“What about that guy?” Jen points at a man in a buttoned shirt half-heartedly moving to the beat. “He’s hardly doing anything—not much for you to analyze.” Jen looks smug as if she’s stumped me. Nice try, Jen.
“Au contraire. Doing little says a lot. He has one move—the hip sway. I’m betting he’s a missionary man. Too timid to try anything else. Now, blue shirt on the left, he knows what he’s doing. And,” I nod at the woman dancing with him, large hoop earrings swaying to the rhythm of her movements. “She knows that he knows. She’ll have a good time tonight.”
“Oh, come on. You’re saying that she’ll take him home? Really?”
In reply, I nod again at the couple. The woman laughs, leans toward the man’s ear, and says something that makes the man smile. She laces her fingers through his and leads him off the dance floor, toward the exit. I laugh and take a swig of my beer.
“Now I can’t dance,” says Alejandro. “You’ll both be sitting here, judging me.”
“Have your drink. You’ll change your tune soon enough.” I sip my beer, then look up at a gentle touch on my shoulder.
“Would you like to dance?”
It’s the woman from the bar, the one for whom I bought a drink. I smile broadly and stand in one swift motion.
“Absolutely.” I turn to Alejandro. “Watch and learn, my young friend.”
A very long lifetime of music has given me a finely honed sense of rhythm, and enough practice dancing will turn anyone into Vaslav Nijinsky. My partner melts into my rhythm effortlessly. There are many other types of dance I prefer, but the primal urgency of modern club beats is satisfying in its own way. I’m enjoying the closeness of my partner as our lauvan brush each other’s, and the thrum of the music. Then I see it. A lauvan floats beyond my partner’s ear. It’s a distinctive glossy gray, visible even in the poor lighting of the dance floor.
I’m instantly woken from my warm focus on the woman in front of me to a cold alertness of my surroundings. Drew is here, following me once again. Would he try something in the club, or will he be waiting for me down a dark alley? Downtown is crawling with revelers—surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to blast a gun within earshot of hundreds of people? I remember the desperation emanating from his lauvan and suddenly I don’t know what he’s capable of.
I’m not in the mood for dancing anymore. As soon as the music morphs into a new song I leave my partner, who looks bewildered by my exit. Sorry, lovely, but you don’t want to be near me tonight. Not with a crazed gunman after my blood.
Jen and Alejandro are still at our table, heads close together and looking cozy. I slide into a seat.
“Sorry to interrupt your tête-à-tête, but I might have a problem. Drew is here.”
“What? You saw him?” Jen looks horrified.
“His lauvan. I don’t know if he’ll try something in the club, or wait until I’m outside.”
“What does he look like? I can walk around and look,” Alejandro says.
“That’s the problem, I’ve never seen him. I only have a description, myself. I’ll have to keep an eye out for his lauvan. I think I’m done dancing tonight, though. Too vulnerable on the floor.”
“Cecil and I are going to Whistler tomorrow with a few friends. I just asked Alejandro to join us. Do you want to come too? Get out of Vancouver for a night?”
“Thanks, but I teach tomorrow afternoon.”
“Maybe I should stay too,” Alejandro says.
“No, I feel much better with you and Jen out of harm’s way. I don’t want stray bullets finding you. No, go and enjoy the mountains.”
Alejandro doesn’t look convinced, but the lauvan waving in Jen’s direction are likely stopping him from protesting further. He seems to have taken to Jen, and Jen’s lauvan are reciprocating. I would love to see what happens with Cecil in the room.
In fact, I might leave them alone a little longer. I’m curious to see how this plays out.
“Bathroom. Keep your eyes open for brown-haired, average-looking, thirtyish men.”
“That certainly narrows it down.” Jen purses her lips and gazes around at the many specimens who fit that description.
