I asked her, “Can I rock your little one? I took care of both my brothers while growing up,” and more than a few who weren't, but she needn't need know that.
She smiled and seemed relieved. She handed me the child who couldn't be older than three months old. I wrapped it up tight in its burping cloth and placed its belly across my knees. I rubbed its back and swung my knees back and forth. The officer proceeded to walk past us. The baby belched and promptly quieted down. I handed the baby back, and she gratefully took him back into her arms.
Dorian walked up and said, “No problem getting our tickets. It seems like the trains are full leaving Buffalo, but empty going in. I checked outside and they look almost ready to board, ahead of schedule, I believe. It is on the outside track, I believe.”
I turned to the mother beside me and asked, “Are you going to Buffalo?”
“Yes, I am visiting my Mother-In-Law.”
“Don't,” I said.
Dorian took the bags and we loaded onto the train.
It would be several hours before we arrived in Buffalo. We had the diner's cart to ourselves. We ordered one of everything, which wasn't much at all. This train's selection included an entree, which was stew, filled with a dubious mystery meat, and included a slab of stale, dark bread on the side. There was, however, a delicious apple pie that we shared for dessert. Dorian was a little put out there was no ice cream. Who knew when we would eat again, so we ordered double helpings each.
After a quiet meal, we retired to our private car that held two bunks, one on each side of the car, with seating below. I did what I always did to pass time; I took out my book and started reading. Dorian started his portion of the ride looking out the windows. Obviously, this rail spent lavishly to clean its windows between stops, because the view was fairly clear.
Since we would be traveling through farming communities, the air should be clear enough to show some of the rolling hills known in the area. I wasn't holding my breath for stars, though. Clouds heavy with rain would more often than not open up in the countryside and spill their deluges in the evening. Designated farming territories were forbidden from using electricity, so the rains at any time were a blessing, meaning they wouldn't need to run the manual pump-powered rain systems during the day.
People were afraid that the taint of the electrical fields around transformers would make food less than healthy for consumption. I personally thought the food exposed in open-air food markets in the heavily polluted cities get far more toxins from the noxious air exposure than electrical fields could ever cause, but I didn't have to worry too much about any of these things.
For the first thirty minutes, Dorian stared out the window, but then he finally turned his attention to me. I don't like to be studied, so I put down my book and he smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“You don't think that Meadows bloke would try to retaliate for what I did to him, do you?”
“No, he was of no import. He would get lucky to get another assignment from S.O.A.R. Why do you ask such a thing? Do people that you curse with your little papers have a way of popping back up in your life?”
He looked chagrined and muttered, “Something like that.”
“Remind me to never ask you to curse Peter, then. You'd never be able to shake him off your trail,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Is he really so bad?” he asked softly.
Great. Now he felt sorry for me. “No,” I replied, annoyed now more than anything. “If you don't mind getting pulled into Fairies’ politics once a year for an indeterminable amount of Fairy time. Then there is the whole you have to look after whole broods of misfits, while Peter decides to have a little war with another underachiever, evil doer. The last time I died, I was sticking my neck out for one of his new hooligans who were fool enough to fall into a mermaid pool. The only good to come of it was that the hooligan didn't come back to life too.”
“I thought Peter might be a...”
I waited, but an awkward silence ensued, until I asked, “A what? A friend? Ally? Brother in Arms?”
He stared at me with a blank expression.
Now I was just angry. I shook my finger at him while I vehemently said in no uncertain tones, “Don't... you... ever... think... that, Mr. Grey. Never, ever, has there ever been anything more than a business relationship between the two of us. You don't know me very well at all, if you can even think that I might even have a...,” and I had to sputter the last words out of my mouth, “Personal relationship... with Peter.”
I huffed out my breath and returned my attention to my book. Dorian can just stare me into oblivion if that was what he wanted to do. I was done with this subject. I had a job to do. I didn't need a friend to talk over my woes. My life was compartmentalized into daylight tight compartments, living only one moment to the next. I didn't dread my next visit to Neverland, because I was always too busy slitting someone's throat, organizing my weapons, or reading The Metamorphosis to worry about it.
“Wendy, I apologize for questioning your virtue. I am the last one to do such a thing.”
I closed my book and replied primly, “Oh, I am not offended by your insinuations concerning my virtue. I am offended by your opinion of my impaired judgment to select Peter as a partner. Let me make this plain: there is nothing in Peter's relationship with me that is not coerced. In fact, there is little in my life that I can control any part of, other than what weapon I will choose to use for my next assignment and what book I choose to read.” I waved my book in front of him to emphasize my point.
“I see,” he said stiffly. “I shall have to strive to see the butterfly, before the chrysalis then.”
I gave him a hard dead stare, the same one that had used during my initial interview with SOAR. The one when I was admitted on the spot.
His stare was quite different. He gave me the look of an understanding parent who was talking to their petulant child. I didn’t like it one bit.
He cleared his throat and changed the subject by asking, “Your file was rather incomplete in the S.O.A.R. office. What exactly is your skill set?”
