by M. P. Reeves
His head snapped up from his book. "Where have you been?"
Carrick groaned. Last night had been Conall’s celebration. He'd been so taxed after the fight with the fell he had completely forgotten. What a good friend he was.
"It’s a long story." Here it goes... "I need your help Aodhan."
"Well it's about bloody time!" His friend leapt to his feet. He didn't ask with what or why. He just took him at his word.
Aodhan tipped his head towards the two beauties as he walked past. "Ladies." That brought on a fresh round of giggles. Carrick couldn't get past how different women were here. It wasn't that they were subservient, far from it, it was the grace in which they conducted themselves. There was none of the petty bickering, fat jokes or general mean girls syndrome from back home. They acted as sisters united in both beauty and poise. Intelligent and outspoken yet somehow still demure and innocent. A perfect pairing of imperfection and contradiction. Carrick shook his head as they walked away from Mewling glen, his thoughts were starting to read like bloody poetry. He hated poetry.
"Do you know where Tadhg is?" Carrick asked when they reached the path.
"Home, prolly gettin’ worked over like a mule by his mum." Aodhan pointed down the road, the bend north partially obscured by thick branches.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Aye, I think she likes you."
"Huh?"
"Eliana."
"No." Carrick shook his head with a laugh. "No, it’s about Selene."
Aodhan’s brows about jumped off his forehead. "Whoa...no no. Do not go there lad."
"Not like that!" Carrick blushed, brushing the hair from his eyes. "I wanted to ask you about her and my Dad. Figured if anyone knew you might..."
"I don't know much for sure, just some rumors from my folks." Aodhan looked around, making sure there were no extra listeners to the conversation. It seemed a bit ridiculous, the stone path was vacant aside from an older man feeding birds from a bench at the top of the hill. "As you may know Selene's father was an important man, elder on the council. Her family has been top of the chain since the Greek days."
"I didn't know that."
"No fooling. Your grandfather Osin Slaine was a dear friend of her father Zeno Lilevyn. I guess there was talks of a marriage between Brannon and Selene at one point." Aodhan smirked. "Then your dad ran off human side and met your mum. Completely buggared the whole thing."
"Oh..." That explained a lot.
"Not one to be thwarted, I heard Osin shifted the arrangement to his second son Erik, but then everything went to the hells when Lorcan lit the sky."
"So Erik and Selene never..."
"Never wed, yeah. Though most ladies will tell you she's willing and waiting. Dunno why they never followed it up. Most think with Osin and Zeno dead, no one's beating Erik 'bout the head to hold the arrangement."
Carrick frowned, he couldn't think of a reason why Erik would shy from Selene. She was a wonderful cook, kind, beautiful, intelligent, a kick ass fighter. "He's stupid not to marry her." Carrick thought out loud.
"Mum says he's too lost, can't see the moon from the clouds."
"What's that mean?"
"Hell if I know. Look." Aodhan pointed at the home to the right of the stone path, down a steep incline was a clearing with a large hill at the center. A berm house carved into the ground itself. Two windows and a wide door jutted out of the hillside. Blackberry bushes planted on either side of the purple stained wooden door, a garden on the left side of the walkway. To the right was a creek where the Ros siblings currently toiled under the watchful eyes of their mother and grandmother. The redhead was in the center, scrubbing clothes for the line alongside the others with the same grim look of boredom.
"Tadhg!"
"Aye?" The moment his hands stopped rubbing those shirts over the wash bin Tadhg's mother came barreling down the line. Her shrill voice scolding him at a hundred words a minute in the same barely intelligible accent her son had.
"Need you my brother." Aodhan called from the road, stifling a laugh.
He smiled. "Aye!" Dropping the wash back into the soapy water, he bounded up the hill at record pace. Leaving his flailing mother shouting in the valley while his younger sisters ran about by her feet.
"Sah plan then?" Tadhg asked, jogging quickly down the path while looking over his shoulder. Carrick didn't blame him, his mother seemed like just the sort of hellcat to follow him screaming and yelling for miles. What a picture that would have made. Carrick thought.
