Flicker

by Arreyn Grey

  “It isn't an insult,” Alex seemed to think it was safe to let a chuckle escape him. “But so many women these days seem to think it is.” He shrugged, changing the subject. “So what are you making?”

  Elise painstakingly folded a pleat and began to tack it down while a tiny smirk played across her lips. “My Halloween costume.”

  From the corner of her eye, Elise saw Alex fighting a wide grin. “Do you still go trick-or-treating, little girl?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said archly, glancing at him sidelong from under her eyelashes. To pay him back for distracting her during roll call, Elise slipped a little heat into her eyes, and was rewarded by a tiny shiver that ran through him. His distraction only lasted a moment, however, before he recovered himself to tap the tip of her nose with his finger.

  “So am I invited? Because if so, I'm going to need a costume,” Alex teased. Despite his quips, she could tell he was happy for them to have something normal to talk about-- particularly something Elise enjoyed so immensely.

  Elise flashed him a smile as she knotted her thread. “That's easy-- you'll match me, of course!”

  “And what exactly is this costume you're making?” Alex asked, his eyebrow quirked at her. Elise's grin widened.

  “Well, this,” She lifted the ribbon she was sewing. “Is going to trim the neckline of the bodice on my gown. And yesterday I spent some time working on a bustle underskirt. I have petticoats, and a corset... I'll have to make a bonnet, I suppose, to be entirely proper,” she mused.

  “You're being what then, a Victorian lady?” Alex guessed, his eyebrows climbing still further. “How very... demure of you.” He smirked.

  “Oh, not just any lady,” Elise teased, drawing it out. “I'm dressing as Wilhelmina Murray!”

  Alex blinked at her for a moment, his mouth slack. Then he threw his head back as he started to laugh. “You wicked little thing,” he chuckled, tucking an escaped strand of her long hair behind her ear. “Sometimes you're too clever for your own good.”

  Elise grinned at him evilly. “So you'll wear the Dracula costume I'm making you, then?”

  “Oh, better than that,” Alex smirked down at her. “You'll get to see how very dapper I look in a top hat and cape.”

  There was something so purposely flirtatious in his otherwise ridiculous statement that Elise felt a shiver go up her spine. She considered it fitting retribution for her baiting him a minute ago, and chose not to engage his invitation. After a moment, he nodded his acquiescence with a slight smile and continued, “So, you're making my costume, too? And how did you learn to sew, anyway? Did your mom teach you?” He sounded intensely curious. “She seems like such a liberated woman and all-- I had thought she would avoid the stereotypical skills for all she was worth.”

  “No, you're right, she doesn't know how,” Elise said, her smile fading. “I went to a day camp when I was a little girl, and they spent an afternoon teaching basic sewing. I found it relaxing.” She hesitated, but she was making an effort not to hide things from him. “My parents weren't keen on sending me to the camp to begin with-- it was basically the finishing school of summer camps-- but my friend Kristin's parents were very into that sort of thing, and I went to keep her company. I actually liked it better than she did.”

  Alex gently leaned his shoulder against hers. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said, his voice so soft she barely heard it over the ruckus of the bus. Elise shrugged again.

  Just then, the bus jolted over a bump in the road and pitched Elise into Alex. Reflexively, he steadied her, his powerful arm holding her tightly against him. She tensed for a moment, surprised, but she was able to check her habitual instinct to struggle and relaxed into the embrace, resting her head on his chest. More mentally than physically, she felt him smile against her hair.

  It took just under an hour for the pair of buses to reach the museum. It was located on the campus of a prestigious university, and during Latin trips in past years, Elise had familiarized herself with the layout of both the museum and the surrounding area. She enjoyed being able to lose herself in the far distant past-- but as she exited the bus and practically skipped toward the entrance, she realized that Alex might not necessarily feel the same way.

  “What's up?” She asked, turning to wait and allowing the crowd of students to pass her by as he slowly caught up with her.

