by S McPherson
After what will never seem like long enough, he pulls back. His eyes search mine. My blood’s pulsing; pounding in my ears. My whole body’s ablaze.
‘You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.’ He grins.
I flush, biting my bottom lip and wishing he’d do it again.
‘Ready?’ he asks. I nod, unable to form words, my lips still recovering.
He places a finger on my forehead. ‘Duono lisowet.’ A swirl of blue follows and suddenly I’m dry, my hair appearing better than it did before we set off. He repeats the act on himself and I then follow him up the rope. We climb through an oval window on the second deck and land with an inconspicuous thud on its wooden floor.
My heart stops. The tinkling of glasses, murmur of chatter and golden light engulfs me. I’m speechless. The crowd is mesmerizing. Creatures like wolves, only larger with yellowed fangs, scoff down trays of entrees and howl unexpectedly at the ceiling. Warlocks do an odd sort of jig on the dance floor, under the chandelier I recognise from the book. I can’t help but notice their protruding ears, bushy joined brows, wide nostrils – yet they have no nose and their features are extremely squished, almost as if someone has taken a sledge hammer to their face.
Then I gasp, spying the Exlathars, like something out of a horror movie and like nothing I could have imagined. They’re as dark as shadows, with long pointed faces. Their eyes are narrow slits – lines of glowing green – and they move as if gliding on air, with great big wings trailing behind them. Their eyes remind me of the ones I saw in my dream, or rather, my premonition. I quiver. The Exlathars tower over everyone else and they have at least eight spindly fingers on each hand. They don’t conform to the masquerade dress code. I wonder if they actually even wear clothes; they look like mere silhouettes.
My eyes somehow manage to wander over to a group sipping red drinks through a straw: vampires. With a shudder, I wonder if their beverage is in fact blood. I watch as they interact, snickering at one another’s comments, fangs flashing and pushing each other flirtatiously. I imagine they’re all quite good-looking behind their masks, even with their pale and sallow complexions.
Milo places his hand on mine. ‘Just you and me,’ he mouths.
With that in mind, we slip through the crowd, half smiling at those that notice us as we weave and dodge, making our way onto the deck and away from any that might scent and destroy us.
At last we make it to an abandoned deck on the far side of the ship and there we stand, gazing up at the full moon. I shiver when a breeze passes and Milo wraps an arm around my shoulders.
‘This is…’ but his voice trails off.
‘It is.’
He gives my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Thank you.’
The wind strokes my cheek. I close my eyes. When I open them, Milo’s watching me.
‘What?’ I ask. He smiles, though no laughter is behind it,
‘What?’ I urge playfully.
‘I’ve been thinking…’ he says, now staring out at sea.
‘What?’ but my voice comes out as a whisper through my suddenly choked chords.
He clears his throat. ‘How am I going to let you go?’ he says, addressing the ocean, his jaw taut. There’s a silence. I catch the lump in my throat and exhale slowly, leaning in, resting my head on his chest. He holds me tighter.
‘Don’t,’ I say.
‘Fresh blood,’ and a sinister chuckle alerts us. Looking up, we see an eager vampire perched on the rail in front of us, the whites of his eyes turning black.
I scream, though maybe only in my head. The vampire lunges between us.
‘Run,’ I hear Milo insist. ‘Run!’
I somehow untangle my toes and pelt off in the opposite direction. The vampire bounds after us.
‘Trespassers!’ he screeches in a high-pitched, strangulated cry. And a horde of creatures burst on deck. This is bad. I glance over at Milo, my eyes wild with panic as the chase intensifies. Exlathars have joined in, gliding after us at full speed. I stumble but somehow manage to race on. Instinctively, Milo and I veer towards the side of the boat. His hand’s outstretched for mine but I can’t reach him. Creatures are clawing at my back now and I hear my dress rip. I’m blinded by my hair falling in my face, struggling to see through the crowd of black almost on top of me. Panting, I scramble onto the railing.
‘GO!’ Milo bellows, bounding up beside me. ‘GO!’ I hold my breath as we leap from the rail, careening into the ocean, the howls and cries of the monsters behind following after us.