"Gotta get Conall. And Quin." Carrick tacked on the last bit begrudgingly.
"Saw 'em earlier round tha market." Tadhg said.
"Then to market we shall go!" Aodhan announced. It was starting to warm up for the day, the sun's rays penetrating the high canopy in gentle spotlights. Butterflies, rabbits and other small mammals were drawn to the light. They could be seen in the soft circles, curled up in respite lulled by the song birds above. A group of children ran past them in a far greater hurry to get to the shops. Laughing and fighting with sticks, much as kids do. Carrick could picture a younger version of himself doing the same, it would have been nice to grow up in Dre'ien.
The scents of the market told them they were close. Salted meats, herbs and oils created an intricate aroma that was always oscillating. Depending on the combination, Carrick found his senses were either delighted or he fought the urge to gag. Not always from stench, although sometimes, but mostly from the sheer potency of the scent. Didn't help that he was walking past the tonic stalls.
The Drann was busy this morning, it appeared a fresh batch of oils and scents had been brewed. Ladies of all disciplines clamored over one and another for first pick. Carrick had to hold his breath from the overwhelming mixture of jasmine, lavender and vanilla.
Aodhan had to push him past the butcher. The smoking meats still had him drooling when they spotted Conall over by the leather workers. His blond hair pulled back from his face, thumb under his chin as he nodded along to whatever the shop keep was saying about the pelt in front of him. The merchant seemed overly eager to have Conall browsing his wears. Millie's restful sprawl in the grass outside his sign had drawn quite a crowd.
"Conall. Quin."
"What's doing?" Quin asked, not turning his attention from the row of leather pouches he'd been browsing.
"I really need your help." It was easier to say to him that he wished to admit.
"What can we do to be of aid?" Conall asked with endearing sincerity.
Carrick frowned as he looked around. The marketplace was getting very crowded, typical for late morning. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
Quin stood. "My place." With that he walked away from them, never looking back to see if they had followed. Of course they did. Carrick, for all his loathing of Quin, was eager to see where he rested his brooding head at night.
The row of homesteads north of the market terminated in a cul-de-sac stone walkway around a series of ancient looking redwoods. The one left of center was unique in its twisted branches, the trunk itself looked as though someone had bent the tree about like clay when it was a sapling, wide groove marks spiraled around its base. Aside from its unique physical properties, the twisted tree seemed fairly neglected. The walkway had not been swept in sometime. Several of the branches did not appear very healthy, leaves partially wilted. The other homes at this dead end were above reproach, their landings decorated with stone statues, decorated lanterns and chimes.
Carrick found himself smirking as they walked into the cul-de-sac. He bet these other 'homeowners' harbored some serious resentment for their lazy neighbor. Carrick figured the place was home to one of those ancient relics he'd seen wandering about Dre'ien leaning on their cane. Hard to do yard work when one could barely take a step forward.
Quin walked forward, towards the most opulent house at dead center. Made perfect sense that someone with as much attitude as he had come from a wealthy haughty family. His father was probably some big wig elder on the
council, probably had one hell of a pampered childhood.
When he reached the end of the path, Quin turned to his left. The vine's over the front door fell away, welcoming him graciously.
The name plate outside the wide twisted tree declared the homestead to be Ash End. Carrick touched a flaking piece of the dark bark with his fingertips. Although it was the last on the block before the wood, it felt far older than the surrounding homes. Not just older but...sadder. Carrick pulled his hand back, immediately feeling like an ass for his assumptions about Quin.
While the Elderwood provided a graceful entrance to the high rise, Ash End was a ground level entry. A thin carved twist of a staircase led them up a dank corridor to the common room.
The inside was in worse shape than the exterior. Within the main living space a hasty redecorating effort had been undertaken and promptly abandoned. A fresh coat of paint covered half of the beautiful mural on the back wall, several furniture pieces appeared to have been removed from the pock marks on the floor. A black shroud hung over a portrait in the corner. The furniture in the space was lavishly carved, yet not well cared for. A layer of dust seemed to lurk on virtually every flat surface aside from the cooking counter. Strange masks and pottery on display in various bookcases were likewise covered with cob webs.
