"You say that, but he could've done, though, couldn't he? In the time between when they let him out of the asylum and when he went away to fight. He could've stayed with me, safe and hidden. I never even noticed your stupid world wars! And anyway—" Lyle snarled, tossing his hair, "—I know the truth. He was bored of me; I knew the end was coming. The last few days, all he spoke of was the outside world, making excuses about people he missed and places he had to be. He wanted to leave, just like you do!"
"You know I'm not like Adam. I don't want to leave you." Lyle's obvious distress drew Ben to his feet. He stepped forward and looped his arms about Lyle's waist; Lyle tensed further. "Seriously, love, we can't ignore the outside world forever, particularly when it's coming in here to get us. You've got to talk to me about the curse."
Lyle's feral hiss set Ben staggering backward. "You just want rid of me," spat Lyle, as if he'd not listened to a word Ben had just said. "The curse can never be broken, I know for sure now. Not by you. Not ever!"
"You're excruciating!" Ben couldn't help raising his voice. "Just bloody well talk to me about it."
"I don't want to," yelled Lyle. "I know when my time is up. Go away and leave me be! I can fight my own battles, thank you very much."
"But—"
"Bugger off!" Lyle jammed the heel of his trainer in the dirt in what appeared to be a stamp of his foot.
"For somebody pushing two-hundred-years old, you're bloody childish!" Ben rummaged in his pocket for his car keys. "I'm going home for a decent night's rest in a proper bed, somewhere I don't have to worry about my car being vandalized. When the men come tomorrow, hide the pool as well as you can. We'll talk when you're prepared to listen."
From the cold shoulder Lyle had turned to him, it grew obvious Lyle wouldn't hear or see reason. Even so, as Ben stalked off through the forest with his flashlight in hand, regret mingled with his anger and frustration. All Lyle's previous lovers had left him. It was natural Lyle should be wary. But Ben was different; he thought he'd demonstrated that.
Yeah, like you made all those other promises you couldn't keep. You didn't even win the race with Kristof. You've gone through these last few weeks like you've gone through all your life so far. Drifting. Never quite seizing control. Lacking the confidence to do what had to be done.
He heard a sickening crunch. He'd accidentally crushed a snail beneath his shoe. "Ugh," he murmured, sorry about the snail and disgusted at how ineffectual he'd proved. Yet he couldn't bring himself to go back to Lyle. Instead, he upped his pace. A night apart would be good for them both. He needed to get his head together, and Lyle would hopefully calm down and see sense if given space.
There had to be a way to get Lyle out of there, although each time Ben pondered this dilemma—and he'd done it many times in the past few weeks—the more it troubled him. Even if the curse could be broken, how could Lyle fit into the real world? Ben would struggle to support the two of them, especially if he lost his job… And how the dickens would Lyle hide those fins, not just occasionally, but every time they went out in public? Magic might do it, he supposed. But Lyle would need the ocean to be strong, and Ben would have to move to the seaside, a big deal for a thirty-year-old who'd never left home.
Maybe it'd be preferable to find a way for Lyle to stay near the tower, despite the changes? Oh yeah, Lyle claimed destroying the pool would be the death of him, but Lyle was a drama llama and remained vague about exactly how his demise would come about. Perhaps the reality would be less fatal. But could Ben run that risk with the one he loved? Well, he figured he loved Lyle; but right now, everything seemed such a ruddy mess, he couldn't think clearly about even that.
Ben paused, gulped in the night air, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt groggy, dog-tired, and his temples ached. In the distance, a nightjar chattered, exasperating the start of what he feared to be a migraine. "I need," he murmured, "a good night's rest."
Yet the notion of sleeping without Lyle spooned around him rendered him empty inside and bereft.
Chapter Eleven
The following day found Ben cleanly scrubbed and shaven, if not particularly well rested. He met Kristof, as had been arranged, at the Shanty Wood carpark. A team of enforcement guys were already there—Sam and Rasheem, who were sipping coffee and reading the newspapers in the front of a white pickup truck. A third guy, who Ben didn't recognize, waited by one of the giant muddy puddles, puffing on a cigarette.
