She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll have more opal to cut in a few weeks.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He was attempting to deflect, but Eloise was more preceptive than he’d expected. She’d likely prod him until he gave in. He’d give her an inch and hoped she wouldn’t take the whole mile.
“It’s common for people to go through periods of melancholy,” he told her. “Especially in times of prolonged extreme weather, and even more so for vampires. I’ll be all right.”
“Is that your overblown way of saying you don’t like the sun?”
Hardy smirked. “I am a vampire.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound convinced by his explanation, but she turned to her work and began fussing with setting her latest cut onto a post.
He watched her for a moment, then picked up his jewellers loupe and pressed it against his eye. Studying the opal he’d been working on, his vampire sight picked up on a small imperfection flecking through the red flashes. He weighed the pros and cons of buffing it out and decided to let it go. It was undetectable to human eyes, and he risked losing the trace if he fell into the trap of perfectionism. The value was in the colour of the opal, especially anything red on black.
“Hardy?” Eloise’s voice rose again.
He turned, sensing the irregularity in her heartbeat. “Hmm?”
“Were you English before?”
He chuckled and set down the loupe and slipped the opal into a small plastic bag.
She wrung her hands together. “It’s just… Well, we work together every day, and we’ve fought some crazy stuff, but I hardly know anything about you. Not that it matters…” Her gaze lowered as she fussed with the opal in her palm. “I’m just being nosey, is all. I’d like to know more about you and be here to listen if there’re things you want to talk about. God knows you’re done that and more for me and I was a stranger…”
Leaning back in his chair, Hardy smirked. He watched her as the words tumbled out of her mouth, the hole she was digging herself getting larger the more circles she turned herself in.
“It’s just, you seem as solitary as I was, though you found yourself here in Solace. And I know how tough it can be on your own, and—”
“Eloise,” he interrupted. “You’re rambling.”
She blushed, the blood rushing to her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. When you first walked in here, it was difficult to get you to say an entire sentence. A whole monologue, no matter how rambling, is a remarkable achievement.”
Her shoulders relaxed and she let out a thin laugh. “If you say so.”
“And to answer your question, yes, I was born in England,” he went on. “I had a family like all people do. A younger brother and two sisters. As the eldest male, I was responsible for them.”
“Your parents weren’t around?”
“No. Times were difficult, and we were simple people. We had to make do.”
“What happened to your brother and sisters?”
Hardy’s heart twisted as regret pulled at what was left of the reanimated organ. His sister, Mary… Without him there, Tom would have had to take charge, but he was only thirteen. Still a child. And Elizabeth was sixteen with the prospect of marriage in her near future. He should have been there…
“Hardy?”
He looked up at and felt the warmth of Eloise’s gaze as her elemental power attempted to reach out to him. Whether she was conscious of it or not, was another matter. Her gift for the fifth element—spirit—was an intuitive one.
“I don’t know,” he murmured.
“You weren’t there?”
He shook his head. “I was in Australia…when it happened.” He gestured to himself. “I couldn’t go back.”
Eloise’s expression faded as her mind began to do the math. Depending on whose history books one read, Australia was ‘discovered’ by European nations in the mid-to-late-eighteenth century and first colonised a mere decade later. The British staked claim in 1788, to be precise, and that claim was for the nation’s first penal colony.
“You had to leave them behind…” she murmured, “for their safety.”
Pain, blood, and darkness. Hardy tried not to wince at the uncomfortable memories, more for Eloise’s sake than his own. “It’s rare for someone to choose to become a vampire, though I’m sure it happens.”
“You didn’t…” She swallowed hard. “You didn’t choose?”
“No.” He shook his head gently, turning his gaze back to the opal. “It’s never easy, and almost always tragic, but it’s the past…and the past should remain there. A memory scarcely thought about.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Hardy smiled, though his heart remained heavy. “It’s fine. I understand you’re curious. I know all about you, so it’s only fair.”
“No,” she said, edging her chair closer. “It’s not fair. Your story is your own, and you don’t owe it to anyone. I won’t ask, but I’m here if you want to tell.”
Hardy had always seen what Kyne and the others had in Eloise, but the more her powers began to emerge, the more empathetic and wise she seemed. Was it her elemental ability or her years of isolation that gave her such insight? Maybe it wasn’t for him to know.
“How old are you?” she added. “Would you tell me that?”
He exhaled long and slow, the years falling from his breath like ashes in the wind. He was young for a vampire, and had certainly known others who’d lived two, maybe three times longer than he had, and still, he didn’t understand how they could bear it. The constant need to adapt, reinvent, and remain hidden was exhausting. He was glad he’d found Solace.
He didn’t see the harm in telling her. “211 years from the day I was born.”
“You were born in…1810?”
He turned back to his workbench and began sifting through the bag of rough-cut opal he’d bought from Kyne all those months ago.
“The turn of a new century,” he murmured. “Or near enough. A Hanover king was on the throne, England had already become the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, the American Revolution had long ended, the Napoleonic wars were raging, and Britain was stretching its might across the world, colonising the far reaches with its iron fist.” No matter who got in their way.
