I really did not need to move Dain’s hair out of his eyes. It was like he cast a spell to bedazzle me. I shook it off as he said something. It wasn’t English, so all I recognized was my name on his lips and the same, lyrical cadence Eloden used, but deeper.
The rest of the gang had gathered around my red Civic. Normally, my Baby didn’t feel small, especially compared to the smart cars and minis out there, but with all these big men surrounding me and Baby, I felt like my car was a toy. It was like standing at midfield and staring down the offensive line. They could probably bench my weight three times over.
I was down to one weapon besides my outrage and self-defence lessons paid for by my step-father. Too bad everything I had been taught by the sweet instructor had been on slow-mo and one-on-one.
“Back off,” I said with a growl. I pulled the mousse from my purse and wrangled the cap off. The skinny can was a lot less threatening than the hairspray and the nozzle was obviously different, but it was dark out here. A couple of cars pulled into the parking lot as I brought the mousse up to Dain’s face. He still wasn’t giving me much room, so it was a direct shot.
“You don’t want to do that, darling,” said one of the blonde brothers. I don’t think I heard his voice yet, so it must be the taller, younger looking one. He looked to be the same age as the twins, making him less dangerous in my mind. Foolish, I knew, but I kept my finger on the trigger. All of them were close enough to grab me in an unguarded moment.
“No, sugar, but I will if I don’t get my keys back immediately,” I told him, adding the mocking endearment in retaliation.
The twins called me baby because I was so much smaller than them, although I was the oldest sibling. Jackson’s nickname was cuddlekins and Matthew’s nickname was sugarkins. They deserved the nicknames even if they protested they were neither sweet nor cuddly. I was no baby. Like most arguments we had, it ended in a stalemate.
“We just wanted to meet you, Eve,” explained Eloden, slipping my keys back into my hand that wasn’t threatening to style Dain a goatee. I didn’t need to look to know they had stolen the screamer, feeling the difference in the weight of my keyring.
“How do you know my name?” I bit out, taking my attention off Dain for one, little second to look at Eloden.
My mousse was plucked from my fingers by Dain. Damned light-fingered thief.
“Evie-baby? Are you okay?” called out Matthew’s voice as car doors slammed.
“Are those guys bothering you, Evie-baby?” called out Jackson.
Double damn. Jackson had come along as well. The second car must be a friend’s because I didn’t recognize the Hummer. Matthew had driven my mother’s Caravan. I tried peering around the wall of men to see more, starting with Dain.
“I’m fine,” I called out to my brothers before a bloodbath could be started. I never had trouble with guys, never brought anyone home before for the twins to torment. We all knew it was because I refused to date. Protective instincts I didn’t even know my brothers possessed until this moment seemed to come to the fore as they saw me surrounded. I had to do something fast.
They may be my brothers, but I was their big sister.
So far, nobody had hurt me. Frighten, yes. An illegal assault that could possibly bring charges that would stick, not really. The best thing to do would be to walk away.
I put a hand on Dain’s chest, gently pressing as I asked, “Could you move, please?” I was so polite and sweet that my teeth ached.
Shockingly, the mountain shifted. It might have had more to do with the younger blonde brother saying something to Dain in his harsh, Germanic accent.
Pretty Orin and freaky Falin parted ways like the Red Sea as I hurried to cut off my brothers before they got too good of a look at my so-called help. I wasn’t fast enough as Jackson had started counting.
“How many guys does it take to fix a broken Civic, Matt?” Jackson asked.
“I dunno, Jack. Maybe one guy under the hood and five others to chat up our sister,” Matthew answered, sounding more aggressive than his usual demeanour. It was Jackson that got into all the fights.
A couple of other guys followed behind Jackson, some of the twins’ football buddies that I recognized from homecoming. They must have been at a party together after the game. I’m surprised that Matthew hadn’t been with him, taking advantage of the opportunity to flirt with girls. He might not bring as many girlfriends home as Jackson, but that didn’t mean he was shy, quite the opposite. Matthew had a reputation as a ladies man. The twins were blonde, buff and had sweet brown eyes that made them the cause of many broken hearts.
