Copper Girl

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  And my token chose that moment to fall out of my shirt, reminding me why I was here so early in the first place.

  I started the car, threw it into gear, and practically flew down the street toward REES. I pulled into the parking lot so fast I caught air on the speed bumps, and then screeched to a halt in my usual spot before the Lovers’ Pine. I was so rattled it took me three tries to cross into the Otherworld; for a moment, I didn’t realize I’d made the jump. It appeared as serene as it had yesterday when Micah had offered me his token, tranquil and lovely and totally at odds with my frazzled state. Clutching the silver token, I ran toward Micah’s home, shouting his name.

  Suddenly, he was there. “My Sara,” Micah called in greeting, then looked me over from head to foot. “Again, you’ve come to me dressed like a man.” Speechless, I looked down at my jeans. Here I was, terrified for his safety, and all he could say was that I was wearing pants?

  “Where have you been?” I yelled. Micah, wearing his usual buff leather gear and a slightly bemused expression, was obviously fine. I, however, had by now well and truly lost it.

  “Here,” he replied. “Should I be elsewhere?”

  Now that I was certain of his safety, I really wanted to beat him. “I thought you’d been captured!”

  Micah cocked his head to the side, as if capture was an utterly foreign concept here in the Otherworld. “Who would attempt to capture me?”

  “Anyone!” I shrieked. “Peacekeepers, spies, someone who thought they could cut your ears off and sell them at the goddamned Promenade!” His eyes widened at that last bit, and he absently touched his ears. As he did, his sleeve slipped, and I saw the copper cuff about his wrist. Faltering, I stammered, “You’re wearing it?”

  “Is it not for me?” he asked.

  “It is. I…” I turned away and covered my face with my hands. Micah was obviously fine, and I’d freaked out over nothing. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I whispered. “Or… or dreamwalk to me?”

  “You looked so exhausted. I couldn’t bear to disturb you.” Then Micah’s hands were on my shoulders, and I leaned against him. He was warm. Solid. Safe. “Forgive me, my Sara. I meant no offense.”

  “You didn’t offend. It’s just…” I gulped some air, and started again. “They took Max.”

  “Max?”

  “My brother. They just took him.” Micah shifted so we faced each other and wrapped his arms around me, and for a moment I just enjoyed being in his arms. Never mind that I’d known him for less than a week, or that his presence in my life only meant danger. I’d never been as happy and relieved as I was in that moment, knowing that the Peacekeepers hadn’t taken him.

  “Come,” he said suddenly, drawing me lower into the valley. When I asked where he was taking me, he replied, “To my home.”

  “I need to get to work,” I protested. Everyone at Real Estate Evaluation Services started their workday promptly at nine, lunched at noon, and left at five. It was much easier for the drones to keep track of everyone if we all kept the same basic schedule and, since overtime hours were input to an official database, there were no stragglers. This also meant that, if I showed up more than ten minutes late, there would be an official report. More than four hours late meant my job would be forfeit.

  “No,” Micah said, firmly. “Not until you have told me all you know of those who have taken your brother, who may also attack me.”

  “They’ve taken others,” I mumbled. Micah’s only response was to squeeze my hand, but it was enough.

  It was only a short walk across the dell to Micah’s little castle. ‘Castle’ really wasn’t the proper term for his home, but it was full of turrets and arched windows, and I couldn’t bring myself to call such a grand structure a house. It was so much, much more than what that simple word conveyed. But then, it did not have a drawbridge, and thus no moat and no moat monster. Pity.

  As we approached, I caught sight of two figures lurking on the far ridge. I was still pretty shaken up from my run-in with Peacekeeper Jerome, and my first thought was that they were an Otherworldly police force. “Who are they?”

  “Iron warriors,” Micah replied.

  “Will they…is it safe for them to be here?”

  Micah tightened his arm about my shoulders. “Of course,” he murmured. “I would never let anything harm you, my Sara.”

  Gods. I hope he means that.

