by Nyna Queen
The old man paled visibly. Alex frowned, wondering what she had said that—Oh! Oh no! He wouldn’t actually think that she—?
“Metaphorically speaking, of course,” Alex hastily added. “I don’t usually—I mean, I never—I—” She caught herself and exhaled. “Sorry,” she mumbled and rubbed her forehead. “Guess I’m still a little overwhelmed.”
“There is no need to apologize for anything, milady.” The butler’s smile was surprisingly sincere. “I would be more than happy to escort you to the breakfast hall.” Under his breath, he added: “That is, if the hellspawn has left something over. They attacked the buffet like a pack of starved lion cubs.” He sniffed but Alex thought she detected a deep fondness beneath the criticism. “I could be back in, say, twenty minutes? Will that be sufficient time to dress and get yourself ready?”
Alex’s head was starting to spin a little. “I … yeah, thanks. That would be great.”
“My pleasure, lady.”
“You don’t really have to do that, you know,” Alex muttered before she could stop herself. “I’m not a lady at all.” As far from it as humanly possible.
He just gave her a lenient smile, took another perfect bow, and shut the door behind him. It closed with a soft click.
Alex stared at the closed door for a full minute, and despite everything, she couldn’t help grinning at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Milady, hah! With a shake of her head, she snatched the basket from the floor and started sorting through the clothes.
“THIS way, milady, if you please.”
Alex followed the butler—Hector, what he had insisted she call him despite her being a complete stranger—as he ushered her through the depths of the stately country mansion in his polite, attentive manner. She quietly wondered if he’d been assigned as her keeper, so to speak, but even if that was the case, he acted so courteously about it that she found it hard to feel annoyed with him. Plus, she would have gotten lost in no time without him.
As promised, the elderly man had returned to her room precisely twenty minutes after he had left it, so pinpoint exact that it made you think that he’d swallowed a clockwork mechanism. More likely he’d stood in front of the door and waited for the clock to strike the exact second, which was creepier still. She’d just finished brushing her teeth and putting on some clothes—or whatever qualified as such among trueborn noble households.
Alex sourly tugged at the hem of her blouse and grimaced. A quick inspection of her backpack had verified that her spare underwear was still intact enough to be worn, yet the rest of her clothes … not so much. Thus, she’d been forced to choose from the basket “Hector” had brought her. Her hopes of a pair of jeans and sneakers had both quickly died. Frilly, frothy, fringy! Really, what was it that these trueborns had against good ole’ blue jeans? And where the hell had Darken gotten his denims from?
Grudgingly, she’d finally opted for a long, cream-colored tunic blouse over skintight, black suede pants, and simple black flats of a soft material—for the sole reason that it was the least embroidered stuff she could find; an ensemble which made her look completely ridiculous. But then, still better than going out in her pajamas.
They descended a flight of carpeted stairs and entered another wide corridor, their steps echoing softly from the high ceiling. Tall windows to Alex’s left spilled soft golden sunlight into the hallway, painting glowing rectangles onto the wooden parquet floor. The opposite wall was lined with paintings and memora, upon several of which she recognized Max and Josy, always looking as neat as a pin. In one of them, they perched in a window seat in front of a beautifully tended garden: rosebushes dotted with big pink and white blossoms; a blue waterfall of forget-me-nots cascading along a cobbled pathway past bell-shaped purple and white foxgloves on delicate stems, overlooking fiery bursts of marigold. The picture blurred in front of Alex’s eyes and another one took its place, yet instead of cultivated plants there were wildflowers, no less beautiful in their colorful spectacle, and instead of a chocolate-haired girl and boy, it showed three fair heads, two boys in their Sunday best and, between them, a girl with big blue eyes wearing a man’s white shirt and holding a single crimson flower.
Sudden heat flooded Alex’s skin and her throat went so tight it hurt to swallow. Despite this place being a lot more well-tended and noble than her sire’s mansion, in some indiscernible way it reminded her so much of her former home that her heart tightened into a painful knot inside her chest.