“Stop it, both of you,” I told the twins in my older sister voice, cutting off their path to my Civic and the motley gang.
“What are you wearing?” Jackson asked, snagging my chin to look at my excessively made-up face. I had totally forgotten my disguise, as useless as it had been. Matthew took advantage of my distraction to walk around me. Damnit, those two always tag-teamed me.
“It was a cosplay night,” I lied, shrugging off Jackson’s hand. I turned to catch Matthew. His long strides had almost reached my car, so I couldn’t stop him, but I did manage to get beside him as he came face-to-face with Eloden.
Thank goodness it wasn’t one of the others. I could see why they picked Eloden to approach me first. He was a smooth talker and looked normal until you got a handful of his biceps. I still thought his non-threatening façade would be improved by glasses, but perhaps it was only a female thing to get lost in his gaze.
“Eve, you didn’t mention your brothers,” said Eloden, holding his hand out. Jackson brusquely shook it and I’m sure he squeezed hard. Eloden smiled.
“I wasn’t sure they could come,” I said, interrupting the pissing contest. “Anyway, the Civic is fixed. I think it was the battery. I left the light on and these guys offered to boost me with a power pack. I’ve already turned it over and everything’s fine now,” I mostly lied to Jackson.
Matthew waved hello to everyone, coming up behind me with Jackson’s friends.
“Why did you shut the car off after boosting it?” Jackson asked, still suspicious. He was looking at Dain. Just like I thought, Dain was too dangerous to be ignored.
“Eve may not have a full tank,” suggested Eloden kind of awkwardly. He was as shitty a liar as me.
“Well thanks, guys,” I said in a rush, trying to dismiss them while moving things along so the twins didn’t have time to second-guess the hastily constructed excuses. “I appreciate the help, but my brothers can take it from here. Jackson’s a car nerd,” I told them. He wasn’t really, but he knew enough of the basics, and then, he had made sure I knew them, too.
“Aren’t you going to tell us who we have to thank, Evie-baby?” Matthew asked.
Okay, so even Matthew didn’t believe me. He had a memory almost as good as mine, although he had to develop a system for memorizing big blocks of information that I didn’t need. If I told Matthew their names, he would be asking around about the guys later. I had never seen them at the rink before, so there probably wouldn’t be any harm in letting him hear the names they had given me.
“That’s Dain,” I said, introducing him before Jackson’s stare burned a hole through his head. “He’s an orc,” I told them, making it up as I went. Cosplay was the only plausible excuse. “The dragon is Falin, although he looks more like a lizard,” I added. I pointed out the one I knew best, “Eloden is a Celt, but his costume is under his jacket.” I pointed over to Pretty, his platinum head almost hidden behind the taller warriors that I didn’t have names for yet. “Orin and his brothers are cosplaying elves, although I didn’t catch all of their names. I was so worried about the Civic,” I said, finishing the introductions.
Jackson grunted acknowledgment. He would make Matthew go over all the names again later.
“Well, Matthew, Jackson, we will leave Eve in your capable hands,” Eloden said. “It was nice meeting you, Eve,” he told me, winking even though both of my br
others were watching.
I felt awkward, but I shook everyone’s hand as they all took their leave. Dain was the last one I offered my hand and he pulled me into his chest before I realized what he was doing.
“Dream of me,” he whispered into my ear, giving me a good thump on the back like we were friends.
What?
Matthew pulled me out of the embrace while Jackson said, “Goodbye,” quite coldly, standing there with his hands fisted.
“Hey, big sister, do you do any hot elf cosplay? Like Liv Tyler? You’ve got her hair,” one of Jackson’s friends said.
Boy, I hoped he didn’t play against Jackson in practice. The way my brother was wound up that last comment was going to cost him.
