out a tiny moan, a little animal’s moan.
“I need you today,” she said. He pushed himself against her, feeling himself pulse and buck and need her, too.
24
Brinley
Brinley had to feel close to Garrick today, and as she glanced at the white sky through their huge windows and he kissed her neck, she felt him excited, pushing against her. They belonged to one another. Today, of all days, she needed to know she had a family, and it was right here. It was the two of them.
They had both been sleeping naked, so she had access to all of him. The sky told her it was early, and they had time for this, at least, even if it meant getting on their best clothes unwashed and smelling of one another in an hour. In fact, she wanted to smell of him. Remember their intimacy, later, when she had to be brave and he would be visible but untouchable.
She flipped him and kissed all down him, right to his thighs. He was still trying to say something about it being an important day, but she couldn’t really hear through his groans.
She hummed and raised her head. “Is it?”
Garrick pulled her up to him, tugging at the top of her right arm, pressing his mouth to hers. He tasted sleepy still. Warm. She pushed his hair behind his ears and lifted her head to look at him.
“I know,” she repeated. “I know it’s a weird day, but I need you. I love you. I need to feel you with me all day, okay?”
“I’ll be there…”
“No,” she countered, stroking his face, “this version of you won’t. My version of you. I need to remember us, all day.”
He nodded at this, blinking at her with his silvery eyes. He smiled and flipped her onto her back. He parted her legs with one of his knees, stroking her chest, her neck, so that enough of her felt good she almost lost track. And then he was pushing into her, and they both gasped. She adjusted herself for him, and her teeth were digging lightly into her lip as her hand caressed the small of his back…
“I love you, Brin,” Garrick managed between his noises of pleasure. Brinley slowed it down. She pulled his face to hers, kissed him, let him into her slowly, until he was almost cursing with just how slow and deep it was. She pushed the comforter off them as they began to get sweaty and pushed off to roll them both onto their sides so that he could stay inside her, but it was easier to lock eyes. He was pushing up against her, holding her hip, until her eyes closed, and the swirling pleasure just his touch created was magnified a thousand-fold. She had never felt anything like this—how it was with him always.
It reached the tips of her fingers. It reached her eyelashes. And he tensed against her, let her ride the waves of pleasure and find the next one. Until she was pulling him in and tensing herself, and he could let go, too, and they were left vibrating with it, an after-hum of warmth. A physical feeling somehow so full of love she could hardly take it.
Once their breathing had returned to normal, Brinley whispered, “Thank you,” to Garrick. And she kissed him on one lightly closed eyelid and then the other. He smiled with his eyes still closed.
“Don’t be silly, thank you!” Garrick’s breathing was slowing, becoming deep and even. Brin sat up and checked her phone.
“How the hell did you manage before I was here?” she asked. “It’s almost 9 a.m. Get up. I’m going to have to use a spell to get us there.”
“I barely managed without you,” he said. Brin hit him lightly on the chest, but she, too, was smiling.
Garrick looked ridiculous, Brinley thought, in his ceremonial dress. He had a full-on crown, which, to be fair, he looked embarrassed to be wearing. It was decorated by a finely scaled dragon’s head with green gems for eyes. The wings wrapped around and became the crown’s band, and there were red gems—rubies?—in a vaguely flame-like pattern below. He’d kept the whole crown thing quiet, though he’d told her he’d be in ceremonial wear.
The red and the gold did good things for his creamy skin, even if a crown was overkill. If you blocked out the social connotations, there was a regal air to him now, at the center of the large raised area of the court. He’d warned her it was going to be a long day, but time seemed to be going almost too quickly.
She was dreading seeing them, all of them. Immortal court was a rare occurrence, and there had been a queue for the viewing gallery. It hadn’t made her particularly comfortable, but they were there because everyone knew what had happened. It was all over the papers. Well, their papers. They wanted to see justice. And they would see it. She hoped so, at least.