A WINTERS KISS
I wake to the peculiar clicks of a Rubus bird. I’m used to seeing them around now, rotund bulgy things with thick blue feathers and red beaks. They’re as common as pigeons are in Islon and they make an odd sort of clicking sound when communicating. I watch its shadow through the bedroom curtain as it attempts to converse with another. Then apparently giving up, it puffs out its chest and flies away.
The distraction of the bird now gone, my mind promptly retraces the events of last night and I bury a smile in my hands; Milo’s lips on mine, being on a ship, plunging into the ocean. I laugh out loud, smothering its volume in my pillow, feeling giddy. I suppose escaping death will do that.
The crunch of the alarm sounds and I watch for a moment as the apple disappears and reforms.
Lazily, I wave my hand over it, stopping the sound. Then leaving the bed, I tentatively rummage through Lexovia’s drawers, peering at the happy colours, though I don’t recede from them like I once did. My eyes even skim across the yellow items, my hand hesitating for an instant. Shaking my head – I’m not a yellow person – I settle on a more reasonable blue blouse and make my way into the bathroom.
I dress quickly, excited to see Milo again. As soon as my skin hit the biting water last night, he swam over to me and as our hands touched, he teleported us away. We left each other, gasping, laughing, flushed with fear and relief. I was shivering, dripping puddles around me. He’d pecked me on the brow, walked me to the door, and as soon as I’d got it open, he disappeared in a haze of sapphire.
Now finally dressed, I rummage in the cupboard for those crispy Barnivy biscuits I like. They’re hard with little blue dots that are sweet and add extra crunch. I finally find them and collapse onto the couch, propping my feet up on the coffee table and devouring a whole packet. After reading an article about the perfect date in a ‘How to Magic You’ magazine, I realise that Milo should have come over by now. I take a final furtive glance at my reflection in the mirror by the door, smoothing down my hair and rubbing my teeth, then at last venture outside and head over to his hut.
The predicted snow has arrived, sneaking in in the night, sheltering the ground in a white blanket. As lovely as it looks, I’m a little disappointed that it happened whilst I was asleep. The sun is still shining but the sky is a darker shade of purple and black clouds loom in the distance. I pull my coat tighter around myself and march determinedly towards Milo’s.
My nerves are in bits as I close the final gap between me and his front door. I don’t know whether I should be excited or terrified but both emotions wrestle it out inside me.
‘Hi,’ I gasp breathlessly when he finally opens the door. His trousers fall slightly on one side, revealing the deep V his muscles carve into his abdomen, and his white shirt hangs open, buttoned haphazardly and exposing his bronze skin. There’s a pang in my chest and my knees start to tremble. I try to make out I’m just cold, rubbing my arms and averting my gaze.
‘Good morning.’ He nods, a smile on his lips and his penetrating stare seems to see straight through my façade.
I clear my throat. ‘You aren’t ready for school.’ I pray my voice is coming off as nonchalant as I intend. I’m aware my eyes keep darting about, too afraid to settle on him and I feel my tone may be a tad more shrill than usual.
‘School?’ Milo folds his arms and leans against the doorframe, a glint of humour in his stare.
‘Yeah. You know. Thornton High?’
; ‘I do know it, yeah,’ he nods.
I furrow my brow. Judging by his expression, I’m missing the punch line to some obvious joke.
‘So…shouldn’t we get going?’ I offer.
Milo begins to chuckle, ‘It’s Christmas,’ and shakes his head. ‘Did you really forget?’
It seems so long since I last celebrated Christmas – for the past four years simply whistling a Christmas carol was out of the question – that yes, I suppose I actually had forgotten. ‘Merry Christmas’ banners, wreaths and the such like colour the land and Melaxous is adorned with a multitude of twinkling Christmas trees, some floating in the air. There’s a vast assortment of decorations prancing about – literally! This morning, I yelped out as a red-nosed reindeer charged past my window to catch up with his family and Father Christmas on a sleigh – but I suppose, even though I noticed all these things, I made a point not to dwell on their meaning.
