Shot in the Dark (Shot in the Dark Trilogy Book 1)

by Mary Dublin

  "So, the next chapter in 'Human Foods You've Never Tried' is…" A small saucer containing chopped noodles sitting in a shallow pool of golden broth was lowered in front of her. "Ramen noodles." The couch creaked as Jon sat down behind her. She felt his eyes on her back while she leaned over the saucer, contemplating the least-messiest way to eat her meal. "I really need to get some doll silverware for you," he chuckled.

  "Don't bother, I love eating everything with my hands." Despite her sarcasm, she was as zealous as ever to dig in. Naturally, she loved experiencing the new tastes. This one had a salty broth with swirls of noodles half as thick as her arm. It felt like trying to eat a vine between both hands, taking bites off the end that left broth running down her chin. Sylvia wiped her mouth on the edge of her shirt, mourning the now=tattered green fabric.

  "Think we can visit Cliff later?" she asked between bites, looking over her shoulder at Jon. "If there's any chance his ego has dropped a few notches from sitting in a bed all day, I wanna be there to see it."

  She caught him in the middle of slurping a bite, which he hurried to finish chewing with a blush.

  "Sure, I don't see why not. It's only three, and I'm sure he'd love to see you." Jon wore an amused smile for a second. Then he cocked his head at her, eyes grazing her up and down. "But first, do you want to go… shopping?"

  She gave him a bemused look. "Shopping… as in, buy things?" The notion intrigued her. "I wouldn't mind seeing how that works. Something specific you're planning to buy?"

  "I wasn't kidding about that silverware. We can't have you keep eating like a hamster." Jon reached over to mute the TV, eliminating the distracting noise. He swallowed another bite and set down his half-finished bowl. "I also thought, y'know…" He looked awkward, rubbing his palm with the thumb of his other hand. "I dunno, I just feel bad you having just the one outfit you're wearing. If this… you and me… is gonna be long-term, I want you to be comfortable."

  Heat crept onto Sylvia's cheeks. Jon wanted to buy things for her. She had already accepted there would be obstacles while adjusting to the human world, and he wanted to make it easier, without her even asking. The gesture was sweet enough to make her stammer for a second. She tugged at the sleeve of her shirt that covered half the bandage.

  "W-well, I was sort of looking forward to walking around with a blood stain—to make me look a little tougher, you know?" she teased, earning a hearty chuckle from Jon. "But sure, let's see what we can find. Where can we even go for… you know, me?"

  He leaned toward her with a tentative smile. "I dunno, I think there's a few shops around here that might have stuff your size. Worth a shot."

  She wrinkled her nose. "But 'my size' things to humans have to be… doll-sized." The nearly apologetic look on Jon's face said it all. She snorted. "Well, as long as you're not afraid to look a little weird picking through doll things."

  "Trust me, I've done weirder." He grinned, picking up his bowl again.

  They ate in silence for a time. Although they both turned their attention to the TV, she asked questions once in a while about what was going on. A couple times, she received no answer. She would glance back at him to find a distant look on his face. He would snap out of when he caught her staring. Sylvia eventually stopped asking, understanding with a deep pang that he likely had quite a bit of heaviness on his mind.

  Shortly after she heard him set down his empty dish, she'd had her fill.

  "Finished," she announced. She looked over her shoulder at him, and for the umpteenth time caught a distant look in his eyes. This time, she didn't brush it off, talking a little louder to get his attention. "Alright, what's wrong, Jon?"

  He blinked and focused on her. "Just tired," he assured, towering high over her when he stood. He gathered up the dishes and left the room. As he came back in, he wore a slight smirk, like he was amused with himself. "Actually… I heard a kiss from a fairy does remarkable healing," he drawled, kneeling down to her level and resting his chin on the table's edge.

  "Yeah?" Sylvia gave him a coy tilt of her head and sauntered over to his face, dropping her voice to a near whisper. "Then a hundred kisses must do wonders."

  Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his cheek, brushing the back of her hand against his warm skin. She proceeded to leave a trail of kisses leading to his mouth. She shut her eyes and pressed one last tender, lingering kiss to his lower lip. Pulling away, she took a few steps back to see his eyes. "Better?"