“I hate Lord of the Rings,” I said, looking down at my feet. I pulled my hoodie up.
Matthew choked back a laugh at that lie. “Come on,” he told me, grabbing me by my hoodie sleeve the way he knows I preferred. No sweaty hands for me. The other guys were already gone, although the strange encounter was going to stick with me for a while.
“What about Baby?” I asked.
“I’ll drive it,” Jackson said. He grabbed my keys from my hands, not waiting for permission. “Don’t want you to get stalled somewhere alone,” he said. “I’ll gas up for you.”
Lucky for me I hated to gas up, although it wasn’t a social thing, I disliked the smell of gasoline. I was running on fumes, as usual, so Eloden’s excuse wouldn’t be discovered as a lie.
“Thanks,” I told Jackson, holding back on his nickname because his buddies were still here. They got away with calling me baby in front of everyone, but their masculinity would be offended if I did the same. Males, seriously.
“Thanks for dropping me off here, Rick,” Jackson said to one of his friends. It wasn’t the cosplay fantasizing one. “Tyler, keep your eyes off my sister,” Jackson told the other one. Yep, he was going to pay. “Catch you guys on Monday,” Jackson said, fist-bumping them both.
Matthew rushed me over to the Caravan. I had to look over my shoulder to see Jackson send his friends off and get into my car. It started smoothly, of course.
“So, Evie-baby, are you going to tell me the truth?” Matthew said as we got into the van. I hadn’t even buckled up yet.
“That was the truth. Why else would I dress up like this?” I said. He knew I hated to draw attention to myself.
“What the heck were you cosplaying?”
I totally didn’t fit the fantasy theme I had made up for the guys. “Uh, new Netflix show, an original, set in the eighties. Kind of a Charlie's Angels vibe,” I lied.
“Jack’s going to want to see this show for himself,” Matthew said. He was right, Jackson wouldn’t let a speck of doubt get away from him.
“You guys will use any excuse to log onto my account,” I reminded him. “I just want to get home and into a shower to scrub this crap off. I don’t know how other girls do this,” I said, totally honest there.
“It’s not meant to be an inch thick,” Matthew said. “I think you’re supposed to rub it in or something.”
My brother, the great makeup artist. Good thing he still had a 4.0 GPA to fall back on or that boy was going to starve in the cosmetic industry.
“Oh, it’s not the makeup. My hair is literally a helmet on my head. I think they could use the super-freeze hairspray to hold a bridge together if there was a cement shortage.”
Matthew laughed.
I tried to lay my head back, ignoring the crunching. All I had to do now was hope my hot water held while I took the world’s longest shower and waited for Jackson to give up on interrogating me. The boys had school and didn’t live with me, so eventually they would have to move on from this mystery. I had to fool them just long enough to find something else to occupy them.
If only it was so easy for me to forget.
Dream of me.
As if.
I only had nightmares.
Chapter 4:
I HATED THE DOCTOR’S office.
Most people do, although they rate going to the dentist as more nerve-wracking than their family doctor. The dentists know this, which is why their offices have mood music, softly painted walls, an aquarium, a kid’s toy room and pictures of smiling, happy patients on one wall. For the people who aren’t reassured by all that window dressing, they put on the news, so you can see that there is always something terrible and horrifying happening elsewhere and being at the dentist isn’t so bad.
Don’t be fooled. Going to the dentist is always bad.
Urgent care centers are their own special kind of hell, too. They stopped calling them walk-in clinics, so when you must wait for hours to be seen, you can’t complain about false advertising. Doctor offices don’t need window dressing to get you in because you’re too sick to leave.
I was here for Ai Lung. I wouldn’t go to the doctor’s office for myself. Ai Lung needed antibiotics and the easiest way to get them was for me to use my source at Urgent Care ‘R Us. I had health insurance courtesy of my mother and the laws against demanding genetic testing information, and since I never went to the doctor, somebody ought to get some use out of it.