‘Oh,’ I finally respond, ‘I’ll leave you with your family then. Have a nice day.’ I turn and head back to Lexovia’s empty hut, trying to hold on to that little sliver of happiness I felt earlier.
‘Wait.’ Milo races from the house, his feet sinking in the snow.
‘What are you doing?’ I squeal. ‘Get inside.’
‘You have to come back,’ and Milo’s teeth chatter as he speaks.
‘What are you talking about? It’s Christmas.’
‘And you’re my present.’ He leans closer, a smirk on his lips. Those stunning blue eyes; my stomach flips and my toes curl. Is it wrong to hope for a second kiss? Last night seemed magical, but now awake, sunlight glistening on the snow, I wonder if some of the magic might have been imagined. Had I kissed him and he’d only politely kissed me back?
‘Ha, ha.’ I feign laughter and playfully push him away, gasping, ‘you’re like ice. Will you please get back inside?’
‘Okay,’ he promptly agrees, jogging back to his front door, ‘but seriously, come back. Lex always spends Christmas with us.’
All romance is instantly plunged into the snow and I awake with icy clarity. I’m going to have to pretend to be Lexovia, try to dupe people she’s known since birth.
‘I meant to tell you last night but...’ he raises an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know where my head was.’
Afraid Milo will catch pneumonia, I briskly nod and turn back to Lexovia’s hut, thoughts of meeting his entire family throwing me into turmoil.
A whirlwind. From the moment I step foot into the Thor family bungalow I’m whisked off into the kitchen by a bubbly brunette with vibrant gold eyes. Flour blushes her cheeks and an apron with a large ‘T’ printed on it, hangs over her slender figure. Sweat plasters her short hair to her forehead and she grins happily as she pulls ingredient after ingredient from the cupboards. The kitchen is so bright, windows at almost every turn and all the surfaces seem to be pearl, reflecting the light, adequately matching her exuberant personality. I realise too late that she is saying something and I am so overwhelmed I only catch dribs and drabs.
‘Don’t let it happen again,’ she concludes. I really wish I’d been paying attention.
‘Umm…’ I stammer blandly.
‘I mean, really. You can at least pop your head in to say “Hi” every once in a while.’
Ah! Some context.
‘I know.’ I nod appropriately. ‘I kept meaning to stop by but time got the better of me. You know how I am.’
Mrs Thor smiles; a knowing smile. ‘Just like your mother, that’s how.’ She stares at me for a moment too long. I avert my eyes, remembering how mine differ from Lexovia’s. I’m relieved when she finally clasps her hands together with vigour. ‘Right. Start peeling the potatoes, won’t you?’
I immediately oblige, heading to the sink to wash my hands.
‘No scathing comment?’ Mrs Thor looks at me, impressed. ‘Perhaps not just like your mother after all.’
I awkwardly bite my bottom lip. Some more insight into Lexovia’s ways would definitely be useful right now. I wash my hands then start to clean and peel the potatoes. Though the peeler appears to work on its own, a mouth of teeth slicing off the potato skin whilst I steady the handle.
Mrs Thor chatters away about New Year’s plans, the pressure of grocery shopping for this afternoon and how excited she is to see everyone again. After what seems like hours, she at last relieves me from my cooking duties and insists I go get cleaned up for dinner. I stagger out of the kitchen, dazed by her love and generosity. It’s been so long it seems that I have forgotten those feelings, along with Christmas.
I stumble down the corridor, past door after door, searching for some sign to tell me where to go, or better yet, for Milo.
‘Lexovia,’ Mrs Thor calls and I stop, hoping I haven’t made some hideous blunder. Slowly, I turn.
‘Yes?’
‘You’ll be staying in Milo’s room with him and Gavin tonight. We’re ridiculously full this year,’ and she flashes her teeth, her eyes bright. ‘Just knock before you go in.’ She indicates the closed door beside me with a tilt of her head.
