I don’t know what you’re talking about, I try to reply, but I know exactly what he’s saying and the lie gets caught in my throat. The room seems to take a drastic drop in temperature, but I still can’t make myself get angry with this sixteen-year old kid who somehow knows something I haven’t uttered out loud to anyone — ever.
Instead I clear my throat and do my best to brush it under the rug. Even if he means nothing but good by the statement, I still don’t want to talk about it. “I’m trying.”
Eirnin picks up my discomfort and nods with a big, dopey smile. “Trying is how you start.” I make a noise in response and he continues on. “I’m glad you’re here, Flint.”
I offer him a smile. “Yeah…I am too, kid.”
He beams back at me like I’ve made his night, even though his eyes are still bloodshot from his previous almost-breakdown. “We should probably head back,” he says. “You and Fi aren’t too close yet and I don’t want you facing her wrath.”
“Yeah, she terrifies me,” I say. “Quaking in fear over here.”
He smirks at me. “I think that’s truer of a statement than you’d like it to be.”
I roll my eyes and punch his arm as he walks by, but I’m smiling anyway. Unfortunately he’s kind of right. The girl is violent — what do you want from me?
The house is silent when we enter, but we still only mouth goodnight at each other as we slip into our rooms. There is a mutual concern of Fi finding out that her brother snuck out of the house with no guard and the still-potentially-dangerous faery in the building.
As I lie there in a box of iron surrounded by people who would like to turn me into a nice pair of gloves, staring at the ceiling and trying to fall back asleep, I smirk to myself. This is going to be a fun time.
Chapter 8—Fi
April 2102
Hugh’s face fills my vision; blue eyes arctic as he takes me in. His breath smells like something spoiled and his hands bite into my upper arms as he says quietly, “Do not make a sound.” I feel fear clutch at my heart. I’d rather he screamed than unleash this quiet fury. Quiet makes me think he doesn’t want anyone to witness what he’s about to do. Suddenly I want to scream, and open my mouth without thinking. His hands clench around my throat, making it impossible to breathe. Panic floods in and I beat uselessly at his hands; trying to unfurl his fingers so I can take a breath. Dizziness sweeps through me and my eyes tear from the pain building in my chest and throat. I feel consciousness fade as oxygen evades me and spots dance in front of my eyes. I struggle to stay alert as the dizziness worsens and everything falls away.
I hear rain pounding against my bedroom windows when I bolt upright in my bed, shaking with remembered terror. My heart hammers in my chest and I pull in a grateful breath as I try to staunch the panic roaring through me. “He’s dead, Fi,” I tell myself quietly; speaking aloud, needing to hear the words. “He’s dead and he can’t hurt anyone anymore.” I wish I could tell myself it was just a dream, my imagination torturing me some more, but I can’t. Instead I repeat the He’s dead chant in my head; hoping it gets through and this shaking will stop. I would like to lay my head down on my pillow and cry, but I’m too exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I slept peacefully. I sit there listening to the rain for a few minutes before deciding it would be best to just get up for the day and try to forget.
Twenty minutes later I’m pulling the back door shut behind me and stepping out into the driving rain. The sky is still dark, but there are street lamps scattered along the streets and in the park that will help me see the path, so I pull the hood of my navy blue sweatshirt over my head to keep as much of the rain off my face as possible and take off. I focus on the rhythmic sound of my feet pounding on the wet ground and the smell of rain in the spring air, letting my mind clear. After three laps of one of my usual routes I am soaked all the way to my skin; my sweatshirt waterlogged and weighing me down, but finally I feel ready to head home and face the day. The sky is just beginning to lighten when I toe my sneakers off inside the back door and head to the coffeemaker; trying not to drip rainwater all over the floor. I pull a plate of muffins out of the cabinet and hit the power switch on the coffee machine before heading to my room for a nice, hot shower.