  The whole of Micah’s home was a reflective gray, oddly bluish in the morning light, and as we drew nearer I finally appreciated the beauty of the silver structure. I suppose it was only natural for Micah Silverstrand to reside in a silver abode, but I was awed nonetheless. The metal walls and roof were brushed in offsetting squares, mimicking shingles. It was pristinely maintained, save for a bit of tarnish close to the ground, but that was only on the exterior. Inside, the walls gleamed as though they had just been polished. To spare our eyes, the glare of the white metal was offset by many thick rugs in claret and burgundy hues, and the walls were adorned with intricate tapestries.

  “You really live here?” I murmured, staring up a silver staircase. The risers and banister were studded with opals, and a massive ruby sat atop the newel post.

  “I do,” Micah replied, his bemused smile having returned.

  “Does your family live here, too?”

  “No. There is only me.” He guided me past the staircase and into an elfin version of a front parlor. Portraits, both full-size and miniatures, graced the walls, and there was even a mantle that held what looked to be mementos. Family heirlooms, maybe? I found myself wondering what sort of family lurked in Micah’s past. Surely, they were tamer than mine.

  My elf led me toward the far wall, which was all but overtaken by a massive knot of tree roots, gnarled and knobby. A thick expanse of cushions in varying hues of blue lay atop the woody ledge. I gladly sank onto the Otherworldly couch, perhaps the most comfortable seat I’d ever experienced. In a soft voice, Micah asked, “Now, tell me of these abductors.”

  I dropped my eyes, at once full of irrational fear and shame. “Do you know about the Magic Wars?” He nodded. “Ever since, magic has been illegal. I mean, the government still uses it, but they say it’s too dangerous for the public.”

  “Dangerous?” Micah echoed, his brow furrowed. “For one such as you, wielding magic is as natural as a bird taking to the wind.”

  “That’s what Dad thought,” I murmured. “My father fought for magic with the war mages, but he went missing during the wars. We still don’t know if he’s alive or dead.” My voice trailed off, and I was silent until Micah pressed something into my hand. It was a silver chalice, large and heavy, like the grail of legend.

  “It will calm you,” he replied to my unasked question.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “One of the servants brought it,” he replied.

  “No one’s been in here!” My voice was a bit too shrill, but Micah only chuckled.

  “You can see them, if you know how to look,” he soothed.

  I squinted and looked around the room. I saw nothing, not a person or gnome or field mouse … but then, something shimmered. That something slowly took the shape of a being, not male or female, but a being, nonetheless. It was about three feet tall, pale, and slightly shiny.

  “The metal!” I exclaimed. “The metal does your bidding!”

  “It does,” he confirmed, obviously pleased with my reasoning. “I call them the silverkin.”

  “Silverkin,” I murmured. “I thought you were all alone here.”

  “As long as I have silver, I am never alone,” he stated. “Now, tell me of Max.”

  Instead of speaking, I stared at the contents of the goblet. “What is this?”

  “Chamomile,” Micah replied. “Along with a bit of brandy.”

  “I shouldn’t have this,” I said, pushing it toward him. “They say, if you consume food or drink in the Otherworld, you’re trapped here for eternity.”

  Micah laughed. “What nonsense yo
u humans believe! I have consumed your food and drink on many occasions, yet I am not trapped in the Mundane World. And,” he murmured, pressing the rim to my lips, “would it be so terrible to be trapped with me?” His silver eyes held me fast, almost daring me to answer him.

  “I guess not,” I murmured, then took a sip to placate him. Despite what he’d said, it seemed to be mostly brandy with a touch of chamomile, but it was good, and it did calm me. When I lowered the goblet, Micah was still looking at me expectantly, so I launched into the tale of two girls who’d lost a boy.

  “Do you… how much do you remember about the Magic Wars?”

  “A bit,” he replied. “I try not to involve myself in the affairs of men.”