“And you came to the colonies?” Eloise asked, awestruck.
Hardy selected a good piece of opal and held it up to the light. “One hundred and fifteen days aboard a tall ship.”
“What was it like?”
“Horrible,” he replied, turning on the grinder. “Absolutely horrible.”
Finn Oreah’anza sat beside a glowing campfire, a bottle of red wine in his hand. It was made in the Yarra Valley, in the southern part of Australia, a thousand kilometres south of the patched-together camp he now called home.
A dozen fae lived here, all beholden to the seal, its magic the only thing keeping them from withering away and turning into monsters. They were tied to it, dependent on the ancient magic like they needed air to breathe.
Finn tightened his grip on the bottle of wine. Were they any better than the creatures who had already attempted to claim it? A time would come when he would have to face his past—and his part in the despair—just as Vera had faced hers. Would this story be his, or would it belong to someone else?
A presence loomed beside him, but he didn’t look up. It was probably another attempt at guilting him into sobriety.
“Finn.”
“E’dreha, Siora,” he said, lifting the bottle to his lips and drinking.
“Addrei, Finn,” she said. “Don’t talk to me as if I was a stranger.”
His gaze lifted and he acknowledged her, his magic greeting her as a friend. “Happy?”
Siora sighed. Her long straight hair shimmered with threads of powder blue and sea green, marking her as an Unseelie fae like Finn. T
here were two kinds of magical fae that came from their world. The Seelie, those considered to be made of light and goodness, and the Unseelie, who were made of darkness and evil.
They were part of the factions known as the Shri’danann, who were the Higher Fae…the elite or ruling class. The other faction was the De’ashlide, the non-magical fae, or better explained as the equivalent of humanity. Though, in his world, they had been squashed down by the Shri’danann until they were little more than working-class slaves, unable to rise or take titles, govern, or become wealthy. The fae who’d made it to Earth, however, were all Shri’danann.
Finn narrowed his eyes as Siora sat beside him, her disapproval of his drinking habits clear.
“I see you’ve begun on the red,” she stated.
“That’s because I was finished with the white.” He offered her the bottle, but she pushed his hand away. It was a poor imitation of the wine—or aru’de in his language—found in his home world, but it was all they had. For a thousand years, they had to make do with the washed out colours of this Earth, unable to return.
Siora looked to the sky, her silver gaze watching the stars. “The magic here is becoming unsettled.”
Finn said nothing. He’d felt the flow of power from the seal. The Nightshade had forced him to be a conduit to it, feeding the leaking magic through his body. It was restless, eager to emerge from its prison.
If he were asked, Finn would say that it was sentient and calling out to the weak-minded and the power hungry like a siren. It whispered promises it had no intention of keeping. It wanted to be set free…but no one had asked him.
“Finn,” she went on. “You give so much for them and this isn’t even your world.”
“You don’t even go into Solace,” he seethed. “Why do you care?”
“Have they come to see how you are?”
Finn scowled. She knew they hadn’t, but the other fae hadn’t made this a welcoming place, despite Kyne trying to unite them all. One too many rebuffs had forced the elemental to resign to the fact that the fae would not join the Exiles. He was the only fae who went into town, let alone speak to the other supernaturals.
“You grow too close to them,” she murmured. “While they call to us for help, they leave you to carry the burden of their actions alone.”
“That’s not true,” he hissed, turning on her. Eloise cared, and the only reason she hadn’t come here was because the others had made it clear that outsiders weren’t welcome. Siora’s heart had become clouded.
“The danger the seal brings will only become worse,” the fae said, ignoring his tone. “With each attempt, death creeps closer…for all of us.”
In that, she was right. First, it was the Dust Dogs, then it was the Nightshade. The fae’s story was deeply intertwined with that of the Irish witches, and Finn had learned the hard way that old hatreds weren’t so easily forgotten.
“It’s been months and you still haven’t fully recovered,” she told him. “Think about that, Finn. Think of what you’re sacrificing for a world that is not our own.”
“We have no world,” he hissed. “Or have you forgotten?”
Her silver gaze met his. “No, I have not.”
“But if you were given the chance to return, you and the others would leave me without a second thought.”
Siora rose, her movements graceful as her powder blue hair fell about her shoulders. She looked down at him, her expression closed and cold.
“Some things are greater than loyalty beyond blood, Finn,” she murmured. “You would do well to remember that.”
He watched her walk away, the wine bottle heavy in his hand. “How Unseelie of you, Siora,” he whispered.
Finn drank again, the alcohol dulling the pain from the fractured connection to his magic. Healing was slow, but Siora’s indifference wouldn’t be his problem.
“Rir de’ash zalde,” he declared, waving a drunken hand in her wake. I set you free.
Chapter 3
Drew sat behind the till at the Outpost, his face screwed up in thought.
He flipped the page of the book he was reading and resisted the urge to hurl the bloody thing across the room. What in the world did auriferous mean? Vera’s shop had a lot of random junk for sale, but the one thing she didn’t order was a dictionary.