Forcing her gaze away, Alex quickly lengthened her stride to keep up with Hector, who had a surprisingly firm gait for a man of his age. Not that she could have matched anyone’s pace right now, able-bodied or no.
The muscles in her legs protested fiercely when she urged them into a faster rhythm, reminding her that this body wasn’t used to any exercise yet. She would have to stretch soon, lest her new skin harden out and become too tight. The first twenty-four hours were crucial. That initial workout would be a bitch, but—no pain, no gain. It was either that or having to live with shortened tendons.
Hector finally halted in front of a partly frosted double swing door that was decorated with wooden inlays. With a bow, he held one side open for her.
Alex entered. Stopped. Stared.
The door led into a huge, lofty winter garden. The whole backside of the room was shaped like an overturned bowl that was entirely built of glass and delicate metal braces, instantly reminding Alex of one of those vintage brass birdcages that often decorated old photographs. Tropical trees’ branches wove together above her head. Collectively, their leaves transformed into natural sun shades, sheltering them from the sun that licked at the shimmering curves of glass and dappled the floor with golden splashes of light. Vines crept up around wooden beams and along thin latticework. Exotic flowers spilled out of pots and gushed from hanging planters: palm fans spreading their wide green leaves, the orange and blue combs of birds-of-paradise showing off their color, and orchids arrogantly raising their pink heads, like the queens they deemed themselves to be, scenting the air with their delicious perfumes.
A stone path idly curved its way around a wooden terrace in the center of the greens, upon which small groups of wicker chairs and tables invited you to take a seat. At the back of the dome, a small indoor fountain was splashing water from piles of artfully arranged rocks into a riverbed that had been carved into the stone floor.
To Alex’s right, stocked against a solid gray brick wall, a sturdy table sagged under the weight of a variety of dishes battling for space on the shiny tabletop: platters of chilled fruit; slabs of some kind of cold roast meat, crusted in a marinade of herbs and spices; crispy slices of bacon beside a bowl of scrambled eggs; fried tomatoes and sausages; an assortment of different rolls in a bread basket; whipped butter; an iced pitcher of freshly pressed orange juice and a steaming coffee pot, complete with sugar, cream, and fresh milk; an entire chocolate cake; and, last but not least, a towering stack of perfect, fluffy golden brown pancakes with a side of maple syrup served in a small glass jug.
Alex’s mouth watered at the mere sight of the food and she could barely stop herself from drooling all over the place.
Mother’s mercy and Jester’s grace! Maybe she had died after all and woken up in paradise.
She only had a mere second to take it all in before—
“ALEX!”
Something tackled her head-on, almost knocking her off her feet. Then, suddenly, Max’s small arms were wrapped around her waist, squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe.
“You’re awake!”
“Careful there, tiger,” Alex muttered with a grin as she hugged him back, “these legs are still a bit wobbly.”
“I’m so glad you’re finally awake.” Max leaned back a little, beaming up at her with his big, brown puppy dog eyes. “Well, Josy said that you would probably be up around this time, but you know”—he waved a small hand—“she couldn’t really know, you not being a normal patient and all …”
&nb
sp; That was one way of putting it.
Max grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the seating area. “Come on. Josy will be so happy to see you.” Underneath a diamond-patterned sweater vest, he was wearing a crisp white shirt with a little blue bow-tie. Alex frowned. If this really was paradise, it sure had a strict dress code.
Slightly dazed, she allowed the kid to lead her through the room and over a narrow footbridge that crossed the stream. With a stab, she noted that he was limping with his left leg. The same leg, which he had injured in the car chase and which Josy had healed in Gomorrha. Apparently, he had hurt it again during the attack at the border. The fact that Josy hadn’t healed it yet, gave Alex a queasy feeling.
The scraping of chair legs on wood made her look up. Alex froze.
Oh, Josy!
The girl was a ghost. Dark circles hugged her eyes, which were dull and sunken deep into their sockets in a face that seemed to consist only of sharp angles. A blue silk dress which usually probably fit her very well, sagged upon her bony frame; the body that only yesterday had shown the ripe promise of feminine curves was nothing but a sheath of pale, almost transparent skin over brittle bones. Consumed by spending too much magic too quickly. Alex’s chest became even tighter.
