The sun had set. Without its heat, the night air was cold against my skin, the thin trench coat not providing warmth and leaving my lower half exposed. Groups of men and women crowded the pavements, a heavy, unpleasant scent in the air around them. I edged my way past and walked quickly away. The road was quiet; fewer cars roaring up and down beneath the orange street lights. A group of men passed, stepping onto the road to avoid me. One called something to me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see him walking backwards, watching me walk away. I noticed his leering grin; snapping my head forward, I quickened my pace.
The pub I was looking for was marked by more crowds of people at its entrance. The same thick smog clinging to them as I edged by. The warm air inside hung with the smell of warm bodies and sweet, sticky ale. The people here were more relaxed than the previous, the women less stylishly dressed. Making my way to the bar, I listened to people’s conversations, made notes of the drinks in their hands. Finding a vacant stool, I slid onto it and waited for the barman to notice me. I didn’t wait long, and ordered a vodka and orange juice.
Ice tinkling in the glass, I took a tentative sip. Both sweet and bitter at once, the cold drink was refreshing, and I was pleasantly surprised. The taste of alcohol lingered on my tongue long after I’d swallowed, the liquor warming me as its effects spread through my body.
I sat at the bar for a while, consuming three drinks, watching, waiting, and listening. Still there was no indication of wrongdoing, no feeling of corruption or evil from any of the patrons here. Disappointed, I prepared to leave, clutching my small bag and draining my glass, when someone spoke behind me.
“You been stood up?”
Sliding from the barstool, I turned and faced him.
“No,” I said, forcing a smile. “I was looking for someone, but they aren’t here.”
I turned away and he placed a warm, strong hand on my arm. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Studying him, I felt him out. He seemed friendly; safe enough.
With a warmer smile, I said, “Vodka and orange juice, please.”
He grinned, paid for our drinks, and escorted me to a small table to the rear of the room. The chatter of the other customers was deafening, the background music only adding to the cacophony. I focused my attention on my new companion. He was young, perhaps twenty-five years old, and well dressed, clean shaven, and his eyes seemed kind.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the seat he offered.
“What’s your name?”
“Seren. What’s yours?”
“Brad. Are you a student? You sound like you’re a long way from home.”
“No,” I laughed. “I used to live here a long time ago, but I had to go away. I’m here looking for someone.”
He frowned, and I said, “They aren’t important. Are you here alone?”
His eyes brightened. “No, my mates went on without me. I’ll catch them up.”
I sipped my drink and studied him. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here either,” I observed.
“I went to uni here. Made more sense to stay when I graduated. Found a programming job and here I am,” he said, taking a drink. “What do you do?”
Taken aback by his question, I searched for an answer. Stalling for time, I smiled and took another sip of my drink. “I work in agriculture,” I said at last.
His brows rose but he seemed satisfied with my answer. Noticing my glass was almost empty, he asked, “Another?”
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t. I have to keep looking in the morning.”
“One more,” he coaxed, earning a small smile from me.
“Okay, just one,” I conceded, too aware of the effect the vodka was having on my body.
Alone at the table, I turned my attention back to the crowded room. Raucous laughter came from behind me. I peeked at them, a group of men, standing around a machine that flashed and played loud music as one of them fed in coins and pressed buttons. My gaze wandered to a couple sitting behind me. They didn’t speak as they sipped their drinks and looked around the room. I made a point of avoiding their emotions. I saw Brad returning with drinks and smiled at him.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the glass he offered and drinking. I winced. The taste had changed.
“Sorry, I got you a double. Should have said.”
I smiled and set my glass on the table. “Do you like it here?” I asked.
“Yeah. The people are a bit…rough, but they’re genuine. It was here or London, and who can afford to live there?” he drawled, taking a deep swallow of his drink. He’d switched from a bottle of something to a glass of almost black liquid. “Do you live in the city?”
“No, I’m staying in a hotel while I’m here, but have to go home soon.” I was surprised at how easily the fabricated story rolled from my tongue. “In fact, I really should get back.”
I took a large gulp of my drink, choking down the strong alcoholic aftertaste. “Thank you for your company, Brad.”
“I’ll walk you out,” he offered, finishing his drink.
Matching my gait, he placed a hand in the curve of my lower back. I felt the proximity of his hand was inappropriate, so I stepped away from his touch and kept moving, weaving in and out of the crowds of people.
Back out in the cold, I shivered. My head felt fuzzy and I felt myself sway. Brad stepped closer to me, placing an arm around my waist. Feeling his intention, I stiffened. The assumption; the intimacy of his touch making me uneasy. I felt no malice from him, no threat in his touch, but his intention for the evening to stretch on had my instincts screaming for me to get away.
Glancing around, I looked for an escape. Cars lined the kerb, their engines running, and I watched a few people jump inside the one furthest away. It drove away, the other cars creeping forward to fill its vacant place. I took a step forward, making for the car at the front of the line and Brad moved with me, maintaining his gentle hold on my waist.
“I could come back,” he murmured in my ear.