Today is my first day off. School is out for the season, I have chores to catch up on and then I really need to take a trip to the old department stores where downtown used to be. Anyone who wants to brave the crumbling buildings and the possible danger of being technically outside our city’s barriers can take what they want from the abandoned stock rooms and warehouses that were left when the Fae had the cities evacuated for everyone’s ‘safety’. I know Eir could use some new clothes; I’ve noticed his jeans are almost showing his ankles at this point, and his tee shirts are becoming too tight on his arms. He would probably enjoy a ‘pillaging expedition’ as he likes to call it, but I would feel better if he stayed within the walls of the city for now. I start a mental list as I let the hot water massage the kinks out of my neck and shoulders.
Thirty minutes later I’m dressed for the day in a pair of khaki capri pants and a black tee shirt, and my hair is parted down the middle and pulled back into two French braids that hit my waist. I grab a muffin and coffee and sit at the kitchen table to make a list of what we need while I eat my breakfast. Forty-five minutes later, I have finished the pot of coffee and two muffins as well as the list. The sun is still not fully perched amidst the clouds, and I drum my fingers on my bottom lip as I think about what needs to be done first. Somewhere between the laundry and baking I remember Flint. I should make sure he has clean towels and his hamper is empty. Then I realize he didn’t bring anything to put into his hamper to begin with, and have to wonder how he’s been faring with the whole clean clothes issue.
I sigh, debating if I really have to offer to take him with me on my trip today. On one hand I’m sure he needs clothes and things, but on the other hand that means I will be spending the majority of my day with Flint. That man makes me want to kick something if I spend more than five minutes in the same room with him. I groan inwardly and lay my head down on the table, banging it lightly a few times. I will have to at least offer to bring him with me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he won’t want to come — I can hope, at least. I get up and start my chores to fill the time until I can reasonably expect Flint to be awake for the day.
Three loads of laundry, a disastrous batch of cornbread and another pot of coffee later, it is still only seven in the morning and I have a feeling there’s no way Flint is awake yet. Frustration bubbles over and I barely refrain from stomping my foot in irritation. I just want to go and get back already, but I realize not everyone rises before the sun does. I decide to give him until eight-thirty and then I will knock on his door if he hasn’t emerged yet. In the meantime I can finish reading White Cat by Holly Black. I haven’t had a lot of free time lately, so this is actually a good thing. I take a fresh cup of coffee and head to my bedroom, settling in the armchair by the windows. I pick my book up off the stand and lose myself in someone else’s imagination for a while.
I close the book with satisfaction and glance up at the clock on the wall to see that it isn’t quite eight-thirty and sigh. I sit there for another minute and then decide it won’t kill him to get up now. I simply cannot sit here and waste another moment. I return to the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee before making my way down the hall to the room I have Flint in, which is next to my own. I knock softly on his door and stand back; hoping I didn’t just wake my brother up too. I don’t need to have that argument now; that much is for sure.
Flint opens his door already fully dressed in his jeans and tee shirt, looking confused. “Morning.”
I make myself grin at him. “Good morning. Would you like some coffee?”
He looks even more confused than before, but nods. “That sounds nice, thank you.”
I gesture for him to follow me and lead him to the kitchen where coffee and muffins are waiting at the tab
le. “Have a seat. I wanted to ask you something,” I tell him; sitting down and grabbing another cup of coffee for myself.
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to ask him for something, but sits down anyway, saying, “Alright.” I watch while he pours coffee for himself and push the muffins closer to him.
“So I was thinking, and I realized you probably don’t have any clothes or anything with you to change into. I thought, if you were interested, I could take you to where we, I guess you could say, where we shop,” I tell him; choosing to ignore his suspicious look.
Judging from the expression on his face this is the last thing he expected me to say, but he recovers quickly and nods. “Uh…..sure.”
"If you like, we can go when you're done with your coffee. I have nothing else on my schedule for today." I take a drink of my coffee and ignore his surprise at my consideration. "I could use a few things myself, so it worked out nicely."
"I tend to have perfect timing." He smirks a little at me and I bite my tongue to keep myself from scoffing at him.