It was what happened when the body’s power reservoir was used up. Then the body, reaching for whatever fuel it could get, would feed on itself to keep the energy-flow going. Josy had drawn too deep and too hard, had gone beyond the well of her core, and had risked her own life in the process—for her, Alex realized. To save her, a shaper-mongrel.
Guilt welled inside Alex as she watched the girl get up from her chair, the movements painfully slow and awkward as if even her bones were bruised and rubbing against each other inside her skin. Gently freeing her hand from Max’s grip, Alex walked over until she was standing in front of Josy, at least a head and a half taller, she, the one who had been skewered by a knife and should be clawing at the edge of the grave, now fresh as a dewdrop, while the girl who had saved her was suffering for that miracle. And with no way to heal herself. The soreness Alex was feeling in her skin right now wasn’t a big enough price to repay what she owed this girl.
“How are you feeling?” Josy asked softly. Even her throat seemed to be sore.
I could ask you the same question, sugar. But there was a textbook example of a healer: always worried about her patients first.
“I’m alive,” Alex replied in a husky voice. “Thanks to you.”
“Oh.” Josy’s cheeks gained the merest hint of color and she stared down at the bows on her silver ballet flats, scuffing the wooden floor with the tip of her shoe. “I really didn’t do that much,” she mumbled. “Mostly you did it by yourself. I just provided you with some energy.”
“Bullshit!” Alex snapped, immediately regretting the harshness of her words when Josy flinched. The kid seemed so frail, a sharp word could snap her in half.
Softening her tone, Alex said, “I know I was too weak to molt. I wasn’t able to go through the process on my own. You saved my life. That is not a small thing, and I won’t forget it.”
Josy’s eyes became wide. “But you saved us, too!”
“Yes, but—” I’m just a shaper.
The girl’s eyes grew dark and sparked with anger as if she knew exactly what Alex had been thinking. “I’m a healer,” she said stiffly with more than a little indignation in her voice. “It’s what we do.”
Well, Alex seriously doubted that many healers would risk their lives for a shaper. But this girl had. And she owed her for it. Massively.
“Well, thank you.” That wasn’t even beginning to cover it, but it was all she had to offer, so it would have to do. For now.
At that moment, Alex’s stomach growled loudly in the slightly tense silence. Max put his hands to his mouth and giggled. Josy’s lips pressed together in a badly suppressed smile. This time it was Alex who blushed.
“I suppose you’re hungry,” Josy said.
“Ravenous,” Alex admitted. It was true. Her stomach resembled a giant black hole.
Following the kids over to the buffet table, Alex wistfully eyed the pancakes and the bacon, knowing at the same time that she would have to pass. After all, this stomach hadn’t digested anything yet, and stuffing herself with rich, greasy stuff was the easiest way to spend the rest of the day over the toilet puking her guts out. Personal experience.
So instead, Alex selected two thin slices of the cold roast meat—she had to eat some meat to get the proteins her body so desperately needed—a spoonful of scrambled eggs, and a few pieces of fruit. However, she did fill herself a cup of coffee and added some cream to it—upset stomach or not, there was no way she would go without coffee this morning!
Taking her plate and cup to the seating area, Alex slipped into a cushioned chair across from Josy and carefully took a sip of coffee, testing the waters. Yep, definitely worth it.
Max joined them with a plate full of pancakes drowning in an ocean of maple syrup.
Alex blinked. “You know, it’s called pancakes with maple syrup. Not maple syrup with pancakes.”
Max grinned cheekily and stuffed a huge bite into his mouth. “Thastes better shish way.” Smartass.
Since her stomach didn’t turn inside out, Alex dared a second sip of coffee, while telling herself that the pancakes likely didn’t taste half as good as they looked.
“So that’s your usual breakfast?”
Josy made big eyes. “Great Mother, noooo. This is reserved for Sundays.”
“But it’s not Sunday.”