“Umm…” I paused, unsure how to proceed. I suddenly felt afraid. I need help. We drew level with the car I was heading for and opened my bag. I grasped the slip of paper and knocked on the car window. “Can you take me here?” I asked the driver.
He nodded and handed the note back, tilting his head. An invitation to get into the car.
“Thank you, Brad. It’s been lovely meeting you. Here”—I handed him my phone—“give me your number and I’ll contact you.”
He frowned, taking the phone, and began tapping on the screen. After a few moments, there was a pinging sound from his pocket. “I have your number, too. I’ll call you.” He smiled and leaned forward, kissing my cheek. I reached for the handle on the car door and tugged it open. He gave me a lopsided smile and turned to walk away. Not waiting for him to change his mind, I slid onto the rear seat of the car and tugged at the door.
No sooner was it closed, the driver pulled away. The motion of the car pushed me back into the seat slightly and I gripped the door handle in fright. I remembered the rough, bumpy journey I’d taken by horse and carriage the last time I was here and relaxed into the comfortable seat. This was not nearly as bad. Gazing out of the window, the street lights dimmed and brightened as the car sped past lamp posts. Unable to see much beyond the hedgerows by the side of the road, I rested my head back into the seat. Closing my eyes, I became dizzy, feeling as though I were spinning, yet I knew I was safely seated. The sensation panicking me, I sat upright and knocked on the clear plastic screen between myself and the driver. “How long?”
“Few more minits, luv. This is city centre,” he said in a gruff voice.
Outside, the hedgerows were replaced by occasional shops, terraced houses, and parked cars. The lighting was much brighter. The buildings changed from housing to warehouses as we travelled over the river, the bright lights on the stone bridge illuminating the car. Then, the driver took a left turn and the buildings returned to houses. As we approached the city centre, the houses bec
ame larger, the roads more neatly kept, and the busy roads became tree-lined streets as the car wound its way through the town. With no idea where we were going, I tried to get my bearings. We were heading south, I realised, glancing at the sky as the street opened on to a busy road. A large vehicle drew level with the window opposite me and I jumped.
“Bloody trams,” the driver muttered, as it followed its own path away from us.
Older buildings loomed ahead, built of old, red brick. The car slowed and turned left again, slowing to a crawl as the driver read the various signs along the road. Turning right, the car slowed to a halt outside a large glass and steel building. I gazed up, out of my window, counting the floors.
“Thirty, luv,” the driver said, holding out a hand.
I handed him two notes and got out of the car, closing the door quietly behind me. The car pulled away and I looked up again. I wondered what I would do if he wasn’t here. Squinting in the dim light, my vision strangely blurry, I took the note from my bag. The letters matched those above the door of the building. As I stepped toward the doors, there was a strange buzzing sound to my right and a disembodied voice said, “Top floor, Seren.”
Four
Seren
It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the brightness of the foyer. The clinical white walls, gleaming tiled floor, and steel staircase reflected the harsh, unnatural light from the ceiling, adding to the unpleasant feel of the space. To my left, I noticed a steel door, closed to the room around me. My heels clicked noisily on the hard tiles as I took a few tentative steps toward the stairs.
“Use the lift,” his voice echoed down from high above.
Uncertain, I paused, my hand inches from the handrail of the staircase.
“The silver door to your left. There’s a red button; push it.”
Pulling back my hand, I changed course and walked to the silver door. I studied it for a moment. My image distorted on its rough surface, I could only make out the colour of my dress and hair. On the wall, I noticed a small, circular red light, and I pushed it. The door slid to the side, revealing a tiny, mirrored room. A rail ran at waist height around three of the mirrored walls. I studied my reflection, a small smile tugging my lips, and stepped inside. I felt uncomfortable immediately. The room was too small, there were no other exits.
“Button five, to the right.”
Locating the panel on the wall, I pressed the button and the door slid shut. I turned back to face the mirror and the small room lurched. Grasping the hand rail, I steadied myself and spun to face the doors. Before I could begin to panic further, the motion ceased, and the door slid open again. The same blinding light assaulted my eyes as I stepped away from the lift. The top of the staircase was on my right, a large window to my left, and there, directly ahead, was the Druid.
He leaned casually on the doorframe, wearing only a pair of jeans. One hand held a green bottle, the other propped open the door. Held above his head, the muscles of his arm were clearly defined, as were those of his bare chest. I tried not to stare.
“Hello, pretty bird,” I said impassively, trying not to reveal my rattled nerves.
He tipped his head to the side, indicating I enter, but didn’t return the greeting. He watched me walk inside, the position of his arm forcing me to tilt my head as I passed. The door clicked shut behind me and I continued through a narrow, dimly lit hallway into the room beyond.
My shoes clicked noisily on the wooden floor as I crossed into the space. This room was almost as unwelcoming as the foyer. The white walls, black sofa, and clean lines of the glass coffee table were anything but welcoming. The lighting, a series of small circular holes in the ceiling, was dim, but not warm. At the far end of the room was what appeared to be a kitchen; black, shiny doors framing a small window, and what I assumed to be a sink area. A plain, glass dining table with six black chairs broke up the space between. To the right were two white doors with shining silver handles. To the left were several undressed windows and a pair of glass doors, leading outside. There were no pictures, no decoration at all, I realised, as I walked toward the outside doors.