I half-roll my eyes but try to hide my irritation, not wanting to be rude. "Right. Well, it will take us about an hour to walk there, so you might want to have a muffin or something to eat before we leave."
"You say that like I don't have any stamina." He smirks again but picks up one of the muffins anyway, tearing the top off and eating that first.
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth, not really sure how to take him or his sense of humor. "I'm sure I don't know anything about your stamina. I'm going to grab the tote bags — you finish your muffin. I'll be right back." I flee the kitchen before I can become more unsettled from his snarky comments. I take my time in my room; grabbing the tote bags off their hooks in my closet and then making my bed before deciding that I can’t stall any longer. I sigh and head back to the kitchen and the irritating man polishing off his breakfast. He is dusting crumbs off his fingers when I enter the room and I make myself smile at him. "Okay, ready to go?"
He stands and makes an overly exuberant gesture at the door. "Ladies first."
I nod at him and lead the way out, saying, “Well, uh, thank you. Follow me.”
Luckily the rain has finally stopped and the air smells clean. I breathe deeply to try and alleviate the tension settling in my shoulders. There is something about Flint that gets under my skin like nothing else ever has.
"Gladly." He pauses as he shuts the back door behind him. "For the record, I will be highly annoyed if we end up lost."
I narrow my eyes in irritation and glare up at him. "Just keep up and we'll be fine. I have lived here all my life, you know."
"Should that tell me something about your sense of direction?" he asks; raising both eyebrows at me and sticking his hands in his pockets. "I lived in Scotland for years, but that doesn't mean I know how to get to Dundee from Edinburgh."
I clench my jaw and bite my tongue so I don’t tell him to go to hell, although I’m sure he could find his way there without any trouble. "Well I’ve never been to Scotland, but I know you'd have to travel north to reach Dundee from Edinburgh. I do know how to get around my city without issue, though, thank you very much."
His eyes seem to light up and he claps his hands with exaggerated happiness. "Oh, A+ for the know-it-all." He lifts his hands and shakes his head, collecting himself. "Alright, I'll trust you. Just don't make me regret it."
I stop walking for a moment; exasperation flooding in and making me see red. I feel heat fill my face, my hands fist at my sides and I snap, "So happy you're on board.” I scowl at him and then start walking faster, wanting to put distance between the two of us so I don’t punch the damn smirk off his face. I pick my way around puddles on the sidewalk and concentrate on where I’m going so I don’t have to look at him.
He's silent for a moment and then bursts out laughing, easily keeping pace with me. "My God, Fianna, don't take it so personal." I really wish he would trip and fall flat on his too-handsome, constantly mocking face.
I scowl at him for a moment; wanting very badly to just run ahead so I won’t be able to hit him. "Of course I'm not." I make myself breathe for a minute and decide it would be best to change the subject so I don’t throw one of my daggers at his head. "Do you miss Scotland?"
He chuckles. "The country, yes. It's beautiful — freezing, but beautiful." He pauses and seems a bit unsure of his next words. "But it's plagued by some cretins called my blood relatives, so I am enjoying New York very much."
I feel jealousy spurt; I’ve always wanted to travel abroad. “You’re so lucky,” I say, sighing. “I’m determined to get to Europe before I die…I want to see Ireland, at least.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown another head, though I can’t imagine why. "Perhaps you'll let me take you there sometime." He smirks and I have the feeling he’s trying to flirt with me, which is just ridiculous. "You strike me as someone who would visit Ireland and never leave."
I decide to ignore the possible flirting and his assumptions about me. “It’s my hope that someday international travel won’t be quite the hardship it is today. I’ve always dreamed of going to Ireland — my Gran used to tell me stories about it,” I say, trailing off; embarrassed I’ve revealed such personal information.
"There are ways of doing it without being, ah, shall we say, disturbed by the powers that be." We walk in silence for a few minutes before he shrugs and says, "Well isn't this nice? We're talking and no one has been fatally wounded yet. I consider this progress."
