by Lucy Smoke
Luca grins before springing off the bed and back into his canine skin and I breathe a sigh of relief once all of that beautiful bronze skin is covered.
Since I’m still unfamiliar with Booker and Luca’s dorm quarters, I end up following Luca as he pads out of the bedroom and leads me back toward the greenhouse room. I must have slept through the night because when I step through the doorway, Coen, Titus, and Holden are all wearing new clothes.
Coen seems to be the only one that fills out what I assume are Booker and Luca’s clothes, the white shirt stretching over his shoulders, but not too tightly. Titus on the other hand looks uncomfortable in a black button down and gray pants that sag a bit on his frame. Holden’s choice fit him the same as Titus’s, but he doesn’t seem to care much and I think that if Booker would let him get away with streaking through his home, Holden would go without a stitch of clothing.
Booker looks up from a hefty sized textbook he’s browsing through when Luca and I step into the sun lit room. He glances down at Luca’s shaggy-haired body and frowns, proving my earlier assessment right.
“You know better,” Booker warns. Luca pants and shakes his whole body before leaving me and disappearing down the opposite hallway. Booker stands and addresses me. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”
I nod and Booker gestures for me to follow him into an adjoining kitchen area. Coen joins us, sliding onto a bar stool as Booker sets a plate of fruit and a glass of water in front of me. The fruit is nothing like I’ve ever seen, bright globes of orange and red, a curved shape with spots on it. I pick up the red one and bite into it, juice dribbling down my chin and Coen chuckles as he reaches up to wipe it away.
“So.” Booker coughs, drawing our attention. “You came to Ragnarok for information, right? What do you want to find out?”
“You’ve already told us more than we expected to find out,” Coen says. I finish swallowing, but remain silent. Booker’s eyes remain fixated on me. Quiet murmurs intrude when Titus and Holden come in with a fully clothed Luca, who takes a seat on my other side.
“Nerys,” Booker directs. “What do you want?” Five sets of eyes—two green, one brown, one blue, and one murky gray— settle on me.
What do I want? Freedom? Do I have that now? When this all first happened, I wanted to get rid of the inky man—Obidian, I remind myself. It was his memory in my dream. Obidian is his real name. Now, it seems wrong to want to be rid of him. I know I wasn’t his original host, but he’s become a part of me and in a way, he’s made me stronger. Just having him in my head gives me some peace and assurance that I’m not alone. Not only that, without him I might never have left Matric’s kingdom.
“I want to know more about spirit guides and their hosts.” I decide.
Booker smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He stands and gestures for me to follow him. I finish my fruit and drop the core into the nearest trash disposal, the rest of the guys rising as well. “No, you stay here. This is just for her.” Coen frowns, but Holden asks him for some help making a full meal and they all remain behind save for Booker, Luca, and myself.
“You’re going to love this,” Luca assures me. I don’t know what “this” is but I’m do know I was not expecting a massive library in the confines of their “dormitory.”
It’s bigger than the greenhouse living room with rows of books lining shelves all the way up to the ceilings. Rolling ladders line each wall and I gape as I take it all in. A crystal chandelier dangles from the middle of the ceiling, illuminating the entire treasury of information. There’s a grand fireplace, too, sitting along the windows that stretch across the left side of the room. The fireplace leans slightly out of the wall into the street so that the smoke is filtered out.
“You’re a secret prince, aren’t you?” There’s no other explanation. The expensive quarters, the greenhouse room, the multiple bedrooms, the nice clothes, the library. I look down at my pathetic old outfit that I’ve been wearing for several days, my pale feet sticking out from beneath the dirty pants.
Booker chuckles. “Nothing so dramatic,” he replies. “I’ve just been around a few good investors and I make myself useful.” I shoot him a doubtful expression and he sighs.
“Nerys, my family has been collecting these books for the past thousand years. I’ve been studying to enter the University of Oracles since I could walk. Yes, I have money, but the current members of my family don’t care for our druid side. Most of this wasn’t purchased, it was passed down.”
“The greenhouse?” I ask.
“The dormitory quarters are rented, but the greenhouse design was my idea,” Luca says. I glance over my shoulder at him and he smiles. “I like plants.” I laugh. Somehow, I had expected a much longer and drawn out answer with deeper meaning, but now that I’ve gotten a feel for the changeling, I can’t say I’m surprised.
“Please feel free to browse and use anything you would like,” Booker interrupts, waving a hand at the room. “Holden is going to show Titus and Coen around the city for a bit. I’m sending Luca out to get you some clothes, any requests?”
After asking for a few specific things and Luca telling me that he would put everything with my bag in the room I had slept in, I’m left alone with the impressive collection of books. There are whole shelves on creatures and spiritual beings. I start there and when I come across a few books on druids and changelings, I add them to my quickly growing pile. My to be read list grows by leaps and bounds. My curiosity won’t let me leave them alone.
⚜⚜⚜
“Nerys?” I drop my latest book to my lap with a groan and rub my temples when Titus enters the library. My muscles feel as though they’ve atrophied, locking up when I attempt to move. “Are you okay?”
