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And, lo, shall the creature be released...unless they can stop it. |
| [Introduction] Fais ce que voudras Hundreds of years ago, in the early 18th century, a group of men and women came together to flaunt religiosity and shock their staid neighbors. Led by Philip, Duke of Wharton, they dressed up as characters in the Bible and proceeded to ridicule the very notion of religion. They professed themselves to be 'devils' and engaged in drunken orgies, though it is unlikely that any of their actions could be accounted as true Devil worship. Their purpose, like so many across Britain at the time, was to mock religion by parodying it. But they opened the floodgates and sewed the seeds, clearing the way for something much more dangerous. Sir Francis Dashwood, remembered to this day as a prominent Devil-worshiper and dark-minded occultist, formed his club in the mid-1700s. As libidinous as he was blasphemous, Dashwood used his club to worship the Pagan deities of drink and love, Venus and Bacchus. Around his home at Wycombe, he built statues to the female form, thumbing his nose as modern sensibilities, giving himself over to the ancient rituals. Members of his group are said to include even the great Benjamin Franklin, for whom the female form was a notorious temptation. Men and women flaunted their sexuality, engaging in full-flung bacchanalians, worshiping the Gods of old with true abandon. In order to facilitate the growth of his organization, the Brothers (as they called themselves) carved deep into the caves under Wycombe, filling the extensive cave system with mythological and sexual symbols, most of them phallic in nature, although statues of bare-chested women lined the gardens above ground. There they engaged in religious rituals, kept secret until this day, and are said to have made sacrifices to the dark entities, giving way to Devil-worship and other profane acts. Dashwood and the others never spoke out against these rumors, which only solidified them in the minds of their gainsayers. Secrets compounded until, in the 1760s, the group disbanded, disappearing within the ranks of the rising influence of the Masons. No one spoke of the group again, until the caves became a tourist attraction in recent years. What no one knows--what no one could know--is that the group never disbanded. They continued to meet at the Hellfire Caves to engage in secretive rituals, both sexual and sacrificial in nature. Members of the Hellfire Club--called The Brotherhood of the Beast by its own--worshiped the old gods in secret, knowing what Dashwood had found in the caves beneath his home. What he had released. And what they kept at bay. For if the original Hellfire Club had meant to thumb its nose at religion, the Brotherhood sought to protect it--and all of humanity--from the evils that lurk in the shadows of the world. Now, in the twenty-first century, the members of the Hellfire Club are dying en masse. Some are simply old, but others are dropping of mysterious diseases, taking their secrets with them. Others have gone into hiding, refusing to go down into the caves again, knowing that to do so would spell their death. And so the rites go unperformed, the gods go unheeded, and the Beast grows ever closer to escape. And should Satan's beast run free, it won't matter which religion was right because everyone will be dead. ***** -Alright. Rule One: THIS IS NOT A FANTASY CAMPFIRE! Just because the Gods are real does not mean that this is fantasy. It is not. As a Pagan, I do believe these Gods are real and it's rather annoying when people assume that a story is fantasy just because Loki and Hermes show up. This is a supernatural thriller action/adventure story a la Dan Brown. Only the Gods are real. Actually...think of this as if Neil Gaiman and Dan Brown got together to write a novel. Any questions, ask me. -Our characters are normal people at the beginning. Not members of the Hellfire Club. In your own way, however, you must get your character involved. They will be the next generation of Priests and Priestesses of the Brotherhood and they'll be sucked into trying to keep the Beast from getting out. So, as I said earlier in the all-important rule one, it's kind of a supernatural thriller action adventure kinda story. With orgies and drunkenness. -I warn you now, there will have to be sex scenes. But the more important part of these sex scene is that the ritual is used to speak to the Goddess Venus. There will also be scenes involving much drunkenness, which is how they communicate with the God Bacchus. These two are their patrons, representing all the Gods and Goddesses of old. But the others will show up. Most of them, in fact, will show up. -Follow the rules of my campfires. If you are new to my campfires...these are the basics: Write in third person. I know some people prefer first, but I prefer third and uniformity is good. Please, grammar check your additions. I will do it in any case, so don't be pissed if some of your additions are changed because I've gone all Grammar Nazi on you. NO GOD MODDING/MARY SUES OR STUS! Our characters are normal, everyday human beings! They are not geniuses, they aren't superhuman, they aren't supermodels or what have you. Normal people. Normal, every day people. Can't reiterate that enough. And two for this one only: Since this campfire is based in our world, try to keep it real. Do some research on the old gods if you don't know about them. It'll make it a lot easier for you, believe me, especially if Writer's Block ever takes control. Dr Matticakes Myra  is actually from Wycombe, where all of this takes place, and he would really like it if the geography is pretty good. He's even going around town to do some research to keep it real. E-mail him with any questions. (That's not one of my campfire rules...that's just for this campfire.)-Lets make Dan Brown look like an amateur, ok? That should be fun. Anything else, just ask me. Also, please try to add within three days because I want this one to move more quickly, but a week is about where I will cut it off. Three days, you get an e-mail. Six days, you get another e-mail. One week and you will be skipped. Oh, and no bios. Bio-blocks are not the way to go with this particular piece of excitement. CIAO! |
| Manhattan was a 'get up and go' kind of island; a place that forgot the past as quickly as it was no longer the present and never thought about the future unless it pertained to the right here and right now. Tourists, parting with their money on everything from double-decker tours to kitschy fake Tony statues, glutted the city on their sacrificial energy where once that toll had been paid in the dark corridors of Ellis Island (now, ironically, its own tourist attraction). The Church of Broadway, the alter at Liberty Island, the sacred spot of remembrance at Ground Zero, the temples and gardens along Museum Row surrounding Central Park; all of Manhattan providing the life-blood, the spiritual foundation of America, the beating of the economic heart of an entire nation. America’s soul, for lack of a better term. However went New York, so went the country. Alain Barclay, op-ed writer and executive assistant to the editor-in-chief of The New Yorker, stepped out of the Subway just off of Broadway on Canal Street and, wrapping her coat tight against the chilly night air, headed first to the corner and then south on the Great White Way into Tribeca. She’d lived there her entire life, due in large part to her grandfather Selwyn, who’d purchased one of the abandoned lofts back in the seventies and deeded it to his daughter, Alain’s mother Allysa, when he’d decided to move back to England. When her mother had died, just after Alain’s twentieth birthday, the loft had passed on to her. Thank the Gods for a locked-in-price, or whatever it was that the folk down at the Courthouse called it. The income and property taxes were bad enough, Alain had always thought; if she’d had to pay for the apartment, as well, she’d have to leave Manhattan entirely. And there was no way she was living in Brooklyn or, even more likely, across the Hudson in Jersey. Palming her mace—New York was a dangerous city even if it was beautiful—Alain hustled down the streets, wishing that her boss had let her go some time before midnight. The ride from Times Square had been fast—she could almost have walked it, in fact, if it weren’t the middle of the night—and placed her only a few blocks from her apartment building, which she shared with some very famous people. Even here, the lights were always on, and Alain gloried in the life of her beautiful home. God she loved it. The lights, the energy, the constant motion. It was like living in the heart of a giant, feeling the beat and keeping the pulsating muscle going, keeping the giant alive. That was New York. That was the town all the songs had been written about. That was her home. As Alain reached her building, she waved the key over the sensor—she’d not been a proponent of getting rid of the old keypad system, but Manhattan was state-of-the-art if it was anything—and shouldered her way into the warmth of the elevator lobby. Thinking of the updates to the building, Alain found her thoughts shifting to those of her old grandfather, whom she hadn’t seen in almost seven years. He’d come to her mother’s funeral and stood in the back of the room with a woman that he’d introduced as his partner, but whom Alain had known was his latest in a long string of lovers. “My girl,” Selwyn had whispered to her, patting her on the back. “I am very sorry for your loss. It is as hard to lose a mother as it is to lose a daughter; harder even. Do you need anything?” Alain had shaken her head, using every ounce her not inconsiderable will to keep from sobbing uncontrollably. “No, grandpa,” she’d replied, allowing the man to wrap his arms around her. “I can take care of myself. I still have school to finish, which will keep me busy.” After the funeral, Selwyn and his lady-friend had taken Alain out to dinner. “What school are you attending?” Lilian, a beautiful woman whom Alain guessed was in her early-fifties had asked, her accent placing her somewhere near Chelsea. “I’m at NYU. The school of journalism.” Alain had watched as Selwyn and Lilian looked at one another, a knowing glint in their eyes. “I’m interning at the New Yorker this summer. It was a very competitive application program, but I’m the top of my class so they couldn’t refuse me.” “My granddaughter is a wonderful writer. Very witty. I understand that your entrance piece was a satire calling for us to, as you said, 'nuke the moon' as a means of reestablishing world peace?” Selwyn had leaned forward then, taking a sip of his port and stealing a French fry from Alain’s plate. “How would that work?” Alain had chuckled. “Um…well, basically, nuking the moon is such a stupid and crazy thing to do that it would cow our enemies and ensure that our allies remain as such, too afraid of what would happen if we ever decided to turn against them. It was based off of a comic. That was the task, basically. They wanted to test our ability to do research and turn our research into a viable piece. I was actually published in an edition as part of my internship rewards.” Lilian clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Your grandfather always talked about your mother as the successor to the Selwyn name because of her poetry, but a real wit and satirist, Sel! I think you might have overlooked your lovely granddaughter.” “Now, now Lilian, don’t confuse the girl.” Selwyn had silenced the woman with a glance. “Your ancestor, Alain, was a minister of parliament and a wonderful satirist. George Selwyn, whom I am named after. I have been telling Lilian something of the illustrious past our family possesses.” “Yes! Mom was always telling me about George Selwyn’s writing. She even said something about being part of this weird group that pretended to worship the old gods. The Hellfire Club. Silliness, she always called it. People pretending to be priests, pretending that their debauchery had some sort of purpose. She always said that it was just bored aristocrats trying to cause a sensation and piss people off.” Alain took a bite of her burger then and missed the look the two elder people shared; one of alarm, fading slowly into calculation. “I always thought it would be kind of exciting, myself. Even if it was only to piss people off. Plus, the Hellfire Club only lasted maybe a generation before infighting destroyed it.” “Hmm…” Selwyn had said. “I always liked to believe that the Hellfire Club continued. It has something of a sci-fi thriller about it. A secret group living underground and following the ancient ways. Of course, the group would have the secret purpose of keeping the world safe from an ancient beast. Using the rituals of the ancient peoples, as is apropos.” “Yeah, like a novel!” Alain finished her burger then and declined dessert when the waitress came over to bring them their bill. Selwyn had paid and then the three of them had gone down to Broadway to see The Lion King courtesy of Alain’s intern supervisor. The next day, Selwyn and Lilian had flown back to England and Alain hadn’t seen them since. Selwyn occasionally sent letters to keep tabs on his granddaughter, but Alain’s life had been one of independence and freedom for almost a decade. Shaking the memory from her mind, Alain realized that she’d reached her front door via muscle memory alone. Unlocking the door and slipping into her apartment, Alain kissed her fingers and acknowledged the statue of Ganesha that she’d placed on a table in the entrance hall. She wasn’t exactly a believer, no, but Alain’s mother had taught her never to disregard the old gods; they’d ruled the world once, Allysa had said, there was no saying that they couldn’t help you now. Always be open. And so Alain had turned the flat into something of a modern-day Pantheon, full of gods from anywhere and everywhere. Except the Mesoamerican gods. Something about the Aztecs had always creeped her out. So Quetzalcoatl was nowhere to be found. And neither was Papa ‘Legba. Because Voodoo creeped her out almost as much as the Aztecs. And no one wanted to live in a creepy apartment. “Hello home!” Alain called to her statues and plants—animals weren’t allowed in the building—before heading into the bathroom. She’d long ago discovered that the bathroom tended to stay warmer than any other room in the house, so she always changed in there. Hanging her coat and sweaters on the hook outside the door, Alain pulled on her pajamas and a housecoat before washing the make-up from her face and taking her hair out of the clip she’d kept it in all day. Then, sashaying out of the bathroom and into the kitchen—there had to be a can of Chef Boyardee in there somewhere—Alain set about making herself something to eat. Even in pajamas and slippers, with a face red from scrubbing, it was clear that Alain was a beautiful woman. Blue-green eyes, inherited from her mother’s side of the family, were both unique and, according to many, sparkled with an intelligence that added an attractive quality to Alain that was anything but dime-a-dozen. Wide-set and framed with thick lashes, Alain’s eyes framed a pretty face that betrayed an Eastern European pedigree from her father’s lines, whoever he had been. Her mother hadn’t married him and never told Alain anything about him. She had inherited her eyes and her long, coppery-blonde waves from her mother, but everything else—from high cheekbones, full lips, and alabaster skin to her slightly curved nose—came from the paternal genes mingling in her blood. And, unlike Allysa, who’d been straight and willowy, Alain’s figure could only be described as curvaceous, something she’d no-doubt gotten from the women of her father’s unknown family. So, while no one was stopping her to be in their runway show and men tended to pass her up for more traditionally sexy women, Alain had never bemoaned her looks. And, in a field like journalism, they certainly hadn’t hindered her thus far. Coming out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl of spaghetti courtesy of the Chef, Alain saw a red light flashing on the answering machine. There was actually a message on it for once! No one ever called her house phone. She’d been considering just using her cell phone as her permanent phone line, actually, but never gotten around to telling the phone company to shut the line off. But there was actually a message! Awesome. “Hello, Miss Barclay, this is George Holberg. I am friends with your grandfather, Selwyn. I…well, I don’t know how to say this, miss, but there’s been an accident and your grandfather has been seriously injured. We’re not sure he’s going to make it. And…he’s been asking for you. He would really like to see you, miss. If you could give me a call…” Alain wrote down the number, her mind blank. Grandpa Selwyn dead? Not possible. Alain had almost decided that he would be around forever. No wonder she’d been thinking of him; he was obviously calling out to her. She’d only missed the burning ears because of the cold night air. Allysa had always been a proponent of superstitions and psychic connections. She’d passed those beliefs on to Alain. Oh, mother. How she missed Allysa now. Allysa, who belonged in the Greenwich Village of the old days rather than trendy Tribeca. She would have known what to do. Looking at the clock, Alain sighed. It was one in the morning. So…six in England. She’d need to wait at least a couple of hours before calling this man and making plans to go to Wycombe. Grandpa Selwyn was dying. And, with him, the last of her family. Now Alain really was alone in the world. And, as much as she loved her independence, she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of being alone. ***** Heathrow Airport was huge, compared even to LaGuardia and JFK, which Alain had always thought were impossibly difficult to deal with. She’d come to realize, since landing, that the Americans had mastered efficient travel, even with all of those post-9/11 lines and security checks. Alain was half sure they were going to check her medical records before she left. But now she was here, Alain was glad for the excess of signs and checkpoints in American airports. Much better than being completely lost. Following the flow of people, Alain found herself at baggage claim and staring at a homely and very English-looking individual holding her name on a sign. “I’m Alain Barclay,” she said, running a hand through her messy waves and smiling at the man as she walked up next to him. Taking her bag, the man tipped his cap for her and the two headed to get her suitcase. “Greetings, Miss Barclay, I'm Philip. Mr. Holberg sent me here to pick you up and drive you to Wycombe. I’m his driver. If I may, miss, the entire neighborhood hopes that your grandfather makes a full recovery. Selwyn Barclay is well loved among everyone. In fact,” the young man chuckled and Alain realized that he wasn’t much younger than she was, maybe twenty-four at the most. “There was a bit of a competition amongst the families over who got to host Mr. Barclay’s granddaughter.” “Really?” Alain blushed. “Oh, my. I really was hoping to make this a quiet trip. I didn’t want to make any fuss.” “Fuss? Oh no, Miss Barclay…” Philip looked horrified at the idea. "It is an honor to house Selwyn's granddaughter. Oh, I do hope you aren't upset, Miss Barclay." Are they all like this? I'm not a flower. I don't need to be treated with supreme care, or anything. God, I hope they're not all like this. “Alain. Call me Alain, please. Miss Barclay sounds too much like we’re in the middle of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ or something.” “Of course. Alain. People are really looking forward to meeting you. Mr. Barclay talked about you all the time. If I may, miss…I mean Alain…he never mentioned how pretty his granddaughter is…” Now it was the boy's turn to blush, which only served to make his already unattractive face less endearing. Again, Alain smiled softly. As if. You are so not my type. “Oh, thank you! I take after my father. I can only assume he was from somewhere like the Ukraine or something like that. My mother never told me much about them. The eyes, though…” “You have your grandfather’s eyes. I was just about to say so, miss…Alain. Got that same spark in them, too, though his aren’t near as pretty, of course.” The boy clearly didn’t have much luck with women. Alain almost found herself feeling sorry for him until she realized that she was twenty-six and could count on one hand the number of relationships she’d had over the course of her lifetime. At least he wasn't an asshole like most guys at home. "I'm Philip." You said that already, nitwit. “Nice to meet you, Philip. Oh! There’s my bag!” Philip reached out and grabbed the bag, pulling out the handle and rolling it along the corridors. “Mister Holberg’s car is right out here. We’ve kind of got a…special spot. Local bobbies are friends of Mr. Barclay’s, too.” Alain raised an eyebrow. Since talking to Mr. Holberg two days ago on the phone—he’d insisted on paying for everything, which Alain hadn’t been able to turn down—she was discovering a lot of things about her grandfather that she hadn’t known. She’d liked Grandpa Selwyn well enough, even loved him like you love family, but she had known nothing about his life in England. And, apparently, he was a well-loved man. What else would come up while she was here? “Ah, here she is. Hello boys. This here is Mr. Selwyn’s granddaughter.” Alain smiled and waved as each of the police officers tipped his cap to her before sliding into the back seat of the car and allowing Philip to shut the door behind her. It was a Rolls Royce, something that Alain had only seen from afar back home. Being inside of one was remarkable; the seats were unbelievably comfortable and the car was luxurious in a way that she’d always associated with the palaces in England. And, now that she was here in England, surrounded by those selfsame palaces…she could only think that, at the end of this whole experience, her grandfather would be dead and she would be all alone. Philip started the car and smiled at her. “If you’d like, I’ll give you the tour.” Alain nodded and smiled, listening to Philip tell her stories about first London and then, as they entered the countryside, about the villages and ruins they passed. Even the trees and plants got their own story. He clearly loved his country and Alain thought that he had a lovely voice for story telling, even telling him so as he took a break between tales. “Why thank you, miss. I’m a writer when I’m not driving for Mr. Holberg.” “Well, I think you are a wonderful storyteller. I didn’t know much about England before now. I’ve never even lived outside of New York until now.” “New York is very exciting though, right?” Alain nodded. “Yes, definitely. I love it there. But it has nothing to compare to what you’ve shown me so far. No where near as much history and…such beauty. New York is definitely alive, but this place…it has so much soul. So much…wisdom. I don’t rightly know how to put it. But it’s a good place.” Philip nodded. “I know how you feel. I’ve lived here my entire life and I still feel the same way. Ah, here we go…” They’d entered the beginnings of a village…or what looked like a village from Alain’s point of view. And, in front of them, was a huge Tudor-style mansion, the kind that would cost millions of dollars to rent one room from in New York. “This is the Baker place. They agreed—won, actually—to host you during your visit.” As the Rolls pulled up to the front door—the driveway had taken nearly five minutes to navigate—the red monstrosity opened and a dark-haired woman stepped out. “That’ll be Mrs. Baker. She must be pleased to see you. Usually, they let the butler open the door.” Two more walked outside, two boys who looked enough like Mrs. Baker for Alain to assume that they were her sons. “The elder boy is Maximillion, the younger is Nathaniel. Nate used to have a twin in Alexandria, but the poor child died after hitting her head during an epileptic attack.” “Oh…” Alain didn't know what to say. She appreciated the warning, but she feared she might have opened a can of worms when she'd allowed Philip to tell her so many stories. That was something best left for the family to reveal in their own good time, not to be aired like dirty laundry. As if reading her thoughts, Philip turned around suddenly, worry in his dark eyes. “Don’t tell anyone I told you. I’m…I’m a bit of a loud mouth. It’s the writer in me. I’m sorry if you feel like I overstepped my bounds…” “No, no, no…don’t worry, Philip. I’m glad you told me. It’ll help me be more delicate when they tell me instead of shocked. Thank you. Now, anything else I should know before we get out of the car?” Philip sighed. “Sebastian. He’s the middle boy. And a troublemaker. If he’s not here with the family, he’s in some sort of trouble right now. You’ll no doubt meet him later.” Philip stopped the car. “Alright. Let’s introduce you to the Bakers, Miss Barclay. Welcome to Wycombe.” |