“Uhmmm, true.” Josy went pink, picking at a piece of melon. “But Cook Beatha was so relieved about our return that she decided to make a special breakfast.”
“I see.” Alex cut the meat and spiked a bite with her fork. “What’s the difference—to normal breakfast, I mean?”
“There’s no cake on weekdays,” Max said dolefully.
Well. She should have guessed as much.
“I’ll get you some,” the boy volunteered and jumped up before she could open her mouth. Ah, well, maybe a teensy-tiny bit of sugar wouldn’t be so bad for her.
She attacked the roast and had to admit that it was beyond superb.
The loud, clicking sound of claws on wood approached them at great speed. Alex’s head snapped up. A second later a huge furry rug with ears and a wildly whipping tail burst through the swing doors. Alex tensed. Animals were a difficult topic; some accepted her as dominant, others went crazy with either rage or fear—it was always a gamble.
Her true skin rose on instinct but snapped back when the connective membranes started to rip. The pain almost took her breath away. Alex blinked through the black dots marking her vision.
The rug raced toward her, stumbled over its paws and hit the table leg with a yelp. Panting, he rolled back to his feet and hopped over to Alex. Tail wagging, he sniffed her hand and sneezed.
“Excuse me?”
His tail thumped the floor and a long wet tongue drooled all over her lap. Suddenly two round paws were on her chest as he tried to lick her face.
“Hey!” Josy jumped up from her chair on sticky legs and uselessly yanked at the dog’s collar. “Give her some space, you big mop. Down, boy, down!”
After getting a few more licks in, the rug obliged, but only because Josy had thrown a piece of sausage on the floor.
“Sorry,” the girl muttered breathlessly while watching the dog with loving exasperation. “He can be a bit boisterous at times.”
You don’t say. Alex’s heart was pumping madly. The pain in her skin was abating very slowly.
The girl gave her a rueful little smile. “Maxwell rescued him when he was just a puppy.” She pursed her lips. “He’s a mongrel, you see. When our neighbor saw what kind of puppies his bitch had given birth to, he beat the pups with a stone and then tried to drown them in the stream that borders both our estates.” Silent fury vibrated in her voice. Alex swallowed. A mongrel, and almost killed for it? That cou
ld have been her fate, too, if her sire hadn’t taken pity on her. Giving the fluffy bundle another look, Alex felt a burst of sympathy. The dog trotted over to Josy and poked her leg with his big muzzle, silently begging for another treat.
“Luckily Max heard him whining,” Josy went on, absently relinquishing more sausage. “He called me and we fished the sack out of the water. He was the only one of the litter who had survived and he was half-dead by then. I healed him as best as I could.” The words made Alex notice that the dog’s hind legs were crooked and strangely bent which explained the drunken-sort-of gait.
“Broken hip.” Josy bit her lip. “I tried to readjust the bones but there was only so much healing I could do at the time. His legs will never work quite right but he is a happy fellow nonetheless.”
Well, that much was for sure.
“Max named him Slobber.” Josy wrinkled her nose, making it clear what she thought about her brother’s name-giving abilities. Alex looked down at her wet hand and silently decided that it was a fitting name. As if knowing he was being thought about, Slobber raised his massive head and licked her hand again with a big canine grin on his face. Alex reached out and rubbed the huge furry muzzle.
Josy smiled. “Did you have a pet as a child?”
Alex hesitated. She didn’t want to go into the whole whiny story of her childhood. “There was … a cat,” she finally said, thinking of Roucus’ ugly face and indignant meows. “We weren’t exactly best friends.”
At that moment, Max returned with her cake—and a second piece that had somehow accidentally found its way onto his own plate. Two maids in classic black dresses with white aprons entered, approached the table and started collecting the empty dishes. Alex noticed that they kept throwing her not-so-well-concealed hostile glances.
Well, they probably knew what she was. When they had arrived here, she had been bleeding all over the place with her skin torn up and open for everyone to see. Hard to keep her nature a secret after that. Oh, she’d bet Darken and the kids had caused quite a stir in this orderly trueborn household, bringing in a dying shaper, and then healing her, too.