Having a book at all was anomalous behaviour for the dingo-shifter, but one on mineral exploration and mining was off the charts.
This was more Kyne’s department, so why was Drew the one recruited to watch over the iron ore deposit? Coen always had a reason for the bizarre things he did, but never cared to share why—that’s why they were bizarre.
Coen was teaching him to ‘see,’ whatever that was supposed to mean. When he shifted, Drew’s senses were heightened and he noticed more than he would as a human, so he reckoned that’s what the Indigenous man was getting at. The guy had a habit of being airy, like a stiff breeze had blown away his thoughts before he could speak all of them.
Drew flipped to the back of the book, found the unknown word in the glossary, and snorted.
“Auriferous,” he read aloud. “Having gold content.”
Dingoes and iron ore didn’t mix. He was made for wandering the outback, sniffing out dangers above ground, not beneath it. Still, the looming presence of the massive iron ore deposit north of Solace was a pressure point for their ongoing protection of the seal.
The multi-billion-dollar mining conglomerate EarthBore was interested, but Hardy had already looked into it. Permits could take years, and the red tape for a project of the size they were projecting wouldn’t see them on site for years. Kyne said they’d have to test the ground first and that mean exploratory mining.
If Coen wanted Drew to ‘see,’ he wanted to make sure he understood what he was looking at. As it turned out, exploratory mining was a lot more complicated than sticking a drill into the ground and seeing what would come out, especially for big companies that wanted to dig a ten-kilometre-square pit in the middle of Outback, Australia.
The door opened and the bell rang as a customer walked in. Drew hadn’t noticed the car pulling up out front, but he saw it now. A silver sedan coated with a thick layer of red dust that reached the windows. It was a bit fancy for out here.
A man stood just inside the door, and he looked around the Outpost, taking it all in.
Drew took the opportunity to do a bit of looking himself. The guy was definitely not from around here. He wore a short-sleeved khaki shirt with pockets on both breasts, dark-coloured jeans, black boots with rusty toes—courtesy of the Outback—and a wide-brimmed brown fedora.
Other than that, he just looked like a regular bloke. He was a little on the short side, though.
The customer peeled off his aviator sunglasses and turned his attention to Drew, who wrinkled his nose.
Who did this joker think he was? Indiana Jones? He was only missing a whip.
“Hey,” the man said, approaching the counter.
“Can I help you?” Drew eyed him, studying his chiseled features and green eyes, but didn’t ‘see’ anything special. Coen’s lessons hadn’t sunk in at all.
“Just passing through, seeing the sights.” A tourist, then. Sounded a little British. “What’s north of here?”
It was a loaded question for the supernatural, but Drew shrugged. “A lot of nothing until you hit Longreach. There’re a few small towns along the highway, but they’re low on amenities.”
The man grimaced and looked down the aisle.
“Solace is the last fuel stop for three hundred kilometres that way,” Drew added. “If you’re running low, then you better fill up. We also have bottled water if you’re interested. Three litre jugs.” He nodded to the stack at the end of aisle three. “It’s on special.”
The water had a rough, hand-drawn notice sticky-taped on the front that said, ‘One for $5, two for $10.’
The man raised his eyebrows. “What’s so special about it?”
“It’s in stock.”
Drew narrowed his eyes and studied the stranger. He was asking a lot of questions for a tourist.
“Solace started out as a gold mining settlement,” the shifter rattled off. “Some guy found a speck of gold in a dried-up creek and sparked a rush. Turned out to be a fluke, but then some other guy found opal. More people came, but they found out the hard way that opal mining is tough business. There’s a cemetery just past the windmill full of the crackpots.”
The tourist’s gaze moved to the book on the counter. “People still mine out here?”
“Yep.”
“How many people live here?”
The shifter’s hackles rose. “Enough that we get a postcode.”
“That tree is impressive.”
“It’s a boab tree,” Drew told him. “Don’t ask me about it. I’m not a botany, or whatever they’re called.”
“Botanist,” the tourist said. “It’s called a botanist.”
“Whatever.” Drew picked up his book and began to read. He hadn’t even been to school, and it was a miracle he could read, so how would he know what a botanist was? Like it was important information, anyway.
The man walked down the first aisle and fussed around the shop while Drew continued reading.
The shifter looked up now and then, checking on his progress, and had reached the chapter on core samples when the man returned.
He set the basket on the counter and added a jug of water to his haul. “What’s the damage?”
Drew rang up the items, picking up each from the red basket. A box of Band-Aids, a packet of salt and vinegar chips, a box of Tiny Teddy biscuits, vanilla air freshener, toothpaste, a high-vis work vest, and a packet of party poppers.
“Forty-two-fifty,” the shifter said, with a raised eyebrow.
The man handed over a yellow fifty dollar note with a low whistle. “Expensive living out here, eh?”
“Party hard,” the shifter drawled, tossing the party poppers into a biodegradable plastic bag with the other stuff. Handing over the guy’s change, he smiled. “Have a nice day.”
Desert Flame Page 2