  Smart idea. “The wars came out of nowhere. We’re taught in school that there was unrest for years between the Elementals and the Mundane leaders, but I don’t remember it that way. I mean, I was young, but I was old enough to understand what was going on around me.” I fell silent for a moment, once again lying under the fairy tree behind the Raven Compound, Max and Sadie beside me. Mom and Dad were off in the meadow, laying out sandwiches and fried chicken for a picnic lunch. Life was simple then, simple and good.

  My life was neither of those things now. “Then, all the radio and television stations went black, and for a few days, no one knew what had happened,” I continued. “We were cut off. After almost a week of isolation, Dad received a summons. It was from the war mages. He never came back.”

  “Was he killed?” Micah asked gently.

  “We don’t know. Yeah. Probably.” Micah pulled me against him, and I rested my head on his strong shoulder. “I mean, why else wouldn’t he come back? Unless he thought we were dead; no, even then, he’d have come back to the house.” He would have had to return to the Raven Compound, since one just didn’t abandon more than a thousand years of family legacy. Even if one thought that family had died.

  “When I was younger, I imagined that he was in hiding, and that someday he’d just come walking through the front door,” I continued in a small voice. “But that hasn’t happened.”

  The few times I’d told this story, people usually told me to keep my chin up, that I should never give up hope that Dad might come home. Juliana, my confidant in all things, had always gone out of her way to assure me that Dad would find his way home, somehow, some way. Micah didn’t do that; he just gave me the space to speak. “You were very small?” he asked at length.

  I nodded. “I was seven, and my little sister, Sadie, was three. Almost four.” I wondered if Sadie would be able to recognize Dad. My own memory of him was hazy; I remembered strong arms and bright copper hair, and riding on his shoulders. I remembered laughter and happiness.

  “Your brother, Max is his name?” Micah prompted, rousing me from my memories. I nodded, and he continued, “He is older than you?”

  “Yes. He’s two years older than me.” I took a deep breath, and burrowed further into Micah’s arms. “After the war ended, the government outlawed all magic. No leniency was given; if you were caught practicing, you were taken by the Peacekeepers. If you came from a known magical clan, you were put under guard.” I was silent for a moment. “We were watched, me and Max and Sadie and Mom. The three of us still are. As soon as Dad disappeared, before the war even ended, Peacekeepers served Mom with papers dissolving her marriage. They said that Dad was a political criminal, so the government just divorced them and put everything in Mom’s name. Max didn’t like that.”

  “A good man never lets an insult to his mother pass,” Micah observed.

  “He wouldn’t stop practicing. No matter how much we begged, no matter how much Mom yelled and Sadie cried, he just wouldn’t stop.” I pushed up Micah’s sleeve and traced the edge of the copper cuff. “So they took him. They just walked in uninvited, went into his room, and took him. He was only fifteen.”

  I babbled on for a while about my mother’s repeated attempts to find out where Max was being held, as she had asked all over again how the government could act so heinously against a child, what the specific charges were, if we would ever see him again. I hadn’t openly spoken of Max in so long, it was like ripping open a wound, and a waterfall of pain and anger came rushing forth. Throughout it all, Micah just listened.

  “So, when you weren’t there this morning, I thought the Peacekeepers had taken you,” I finished at last. “I didn’t see them take Max. I just woke up and he was gone.” Micah smoothed back my hair.

  “Max’s metal is copper, as yours is?”

  “I’m not sure. All three of us have the same coloring. So yeah, probably.” He was still messing with my hair, picking through it like a monkey searching for lice. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking at your true color.” Oh, roots. “Why cover such loveliness?” Micah murmured, as he stroked my dark brown tresses.

  “After Max was taken, Mom started dyeing my hair, and Sadie’s,” I replied. “She said we looked too much like Max and Dad.” At that, Micah became serious again, and took my hands in his.

  “Then Max must be like you, of copper. If he lives, the Iron Queen should be able to find him.”

  “What?” I nearly choked on my disbelief. After all this time, to finally be able to learn what had happened to my brother. “Dad, too?”

  “Since his power is of metal, then it is quite possible,” Micah replied. “Especially if one or both have taken shelter nearby.”