The bathroom is on the far side of the club and I weave through the crowded edge of the dance floor, between cramped tables surrounded by laughing, drunken people on their Friday night. Replace the flashing lights with torches, and sequins with silks, and I could be any time in history. The bathroom is a nice addition, though. I do love plumbing.
It’s empty except for one man splashing his face in the sink and looking distinctly unwell. I head to the urinal. Before I have a chance to unzip, a sharp hissing cuts over the muffled throb of the music. I glance up to the source, which appears to be a vent in the ceiling. A sickly green smoke shoots into our small, enclosed space directly above the other man. I hardly have a chance to react before he begins to cough uncontrollably and a noxious smell assails my nostrils with acrid fumes. I hastily assemble a barrier of my own lauvan to block out the stench. Through my streaming eyes, I watch the other man collapse on the floor, retching. I stumble over and drag his convulsing body toward the door. My foot connects and kicks it open and we fall out of the bathroom. The door slams shut behind us and we are left gasping for air.
***
“I hear you had terrible gas in the bathroom, Merlo.”
“Har, har.”
We’re standing outside after being ushered out of the club. After the incident in the bathroom, they cleared the building to inspect the duct system. They were very accommodating to the other man from the bathroom, but I snuck out before they could start on me. I have no intent of claiming damages or whatever they are worried about. I know who the real culprit is.
“You think Drew did this?” Jen’s tone is part skeptical, part worried.
“I saw no evidence, but who else sent in noxious gas? And right when I entered the bathroom? Although how he did it is beyond me.” The lauvan ball that attacked me this morning rolls through my mind. Is Drew the one controlling the air? “No, this stinks of a sloppy attempted murder.”
“Stinks. Heh.”
“Take Alejandro home, Merry,” Jen says. “He’s had a lot to drink. Watch your back, and text me when you get there.”
***
The quiet of my apartment at two in the morning is a welcome peace after the turmoil of the club. Alejandro sags against the elevator wall, looking drained. I’m the opposite—I’m wired and alert, evaluating my surroundings for new threats. It’s what has kept me alive all this time and after the club, I feel justified. But the silence in the hallway outside my door is a good sign and suddenly I long for bed, and sleep, even if it brings the inevitable dreams.
Alejandro opens his mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn as I open the door and nods gratefully when I usher him across the threshold first. His tired shamble stops abruptly once inside. I am immediately on my guard.
“Merlo? Did someone come by while we were out?”
“No. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Never mind. Something didn’t feel right. I probably drank too much.”
I stalk inside, gently push Alejandro closer to the open door, and proceed to look in every dark corner of my little apartment. It doesn’t take long. No one is hiding, ready to pounce. There is, however, plenty of evidence of who visited my humble abode late at night. I’m certain it wasn’t a social call.
“Drew was here,” I say grimly. Alejandro grows pale.
“What? How?”
“It’s not difficult—I never lock my door.” It drives Jen crazy, but I figure if someone wants to get in, a flimsy door lock won’t stop them for long. Besides, I don’t have much worth stealing and what I do treasure has no value to a thief.
“Maybe you should start.” He closes the door and flops onto the couch. I run my fingers along the nearest gray lauvan that floats with its many brethren throughout my apartment. The influx of fear and hatred that I receive is overpowering. There is still murder in this man�
�s heart. No wonder there are so many free-floating threads. Drew must be shedding them like a moulting duck. What was he planning for tonight? Did he accomplish his task? A hint of regret and self-loathing underpinning the stronger emotions tells me that he did not.
“Merlo, I think the things on your bookshelf have moved.” Alejandro points across the room, his brow furrowed. I follow his gaze. My harp sits at an unusual angle, and my shrunken head from Ecuador is pushed to lean against my sketchbook. I pace over to examine the one item that I can’t see well, due to a fresh covering of lauvan. It’s my roll of Tibetan prayer flags. They always have a dense covering of multicolored lauvan from the prayers of believers, but now there is a new layer.