‘Alright.’ I smile back and knock. No answer. The boys must be ready already. Pushing open the door, I step into Milo’s world – more than I already have, that is. It’s captivating. His aroma lingers in the air and I let it wash over me as I kick off my shoes and my feet sink into a plush black and white carpet. I scan the dark furnishings, the sleek black bedding boasting some sort of graffiti, and note the half-finished image of a woman on his wall, looking sad but somehow hopeful. She looks like she’s been crafted out of different coloured shards of glass. I wonder if he made this. Light streams in through the open window opposite and the voices of Christmas carollers float in on the wind.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I whisper to myself then begin rummaging around for my overnight bag, which was snatched from me the second I entered. I find it stuffed into a corner of Milo’s wardrobe and, yanking it out, I shower and change for dinner. Using gentle exhalations, I soothe the aggressive thumping of my heart then, taking one last and largely weighted breath, follow the sounds of laughter and squeals to the living room: a large exposed space with veranda doors open to welcome in the outside.
Mrs Thor was right. They are a full house this year. Apparently, Coltis families are made up of members from many empires due to their inter-empire relationships. I discover that Mrs Thor always makes it her job to host Christmas but they do travel to Prelang and Spee’ad Sphere and such for other public holidays. I gape around the room, hoping to recognise a face. A tiny girl with stunning green eyes and bouncy brown tendrils rushes over to me, hugging my knee.
‘Aunty Lex! Aunty Lex!’ she cries, ‘I saw Corporeal Clause today! I sat on his lap. And...and he told me that i-i-i-i-f I’m really good, he’ll get me a-a-a Corporeal puppy for Christmas,’ she stammers with excitement.
Corporeal Clause; I assume this must be Father Christmas. About to respond, I’m interrupted by two, big, strong arms lifting me into the air from behind. I scream, trying to hide my terror with awkward laughter as I peer over my shoulder in an attempt to see my captor.
‘What a lovely sight for sore eyes,’ the man cries, putting me down and spinning me about to face him; he’s large and tall, laughter lines wrinkling his face. ‘Give your old uncle Medylau a hug,’ he commands as he embraces me, his greying beard with a streak of violet tickling my forehead.
‘Where’s the lad?’ he booms, still clutching my arms.
‘I’m sorry?’ I ask, completely taken aback by the exuberance of this jolly man. Seconds later, Milo saunters in, in black trousers and a fitted white shirt, sleeves rolled up. My breath sticks in my throat.
‘Never mind. There he is,’ everyone chortles in appreciation.
‘Hello, Uncle.’ Milo smiles as he allows Uncle Medylau to envelope him.
I wait for him to be released so I can finally be by his side and learn more about these people, gain cues on how Lexovia would behave, but I’m dragged to a corner of the room by a girl with brig
ht green hair and equally green eyes.
‘We have so much to catch up on,’ she exclaims as she plunks down on one of the dining table chairs. ‘Love the hair by the way.’
I obediently sit opposite her, trying to hide my discomfort as she eagerly regales me with stories of her tried and tested relationships since Lexovia last saw her. Though at first I’m brusque and alert, I soon find myself truly having fun; making up fantasy crushes of my own, mainly Collin, the Dizby captain, as he is the only one to have shown any actual interest. Lexovia will probably hate me for it, but in the moment, I fail to care.
My eyes meet Milo’s who is still standing on the other side of the room. He raises his glass and smiles before the elderly woman next to him touches his arm to regain his attention. I bite my lip, cheeks flushing. Why does he have this effect on me?
‘What was that?’
Drat! This girl doesn’t miss a beat.
‘What was what?’ I ask, willing my cheeks to regain their usual colour.
‘Who are you, and what have you done with Lexovia?’ she goads.
‘What?’ I shriek with laughter.
‘I’ve known you since the day you popped out,’ she purses her lips, ‘and you have never looked at Milo like that before.’
‘Please,’ I drawl with exaggerated derision and stare solemnly into her eyes, ‘I most definitely do not have any feelings of that sort for Milo.’
She watches me for a moment. ‘If you say so,’ she concedes through guarded eyes.
I laugh and distract her with rumours about Collin and his girlfriend – whose name I fabricate – possibly breaking up.
It’s odd. Here I am in a sea of strangers and I can’t recall a time I’ve felt more at home. This is by far the best Christmas I’ve had since my parents passed, and possibly the most I’ve eaten since as well.