“Wha’tyoo infah then?” “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Jail wasn’t really that bad a place. Courtesy of the Thames Valley Police, the benches were hard, the walls scratched but still egg-shell white, bars were painted the same colour of the walls to make it seem ‘less cagey’, the cells were all singles, back to back but to each his own well-lit lair in this place. Seb sat, feet kicked up on the bench and his hands tucked beneath his head. His pale blonde hair fell in front of his eyes even with his face tilted towards the ceiling; the expression on his face was one of vague disinterest as if he barely recognised that he had company in the room, albeit separated by two sets of bars. Slowly his eyes slid shut then lazily blinked open, the indolent green gaze not moving from the same place on the opposite wall. “Seersly, wha’tyoo infah? I ‘eard em boydems talk bout yoo as I came in. I seen you in tawn beefah?” “I seriously doubt it .” Seb smirked, emphasising the difference between their pronunciations of the same word, if only for his own amusement, “I was bored.” It was easy to be bored, after all, in a place like High Wycombe. An industrialised market town renown for furniture, the RAF, the Eden shopping centre, squalid council estates, terrifying roads and terrorists; a dull, urban dribble within the home counties devoid of character or anything of interest… it couldn’t be a surprise that someone like him was bored in a place like that, could it? After all, he wasn’t part of the local crew of boys from the top of Amersham Hill, he wasn’t one of the ones which sauntered in a navy and maroon flotilla down towards the town centre, lounging in the graveyard, sneering at the passersby and trying to hump the prickly legs of the grammar school girls. He wasn’t so banal or tasteless. “Make yooself sum fun’n eh?” “Of course.” “Ent’cha in’rested in wah’ I did?” Seb rolled his head towards the source of the voice at last. A twenty-something year old Pakistani sat hunched over on his bench, leaning towards his cell. He was dressed in black trackies and an over large black hoodie, fashionably pulled up over his head as he glowered, dark eyes tinged yellow and red beneath heavy brows. Typical Desborough dweller. He could guess what he was in for, if he was interested. Stab someone. Steal something. Gang fight. “Did you steal perfume from Superdrug?” Sarcasm, apparently didn’t quite reach the other man, but he let out a rasping laugh at something nonetheless, “No mate. I fuck’d up wunna’m boys’and ‘is bird. Wunn’m scabby Abbey sluts.” He figured he might as well entertain his companion, “Why’s that, they do something?” “Looked a’me like I don’ like.” As, of course, he could have guessed as well. “I’m a-geht like couple years, s’alright cos i’s no job. Nutin’ to do. I was bawd too.” He could hear the companionable grin spreading in the man’s voice. It was funny how prison-sentences always seemed to bring cellmates together. Even if it was really fallacy. “I gez from the fuss, the boydems gotchu for summin’ big. Be in long?” “I’ll be out before four.” “Wah? But wah’yoo do agen?” Sebastian Baker grinned then, murmuring the details of exactly what he’d done before he rolled back into his original position, now unable to contain his contentment with the situation, “I’ll bet you by four o’clock today I’ll be out of here.” The man scoffed. “Yur on.” * As three-thirty came and went, Sebastian recalled his mother turning desperate blue eyes to him, begging him to be home before their guest arrived, some guest from America who’d known Mister Selwyn… his grand daughter or something. Sighing to himself, he pushed aside the twinge of guilt that tried to trickle down his spine and into his chest; his mother was used to disappointment when it came to him, he was sure Nat would cover for him, even if Maximillion would scoff over their little brother’s loyalty to his disparate middle brother. He smiled, he did love Natty. At a quarter-to-four, just as his companion was beginning to taunt him, a slim, plainly pretty officer strode down between the rows of bars, calling out to him that he was free to go, no charge. The bitterness that haunted her voice made him grin and he nodded politely, thanking her as she led him up the stairs towards the front desk where he knew that a tall, russet haired friend would be waiting for him with a withering glance and a half-hearted smile. As he passed, he murmured to the other inmate, “You owe me an eighth.” The other boy just stared dumbfounded, wondering, what the fuck he had done wrong to not get off like this guy. * “I called your dad, he got you out. Again.” Kaio’s hands on the wheel were tight, “He didn’t seem happy.” “He was angry enough to show his displeasure. How exciting.” Sebastian drawled, toying with his friend’s lighter. “What did you even do this time? I mean… wasn’t it bad enough that your-” “I was high and bought loads of stickers. I stuck them all over a parked police car.” There was a pause before Kaio burst out into laughter, drowning out the drivel from the radio. Sebastian chuckled along with him, watching the Wycombe roads whoosh by. The ivory coloured suede seats in the car made a nice change from the cell benches, he though absently, tucking his hands under his legs as he sat. Blurs of grey and brown houses fluttered by, the round-a-bout as they headed towards Hazlemere and Penn sending an ESSO garage and the local winery into the whirling, blurring images of less-than-salubrious, rundown homes and overly decorative billboards ebbing in and out of sight. He noticed a couple, shaded in the lee of a building, leaning in and kissing, their noses pink and smiles flickering behind dark strands of hair dancing in the smaller eddies of a summer wind that managed to sneak around the corner. He noticed an old man in an old fashioned raincoat, nose pitted by black heads, waiting at the zebra crossing as they passed by. He even noticed that across the park, just before they rolled up the bend on Amersham Hill, a dog with its shadow owner was running towards the playing fields just beyond. They were going towards the Handy Cross round-a-bout and Hughenden, heading towards the open country. “So how’s your gold-digging, bitch of a mother doing with the Prince of Morocco these days?” “She’s fine, currently in Dubai. She thinks your heartless, alcoholic Law Lord father is screwing the American though.” “The American only arrived today. Doubtless my father hasn’t even met her yet. Nice try though.” “You missed Selwyn’s granddaughter’s arrival.” Kaio groaned and shook his head, “I can’t believe you’d do that to him.” “I’m not doing anything to him. He’d want me to keep enjoying myself, after all, he was the one that helped me score what I took today with the stickers.” Kaio let out a barking laugh, “Sounds like the old codger all right.” Gently Seb laughed to himself, realising that he was nervous about seeing his father at home for the first time in what seemed like forever. He had seemed ‘unhappy’, Kaio said, so he was angrier than usual. Perhaps because he was stressed out with Selwyn’s heir-apparent popping over for a visit or maybe ust because of what he’d done. Kaio pressed on past the Cineplex and ambled along at forty until it reached the edge of Wycombe proper. It seemed it was time to leave the strange, incongruous safety of town and race the last few miles home. * Home, he had long ago decided, was a very vague term. A house, said Polly Adler, was not a home. But although this building certainly held fond memories, they felt distant and the fact that he still called it home almost seemed wrong. He certainly couldn't agree less with the old 'home is where the heart is' because at the end of the day, he'd rather be anywhere than home. Stepping out of the car with Kaio chattering away about how he’d like to have seen the stickered car, Seb basked in the magnificence of the place, from the history that poured from it’s walls to the red painted door with its brass handle and lion-mouthed, Venetian knocker, he felt his nerves pertaining to his father dissipate and his confidence return. It might have been to do with the light smell of lavender from the beds around the door. Or it might have been because he could hear laughter from the open windows. But either way it felt as if, in that moment, home had a much greater meaning than simply being the place attached to the stables. “Mother!” He called out through the house, assuming she’d be the one taking tea in the conservatory. The laughter stopped and he heard a spatter of murmured words growing louder, like momentarily startled budgerigars. He voices as his mother and another woman, a woman he didn't recognise even as she stepped through the door from the kitchen. He ignored the hopeless, worried look that passed across his mother’s pale features as she pushed her dark hair off her face. His mother was elegant as usual. Her white dress seemed to make her pale, skin seem even paler, the magenta wrap-cardigan was pinned shut with a large silver brooch that he remembered his grandmother sending her for Christmas. Standing, poised and graceful next to the young woman he assumed to be the American, he couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. “Mother. And… Miss Barclay, I assume?” At the small nod of confirmation, Sebastian smiled charmingly, moving forward to greet the stranger, “I’m sorry for not being here to greet you, there were unfortunate delays in my plans. I’m Sebastian, you’ve no doubt heard of me from someone.” “You’ve turned up in conversation.” “No doubt all saying terrible things which are grossly unfair, I hope you’ll let me make a better first impression than rumours surely can?” He grinned, “This is my friend, Kaio Morrigan.” “Miss Barclay.” “Please none of this ‘Miss’ stuff. You can all call me Alain.” Seb gave her a second run over with his eyes, subtly memorising her face, her curves, her body. She wasn’t stunning or lovely or delicate or wraith-like, nor did she back down from him as they spoke as so many of the English private school girls were inclined. She held herself with a calm alertness which he instantly decided he liked. She was curious, giving both he and Kaio an assessment of her own. He wondered what she thought. “Shall we go back to the conservatory and have some more tea bought out.” His mother spoke up to break the momentary silence, her words a statement rather than a question. As Kaio joined in, talking to Alain, Seb’s mother dropped back to talk to him. He rolled his eyes as she began to whisper to him, “I’ll speak to you as soon as our guest goes upstairs to refresh herself. Your father called me, apparently you and he are to have some words later, but I want to say my bit before him.” “Of course, mother, I’ll look forward to it.” Up ahead he heard Kaio exclaim, “The Hellfire Caves! I didn’t realise that people outside of Wycombe even remembered them much.” Sebastian paled. Ever since Tor Dashwood’s eighteenth, he’d not been able to shake the feeling that rose in his stomach whenever that place was mentioned. The stalactites and stalagmites, the bats, the never ending tunnels; he joined in with the conversation, making sure to catch the American’s eyes. They were so much like Selwyn’s but she seemed a different soul, “But how could the world ever forget the Caves? They’re dug right down into the soils of Hell.” |
| The Baker house was impossibly large and, as Mrs. Baker led her through every door and down every corridor, Alain found herself slowly becoming overwhelmed. Her own apartment at home was palatial by New York standards, but could probably fit into two of this mansion’s many sitting rooms. Not that it wasn’t beautiful, Alain thought; it was, just as impossibly so as the mansion’s size. It was immeasurably exquisite, imbued with the love and blood of centuries of devoted citizens, who worshiped their homeland in a much different way than New Yorkers found their land worshiped. Oh, Alain had found, tourists sacrificed themselves upon the altar of kitsch here just as much as in Manhattan, but it was different here. As if the sacrifice meant something, did something for the land itself. There was a spiritual cadence here completely missing in the saucy tango of New York City living. And it was beautiful. Alain had barely thought of home since she’d been here. Which surprised her whenever she realized that she wasn’t thinking of or even missing New York, a place she’d thought she’d loved so dearly. Oh, she did love New York. It was home. It was memories. It was her mother. But, it wasn’t nearly so deep as the peace she felt in this countryside. Maybe it was the countryside, Alain thought. Maybe it wasn’t England so much as it was the country. She’d never traveled outside the city even at home—not that there was much real country to be had in New York—but she wondered if it would feel like this if she were to get out onto the Fruited Plains and Majestic Purple Mountains of lore. Probably not, she thought. America was beautiful in its wildness, but it missed a spirit. Its spirit was contrived, a gift from the rest of the world, as so much of America was. Its spirit stood, embodied in acid-corroded copper in New York Harbor, wrapped in the ideals of its political machine. Here, in Wycombe, Alain felt like she could run into the gods themselves. “Would you like some tea, Miss Barclay?” Mrs. Baker’s pleasant voice cut into Alain’s thoughts, saved from an annoyed response by its very pleasance. Alain supposed that was why she’d used that particular tone. Polite elegance embodied seemed to be Mrs. Baker’s ultimate goal. She must have noticed that Alain’s thoughts were wandering, overwhelmed by the enormity of the house. “Or would you prefer coffee? I know Americans are fond of their coffee.” Alain chuckled politely, modeling her behavior after the older woman, and nodded. “Yes, I quite love my coffee. I would go bankrupt if so many of my school friends didn’t work for Starbucks and give me their free pound. I would, however, adore some tea right now. It seems so much more apropos for getting to know someone, don’t you think?” “Oh, you’ll fit in quite nicely here, Miss Barclay. So much like your grandfather. I would offer to take you to his residence, but it is too late in the day for such visits. If you wish, we will drive you over first thing in the morning. Or have Philip drive you, if you prefer?” Alain followed Mrs. Baker down the stairs and toward one of those many, ubiquitous sitting rooms that seemed to take up half of the house. Actually, Alain amended, this room seem to be called the conservatory, although she wasn’t exactly sure why. It didn’t appear to conserve anything. In fact, aside from the grand piano and the fact that it seemed to be brighter and more comfortably outfitted than the other sitting rooms—and less formal because of all the windows, now that she thought about it, which pleased her mightily—it looked almost exactly like the rest of the house. Rich, well furnished, and, well, British. Looking around at the expensive, and often old, furnishings, Alain was silent for some moments before replying to Mrs. Baker’s question. “Tomorrow morning is fine, ma’am. I’m actually pretty tired and don’t think I’d be up to seeing him if he’s…sick.” Remembering the other half of Mrs. Baker’s questioning, Alain was suddenly struck with an odd desire to shock the staid Brit. “As for transport, I’m used to walking most places. You just point me in the direction and I’ll be on it like white on rice. I used to walk the length and breadth of Manhattan when I was too broke to even afford a metro card.” “But it’s three miles!” Mrs. Baker replied, her composure faltering momentarily before the mask slipped back into place as neatly as her carefully applied makeup. Alain barely contained the laughter that bubbled at the base of her throat. Suddenly, she felt like Elizabeth Bennett with her petticoat six inches deep in mud! The scandal of it all! Alain supposed admitting to walking everywhere just wasn’t ladylike, or something. Maybe she should just have Philip drive her. He was pleasant enough and his stories would definitely explain why a village surrounded by such mansions could be something of a shithole in the middle. “It’s too far to walk, Alain. The weather is hardly suitable to extended periods of time out of doors. I would feel so much better if you agreed to let someone drive you. Perhaps even Sebastian, if he’s not otherwise occupied.” This last sentence was spoken with a bit of a sigh, as if in resignation. “He and Selwyn always got along amiably.” Alain smiled softly, conceding the argument, such as it was. “I’m sure everything will be cool. I just don’t want to be an inconvenience on what will hardly be a visit full of pleasantries. Grandpa Selwyn being unwell…” Mrs. Baker nodded solemnly and, almost for the first time since she’d arrived, Alain thought she saw a flicker of real emotion pass over her face. Everything until then had been a contrivance for Alain’s sake. Be welcome in our enormous house full of these rich furnishings and feel both welcomed and suitably awed by our grandeur. A veritable 50s housewife, all starched and lipsticked, transported to the quaint English countryside. Here now, seeing the solemnity of Mrs. Baker’s face, Alain thought she saw just how much everyone appreciated her grandfather and what a person he was. They knew him far better than she did, after all. “We…all hope Selwyn will pull through this…very much.” Which only confirms for me that he won’t. “But that is hardly the kind of talk to accompany tea. I take it Philip told you all the stories of the area? A great many of us joke that he’d turn a teacup into a story if he could. Quite a talent for it.” Mrs. Baker laughed then, a tittering sound that sounded almost real to Alain, who found herself warming to the woman despite feeling that she hadn’t even met the real woman yet. Somewhere in the house—the front, Alain decided—a door slammed and a voice called out “Mother!” in the way that children are wont to do. Mrs., Baker carefully concealed a wince with a soft smile. “That would be my son, Sebastian. Please excuse his rudeness.” “Nah, no problem. I used to do that to my mom…when I was little.” Alain choked back the sudden onslaught of emotion at the thought of her mother. No wonder Allysa had loved and hated England so much. It was so beautiful, steeped with history and life and culture in a way that New York, as trendy and lively as it was, could not match. New York always looked to the future, almost at the expense of the past. England, and particularly what she’d seen of it, had such reverence for its past. Mrs. Baker stood. “Well, he’s just in time for tea. Let’s go introduce you, shall we?” Together, the two women stepped out into the hallway. Alain was surprised to see two men standing in the hall, but it was easy to guess which one was Sebastian. He had enough in common with both of the Baker children she had met already and even Mrs., Baker, though her features were darker than her middle son’s. The other must be a friend. Sebastian was handsome, Alain decided; much better looking than his elder brother, who’d already begun applying what he must have thought was his charm. A few years younger—maybe twenty-three—he held himself with a certain lackadaisical grace, something she’d come to associate with being the black sheep in any given family. Which, from what she’d heard, he was. “Mother. And… Miss Barclay, I assume?” Alain nodded, but said nothing instead assessing the man in front of her. His voice was pitched just so, as if he understood the effect a pleasing timbre could have on anything spoken. No doubt a trait picked up from his years of being the family troublemaker. Sebastian smiled then and, for an instant, reminded her of his older brother before real charm settled on his good-looking face. “I’m sorry for not being here to greet you, there were unfortunate delays in my plans. I’m Sebastian, you’ve no doubt heard of me from someone.” “You’ve turned up in conversation…” Alain barely contained a smile. At least Sebastian didn’t hide behind pleasantry. She was beginning to worry that she would never actually meet anyone here, just some fancy simulacrum meant to keep her occupied while the real—and much less pleasant—family went about their business. Sebastian introduced her to his friend Kaio before Mrs. Baker suggested they continue their repartee in the conservatory. After all, Alain thought, tea has been served and one would not want to miss tea in the conservatory. We might miss Colonel Mustard with the candlestick. Alain walked with Kaio since Mrs. Baker clearly wanted a word with her miscreant son. “So, Kaio…anything worth seeing in this town. I must say, I’ve heard a great deal about the caves and the secret goings-on there, but I don’t know much else about Wycombe. It’s got to have more than the Hellfire Caves.” “The Hellfire Caves! I didn’t realize that people outside of Wycombe even remembered them much.” Kaio looked both shocked and faintly amused, his lips thinning and his eyes briefly flicking back to Sebastian, who muttered something to himself. Alain noticed and made note of it. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she would remember it for later. “Of course there are other things to do. I mean, it isn’t London, but we’ll make sure you have a good time while you’re here.” “Great! I feel like Grandpa Selwyn would hardly be pleased to think that I came to see him and didn’t make it around the country he loved so much.” Alain smiled. “He never stayed in New York long once he’d moved back.” “Speaking of exciting, tell me about New York. I’ve never had occasion to visit.” ***** Alain stared at herself in the mirror. Well, to be truthful, she stared at herself reflected upon herself in the mirror. Her room at Baker Mansion, which she’d taken to calling it in her head, had a mirror looked like one of the mirrors in dressing rooms that fold into three sections. They allowed for full view of every bodily flaw. And, standing in just her underthings, Alain was reminded of a few extra pounds she wanted to get rid of. This was her first dinner in England with her hosts and she was finally meeting the forbidding Mr. Baker, or Lord Baker…or whatever he was. He was the quintessential overbearing English father according to Philip’s stories and Alain wasn’t sure what would be suitable for such an occasion. The jeans and t-shirt that she’d arrived in definitely wouldn’t work, not next to what everyone else seemed to wear normally. But it hardly seemed fitting to overdress for dinner. “Fuck.” Alain finally allowed herself the curse that had been bubbling up all day. She’d been too nervous to say it in front of the staid Baker mother and, though she didn’t think they would mind if she did, the mother had been around the boys all day. This was just too weird. Why were they so pleasant? If it was meant to feel welcoming, it was hardly successful. On the other hand, if it were meant to keep her on guard, it had worked perfectly. Only the ‘troublemaker’ and his friend had been…real. Sighing, Alain looked at the clock. Dinner was in ten minutes. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Jumping, Alain grabbed a simple summer tube dress that could hardly be too dressy. Throwing a cardigan over it, she allowed her red masses to fall about her shoulders and, slipping on some sandals, hurried out of her room so she wouldn’t be late for her first dinner with the Baker clan. As it turned out, she arrived at the same time as Mrs. Baker and slipped into the dining room just behind her. The Baker boys and Kaio were already waiting. The room was suffocating. Chandeliers and candelabra, fancy china and an overwhelmingly large dark wood table covered by what was clearly an ancient piece of lace that normally spent its time in mothballs…it was all too much. Combined with the seemingly displeased glowers of long dead ancestors, it was in no way welcoming, despite Mrs. Baker’s obvious hopes that it would be. For a girl used to slurping cheap Chinese food out of the carton, tucked into the corner of a La-Z-Boy, watching cartoons in the middle of the night, it was far too formal. And from what she’d seen so far, either the Bakers were insufferably impressed with themselves or had turned out everything in order to impress her. For what? A twenty-six-year-old American journalist from Tribeca? It seemed ridiculous. When Mr. Baker—Lord Baker Alain amended; Brits actually had that kind of stuff—entered the room, everyone seemed to hold their breath for an instant. They’d been chatting quite nicely before he’d walked in and, for the first time, free of any pretentious manners or pleasantry; he was shrouded in such self-possession that he seemed almost to reek of his profession. Alain remembered that he was some kind of judge…a Law Lord, or something. Whatever that meant. Judges were judges. Former lawyers who thought they were too good for courtroom drama and so created it instead, playing puppet master with peoples’ lives. And Lord Baker seemed to hold himself above everyone. You could probably whittle a baseball bat out of the tree trunk stuck up his ass. Seating himself imperiously upon his throne, Lord Baker condescended to give everyone a look—equally imperious—stopping just slightly to assess his newest arrival. Alain looked straight back, knowing that Lord Baker saw her grandfather Selwyn in that gaze. He started somewhat, but only Alain seemed to notice. Everyone else was too busy bowing their head in supplication. Alain didn’t bow, or even nod—he was just a bloody judge after all—and noticed that Sebastian seemed to tilt his head somewhat sardonically at his father. Ah. Law Lord father not impressed with law-flaunting son. I wonder if Sebastian gets along with anyone in this family. “Benedictus, Benedicatum. Amen.” Alain barely contained a snort. Latin. How pretentious. At home, she said grace, but it was a general request to the everything that was the divine. Sometimes she favored the Greeks, other times it was the Egyptians. Occasionally, she even sent a shout out up to Jesus, just in case he got lonely. But at least it was short. And completely fitting everything else that had happened thus far. Alain found herself wanting to run out of the room and back into the countryside she had seen on her drive here. It was open, free, beautiful. Not like sitting in this room surrounded by self-satisfied nouveau riche who pretended to be something so much more than they were. At least Alain didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. And so she didn’t pray. And neither did Sebastian, she noticed. It heightened him in her eyes. As the food appeared, Alain thanked everyone for everything and threw herself into the small talk that she had known would ensue. Mostly the questions were about New York and her work at the magazine. It seemed that the New Yorker was not unknown among the Baker clan and Kaio was surprised to learn that his favorite article was one that she herself had written. Warmth poured through Alain as she thought of home, her eyes lighting and sparkling the more she went on about the city and Manhattan in particular. In her turn, she asked questions about England and the exact details of Lord Baker’s work. Mrs. Baker did most of the talking. Apparently Lord Baker would not condescend to speak to her, though his dark eyes hardly left her face the entire night. It was disconcerting. Eventually, however, the conversation turned away from pleasantries and Sebastian began telling a story about a nurse. The boy she’d looked after had apparently developed a bit of an infatuation with her and, spurned, had pushed her into the fire while she was toasting a piece of bread for him. Apparently the nurse now haunted that particular fire and cried, “Oh!” Sebastian had paused and looked straight at Alain, no doubt to gauge how she reacted. “The toast is ruined!” Alain collapsed into a fit of giggling along with Sebastian’s younger brother and friend; even Mrs., Baker chuckled politely. Only the elder brother and Lord Baker seemed impervious to the joke. But, Alain thought, laughter might push the stick out and we wouldn’t want that. Alain stopped listening for a moment, contemplating instead how the mischief on Sebastian’s face was the real cause for his roguish good looks. Otherwise, he was simply too much like the rest of his family, complete with the imperious rise of his brow. Only when perpetrating some very silly shit did he look human enough to be handsome. Which seemed to be all the time, anyway. The sound of cutlery slamming on the table shocked Alain, who visibly jumped. Lord Baker had apparently grown tired of his son’s raucous stories. “That is enough! We need not hear any more of your vulgar fairytales, Sebastian.” The room was silent. Even Alain was not immune to the fear that an angry Lord Baker could inspire. Sebastian, however, replied easily. “I would hardly call them vulgar, father, more like…deviant.” Inwardly, Alain applauded the boy for saying what she herself was thinking. The reaction had been totally uncalled for. Everyone had been enjoying themselves. What was the point of having a dinner at the table if it was to be awkward silence throughout the whole thing? Alain ate in silence, wrapped in her own thoughts, struggling to keep her annoyance from revealing itself through the tension in her lips and shoulders. “Have you been to London yet, Alain?” The youngest, Nathaniel, broke through the silence. The relief radiating from Mrs. Baker on his right was palpable. Alain allowed herself a flickering glance at the woman and then returned to the boy sitting next to her. She could feel everyone looking at her, so she smiled her most charming smile and shook her head softly. “Not yet, but I really ought to while I’m here.” Chuckling, Alain shrugged. “That would be like going to New York and not seeing Rockefeller Center. Or the Statue of Liberty. I will make a point of seeing more than the airport.” “Well you can’t go unescorted. A beautiful woman from American, alone in London, you’ll be a sitting duck in the murkiest of all English ponds.” Alain looked over at Max and, as such, saw Sebastian cringe slightly. Ah. Thank you for the warning, Sebastian. “I’d be more than happy to take you down there sometime. After all, I know London quite well since I travel there so often for my work.” Alain schooled her face to polite neutrality. She saw Kaio, who sat across from her, hide a smile behind his napkin. “Oh umm… that would be lovely I’m sure. I don’t really want to just see all the touristy places but-” You have got to be kidding me. I know London quite well since I travel there so often for my work…oooo. What…a…wow, just wow. Please don’t make me have to come out and say it. “You shouldn’t worry. Since I travel there so often for my work, I know many places which tourists, such as yourself, can go and not feel like visitors. After all, my work isn’t a tourist attraction.” Max chuckled, evidently pleased with what he thought was some form of clever wit. Alain tightened her lips slightly against the disdainful laugh threatening to break free. “I’d hate to see someone such as you helplessly lost in such an unforgiving city. Your beautiful face, pushed together in a muddle, would turn too many heads and then what would mere mortals as I, who work, do with ourselves.” Wow. Between him and Philip, I think I may never date again. At least Philip isn’t a douche. As politely as she could, Alain smiled and asked, “What is it you do again?” “I’m a lawyer. A property lawyer.” Of course you are. “Law is such a taxing thing. There’s always a victim, a person who’s missing out. Which is why I’d hate for you to miss out on an experience such as London. Why, with your exquisite eyes and feminine charm, you’ll fall in love with the embodiment of regality and-” Alain opened her mouth to speak, a scathing remark about what eyes and charm had to do with the regality of a city. The New Yorker had reached the end of her patience. Evidently, Max had taken a shining to her. But, for God’s sake, only assholes and idiots flaunted their work and evident superiority while trying to woo someone. Again, Alain was reminded of Austen. But there was no way that this man in front of her was a Darcy…at most, he was a Collins. Yes, Alain thought, he’s a Collins! I am free to be amused by him rather than annoyed. Sebastian, however, saved her, his patience obviously tested more quickly than a stranger’s. “Regality? Maximillion are you making up words again? You work in Serbiton, Surrey, not London and certainly near nothing interesting.” Alain shot a glance over at Lord Baker to see if the man would defend his obvious favorite, but the man seemed to have tuned out the conversation. Mrs. Baker seemed resigned to constant embarrassment. Everyone else was just amused. Alain threw her lot in with the last and allowed a smile to play about her lips. Max, apparently, did not notice even if everyone else did. “Serbiton is a perfectly respectable place to be working. And anyway, this we can work out specifics at a later time between the two of us, Miss Alain." Alain grimaced at the formal title of ‘miss’, which she’d insisted not be used too many times that day. She gave no reply, but rolled her eyes once the man looked down at his food. Sebastian noticed. "That would be nice. Your sycophantic idiocy is making us all nauseous and if you could refrain until after dinner that would be brilliant... Or would that be too much to ask of someone who so loves the sound of his own voice?" Lord Baker stirred and Alain, afraid that he would say something to make the room awkward once more, spoke up. “Thank you, Maximillion, for your generous offer. But I could hardly take you away from the work you seem to love so much. It would hardly be fair. And I doubt that your office could spare you, property lawyers being of such importance. Someone might be swindled out of their proper inheritance without you to oversee it.” Before the man could open his mouth to speak, Alain continued. “No, no. I appreciate your offer to put aside your duties and suffer a silly American tourist’s desire to see your capitol, but I simply cannot hear of your making such a sacrifice on my account. Perhaps Sebastian, who has no such responsibilities, and Kaio could be spared to take me?” Out of the corner of her eye, Alain saw Lord Baker staring at her, something akin to amusement in his normally dangerous eyes. Clearly everyone at the table had caught her full meaning. Even Maximillion seemed to have understood, if the anger and jealousy radiating off of him was any indicator. Kaio struggled to contain the laugh bubbling at the base of his throat and Sebastian looked the closest to shocked she had ever seen him. “Of course,” Mrs. Baker cried, breaking the silence. “What a wonderful idea! You two must take her to London while she is here. And Sebastian, you should accompany Alain to her grandfather’s tomorrow. Selwyn would be pleased to see you both.” |