  Jon's breath exited in a quiet flow around her.

  "Remember when I said kissing you was weird?" he whispered. "It's the best weird I've ever felt." He scooped her up from behind and planted his lips on her cheek lightheartedly, eliciting a giggle from her.

  ***

  "So, I've never been here before." Jon peered out the window with obvious skepticism. The modest toy store was sandwiched between Morrison's Meats and a very small, used bookstore. "If this place turns out to be a weirdie, we can check somewhere else out, deal?"

  "Deal," Sylvia's small voice came directly next to his right ear. She placed a tiny hand on his neck to steady her footing on his shoulder, and Jon swallowed the instinct to swat at the ticklish sensation. "Guess I'd better hide, huh?"

  He considered it. "Unless you think you can make a convincing doll… you probably wanna slide in." He tried to look at her in his peripheral vision, opening the flap of his jacket's breast pocket with one finger.

  "Pretty sure most dolls wouldn't have facial scarring this realistic, so…" Without protest, she took a step forward and flitted her wings open. She lowered herself down into the pocket, running her hand along his finger as she passed his hand.

  A troubled look crossed his face as she disappeared from sight. With the oath rune active, his every waking moment was borrowed time on a clock with a painful alarm.

  Now, he had to make every second count.

  Jon stood out like a sore thumb the moment he stepped foot in the specialty toy shop. At six and a half feet tall and of sturdy build, he was hardly their average customer. The few mothers shopping nearby gave him a double-take. Giving them an awkward smile, Jon continued toward the back, unable to shake the feeling that they were undressing him with their eyes.

  "Can I help you find anything?"

  Jon nearly jumped out of his skin as a voice approached from his immediate left. Pivoting on the spot, he found himself facing a woman so stout, he initially mistook her for a child. Though her sloppy bun barely reached the edge of the fourth shelf, her manager-status nametag and confident stride set her apart as someone of authority. She craned her neck to give him a curious once-over.

  "You look a little lost."

  "What? No," Jon practically spat, heart skipping a beat against the slight weight of the fairy in his pocket. "Just picking up a doll."

  He picked an aisle at random and started off at a brisk stride. While there was little chance of someone spotting his pocket stowaway, there was no reason to risk it.

  "Sweetie? Dolls are over there." The woman jerked a thumb in the opposite direction.

  Suddenly sheepish, Jon paused to look over her head, where a pink and purple sign marked the little girls' section. The portly saleswoman gave him a strange look, but beckoned him to follow. Stifling a groan of impatience, Jon followed.

  "You one of those crafty collector sorts?" she called over her shoulder.

  "How'd you guess?"

  "Oh, you look the type." Jon's smile faded at that, but the stout woman was too busy to notice. She came to a stop before five fully-stocked shelves of glittering boxes, waving a hand toward them for effect. "Let me know if you need help trying to find anything else." She gave him a warm smile before heading back toward a cart full of goods to be stocked.

  When the manager was finally out of earshot and view, Jon lifted the flap of his occupied pocket. Inside, a pair of green eyes peered up at him from the shadows.

  "What the hell does she mean 'I look the type'?" he muttered.

  Sylvia gripped the
top, pulling herself up so her torso poked out. An amused grin wavered on her lips as she emerged into the light.

  "I, um… I don't know. Not sure what the doll-collecting 'type' looks like." She shrugged, pursing her lips in a failing attempt to stifle laughter. "Don't worry. You still look like a big, scary hunter to me."

  After glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, she pulled the rest of herself up. Her translucent wings snapped open to bring her to a hover a few inches from Jon's chest. Gliding down in a swift motion, she landed lightly on the display shelf. Eyeing a fairy-sized figurine that stood boxed-up nearby, she shuddered. "That's really creepy."

  Jon bent down to look over her shoulder: a painted smile and stiffly poised limbs lay waited behind the cheerful plastic packing.

  "Not arguing. But luckily… clothes come separately." Jon touched a box from the same shelf that housed an all-pink tennis outfit, with a bedazzled heart upon the front. He tilted it toward her, fighting off a snicker. "That's cute."