I smile through the aches. “I’m fine, what’s up?” His bright blue eyes run the length of my body, as if to reassure himself that I’m not lying and in some sort of horrid pain. A twisted part of me wants to fall to the floor groaning, but I hold myself in check and wait for him to speak.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.” I gesture to one of the chairs across from me. We sit awkwardly in silence for a few moments before he gathers whatever resolve he’s building.
“Why did you send me the letter?” he finally asks.
I shake my head. “I didn’t actually send you the letter. That was my spirit guide.”
“The inky man, yes, I know, but–”
“His name’s actually Obidian,” I interrupt. Calling him the inky man was fine when I didn’t know his name. Now, it sounds childish and especially strange coming from other people’s mouths.
His eyebrows rise. “I thought you didn’t know his name.” He pauses. “Obsidian? Like the black glassy stone?”
I shake my head. “It’s Obidian–I dreamed one of his memories last night and someone called him ‘Obi’ so not Obsidian,” I say with a shrug.
He watches as I slide the papers of the book in my lap through my fingertips before continuing. “Odd name,” he comments. Titus continues watching me for a bit, his blue eyes assessing before he speaks again. “Is that normal, having dreams about him?”
“It’s not strange now, but in the dream it was alarming. There was a child and dead men and a dragon. Honestly, a part of me is still not completely convinced it wasn’t just a dream. But, I’ve got to stop calling him ‘the inky man’ at some point.”
“Do you think you could ask him why he picked me?” Titus leans forward, forearms resting on his knees.
I glance up at him. “I guess,” I say. Obidian is quiet in my mind, though I can feel him rise to the surface. I know he’s listening. I might have once found that irritating, but since the conversation involves him, it doesn’t bother me so much.
“It’s just—I need to know,” he says abruptly. Titus’s blue eyes crackle like flame. I raise one eyebrow in surprise and sit back. “Shit,” he says, looking away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–I don’t...I’m sorry. I just…need to know.” Hi
s leg is jumping like a hyperactive toddler and he can’t seem to look at me for more than a few moments at a time.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I can ask.” As I mentally prod Obidian for an answer, there’s a swirling question in my own mind. Titus is the kind of person who could have done well for himself in Matric’s Kingdom. He’s quiet and strong, attractive in a golden haired demi-god kind of way.
Ask him, Obidian says. I sigh to myself, but he’s right.
“What did he say?” Titus leans forward taking my sigh as a prelude to his answer.
I stand up and move to the edge of his seat, sinking down to rest beside his ankles, looking up at him. Gods, it feels weird to kneel before him, but I do it so he doesn’t feel threatened. So, that he’ll see me as smaller and less likely to hurt him. I don’t like that I’m taking advantage of the natural protective instincts that I can sense coming from him, but there’s a vibrating anger under his surface. It’s so close that as I sink onto the ground next to him, the heat of his skin and his emotions brush against me as if coming to life.
“Titus, why did you follow us out of the city?” The corners of his mouth deepen. “Why would you risk your life like that?” His legs freeze, their jumping muscles ceasing as I rest a palm on one of his knees. He looks at me, eyes running over my face, trying to decipher if I mean him harm. His voice is choked when he finally responses, but it’s with another question, the first one.
“Why me?”
“Why not you?” I counter.
“I’m nothing,” he replies. “I’m nobody. There’s no way I’m a potential daimon. In history, daimons are supposed to be these great leaders. Even being a potential, that’s…well, it’s not who I am. So, why would your spirit guide want me?”
“What if I’m the one that wants you? What if I’m the one that needs you?” Obidian and I both sense it. This is what he needs and he is what we need. My body isn’t exactly infallible, I’m only human. Even though Titus is as well, he’s stronger. Not just physically, though he is that. Titus has a wall of steel in his eyes that speaks volumes of what he’s experienced. I don’t know all of it; I may never know all of it. But, that steel is something that we might desperately need soon. I don’t know why or how I know. I just do. I think Titus needs us just as much as I might need him. That fact is the only thing keeping me from shoving him away. If he didn’t need me, then I don’t think Obidian would have chosen him as a potential.
Titus touches my cheek, his callused fingers grazing my jaw bone before he seems to realize that he’s touching me and he pulls away again. I wonder if my spirit guide is what pulls him towards me. It seems to be a protective measure—pulling potentials closer—and the idea that his potential to be a daimon is what draws him to me throws a bucket of ice water over me and I, too, pull away.
“Is that why?” I ask. Titus opens his mouth to answer, but never gets the chance.
“Nerys, I think I’ve found–oh, I didn’t realize you were back, Titus.” Booker stops in the doorway, eyebrows raised, before he quickly masks his surprise. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Titus drops his hand from my face and stands up. “I should probably go see where the others are.”
As Titus excuses himself and practically runs from the room, I slide into the vacated chair at my side. “Did you need something, Booker?”
Still looking behind him, Booker steps farther into the room and grabs my previously emptied seat across from me. His dark green eyes finally stop following Titus’s hasty retreat and flick back to me. He looks me over, gaze trailing down before glancing around, noting the overturned book on the ground. I lean forward and pick it up, feeling guilty for mistreating his possessions.