I can’t help but laugh at him. "Progress, yes...does that happen with you a lot? That you can't have a conversation without driving someone to violence?"
He considers this for a moment. "Yes actually, about ninety percent of my conversations end in violence." He looks at me and smirks. "Some people just don't like the truth."
I find myself grinning back at him. “Something tells me how you deliver the truth probably has something to do with the way your conversations end.”
"It's like you've known me my whole life." He winks at me and I feel a blush cover my face. I shake my head at him, exasperated with myself for being affected by his antics. I know better than to let myself be taken in by a handsome faery with a barbed tongue. He smirks at me like he knows every thought passing through my mind and I look away, spotting the store just ahead of us.
“Ah, here we are,” I say, unable to keep the relief from my voice.
He laughs. "So we are." I plow forward, eager to be done and get home where I can avoid Flint if I’d like to. I hear him chuckling as he follows me and bite my tongue to keep from snapping at him to shut up.
Once we get inside, I lead the way to what was the petites department back when the store was still doing business. I plan on grabbing what I need first and then heading to the men’s area so Flint can look around and I can pick up Eir’s things. Quick and efficient; I’ve done this many times in my life. Eir and I have been coming on these excursions for years and we are a well-oiled machine. What I didn’t count on was Flint.
When we were outdoors he was always well outside of my personal space, which is how I like things. For some reason the moment we step inside the store, I can feel him standing just slightly too close for my comfort. Every time I turn or stop, he’s right there; much too close and smirking at me when we almost brush into each other. By the time we get to the department I need, I’m flustered and blushing and can’t quite put my finger on the exact reason why. I only know he needs to take three giant steps back from me so I can breathe again. I practically jog in my effort to keep space between us as I head to the display table of jeans and grab up three pairs in my size. They’ll all be too long, but I learned to hem things a long time ago and at least one pair will be made into shorts. I hear Flint chuckling softly to himself and bite my tongue to keep from asking him what the hell is so damned funny.
Stretched far beyond the normal parameters of my tolerance, I grab up an assortment of tank tops and tee shirts and fold them into one of
the tote bags without noting anything but their size. I’m about to head to the intimates department when I remember the irksome faery dogging my every step and stop abruptly. Said faery comes to a stop so close behind me that I can feel his breath on the back of my head, and I feel goosebumps break out over my skin. His chuckling has gained volume now, and I whirl around and spit out, “What in the world is so funny?” before I can stop myself.
He staggers back a couple steps. "I'm sorry, but..." He’s doubled over laughing now as he chokes out, "Considering you're someone who always has her panties in a bunch, I never would have guessed you went commando. That's what's so funny."
I feel all the blood rush to my face, and for a moment all I can do is sputter incoherently. Then I manage, “My panties are none of your concern!” and think for a brief second about whacking him with the full tote bag I am clutching in my hand. I would really like to push him down the defunct escalator and watch as he breaks his neck, but instead I stomp to the intimates department, grab a few pairs of the boy shorts I wear and stuff them in my bag. Flint is still doubled over where I left him, chortling at his little joke. My hands are shaking but I breathe deeply and return to him; throwing an empty bag at his arrogant face before saying, “The men’s department is upstairs,” and walking away from him before I give in to my inner urge to kick him in the shin.
The rest of our outing passes without conversation and honestly, I am glad for the reprieve. There is a hot rage boiling over inside me and I have a headache pounding away, thanks to keeping my jaw clenched firmly shut. I have four bags full of items and Flint has one bag swinging from his hand; all in all a very successful trip. I set a brisk pace on the way back home. The sky is darkening more by the second and I can smell the rain gathering in the sky. I really don’t want to get caught in the oncoming deluge. Thankfully the first drops are just falling when I jog up the back steps to my house and dash inside gratefully. I consider letting the door slam in Flint’s face but hold it open instead; the manners my Gran instilled in me prohibiting me from being that rude to him, even if he is a complete ass.
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