The Changs were barely able to afford to keep their hydro on, so I tried to help with little things like getting an antibiotic that I didn’t need. I would even pay cash for it, but we couldn’t get Ai Lung out of the apartment without a huge production and even the idea of trying to get her to sit in a waiting room for hours was a cruel joke.
Dr. Abram didn’t care who took the antibiotics as long as he could bill my health insurance for the visit.
Ai Lung had Juvenile Huntington’s Disease. My mother had let the school counsellor bully me into joining support groups for families affected by Huntington’s because the best way to cope with the fatal illness that was going to kill my mother was to see a bunch of other people dying from it first. It was worse than cancer kid camp because at least some of those kids would beat the odds. A person had a better chance of surviving Ebola than a Huntington’s diagnosis. There was no curing your genes.
I had hated every fucking person in that support group. Ai Lung had literally fallen over her feet to greet me, cane bonking me in the knees. She shook my hand with a tremor that had nothing to do with nerves and called me the whitest dipshit to ever crap on the cheer parade. We became instant friends.
Back then, Ai Lung could still talk.
I hadn’t had so many rules to live by then, either. A don’t look, don’t speak and don’t touch approach might have gotten me booted out of support group earlier, and as Ai Lung was my only friend, I wouldn’t have needed to suffer the rest of them.
Eloden could have been a distant acquaintance from the support groups, someone with one of those memories for faces. I avoided looking at a lot of people closely so forgetting Eloden wasn’t that unusual if I hadn’t been well introduced. It was something I had puzzled over all week since last Friday. How had he known my name?
“Evelyn Winslow?”
I jumped up, startled to hear myself called just as I had been thinking of it. The receptionist said everyone’s name as a question. She checked me in and I was sitting only a few seats from the front desk, but still, she asked for me like she was half hoping I’d given up on the wait and left. With the number of people filling the cheap, plastic chairs, I doubt one less patient was going to get her home any sooner.
I walked over to her, hoodie up and eyes down. She had already turned to walk me down the hallway to a room, not bothering with any of the niceties. Fine by me.
The doctor was in the room, some bubbly new graduate who smiled at me as I entered. She had a pink stethoscope that caught my eye.
“How long have you been coughing?” the doctor asked me as I took a seat on the exam table.
“A week,” I said. “Where’s Dr. Abram?”
“He had to leave early,” the doctor said, grabbing a tongue depressor from the jars of cotton balls, swabs and bandages.
This was not
good. I told the receptionist I was here for a cough, but I doubted this new doctor would give me the kind of antibiotics I needed for Ai Lung. Aspiration pneumonia wasn’t a common outpatient diagnosis and the usual treatments wouldn’t cut it.
“Ahh...” I opened my mouth. I did not need a tongue depressor, but she used it and nearly gagged me.
“Throat looks fine,” she told me. “It might just be a virus. What other symptoms are you having?”
That was because I was healthy as a horse.
“I need clavulin when I get this,” I said, ignoring her cheerful prognosis of a simple cold. Wasn’t that what they told all the new grads to say to conserve antibiotics? It’s a virus. Drink plenty of fluids, rest and stop whining.
The flu was a virus. So were measles, smallpox and rabies. Just because there weren’t antibiotics for it didn’t mean it was benign.
Of course, I didn’t have a virus or pneumonia or even a cough.
“That’s a very strong antibiotic...” the doctor said, obviously thinking it over while she listened to my chest.
It wasn’t like I was asking for opioids.
I took a breath and fake-coughed, hacked and pretty much did whatever I could to sound like my lungs were fifty years older.
The doctor discreetly stepped to the side while she auscultated me with her stethoscope.
I turned and coughed on her hand, her chest, and smacking myself on my sternum with a fist like I was trying to knock the phlegm loose, I lifted my head and coughed towards her startled face.
“Clavulin,” I croaked. I coughed some more before she could try to put her pink stethoscope on my chest again. “I need clavulin.”
“Usually it is a virus that gives this kind of a cough. It’s called post-viral-”
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