There are a few steely gray strands but the majority are a fine, nearly invisible silver. The same silvery threads dance on the air in a breeze, and fill the sky with effervescent clouds during a storm.
Curious. How did they come to be wrapped around my prayer flags, when their place is in the sky? Air lauvan are as ephemeral as they come. They never last for long and they rarely wrap around objects.
“What is it?” says Alejandro from the couch.
“Somehow, Drew has harnessed the wind and bound it to these flags.” As I say it, questions spring immediately to my mind. I answer the first by throwing the prayer flags to the floor.
Instantly, a terrific gust of wind whips through the living room. Drapes flail, windows fly open, and paintings fall off the wall.
As soon as it starts, the wind dies. We are left in awestruck silence, me clutching the dining room table and Alejandro covering his head on the couch. I shake my head in amazement and continue to talk as if a maelstrom had not recently erupted in my apartment.
“As I said, he has somehow harnessed the wind. In all my long years, I’ve never seen that. That means that either Potestas is handing out some powerful new tools, or Drew—is like me.” I say it, but I don’t dare to hope. Too many years of searching for others like me, with too few leads, have left me cynical that anyone else exists. What can I say? I’m one of a kind. If Drew can harness the wind, can I? I’ve made half-hearted attempts in the past, but I’ve never seen the point, until now. Drew has just shown me it is possible, and effective.
“Really? That’s frightening. Then why did he try to shoot you? Couldn’t he have pulled some lauvan instead?”
“Why bring lauvan to a gun fight? Guns are quick, easy, and long-range. But yes, I’ll have to be extra vigilant. I might have met my match in Drew. We’ll see.”
“I don’t like leaving tomorrow, after all this. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”
I try hard not to laugh. What does Alejandro think he can do that I can’t? I’ve survived for this long on my own—I can handle one more night. It’s a kind thought, though, and I give my answer the grace it deserves.
“Thanks, Alejandro, but I’ll be fine. Look, I even promise I’ll lock my door in the evening.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
While I pull out my phone to text Jen about our safe arrival, Alejandro opens his duffel bag. He hastily unzips the mesh of the inner pouch of his bag.
“Merlo, my ticket stub! It’s gone!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes, it never leaves that pocket. Did Drew go through my bag?” Alejandro looks disgusted and rummages through the rest of his belongings to check for lost items.
“Why would he take your plane ticket stub? It was already used, it had no value anymore.” But as I ask the question aloud, an answer forms in my head. That ticket stub was covered in Alejandro’s lauvan. Now that I know Drew has lauvan abilities, I fear what his purpose is with the strands shed by my young friend. Suddenly, I’m grateful Alejandro is leaving town tomorrow, if only for a night.
CHAPTER XII
Dreaming
It’s Imbolc, and Uther’s household has traveled to a neighboring lord’s villa for the festivities. It’s early enough in the year that the Saxons haven’t made an advance yet, and we can count on peace for at least a few more weeks.
I’m out for an early morning stroll to clear my head. I would have changed into my deer form, except for the hunters preparing for tonight’s feast. I’d rather not be the main course. It’s too bad—I would have liked a good run through the surrounding woods of budding aspens and craggy oaks. I’m restless and ready to travel after a long winter tutoring Arthur. I need to move, to see new things, to talk to someone besides a teenaged boy and a grizzled warrior. Now that Morgan is married and gone, there isn’t even the diversion of a female point of view. Although it was strained at the end between us, so I can’t say I wasn’t glad to see her go.
Lord Lot’s villa is on a narrow, meandering river, adjacent to a hamlet of twenty or so thatched houses belonging to his farm laborers. Arthur is friendly with Lot’s son, Gawaine. I’m partial to him myself—it’s not hard to warm to his easy good humor and sharp wit. He’s built like a mountain, which is good practice for Arthur when they spar. He’s not among the festival attendees yet. His father has him running a message to Ergyng, closer to the eastern border of Gwent. Hopefully he’ll be back soon. Arthur was disappointed to miss him and spent most of last evening sulking in a corner of the hall.
