Storm Born ds-1

by Richelle Mead

  “No, no,” I said hastily, sitting up and swinging my legs over the bed’s edge. The movement uncomfortably tugged the skin around my stitches. “We were just, um…resting.”

  Dorian arched an eyebrow. “You rest in that?”

  I glanced down, flushing. I’d worn this exactly once when Dean and I had gone to Mexico for a weekend. The nightgown was pale green, its top and bottom hems ornamented with elaborate green leaves and tiny pink flowers. The mid-thigh-length skirt was sheer chiffon. Note to self: Never let Kiyo dress me again, unconsciousness notwithstanding.

  Tim chose that moment to walk in, summoned by the noise. “Eug, what…”

  His mouth dropped-and not just because of me. I looked around at us all: me in my nightgown, Kiyo bare-chested, Dorian in his extravagant robes, and Tim in his Native getup.

  “God,” I muttered, standing up, “we look like the Village People.”

  I pulled the terry cloth robe over me, wondering how I always seemed to be half-naked lately. Tim continued to stare, wearing the shocked look of one who has just walked in on his parents having sex.

  “Everything’s fine,” I told him. He still didn’t move, and I waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey, wake up. Think you can make some breakfast?”

  He blinked. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

  I gave him a pathetic look. The familiarity of it seemed to snap him back to normal. He could never resist it. That, or he felt he owed me food for the free rent.

  “What do you want?”

  “Eggs and toast.”

  “Healthy or unhealthy toast?”

  I considered. “Healthy.”

  “Are your, uh, friends eating too?”

  I glanced at the other two men.

  “I’d love to,” replied Dorian with a cordial half-bow. “Thank you.”

  “Famished,” said Kiyo, eyes still narrowed on Dorian.

  “Thanks, Tim, you’re the best.” I practically pushed him out the door.

  “Charming man,” remarked Dorian politely. He glanced around. “And a charming room.” The broken table aside, the room’s other contents included: a pile of laundry, the wicker chair, a case of ammunition, a dresser, and a small desk with my laptop and a half-finished puzzle of the Eiffel Tower. The room didn’t have a lot of space, so everything had been jammed in. It all seemed so chintzy compared to the opulence of his bedroom.

  Kiyo also got out of bed, wearing just a pair of jeans. “You want to tell me again what’s going on?”

  “I already did.” I opened my dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt that said I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT on it. “We’re doing my next lesson.”

  “She can’t do it today,” Kiyo told Dorian. “She was in a fight last night.”

  “Unless I’m mistaken, she gets in a fight every night.”

  “This one was bad. She was injured. Didn’t you see the stitches?”

  “My humble eyes had better things to occupy themselves with than her stitches.”

  “Hey, guys?” I snapped. “I’m still here, you know. Stop talking about me in the third person.”

  Kiyo walked over and touched my arm. “Eugenie, this is crazy. You need to go back to bed.”

  “Today’s lesson will not require physical exertion,” said Dorian primly.

  “There, you see?” I said. “I’ve got to keep going with our deal.”

  Kiyo looked darkly from me to Dorian. “Your ‘deal’ doesn’t seem to be doing a lot of good. I thought it was going to keep your would-be rapists away.”

  I had turned my back to them, opened the robe, and started pulling my jeans on. I froze, considering.

  “The fachan wasn’t trying to rape me,” I said slowly. “He wanted to kill me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He tried to throw me through a windshield. That’s not very romantic.”

  “A fachan?” asked Dorian.

  I shed the robe and nightgown and pulled the shirt over my head before turning back around to face them. I gave Dorian the short version of what had happened.

  He stood up from where he’d been leaning against my desk and strolled over to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

  “A fachan,” he mused. “Here. Curious.”

  “Not really. Not compared to anything else that’s happened to me,” I reminded him.

  He pointed out the window. “You live in a desert. Fachans like bodies of water. You have a lot of enemies, my dear, but I doubt any fachan would hate you enough to show up here of his own volition.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Kiyo.

