by August Li
“What about Roger?” Titus asked, looking at his driver lying in the dirt. “I should at least take him to his family.”
“We have to get away from here,” Robin repeated, rubbing the back of Lambert’s neck. “We’ll see to him and Lawrence and Kenny, at a later time, I promise.”
Titus saw the wisdom in Robin’s words and drove them back to the Blackthorn Inn, where they parked his car out of sight and went quietly upstairs. Titus collapsed on Robin’s bed, crying quietly and covering his eyes with his hand. Robin sat beside him, stroking his back until he relaxed.
“They’re evil,” Titus finally said. “We shouldn’t have let them go. Oh, poor Kenny and Lawrence! What will we tell their wives and children? What about Roger?”
“What could we have done?” Robin asked, draping his arm over the other man’s shoulders and kissing the top of his silver hair. “You know what was done to those faeries was wrong.”
“I do. I do, but—” He dropped the side of his face against Robin’s chest and nestled close. “We must know how to defend ourselves, mustn’t we?”
“Nothing justifies what we saw,” Robin said with conviction. “Do you disagree?”
“No.” Titus leaned his head back and looked into Robin’s face. Slowly, he touched Robin’s cheek, moved his hand to his neck, and brought their lips together.
His eyes dropping shut, Robin tried to enjoy both the comfort and the kiss. He opened his mouth for Titus as he cradled the other man’s head. What should have been pleasant just felt awkward to Robin. He could think of nothing other than how much more fulfilling it felt to kiss Snow. Lambert’s efforts did nothing to arouse Robin, and finally Robin pulled away.
“I have to be honest with you, Titus. You’re a very attractive man. You’re a courageous and forthright man, and I admire you for that. But… but I just don’t feel that way about you. It would be wrong for me to lead you along.”
“Robin, if my wife is the problem, I’ll have you know that she understands. We haven’t shared a bed in almost ten years. I love her after a fashion, but she’s given me three children, and neither of us expects, or desires, anything further from the other.”
“It’s not that. There’s someone else, and he’s all I can think about. I think I love him.”
Titus nodded sadly and sat up. “He’s very lucky,” he said. “I hope he’s good to you, attentive and generous. You certainly deserve it.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, Titus. But I can’t lie to you.”
“I respect that. I would have certainly liked more, but I’ll be satisfied with your friendship for now. Just remember I care about you, if anything should change between you and your beau.”
“I will,” Robin said regretfully. “If it wasn’t for him, I’d want you in a heartbeat. You’re a beautiful man. I have no doubt you’ll find someone better than me.”
“I have my doubts,” Titus said, kissing Robin innocuously on the cheek. “Can I sleep next to you tonight? I promise to be a gentleman.”
“Aye, ’course you can.” The two of them stretched out on the narrow mattress, and Robin pulled the blankets over their clothed bodies. He rolled on his side, and Titus draped his arm over Robin’s waist and burrowed his face into Robin’s hair. Robin felt the other man’s arousal against the base of spine, but, true to his word, Titus took things no further.
Before he fell asleep, Titus whispered, “I love you, Robin. Even if you don’t feel the same, even if I can never realize it, I want you to know.”
Robin squeezed the hand that held his belly. He didn’t know how to respond, so he stayed quiet and listened to his breathing slow until Titus fell asleep. Robin caressed his forearm until he too closed his eyes, exhausted.
EARLY the next morning, Robin woke to the sound of his dinnerware shattering. He bolted up, alone in the bed. Titus stood near the bay window and a large man in dark leathers stood facing him. Robin leapt out of bed and hurried to stand beside his friend. “What the hell is going on?” he croaked in a sleepy voice.
“What do you think, boy?” asked the hulking stranger, his face scarred and a long-barreled revolver in his left hand. “When he found his key missing, Mr. Bunge ordered me to follow Mr. Lambert here. If I decided he saw too much, I was to eliminate Mr. Lambert. I decided the both of you saw far too much.”
“Bunge is using an assassin?” Titus sputtered.