By the time I walk past the palisades surrounding the villa toward a small meadow in the forest where today’s festival is taking place, the party is well underway. Laughter and the clunk of wooden tankards float on the still morning air. I grin broadly and quicken my pace. We all need this. After a long, cold winter, it’s time to celebrate spring at last, even if the ground is still so wet that my boots squelch in the mud.
The trees give way to a clearing in the woods, where most of the nearby peasants and all the closest nobles are gathered around a bonfire. Everyone is on equal footing today, because all are happy to see winter leave. Ale is also a wonderful equalizer. I see a few stumbling already, early as it is.
Arthur stands with a few village boys, young men really, but comes to my side when he sees me. He is my height now but still skinny with a mop of hair that curls no matter how closely he has it trimmed. He holds a tankard out to me, brimming full of ale.
“Here, Merlin. Mother Gwawl from the village says this is her best brew of the year, and it was going fast, so I saved some for you.”
“Excellent. Time enough for swill when we don’t care anymore.” I bang my cup against Arthur’s so the liquid sloshes out and runs down my hand, then I drink deeply. It’s decent, but not the best I’ve ever had. I wonder how the bad batch will go down.
“Not as good as your cook’s,” I say. “I’ll miss her brews this summer.”
“Must you go?” Arthur must realize he sounds too petulant for fifteen, because he adds quickly, “It will be dull here without you, that’s all.”
“I’ll be back before the winter storms, you know that. And there’s plenty to do in the summer. Arms practice, hunting, preparing your father for battles. You could visit your sister, ride to see Gawaine.”
“You promise you won’t die out there?” Arthur asks in jest, but I can sense the sincerity in his voice and in his coiled lauvan. I pat him on the back.
“I’m a survivor. Don’t worry, I’ll be around for a good long time.”
“Why don’t you visit Morgan with me before you go?”
“Arthur, surely you’re old enough to realize that isn’t a good idea. I didn’t treat her as well as I should have. Women don’t forget, and I doubt Morgan will forgive.”
“Pity. We could have been brothers.” Arthur sighs. “I don’t understand girls at all.”
“High time you learned. We’ve been neglecting that part of your education. In fact, we’ll start today.”
“What?”
“Yes. By supper tonight, you will have chosen a girl to speak with, and discovered her favorite color, her pet name, and the sweet treat she likes most.”
Arthur looks nervous but relieved.
“I thought you’d have me kiss one. T
alking isn’t so bad.” He gulps and looks around. “I think.”
“Lesson number one: only kiss a woman when she wants it. A forced embrace will never taste as sweet as one you’ve earned.”
“Earned?”
“Speak with her, learn about her. Sooner or later, if it’s right, a fire will spark. Then you can make your move.”
“That’s very vague.”
“Let’s practice, then.” I toss my head in an imitation of coquettishness, and lay a hand on Arthur’s forearm. “Hello, Arthur. Enjoying the festival?”
Arthur shakes my hand off, equal parts embarrassed and amused.
“Stop it, Merlin. People will see.”
“You’ll have to dive in yourself if you don’t want help. Remember: color, pet name, sweets.” I drain my cup. “I’m off to find more ale. Good luck with your mission.”
I leave him looking grumpy and wrong-footed. Poor Arthur. He’s lived a sheltered life, far different than me at his age. I’d been scrambling to live, fighting tooth and nail against starvation for a year, using strength and wit and charm, anything to buy me shelter and food for a night. Arthur will grow out of this awkwardness soon but it doesn’t hurt to be challenged. That’s what I’m here for, after all.
I find more ale and speak with Uther’s cronies for a while about new horses and campaign plans. When I glance back at Arthur sometime later, he is hovering near a group of giggling girls. He looks anxious and miserable and I almost laugh aloud. A brilliant thought pops into my head and I excuse myself from the men to saunter casually into the woods.
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