  Alex shrugged, looking at the weathered plaque beside the door to the museum rather than at Elise. “I tend to avoid these places, actually,” he said, sounding just a little too disinterested. “I lived through much of what is represented within these walls, and most days, I don't care to do it again.”

  Elise frowned, walking back more sedately to meet him half way. “Why did you come, then?” She asked softly. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and the expression broke Elise's heart.

  “You see, there was this lovely girl in my class, and I felt bad ditching her,” he began, and his eyes brightened a bit as she had to restrain herself from kicking him in the shin.

  “Great, so now it's my fault you're miserable?” Elise demanded lightheartedly, sticking her tongue out at him once more as she tried to make him laugh.

  “Nah,” he scoffed. “I have to face history sooner or later, anyway.” Then he met her gaze earnestly. “To be honest, I'd rather have you with me when I do.” Looking up into his sober face, Elise recalled Gregory telling her that in his own way, Alex was as damaged as she was.

  Burying those thoughts before Alex caught them, she took his hand with a grin. “Well, just think of it this way,” she said, pulling him gently toward the heavy wooden doors. “We're here to see Roman artifacts-- that was before your time, anyway!”

  Behind her, she heard Alex grumbling under his breath-- something about insolent little girls who didn't respect their elders. By the time they ducked into the entrance of the museum, she was laughing, and she could feel him smiling, too.

  In an attempt to avoid thinking of things past, Alexander kept his eyes mainly on Elise as they wandered through the exhibit. Magistra West had proved herself to be both knowledgeable and entertaining, as Alexander knew she would, and he was pleased that some of the information she provided was actually new to him. But once her guided tour of the classically focused galleries came to an end, Alexander found a welcome distraction from the past in Elise.

  He walked slightly behind her as she perused the many artifacts-- encased in glass on their lighted pedestals-- so he could enjoy her effortless elegance. Even here, when her mind was clearly on their surroundings, he felt the pull of her. Little things entranced him: the way she held her long hair back so she could bend to examine a display of bronze medallions, and the way her nose scrunched as she read aloud from a plaque describing the colorful history of a battered iron shield. Her voice echoed in the marble room, and Alexander noticed that the rest of the class had spread out into other portions of the exhibit; they were alone.

  He started toward her, but in the next moment, the silence was permeated by giggles and loud whispers-- Alexander glanced over his shoulder to see a gaggle of ninth grade Latin students meander into the hall. Alexander stopped short, the hand he'd reached toward Elise clenching into a fist at the annoying interruption. Elise turned to face the sounds as well, and rolled her eyes to Alexander upon seeing the source. A moment later, the students' words reached them, and Elise's amused exasperation turned more dour.

  “The only good thing about this crappy trip is getting the day off school,” one boy stage-whispered to his friends.

  “I know! It's not like there's anything worth seeing here. I don't know how people can waste time collecting all this junk,” a girl hissed back, and was greeted by titters from the rest of the group. Alexander saw Elise's eyes narrow dangerously before a surprisingly kind smile spread across her lips. He reached for her, thinking to stop her as she moved to walk past him, and suddenly his attention was caught by the shine on the glass of the display case. The light was fascinating,
playing over the smooth surface like water.

  Alexander shook his head fiercely, tossing strands of hair into his eyes as he caught himself, pulling free of the strange thoughts. He whirled to see Elise striding away, several feet beyond him now, and was so amused by her method that he couldn't even bring himself to be angry with her. He mused idly, watching her skirt swirl around her legs as she walked, that it probably had something to do with a teacher's pride in his student. Yes, he was sure that was it.

  He slowly moved toward Elise and her little crowd of targets, but the moment to stop her was gone-- he intended now only to watch and see what she had in store for them. Alexander had witnessed on numerous occasions her impressive temper, and recalling specifically having roused it himself when he'd pointedly dismissed Magistra's teachings, he was anticipating a rather spectacular show.