  Sylvia gave him a mockingly sweet smile. "If you can see me wearing that, we might just have to rethink this whole 'us' thing." She ducked away from the outfit and began her own search.

  Jon watched with muted awe as Sylvia paced to and fro on the shelf. Though he would never tell her so, she really did resemble a little figure sprung to life. Even after nearly a week together, he was mesmerized by the mere sight of her.

  Between the two of them, they scoured the shelf for suitable clothes. He was disappointed to find that the selection was scant compared to larger dolls on display. Still, Sylvia managed to scrounge up a few nice tank tops that she liked, along with some short-sleeves and capris that didn't come in blinding hues. Less than twenty minutes in, she turned about to face Jon with a triumphant grin, surveying the little plastic packages he now bore in his arms.

  "These should be plenty for a while," she declared.

  "Looks good to me." Jon shrugged. "You sure you don't want to re-think that little pink number?"

  Sylvia rolled her eyes and flew toward his pocket to grab hold of the flap. "I'm sure."

  Eager to leave the toy shop and its curious eyes behind, Jon made a beeline for the register once Sylvia was settled. To his mild dismay, the very overly-helpful manager stood behind the counter.

  "You weren't kidding about that collection. You've got a whole wardrobe here!" the manager clucked, ringing up the outfits one by one.

  "Oh yeah. I like to, uh, dress all the dolls up so they match and… stuff," Jon answered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. The manager faltered briefly, shooting him a vaguely perplexed look over the register. One step too close to psychotic, Jon realized too late.

  "That's er… one way to do it, I suppose." Averting her gaze to the monitor at her disposal, she announced his total and did not touch on the subject again.

  Jon paid and got the hell out of there.

  "I can feel you laughing, Sylv." He gave her a gentle nudge through the pocket as he climbed into the driver's seat of Cliff's car. As soon as the car door was firmly shut, the inside of the pocket exploded with laughter. Shoulders shaking, the fairy was barely able to push the flap up and climb out to make her way up to his shoulder.

  "I'm sorry, but that—oh, my stomach hurts!" Sylvia sucked in a deep breath, a grin sticking to her face all the while. Jon found himself fighting a smile of his own as she leaned heavily against the side of his neck, taking her time in composing herself. "Wow, I haven't laughed that hard in… ever."

  "At least one of us had a good time in there," he droned.

  Still giggling, she rubbed her cheek against his neck like an affectionate cat. "If it makes you feel any better, I think you are the sweetest guy ever for walking in there to buy stuff for me."

  Jon's smile twitched. Her open affection should have soothed the growing burn in his oath-sworn hand, but instead it intensified. It was like the bond knew he was shirking an opportunity alone with Sylvia.

  Not yet.

  He stifled the trembling of his hand by gripping the steering wheel tight and starting up the engine. "Come on, we've got a cripple to visit."

  ***

  The concrete slab of an infirmary was nearly blinding in direct sunlight, casting a glare that hindered him from looking at it more than out of the corner of his eye. Sylvia, however, seemed determined to get a good look at the place despite the strain on her little eyes.

  "That's the hospital?"

  "Yeah, all five floors."

  "Which window is Cliff's room?"

  "I don't know. It's hard to tell from outside. Somewhere on the second floor," Jon replied, giving the exterior of the building a once-over while waiting for the left-turn signal to turn green.

  Even in the short fifteen minute drive downtown, the oath's punishing burn had escalated to a smoldering level of pain. It hissed in the back of his mind, Hurry up. Ask her!

  Try as he might to delay the inevitable questioning further, he felt words bubbling up, spilling forth without consent.

  "You really gave me a scare last time we came around here," Jon blurted. Despite how gently he tried to breach the subject, he felt Sylvia go rigid on his shoulder. "I've never seen a night terror so… strong."

  She didn't respond for a few long moments. Jon already mourned the pleasant mood that seemed to have been instantly vacuumed out of the car.