  “That someone went to considerable trouble to summon him here. Someone with either a lot of raw power or simply an affinity for water creatures.”

  “Who could do that?” I asked.

  “Any number of people. Maiwenn could.”

  Kiyo took a few dangerous steps toward him. “Maiwenn didn’t do that.”

  Dorian smiled, unfazed by Kiyo’s intimidating presence. They were the same height, but Dorian’s frame was lean and slim, Kiyo’s broader and more muscled.

  “You’re probably right,” Dorian said after several tense moments of silence. “Particularly since she’s been so under the weather lately.” Kiyo’s face grew darker.

  I glanced back and forth uneasily, uncertain as to what I was in the middle of. “Do you guys know each other?”

  Dorian extended a hand to Kiyo, cool and collected. “I know of you, but I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I am Dorian, king of the Oak Land.”

  Kiyo grudgingly took his hand. “I know who you are.”

  “This is Kiyo,” I said.

  “Delightful to meet you. You’re a…kitsune.”

  Dorian said the word in an odd tone. It wasn’t exactly disrespectful, but it clearly implied they were not equals.

  I grabbed both their arms and steered them out. “No pissing contests. Come on. It’ll only take Tim about five minutes to whip up the food.”

  Whatever antagonism existed between Kiyo and Dorian, it took a break as the gentry king entertained himself with the rest of my house. He was like a kid, unable to keep his hands off of everything. Well, everything that wasn’t made of plastic or an iron affiliate. My living room was a veritable wonderland, with everything conveniently piled up in junk heaps for him to explore.

  “What’s the purpose of this?”

  He held a fluorescent pink Slinky, tossing it from side to side so he didn’t have to touch the plastic extensively. My impression was gentry could touch the taboo substances in small doses with minor discomfort; prolonged exposure grew much more uncomfortable. Charge it up with power, and it could kill them.

  “It doesn’t really have a purpose,” I decided. “You just sort of…play with it when you’re bored.”

  He tossed it back and forth, watching it spring up in arches.

  “Let me see it,” I said.

  I held it, closing my eyes. My focus was back now with the excruciating pain vanquished. I concentrated on the Slinky, putting a small piece of my essence into it. I handed it back.

  “Wrap it up and take it with you. It’ll be my anchor.”

  He grinned. With so many other distractions, we eventually had to drag him to the kitchen table when the food was ready.

  “Haven’t you ever been in the human world before?” I asked, once we all sat down.

  “There you go again, assuming we all just traipse over here for no good reason.”

  “So you haven’t.”

  “Well, actually, I’ve vacationed here a number of times. Not in this desolate place, of course, but several other nice spots.”

  I rolled my eyes and slapped butter on my toast. It was made of good, hearty bread, chock-full of whole wheat and about a billion other grains. You could use this stuff as sandpaper.

  I doused my coffee with sugar and cream, gulping it to chase down some ibuprofen. I might not be dying anymore, but myriad aches and stiffness filled
my body. I didn’t think I could handle regularly getting into high-magnitude fights every other night.

  When the whole prophecy thing had surfaced, I had joked that I preferred attempts on my life to sexual advances. I didn’t really believe that anymore. At least when the bad guys wanted my clothes off, it bought me some time. That fachan, however, had had no intentions short of crushing me. And he’d done a pretty good job of doing that. I had never fought something so massive before. Most of my fights, before this all started, had been with spirits and elementals. I could take them out with barely any effort. The fachan had been in a different league. The spirit army from the other day had also been new.

  Dorian’s words rang back to me. The fachan had been deliberately sent. But by whom? One of the many who had a grudge against Odile? Someone like Maiwenn who wanted the prophecy to fail? Maiwenn herself? This latter thought bothered me. She’d seemed more or less trustworthy, despite her bland personality. If she turned into an enemy, it was going to create some serious friction between Kiyo and me.