| “Urgh, Kaio, help me out here will you.” Seb mumbled as he twisted first to the left, then to the right, unable to the release the tension in his shoulders. “Your shoulders?” “No, my back.” “Cold, uncomfortable cells not to your taste?” Kaio wrapped his arms about Sebastian’s chest, making sure that his friend’s arms were tucked in, “You’d think you’d get used to them with the amount of time you spend in there.” “Just fucking help me out, will you.” Seb grumbled. Kaio snickered and heaved Seb backwards, making his back arch as he tugged up and back. A resounding crack split the air and Kaio dumped his friend on the ground, “All better now babe?” “Of course hunny bunny.” Sarcasm was a mutual friend between them, an easy banter that bridged between them and had bound them exclusively in their school days where the girls simpered and the boys tried to look cool. They’d met when they were tiny, although Seb had always been shorter, and never fallen apart. People weren’t really sure how it worked out. Kaio wasn’t seen as the same type of person as his blond counterpart. Seb was brutally honest, albeit reckless; Kaio was simply unimpressed and bored with a gentle ‘Britishness’ was lost in the Byronic Baker. Yet it had always been that Boredom and Honesty were a good mix. Especially when one boy lived to cause adventure and mock social convention and the other hated being lied to or deceived. At home they both lived with too much of what they hated and together they united to liven things up a bit. “The ‘Merican seems interesting.” “She’s Selwyn’s heir.” “Sure.” “She’d have to be completely ruined by the US to not be interesting. Anyway, she a journalist isn’t she?” “Yeah but she was definitely interested when we mentioned the Hellfire Caves. You’d have thought a rational, American writer would be disdainful of English folktales...” “Seriously?” “I don’t know. I just found it weird how she became interested and then your mother suddenly decided that going to the conservatory was a bad idea and urged Alain upstairs.” “You know what my mother’s like when it comes to superstitions.” “I like your mother.” “That’s because yours is a first-class, deceiving, bitch with great boobs, whereas mine nearly faints at the thought that women might not wear cotton undies.” “Very true.” “Anyway, you’re right. It’s nice to see Miss Bar- Alain – is more like Selwyn that expected.” There was a lull in the conversation as Seb shed his t-shirt and tugged out a purple-striped, Ralph Lauren shirt that he was fairly certain had been washed since he’d last worn it. Deftly tugging the buttons into the right holes, he turned to the mirror and looked at his reflection with a thoughtfulness he knew it didn’t deserve. “Ready to brave my father, Kai?” Kaio threw himself on the bed and groaned, “Do I have to?” * The long table was set for seven that evening, Kaio having joined in with the family meal welcoming Alain to the beloved, summer-soaked England that their house seemed to reject and ignore. Sebastian frowned, glaring at the unnecessary grandeur: the candelabra lit for the first time in years, a single lace cloth laid down the centre of the dark oak table that never usually saw natural light, even the crystal glasses were out beside the silverware and the century old china. It was quaint, beautiful, archaic and pretentious but he could tell that it was his mother’s way of trying to say that the American was welcome in their home – their traditional, conceited, hollow home. The room was so warm, so much so that it became suffocating. The staring portraits, that his grandfather had collected, lining the walls made him feel even less inclined to bask in the false grandeur. This whole charade was ridiculous and it made him feel all the more absurd. It wasn’t like they were old money, after all. “You ok, Sebi?” A high, unbroken voice clipped through the stagnant air, a small set of fingers curling around his own, “Apparently you’re sitting next to Max’million.” “Oh joy.” “But you’re opposite me. And you haven’t been around in ages.” Seb smiled wanly, “Sorry about that, I’ve been busy with Kaio.” He heard a chuckle and he realised that his friend had come in with his brother, just as silently, “Using me as an excuse, why am I not surprised?” He grinned this time and spun around, “Tell me, Kaio, what would surprise you?” “I think you’ve stopped surprising me.” Kaio stepped out in front of him, moving towards the table, feet clipping across the polished wooden floor as if his loafers were stilettos. It seemed no wonder now that when they were little they’d called this room the ‘Nightingale Floor’, just like in the story book. Seb had always loved stories and Kaio had always loved listening to them, as did Nat… which was probably why they were so much closer than his rational, boring older brother whose imagination had dried up along with his humour. As they moved down the table, each settling with awkward smiles and sheepish small talk, the three of them were joined by his mother then Maximillion then Alain and finally after a few moments of pleasantries about how their guest was feeling, how she’d found her room, whether or not she needed anything else in either her room or her bathroom or even just in general. His father’s arrival stopped all of this; it was as if his profession clung to him: an aura of austerity and arbitrary command that had stuck to him during his time as a judge. Each footstep sounded the mallet that he used to call for silence in the courtroom, his shirt shifting and sounding like the swish of judicial robes. As he sat, his lips pursed and eyes glancing over each and every one of them at the table, he waved a hand at Maximillion and each of the people sitting at the table bowed their head in supplication, except Seb who tilted his head to one side and Alain who merely looked thoughtful as his father’s deep baritone spoke Grace. “Benedictus, Benedicatum. Amen.” Seb didn’t put much stock in God. He didn’t believe in anything that could claim to be Supremely Perfect although he respected the concept of faith in such a being. It made sense to combine all gods into one great one but, as there was no way to conceive of one, he was left thinking that if there was a creator-god, it would be of a more Aristotelian variety. Or perhaps a god that created other gods because it recognised the human need for worship and its own inability to care for all those who worshiped. Yet his family insisted, he would, each time consider the pros and cons of this sort of religion, and then he’d come to the same conclusion again and again. Which was why he listened and didn’t pray. He wondered what Alain’s reasons were, whether she had reasons. After all, usually it seemed that people just did it to be polite, like Kaio, but social politics didn’t seem to be the issue with their guest. Far from it. As the food was served, wine was poured, conversation began with more of the small talk and bleary chitchat. Seb thanked the girl passing out soups – white pea from the smell of it – and she blushed rather charmingly. Of course the oldest brother ignored ‘the help’ out of a sense of misguided self-importance. They talked about America, about New York and Alain’s work there. His father remained silent but his mother nodded happily and answered as many of the questions Alain asked as she could for her husband. Eventually the politeness faded into the subconscious and conversation began to run free. Seb found himself telling a story thanks to the egging of Kaio and Nat; the tale of a nurse who looked after one of his mother’s ancestral cousins and how this young boy had grown up infatuated by the woman who he considered a second mother. Of course the old woman said no but the boy wasn’t so happy. “Now it all culminated, they say, when that same nurse was making toast at the fireside; the young, spurned master pushed her in and she died. And now her ghost lives in the grate…” Seb shook his head, putting on a soft, sad look, “And whenever she appears she cries out: OH!” Looking up he looked Alain straight in the eye and winked, “The toast is ruined!” Kaio and Nat dissolved into laughter, as did Alain, his mother giggled awkwardly but his father and Maximillion merely sat there, a rueful snort being all that the story could muster from the cynically, humourless pair. “Tell her about the girl in the bath and the man in the cupboard!” Seb gave a wicked grin, “Now that’s a story. Up in the bathroom at the top of the house, a Miss Jennifer was soaping her breasts in her bath when-” Silverware clattered onto a plate, metal on china scraping and clanking around each other, “That is enough!” Lord Baker’s face had splotches of colour in the cheeks though otherwise was expressionless, “We need not hear anymore of your vulgar fairytales, Sebastian.” “I would hardly call them vulgar, father, more like… deviant.” But the damage was done and the silence had returned to the room, heavy and unhappy. The candles flickered; the beast in his father seemed to have begun to prowl a predator around the room. The spider on the ceiling crawled away. Anansi had realised that this Tiger was not going to turn itself into the fool any time soon… Sebastian sighed, lifting the silver fish knife and twirling it between his fingers, ignoring his mother’s pointed glares from across the table. “Have you been to London yet, Alain?” Nat piped up after a few moments of cutlery scraping plates. The young woman smiled and shook her head at the youngest member of the table, “Not yet, but I really ought to while I’m here.” “Well you can’t go unescorted. A beautiful woman from American, alone in London, you’ll be a sitting duck in the murkiest of all English ponds.” Seb cringed as he listened to Max jump upon the opportunity to act as a knight in shining armour. “I’d be more than happy to take you down there sometime. After all, I know London quite well since I travel there so often for my work.” “Oh umm… that would be lovely I’m sure. I don’t really want to just see all the touristy places but-” “You shouldn’t worry. Since I travel there so often for my work, I know many places which tourists, such as yourself, can go and not feel like visitors. After all, my work isn’t a tourist attraction.” His brother snickered as if he’d said something hilarious, “I’d hate to see someone such as you helplessly lost in such an unforgiving city. Your beautiful face, pushed together in a muddle, would turn too many heads and then what would mere mortals as I, who work, do with ourselves.” He winced this time, the clumsy phrasing and… forgodsake what was with the insistent adding in of ‘work’. “What do you do again?” “I’m a lawyer. A property lawyer.” Grandiose, boring, pretentious, “Law is such a taxing thing. There’s always a victim, a person who’s missing out. Which is why I’d hate for you to miss out on an experience such as London. Why, with your exquisite eyes and feminine charm, you’ll fall in love with the embodiment of regality and-” “Regality? Maximillion are you making up words again?” Seb could take it no more, “And anyway, you work in Serbiton, Surrey. Not in London and certainly near nothing interesting.” He raised and eyebrow, ignoring the pointed looks his mother was giving him and the slightly amused smirks aimed at him from the American. His brother merely spluttered. His father turned towards him, eyes glaring, smarting with disbelievment. How could this petulant, puerile son be so rude to the perfect elder brother? His father’s eyes gave away his alleigences just as they did every time. It was no surprise really, that Seb failed to live up to expectation when Maximillion was the heir to all that was good and blue blooded. “Serbiton is a perfectly respctable place to be working.” His brother deliberately ignored what he’d said“And anyway,” she continued, “we can work out specifics at a later time between the two of us, Miss Alain." He noticed how Alain grimaced at the formal title of ‘miss’, which she’d insisted not be used too many times that day. She gave no reply, but rolled her eyes once the man looked down at his food. He grinned to himself and caught Kaio’s eye with a look which translated all the mischeif beginning to form in his mindseye. "That would be nice. Your sycophantic idiocy is making us all nauseous and if you could refrain until after dinner that would be brilliant... Or would that be too much to ask of someone who so loves the sound of his own voice?" Lord Baker stirred and Alain, afraid that he would say something to make the room awkward once more, spoke up. “Thank you, Maximillion, for your generous offer. But I could hardly take you away from the work you seem to love so much. It would hardly be fair. And I doubt that your office could spare you, property lawyers being of such importance. Someone might be swindled out of their proper inheritance without you to oversee it.” Before the man could open his mouth to speak, Alain continued. “No, no. I appreciate your offer to put aside your duties and suffer a silly American tourist’s desire to see your capitol, but I simply cannot hear of your making such a sacrifice on my account. Perhaps Sebastian, who has no such responsibilities, and Kaio could be spared to take me?” Out of the corner of her eye, Alain saw Lord Baker staring at her, something akin to amusement in his normally dangerous eyes. Clearly everyone at the table had caught her full meaning. Even Maximillion seemed to have understood, if the anger and jealousy radiating off of him was any indicator. Kaio struggled to contain the laugh bubbling at the base of his throat and Sebastian looked the closest to shocked she had ever seen him. “Of course,” Mrs Baker cried, breaking the silence. “What a wonderful idea! You two must take her to London while she is here. And Sebastian, you should accompany Alain to her grandfather’s tomorrow. Selwyn would be pleased to see you both.” * Dinner had continued fairly ritualistically after that: his eyes had followed Alain at first, his amusement at her blatant defiance having made him thoroughly content. She definitely had something about her that caught his interest. Not just her manner or conversation but the vivaciousness that surrounded her made her infinitely more attractive than he could have anticipated before. Kaio noticed his expression and shook his head with a look that stated that he’d known that this was going to happen. It’s because if a girl had the sense of life and brilliance that Selwyn has you’d jump her in minutes. The look seemed to say. It was true too. Life was the most arousing thing in the world. As the apple crumble and custard and cream was removed from the table, his father rose and again said Grace. It was as if they had all only just jumped to their feet before the man swept like an angry wildcat from the room. Seb knew that he was meant to go and talk to him about being arrested. Again. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to considering the mood Alain had sparked in him. He saw Maximillion scurrying away and suspected that his day of misdemeanour would have be forgotten by the time his elder brother was done complaining about the fact that his honour had been damaged. As he nodded goodnight to his delicate, worried mother, he felt a small hand clutching at his and looked to find Nat tugging at his arm, “You’re going to read to me tonight right? It’s not too late and you haven’t finished Monte Cristo yet and you said you would.” If his father had been there he would have scowled and growled, told Nathaniel that he was too old to be read to. But Seb had been the one who’d taught their grieving little brother to love books and since he loved to tell stories he didn’t really mind spoiling his little brother. Let him have a piece of childhood. “Eh. Sure Natty. Do you mind if Kaio comes with us?” “Naw. He can do some of the voices.” He grinned, “Go get ready for bed then and I’ll come up in a minute with Kai.” As the youngest Baker scampered from the dining hall, he was left with the women and his best friend in an odd silence that wasn’t awkward yet wasn’t settled either. He could tell his mother probably wanted to chastise him for indulging his brother’s apparent immaturity but that she also found it rather endearing that her middle child wasn’t such a hopeless case when it came to those he cared about. “Alain, dear, I’m sure you’ve had a long day and would prefer to retire now rather than come to the drawing room for tea so I shall wish you goodnight. You too Sebastian. Don’t keep Nat up too late.” “I promise I won’t mother.” She smiled, one of those rare, true smiles that he missed most of the time because he wasn’t usually so sincere. “And Alain, if you would like to go to London, just let me know. I have a few spare Oyster Cards from various-” “I don’t want to hear this. Goodnight.” His mother left with her smile still intact. He relaxed a little more, “Fuck that was an awkward night.” Kaio laughed, Alain smiled. “I think someone ought to apologise for Maximillion’s behaviour but I’m not sure how that would repair that disaster of a dinner.” Kaio grinned. “We’ll show you a real welcome at some point.” Seb added, catching his best friend’s eye, “Wycombe? London?” Alain simply seemed a little bemused by the exchange but she didn’t look like she wanted to flee from them in disgust as she had his elder brother, “I’d like to see both. Though maybe once I have seen my uncle.” “Of course. We’ll take you to see Selwyn tomorrow. He’ll love to hear about the stickers.” “Stickers?” “It’s a long story.” |
| Breakfast at the Baker house was, thankfully, a much more informal affair than the dinner the night before. Apparently, Lord Baker and the eldest boy ate fairly early before traveling to work—such an important endeavor as property law obviously was, in the case of the boy—while the rest of the family dined as they awoke. Mrs. Baker was an early riser herself, involved as she was in the various charities and do-gooding that seemed to mark the upper echelons of British society, but the rest of the household arose at a much more seemly hour. Given their late night, which had definitely turned more into early morning by the time Kaio finally left, it was no surprise that Alain and Seb stumbled into the breakfast room within minutes of one another. The servants had been just about to order lunch for Mrs. Baker and Max, but seeing their guest, they prepared more of the breakfast fare. And, as they were already preparing it when Seb walked in, they shrugged and went on preparing. “Morning!” Seb greeted brightly, running a hand through his still-tousled blonde hair. He had changed out of his pajamas and into some real clothes, a step that Alain had not yet bothered to take, though she had brushed out her hair and braided it so it was out of the way until she got into the shower. Convincing the servants that they didn’t need to draw a bath for her had been a ten-minute endeavor when she’d finally rolled out from under the covers, but she’d won in the end. If her entire stay was going to be like this, Alain wondered if she could have her things moved to Grandpa Selwyn’s place. But, no, Alain remembered; Selwyn had been determined that she not be forced to live with his ailment all hours of the day. “Mmph,” Alain grunted out. She wasn’t a fan of mornings. Her life in New York had been one of late night parties in the Village and mingling with the rich and famous until all hours of the morning. During Fashion Week at Bryant Park, Alain had gone three days without even seeing her own apartment, borrowing clothes from the designers and toiletries from models who inevitably had more than they needed. So, needless to say, Alain preferred that the day be well on its way to almost over before she graced it with her presence. It annoyed her that Sebastian, who’d gone to bed at the same time as she, could look and sound so awake. Within the hour, she’d be fine, but for now, the boy needed to keep his mouth shut if he wanted to survive till dinner. “Morning.” Seb raised a mocking eyebrow, but wisely said nothing. Probably as reciprocation for Alain’s support at dinner the night before. Or as self-preservation. No doubt the middle Baker had learned from an early age when to keep his mouth shut and when to press his luck. He merely slipped into a chair and grinned cheerily as one of the servants placed a plate full of breakfast fare on the table in front of him. Alain managed a small smile and a murmured word of thanks, before grabbing the arm of the nearest unfortunate and growling out the word “coffee” like her life depended on it. Bemused, Seb watched the entire episode with a quirky half-grin, carefully piling the eggs and bacon onto his toast and making of it a breakfast sandwich. Alain, on the other hand, shoveled her food directly into her mouth, barely tasting it, her mind focused on one thing and one thing only: coffee. When the servant, whatever his name was—she couldn’t even remember her own at this point—came with her coffee, Alain could have kissed him. He even placed a saucer of milk and a bowl of sugar on the table in front of her, a goodly amount of which made it into the cup before Alain deemed it palatable. A single sip seemed to have a miraculous effect on the woman. Her stance loosened, her eyes brightened, and it seemed to Sebastian that he could almost see the ‘on’ switch flipping upward in her brain. “Good morning, Sebastian,” she said, voice warm and cheerful as she took another sip of the heady miracle brew. “We’re going to see my grandfather today, right?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow and stared for a moment, mouth open and improvised sandwich raised halfway to his lips. Inwardly, Alain chuckled. More than one person had been frightened into silence by the miraculous transformation from beast to woman that a single cup of coffee could cause. Eventually, Seb shook his head clear and nodded, finishing the bite and chewing, though his eyes never left Alain’s face. “Good. Afterwards, we can see Wycombe. I doubt Grandpa Selwyn will want us there long. He never struck me as the type to belabor a point. I’ll go, I’ll see him, he’ll kick me out and demand that I see his ‘beloved England’. Mom never brought me, despite Selwyn’s wishes that I should be brought here.” “Why?” It was a simple question; simpler than it really had any right to be. Especially given the answer, which was anything but simple. Alain looked at Sebastian, blue-green eyes darkening just slightly. She’d only known him a day; there was no reason to tell him about her mother’s disdain for Selwyn. No doubt it wouldn’t go over well with the people of Wycombe, who seemed to love the man. Shrugging, Alain took a sip of the coffee. “She didn’t much like travel, I guess.” Looking over at Sebastian, Alain saw the disappointment in his face. He’d expected a real answer from her after all. Stickers. She should have realized that Sebastian was something of an idealist; the black sheep of a fine, upstanding English family. His idea of being ‘bad’ was putting stickers on a car and waiting for someone to bail him out. No doubt Alain’s arrival signified the most excitement he’d seen in ages. Sighing, Alain looked down at the table. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to tell the boy the truth. “She didn’t much like my grandfather.” “Not like Selwyn? But he’s so…” Alain gave a strangled chuckle. “I know. Everyone here loves him. It must be impossible to understand why my mother wouldn’t like Selwyn. But, really…he chose England over us, over my mother. He came just long enough to buy the loft, make sure my mother had me alright, and then he left again. Never came, never wrote, until my mother died, when he brought this woman with him. Lilian something.” “Lilian O’Malley?” Sebastian sounded surprised. “But…she. She was killed two months ago! A pulmonary embolism, or something like that. Just dropped dead one day. It wasn’t long after that that Selwyn fell ill.” “Well then,” Alain replied, more bitterly than intended. “Let us be happy that pulmonary embolisms aren’t, in fact, contagious. Or we’d all be in danger.” Sebastian had the decency to look a touch ashamed at his own tactlessness. “I mean, it was very much a shock. Maybe Selwyn is just reacting to the death of his partner in life. They’d been together for a very long time.” “That can’t be. My mother always said that Selwyn had a lot of lovers. I can’t imagine that Lilian would have tolerated anything like that.” Alain smiled at the servants as they came to clear away her empty plates, and nodded her head to the unspoken question: do you want more coffee? “Lovers? Selwyn? He loved Lilian! They were together since before I was born. They never lived together, but…we never saw one without the other.” Sebastian shook his head. “I guess your mom and Selwyn must have…argued?” Alain shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never known. They never got along. Since I was born, my mother has been somewhat disdainful of Grandpa Selwyn. I always wanted to visit England. Don’t get me wrong, I love New York, but anyone should want to visit other places. And I always wanted to see Selwyn. I never knew him until I was seventeen, when he came to my mother’s funeral. It’s hard, you know?” Inwardly, some reasonable part of Alain’s brain knew that she was telling this man too much; she’d just met him the day before, after all. But, really, she had so few people to talk to. She lived alone, she never dated, she had no family to speak of, and few friends. Why not talk to someone who so evidently knew how to listen, even if he did have a predilection for smart-ass comments? “I feel like I never got to know him, but now I’m supposed to come here and watch him…die. And I don’t rightly know why.” “Selwyn always talked about you,” Sebastian whispered. “I’ve known him since I was fifteen, and he always talked about his granddaughter. I think he managed to find a way to keep an eye on you, because he made it seem like you and he were always talking. And, believe me, he was proud of you. I, uh,” here he colored just slightly, and very charmingly in Alain’s opinion, who was suddenly reminded of how attractive she found the young Englishman, “I admit to having wanted to meet someone who Selwyn clearly admired so much. He used to give us copies of all of your articles to read. That’s how Kaio knew about your piece on the American government using the Ouija board to determine policy.” “Really?” Alain was surprised. “I never knew.” Smiling softly, Alain thought of her grandfather. So he’d found a way around her mother’s prohibition after all. Alain thought about—wondered about, really—the discrepancies in her mother’s story. She’d made Grandpa Selwyn seem almost like a libertine who’d abandoned them and been punished for his crimes. Sebastian’s story didn’t mesh well with that. What had happened between Allysa and her father? What fight between them had been kept from Alain all these years? What was she missing? “Well, Miss Alain,” Sebastian quipped, clearly attempting levity in order to raise Alain’s spirits. “I believe we should get ready and go visit your grandfather. He is, after all, the reason we’re—well you’re—here.” Alain nodded and stood from the table. “Yes, let’s get going. I think I need some answers from him and I might as well get them before I lose him, too.” |