The rest of the council was flanking Garrick at the table. It was thin; more like a bar. She could see him looking for her, his eyes flicking back and forth across the benches of involved parties—witnesses, legal counsel, family of the accused. She was two of those things. She wanted to smile at him, show him she was handling it and was okay, but she obviously couldn’t draw attention to herself.
And then, all of a sudden, with no fanfare, they were there. They were cuffed in silver, with another set, linked by a chain, around their ankles. Xander was the only one of the three who looked angry. He was daring the room to mess with him, his round face squeezed into an expression of anger. Distaste. Beside him, Mr Chaffinch looked simply… tired? And her father was, as ever, inscrutable. Haughty. Not meeting her eye, or even appearing to see her at all.
Brinley had a new theory: I look too much like my mother, she thought. Garrick had pointed it out, actually, as they had stood in front of her mother’s portrait in the main hallway after Xander, his father, and her own father had been carted away by the council and their people.
“Do you mean because he always resented her, or because he misses her?” she had asked, eyeing the painting. She did, she looked just like her. And she had always thought of her mother as so beautiful. This image was so beautiful, one of the only ones she had left. She could only see the similarities by individually assessing features: warm green eyes, yes, small, smiling, rosebud lips, yes…
“Both,” Garrick said. He was right. She’d kept it in mind. Her father was a broken man and probably had been since long before her mother had died. He’d wanted her to be a boy, for one thing, and then once her mother was gone… no chance of that.
“—several charges, but today, we are sitting to decide on the punishment for the attempted forced marriage, kidnapping, and illegal imprisonment of Brinley Montegue…”
At this point, Garrick held up a hand. He was getting the attention of a clerk, to whom he whispered something. The young shifter, in his slightly too-big suit, hurried over. Then he scuttled back to the speaker’s podium.
“Excuse me. Brinley Valentine. The young witch uses her mother’s name. Apologies.”
Brin couldn’t help herself. She caught Garrick’s eye and smiled. He smiled back, very briefly, and then returned his expression to neutral.
“This is a dire set of charges…”
And not their only charges, thought Brinley, not taking her gaze from Xander. He looked ready to take on the whole courtroom, like he might Hulk his way out of his stupid, expensive suit. As if being a rich immortal was impressive. Money comes and goes; her father was proving that.
Brin had to give testimony, and when she did, she was glad of Garrick’s smell on her, mixed with her own. She could see him from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t want to turn her head to fully acknowledge him. It would be uncouth and not fitting of the settin
g, even though everyone knew about their romance. The wedding was being speculated about all over the place. She had been stopped on the street a couple of times and asked, but that wasn’t where her head was at—where their heads were at.
Garrick, of course, couldn’t hand down a sentence. There was a jury (none of whom were absolutely impartial, but they’d tried), and Garrick simply had to nay or yay what the judge concluded was the best punishment. They had, though, of course, been able to chat about what might be best. That was the nepotistic way of the law in the magical realm.
So, Brinley was not surprised when she heard. But she was pleased. She was also exhausted. They had been there for hours on end. The whole room looked to be wilting.
Garrick had stood and was looking out at all of them. He cleared his throat.
“As many of you will no doubt be aware,” he said, “I have something of a personal stake in this case. That being said, I take no pleasure in passing on this sentence. I don’t want these three men to have done what they did. And, as we know, this is just the beginning for two of them, in terms of the legal ramifications they will face for their actions. The punishment here matches these men’s crimes.
“Mr Montegue, and the junior and senior Mr Chaffinches, are all sentenced to five hundred years in silver. That is, five hundred years living as human. As we are all aware, this will mean some aging on the part of the three men, and so a shortening of their lives, potentially. That, though, is not the real punishment. Two of these men were planning dominion over the human race, and the third, Mr Montegue, was willing to sell that ability to them at the cost of his own daughter’s hand and his own daughter’s heritage.”
Brin was fizzing with a strange mixture of anger and pride. She could hardly breathe and was blinking away tears as she watched him up there, watched the three men he was sentencing take it in.
“The punishment will commence immediately. Please, take these men to be fitted for their cuffs.”