“What were you talking about with Titus?” I take a deep breath.
“I don’t think it’s any of your business what Titus and I talk about,” I say slowly.
He shakes his head. “No, of course. That’s not what I meant.”
I frown, confused. “Then what did you mean?”
Booker sighs, slumping forward. He runs one wide palm through his dark hair and scratches lightly. “Nothing for you to get defensive over.” He waves his hand and I relax.
“He was just asking me about my spirit guide.”
Booker nods. “Yes, good, okay. Well I have a few things to ask myself. Do you think you could ask him—”
I huff. “Why he chose you?” I guess. Booker nods and looks at me expectantly. I pause for moment and turn my attention inward. Obidian is there, I can feel him.
Potentials will keep you safe, he answers. I turn back to Booker and relay the answer.
“Yes, but I’m sure there’s more to it than that. Did he say anything about possible abilities? I know daimons are supposed to possess abilities of their own. From what you’ve told me, it’s clear you’re fairly new and your abilities haven’t yet materialized. But, I’m not as familiar with the ability of potentials.”
I shrug. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t talk much. Do you want me to ask for more? You’ve got about a half and half shot of getting more out of him.”
Booker’s frown deepens. “What do you mean he doesn’t talk much?”
“I don’t know, he’s quiet, I guess. He just doesn’t talk all that much. I get more feelings and emotions from him than anything else. I get a word here or there, phrases and sentences, but not much more. Talking seems to wear him out. The most we’ve communicated have been in the past week, being on the run and all.” I shrug.
“That’s not normal.”
“It’s not?”
“Nerys,” Booker says, his hand dropping away from his head as he leans even further towards me. “A spirit guide is not supposed to just sit in your mind and nudge you every once in a while–well, not in such simple terms. Daimons are leaders, warriors, healers–they’re necessary in times of great need, hence why they become such great heroes and legends in history. Joan of Andromeda was a daimon. Napoleon and Nova Eridani, the first of the Holy Order, were daimons.”
Throughout all of my history lessons with the Holy Order, those three names had continuously crept up. Napoleon and Nova Eridani, twins that had begun an order of peace that had spread across the continent. They had saved countless lives from starvation and turned back so many dark souls that had sunk into the darkness of poverty and depression.
Thinking of Joan of Andromeda, an image of a woman with bright red hair and dark armor leading thousands of warriors flash through my mind. So bright it was as if I was standing right next to her, her smile flashing. Obidian rustles in my mind, his emotions a swirling mix of longing and pride.
Did you know her? It takes a moment, but he actually answered me this time.
With all my soul. The power in his words leaves me astounded.
Did you love her? It is the only explanation that can be responsible for the force behind his declaration.
“Nerys?” Booker interrupts again before he could answer. “What did he say?”
“He–I think he knew Joan of Andromeda.”
“You think?” Green eyes are sharp on mine, demanding answers.
I sigh. “I don’t know for sure, so yeah, I think he knew her. It’s the feeling I get.”
“Nerys, I know you think I might be prodding too much. I know you might be uncomfortable, especially since you were in King Matric’s city and I know you couldn’t talk or reveal anything about your condition—” He waves his hand at my body as though that explains having a spirit camping out in my head and I scoff. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”
“Then tell me,” I challenge. “Why doesn’t he talk to me?” I fold my arms over my chest, sit back, and wait.
“There could be several reasons,” he starts out. “First of all, you weren’t his intended host, which might have something to do with it. Maybe he doesn’t feel comfortable with you yet, but that’s unlikely.”
“I’m a comfortable person,” I say defensively.
“That’s not what I’
m talking about,” he huffs. “Spirit guides know to go beyond physical comfort with a person. You’ve had him for months now, correct?” I nod my head. “Then he should already be talking to you regularly. He shouldn’t have to nudge you. Most spirit guides only do so in case of an emergency. It seems though not that he doesn’t want to talk to you, but that he can’t.”
“So does that mean that he sent those letters to Holden and Titus because he couldn’t tell me that I had to?”
“It’s possible and highly likely if I’m correct.” It would be so much easier if Obidian could just talk to me. I wouldn’t have to worry about him nudging or taking over. If Booker’s theory was right, then perhaps Obidian could finally explain some things and answer my questions.
I grunt with a frustrated huff. “It just figures that on top of being a daimon–which might I add, isn’t exactly normal in itself–I can’t even be a normal daimon.” Booker’s small chuckle fills the room. Good to know at least one of us finds my situation amusing.
“So,” I say, “how do I help him? How can I get him talking?”
“I might have a friend,” Booker finally admits.
“A friend?”
He grimaces. “Well, she’s more of a mentor really. She’s an instructor at the University. She’s almost a hundred years old, so she’s been around the block once or twice.” He tries to hide his grimace with a tense smile. I don’t buy it.
“Do you think she’ll know what’s wrong with my spirit guide or how to help him?”
“If she doesn’t, she’ll know where we need to look.”
“Then we need to see her,” I say, standing. “Where can I find her?” Booker sighs and stands as well. I have to lean back to look at him.