Out of habit, Sebastian was an early riser. He would wake up every day at exactly eight fifteen except on Sundays where, for some reason, his body forced him to wakefulness at six. For survival, however, Sebastian never showed his face until the hour hand was beginning to point skywards, after all there was no reason for him to subject himself to his father’s wrath twice in one day. Dinner was quite enough for him to handle. Sometimes he would stay in his room, doodling absently in notebooks, scribbling inane ramblings onto sun lightened pages. Other times he would leave the house entirely, walking down the garden to the chortling river, across the humpback bridge and into the woods where the old temple stood. He was fairly sure he was one of the only people who still visited the area, the only one who admired the candelabra primulas in the early days of summer and who sat in the half shelter of the collapsing shrine in the rainy days of autumn. Once he’d bought Kaio with him; that was the day they’d performed the school boy ritual of blooding, they were brothers from then on. He’d nearly brought Nat but then Alexandria had... and after that he’d liked to keep it to himself. It was his space beyond the pettiness and pretentiousness of his father’s house. Today he’d passed up the outdoors to think, to consider Miss Barclay if he was honest. She’d seemed nice enough when they’d been talking the day before, he respected her for snubbing his brother and he liked her increasingly as she’d taken up the part of ‘Miss Spider’ in James and the Giant Peach which he’d been reading to Nat. It was late before they’d retired and Kaio had stated that he’d be going home, not staying, as he usually did. As he’d been lost in his midmorning thoughts he hadn’t noticed the time or the sounds of cars leaving or Nat going to school... Until he heard a door just down the corridor, distanced but heavy enough to intrude on his mind... Alain was awake. Although, her steps belied her sleepiness at, he glanced at his bedside clock, eleven fifty two. Not too bad. He’d give her time to start breakfast before he went and joined her. * Breakfast was interesting. Selwyn was the man that Sebastian aspired to be. He was suave, charming, interesting and interested in everybody, witty, popular, loved.... oh there were flaws too. He had a temperament that made him thoroughly unlikable if you interrupted him in one of his ‘moments’; he was impatient, spontaneous, sarcastic in the mornings and sleepy after lunch... that former aspect Seb had noticed in his granddaughter and he’d wanted to grin as he realised another similarity between the two relatives. They were more similar than he’d first thought. They were both intelligent, personable, intriguing, curious. The lists could go on but this was over his cup of tea and breakfast sandwich, it was far too early to be compiling a profile of this almost perfect acquaintance. They weren’t quite strangers after all. What she said about her grandfather though... it upset him. Her opinion seemed to fit so poorly with the man that he most likely owed his life to. It wasn’t the sort of upset that was tearful or hurt but the kind that unsettled you like the sound of a knife screeching across a plate. It didn’t sit well and he didn’t feel that he could really correct her too forcefully since she was the blood relative and he just a boy that had been helped by a strange, kindly gentleman. And then she brought up Lilian and he cringed inwardly at the thought that Selwyn could have betrayed a woman like that with the ‘many lovers’ that Alain’s mother had apparently told her the man had had. He couldn’t help himself from replying then. “Lovers? Selwyn? He loved Lilian! They were together since before I was born. They never lived together, but…we never saw one without the other... I guess your ‘mom’ and Selwyn must have…” what was a tactful word to finish with here? “Argued?” The ever more wakeful woman merely shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never known. They never got along. Since I was born, my mother has been somewhat disdainful of Grandpa Selwyn. I always wanted to visit England.” She seemed to struggle a moment, “Don’t get me wrong, I love New York, but anyone should want to visit other places,” Seb wonderd it was her mother that had stopped her visiting before now, “And I always wanted to see Selwyn. I never knew him until I was seventeen, when he came to my mother’s funeral. It’s hard, you know?” Not really knowing what he was meant to say, he realised that she needed to talk to someone and maybe just saying nothing was good enough for now. He knew when to push things and to interrupt and he’d listened to Kaio enough times to recognise the look one someone’s face when they were too confused and tired to muddle through the mess around them alone. “I feel like I never got to know him, but now I’m supposed to come here and watch him…die. And I don’t rightly know why.” That last point, he wasn’t expecting but he knew exactly what to say because it seemed she didn’t realise how much she meant to her grandfather. He opened his mouth but his words came out a careful, quiet whisper, “Selwyn always talked about you. I’ve known him since I was fifteen, and he always talked about his granddaughter. I think he managed to find a way to keep an eye on you, because he made it seem like you and he were always talking. And, believe me, he was proud of you. I, uh,” He paused and felt colour on his cheeks as he caught himself from saying how he’d always admired you because of Selwyn’s own adoration of you. He corrected himself quickly, “I admit to having wanted to meet someone who Selwyn clearly admired so much. He used to give us copies of all of your articles to read. That’s how Kaio knew about your piece on the American government using the Ouija board to determine policy.” “Really?” Alain seemed surprised but a soft smile brushed her lips. “I never knew.” There was a pause where her eyes reflected how her thoughts had turned inwards. He watched her in the rich, sunny silence and noted the way her bed tousled hair fell slightly across her face. She really was pretty, paler and more European than he’d expected, more like Selwyn. Shaking his head he knew it was time to change the mood, he couldn’t be serious all morning, “Well, Miss Alain, I believe we should get ready and go visit your grandfather. He is, after all, the reason we’re—well,” he grinned, “you’re—here.” Alain nodded and stood from the table. “Yes, let’s get going. I think I need some answers from him and I might as well get them before I lose him, too.” And the fact that she wanted answers before she lost ‘him too’ made him pause. The ‘too’ was all important in that sentence. Selwyn, though a stranger, was still family to her, she’d still miss him... or maybe... he forced himself to stop speculating. Her questions would be answered, the old man would die and she’d disappear across the ocean so there was no need to profile her as he would other new comers to the upper class social scene. Before she left he decided to ask, “Would you mind if I drove us or would you prefer I call Philip?” She gave him a blank look. His eyebrow quirked upwards in poorly disguised humour. “Is it so surprising that I can drive that all words leave you? Or is it simply my dashing good looks?” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, “You can drive. Give me twenty odd minutes and I’ll meet you back here.” As she swept out of the breakfast room, coffee still in hand, he noticed for the first time that she was still in her pyjamas and he couldn’t help the laugh that rocked through him. * Forty minutes later Alain reappeared without the coffee cup. She was dressed casually in plain black leggings and boots and a wintery grey day dress that she’d matched up with a black scarf, blazer and gloves. She looked lovely. Grinning, he led Alain outside to the garages. There were half-a-dozen cars, his father’s little collection; a Rolls Royce and a Bentley Arnage Final were only two of them and the others were all sportier than his father would ever be. He drove a mini cooper, speedy, small, it was all he needed and he had long ago decided that if he ever got anything bigger because he needed the space it would be a Winnebago and it would be because he’d never be returning to Wycombe once he’d bought it. “You drive... this?” With a smirk, he nodded, unlocking the car, sliding into it and lovingly touching the wheel. It had been a while since he’d been both had a reason and been sober enough to drive. Alain looked slightly bemused, “It’s so... small...” “Well. Yes. It’s a Mini.” He agreed and let the radio flare into life with the engine. “You know what they say about men with small cars...” Now she was teasing him, holding her forefinger and thumb only an inch apart, “mini.” “Ouch. Should I be getting a monster truck then?” She snickered a little bit into her hand. “Or would that be over compensating?” Swiftly he manoeuvred them through the line of fancy cars and span them to face down the drive to freedom. He grinned, “Kaio taught me that.” He could see the ‘oh shit’ look on her face as he added: “Want me to show you what else he taught me?” New York traffic just couldn’t be the same with all those stop-start lights and shit. Especially since from here to Selwyns was mainly country lanes which meant fast bends, loud music and never going below sixty mph if he could help it. Selwyn’s place wasn’t as big as the Baker’s. It was much more beautiful, more homely. A little Victorian farmhouse with roses and brambles climbing the front windows, rebuilt after the original Tudor building burnt down, attached to a large renovated barn and stables. There was a drive that went around to the back of the house so that cars could be parked in the old cow sheds and the front garden was surrounded by bushes that were kept trim and tidy by one of the sons from a neighbouring farm that had bought twelve acres of field from Selwyn for a pittance. That had been before Sebastian had met the old man but the farmers had never forgotten it and thus the garden was always perfectly in order. Old brick, old slate roof, red leaf trees, evergreens and roses; this was the place that he had come to love more than anywhere else in the area. As they sped down the spiralling lane towards the old man’s home they said very little except about the music on the radio. He was the sort of person who’d hear a song once and remember the majority of the words after that so he kept on having to stop himself from singing along. She would laugh at him whenever he forgot to check himself and he found himself joining in, merriment meaning he felt it viable to set the mood lighting to syrup gold. She’d laughed at that as well. * It was weird when they arrived. Kaio’s car was in the drive and the young man was just leaving the house with a look on his face that not even Seb could read properly. Parking up, he shot out of the car with one arm waving. “Hey!! Kaio!!” His friend looked up, slightly shocked looking but a smile rapidly forming, “Oh! Hey Seb, Alain.” “What are you doing over here? I didn’t realise you were visiting today.” “I wasn’t but Selwyn called me this morning asking me over for a chat. I think he’s getting sick of the carers.” Seb grinned but still felt as if there was something else he wasn’t being told, “You’re sure you’ve got to be going now? We’re thinking of seeing Wycombe a bit afterwards.” “I’ll catch up with you later. Keep your phone on.” Pausing, his grin faltered, there was definitely something going on and he didn’t like that Kaio didn’t want to say it in front of Alain. It would have seemed like a normal exchange except... Kaio didn’t talk like that. Ever. “Ok well, we’ll see you in a bit then.” “Lovely to see you again, Alain.” Kaio waved goodbye without a touch or a gesture or anything. It was probably best not to let the visitor see his distress though so he turned back to his companion with a smile, “Selwyn doesn’t like formality like my father does so don’t worry about just dumping your coat inside or whatever.” * The backdoor that he preferred to use led into a yellow kitchen and from there they were lead, much to his surprise, to the living room with its plush sofas and wide windows that caught all of the midday sun and pulled it into the centre of the room. It was cosy and warm like a duvet in February but bright with the sun. In a large high backed chair sat the diminishing form of the home owner, his profile distinguished against the bright white window light. “Grandpa Selwyn?” The profile shifted and the face began to look their way as he broke into a smile, “Is that my Alain with a spot of trouble at her side?” “Yessir, trouble and your satirist.” Seb spoke first when he saw that Alain didn’t know what to say immediately. “It is in some ways more troublesome to track down and swat an evasive wasp than to shoot, at close range, a wild elephant. But the elephant is more troublesome if you miss.” Selwyn was murmuring, “You know where that’s from?” Seb nodded even as he saw the curiosity on Alain’s face, “CS Lewis. The Screwtape Letters.” The old man smiled, “You got it this time.” “Well I’m lucky I actually read that one.” It was an old game with them. Ever since the gentleman had found Seb laughing, wandering like a mad thing down Chapel Road, the man had been putting him right. Teaching him how to keep himself from being bored without really hurting himself in the process. It was something he would be grateful for until the day he conked it himself, “You done testing me ‘cause I have a story to tell you.” “A story is it? Well I’ve always liked your stories, boy, rambunctious as they oft are.” The old man with his withered face replied as he tipped his head to the girl in the chair next to him, “As long as it’s ok with Alain.” “You’re thinking too hard for me to sleep you know. I’ll still be here tomorrow. Go have some fun, go see the sights. I wouldn’t recommend London today, the trains are going to be terrible.” |
| Alain was greatly displeased and unable to quite explain why. No, that wasn’t true, she amended in her head, she knew exactly why she was unhappy with what was going on. She had flown across the ocean to visit her dying grandfather, something that was apparently his last wish, and Selwyn had just insisted that she hardly see him at all. Sebastian had driven her over to visit and they’d been dismissed within just a few moments, told to explore the countryside and ‘call back tomorrow’. And then there was the matter of Kaio and his mysterious departure. What was going on here? Sebastian, to his credit, understood perfectly what Alain was thinking and put his arm around her shoulders as they left the cottage. “Just like Selwyn to do something like that. Don’t worry too much about it, Alain. He’s a capricious old sprite and there’s no telling what’s going through his head.” Sighing, Alain shrugged into Seb’s embrace, allowing him to comfort her. “But…but he looks so unwell. Shouldn’t I get as much time with him now? This isn’t a sight-seeing vacation…I’m here to make him comfortable before he…” Here her voice broke. “He passes on.” It was rather surprising to Alain just how upset the thought of Selwyn’s death made her; it wasn’t as if he’d been a big part of her life, or anything. She guessed it was just because he was the last living relative she had, the last tangible connection to her mother and her past. Mostly, he was family, and she regretted that she had never been able to know him. Alain had been living on her own for so long because Allysa had disliked Selwyn so much, and Alain wondered what life would have been like if they’d been allowed to know one another. And now…now it was too late and she could never know. “Have you thought that seeing the country he loved so much…might be what makes him comfortable?” Seb’s voice was soft as he reached up to brush an errant curl from out of Alain’s eyes. “He never got to share it with you, so maybe he wants you to see it now. Before it’s too late for him to see your wonder.” Alain nodded. “I know…I know he wanted me to see the country. Grandpa Selwyn would be disappointed if I spent the entire time even just here in Wycombe, but…” Here she trailed off, turning around to stare at the Victorian cottage, roses twining their way up and around the windows like something out of the Secret Garden. “But I was hoping that he’d want to see me first. I was hoping…” Chuckling, Alain shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just being stupid.” “Of course you’re not. He’s just old is all. And Selwyn has never been one for following convention. No doubt he’ll want to see you tomorrow and he’ll talk your ear off telling you stories about everything you’ve seen today.” Grinning, his smile lopsided and dopey, Sebastian opened the passenger door for Alain and helped her into the car. “So…Selwyn says to see the country and skip London. And I figure we’ll do just that.” Alain chuckled and waited quietly as Sebastian climbed into the car. “I guess I’m just being silly. I mean, I told you yesterday that he probably wouldn’t even want to see me that long and he’d kick me out before we had much time to talk.” “Exactly! Don’t be upset with him. He’s just doing something you expected him to do. I mean…I know you’re disappointed that you can’t talk to him. He might have told you something about yourself...” As if he realized he was being too serious, Seb started the car and pulled out of the driveway. “Now, where to take our beautiful American tourist? Some place with regality that your fine eyes can admire?” Laughing, Alain shrugged. “I have no idea. You’re the one who lives here, Sebastian Baker. You tell me.” “Actually, Wycombe’s a bit of a hole-in-the-ground…not much to do here.” Seb shrugged, changing the mood lighting to a blue reflective of his thoughtful mood. “Bit of what you Americans would call a shit hole.” “Well…there has to be something we can see, otherwise Grandpa Selwyn wouldn’t have been so adamant that I see it today, right?” Alain watched as the scenery around them gradually changed from quaint country villages to shady buildings, the kinds of which would have broken windows and graffiti-covered walls back home. It was the kind of neighborhood that made one want to lock the doors and roll the windows up, which sort of surprised Alain. The neighborhood surrounding the town proper was so beautiful, full of the cottages and mansions that Alain had expected to see…but she supposed that every place had to have its bad parts. “I guess he probably wanted you to see the country more than Wycombe itself,” Sebastian said, embarrassed chuckle evident in his voice, as he ran a hand self-consciously through his hair. “I mean, I’ll probably take you to the West Wycombe Park. It’s pretty much in the countryside and far away from this dodgy place. But there is one place around here that I actually kinda wanted you to see.” Alain raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” Sebastian smiled at her and Alain missed a breath. It was strange how much emotion was in that one, simple gesture. He was sharing so much with her and they’d only met the day before. It was as if, in that one moment, Alain could see everything about this man, and knew almost everything about him. And he was sharing it with her. Alain remembered that Selwyn had told him about her over the years, no doubt he’d shared a great deal. She wondered what he’d said that Sebastian could look at her like that. “It’s a church,” he confessed. “Not much, but it’s got great places to sit and think and stuff.” Alain smiled softly. “You want to sit and think and stuff with me?” Seb colored just slightly. “No…no, I mean…it’s a pretty church and stuff. But I guess you got pretty churches in New York, too. We can just do lunch and then I’ll take you to the park.” He grinned. “And Eden Center! That’s something we can do. It’s new.” “New? New what?” Alain asked. “It’s a huge shopping center. It’s got food and shops and even a cinema. Better than anything Wycombe’s got to offer. I mean, well, this part of Wycombe. And, I mean, it’d provide us with something to do. The closest thing to New York we’ve got unless I take you down to London every day, or something.” Alain shrugged. “I’d rather see the park, to be honest with you. I mean, I think I can do without Starbucks for a couple of days.” She paused and looked over at Seb. “There is a Starbucks there, right?” Sebastian looked back at her as if trying to gauge her seriousness. “Yes, of course there is.” “Oh thank God! I’m a New Yorker, son, I need my Starbucks or I might just go insane.” Alain grinned as Seb burst into laughter. “What? You saw me this morning. I’m hopeless without my coffee. My brain doesn’t even turn on.” “Good to know. Well, I guess we’ll save Eden Center for later. Kaio wouldn’t be pleased to hear I went without him, anyway. His favorite sushi joint is there. And we’ve made a habit of bowling there a couple times a month.” Seb turned the car down a road heading out of Wycombe proper and to the country. “I’m sure he won’t mind if I invite you to come.” Alain smiled softly. “Well, I mean, you’ve got to show the tourist around. He can’t really complain.” Suddenly, she thought of something. “So…when do I get to see the Hellfire Caves?” Seb accidentally pressed on the accelerator a little harder than intended as a shiver ran through his body. “Um…do you really want to see them?” “I think Selwyn wants me to. He’s told me about them. Our only lengthy conversation was about the Hellfire Club. He says he’s named after one of the members; someone we’re descended from, or something.” Alain shrugged. “But if you don’t want to…” Sighing, Sebastian slumped a little. “I’ll take you there tomorrow. First, though…” Here he smiled as he pulled up to a quaint little building that was undoubtedly a food-service joint. “Lunch is always a good thing! Thought I’d take you for a pint and some food before we go to the park. That’ll take a while, and we’ll want to be back on time for supper or father will be displeased.” Alain refrained from curling her lip, but just barely. “Ah, yes, and we wouldn’t want to displease father, would we? He might stick me with your brother and then where would we be?” |