  "I'm sorry," Sylvia finally said in a subdued voice. "I'll try not to let it happen again. I've had my night terrors under control for a long time. The backfire threw me off. I wasn't prepared to pass out, and things have been so different lately. I guess that's why it happened." Sighing, she remained leaning against him as he stepped on the gas again. "But I'm in control again. They're gone."

  "I'm not worried about an inconvenience, Sylv. I'm worried about you," Jon answered firmly. "I don't want to see you scared like that again."

  A tiny, mirthless laugh sounded out by his left ear. "Unless you're planning to snatch me up and claw me down to the bone, I don't think we'll have a problem." The sound she made after that was more of a whimper.

  "That's what you were dreaming about?"

  She sounded like she had stopped attempting to mask herself with a smile. "It's the one you woke me up from at the apartment." Before he could inquire more, she added, "Just so you know, don't feel bad about not waking me up at the hospital. It was probably for the best that you didn't. The night terror I was having there was something worse. When I snap out of those things, it takes me a while to remember where I am or what's real."

  Something worse, the bond goaded in the back of his mind. Jon chewed on his lower lip. "Listen, if you remember what you were dreaming about… tell me. I can help. I know it's hard but—"

  "Really," Sylvia interjected. "I-I, um, I don't want to talk about it."

  Jon sighed out sharply through his nose. But he let it drop for a short time, not speaking again until he had parked the car in the hospital parking garage. He unbuckled carefully, so as not to jostle the fairy's perch, and reached up to comfort her. The way she leaned so easily into his fingertips made his heart ache. He wanted to tell her to forget about it, just to relax and be still. But the fire burning in his veins spurred him to say otherwise. He removed her from his shoulder, holding her just below eye-level.

  "You can't keep this locked away. Take it from someone who knows. Let me help you." His voice was soft, speaking gentle words with poisonous intent.

  Silence hung in the air, and he could see the battle within written all over her little face. Those glossy green eyes finally rose to hold his gaze again. The frustration knitting her eyebrows together loosened as she looked him all over, something small within her seeming to relax from his mere presence. Sylvia's lower lip quivered, eyes watering over.

  "You and Cliff," she confessed in a small voice, burying the side of her face into his index finger. "Most of my night terrors are irrational, like most dreams. That's what made this one so scary. It did happen. It was real."

  She sighe
d, voice becoming thicker. "It was the moment I first saw you two. But I guess in the dream, it's not you. Not really. Just two dark figures, because that's all you were to me at the time. But it's the gun I'm really scared of. And I see it pointed at me, and can feel the pain before the trigger is even pulled. That's the worst thing about the night terror. That split second of 'I'm gonna die' I feel right before I get shot."

  Jon listened with a wide-eyed reverence, his heartbeat quickening with a dreadful panic. It was him. He was her night terror, and somehow that was worse than any sort of monstrosity he could have prepared himself for.

  "Oh, Sylv…"

  Long fingers wrapped around her, cradling her in the crease of his palm. He held her higher, brown eyes softening at the sight of her. The burning pain in his oath-sworn hand had subsided for a blissful moment. This was progress.

  "It's okay." The words escaped him in a soft breath. "You know it was just a dream."

  "I know," Sylvia responded firmly, some of the anguish fleeing from her features. She relaxed against his fingers, but a distant look remained in her eyes. "That's why I say it's a good thing you didn't wake me up during it. If I wasn't in my right mind and saw you two, I don't know what I would have done."

  Jon nodded distractedly, his dark hair shifting slightly. In an instant, he realized exactly what he needed to do. He would recreate her nightmare, down to the very click of the trigger. Then he'd know for sure whether she was under some the influence of some unwelcome magic. If Melanie was right about this bond controlling her, then he'd be setting her free. And if she wasn't… Jon shuddered at the very thought.

  A small smile masked his morbid train of thought as he leaned forward to pull the keys out of the ignition.

  "Cliff's expecting us," he murmured.

  He brought his hand back up to his shoulder. Sylvia nestled close to his neck without argument while he tucked his shirt collar around to conceal her for the journey into the hospital.

  Even as he strode out of the garage into blinding sunlight, a new throb arose on his affected palm, beating in time with his racing heart.