"You live here alone?" Carrick asked, the place didn't scream bachelor as much as it did abandoned museum. The kind of stage more fitting for his favorite Saturday morning cartoon.
Quin glared at him while Starless growled. "Yes."
Carrick looked around awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact with the brooding druid. He seemed far too offended at the simple question. Then again, Quin always seemed offended.
"Oh lay off Quin, he dun know." Aodhan quietly chastised as he walked by. He paused, giving Carrick a brotherly clap on the shoulder before settling onto a worn settee, a leg stretched over the right arm rest.
"I could fill the Ives with all the things he doesn't know." Quin grumbled in response, collapsing into a dark purple wingback chair by the fireplace. Carrick wanted to say something witty in return, unfortunately he didn't even know what the Ives was.
"Got annah mead?" Tadhg asked, opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen area.
"Bottom right." Quin responded, snapping his fingers. The logs in the great hearth glowing a brilliant blue bathing the wide common room in soft light.
"Bit early to be drinkin ya?" Conall raised an eyebrow. His voice always morphed from proper English to more of a hybrid when Tadhg was around.
"Mah father a'ways said," Tadhg pulled the cork out with his teeth, spitting it into his open palm, "no such thing." He took a swig directly from the jug.
"Well yah, he lived with your mum." Aodhan quipped.
The redhead threw a cork at him while the other's laughed. It of course, escalated into a tussle. Aodhan and Tadhg rolling around on the ground in the kitchen while Conall goaded them from the side. Even Quin smiled, cheering for Tadhg. Carrick likewise threw in his hat for Aodhan, laughing as he flipped the fiery redhead over, catching him in a chokehold.
"So ya gonna tell us what became so important ya missed Conall drinkin himself into the serpent twins." Aodhan asked him, after freeing Tadhg from a headlock. The victor took the bottle Tadhg had been consuming back to his previous seat.
Carrick was momentarily thrown off. "No! Really?" The blush on Conall’s face was all he needed for confirmation.
The young Slaine shook his head, focusing. "Well long story short. I trusted a nymph..." He filled them in on what had transpired; the cabin, the fell, Selene. By the end of his tale every druid in the room sat silent as stone.
"What is it you need from us Carrick?" Aodhan's expression was as stoic as his voice.
"I'm going to do something reckless, dangerous actually. So much so that, in fact, I'm probably going to get myself killed."
"Now that's how I like to start the day." Quin quipped, Carrick ignored him, pressing on.
"There's a book, one that belonged to my father, that was at my house in New York when they came for me. I don't know what is in it, only that the fell want it badly."
"How'd ya know that?" Tadhg asked.
"Lorcan told me himself."
30
Elizabeth Waters whirled around. Not only had the waitress locked the door but she blocked it with her body. "What are you doing?" Prepared to claw, scrape and bite to get past her, Liz rallied the last bit of her strength as she took a step forward. “Let me ou-
The telltale sound of a pumped double barrel shotgun stopped her in place. The cook had it aimed directly at her torso. Facing him she raised her arms high in the air.
"Don't shoot, please don't-"
"I think it’s best you stay still friend." He drawled in labored English. "and get to talking about how you know Juan."
She shook her head, the motion making her dizzy due to dehydration. "I don't I-"
"Ella es una de ellas." The waitress hissed quickly.
"Callarse. dejar que la conversación de chicas." Despite his calm words, the gun waivered in his hands. Behind her the waitress chewed her lower lip, her feet backed up as close to the door as possible. Body language was all wrong. They weren't aggressive. They were...terrified. Of her. Liz's eyes widened as she processed that epiphany. There had to be something she could say...oh why hadn't she taken Spanish class...
"Estevan! Your Tilapia is burning my friend. Estevan?" Another male voice called from the back room. There was a clatter of pans, swearing. "I was only gone twenty bloody minutes!" The double doors to the kitchen swung open, although no one was visible over the high counter. "Consuela do you know where-oh. Are we being robbed Estevan?" He said it was plainly as one would ask if it was raining, partially disinterested.
"No Senior."