“If I haven't divulged all of my particulars to S.O.A.R., why would I speak to you of them now?” This was why I didn't play well with others. Why did the Society have to saddle me with a partner that I was expected to converse with?
“If I am to go into a war zone with you, while we also try to recruit Tesla at the same time, I need to know what magical and mundane talents are at your command. I believe your talents with weapons are evident, but what else can you do?” The challenge in his eyes made them glint, subtly.
“What are all your abilities Dorian? I will tell you mine, if you tell me yours?”
He smiled. Finally, it seemed that I have done something to please the parent. He seemed to like this sparring with words. I must have betrayed myself in turn with a small smile, because he smiled even broader.
He said, “I work elemental magic with my blood, a small sampling you have already seen. I do it best with my specialized paper, which acts as a focus. I have a magical sword that can do whatever you heard it can do and more.” Then rather smugly, I might add, he said, “I can see extraordinarily well and I have some talent with Fairy glamours. I have been told that I have a natural charisma that is said to come from some ancestral Fae relative.”
I inwardly snickered at that. He didn't have anything on some of the entities I had met in Neverland. I scoffed, “It appears that I have a natural immunity against Fae glamour. It was one of the reasons Peter took me to Neverland.” Did a look of consternation cross his handsome features?
Fair play and all that, so I continued our discussion, “I am a Hedgewitch, sir. I work earth magic and am a potions expert. I am somewhat of a linguist, as well. I can speak all four of the Fae courts languages, and Mermish. I can also speak all the Romantic languages, Russian, Indian, and in addition, Swahili.” I paused before I revealed the next bit. It wasn't something that I shared often, but since we were be
ing honest, I felt he needed to know. “I can also work divination tools with limited success.”
No need for him to know that I had some Elfish blood somewhere in my ancestry, which is what made me immune to glamour, but also allowed me to appear to disappear for very brief periods of time, when I chose to blend in with my environment. It took immense amounts of concentration to do it, and I often relied on it in Neverland where it has gotten me out of a jam or two. However, I was always especially careful to not reveal it to anyone other than Peter, because it might prove too powerful a skill. That meant another, stronger, and meaner Fairy might want to make a go of seriously acquiring me.
“No Latin or Greek then?”
“Sir, those are dead languages, and as you can see, I am very much alive.”
He snorted at that. Then he said, “We do make a fine pair of bookends, as I primarily speak and write dead languages. I can see now why the Society put us together.” He paused and then rounded in for the kill, “Divination, huh?”
“Yes, but it is a recently discovered skill, untried you might say. Besides, down that road lays madness, so I don't use it often.”
“What do you use?” he asked.
“I can scry, but loathe it.”
“Leaves you too open to an attack?”
I reply, “Exactly. You could be lost in a trance and be killed before you ever knew what was happening. Runes are too simplistic. The tarot is often sufficient, if the question is not too complicated in its nature.”
He smiled again and said, “No I-Ching?”
“I've not been to the Orient and have had no opportunity to learn the finer qualities of their magic.”
“I have seen master seers work the I-Ching in China. Their results are nothing short of amazing, as their answers to inquiries are of a precision that the others cannot touch. There are no sweeping, generalized predictions to be made from the I-Ching. So, who taught you and how strong is your talent?”
“Actually, a Chinese American acupuncturist taught me in New Amsterdam in her herbalist shop. She does amazing herbal compresses and acupuncture in her back room. I had a nasty infection from a knife wound after a particularly challenging mercenary job that I had taken for extra cash. She fixed me up, until I could get back to Neverland.
“She was an interesting mix of contradictions. She told me that she knew the I-Ching, but never touched it. Her mother owned an Oracle shop down the road that specialized in it. Her mother told her that she would have to find her own way, so she chose the tarot.
“She said that I had the gift, but that is was not a strong one. She showed me how the cards worked anyway. If I did a reading, I would more than likely just use a plain deck of playing cards, as they are the most familiar to me. All of my readings tend to lead to doom and gloom predictions, fatalist that I am. What there is of my oracular talent is clearly not as great as those you have studied under.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because, I don't practice it much, and besides, she never made much money at it. How good of a teacher could she have been? I am merely a product of that education.”
“Any physical advantages?”
“I can move more swiftly than a human, but not as fast as Fairies. I have no strength advantages. I most definitely cannot fly and I haven't met a Fairy who could either. Now, pixies, that is another matter entirely.”
“Have you met many of them?” he chuckled to himself.
“More than I would count myself lucky enough to know. They are rude little creatures who like to brandish their wee little Fae wooden swords about in my face.” I am sure my face took on an ugly countenance, but really, one does not become a friend of the Pixies, being such a secretive little lot as they were.
“What of you Dorian? Do you have any physical advantages, other than immortality and seeing exceptionally well?” I had noticed that when we were riding through the forest, the night before, he had no trouble avoiding rocks or low lying branches that were in our path.
“As you already know, I can't die, and I am a Hemomage. If I become injured, simply stuff my wound with some rags, and I will be good as new. I do have very good eyesight at night. I also have skill with the sword, as you might assume with a weapon such as mine. My stamina is admirable. I won't tire in battles.” He cleared his throat and said, “I also have a few quirks that have no bearing on our assignment.”