  He was quite surprised, therefore, when her manner as she glided towards the offensive teens was controlled and serene. “I know, right?” She called out as she drew nearer, and several members of the small group jumped, surprised at her entrance into their conversation. “This is all so boring-- dusty old pieces of pots and shards of metal-- who cares?”

  One of the girls stepped forward a little to meet Elise, and Alexander noticed that the poor thing seemed rather nervous. Perhaps she thought that she was about to be told off for insulting the field trip in front of Magistra's favorite. “You think so, really?” She asked skeptically. “I would've figured you'd love this stuff.”

  Elise waved her hand dismissively. “I don't care about the broken remnants of a lost civilization. I'll tell you a secret, though--” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, and a few of the teenagers unconsciously leaned closer. “What interests me is the people.”

  “The people are all dead-- so what?” The boy who'd spoken first piped up, but his voice wasn't as nonchalant as it had been a minute ago. Alexander could tell the boy was putting on a tough front, but he was already under Elise's spell.

  “So, what were they like? We're given this impression from the paintings and the history books that the people who lived hundreds or thousands of years ago were all stuffy and uptight, or dirty and stupid, but when you think about it, we're getting most of our information from tax records or books written centuries after everyone who knew them was dead and gone. So how do we know anything about their real lives?” Elise shrugged calmly, seeming not to care, but Alexander could hear the fervor in her voice. “How we see these people could very well be the way people see us in a few hundred years. So I want to learn what they were actually like before I dismiss them, in the hope that in a few decades or centuries or millennia, when high school kids study things that happened in our time, they won't dismiss us, either.”

  Alexander watched, entranced, as the teenagers hung onto her words. She wasn't using her power to influence their minds, only to get their attention; he could feel the fine net of allure she'd woven around herself, but now she was letting her passion inspire them. In that instant, he truly adored her. He could also sympathize with her point; her words made even him think about how he might be perceived in centuries to come. It had been a great many years since he'd considered his legacy.

  Elise continued to speak as she led them over to a Grecian funeral urn, using the pictures on it to paint a surprisingly realistic picture of the man for whom it had been made. Over the next few minutes, the group of six students she had begun with expanded to nearly a dozen as other people, walking through the gallery, paused to listen to her lesson. Alexander noted with amusement that not all of them were Latin students who had come from their high school; he'd have to mention to her later that she had lectured a number of Ivy League college students over the course of the morning, as well. He smiled to himself, standing to the side of the small crowd-- between her knowledgeable and creative lecture and her patient and composed answers to questions her students began to pose, he doubted her collegiate audience even realized she was only seventeen.

  The miniature lecture devolved into a question and answer session, until it was nearly twenty minutes later that Elise looked up, caught Alexander's eye, and immediately blushed. A sudden shyness flashed through her eyes, and she quickly called an end to the session, thanking her audience and ducking away. As the crowd dissipated, Alex spotted Elise walking quickly towards one of the corridors, and laughed as he jogged to catch up with her.

  “You are not allowed to laugh at me,” she said somewhat fiercely as she heard him behind her, never questioning for a moment that it was actually him.

  Alexander couldn't help chuckling again. “Now, why on earth would I do that?”

  Elise continued to walk, her boot heels snapping against the marble floor of the hallway and her gaze firmly fixed on the small portraits that lined the walls. “Because I'm such a horrible show-off,” she mumbled. Alexander was willing to bet her face was a nice, deep shade of crimson. Smiling, he quickened his pace and caught her by the shoulder, gently turning her to face him.

  “I certainly didn't think so, and judging by their rapt attention, your students didn't, either. Not even the ones who attend college here.”

  “There were-- I knew I didn't recognize-- some of them were college students? Really?” Elise stammered, and buried her face in her hands, blushing again; Alexander caught her mix of embarrassment and pride. “I can't imagine a bunch of college students would take a lecture from someone my age.”