When Kristof saw Ben get out of the Peugeot, he slammed the door of his four-by-four behind him then fetched a spade, which he slung over his shoulder. He set his features like flint, and Ben smothered a cringe. Kristof meant business and intended to be hands-on about it.
"Ready, guys?" asked Kristof, proffering some attempt at a smile at Ben. He clearly remained a little sore about Ben's opposition, but tried to let bygones be bygones.
"Yeah," said Ben. He hoped Lyle proved likewise ready to move on from past disagreements, or at least, had stopped sulking long enough to conceal the pool. "I hope this isn't a wasted trip," said Ben, grasping for something that might aid Lyle's cause. "Seriously, when I last visited the pool, it'd practically silted up. It'll be gone by the summer, for sure."
"I thought you said there were bitterns wading in it?" said Kristof.
"That was a while back," mumbled Ben. Oh, he was sick to the hind teeth of having to lie so often. Sam and Rasheem piled out of their truck and joined the third man in pulling on heavy work boots and gathering equipment. Ben momentarily closed his eyes. He tried to remember a time when his only stress had come from dealing with calls from cantankerous members of the public like Mrs Buxton, and when a spider on the ceiling was the closest he came to sleeping out in the wild.
And then came Lyle, who needed more than Ben could give, that was for sure. Ben wasn't hero material, never had been, and if being in a relationship meant constant lies and strife and an endless camping trip, then maybe he preferred the quiet life of being single. And yet, there they were, those damned feelings—the pang in his heart and the lump in his throat at the notion of losing Lyle, let alone of Lyle getting hurt or worse. Lyle had burrowed under Ben's skin, become woven into the fabric of Ben's being. As Kristof and the others set off into the woods, Ben trailed behind, bombarding them with red-hot hatred.
Lyle might be a pain in the arse, but Ben must save him. Trouble was, Ben still hadn't come up with a decent plan. He couldn't fight off Kristof and the others with his bare hands, or with any other physical resources. He wasn't the magical one, and unlike Lyle, he lived in the real world. He'd just land himself a visit to the local police station, or if he tried to tell the truth, he could end up like Adam, locked away for going mad.
A large drop of rain landed heavily on Ben's nose, snapping him back to the present.
"Oh lovely," said Rasheem, who pushed a wheelbarrow filled with sandbags, not an easy task in the dry, let alone the wet. "It's always fun filling in ponds with drippy wet mud."
"There weren't showers forecast," said Kristof. "With any luck, it won't be too heavy."
Ben allowed hope to kindle. Bad weather might buy Lyle a day or so, if the guys decided the rain was too hard to work in. As they approached the tower, the shower eased off toward a drizzle, though didn't stop entirely.
"Where's this pool?" asked the third guy, who Ben had heard the others call Kelvin. Kelvin also had a wheelbarrow, stacked high with buckets for draining duties before the filling in began.
Kristof led the team toward the row of pines, and Ben stayed behind, a terrible anxiety crippling him. "Come on, Ben," called Kristof from beyond the trees. "It looks deep as ever. I don't know what you were on about."
Damn it, Lyle, why didn't you do anything?
Unenthusiastic, Ben picked up a spade and ducked beneath the branches, picking his way through the roots and pine-needles toward the pool. When he reached the shallow side, Kristof was kicking at a pile of charred ashes, remnants of a hearth he and Lyle had built.
"Th
is is why Shanty Wood is perfect for a total revamp," said Kristof. The rain grew heavier again, plastering his blond hair to his forehead. "There's been illegal camping here—probably drug-users or something."
"Is this the decking you put up, Ben?" asked Sam from the far side. "It's beautifully made. Seems a shame to take it down. Oh, who put a wooden squirrel here?"
Okay, Lyle. If you're not going to fight, then it looks like I'm going to have to.
With great effort, Ben eked the protest from his lungs. "Then don't," he said, throwing down his spade. "Leave this place be! For heaven's sake, Kristof, it's like you've got some personal vendetta. Yeah, you fell in, but there are thousands of ponds like these in hundreds of woods. Are you going destroy them all?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Kristof squared his shoulders and shoved his face close to Ben's. "You're the one with a weird attachment to this place. Stop being such a dickhead."