“You’ll never tell anyone,” the man mocked. “Say good night, laddy.” He pressed a cushion to his weapon and aimed it at Robin’s chest.
In the blink of an eye, Lambert pushed Robin behind him, and elbowed him out the window. As Robin’s back broke the glass, he saw the assassin’s bullet strike Titus in the heart. Blood splattered the wall, and Lambert clutched the wound. The other man crumpled forward as Robin fell through the window and down to the tin awning over the Blackthorn’s back porch. He drew his knees to his chest and tucked his chin down as he rolled over the rippled metal. He tumbled off the edge, and, luckily, landed in a cart full of straw. Titus had died to save his life, but Robin would need to save his grief for later. He needed to get away from the hired killer, and so he clutched his ribs, forced himself to draw in air, and circled around the front of the inn, heading for the Enline gate and the road that led to the train station.
Chapter 8
THE vast and bustling station offered plenty of places to hide, and Robin knew most of them, having used them to evade his victims and the guards. He spent most of the day crouched in the back of a maintenance shed, hidden behind tools and machinery, trying to think of some way to escape the assassin. He shed his tears for Titus, a good man who Robin wished he’d known better. Titus had sacrificed himself to save Robin’s life, and Robin felt unworthy. Going to the facility had been his idea, and he’d tricked Titus as means to get inside. If not for Robin dragging him into the whole mess, Titus’s wife wouldn’t be a widow and his three children would still have a father. It cut Robin deeply to know that he’d caused those children the same pain that he’d been forced to feel. He’d done the same to the families of Roger, Lawrence, and Kenneth. He’d wasted the lives of four good men and destroyed four families, and for what? For a pack of savage faeries who’d tried to kill him the second he’d freed their hands. He’d been reckless, and innocent men had paid. He’d never be able to right what he’d done, and that knowledge made him sick to his core.
As evening came and Robin heard the commotion of the commuters, he dared to emerge from his hiding place in search of something to eat and hopefully some news. The wealth he’d acquired at Bunge’s home remained hidden inside his mattress at the Blackthorn, and he found himself back where he’d started, with only a few pounds and some stray shillings in his pocket. With Bunge’s killer looking for him, he couldn’t go back to the inn for his money. He scanned around carefully for the big man in the dark clothes and melded into the crowd when he didn’t see him. He doubted the assassin would dare to strike in front of so many witnesses, but he paid careful attention to every darkened pocket he passed just the same.
Before long, Robin saw Lila at work in front of a public house. He waited until she was alone and hurried over to her, wondering how much to share with her. He certainly couldn’t tell about his involvement with Snowdrop. But what about the other faeries? What could he tell her he and Titus had been doing in that building? He deserved the disgust she’d express at what he’d done, but he didn’t think he could bear to see that horror in the face of his only real friend. Plunging his hands in his pockets and dragging his feet, Robin approached Lila. As soon as she saw Robin, the young whore’s eyes grew wide. She grabbed his elbow and yanked him around the side of the building.
“Robin, what are you doing here?” she hissed, looking over her shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone’s been asking about you! They’re looking for you! All of those guards that work up around the factories, and some police up from Kilfallow. They’re saying you kill
ed Titus Lambert this morning in your room. They’re questioning everybody! Did you do it? Robin, tell me you didn’t.”
“What? No, of course not!”
“You’ve got to get out of here,” she said.
“Where can I go?” Robin wondered aloud. “They’re setting me up, Lila!” Nobody would believe a cutpurse’s fantastic story of captive faeries and hired thugs, not against the word of rich, influential Maxwell Bunge, who would likely weave a tale of illicit trysts. Boarding the train was out of the question, as was returning to town. “What am I going to do?”
“You’ve got to go,” Lila said again. “The whole station is crawling with inspectors and guards. You need to get yourself someplace else. Anywhere else. And fast.”
“Right,” he said. “Listen, Lila, I want you to promise me that you’ll sleep at the church tonight. I have a bad feeling, and I want your word that you’ll get off the streets.”
“Alright, Robin but—”
“Promise me!”