  We finished breakfast, and Dorian declared we had to go outside for our lesson. I took one look at him and the scalding sunshine and saw imminent disaster for that perfect, alabaster skin. Figuring he wouldn’t want my prissy, vanilla sunscreen, I dug him out a wide-brimmed cotton hat of Tim’s that looked only mildly ridiculous.

  “Are you going to be able to do this?” I asked, leading Dorian out to my back patio. Tim had left for drumming practice, but Kiyo followed us, still watchful. “Your magic’s weaker on this side.”

  Dorian draped his elegant robes over a lawn chair. “Not me who needs to do the magic. And really, I doubt you will either. Not in the way you’re thinking of. Hmm…yes, this area may work better than I’d hoped.”

  He surveyed the patio area and the small grassless yard surrounded by a stucco wall. Dragging up another chair, he set it near the center of the patio, facing the house, and beckoned me to it. I sat down.

  “Now what? More meditation?”

  He shook his head. “Now we need a bowl of water.”

  “Kiyo? Can you grab us one? There’s a big ceramic bowl in the back of one of my cupboards.”

  Kiyo silently complied, looking as though leaving us alone for even one minute would result in Dorian trying something. I found that protectiveness endearing, albeit a bit over the top.

  And then Dorian did try something.

  “What are those?” I exclaimed.

  “Think of them as…learning aids.”

  He had produced a handful of silken cords from the deep pockets of his robe, all in different colors.

  “What are you-no. You are not serious.”

  He had moved behind my chair and grasped my hands. I jerked away.

  “You’re trying to tie me up?”

  “Not for sinister purposes, I assure you, although if you’d like to experiment with them later, I’d be happy to show you their various and sundry uses. For now, simply trust me that they’ll be useful.”

  I continued to regard the cords warily. He shook his head, smiling. Moving behind me, he gently ran his hands down my arms. “You still don’t trust me. And yet you do. An interesting mix. You fear me but want to connect with me. Do you remember what I said the night we met?” He knelt down, speaking softly in my ear. “This is exactly the way it will be when you come to my bed. You’ll surrender yourself, and though it’ll scare you, you’ll exult in it too.”

  “I think you’re imagining more to our charade than there is. And I don’t really see myself feeling exultant over being tied up.”

  “Have you ever tried it?” His fingers slowly slid back up to the sleeves of my shirt, like butterflies on my skin. It was…nice. I shrugged him off.

  “No. And I don’t need to. Besides, whatever your kinky intentions are, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got something going with Kiyo.”

  “Ah. Of course you do. From what I hear, he’s always ‘got something going.’”

  I stiffened. “Don’t try to cause trouble.”

  “I’m attempting nothing of the sort. Just stating a fact. A man with human blood is just as appealing to our women as you are to our men.”

  “I already know about Maiwenn.”

  “I see. What do you know?”

  “The truth. They used to be involved. Now they’re not.”

  “Ah. And that doesn’t bother you? Especially considering it’s likely she’ll try to kill you someday?”

  I turned around as much as I could and glared at him. “I meant it: Don’t try to pick a fight. I trust Kiyo, and I like Maiwenn. End of story. Now if you’re going to tie me up, just get it over with.”

  He rose from his crouch, the sensuality gone from his voice as he began the business of binding me. “I’d never dream of picking a fight. Your pet fox in there will break my neck if I so much as look at you the wrong way.”

  “Don’t act like you’re actually afraid of him. You can supposedly bring down buildings.” I relaxed back in the chair and let him tie my hands together behind me. He took a long time in doing it, like he was weaving or braiding.

  “Why, Eugenie, are you saying you’d wager on me in a fight? I’m touched. Very touched. Although, I do hear foxes have very sharp claws. How are those scratches on your back, by the way?”

  Kiyo walked out just then, carrying the bowl of water. He froze when he saw Dorian tying a cord above my breasts and around my upper arms.

  “What’s this?”

  “An awakening,” said Dorian.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Set the water over there.”

  Kiyo did so and then stood next to me, arms crossed and eyes on the gentry king.