“Foul play. You must tell.”
He grimaced, “I will tell you one quirk for one of yours.”
There the challenge stood. Something told me that he didn't share many of his secrets with others either. Of course, he could simply be trying to rouse some information from me, without giving me anything of value in return. Having lived for a very long time, I have learned that information was sometimes worth more than anything you could buy with money, so I replied, “I will tell you two secrets about me, that have no magical ties, for one of your secrets connected to your magical quirks.”
“Done. Ladies first.”
“I have no friends.”
“I already knew that about you.”
“From the S.O.A.R. file?” I asked.
“No, from the way you speak with me.” He must have seen me fret. I had to stop worrying my lip. He continued by saying, “You never initiate conversations and we have had, and the ones that we do have are somewhat stilted. You also never share a jest with me. You are all business, because that is how you are accustomed to living. Curt and to the point.”
I frowned. Was that how everyone sees me? I decided to live up to my end of the bargain and said, “I also have a slight anxiety problem.”
He waited patiently for me to continue.
“Everything must be in its proper place. I believe they call it Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or O.C.D.”
He smiled, tipped his head back and laughed. “You are a neat freak, Ms. Darling?”
I twisted my lips, crossed my arms, and tapped my foot.
He got the point and said, “I will tell you that if anyone needs to stand guard, let it be me. I don't need much sleep to function well. Now, you already have some suspicions as to how I stay rejuvenated. What happens in Fairy that enables your immortality?”
This would be question three, and no less, magical in nature. I knew I should never have trusted him. I may have deep regrets in the morning, but I suppose that I should humor him with an answer. “Peter administers me a drought. I have yet to analyze all the ingredients. Once it seems I have figured out one of the secrets of the elixir, he swooshes me out of Neverland into this world.”
He turned introspective, as he said, “He's afraid. He must have some feelings for you. No man would keep dragging you back into Fairy, if he didn't. And then to send you packing every time you got closer to finding a way to live without him? Seems a bit obvious, doesn't it, Ms. Darling?”
I held my posture perfectly, as I replied, “I am a woman without choices, Dorian. Truthfully, I am no closer to finding what is in that drink, as I am to stop my self-reliance on it.”
All smiles gone, he leaned over towards me, putting his elbows on his knees. I leaned back, plastering myself to my seat. His eyes were level with mine. Then he very quietly said, “Everyone has choices Ms. Darling, including you.”
I swallowed. This man scared me. He must have seen the whites of my eyes, because he sat up straight and then leaned lazily back into his seat. He stretched out his legs, until they bumped mine. I hastily moved mine off to the side.
He said, “I can't wait to see what Tesla makes of you.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He made a big production out of yawning and appearing to fall asleep. I stared at him for a minute longer. Then he opened one eye to wink at me before he proceeded to close them both tight again.
I looked down and stared at the pages in my book, never turning another page that train ride, until the words blurred. I eventually closed my book and looked out the window. I sat there hoping that I didn't make an enormous mistake by trus
ting him with personal information about me.
At least, I kept Peter's and the Fairies' real secrets from him. There would be no forgiveness or respite if I had revealed them to him. Also, I didn't reveal my skill at becoming invisible. I closed my eyes, determined to meditate and forget our conversation. I tried very hard to not think of Dorian, who was now sleeping across from me. Oblivion eventually came, as I finally let myself be swayed back and forth by the rail.
···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···
I awoke to the screeching of a Brass Hat's whistle, signaling our imminent arrival at the Buffalo station. We were still a minute or two out from the station, when I looked out the window. I saw throngs of people waiting for our train. Upon closer inspection, I could even see children that were atop their parent's shoulders holding tightly to their small knapsacks and parents necks. Their parents had the look of horror written across their smudged faces. More than a few appeared to have open, oozing wounds. I saw several trampled bodies off a ways from the mob. The living ones were moving en mass towards the train. I then realized that we were actually only about a half a mile away from the station.
I didn't fancy being forcibly pushed off the train, so I grabbed my bags with every intention of making it to the caboose before the train was even close to stopping. I asked Dorian, “Buggy Car?”
He held open the door for me and said, “Ladies first, let us not tarry here any longer. That throng out there won't wait until we get off.”
As we dashed through the various rail cars, I called out over my shoulder, “Where there is a crowd, there are bound to be some officers.”
“What a most egregious situation this has turned into.”
I said, “I concur,” as I slipped my resplug into my nose.
We finally reached the end and threw the door open. The sickly sound of warning sirens in the distance announced the official death of a city. Their whining eerily floated and echoed through the air. We couldn't see the destruction yet, since the caboose was facing away from the industrialized metropolis. The train had slowed considerably, as it crept towards the Buffalo station house. There was no one at the end of the train yet, so I gently tossed my bags onto the grassy slope next to the tracks and leaped off the end railing. I rolled to a halt and then heard Dorian do the same behind me. I had to head back further for my bags, but when I finally found them, I decided to wait for Dorian to catch up to me.
Tesla's Revenge Page 8