I could see the Druid, still by the door I’d entered through, reflected in the glass. He watched me with curious intensity. I ignored him. Pressing my face close to the glass, I saw a small balcony, a circular table, and two chairs outside. Beyond, the lights of the city sprawled into the distance, the lights of cars flashing below as they made their busy way along the many routes.
“I was giving up on you,” he said, looking down at the bottle in his hand. “Drink?”
I continued to look out of the window and said, “Yes, please. Vodka and orange juice, or wine.”
I expected him to move to the kitchen area, but he strode to me, and I watched his approach reflected in the window. Stopping directly behind me, his arm brushed against mine as he gripped the door handle. He leaned in, his breath warm on my cheek and murmured, “Go out, if you like.”
The door swung open and I remained still, waiting for him to step away. I felt him huff a short laugh against my cheek before he turned and strode toward the kitchen. I stepped outside and found myself thinking that the city had a strange beauty to it from this elevated position. The noise from the traffic was still unpleasant, but the buildings silhouetted against the clear, night sky gave it a strange, majestic feel. I heard doors closing inside, ice being dropped into a glass, a drink being poured. Resting my arms on the cold rail of the balcony, I looked down, hoping to see a garden of some description. I was disappointed to see the shining rows of cars and the dull grey of concrete.
“Vodka and orange juice,” he announced.
I turned, accepting the drink, and said, “How do you stand it?”
He frowned, looking beyond me to the skyline. “The city? I move around frequently, spending much of my time in the countryside. This is just a base. That said, I don’t mind it here. It isn’t all bad.” He stepped around me to take a place at my side.
I looked back out to the city. “It’s so grey. So…lifeless.”
“There’s colour, if you know where to look. None of it natural, but it’s certainly colourful,” he said, huffing a quiet, humourless laugh. “And life. It’s teeming with life.”
We stood in silence, each lost in our own thoughts for several minutes.
“Do you have a name, or am I to call you Druid?”
He turned his head, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Elian.”
My brows rose and I offered him a smile. “That’s a nice name.”
He tipped his bottle to his mouth, then paused. “Why are you here, Seren?” he asked.
I took a sip of my drink, licking the bitter aftertaste from my lips as I turned to face him. Leaning my hip of the glass barrier of the balcony, I met his gaze. “You saw me when I woke. You know who I am. You know as much as I do.”
His eyes were sad, I noticed. He glanced away and asked, “What do you know?”
“My home was the last of its kind, Elian,” I said, struggling to keep the emotion from my voice. “The last remaining defence against a demon incursion. The way is now open, should the rifts be available to them. For there to have been a demon here to attack the last Elder, there must have been a rift opened for it to pass into this realm. I have no idea why I’m here. I should have died with the tree.” I should have died a very long time ago.
He looked at me again, as if seeing me for the first time, and he softened. “You’re here to hunt the demon,” he said. “That, Seren, is your purpose. The tree wasn’t the last defence. You are.”
If he already knew, why didn’t he tell me that morning? Unless he was treading carefully. Giving me time…
I nodded my head, and looked away, back into the building. He moved first, passing me, and heading back up to the kitchen. I followed, pulling the door closed behind me against the cold night air and the low hum of traffic below.
“Have a seat,” he said as he returned, a fresh bottle in his hand.
I
sat on the low sofa, placing my bag at my side. I hadn’t noticed before, but there was a black window on this wall, too. It’s a television. I recalled seeing them lined up in the shop earlier that day. He sat at the opposite end, crossing an ankle over his knee.
“I’ve been asked to help you,” he said after a few moments.
“By whom?”
“The king,” he said, taking another drink.
“Which one?”
His laugh surprised me as he asked, “Does it matter?”
I considered my answer before I gave it. Did it matter which of the Fae kings had given the order? I wondered. The Seelie King would be handling the matter as it was in his interests, being so close to his realm. The Un-Seelie King would only be involved if there were a considerable threat to the world, given the circumstances. “Yes.”
“Both. Markus is tied up, so I report directly to Taran, but they’re both extremely concerned. I was sent directly to you when your home was destroyed.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. It was far more serious than I first thought if both kings were involved, and they’d sent me one Druid? “What are we going to do?” I whispered.
He moved closer to me, catching me beneath the chin with a finger, and tilted my head. His eyes, now soft and kind, met mine as he said, “We’ll handle it. But first, you need time to settle, to gather your strength.” His voice was low, steady. It calmed my building anxiety.
I nodded, averting my gaze as I became aware of his proximity. Of the heat coming from his barely covered body. He gave me a small reassuring smile, and moved away.
He turned his attention to the television, picking up a small black device that was like my telephone.
“Any preference?” he asked as the screen lit up.
I shook my head, sipping my drink.
He flicked the picture several times before settling on one and turning the volume down.
The Elder Mother (Riftkeepers Book 4) Page 3