  Again, Dorian took his time in tying my upper body. He used multiple cords, and able to see better this time, I realized he had indeed woven them into an intricate pattern. Aesthetic and functional.

  “There.” With a last tight knot, he straightened up and regarded his work. “Not bad. It seems I haven’t forgotten how to tie a decent knot after all. One more thing, and we’re set.”

  “One more thing” turned out to be a blindfold.

  “No way,” I said.

  “Eugenie, my sweet, your outraged protests are adorable, but they only continue to slow us down. If you want me to help you, then let me. If you don’t, then take me to one of those places where human women wear revealing clothing and quickly lose their virtue through alcohol.”

  I let him blindfold me, feeling uneasy. I trusted Kiyo and sort of trusted Dorian, but the other bindings had already unsettled me. I didn’t like being trapped or in someone else’s control. The bright world went dark as fabric covered my eyes.

  “This is all giving me a bad feeling,” Kiyo said nearby.

  “On the contrary,” said Dorian, “it’s giving me a very warm, very pleasant feeling. But I suppose we should return to the lesson at hand, hmm?”

  “Is this the part where you explain the bondage getup?” I asked. “Or where I find out you just did it for fun.”

  “No, no. As hilarious as that would be, I do have my reasons. Now. I’m going to pick up this bowl of water that Kato so kindly fetched-”

  “It’s Kiyo,” came the irritated response.

  “So sorry. Anyway, I’m going to set it somewhere out here in this miniature wasteland, and you will tell me where it is.”

  “Oh. I get it. I’m supposed to, like, work on my non-visual senses? Listen to where you set it?”

  “You won’t use any of your physical senses at all.”

  I heard him walk away, presumably with the water, but I couldn’t tell where he set it. He paced and paced in circles, kicking rocks and scuffing his shoes so I was clueless by the time he returned to me. When he spoke next, his words were right by my ear again.

  “Now, given freedom, even with just a blindfold, you’d be inclined to move and want to use something-anything-to find the water. You’d turn around, sniff the air, whatever. Now you have to accept that all of that is gone. You cannot rely
on what you usually can. You are trapped and powerless-more or less. Give in to that. Open yourself up to whatever comes. Find the water.”

  “How?”

  “By reaching out to it. Tap into a sense other than the usual five. Remember the exercises we did last time, about reaching beyond yourself-in this world, not the spirit one.”

  “I thought magic was inborn. Isn’t that what separates humans and gentry?”

  “It is inborn. And your inner magic summons and controls storms. To do that, you must summon and control the appropriate elements. And to do that, you must be able to find them. Hence, you focus outward.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Just concentrate. But relax too. Think about the water. How it feels, what it’s like. Spread your consciousness out around you, but don’t go into a trance and let your spirit slip out. That’d be cheating.”

  “How long does it take?”

  “As long as you need.”

  He retreated, and I sat there and waited for some revelation. Okay. Somewhere around me was a bowl of water. And something inside of me was supposed to be able to sense it. I wouldn’t have believed any of it if the living room on the other side of the patio door didn’t stand as proof of my supernatural powers. But I hadn’t had to think to cause the storm. This was different.

  All I mostly felt at first was my own body. Dorian’s binds didn’t hurt me, but they were snug. The stitched-up cut stung a little. The back of my head ached. My leg muscles felt stretched and inflamed. I slowly took inventory of every part of me, assessing how each one felt. I could feel the beat of my own heart, the steadiness of my breathing.

  After that, I started concentrating on the stuff around me. I heard someone, Dorian maybe, slide up a chair and sit down. A plane droned overhead. One of my neighbors kept a bird feeder, and sparrows regularly chirped and squabbled around it. The harsher cries of less melodic birds sounded in the distance. My street had few houses and was removed from real traffic, but a block or so away, a car started and then drove off.

  I thought about water, its appeal growing as the sun beat down. I had put on my own sunscreen and was grateful for it. Still, I could feel sweat pouring off of me. Water would be cool, refreshing. My mom’s house had a pool, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to dive into that crystal-blue surface.