The Buckinghamshire Coroner’s Office was in the basement of the Thames Valley Police Station in Wycombe. The imperious brown bricked building with the blue iron gates sat far above it, full of the sounds of coffee machines and computers and voices, raised and soft. They burst through the door as a doctor marched through it, charts in hand and a severe look upon her thin face. The door swung shut with a dull thud. Silence fell. The room was cool and blue and grey and silver. Trays of stainless steel tools lay surrounding a raised autopsy bed; gleaming scalpels, blades, forceps, all silver, sharp and glinting in the artificial light. Over the table was a draped white sheet that rustled slightly from the door draft. Beneath it, the naked body of an old woman with dyed auburn hair lay grey and cold on the autopsy table. A silent witness to the story behind her fate; her slack face was wrinkled with age and laughter, the only part of her that remained in view. Barely glancing at the woman’s cold body, the doctor moved briskly, all sharp, pointed movements. Dr. McKennen was a young woman. Straight, blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail behind her head. Staring at a chart with sharp grey eyes and a small twist in her lips, she held a vial of silvery liquid in her right hand – tiny little droplets that had been removed from the heart of the dead woman on the metal slab behind her. What a curious case it was. An apparent heart attack, with no indicators except the sudden, acute onset of pain in her chest. No prior history. No health issues. Not too elderly. The corpse had shown no symptoms of heart problems. No doubt that was the reason for the autopsy. It made sense but this result had been unexpected. She finally put down the chart and looked at the deceased. She had been hired privately but this was murder and she was in a police station. Should she report it? She had been told to account directly to her employer and usually she would have had no problem in doing so. She wasn’t a moral person and she wasn’t under any illusions that her findings were going to be bringing justice to the dead woman but she had taken an oath when she did her time in the law offices, and to Dr McKennen there was nothing worse than one who didn’t keep their word. Duty was the law and the law was to do your duty. Moving towards the door she tugged the sheet over the lifeless face. Her phone rang as she reached for the handle. Slowly, her fingers withdrew and she reached for her mobile. There was no signal in the basement... so how was she receiving this? “Dr McKennen.” “Hello Kirstin.” She shivered as the silken voice whispered down the phone. It was a lovely voice, like something sinful and sweet. “Do you have the results?” Another shiver. Was she being watched? “Yes.” “Tell me about them.” * At first, as anyone might be, he had felt confused by Selwyn’s dismissal of his only living relative. Why would you dismiss someone you called for so quickly? Why would you have the majority of your first conversation with the man you saw everyday instead of the beautiful granddaughter that man had delivered for him? It seemed insane. And he’d felt it for Alain, the defensiveness that he usually associated with Nat or Kaio. And then she’d admitted it and split a little of her heart open and told him more than he probably needed to know so soon after meeting her. But unlike his family, he knew when things needed to be said and when things needed to be heard, listened to so he kept quiet when she spoke and only commented when she was ready. Teasing the right answers was harder than he had expected. Usually he was better at finding the best thing to say almost immediately. Not with Alain. As he’d wrapped his arm around her, he’d wondered if she’d shrug away in distaste. As he moved in, unthinkingly brushing aside a stray twist of soft hair, he’d looked into her eyes for a second, waiting for her to recoil. It seemed he was doing ok. His suggestions were honest as ever, his actions unformulated, unprepared. But the tone, that severity that she held, like Selwyn in one of his moods, made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t bear to be staid when you could see loss creeping up on her. He wondered if it was something innate in her, a need for answers – after all she was an investigative journalist and all her statements were heard like unasked questions. Loss was like that. The anticipation was a sort of fear, the conclusion was made out of terror. Questions like cyclones swirled around you and you couldn’t stop them and you never really escaped them. Deciding what they needed was life, distraction, joviality he’d quoted his brother. Made a joke. Jokes were safe. And they’d found themselves back on secure ground again, away from the earnestness that seemed to plague her. He now sat in the comfortable quiet for a moment, 6ix Toys and the slow funk of their music throbbing in the bass of his car. The fields rolled by in a colourful collusion of yellows and greens and golds, rapeseed, young wheat stalks and fallow ground. The small, almost empty roads twisting around trees as if the planner hadn’t had the heart to cut a single one down. They were nearly there and he was untangling himself from his head. He said something. Alain smiled now, he could see it in the corner of his eye, “Well, I mean, you’ve got to show the tourist around. He can’t really complain.” Suddenly, she thought of something. “So…when do I get to see the Hellfire Caves?” The pretty smile was a nice cover or she just didn’t know better yet but he felt his body shudder unwillingly, like a snake tensing along his spine and his foot hit the accelerator just as they turned down Coleshill. “Do you really want to see them?” He wanted to ask her if she was serious but that might have seemed impolite. Her eyes became wistful and sad again, “I think Selwyn wants me to. He’s told me about them.” She sighed a little, “Our only lengthy conversation was about the Hellfire Club. He says he’s named after one of the members; someone we’re descended from, or something. But if you don’t want to…” How could he deny her that? Did she deliberately try and pull peoples strings like some majestic puppeteer or was that just him? His posture dropped in resignation. “I’ll take you there tomorrow.” The turning was on the right, “First, though…” He grinned, pulling into the carpark on the side of the road, just past the Hit and Miss. He was happy to leave the Caves in the car as he declared. “Lunch is always a good thing! Thought I’d take you for a pint and some food before we go to the park. That’ll take a while, and we’ll want to be back on time for supper or father will be displeased.” Alain refrained from curling her lip, but just barely. “Ah, yes, and we wouldn’t want to displease father, would we? He might stick me with your brother and then where would we be?” The half-sneer was there but he felt no rush to fend for his father’s honour. He glanced at her face. It was schooled into a pleasant smile. “You’d probably be in a toilet somewhere trying to escape out the window.” He opened the car door as she did, giving her a look over the roof of the mini and smirking suddenly, “Actually scrap that, he’d be running screaming down the road fearful of the coffee monster.” She chuckled and he nodded, “Yup, you could definitely take him.” Locking up with a subtle flick of his wrist, he came around to where she stood and made a mock bow, offering his arm as he did so. “My dear, darling, stunning eyed tourist. Won’t you join me for some fine gastropub cuisine that I’m paying for with the money I earn at work.” He had perfected his brother’s nasal quality perfectly over the years. She giggled and swatted him away, “That’s far too realistic.” Straightening up and nodding, he agreed, “It’s almost worrying isn’t it?” The Hit and Miss was traditional English pub, looking out across the cricket grounds, old brick covered in rambling wisteria. It was dark and warm without being stifling, with low doorways that he had to duck a little for and parquet floors that were a dull, smooth oak and white walls between dark wooden beams. Hand drawn caricatures of cricketers and watercolours of matches on the opposite lawn hung on the walls amidst cricket memorabilia – old bats and colours above cracked, leather sofas. As he led through to a table for two near the open window, he pilfered two menus off an empty table and sat Alain down. “What you having to drink?” She faltered, “Beer.” He wanted to put a question mark over it. “Draught?” “Sure.” He grinned, “You have no idea what’s on draught here do you?” “Nope.” Looking up at him from her seat, she was obviously taken in by the place. By the lack of pretension, the reality and the honesty of the characterful public house. “Tanglefoot – it’s seasonal. Don’t worry you’ll like it.” He hopped off to the bar, noticing that an exgirlfriend of Kaio’s was now a waitress in the new restaurant part. A plainly pretty brunette that he’d mildly despised for her banal comments and simpering manipulations, even though Kaio had insisted she was a good thing for him, his first girlfriend that wasn’t from their social strata but had turned out to be a money grabbing whore. What was her name...? Passing his attention on to the boy at the bar, a lad of maybe seventeen with skin that was flushed with newness and worry, Sebastian caught sight of the owner watching him with a twinkling eye. Nodding minutely, he went straight to the new barman, eyes scraping along him, body language cool and dismissive. “Two Tanglefoots please. And a jug of still water.” The boy looked at him in a mild panic so he lent in and added in a mock whisper, “It’s on draught.” Flushing red and shaking his head rapidly the boy stammered out that he’d be right on it and went to retrieve two pint glasses. Seb’s mouth curled in a small smile. Michael Mackan, the wily Irish owner, grinned his yellow toothy grin as he approached now, “New lad, got to break him in somehow.” He said with a chuckle, the soft accent rippling through. “A little nervous for a bar tender?” “His mam’s a bit of a lunatic, an ‘artiste’ she says, so I give the boy some practical work so he doesn’t get stuck in her little world so often.” “You’re a soft hearted fool, Micky.” “Says the boy who offered to wipe my tables to postpone admitting that he’d stolen his father’s car.” Michael chuckled again and they looked across at the boy with twin grins as he failed to pull the first pint but succeeded on the second, “So my ‘Basti, who’s the cailin today?” Michael was looking through the beams to where Alain sat, her profile lit up by the white sun window, her hair tumbling across her shoulder but pushed back behind her ear to keep it off her face. “A looker again.” “Alain. Selwyn’s granddaughter.” Michael looked up at him with surprise in his woody eyes. He wasn’t an old man but there was a sudden, unexpected spritely smile that lit up inside him and made the receding hairline and the crooked wrinkles seem less aging, “That she is. It’s good to see.” Sebastian felt as if he was missing something in the publican; the same thing that he’d sensed around Kaio and even Selwyn, like there was some secret that he was sitting on the fringe of but not quite ready to comprehend. “T...two..oo Tanglewoods and... you’re jug..g... of water.” The boy came up from the side and startled him out of the moment, he’d still been gazing at Alain, who in turn stared out the window as a team of fourteen year olds from the local school came out in their whites. He wondered what she’d think of cricket. “Thank you.” He said absently, “Put it on table five.” “Of course.” The boy was beaming at Sebastian took the assortment from the bar in a precarious balancing act. Alain looked up as he returned, with a quirked eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that,” He placed the jug down first then split the two pints so one was in front of her and one was in front of him, “I worked tables when I was at university, I wasn’t going to spill them.” She laughed then, “You worked tables?” “You think I let my dad pay? You think he’d condone a degree in Philosophy?” He shook his head and picked up a menu, “Nah, I wanted to study what I wanted to study. He wanted a doctor, I wanted a life.” He grinned again then, looking her in the eye, “Plus I sucked at science.” * “The immediate cause of death was heart failure, part of succeeding systematic organ failure, which was the ultimate consequence of the underlying cause of death: Mercury Poisoning. A direct injection of the liquid metal.” “And how did that come about?” “By examining the victim’s body we found signs of minimal distress but we did find a small entrance wound above the upper third false costa in her back. From the look of it, a rather large needle. Around the area is a small amount of inflammation, suggested cause would be minor irritation and itching which in turn conveys that the victim was not alarmed or aware of the injection.” “Or it could have been self inflicted.” “That’s unlikely. Though outwardly healthy, the victim had arthritis in her hands which would have made it nearly impossible to manipulate a syringe, let alone twist her wrist enough to inject herself in that area.” “So you believe it was murder?” “I do.” “That is a great pity.” * Alain apparently liked cricket about as much as he did. Her first question about the game as they left was: have they even started yet? And he had to nod and tell her it was the slowest sport imaginable. They’d talked most of the way through lunch. Initially jokes about what to get, then pleasentaries about how she liked the traditional English pie he’d insisted on her trying; there wasn’t anything awkward about her or about them which was interesting because he wasn’t even using the well practised suave that he usually employed with new strangers and interesting women. He liked that about her. In fact, as they drove down Amersham Hill towards the centre of Wycombe, and she raked her eyes over the colours of the town, the dark stained walls and the brown brick homes, he suspected she hadn’t really expected this to be the place her grandfather had lived in for so long and loved. As they approached the centre though he took a right passed the Grammar school and took a route that bypassed his little Church. His face softened as he saw it emerge from behind the strangely assorted shops – wedding dresses next to skateboards. It was old, older than America, older than Protestantism and older than the Parish as it held. It still sat in its quite greenery, surrounded by the bustle of the market town. “That’s your church?” Alain looked sceptical as he gave the affirmative and he could see her registering the almost tenderness on his face. “Yeah. It doesn’t look like much and it might seem weird but even though it’s in the middle of Crap Town it’s one of the quietest places.” “To sit and think and stuff.” She was teasing him gently but he wasn’t paying attention. He could see a particular policeman standing on the corner, his car covered in sticky white marks and Sebastian slouched down in his seat, turning off the indicator he’d hit to show he was going to pull over. “Remind me later – I’ll take you there when we’re not going to be hawked by everything plodder possible.” “Plodder?” “It’s a Wycombism.” He rolled his eyes but his merriment was dimmed, “That one hates me particularly.” “Do many people hate you, Sebastian Baker?” He turned one of his frequent façades on, looked towards her with a bright, playful expression and a raised eyebrow, “How could anyone hate me?” Then swiftly dropped it, smoothing out into himself. Her eyes seemed to judge him. He drew the car up the hill, around Narrow Land and swerving into the country passes that felt like tunnels in the green bowers, “Just around here and we’ll get to the park.” Pause. “And you’ll never guess what I’ve got in the boot, just for you.” * Rococo landscapes with unending lawns and manmade lakes that both delighted and disturbed. Perfectly mown and designed, the picturesque views across the park were lauded and renown. Sebastian and Kaio had often traipsed through it when they were younger, playing secretly in the places they shouldn’t be. They’d imagined the bridge as a crossing over a ravine, leading to another world and there had been a small pool formed near the small Grecian temple that they’d called the Moon Pool which Kaio had claimed showed you the other half of your soul. It had been an idyllic adventure haven for their strange, warped childhoods but they’d been free to exploit it. Alain strolled beside him as he animatedly pointed out all the places. That ridge by the lake was El Swampo, black as coal and full of ghoulish fires in the cracks. That plain was Rose Weave, a crystalline road of quartz and glittering stone. Those trees were the Oaks that turned boys into animals with no guarantee of safe return to your original shape. The follies were souls of knights that had failed or villains they had slain. She was laughing and sipping from the flask of dark coffee he’d brought along with him. She’d been curious about the odd assortment of stuff he kept in the back of his car, the bottles of survivors booze and a rucksack of clothes. He wasn’t leaving, just always ready to go somewhere exciting. They made it to the top of the hill. “That was our kingdom on that side.” He flung out his arms, just missing the flask and he turned, saw her gaze lifted to the opposite hill, “Those are the caves. Across there. Below that hill with that temple thing with the golden ball on top.” Sebastian pointed it out with a quieter and more serious note in his voice than there had been a moment before, “I don’t know why...” He broke off, slightly ashamed at how evident his unease showed. “You hate them don’t you?” Alain sounded half humoured, teasing, but also strangely alarmed at his response. “It... They... I just... yes.” He said, “I’ve been there a couple times. The first time was at Tor Dashwood’s 16th when I was about eighteen. She’s the eldest Dashwood, currently at St Andrews University I believe, but her brother will inherit. I don’t remember much of that party but she held her 18th there too. I remember that.” He shivered. Pausing just a little too long before admitting, “It’s like you’re separated from reality down there. You’re distant from the world and you seem to fade into the dark and the cold.” He didn’t tell her about the journal entry he’d written when he’d gone home that night. The distended hand that had scrawled out in bird scratches, so unlike his usual penmanship, about the signature black of the caves and the lusting red of the torchlight from its bowels. He wouldn’t describe the fever that had shaken him or about the spider legged girl he’d pushed up against the damp stone walls or how her blond hair turned into flames and green snake on her hip writhing in the warped light. Kaio had taken him home in silence and then sat on his bed whilst he inscribed the strange confession. “You’re scared of them?” He shook his head adamantly, “No.” That was the truth, “It’s just like they’re waiting for something.” It was too serious again so he laughed, a self-mocking laugh, “I sound like a perfect fool. I’m sorry. I’ll take you tomorrow. We’ll see what you think.” He grinned then, “Maybe I should tell you some horror stories about the place just so you freak out and I don’t look such a muppet.” She laughed then, her lips parted in a cat like smile, “Your strange dislike is spooky enough. You’ve got me even more curious.” Shrugging, “What can I say? I did it on purpose.” He crouched down on the hill, eyes looking across the green land between them and the temple. |
| It surprised Alain that she had come to like Sebastian Baker so quickly. Oh, he was handsome and charming, of that there was no doubt, but she had never really thought that there would be such substance to him. She’d noticed it first in his treatment of the youngest sibling, but nothing had confirmed his depth so much as Selwyn’s obvious respect for him. What had unnerved her at first—her grandfather’s quick dismissal of her in lieu of conversing with the neighbors—had only served as a lesson in whom to trust. Selwyn wanted Alain to get to know Sebastian; everything else was secondary. In a way, Alain thought it was funny that her elderly grandfather was trying his hand at matchmaking, thought it also annoyed the shit out of her in a way beyond expression. But, the longer she spent with Seb (had it only been a day?), the more she realized that Selwyn wasn’t simply trying to play Yenta. He was trying to share part of his life with Alain. And, as weird as it would have sounded to the Alain that had never seen England, Sebastian had been a big part of Selwyn’s life. It was almost as if she were getting to know Selwyn’s home the way Selwyn himself would had shown her. Excepting the caves, of course. No doubt Selwyn would have already taken her to see the caves. Alain couldn’t have told anyone why she was so desperate to see them. She was not a fan of being underground. One, her mother had taken her spelunking for the hell of it and Alain had had nightmares for months after. It turned out that she was horribly claustrophobic, which was ironic for a New York girl. But, despite every logical sense that screamed out against seeing the Hellfire caves, something inside of her compelled Alain to go. To see them. And, more importantly, to see them with Sebastian. Truth be told, she was developing a bit of a crush on the young man. Not that he was so much younger than her, but still. It had only been a day, but she already had the shameless urge to wear cuter clothing and do her hair up in something sexy. She liked to show off her good looks, and found herself wanting to see that look in Seb’s eyes. The look that every man gets when he’s been completely blown away by a woman’s beauty. The look that so few men gave her at home. It was rather embarrassing, truth be told. She was like a giddy school girl in the throes of young love, something she’d thought her tough New York heart to be well enough over. So she marshaled her defenses and worked very hard at keeping herself from leaning over and kissing him. Which she’d wanted to do since lunch. Together, the two of them sat in comfortable, companionable silence, just taking in the serenity of the park and the cool weather. This time of the year, it was unbearable in the city, between the traffic and the concrete. A bubble of insufferable heat clouded New York in the summer and early fall; it took until almost winter for it to cool down to New York’s ridiculous winters. Alain sipped at her coffee and enjoyed the stillness of everything. And came to the realization that she didn’t want to go back home. Alain started at the thought, startling Seb from his own ponderous thoughts. “What is it?” There was genuine concern in his voice, bless him. It only made Alain like him just a little bit more. “I…I don’t know,” she replied, honestly. “I just…I just can see why Selwyn loved it here so much. I almost feel like I could stay here forever.” Seb was silent for a few minutes, then replied, his voice so low Alain almost thought he hadn’t said anything at all. “You could, you know.” “What?” Alain wasn’t sure he’d said what he said. “What did you say?” “I said,” Seb replied, his voice cracking just slightly, “that you could.” He sighed. “I really wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but Selwyn’s making you the benefactor of his will. His cottage, his fortune, his stocks, bonds, whatever…they all go to you. Well, except for one thing.” Here he grinned. Alain didn’t ask what that was. She was stunned into silence. “He left me a certain book. One that he thought I’d be more inclined to enjoy than yourself.” “Oh, and that is?” Alain finally spoke, despite the pounding within herself. Stay here? In England? But…but what about home? What about New York? Her job, her friends. What friends? Jumped into her mind. You don’t have any friends. All you’ve got is an apartment and a job. And a lifetime of false memories that your mother decided to implant into your brain. What reason have you to say there? Alain sighed, completely missing Seb’s reply. If he noticed, he didn’t make mention of it. No doubt he expected her to be deep in thought. The direction of her thoughts was surprising and almost frightening. Leave New York? Leave the vibrant giant, the tingling magic of humanity and sheer human magnificence? How could she? New York was home and she loved it. There was so much of herself, of her history there. But how much of that history was a lie? Some part of Alain still couldn’t figure out why her mother had lied to her about Selwyn. She supposed that was part of the mystery here, part of why she had come to England to see her dying grandfather. And Alain knew that the answers lay here, in England, the one place Allysa would never bring her beloved daughter. Maybe that was why she wanted to stay. So she could finally learn something about herself and her family. Something that she’d been woefully without following Allysa’s death. That thought felt wrong even as it formed. No, she wanted to stay because she’d fallen in love with England nearly as quickly as she was falling for her intrepid tour guide. And, what was worse, she felt nearly no guilt at her abandonment of New York. Because, and this part hurt her to admit less than she thought it would (which surprised her somewhat), New York was a dead place compared to England. And Alain no longer wanted to be dead. She’d come to life here in England. And she wanted to know why. Because she was hardly stupid enough to think that it was just the country and the people. No, where was something more, something tied to Wycombe and Selwyn and, most of all, the Caves. Yes, she thought, Sebastian would have to bring her here as soon as possible. It was about damn time she got the answers she wanted. ***** “She is my heir.” Selwyn did not turn to face the person behind him. “As such, she was inherit everything.” “But you promised me, Brother. You promised that I would inherit your position. I…I am your protégé! She is just…just…” The voice sputtered out as Selwyn raised an aging, spotted hand. He knew he was dying. It was just a matter of time before he joined Lillian in whatever paradise awaited. Selwyn had an inkling it was a multitude of paradises. He’d spent too long working with the energies of the universe, diving into their mysteries, learning their secrets, to believe that any one story was true. But he’d been in there just long enough to believe that they might all be true. He knew that he had been murdered. It was just a slow murder, one that took just long enough to move the final pieces into place. But it had given him enough time to reach out to the only person he knew was unimpeachable. The one person who could follow him, learn from him, and replace him without any hint of this great plague. “She is my blood, young Acolyte. And she has the gift. You were my protégé and, as such, there is always a place in the Brotherhood for you, but Alain is my heir. Had she proved ungifted or unwilling, it would be another story But she is neither.” The figure paced behind him. Selwyn no longer trusted him. Something of the taint had rubbed off on the boy. That his own Seneschal had proven to be corrupted was a foreboding danger, something that he would, regrettably, leave to his untrained granddaughter. But, if his last ditch efforts, his quietest and longest laid of plans, worked, then she would have a great ally. And she would need such an ally if she was to succeed. “She knows nothing of the Secrets! The Rituals! Nothing! How can the Brotherhood continue, how can we hope to keep the Beast at bay, with a Priestess that knows nothing. She doesn’t even know the gods!” Selwyn smiled ruefully. Ah, but that was the greatest of his secrets. Alain did know the gods. It was the one thing he had managed to teach to Allysa, his great disappointment, and she had passed it on to Alain. Without knowing it, Alain was already known to the gods, to the Lesser and the Greater Deities. They Knew her, and they accepted her. They had chosen her as much as Selwyn had. And that was the secret that would prove the Corruption’s undoing. “She will learn. You must be patient, Acolyte. There is always a place for you in the Brotherhood. Always.” ***** He stumbled from the cabin, cursing and muttering all the while. Selwyn had abandoned him! Had left him to rot forever as nothing higher than Seneschal. Selwyn had spent years grooming him to be the next High Priest, all the while hiding Granddaughter Alain as his proverbial ace in the hole. He’d been betrayed. And there was no possibility of being High Consort. No, and that was Selwyn’s other great surprise for him. He’d been hiding away Sebastian Baker for that role. It had never been him. It had always been a lie. Well, there were other ways to gain power. And he knew the game as well as anyone. He would just have to find himself a new team. ***** Alain smiled suddenly as she realized Sebastian was studying her as she thought. “You know, I think I might stay here.” It was almost funny how quickly Seb’s face lit up. “Really?” “Yeah. All I had was my job for the New Yorker. And I don’t see why there’s any reason I couldn’t still consult for them. Or maybe get a job for the Times, or something. I dunno. Something would work out. And I’d get my answers here.” Sebastian nodded, thought he seemed slightly put out by her answer. She guessed it wasn’t what he was looking for and, surprisingly enough, the thought caused her heart to flutter just slightly. “And I’d have friends here. Actual friends.” Here she turned to Sebastian and beamed. “Thanks so much for showing me around today. I really appreciate it.” Saying those words, Alain made up her mind to do something she’d wanted to do for a few hours. At least it wouldn’t seem too out of place, given that she was thanking him. Quickly, before she lost the nerve, Alain leaned in and kissed Sebastian, softly, on his lips. It wasn’t a long kiss, or even a romantic one, and it served only to fuel the flames rather than damper them. But she’d done it. And now, now all that needed to happen was for her to lean back, open her eyes, and see how Sebastian had taken it. She could only hope it had gone well. |