“I promise,” she said.
“Will you meet me tomorrow, just before sunset, behind the paper mill?”
“If I can.”
He pressed a pound coin into her hand and said, “Bring food. Try to get me a spyglass.”
“A spyglass!”
“I’ll explain tomorrow,” he said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “Get to the church. Stay there and don’t leave until morning.”
Frightened by his cryptic remarks, she nodded and lifted the hem of her skirts to hurry away. Robin looked around and saw four guards a few hundred yards ahead of him and two more not far in the other direction. Every man in a plain suit struck him as a police inspector, and he felt trapped, with the station’s exit another hundred paces beyond the quartet of soldiers. Head down, he walked slowly in that direction, keeping behind taller passengers as much as possible. He’d removed his belt to sleep and hadn’t replaced it before falling out the window, so he didn’t even have his dagger to defend himself. Not that it would do any good against four men with guns and armor. The sight of his bare feet on the wooden walkway increased his sense of hopelessness.
As he passed a stall, Robin snatched a wool cap. When the shopkeeper wouldn’t see him, he pulled it on to cover his bright, distinctive hair. The guards stood only a few feet ahead, off to Robin’s right. Luckily a steady stream of harried commuters blocked him from their sight, and he managed to pass unnoticed. Relieved, he pushed through the throng. Everyone headed into the station, and only Robin sought to leave it, so he made his way slowly, keeping alert without being obvious. The crowd thinned as he neared the end of the row of shops. Beyond, he saw a few carts and some horses, dark against the dramatic sunset. Further off, he saw nothing but the moor. He had nowhere to go, but he shuffled past the carriages anyway, toward the softly rolling hills painted pink and gold. He saw the white pony Snow had let loose eating from a sack while her master picked thistles out of her tail.
A series of loud clicks made Robin turn around. “Hands up,” said one of a group of three soldiers: Bunge’s men who patrolled the wall and guarded the research building. “Murdering little bastard. We’re taking you in.”
“I say we take him the long way, lads,” said another man. “Larry and Ken were friends of mine.” The other two muttered their agreement.
“Ain’t nobody gonna mind if we rough him up a bit before they dangle him. Or whatever Mr. Bunge has planned.”
Robin’s eyes darted back and forth for a way to escape. He knew only too well the kinds of things he’d be subjected to by Bunge. It might mean years of torture before execution. In an instant, Robin decided he’d rather get shot. He looked theatrically to the right, and the soldiers’ eyes and guns followed the movement. As fast as he could, Robin dashed to the left and grabbed the white pony’s mane. He pulled himself onto her back as the three men aimed and fired. Burying his face against the horse’s neck, he kicked her sides with his heels. The beast took off at a canter toward the meadow where Robin had seen her enjoying her freedom. Shots rang out behind them, scaring the pony and urging her to run faster. Bullets whizzed over Robin’s head. One grazed his shoulder, inflicting a superficial wound but no real damage. He ignored the pain and kept his body flat against the mare’s back. Robin had never ridden a horse before, and could do little but grab fistfuls of her mane and hold tight with his thighs. Blood soaked through his shirt, coloring it crimson almost to his cufflinks.
The three soldiers chased after them on foot. Bullets flew on either side of Robin. He pressed his body hard against the animal and tried desperately to hold on. After a few minutes the men gave up trying to outrun the horse. Urging his mount on, Robin rode until the poor pony couldn’t continue. He dismounted and gave her a slap on the haunches, knowing she’d find her way home. Looking around, he estimated they’d come at least a few miles to the west of Enline. Nothing surrounded him but the moor. Swampy depressions surrounded by cattails broke the monotony of the darkening sea of grass. Moonlight reflected off the still water, and light and shadow moved in waves over the heather as clouds drifted across the sky. Looking around, Robin saw nothing for miles in any direction. The lights of the station were only pinpricks far behind him.