  “Can you take me to her? Can we ask her now?” I gasped.

  “I will request an audience. Be warned, my Sara, this request may not be granted. My queen is a subtle woman, most fickle in her temperaments.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Awed beyond words, I slipped my arms around Micah’s neck. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You don’t know what you’ve given me. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “You are very welcome, my Sara.” He stood and drew me to my feet. “I will go at once, and advise my mistress that my consort requires an audience with her.”

  “Consort?” I repeated. “Why did you call me that?”

  “What else am I to call you?” he countered, tracing the silver chain around my neck. “We have exchanged tokens, I have been to your bed.” He kissed me, softly. “As long as you wear my token, I belong to you, my Sara.”

  Well, I hadn’t known that that was what these tokens meant. “Is being a consort like being married?”

  “Somewhat. Once you give me an heir, you will be named Lady Silverstrand.”

  “Heir?” I still held the chalice and gulped the rest of the brandy, which wasn’t the best idea, since my head was already a bit fuzzy. “You mean, a baby?”

  “Of course.”

  I swayed a bit on my feet, then looked accusingly at the now empty goblet.

  “What was in here?” I slurred. Micah caught me about the waist and lowered us against the cushions.

  “It was meant to calm you,” he replied. Well, I wasn’t just calm, I was positively languid. I pressed my face against Micah’s chest; his leather shirt was so stiff and rough compared to his skin, and to get it out of the way, I fumbled with the buttons. I didn’t look up, but I imagined his bemused smile as he shrugged out of the shirt and nestled me against his bare torso. The last thing I remember was one of the silverkin tucking a blanket around our waists.

  Some time later, I stretched, rolled over, and nearly suffocated myself. After a bit of wheezing, I opened my eyes and discovered that I’d rolled toward the back of the couch, inadvertently pressing my nose against the soft cushions. Impressed that I could manage to be so clumsy even while sleeping, I turned over and found myself faced with a sleeping elf.

  He really was a beautiful, albeit unusual-looking, man. Micah’s most notable feature was his fluffy silver mane, but even that dramatic hair couldn’t detract from his fine-boned features, nor his rich, caramel skin. It didn’t seem to be a tan, either, since his neck and chest bore the same deep tone as his face and arms. Unless Lord Silverstrand spent a good deal of
his time shirtless…

  I grazed my fingertips across his cheekbones, then down his lips, then took the time to trace his jawline. His chin was baby-smooth, and I found myself wondering if elves grew beards. Trolls have beards, everyone knows that, and so do gnomes…but elves? Honestly, I had no idea, but what I did know was that any human male attempting to pass as a non-magical (so really, any modern) man went about clean-shaven. There was an old folk tale that claimed magical beings couldn’t bear the touch of iron, or stainless steel razors, against their skin, hence all those bearded trolls. My father had worn his beard proudly; the only time I’d ever seen him shaven had been the day he’d left for the wars.

  But Micah was certainly a creature born of magic, and his chin was as smooth as mine. This meant one of two things: the folk tale was wrong (no surprise there), or elves just weren’t that hirsute to begin with. I made a mental note to check Micah’s bathroom for a shaving kit.

  Putting aside the question of elfin facial hair, at least for the moment, I continued learning Micah’s topography. I stroked a path down his neck, across his collarbones and southward along his chest, my fingers at last coming to rest upon his belly. His leather pants were laced up with rawhide cords, and, after a few less than appropriate thoughts, I considered his strange attire. As Micah’s consort, would I be expected to wear leather suits and run through the forest?

  Probably not, since Micah hates it when I wear pants. Dressing like a man, he’d called it. Well, if he thought that I was going to sit around all day and buff my nails just because he put a necklace on me—

  Micah opened his eyes and smiled, and suddenly sitting around looking pretty didn’t seem like such a bad idea. “My Sara,” he murmured after he kissed me. “You’ve awakened.”

  “How are your eyes silver?” I mumbled. “Like little bits of metal. Mine don’t look like copper.”