Most people didn’t pay much attention to Nathanial. When talking about the Bakers he was always the last to be remembered. He wasn’t the one who had died, that was his sister and only occasionally did the speaker recall that he was the twin left behind. He wasn’t the ‘apparently’ successful, misogynistic heir to the estate, that was his eldest brother who, if nothing else, was sought after by social climbing heiresses and private school girls. He was also not the rogue; that he left to his beloved brother Sebastian, who he quietly admired but also admonished, for he didn’t see why his brother had to constantly find trouble. Due his invisibility and relative inconsequence, some people might have thought that Nat had a difficult or unhappy life, which would have been wrong. He didn’t much care for attention, he received enough ‘oos’ and ‘ahhs’ at Christmas when his mother hosted several large parties and also at her charity galas. Those sort of women seemed to think him a cute little thing that was there to be petted and cooed over. Pausing, he grimaced, remembering there was one coming up quite soon. That would be interesting though since he was certain Alain would be attending. She was the sort of girl that he knew would drive his family insane and perhaps compliment his brother. She wasn’t going to lay down and let the Baker house suck out the spirit in her. Sweeping his light hair from his eyes in a subconscious gesture that people might associate with his thoughtfulness, Nat watched from the window as his mother puttered in the garden, her frail, pale body like a flimsy butterfly in a jungle. There was a sort of vampirism about this house... like a Northanger Abbey effect. But Alain would survive it, like Seb had and like he had determined to do. The thing about Nat was that... he listened to his brothers stories, he read his books and the ones he could reach on Sebastian’s shelves. He also liked to watch and though very few people paid him much attention he knew secrets and habits and whilst he was too young to use the word, he knew psychologies. He paid attention to people. He noticed things. He had been watching all day: watching the gardeners, Bruce and Shaun Green, as they trimmed the hedges; watching the way his mother dithered over the roses in her small private corner of the garden. He had watched through the glass and read his book a little and wished that Seb would come back with Alain so he’d have something more interesting to do. School hadn’t started yet and his best friend had gone to Paris with her parents. That and he’d already decided at the table the other night that he liked the American. She’d wasn’t scared of their father. Even Seb was scared of their father but then Seb was probably the only one that really had reason to be scared of him. He was the only one, after all, that could antagonise Lord Baker just by breathing. Through the glass he could hear his brother’s car dash through the gravel drive and he smiled, the only person he felt the house could not drain was his reckless older brother. But as he shifted to see if he could spot the mini, he instantly noticed some changes. His brother was driving the speed limit: that was the most obvious difference – so either Alain was carsick or something had made Seb pensive. The car was taken straight to the garage instead of parking in the front drive, as was Seb’s wont, which also suggested that he wasn’t in the mood to knowingly provoke their father. He wanted to know what it was that had shifted so much in a day to break the usual rituals. Alain. He thought suddenly. That’s what changed. * “You know, I think I might stay here.” “Really?” Seb turned to her, feeling his heart thump solidly against his chest, leaping up into his throat in an elated jump that he hadn’t expected to feel, even after their earlier conversation. “Yeah. All I had was my job for the New Yorker.” He focused on her words, feeling a twinge of pity as she admitted that her job was all the States had to offer, “And I don’t see why there’s any reason I couldn’t still consult for them. Or maybe get a job for the Times, or something. I dunno. Something would work out. And I’d get my answers here.” Sebastian nodded. He didn’t quite understand what she had said... what answers was she after? Answers about herself? Answers about the Caves? He also couldn’t help the way his chest constricted just a little bit, knowing that she wouldn’t be staying because of... him... He had been feeling it all day, when he’d wanted to take her to his sister’s church but not known if it was mutual – the sense of connection, an allure that she seemed to have. Still she was smiling, her face in the sun as they sat on the bank and he couldn’t bear to think that he’d even thought those thoughts a second ago. If she was staying, thinking about staying, that was enough for him in that moment. He respected her and that was all. “And I’d have friends here. Actual friends.” Her voice was softened and maybe even a little bit teasing, but she turned to him, radiant and his breath caught momentarily. “Thanks so much for showing me around today. I really appreciate it.” He was going to wave it off, his mouth opened to tell her that it was nothing and he’d enjoyed it. He hadn’t been expecting the kiss. The soft brush of lips and the lingering scent of coffee on his mouth and the flutter in his chest as she leant in and kissed him. He recoiled in surprise as she pulled away and he was glad her eyes were still shut so she couldn’t see. It wasn’t that he had disliked the kiss... it was simply that he was surprised. For all Kaio’s looks and the almost instantaneous attraction he had had towards Alain, he had never once considered really acting upon his feelings. She was Selwyn’s heir and he... he was merely Sebastian Baker. But he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel those lips again, taste that sweet but bitter aftertaste, kiss her back. He had never been one to withhold himself. And so, with a brush of his hand across her cheek, he pressed his lips to hers again and felt the shiver of desire slide through his body, tracing down his spine like caressing fingers. She made a small moan against his mouth as he slid his tongue across her lower lip and he took the chance to slip his tongue against hers and then: “You! You there! Don’t you know the park has closed! Get out of here!” The cry startled them both a part, red cheeked and bewildered. If he had ever felt such an instantaneous want it had not been since he was in his early teens and never such a desperate desire as to leave him feeling like his body was an echo inside of him. A man, the man with the grey scraggled beard and the eyebrows that looked like they’d grown on a caterpillar from his childhood was climbing the hill towards them, a long gardening fork in his hand. He reminded Seb of Mr McGregor from Beatrix Potters books. But menacing and moving with an unnatural swiftness for a man of that age. The trickster in him was alert in microseconds, overtaking him, fuelling him with the impishness that made him so different from the rest of his blue blooded kin. His mouth was tipped upward in a grin, his eyes bright and excited, “Come on!” Grabbing Alain’s hand he pulled her to her feet and they were both laughing, both falling, both staggering back across the decadent, perfect rococo lawns Wind whipped through his hair, cold and refreshing, rushing against his ears. Naturally athletic, his long legs carried them across the landscape. The world was blurry. Their breath was a gush of beaten pants in the warm air. Alain was like Diana. Adrenaline and hilarity rushing through them, as if Bacchus had intoxicated them on some strange wine, made his breath catch and an odd, distant feeling filter in as they ran. Still laughing, they threw themselves into the car and he found his head turned to Alain, her hand on his chin, his mouth brought down on hers once more in a brief tangle of lips and tongue and teeth and then he had the engine on and they were away. Reality setting in. He caught her eye in the mirror. His thoughts were racing, what had they done? She wasn’t just someone he wanted to fuck and leave in the morning. This was someone he wanted but it felt like the kiss could have had strings, his kiss at least. Her soft, unromantic brush of lips had been like oxygen on a candle flame. Strangely, he felt she was part of something, that he was part of it with her, that kiss had made his stomach clench and his blood pump harder and the small, squashed attraction he had felt before beat its angry fists against his chest. What if it had been something small and insignificant to her? What if he didn’t want it to be? She was older and more critical and he disliked the way that she seemed to be constantly judging him sometimes but then he also liked that criticism, the fact that she saw through him so easily and that he didn’t want to hide behind any usual faces. Oh he was thinking too much. He knew that too. * “Are you... asking me to betray him?” “I’m asking you to see it for how it is. We’re not going place in this new little team of theirs. They’ve drawn new lines, called in new players-” “It’s one new player. He’s always had one person in mind for his role.” “Yes well he didn’t make it clear to me. You’d do better to pack it in, pull with me and consider moving on from that wayward miscreant.” “But he’s my-” “Best ‘friend’. We all know that you’re his minder and as much as you declaim it you don’t want to be ‘best’ friends with him do you? You’re in love with that puppet!” “I am more than his minder. We were friends long before any of this! And I would never betray him. I may not like the new... developments... all that much. But it’s for the greater good.” “Just like it always has been right?” “Yes.” “You are so naive.” “My answer is still no.” “Don’t answer so hastily kiddo, my offer will still stand. Just think about it.” “I don’t need to think about it. Even though things were only brought to light today, I know that this will resolve itself. I think you’re the one who needs to think about what they’re doing.” A single short bark of laughter cracked the air and then the sound of a chair scraping and a door slamming followed in the wake of peeling, giddy mirth. * “Hello, mother.” Seb called out as he and Alain walked from the garage back towards the house. He could see his mother’s hat, wide-brimmed and pale bobbing among the hedges. She turned, her face flushed a light rose and eyes wide in surprise, “Oh hello Sebastian.” She seemed to be questioning the fact that he was back with Alain entirely intact, “Did you have a good day?” “Yes, we saw Selwyn.” “Ah,” She paused, propriety adding: “And how is he?” “We didn’t see him for very long. We saw Wycombe instead.” Seb stopped beside her garden without entering. Alain was hovering at his side. The awkwardness of his family was so poignant when they were like this. He hoped his mother might turn her attentions to Alain as was right, he was still trying to gather his thoughts. “Oh. What did you think of our town Alain? It’s not very much special...” “It’s very... busy... compared to what I expected. Actually,” Alain smiled, “It’s very little like I expected, though the West Wycombe grounds are more like the place Selwyn talked of.” “Yes, I dare say he spoke less of the town... it is... not the place for respectable people.” He saw Alain frown and Seb thought it a good time to intervene, “I’m going to make tea mother, if you’d like some?” Pausing, his mother pushed her white-blond hair behind her ear and a furrow appeared in her brow, “Your father will be home early tonight. I feel I might let you two enjoy the quiet whilst it is as it is.” He smiled softly, “If you’re sure...” she nodded and he asked absently as he turned to go, “Is Nat home?” “He should be upstairs but I daresay he’ll be waiting for you with the kettle on already.” She looked at him as he led Alain inside, a pensive expression on her face. She did like her son when he was like this, like a normal son should be. |
| Selwyn Barclay knew that his end was near. He could feel the insidious poison creeping ever closer to his heart, to his brain, seeping into his bones and acting out its very own soliloquy of doom. And he still had so much to do, to teach his granddaughter. So much that he would never be able to share with her. Instead, he would have to hope that Sebastian would trust in the wisdom of Selwyn’s teachings. Years of parables wrapped in parables, hoping that this boy might be the one to bolster his woefully unprepared Alain. She had the gift; that much was clear. There was no doubt that she would be able to keep the powers below in check. No doubt she could weave the chains; they would likely be stronger and finer than anything he and Lillian ever dredged up. But without the wisdom to act, she could put herself and everyone in serious danger. He stared out at his gardens, roses in full bloom this time of the year, a shiver running up and down his spine. It was always cold these days. Or maybe he was just cold. Selwyn, hands shaking so badly these days he could barely manage the act, reached up and pulled the blanket tighter around him. Today was bad, worse than usual. It was one reason he’d sent Alain and Sebastian away. Should he have kept them here? There was so little time to get done what he needed to get done. So little time. And no one to teach Alain of the sacred feminine. Lillian was dead, and no one else could share those secrets. Too much was lost and the chains were fading every day. Selwyn felt it, deeper than the poison, and much more chilling. A knock on the door. Selwyn called, and the door opened. “Grandpa?” Selwyn turned in his chair, faster than he should have. “My dear Alain, what are you doing here at this time of the day? And where is young Sebastian?” “His father wanted to speak to him before he takes me down to London for a couple of days,” Alain replied, voice wry with humor. Selwyn’s withered lips twisted to hear it. Lord Baker was not a man of soul, or of heart. He could never have kept the beast at bay. But they needed a prominent male figure to act as Alain’s High Consort, and the Baker clan had managed to produce a more than adequate figure. They would need a Seneschal. After his had proven to be less-than-trustworthy, Selwyn could not afford to entrust Alain and Sebastian to him. Young Kaio would have to do, and he was almost as green as Alain. A member of the Brotherhood through his father’s family, but one that had not yet begun to imagine the depths of their ritual. “Grandpa? Are you alright?” Alain sounded worried, her voice low and mellifluous. She kneeled in front of him and, for a moment, Selwyn thought he saw Allysa once again. Allysa, his only daughter. His great disappointment. The reason for this beautiful young lady that would have to shoulder burdens far too great for her slender shoulders. “I am fine, my Alain. Just visiting years that came and went before you ever set foot on this planet. So, young Sebastian is taking you to see our fair capitol? I urge you, of course, to visit those places of historical and spiritual importance. Urge Sebastian to take you to those places we visited the last time I brought him there.” Alain smiled. “Of course. But, Grandpa, am I actually going to see you at all? My ticket back home is set for a week from now, you know.” Selwyn looked out the window, hiding the quirking of his lips. “Oh, but I had heard you were planning on staying here.” “I would love to stay, Grandpa. I love it here. But I love it there, too. And I can’t just up and leave. Where would I stay, who would I live with? Where would I work? Moving isn’t just something you do, Grandpa. I don’t even have English citizenship!” “These are problems that are easily fixed, Alain.” Selwyn tried to stand and fell back into the chair. Alain rushed to his defense, but Selwyn waved the girl away, sending her to a desk on the other side of the room, instead. “I suppose I cannot wait until I am dead to share this with you…” Alain pulled a folder out of a drawer in the desk. “What do you mean, grandpa? Share what with me?” “Read.” Selwyn closed his eyes and lay back in his chair as his granddaughter sheaved through his will. It gave everything to her. His cottage here, the ancestral lands in Derbyshire, the flat in Bloomsbury (near the British Museum, which is why he bought it), and all of his rather vast fortune. As his heir, she was entitled to British citizenship, and there would be no question of her getting a job of some sort. Money and name counted for a lot these days, as in all days. Eventually, he heard a gasp. “Grandpa Selwyn, no!” “And why not, Alain? You are the only child of my only child. It is only right that it should go to you. All of it.” “But—“ Selwyn shook his head. “No buts. You are my heir, young lady. And if you wanted to stay here, all you need to do is ask and I will have everything taken care of. Citizenship as an Englishwoman and a European Citizen. Keep your U.S. passport and you’ll be able to go almost anywhere unimpeded. Travel the world.” “Grandpa!” Alain choked in shock and sat down at the desk, delicate hands clamped over her mouth. “This is too much.” “It is what I have. And you are the only one I have to give it to. Minus, of course, expenses for Lillian’s funeral and some sizeable donations to various charitable organizations that I have patronized over the years. The rest is yours.” Selwyn coughed, but it wasn’t one of the dangerous, hacking coughs that plagued him at night and took nothing more than a sip of water to quell. “I am a frugal man. Didn’t spend much. And Allysa never wanted my help, so it sat in my accounts waiting for you.” Alain still sat in shocked silence on the other side of the room. Selwyn watched as she carefully placed everything back in the folder and then into the desk. “Th-this is all going too fast. I mean, I know I said I wanted to stay, but…I am a person of emotion. I do everything on a whim sometimes, but this is definitely not something to do on a whim.” “Why not? It is merely a place to live, after all. And here, if you stay, at least I’ll get to have family in my last weeks.” Selwyn looked down at his lap. “And you’ll have the Baker boy.” Alain shot up in the chair. “Sebastian? He’s…we’ve…” “You’re the product of two very powerful families and brought together by fate, child. Believe me. I know something of fate.” Selwyn chuckled. “You come to me after you visit London with Sebastian. Bring him with you. After that, I’ll tell you everything I brought you here to understand. And make sure he takes you to the places I brought him. It’s important.” Nodding, her mouth clamped shut against shock, eyes wide and glazed, Alain stood and gave her grandfather a kiss on the cheek. “Will do, Grandpa.” With that, she walked out. Selwyn could see that Sebastian waited outside in his car, and chuckled again. It was good that he had the sense to leave this private. Sebastian always did have that intuition. Hopefully, it would serve them well. Hopefully, Selwyn would make it long enough to teach them what they really needed to know. As woefully incomplete as that education would be, it would be all they had to keep them safe. And their safety was paramount to the safety of the world. ***** He was giving her everything! After all the years he’d put in as Seneschal, the bitch was getting everything! And Sebastian, that little git, was to be her High Consort. He was to be stripped of his robes and removed from power. Not even Seneschal any longer. And Kaio was unwilling to be moved. Yet. If he could get Kaio to his side, everything could be saved. It all depended on Kaio. The Seneschal packed up his belongings and headed home. He had dinner with the family tonight and it wouldn’t do to be late. Not when so much was on the line. ***** “He’s giving you everything?” Sebastian swerved, nearly taking his car into another lane. Next to him, a car horn blared angrily. “But that’s brilliant!” “My grandfather’s demise is hardly brilliant, but I see what you’re getting at. I now have nothing standing in the way of my remaining here in England.” Alain was still coming to terms with what her grandfather had showed her earlier. With what he had revealed. And yet…his mysterious summons for two days from now. That intrigue almost did away with the shock entirely. “And…and he said to make sure and show me all the thing he showed you the last time you were in London together.” “So he wants you to see all the weird stuff, then. I could never figure out what a bakery, a shoe shop, and a psychic had to do with one another, but Selwyn was always a mysterious man. I mean, we took a tour of the British Museum, of course, though Selwyn’s stories were not exactly the stuff most docents tell.” Sebastian smiled and, almost absentmindedly, brought his hand down on Alain’s, thumb caressing her palm. Alain was glad of him. She was happy she had met him. Times like this, driving together toward London, hands entwined, she could almost believe what Selwyn had said about their being meant for one another. Brought together by fate. “We’ll stay at my parents’ flat. It’s actually just down the street from Selwyn’s, so I suppose I can show you where your new London home is. We’ll hit up the usual suspects today, see the nightlife tonight, and then take you on Selwyn’s tour tomorrow. We get to skip dinner with my father, too, although he was relatively tame last night.” Alain laughed. “I think it was because you actually behaved yourself. Or maybe because you were silent the entire time and barely moved. He seemed pleased. Max seemed a little on edge, though. Wonder what’s bothering him.” “The stick up his ass is shifting, I guess. Probably something at work. He never does react well to problems at work.” “Seems not to. Anyway, where are we off to first, my love?” Alain used the term reflexively, she always had. But Sebastian shivered just slightly and his grip tightened on her hand. Had her kiss meant that much to him? If so, then what was going to happen in two days alone in London? What was going to happen when she got back to Wycombe and finally got to hear the answers she was searching for? Alain didn’t understand what was happening, but she would have to be some kind of moron if she couldn’t accept that something—and something big—was happening. She was just glad that Sebastian was long for the ride. |
| Nat was waiting for them inside. He waited with the kettle on, as predicted, and he saw Alain’s small smile as she realised that perhaps there was a human quality to their family. As he wrapped his arms around his brothers waist and buried his head in the warmth of Sebastian’s chest, he tried to familiarise himself again with the smell and feel of his older sibling. There was always a moment when Sebastian came home that made Nathanial feel like he was lucky. He knew there’d be a day when his brother disappeared out of this microcosmic world of propriety and petty formalities. It was bothering him more now than before. Like a little fishbone caught in the throat, it tickled and itched and felt like loss. “How was your day, Natty?” Seb said with his usual grin and hand ruffling his hair. “It was good. I did some reading. Did you know that Wieland is considered the first American gothic?” He said back, talking into his brother’s shirt. Alain laughed and he looked up at her in vague surprise, “There’s an argument for it. I’m surprised you’re reading something like that!” “Seb gave it to me.” Giving Seb a look of mock horror, she swung out her hand in amusement, “I suppose there’s no better place to read it.” Giggling, Nat nodded, that’s exactly what Seb had explained, “It’s scary but it’s funny.” He looked up, pulling reluctantly away, “You’ll read me the next bit?” “Of course.” “Kettles boiled.” “You my dear brother, are a miracle.” It was like a he had a flashlight in a very large dark cavern sometimes, he didn’t understand the looks that went between Seb and Alain, he didn’t know why it was funny that he was reading Brockden-Brown and he didn’t know why, standing on the threshold of this strange new relationship, he felt like he was treading on the toes of fate. It was too soon for him to be part of this. Alain, he thought was beautiful. She was so separate a thing to this family. Sebastian, he knew, was haunted. Their family was haunted. They were self consciously aware, tainted. Nathanial may not have had the words to describe it, but he knew it. Language was secondary. * “Sebastian, your father wants to see you.” His mother said in her sweet, colourless voice, “Before you go to London.” Sebastian winced and he was sure that even in a decaffeinated state Alain would have noticed if she was there, he deliberately kept his eyes averted from his mother as he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Of course, mother. I’ll visit after breakfast.” “Be sure you do. He’s in one of his moods.” Her voice hovered in the air like the floating island in Gulliver’s Travels. He hummed in agreement, “Isn’t he always.” He sat at the breakfast table alone, munching on his jammy toast, pausing over the Times Crossword. ‘One may have got lineages sorted (11)’ was bothering him. Even though the compiler evidently had elegance, his brain was yet to understand what exactly was being indicated. Cryptic crosswords just weren’t processing even though he’d already finished the quick one... He sighed, he was becoming an old man already. He could still sense the fluttering presence of his mother. “Seriously, mother, I’ll wait for Alain to come down. I’ll let her know to have Philip drive her to Selwyn’s and that I’ll pick her up from there. It’s not a problem.” She rustled from the doorway and he tried to focus on his food, casually munching through the toast that had somehow lost it’s sweet, strawberry taste. It was more like cardboard. A soft step forward and she was in the field of his vision, a pale pink jumper with faded grey trousers, string of children’s fairy beads around her neck. His heart softened. He knew what she was going to ask. “Will you send my love?” “I will. But I think she knows already.” “Just... send my love.” Then she was gone again. He sat back in his chair and pondered a moment, looking at the door she’d just been in. He would probably have to talk to Alain about this at some point. Alain. His stomach rolled slightly. Yesterday had been spur of the moment but then their evening had been spent sat across the Baker dining table, listening to the rattle of his father’s breath and Max’s prattle. Sebastian hadn’t bothered to cause too much disruption, he’d been thinking about other things. His mother and Nathanial had made polite conversation and Alain had mentioned that she wanted him to take her to London the next day, much to his father’s (and Max’s) chagrin. Claiming that there was a local party in Connaught Square the next day, his mother had hastily agreed and begged them to take a couple of days. So that had been that. They’d gone to bed early and Nat had come to his room and snuggled into the bed with him. That had made his chest ache, his little brother rarely came to his room anymore, but it was always for the same reason. The same reason that his mother achingly asked him to send her love. In this family, they all dealt with grief in different ways. * Lord Baker was an impressive man. A biggish, thick-set man, with the unmistakeable presence of arrogance, so that even as he sat, square in the middle of his study, back turned to Sebastian, he gave the powerful impression of superiority. His brown-shoed feet were spread apart, arms on the arms of the chair. His cane leant against the wall where an umbrella might have stood. His hat sat on one of the many bookshelves. The room, much like its occupier, was made up of too much silk, too much polish on dark wood. Sebastian hated it. The plush, mahogany desk with its gold-embossed, green leather hides; the bronzed swan neck handles on the numerous draws and cupboards on their bracket-styled feet; the Berber carpet with its thickly woven colours; the dimmed, yellow lighting from the twin lamp desks. It was decorous and sumptuous, substantial but heavily comfortable. It was much like the rest of the house, antiques and heirlooms, cabinets of scotch and shelves of obscure tombs of law. Lord Baker, unpleasantly handsome in the same, opulent manner of his vanity, gave the faintest of recognitions that Sebastian had entered. “Father.” The word hung, suspended, just so. “What are you planning?” The question should have been easy, should have been a mere reference to London, but it wasn’t. The cool, crisp voice his father had, deep and percussive, clipping the words so they were spat like pips from a gun. “Father, I intend to take Ah... Miss Alain to London at Selwyn’s request. We’re going to see –” His father’s hand unclenched from the arm of the chair in a warning movement Seb had long ago come to recognise, “That’s not what I mean and you know it. What’s going on in that foolish head of yours? What are you planning?” “I mean exactly what I say. I am going to take Miss Alain to London. We will see the sites she wants to see, I will show her what Selwyn-” “I will never know what Selwyn sees in you.” Sebastian flinched but steeled himself, eyes focusing on the top of the chair so he didn’t have to look at the profile