He started walking, looking for a place to take cover from the troupes of fey, or from the guards that would likely come looking for him. The squat, stunted trees would offer little protection. He didn’t know how long he wandered across the moor. A few times he saw the headlights of the patrol cars moving slowly over the land, illuminating columns of bracken. If they got too close, Robin laid down on his belly until they passed. They didn’t seem well suited to traverse the wet, uneven terrain. After some time went by and he saw no more of the vehicles, Robin thrust his hands into his pockets and kept walking, because he didn’t know what else to do.
He decided to head north, trying to ignore the small part of him that hoped Snowdrop would appear to save him. He had no reason to expect the faerie. He had no one to depend on but himself. When he saw a partial ring of old stones, Robin sat down to rest. Life had never given him much to look forward to, but now he saw only two choices: die at the hands of Bunge or die out here in the wilderness. He wished he’d never seen those damned photographs, wished he’d moved in with Titus Lambert when he’d first offered. The two of them might be sitting in a study, enjoying some single malt and a smoke. Titus might be alive, and Robin might not be a wanted murderer. He bit back tears as he clutched his wounded arm. It hurt like the devil, but at least the bleeding had stopped.
Soft music interrupted Robin’s self-pity: drums, flutes, and something like a fiddle being plucked. Robin stood up and squinted into the dark. At first he couldn’t see anything, but soon a long procession of people appeared. It looked like every person in Enline followed the musicians out onto the moor. Some swayed to the music; others stumbled as if sleepwalking. Robin recognized the horned fey he’d saved from the research building. About a dozen similar, horned creatures accompanied him. Some wore fine suits and gowns in dark colors and sumptuous fabrics. Others wore only wisps of thin gauze or nothing at all. The group stopped within the stone ring. As the musicians continued to play a lively, if somewhat flat, melody, the finely dressed faeries chose humans to dance with, while the nude sprites gamboled around the outside of the circle. Nobody noticed Robin until the horned faerie approached him and offered his damaged hand. He dropped his face close to the dried blood on Robin’s arm, inhaled deeply, and smiled.
“How sweet. No wonder he covets you so. I can’t resist stealing you away, though. For one dance, at the very least.”
Robin didn’t know what he was doing as he clasped the fey’s fingers. It felt like a dream, like he watched someone else taking the intimidating man by the waist rather than doing it himself. His vision blurred. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet as he began to dance with his partner, whirling around and around. He could focus on nothing but the pale, handsome face and dark, grinning lips as the sky and grass
bled to uniform plum and navy. Robin smiled, completely content to dance for a bit. He found the music lovely and enchanting as he let his partner lead their steps. Soon he couldn’t remember ever wanting to do anything but dance. Never could he recall such a wonderful time. His heart felt like a balloon drifting along on the warm air. All the other dancers looked just as delighted, though quite a few had fallen exhausted to the ground.
“Have you ever heard more beautiful music?” the horned fey asked Robin casually.
“No,” he agreed. “I’ve never been so happy.”
The other man chuckled and said, “Let us dance just a bit longer, then.”
“Oh yes, please!” Robin threw his head back and laughed with delight, spinning so fast that the stars above him looked like comets.
After a few tunes played, a white light disturbed Robin’s bliss. It moved toward his back, and he saw a fair-haired man he thought he recognized. His interruption annoyed Robin, though. He just wanted to dance! His body couldn’t be still, and his feet moved on their own. The white-haired man wouldn’t relent. He grabbed the shoulder of Robin’s partner, breaking their bodies apart. The light man said a few unpleasant-sounding words to the dark one, cowing him until he took his party and retreated. Robin instantly collapsed in the grass.
“WATER.” The voice cut through the thick layers of unconsciousness to reach Robin’s mind. He opened his eyes and flinched at the bright sunlight. His throat felt dry as a grave, and he gladly accepted the liquid that Snowdrop poured from a broad leaf into his mouth. Every muscle in his body twitched and ached. It hurt to lift his head, and he dropped his neck back against the inside of Snow’s elbow.
“Snowdrop!” Robin said with sudden recognition.
“Yes, yes. And you’re lucky it is.”
“What happened? There was another gentleman. A beautiful dark gentleman, and I danced with him—”