Ben didn't flinch. He wondered if he might be about to punch a man for the first time in his life. An unfamiliar and worrying facet of him relished the prospect, despite it's probable futility. He tightened his fists into balls of iron. "You can't do this, Kristof," he said calmly. "I won't let you."
"You won't let me?" Kristof spat the words out, incredulous. "Ben, are you going loopy or—"
"Er, Kristof," said Rasheem, "Look at the pool. Look at the bloody pool!"
Kristof turned away first, affording Ben some small triumph. When Ben did look, he found Rasheem's expletive proved descriptive. The pool was bloody. It bubbled and fizzed, like the first occasion Lyle had revealed his powers to Ben. This time, however, the waters had turned a dark scarlet, thick and gloopy like gore.
Rasheem dropped the handles of his wheelbarrow. The whole team stood, enthralled. Kristof's jaw fell lax. "It's, um… There must be an iron source nearby," he stuttered. "Iron turns water an orangey colour, right?"
"That's not iron, that's goddamn blood," said Sam. "It's gross. Is there a dead animal in there or something? I'm not touching it. And why's it fizzing?
"You didn't say this was a spring," added Kelvin, shaking his head as he backed away. "That's a whole new ballgame. You can't just fill in a spring."
"Lyle," breathed Ben. He had to be behind this display. The fizzing and foaming intensified. Bubbles the size of water melons formed on the surface of the pool then burst, pelted by the raindrops. The colour was an impressive touch.
A waterspout burst forth, leaping more than twenty feet into the air before splashing down, saturating Kristof, the team, and Ben with thick, red goop. The instant Ben wiped his eyes, clearing his vision, white light flashed and lightning struck nearby. A thunder blast sharp as the clash of cymbals followed, drowning out the cries of consternation from all quarters.
"Take shelter in that old tower," shouted Rasheem. They all followed as he sprinted for cover, save Ben.
"Lyle!" Ben didn't have to holler. He'd guessed Lyle was lurking close.
"Here." Lyle emerged from undergrowth near the willows, standing somehow taller, more magnificent and much more terrible than Ben ever recalled. Lyle's long cloak and damp hair billowed in the wind. He pointed in the direction of the pines and the tower. "Now you've brought them here, I suggest you leave with them. You've shown me where your loyalties lie."
"That's not true, you know it's not." Anger piqued, Ben picked his way over the sticky earth to Lyle, stopping a pace off. Up close, he could see the shadows of exertion on Lyle's face. Whether the strain came from the magic or the fury that shone, livid, in Lyle's eyes, Ben wasn't sure. "I was doing my best to stop them, and now you've bought us more time. Is the storm your doing as well?"
Lyle jutted his chin proudly. Of course the storm was his.
"Okay, fine, well done you. But if you won't talk to me about the curse, then there's only so much I can do."
"You want to know about the curse?" Lyle raised his voice to compete with a heavy gust that set the leaves stirring and the trees creaking. "Then listen up. My brother, blackguard that he was, decreed the curse could only be broken if I find my one true love… and that love asks me to marry him, with all the honesty and love in his soul. He knew that in the society of men, as in the society I hailed from, cruel laws decreed men and men could never become betrothed with a hope to actually be wed!"
Ben emitted something caught between a laugh and sob. "My God, Lyle, why didn't you just tell me? This is the twenty-first century! Men can marry each other. Not everywhere, but certainly in England."
Lyle fluttered rain-beaded lashes, absorbing Ben's news. Then he curled his lip. "Does that make any difference? Really? Are you going to propose to me, hazard man?"
His sneer felt poisonous; Ben staggered back, repelled. Rain pelleted Ben, dripping off his nose and clouding his vision but doing little to dampen his roasting temper. If only Lyle had told him all this before, because right now, Ben wasn't in the proposal mood.
"I might have got down on one knee and everything," shouted Ben. "But not when you're being an arse."
"You'd never make that commitment, and you know it. You're too weak!"
"Weak? I nearly punched a man for you. But if that's what you think, fine! Deal with your own problems, Lyle." He swiped wet hair from his eyes. "And stop this bloody rain. You've made your point. You'll drown me and exhaust yourself."