of his father’s face. It really was an intolerable face; a lascivious face with a dry salacious sheen to its uncommonly smooth surface. “Selwyn in a remarkable man. I respect him. I respect what he has done for this community. I will never see what he sees in you.” “Because I’m hardly the son you envisaged am I father.” It wasn’t really a question and Sebastian could feel a sneer working on to his face. Sometimes he was able to forget the way his father had used to brandish the long, thin, black cane in one of his tirades. This cool, dismissive veneer was just as disturbing but it meant he wasn’t always as carefully as he had been. Careful not to disturb the stick that would thrash him slowly, scientifically, skilfully, legally. It hadn’t been often or excessive. It had been like a smack for naughtiness, but Sebastian had always been in more extreme trouble and his father had always been arbitrarily archaic. As his father’s face lurched on its neck he knew today was not a day where he’d forget those lessons. “You will not speak to me like that.” “No father.” “You will take Miss Alain to London. You will stay in the flat on Connaught. You will give her the master bedroom. You will sleep separately. You will not drink. You will not smoke. You will not take her on one of your juvenile escapades. You will not parade around with her. You will keep her safe.” His father paused, his voice had never changed tone, it was all said in the same crisp manner with its bullet like hardness, “You might be labouring under the delusion that the entire world is impressed with you and your little stunts, especially since you managed to get a great man like Selwyn to trust you. But know this: I don't care how many times your minder calls me to persuade me to bail you out. To me, Sebastian, you are nothing but a nasty little miscreant who considers rules to be beneath him.” “I wouldn’t ever try to get Miss Alain in trouble.” Silence fell. Sebastian turned on his heel and without waiting for permission, left. He didn’t see his father’s glassy eyes, the vacant stare that overcame the man’s counternance. But then Lord Baker had never once moved to look at his son, so it was unlikely he would have seen that look anyway. * Sebastian was driving the car steadily, leaning back comfortably in the seat with one elbow resting on the sill of the open window. How hypnotic the graduation from countryside to city was, he though, how exciting it was to be away from home. The buildings were increasingly high, the greenery increasingly sparse. He sometimes thought that green could make you mad. It certainly tried. He took one had off the wheel and lit himself a cigarette. The best thing now, he told himself, would be to make for the Oxford Underpass. They were singing along to the terrible nineties music that had come onto the radio. It had started with Uptown Girl, then Elevation, then Do You Really Like It and then the Gorillaz. “Are you serious?! Your mom listens to this station?!” Alain had shrieked through the laughter and he’d had to nod and laugh and shake his head and he sang in a terrible, mocking falsetto along to Atomic Kitten. It wasn’t a particularly long journey into London. Only an hour and a bit as they headed off the M25 and down the Oxford Bypass. He’d been trying to lighten the mood, or his mood at least, after she’d used the small endearment that had unsettled his nerves. It had been something yesterday, that he hadn’t quite interpreted yet, but that he knew deep down was going to make things happen. “Oh yeah my mother used to drive us to school listening to Heart FM. And my father...” He started to tell her about a couple of the family holidays, referring to his dad. He told her about the Fridays in the summer, the kind that left the whole world sagging into a listless, wallowing slur. And he lost himself in the stories he remembered the clouds spilled down from the sky and swamped the Studland streets with a hot mist that made the thermometers on the walls perspire. It was nearly midday and for the first time in years the temperature was teetering above thirty-five degrees centigrade. Men sat outside their white washed houses, heavy as the damp, salty sea air; women sagged in deck chairs, clutching at tonic water that had been cold only minutes earlier but now was verging on lukewarm. “How old does a man have to be to understand right from wrong?” He’d asked, quietly. His father had looked up from the ‘Poetry of Horace’ and frowned, “What’s that?” Even then his father had been a proud man with dark hair that was now mostly grey and his skin had become the smooth, paled white rimples he now knew. Unlike the older, native fishermen of the village who had spent their lives in the sun and salt and wind of the dorsetshire coast, his father had been a shrimp of a man. Settled comfortably in the shade in the husk of an old dinghy, they had been content to listen to the twittering of the swallows that nestled beneath the drains of the roof and any murmur from the wind that would tell them that they could once again walk down to the bay at the bottom of the hill and hoist the sails on the wayfarer. “My father was proper chilled on holiday.” He grinned, “And then he turned into Mr. Gwumpy.” He made his voice clipped and cold, “You will go to London and see Big Ben. Not parliament. Just Big Ben. It’s a big, important place you know, just like me.” Alain laughed, he laughed. His impersonation was almost perfect. Then their talk had turned serious. “You don’t love your father do you.” “He’s family, but that doesn’t constitute love.” Alain looked at him with fathomless eyes and then her hands had curled around his again. He’d felt the thud in his heart. God it was difficult not to fall hard for her, not to let himself fall in love where he shouldn’t. He sighed, “You probably got told I’m the funny one, or the trickster, the one with more in common with anansi than your average, boring asshole... but I think I have to tell you this, before we get to the flat.” He gave her a wry grin, “No way to avoid this. And it’s going to sound fucking weird.” Nodding, Alain frowned. “I know you know about my sister...” He followed the dotted line that intersected the road with his eyes. Focussing on anything but the woman beside him he murmured, “Well my mother moved out of the family home and into the flat for about eight months after my sisters death...” St. Georges Fields was a strange place. Built over an ancient gravesite, the ninety-seventies buildings were concrete tunnels of grey stone and built up in strange graduations. The place was beautiful, a strangely tranquil garden surrounded them and the fact that they were only just across the road from Hyde Park meant that green stretched out around it in rosette patterns. The flat itself wasn’t big but it had an upstairs and a downstairs with three bedrooms built over a large open-plan kitchen and living room. Modern, white, chic; the place was a strange cross between a bachelor pad and a woman’s sanctuary. On entry there was white door leading to the white walled kitchen; paintings of London, posters from films lined the walls and a cd player slid to alertness when you walked by it. It was pleasantly sparse – the opposite of the Baker house. Walking up the cream, carpeted stairs was another matter. Spartan bookcases lined the walls, the bathroom was closed, the water turned off. The room doors were all closed. The one straight ahead was the master, a lamp decorated with buses hanging from the ceiling and casting a dim, red light over the colourless walls. On the left was a spare room and on the right, what would have been a small boxroom. Devoid of natural light, the room was pastel yellow. The walls were covered in photos. From infancy to her last year as alive, his sisters face lined the walls. The door was always locked now. His mother’s shrine to his sister was hardly noticeable. But he knew Alain would want to know why the locked door existed. When they arrived and he finally let them in, they were grinning again, laughing at some stupid joke he’d made about the building. “So I reckon if we just dump our stuff and go down to Christini’s we’ll be able to get dinner and catch the end of their first Jazz act.” “Sebastian Baker, are you asking me out?” Alain purred, dropping her bag by the door and wrapping her arms around his neck. He grinned, “Maybe.” And he leant in, catching her lips with his own, almost instantly sliding his tongue across her mouth but pulling away before she could respond, “But first it’s time for me to show you a bit of London. Maybe take you across the park to Selwyns, it’s a good day for walking.” She pouted slightly but aquiesqued, “Sure....” * “I’m going to take you to Soho. We’ll find a puny bar, drink til we’re silly but not stupid. Then we’ll head to wherever. Kabaret or somewhere.” The jazz bar had been their solace. He’d shown her to the master room, let her explore the flat and it’s features, including the locked door to his mother’s shrine and then he’d tried to explain what they’d do the next day. “We’ll start at your grandpa’s flat, it’s not far, we’ll take the 32 bus. From there we’ll walk the route he took me.” “What was that?” “Well, as I said before: there’s a bakery, a really strange shoe shop that made me think of that fairytale... you know the one... and then there’s this guy, a psychic but he made it seem like... it was okay to be vague and stuff and still be credible. God knows.” He grinned, “Very peculiar though. You’ll probably like him.” “He’s peculiar so I’ll like him?” She raise an eyebrow and he laughed. “Yeah. You know what I mean. He’s like a trumpet, loud and poignant but utterly hilarious.” “Of course Mr Baker. I totally buy that.” “Well if you don’t buy that I suppose there’s no point in taking you.” “Oh no! You must take me to see him if grandpa says- Hey! You tricked me!” “Love, it’s the wine hitting your head.” “It might be.” “Touch your nose. Does it feel like pins-and-needles almost?” “Maybe.....” “Me too. We should order another bottle.” “Lets do it” Sebastian laughed again. He had been watching her face, the light in her over-bright eyes reflected more than just her mirth at their conversation and their inebriated state. Yet even then she was beautiful. He wanted her more every minute that passed. He felt drawn. He felt as if... as if... as if they were two like-magnets that were repelled and attracted, as if a double-edged sword lay between them. As if... there was soemthign and he couldn’t place his finger on it so he passed it to the back of his mind. “You know... I reckon we should go to Funky Buddha. It’ll bloody blow your mind.” “I sure hope it does. I’m beginning to think I have one.” “A mind?” “Yes a mind.” “If you didn’t have one, you’d be a Dennettian zombie and I shouldn’t be so attracted to you.” “You’re just attracted to my ass.” “I was actually looking at your boobs.” “My boobs then.” “Ok.” “Stop looking at them, My face-” “Is on your neck not your chest but you’re the one that brought up body parts.” “If we got to Funky Buddha-” “You can guarantee I’ll be the only one allowed to look at you like this.” “That’s just creepy.” “It’s Halloween.” “Ok... Fair enough.” * Sebastian grinned, pulling the other close again and kissing her back this time. Their bodies moved until they were out of the centre of the crowd, lips not leaving the others except to breathe until they were resting by their original table, against the wall. Seb tangled his fingers in the naturally dark hair, feeling the silken strands fall between the digits and pulled the other even closer. Tentatively stroking Alain’s bottom lip with his tongue, he was suddenly desperate to explore the other just they way he had dreamed of. Gasping slightly, Seb felt him respond, kiss becoming bruising, searing and delving deep into the warmth of the others. It was passionate, hard; teeth pulled at his lower lip and he moaned, unable to stop the soft sound escaping him. Alain pulled back. "How much have you had to drink?" She panted out as Seb moved his mouth to her neck and along the warm throat. Laughing lightly against warm skin, he flicked his tongue out to grace the spot he'd just kissed, "Not enough." He breathed, knowing his voice would feel chill against heated skin. "I- " Alain began, eyes frowning despite the desire still lingering in her tone. Seb kissed her again, not wanting to know what came after 'I'. He'd waited too long to do this… She’d waited too long before coming here… Their arms were entwined, breathing stripped of normalcy, synchronised with indelicacy of lips, tongue and teeth. "How… about we… dance an… up… beat… song." He placed a kiss between words before gasping as Alain moved his mouth to nip one ear gently. "Sounds good." He could feel the knobble of her spine against his fingers, against the wood of a chair and the wall behind her shoulder and grinned as she murmured against his mouth, "I bet you always wanted me against a wall." “You have no idea.” If this was what his father had meant by safe than he wasn’t sure what was going on. |
| “You know,” Alain breathed. “At home, the Funky Buddha is a hookah bar. Where are the Turkish sultans and cushions?” Sebastian responded with a series of nips along her collarbone, fingers digging into the skin of her back. Laughter, bubbling close to the surface, tapered off into a series of sighs. “Are we going to dance, or what?” “Do you want to?” Sebastian asked, lips hardly lifting from the bare skin of her shoulders and neck. Alain squirmed, pushed up against the wall by Sebastian’s arms. Her entire body pulsed from within, throbbing in time with…not the music, certainly, but almost in time with…Alain didn’t know. And she was in no place to really think about it. But it was as if something was breathing in cadence with the pounding of the blood through her veins. “Yes…” She sighed out, no sure if she was answering Seb or some other, unspoken question. A voice that she couldn’t hear calling out for her, whispering tantalizing offers of thrumming power. Vaguely, she wondered if Sebastian could hear it, or feel it. It was an indolent throbbing, like music from the earliest days of humanity, calling to her spirit. Sebastian growled very suddenly, just as the call grew more intense, as if someone had turned the volume up. Alain felt the heat rushing up to her face, a fire burning just beneath her skin, lightning shooting every time skin, teeth, or lips met. He tugged at her, pressing himself against her, and she felt his arousal as keenly as her own. This was not what she had intended to happen when she came to England. But she felt something, and it was dragging her into itself, tying her to Sebastian as he fell with her. She understood, though she didn’t know how, that Sebastian was meant to come with her, to protect her. He was her life raft, her partner, her other half. And together, they could master the world. “Sebastian, I need you.” Alain didn’t remember opening her mouth, but the words were out before she could stop them. She repeated them, despite herself, and found that they were true. The voice, whispered and unheard, pushed her; she could no longer ignore it. A dam broke between them at her words and Alain realized that Sebastian had been holding back. He’d been keeping himself apart from this need just as she had. And now, Alain was keenly aware of his feelings, of his struggle. It was as if she could see into his soul and she fell in love with what she saw there. “Let’s get out of here,” Sebastian growled out, tugging at her arm and tossing money on the table as he did so. Alain giggled and it trailed into a shriek as they burst out of the club and into the chilly London air. Even at this hour, there were people rushing up and down the sidewalks, a few of whom cursed at them as they tumbled into the street. They ran a few blocks, their progress interrupted as Sebastian or Alain would stop and press the other against a wall for a few fleeting kisses or breath-quickening caresses. The thrumming followed them as they ran, flowing up through the sidewalks and into Alain’s feet, rushing to her head. The whispering not-voice became insistent, accompanied now by shadowy hands pushing her back toward the Baker apartment. Neither of them spoke, no sound between them but sighs and groans, and the occasional throaty laugh. They ran first, then walked hand-in-hand, hurrying through the streets, forgetting to do the sensible thing and drive or call one of London’s famously opinionated cabbies. As they traveled, they explored one another with increasing desperation and need. It was as if they were characters in a old school black-and-white romance. All they needed was the rain. Eventually, and finally, they reached the flat and pushed their way through the door. They were a tangle of lips and hands before the door latched shut. Sebastian pushed her against the wall and pinned her hands above her head, effectively trapping her for his own use. Alain shuddered beneath his ministrations as he first nibbled at her ear and then trailed his way down to the narrow space between the just-visible mounds of her breasts. Deftly, he unbuttoned her blouse with one hand and tore it away, tossing it across the room. Shortly after, her bra followed, hooking itself on a lamp. Sebastian just stared for a moment and, for just a second, Alain felt a stab of worry. Was she not what he expected? Chubby, she could stand to lose ten pounds, and she had always worried that people would be disappointed by the fact that no one with breasts her size would be perfect spheres (especially if they were real). But instead, his eyes flashed with hunger and the color of his eyes all but disappeared behind the blacks of his pupils. And he lunged forward with something that sounded almost like a snarl to begin attacking her breasts with teeth and tongue. A world of aroused pleasure exploded behind Alain’s eyes and she writhed against the wall, arms still pinned above her head. Swollen, her nipples throbbed and she quivered, groaning like some porno slut. Sebastian appeared lost within her, driven by something beyond just his own need for her. Or was his need more than just need? She had seen into his soul. And he loved her. But there was more than just Sebastian and Alain here tonight. Something else was out there. Something aware, something pushing them together. Something building. Suddenly, Sebastian dropped her hands and picked her up, slamming her into the wall as he literally tore her underwear and skirt from her body. Alain heard the fabric rip and suddenly she was naked, with a man licking and biting every inch of skin. They still hadn’t spoken. It continued to build between them. The voice was chanting now, still unheard but realized. And she felt energy weaving around the two of them, a whole roomful of potentiality, waiting to be directed. With her hands now free, Alain reached down and unzipped Sebastian’s pants, hand brushing against him and tugging softly, back and forth. Sebastian jumped and panted, and then he was brushing her hand aside, and pushing himself into her. And now, for a moment, they were one. The chanting became frenzied now, and the air became filled with heat. Heat without and heat within, the room sparking and flowing, spiraling about their heads. As Sebastian pulled and pushed, first slowly and then practically sawing his way in and out of her as need drove him to almost animalistic frenzy, Alain could almost see the magick around her head. And, even more surprising, she understood it. She understood it all. Drums thundered in her head, they thundered within her chest, and they thundered between her legs as her building excitement matched the power thrumming all about them. It waited for her release, for Sebastian’s, to change from potential into action. She willed it to be used for protection, though she hardly knew what she was protecting and from what. No words, just sounds and pleasure between them. Sebastian bit and scratched; Alain would have bruises and welts in the morning. Alain tossed her head back and cried out, realized that she had been screaming the entire time, and tugged at her own breasts. They used the wall to stabilize themselves, and Alain gave herself over to the need of it. Suddenly, Sebastian stopped and shuddered, throwing his head back in a wordless cry. She felt him within her and heard the whisper for the first time in her ear. “Now.” And, as Sebastian came within her, Alain gave herself over to her own release. She came. Hard. Bucking against Sebastian, she hugged him close and screamed out her pleasure. And she felt the energy within rush out of her, mingling with the energy without, directing it, releasing it. “So much for sleeping in separate beds…” Sebastian broke into the silence, which had only been filled with heavy breathing for the last few moments. “Hunh?” Alain was disoriented and flush, though the oppressive heat that had built around her was dissipating fast now that the energy had been released. “My father told me I was to sleep separately from you.” Sebastian leaned his head against her chest, but continued to hold her against the wall. Alain chuckled and ran her fingers through his hair, surprising herself with the intimacy of that action. It was more telling, revealed more about her feelings, than anything that had happened within the last few hours. “Since when have you done anything your father told you?” “Point.” “How would you like to keep disobeying him? I’m thinking I need some sleep.” Sebastian lifted his head and smiled. “Me too.” ***** Selwyn lifted his head the second that Alain cried out. He reached out with his senses, trying to find what had changed. When he found it, he gasped. The chains had tightened. As High Priest, he knew exactly what that meant. His granddaughter and Sebastian had coupled that evening. But how had they controlled the power? How had they released it? Had they grounded it? Selwyn stood and walked to his window, staring in the direction of the Caves. They were quiescent. His granddaughter had forged chains stronger than he ever had, and she didn’t even understand what she was doing. She was powerful. Much too powerful. And she needed to be trained. There was too much at stake for him to die too soon. A whole world. ***** The Seneschal sat up in bed the second Alain and Sebastian released the power that strengthened the chains. He, too, understood exactly what had happened. But he wasn’t nearly as pleased as the old man. How had the bitch managed to control that kind of power without any training? Did the Baker boy have some kind of magickal cock that could work the mysteries? Was she the best fuck anyone had ever had? How had that little whore done it? He needed to stop it. He needed to stop it. He needed to stop it. ***** Alain woke in the middle of the night and turned to look at Sebastian. She remembered nothing of the voices, of the humming power that she had released into the world with him. All she remembered was fucking him like a wanton slut against the wall of his apartment. She had had too much to drink. Staring at him now, though, she felt the stirrings of desire again. She realized, once more, just how beautiful he was. How had this happened? How had she met this boy three days ago and how had she fallen in love with him in those three days? Grandpa Selwyn had said they were brought together by fate. Could he have been right? There was a vestige of need left in her, the stirrings of a whisper, but Alain put it down to the alcohol that must’ve still been flowing through her veins. She would need some water or the whole day would be wasted as she nursed a hangover. But first she wanted this boy again. She wanted to feel him inside of her, where he seemed to fit so well. With a sudden burst of mischievousness, Alain burrowed under the covers and snaked her way over to where Sebastian slept, still naked from earlier. Neither of them had bothered with clothing, just falling into the bed. They’d played a little, but both of them had passed out within a few moments of their heads hitting the pillow. Sliding up next to him, Alain ran her nails along his inner thighs before taking him into her mouth and sucking softly. A second later, Sebastian was awake and staring down at her, eyes wide. Alain pushed him down against his pillow and continued her ministrations. Within moments, she had him exactly where she wanted him. Then, carefully, she slid on top of him, allowing him to fill her completely. She rode him slowly, softly, making love rather than fucking against the wall. There were no whispers, no pounding drums. But Alain felt as if this was the far more satisfying coupling. Making love with the man she was coming to realize was worth a lot more than a simple lay. |