  Alexander brushed his fingertips across her silken hair where it spilled over her shoulder. “If it helps, I doubt they even guessed your age.” When Elise frowned at him, he continued. “You stood up straight and it was clear you knew what you were talking about. You'd be surprised how far a confident bearing will get you in life.”

  Alexander was more focused on trying to see inside her head than on watching where he was going; as a result, he nearly walked through the doorway to the next room before he noticed that its contents were dramatically different than the statuary that lined the hallway they were leaving.

  He stopped dead, the blood draining from his face as he took in the room. Staged around it at routine intervals, mannequins stood atop small plinths, carefully lit to showcase the armor they wore. Polished metal gleamed, centuries-old cloth was vibrantly colorful, and in his mind, Alexander smelled the blood and heard the screaming.

  “More to your taste?” Elise murmured by his side.

  “You know it's not,” Alexander snapped, his eyes narrowed as he struggled to maintain the shield that would keep his memories from swarming over her. Right then, he wasn't sure she deserved the courtesy.

  “It's okay,” she said softly, brushing her hand against his so that he looked down at her. Her hazel eyes were very green today, and brimming with sincerity. “You can share it with me.” She stepped around to face him, as if she could place her body between him and the visions eating away at his mind. “You taught me to face my past head-on,” she whispered, stretching up on her toes so her lips were scant inches from his. “The least I can do is help you do the same.”

  He sighed, and the echo of sensation, breath across skin, let him know that she was open to him, willing to do exactly what she said. Inhaling deeply, he could smell the lilac fragrance of her shampoo and beneath it, the faint scent of her skin that reminded him of rainy nights by the fireside; heat flared through him as his power sought hers. Ever so gently, for she was more precious than any artifact in this cursed building, he placed his hands on her waist and moved her back. This was not the place, and now was not the time, to allow his feelings for her to overwhelm him.

  Stepping briskly past her, he made his way through the representations of different cultures and times he had witnessed. Here were rows of the mail hauberks of his youth, and there a neat black table displayed a series of conical helms, battered with use but polished to shine once more. A rack on the wall sported a variety of halberds, war scythes, and morning stars. He passed a door to his left that opened, he could see, into a display of Japanes
e samurai weapons and armor, reminding him briefly of the time he had spent with his friend Mōri Okimoto in the early part of the sixteenth century.

  And then he crossed a threshold and there, directly in front of him, stood what was clearly the prize of the collection: a full set of plate mail from the mid-fifteenth century, beautifully preserved in all its glory, complete with an unsheathed longsword wired into the gauntlet. The chain coif glinted beneath the swooping lines of the helm, and for a moment Alexander was startled to see nothing but shadows where eyes ought to be. A yellow banner hung above the piece, a black double-headed eagle stark upon it. Alexander turned away from the Holy Roman Emperor's crest, bile rising in his throat as the stench of battle smoke and blood threatened to choke him.

  A horse's shrill death scream cut through the cacophony of men grunting and shouting and sobbing and moaning. The sensation of flying was new, but the weightlessness was short-lived, and then Alexander slammed onto his back. He gasped for breath, choking as he tried to claw his way to his feet, but the mud sucked at his heavy armor, dragging him down, absorbing him into the earth itself. He struggled against the idea that he would die here not by the hand of his enemy, but by the design of nature.

  A warbling shriek brought his attention forcefully to the man charging toward him, spear raised high as he sought to take advantage of a fallen knight. Alexander ceased his battle against the mud, grinning to himself as a far more corporeal enemy took form. Alexander still couldn't stand, but he didn't need to; his spear was lost to him, but he had other weapons. His power surged through him, primal and gleeful and fierce, reveling in the horror of war. It sang in his veins, rippled through the air between them. He met the eyes of the man whose spear arced toward him, reaching through his skull and willing his brain to swell, and swell, and swell some more. For an instant, Alexander's enemy stopped and stared, his eyes bulging-- and then blood spurted from his nose, bubbled from his mouth, gushed from his eyes and his ears. His empty shell collapsed in a twitching, convulsing heap.