"Like you'd care!" Lyle's voice cracked hoarsely. Ben turned away, trying to convince himself he really didn't give a shit, then silently cursing that this proved yet another lie. He thrashed his way beneath the pines and toward the tower, where he could see Kristof squashed in the doorway, holding a bucket over his head.
Lyle had been correct about one thing, though. Ben might care, but really, if this curse could only be broken by a one true love ready to devote the rest of their life to Lyle, he could see a problem. Right now, even if he did propose, he suspected it wouldn't be enough. He was just too tired and angry.
A blinding flash—more lightning—struck as Ben drew close to the tower. He ducked on instinct, hands covering his ears. A long, loud explosion of thunder followed, echoed by a portentous creak.
Ben jerked his head up and his stomach lurched. "Lads!" he yelled, "Get out of the tower!"
A lofty tree swayed forward, smashing into the roofless top of the tower as Sam, Rasheem and Kelvin, rushed out into the open. Kristof, who had got out first, sprinted straight past Ben to seek shelter beneath the pines. "Shit, shit, shit," he shouted, his terror raw. "I hate storms."
"Back off, Lyle!" bellowed Ben. "This is insane."
Neon lightning forked into the pines; Ben dived for the ground, arms shielding his head. More thunder, a sickening cracking, then a crash and another yell from Kristof. Silence followed, save the patter of the rain.
Ben peeped up again.
Not two yards off, Kristof lay on the ground. His legs were pinned by a thick branch, over a yard long. The blackened ends of the wood smouldered where the lightning had severed it from a tree.
"Oh no." Ben rushed to Kristof's side. "Somebody go back to the main path. You can get a signal there. Call an ambulance. Now!"
Sam nodded and ran off. As abruptly as if somebody had flicked a controlling switch, the rain stopped.
Chapter Twelve
The paramedics had a nightmare of a job getting to the scene of the accident and worse trouble getting Kristof away from it. An air ambulance hovered low over the wood but couldn't find anywhere closer than the carpark to land.
After the branch had been raised, the medics had to jolt Kristof on a stretcher all the way back to the carpark. Ben did the little he could to help, and answered the accident investigation teams' questions as honestly as possible without mentioning the presence of Lyle.
Lyle, predictably, made himself scarce as the mud, pine-needles, and wildflowers were trampled beneath dozens of sets of boots. The effect, to Ben's mind, was as catastrophic as it was ironic. By the afternoon, the whole scene—pool, tower and trees—looked as though somebody ha
d unleashed a massive party popper full of hazard tape and sprayed it everywhere. It crisscrossed the door of the broken tower and stringed between each trunk of the pines. Rubble surrounded the tower and one of the poor dragon gargoyles lay in ruin again.
Exhausted after several thorough interrogations, Ben was about to leave when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He spun about.
Lyle licked his lips nervously. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean… Um…"
"You're being bold," said Ben flatly. Two of the accident investigation officers were still around, taking photographs. Lyle, his cloak wrapped tightly about himself, had stepped into plain sight.
Lyle shrugged. "I'm tired of hiding."
"I doubt you'll have to for much longer. Chances are, Kristof won't want anything more to do with this place after what just happened, and he'll be off work long enough for the whole scheme to get dropped anyway. You'll probably get another hundred years of peace"
"I don't want… I mean, I'm really sorry I called you weak. I saw you standing up to him, but it was too late, I was upset, and… I didn't intend anyone to get hurt. I'd have tried to heal him… but I've no magic left."
"Save it, Lyle," said Ben. "Yeah, you're sorry. I believe you. So am I. Kristof isn't a bad bloke, and he didn't deserve two broken legs." The more Ben spoke, the angrier he became. "God, maybe he'll never walk again? Did you think of that? Eh?"
Lyle's shoulders sagged. "I lost control."
Yeah, I think I did too, the last few weeks, getting involved with you.
Ben couldn't bring himself to say it. "I need more time to think things through," he muttered. "We'll talk another day."
He walked away. He daren't look back over his shoulder. Another glimpse of the sorrow in Lyle's eyes, and he knew he'd buckle. For once, though, he wasn't lying to anyone, even himself; he really did need more space.
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