"Then you really have no excuse for burning such choice cuts of meat. An animal gave its life for that you know." Mid lecture, a man rounded the edge of the counter. One she could only assume was Juan, for the man was a pituitary dwarf. Caucasian, a crop of curly dark brown hair topped his head while a perpetual smirk decorated his face. His tacky lime green Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and Birkenstock combo made him seem both non-threatening and like a tour group run away. All he was missing was the fanny pack.
"Sorry Sir. This girl was asking for Small Juan." She blushed, feeling very embarrassed for such a crass nickname. "She's got a gun." Liz's eyes widened as she looked down at her waist. She had completely forgotten about the metal death instrument that man had given her that she had shoved in her pants.
"This girl is my niece." The dwarf shot her a million dollar smile, literally. His teeth appeared to have all been capped, they dazzled in an almost glowing pure white against his tanned skin. "Bethany dear, come with me to my office. Let’s get you cleaned up. I told you to be careful riding ATV's on the trails around these parts." He let out a short laugh. "Kids...am I right? Consuela open the cafe back up please, dinner rush will start soon. Estevan, bring my darling Bethany here a plate of fish tacos if you would. I'm sure she's famished. You do like fish tacos don't you honey?"
Liz's head bobbled. "Good. Come with me." Gently taking her hand, the smaller man led her through the kitchen into a cramped six by six foot office. Overflowing with papers, there was barely enough room for the desk and two metal folding chairs that had been shoved into the space. While she tried to carefully avoid trampling all over the invoices, catalogues and various fliers, he tromped right over everything. As he walked by her he grabbed the hand gun from her belt in a quick fluid motion before she could protest. Taking a seat behind the cheap particleboard desk, he offered her the other chair. "Please sit." The man tossed the gun on the table with little regard.
She remained standing. "My names not Bethany."
"It is now. Please. Sit before you fall over."
Acknowledging she was listing to the side she took a tender step forward, collapsing more than sitting on the cold metal chair. It reminded her too much of h
er cell in that prison. The feeling alone made her want to get up and leap from the little room. It was too small, too cramped too...
"You look like hell." He threw her a package of wet wipes from one of the desk drawers.
"I am in hell." She accepted his offering, tenderly wiping layers of dirt and blood from her battered skin.
"Fair enough." He pulled out a small baggy and an envelope of cigarette papers. When he pulled some of the green leaves out of the bag, they didn't smell like her uncles cigars.
"Is that?" She asked, wiping the dried blood off her arms. The dirt on her face took four towelettes to clear. Even then she still felt foul.
"Medical Condition." He smirked, sprinkling the fresh smelling ground leaves on the paper.
"You don't look sick."
"Well I am a dwarf, most would consider that a medical condition in itself."
She frowned. "Oh if you start spouting corporate propaganda at me I daresay we will be off on the wrong foot. Besides," he paused to lick the wrapper, "this is for you mostly." Leaning back on the chair he lit the joint, taking a deep pull before passing it across the table to her. "It will help you get your nerves under control. You're dehydrated, malnourished, fractured and pretty much mind screwed at the moment. So this," he held it out further, "is honestly the least of your worries."
What the hell, she thought as she accepted his offering. She took as deep a drag off the cigarette as she could, erupting in a coughing fit that had him laughing and slapping his knee.
"Easy now kiddo. You don't have to be so zealous."
A few passback's later; her toes tingled, a grin had been delightfully embroidered onto her face and her stomach was doing flips in anticipation of food.
"Where am I? And who are you? Who was that man who helped me?"
There was a knock at the door that made her jump. Consuela poked her head in long enough to set a tray atop the paper covered floor and shut the door behind her. Soon as the food was placed in the room, she lost her train of thought completely, regressing to her most basic needs. Food beat information, just ask any biologist. Liz couldn't believe she was salivating, the brightly colored tacos were packed full of vegetables, coleslaw, fish and beans. As embarrassing as it was, she lunged for the tray and wasted no time stuffing her face. Her mother would have been so ashamed. All those lessons on manners and etiquette, all those fancy dinners for her Dad's business partners, all that preparation for a privileged life...gone.