London had a pulse, a tantric rhythm in the beat of traffic. She was alive with a heartbeat that thrummed through the streets, with the inhalation and exhalation of commuters, the swelling groan of rush hour and the falling sigh of the retiring tubes. She was always moving with one, constant, panting breath. London – full of a vivacity and power that made men swoon, humbled, numbed by her. Sebastian loved London and lying next to Alain, her heart thudding through her breast, beating next to his own in their strange, perfect synchronicity, he felt like their own blood was pounding in time with London. He was only dimly aware of what he was doing even now, tracing the curves of her body, along her sides and the soft skin of her breast, along her neck, down, following the small bumps of her spine. They smelt of sex and sweat and each other, he could still detect traces of the heady shampoo in her hair though it caught on the air, like cloth snagging on barbed wire, so it was hard to place. Their breathing was slow again. What a way to wake up. With her mouth on him, working him up, lips parted around him and then their eyes, catching hold of each other as he woke up, holding, holding so that even when she moved away and he’d moaned at the loss and then moaned again as she lowered herself onto him, exquisite. She was exquisite. Curves and sensuality – something so undeniably different to anything else, to anyone else. She wasn’t like the spider-legged girl in the Caves, or the public school rahs with their bobbing heads that seemed too large for their starved bodies. Alain Barclay was exquisite. He closed his eyes again, fingers still trailing along her skin. Knowing they were both awake but both content to lie in the quiet, middle of the night, not quite ready to slip back into the unconscious. “I’ve given you bruises.” He murmured, noticing as she winced slightly as he traced her back again. His voice was barely a voice. She merely hummed, wriggling closer into his embrace, tucking her leg between his and her forehead coming to rest in the crook of his neck. Sotto voce, he whispered again, “Night, love.” The night fell back over them, cool and soft, drifting over in a slumber. Whether things had moved too fast or were too good to be real didn’t factor. They lay in the thrall of London’s rhythm, in the quiet of the white walled room, in the cocoon of cream and lilac sheets, in the arms of each other. Drifting, drifting away, he felt a tenderness wrap itself over them and a vague sense of completion that he’d never felt before. * Kaio lay awake, though he rarely had trouble sleeping. His dog lay peaceably beside him, also awake, watching him quietly. “It’s happened.” He murmured to the dog, “That bloody fool... Why didn’t I insist that I went with him?” He rubbed the fine, flopping ears in gentle circles, “Always diving headfirst into things that he doesn’t understand...” His dog pick its head up and dropped it onto his stomach and he side. “I know it’s destiny.” His voice cracked just a little bit, “I know it’s going to hurt. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.” The feeling hadn’t been strong, he probably only noticed because he was awake, the tightening of his gut and the explosive high that had swept through him as Sebastian had climaxed with the American... The new embodiment. It would never have been possible for him to be part of it instead... but deep down he’d wanted Seb to stay out of it. He hadn’t want his best friend to be caught up in the same ever-spinning web, especially after he’d seen the effects of the caves on him. Of course, it was the fact that Seb was so naked before the power of the caves that made him perfect for the role Selwyn would present him with... he’d have just liked there to be some chance of his little dreams to come true. That wouldn’t happen now. The dog whined against him, sending a vibration through his stomach. “Shhh now Babel. It’s no time for crying.” Turning his thought away from Seb and the inevitable act that could never be taken back, his found himself thinking about the conversation with Selwyn’s Seneschal. He’d always been wary of that man, it seems so ironic that it was him. But he could see why he might have been good and he could see why he had failed. He also saw that there was an element of truth in his words. He would always be second now, he could never be the only one that Seb saw. That had been snatched away with a beat of drums. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. He begged his mind, he begged his subconscious. Just let things flow. Just let him come home and remember that I love him, platonically. * Sebastian wasn’t what many people would call a classic romantic but he knew what women wanted. Historically he’d used women as much as they’d used him. They knew that he’d treat them right. Something about that more-oft-than-not repressed, inner gentleman. So he’d snuck out of the bed and turned on the hot water so that they’d be able to have a nice long shower later and then crept out into the over-bright, white sunlight and around the corner to the little Italian breakfast place. It was a cold crisp day, the sort that was both breathtakingly beautiful in its winter-frosting but also painfully unwelcoming. The sun and the cold meant for a creeping hangover. They knew him in there from the weeks that he’d used to drive his brother down to see their mother and they looked concerned at his entry. “Non ti preoccupare. Voglio solo caffe e Quattro cornetti.” He offered, smiling warmly though his head was asking him not to. “Ah si!” The younger daughter came through the beaded curtain that led to the kitchen and smiled, “You’ve got a lady at home.” He winked at her, still talking Italian, “I may do.” “There’s no maybe. You haven’t looked in the mirror yet have you.” He flushed, “Umm...” “Well if this is what she did to you, I’d love to know what you did to her.” He didn’t think his face could go much redder. The fact that this pretty, Italian girl was saying this in front of her jolly, old-fashioned father made him cringe. “Yes well... I’m sort of doing penance at the moment. Think you can make that coffee about twice as strong as my mother likes?” “Of course. I always make it stronger for you.” He laughed, “Thank you, Migle.” “Well make sure you come by more often. Your Italian is getting rusty.” She finished his order, wrapped up the Italian breads and put the coffee into a large pot before wrapping that up in tinfoil and paper. “Dio sia con te.” “Dio sia con te, Migle.” * The coffee smelt good. The way it wafted over the kitchen when he opened the pot to see how it was brewing. He pressed down, filtering the crushed beans and watching with satisfaction as froth formed on the surface. He placed it on a tray, put the bread, croissants, butter, jam, marmalade and a jug of water next to it and looked down with satisfaction. Then he added paracetamol. Painkillers made this tray perfect. He’d given her bruises, she’d given him a blow job now he was giving her breakfast because Selwyn would never forgive him if he stole Alain into London only to let her sleep in and not see the things he wanted her to see. That and he was slightly fearful of the decaffeinated Alain. Padding up the stair again he pushed the door open with his shoulder. Light streamed in through the windows that they had forgotten about the night before and her face was buried into the niche between the two pillows. Chuckling slightly, he put the tray down on the side table and crawled back into bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and kissing the top of her head, then her forehead, her nose, her flickering eyelids, “Wake up, love, I’ve brought you coffee.” “Hngh.” She mumbled back and he laughed again. “Paracetamol too. No need for hangover.” If only he thought of it for himself before he’d braved the outside world. “Come on,” He coaxed, “Or I’ll be forced to think of a more creative way to get you awake and into London.” “Shouwnd shlike fungh.” She grumbled but her eyes were blinking open, heavily dropping over the blue-green of her uncanny eyes. He ran his fingers through the coppery strands of her hair, noting that he rarely showed his much affection to anyone. He had fallen a lot harder than first expected and... he was sure he’d seen the same sentiment reflected in her. A memory sat on the edge of his consciousness. It perched on the top of his head and he felt it, just outside of his range of expression, cold strange and indescribably vivid. The feeling trickled down his head, through his hair, behind his ears, a small trace along his neck, like an egg broken over him and allowed to seep down his spine. A shiver ran through him. Whatever it was had been there only for a moment before it was gone, snatched away. He wondered what it was, but knew there was no point in pondering. “Coffee.” He laughed at the demand that was so much clearer than anything else and he moved to pour her a mug of coffee. “Here you go love.” * They showered together. He didn’t quite know how that had happened. He’d been cleaning his teeth and then she’d stepped into the shower beside him, a twinkle in her eyes. All he did know was that this shower was perfect for him to lift her up against the wall, legs caught around his waist, with the water cascading down around them. He knew he’d been lured. He wasn’t sure how she was able to do this to him so easily but he also felt strangely aloof, as if the intensity he felt between them was being siphoned off somehow. It felt like they had reached a cataclysmic point but he couldn’t remember it. All thought left his mind moments later. God she was exquisite. And that word went round and round. * They had three conversations that would stick with Seb for the rest of his life. The first was at “A bakery...” Alain looked at the shop with a wry smile, “You going to buy me a cake?” “I’m not sure that’s what Selwyn had in mind.” “Hm maybe not.” They stepped through the door. There was a woman behind the counter, her hair tied up in a knot on her head and her eyes expectantly on them. Her smile was white and wide and for a second almost terrifyingly happy. “So you came back Mr Baker. I was wondering if this would ever happen.” “Uhh...” “Of course I remember you. You probably don’t recall my dear friend telling you this when he brought you last, but that dear mutual friend once told you that he buys his cakes here every year for Christmas. He keeps me up dated on you now.” “I don’t-” “I ask after you. You should know. I never forget a finger that gets into one of my cakes.” He winced and saw Alain trying to hide her laughter. “And you must be the granddaughter. He bought a cake on your birthday every year. I don’t suppose you ever got them, being in American but the thought that counts of course.” “You’re going to have a wonderful life you two. I wonder if you can feel it yet.” The second conversation was with the shoe-maker. He asked them about the types of leather they wore and whether they were quite sure they wouldn’t be after a new set of shoes for the future. The third, however was the psychic. His name was Brian Prophet. He said that it was just a coincidence and then explained that it had been his mother’s sense of humour. She’d changed her name and thus his, when he was only four and that was why he was Brian Prophet instead of Brian Wiscome which he should have been. “I’m lucky, my mother changed her full name to Feather Jermajesty Prophet.” Sebastian and Alain sat side by side on his ripped leather sofa. Both their eyes were focused on the rakish, thirty-something with the peppery grey hair and the milky blue eyes. He moved with swagger and gesticulated wildly as he spoke and kept offering different herbal teas. “I know you think you’re just doing a tour that a crazy old man sent you on but you gotta realise, this is so much more. It’s like fucking mega.” “Give me your hands and close your eyes. I want you to feel with me. Feel the movement. Feel the beat. London has a pulse, I know you feel it, someone in your subconscious. Maybe you feel it growing, beating with you, it’s metrical rhythm, it’s giant heart.” They all held hands. Alain’s were burning hot and he could feel a tingle where their skin slid against each other and shiver ran up his spine. Brian’s hand was small, neither hot nor cold. Lacking the intimacy of Alain’s touch but not functional either. It was an unsettling, creeping touch. The seconds ticked by. The minute had crawled through but the pulse was running through him. London’s blood. “Feel London expanding, London is just a heart centre and there are many. Follow the blood, the lines, the power in yourself, trace it down, feel it coursing into you, out of you.” “Ah!” Sebastian could feel it, like a drum in his stomach, between his hips. He could feel a music in his heart and something pulling at him, pulling at his core, at his chest. His grip tightened on Alain’s hand and she did the same. He felt pressure in his abdomen. “You’re very afraid Sebastian and you should be. There’s a dark that’s following you. You’re the defender. You should know that too. You should protect her, protect the heart, protect the flow. Alain, you don’t need to be afraid. You cannot be replaced. Not now. “Alain. You should not be afraid. You should be wary. The only one that can heal your protector is you. “Feel it inside you. Feel that. Feel this. “It may seem unspecific. But when you’re talking about the essence of things, it is hard to step away from the generalities. I want you to feel deeper. Feel deeper.” As they left Alain looked at him, her face paler than usual, “I felt New York was a giants heart. He used my words.” He looked at her, focused in on her eyes that were dilated and full of the same desperation that he was feeling in himself. His arousal was unbearable, he was trying desperately to hold back. “He’s a psychic...” Seb croaked out, trying to think of a joke but he was shaken as well... Brian had not been like that last time, “I thought I could feel the pulse too.” “I felt it. I don’t know what it was.” “My...” “Your grandpa’s friends are crazy.” “Can the British Museum wait?” He stepped up, as close to her as possible without kissing her. She wrapped her arm around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair and then pulled him down into an open-mouthed kiss. It was possibly the worst kiss they had had but it was definitely their most desperate. Their lips meshed, their teeth bumped. They fell against each other in the lee of a tree on the outskirts of regent’s park. “Let’s go to Selwyn’s flat. You still need to see it.” “And we apparently need to christen it.” He groaned as she rubbed her leg between his and he lowered his mouth to her neck, sucking hard then biting down just enough to make her tremble beside him. “Oh yes. We definitely need to do that.” |
| They christened the flat. It had been like the night before, full of whispers unheard and a vibrating power emanating from within as they came together, teeth and nails biting and clawing like animals. The need between them was insatiable and unknowable; it called and they answered, again and again, passionate and hard. They could no more ignore it or escape it than they could the beating of their hearts or the expanding of their lungs as they breathed. It was within them and without, pushing them to couple again and again. Reaching for one another again and again, tongues and lips tangling mercilessly, driven by something they could not understand. It was only when they realized that it was nightfall that they looked up and pulled themselves apart, exerting whatever control they had over their own bodies. As they stopped and stared at the darkened sky, they realized something. “Sebastian, the city is singing…” Alain whispered, hair spilling down her back and chest like a Greek statue. “Can’t you hear it thrumming?” For his part, Sebastian nodded, eyes half-lidded as drumbeats flowed through his body. To him, the city did not sing; it did not thrum. To him, the city growled, it curled up among itself and glowed, protecting itself from something. Something that he could not fully understand. Sebastian felt the reflexive urge to hold Alain close, to keep her safe from whatever great London feared. Alain turned to Sebastian and smiled. “We missed the museum. Selwyn will be angry with us,” she joked. “Perhaps we should phone your family and tell them the American was so delighted with the city she demanded an extra day to savor its…delights.” She ran her eyes up and down Sebastian’s body, moving them slowly and deliberately, giggling when she saw him shiver. “Perhaps,” he replied, arousal awakened in him again. But he could not shake the feeling that this woman was a treasure. What had the psychic said? Protect her? Every inch of him yearned to protect her, to keep her safe. To love her. “I am starving,” Alain declared, standing suddenly. Still naked, but unabashedly so, she crossed the room and walked into the bathroom. “My goodness, what have you done to me, Sebastian?” “Good things,” he replied, indolently. “I see what you mean about the bruises.” Alain poked her head back into the room and leered. “Artistry. I’ve always been a proponent of mixing a little pain with my pleasure. If you want, I’ll let you tie me up and fuck me like a little slut.” The last bit was said jokingly, but by the sound of Sebastian’s breathing, he hadn’t taken it as such. Who knew the English gentlemen had a rough side? Alain found it was her turn to shiver lasciviously. When had she turned into such a raging hornbeast? Admittedly, it had been a long dry spell for her, but she had never imagined that she would spend what amounted to two solid days doing the things she had done. Things that even the mere mention of would have set her blushing but a few months earlier. But every time she opened herself up to it, the thrumming and the pounding were an aphrodisiac she simply couldn’t ignore. The land was a hormone rush, the magick the ultimate turn-on. And the whispers, urging her forward. She would have to learn to control this before she ceased being a viable human being. Or worse, ended up pregnant. Alain knew she needed to speak to her grandfather. Had an inkling that the conversation would be just a tad awkward, if what she was thinking was true. Some time during the day before—the parts spent outside of the bed, at least—Alain had remembered a the conversation she’d had with Selwyn and Lillian about the Hellfire Club. She had a feeling that it hadn’t broken up. And that now she was a member. Not just any member, either, but the…the…whatever it was they called the most VIP person in the group. And she had a feeling that she was taking it over from dear ol’ Gramps. Which meant, of course, that all of the horizontal Olympics she and Sebastian had taken the gold medal in that day…her grandfather had already done. It’s never fun to picture your grandparents having sex. Especially the kind of frenzied, out-of-control wanton, well, fucking that she’d engaged in with Sebastian. But if Alain was realizing anything, it was that the power she felt as she walked the streets was going to drive her libido into over drive. And Selwyn was the only one who could teach her how to get that under control. Alain straightened her hair and washed her face before stepping out into the bedroom. Sebastian had still not dressed himself, but he had gotten out of the bed and walked over to the window overlooking the streets. He was swaying, as if something was bombarding him from outside. Alain stared out the window and gasped. What the hell was that? “Sebastian? Sebastian!” Alain crossed the room quickly and pulled her lover away from the window, closing the curtains in the same moment. Something dark and unsavory had been wafting its way toward the room; something undoubtedly meant for Sebastian. Alain was reminded again of the psychic. There’s a dark that’s following you. The psychic hadn’t said that to Alain, only to Sebastian. She, evidently, was safe from such harm. But how to keep him safe from such darkness if she didn’t know what to do, or even what it was? What had they gotten themselves into? “Alain,” Sebastian whispered. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” She couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think so, either, Dorothy. Whatever this is, it’s damned spooky.” Alain peeked through the curtain, but whatever it was that was coming for Sebastian, it appeared that it couldn’t find them. As she stared at it, hovering lost over the city of London, she saw the apartment out of the corner of her eye. It appeared to glow, a low thrumming buzz emanating from the light. Selwyn, evidently, had protected this place well. “Alain, how come neither of us are running screaming from this shit? Three days ago, I know I would have. Not that I mind the near constant sex or meeting you,” here his face lit up as he smiled just slightly, “But all of this magick and ritual stuff…I dunno, it’s creepy.” “I know.” Alain crossed to the bed and sat down beside Sebastian, for once unburdened by uncontrollable arousal. “I think Grandpa Selwyn sent us here on purpose. He’s…he’s…” He’s dying and there’s no one to take over for him. Except us. “He’s running us through some kind of Hellfire boot camp.” Sebastian looked up at her, fear flashing for just an instant in his blue eyes. “Hellfire? What do the caves have to do with all this?” But even as he asked, Alain saw the answer settle around him like a death shroud. “They’re the epicenter of all this, aren’t they?” Alain nodded, wondering where all of this latent wisdom was coming from. It was as if the Gods themselves were whispering to her, telling her the answers as she needed to know them. “Grandpa didn’t intend to die so soon. So he’s trying to get us to understand…something very, very quickly.” “By sending us to London for raging hormones and too much alcohol?” But Alain knew Sebastian was kidding. “And to meet three weirdos?” “To get to know London the way he did. As a living entity. And you know that, oh mighty protector.” The arousal was beginning again, as uncontrollable as it had been before. And as hungry as Alain was, food was the last thing on her mind as she turned to look at Sebastian. “And here we go again,” Sebastian murmured as the need overtook them both. “Let’s make sure we actually get to the museum tomorrow or my father will believe I’m taking advantage of you.” Alain laughed, voice low and breathy as she offered her neck up to Sebastian’s appetite. “Well, just tell him that I took advantage of you and everything will be alright.” Those were the last words between them for some time. ***** Selwyn chuckled. At it again. As much as he knew Alain would be galled to realize her grandfather knew just how many times she’d had sex in the last two days, Selwyn understood it for what it was. The new High Priestess choosing her High Consort. Their energies were melding, mingling, becoming one. Some of her would always be on him and he would always be with her. In the eyes of the universe, they would be one entity, one soul, just split into two halves. Male and female, yin and yang, light and dark. Selwyn knew that the frenzied lovemaking would end within a few days, and he fully expected a call from Sebastian explaining his granddaughter’s request to remain in London just a little while longer. He imagined that the two would get little done until the Ecstasy wore off. When their energies were sufficiently mingled that they no longer needed to reach for one another at every moment of the day. He’d gone through it with Lillian when he’d taken the mantle of High Priest. Selwyn laughed to remember those days, in the same flat as Sebastian and Alain now commingled. Selwyn hoped the protection was still strong on the flat. Something was reaching for them, and Selwyn knew he couldn’t do anything now. He had to trust in Alain’s innate gift, and his years of planning, to keep them safe. More than anything, he wanted his granddaughter safe. She was the only family he had left. And vastly more important than he would ever be. |
“I haven’t had this much sex since I was seventeen.” Seb panted as he pulled out of Alain and rolled on to his back, “And even then I’d be hard pressed to compete with this.” They were back in the bed though the covers had been abandoned a while ago, discarded on the floor in ripples of dusty red and cream. The rich golden wood of the bedposts and the scarlet linen had been a bit of a surprise. He’d imagined all to be much more conservative. Maybe blues or greens, dark neutral tones. Not the wine stain red of the sheets or the long mirrors on the far wall or the rouge walls. If he had let himself, he would have read into the seductive colouring but he didn’t want to think of his beloved mentor or the deceased Lillian as using this room as they had been. Alain’s breathing mirrored his but he could still hear the humour in her tone as she spoke: “Are you complaining Mr Baker?” “No!” He would have lurched forward with that word but was too tired to do so, “No complaints. This is amazing. I just don’t understand it.” “It’s not what I was expecting when I came here either.” She laughed and rolled onto her stomach and he felt the irresistible urge to touch her. His fingers traced the swell of her cheek and along around her ear. “And what were you expecting Miss Barclay?” It was his turn to tease, “Certainly not a gentleman I hope. There are no gentlemen here.” Laughing lightly, she shook her head, “I admit, I imagined a bit more Pride and Prejudice and a bit less Manfried.” “Yes well, I doubt anyone would really expect the 21th century to harbour such a secret as your grandfather holds, so well.” He grinned, “He would have made an excellent member of the SS.” In a way he supposed Selwyn was an SS. He was a secret serviceman to what he had, until now, seen as a cult. A cult. This beat, this rhythmic roaring in around them in the very heart of the land, was to with a cult. He shuddered. Horror, excitement, he didn’t know what he felt about all this. He was usually so cock-sure when it came to truth versus ficition. He was a master at creating webs of deceit around himself and he had always thought... he’d thought he’d become quite good at telling when people were deceiving him too. Of course he had blindspots. He had always found it hard to tell when Kaio was lying because his best friend knew what tails he’d be looking for. He thought back... Selwyn... had he ever actually lied to him though? Had he ever denied anything about the Hellfire Club? He couldn’t remember perfectly. He knew that... he knew that... what did he know? And what about Alain? Didn’t this scare her just a little bit? He felt like they had no will power, no ability to resist the call to each other, the pull from her, the tug from him. And what the psychic had said. Brian Prophet. He was meant to protect her? He had a darkness following him? And didn’t she imply that she saw the darkness outside the window seeking them out? Is that why he had felt almost fragile before, when he’d stood in the window, looking out at the grumbling city? So many fucking questions that he didn’t know the answers to and that he was quite sure he wouldn’t know the answers to anytime soon. “You’re thinking too hard Sebastian.” Alain murmured and lifted her beautiful, bruised torso from the bed, propped her head up on her hand and leant over him, “You’ll get frown lines and that wouldn’t suit you.” He laughed. “Much better.” He sat up, gently pushing her back and laughing at the surprise on her face as he swooped in to kiss her quickly, his body grazing against hers briefly before he pulled back, “I think you said you were hungry. We should get food. If this is going to keep happening then we’ll need energy.” She pouted, “And there I thought we were going to go for... what is it now?” “I lost count around three o’clock.” She groaned and looked at the clock on the side table, “And it’s now?” “Nearly seven.” “Yeah, it’s time for food.” He stretched, pushing his shoulder blades outwards and together as he flexed his back, stretched his fingers, his hands and arms, clenching and unclenching his muscles slowly and then relaxing. An appreciative sigh from Alain made him grin but he forced his mind away it, deliberately not associating the sound with those she’d made throughout their encounters. All the breathy little moans, the cries and screams... he had to will them away, they had to eat or they’d be grumpy as all hell when they finally sorted out this strange, intoxicating new passion. “Shall we order out or do you want me to cook something?” Narrowed eyes peered at him from beneath the dark line of lashes. “I can cook, if that’s what that look is for?” He added quizzically, “I survived boarding school.” She laughed out loud then, eyes bursting open, “Boarding school?” “You knew that.” “I keep forgetting how funny that is.” “Right...” “Well, it wasn’t because I don’t believe you can’t cook. It’s that we’re in my grandpa’s disused flat and whether or not the place has been cleaned, I doubt its been stocked with food.” Realising his mistake, he laughed at himself easily, “Ok, so I’m getting senile, we’ll order out.” “I want Thai.” “Ok, we’ll have Thai.” “Tom Khao Kai and Kaeng Phat Pet Yang.” “Uhhh...” “Give me the phone. I’ll order.” Shaking his head, “Yeah...” He moved to his discarded jeans, dropping into a crouch as he rooted through the pocket to find his blackberry. Four missed calls, seven emails and twelve messages... Groaning, he quickly scanned the emails, most of them were junk, the messages were from his mother and Nat asking if everything was ok and hoping that they were having fun, or from Kaio who told him to pick up his phone and even one from Max whose text language even dripped with some internal sneer. I hope you’re abiding by father’s rules. You’re not to get our American guest into trouble. Mother would like you home for the charity gala Wednesday evening, though I daresay that’s probably beyond your organisational skills. Seb shook his head. All the calls were from Kaio bar one from an unknown number. Whatever, he’d call Kaio later when he wasn’t so hungry. “Here you go.” Alain jumped in surprise as the phone landed by her head, “Hey, be careful with that, I don’t need any more of your bruises.” Sebastian smirked lasciviously and looked darkly at her, “I thought you liked a little pain?” Blinking at him, Alain burst into laughter. He cracked up too, “Ok so I guess I don’t pull off the sadistic type too well.” Giggling too much to get her words out whilst looking at him, she just dialled the one-one-eight number he’d typed in and asked for the local Thai delivery. * “So do you reckon we’re stuck like this?” He asked, blowing on the proffered fork of food. She sighed, “I reckon we should talk to my grandpa... as awkward as it sounds.” “Oh gods must we?” Seb’s face split in mock dismay, “I suppose there could be worse things to happen to two people. Maybe we can just spend the rest of our lives fucking like bunnies and very little else.” “I have a funny feeling we wouldn’t enjoy it so much after a while.” “I don’t know. There’s a distinct sort of pleasure in the whole unable to deny it kind of thing.” He munched on the piece of chicken and then winced as a hotbud of spice assaulted his taste buds. “That doesn’t even make sense.” “Shut up.” He grinned, spearing a piece of his own dinner and nibbling at it carefully, “You know what I mean.” “I still think we need to ask him. It’s to do with him. I know it is. I think it’s to do with the Hellfire Club. I think we’re the epicentre of their activities. I think-” She paused for breath and looked at him and for a second he saw all the nervousness and confusion in her that he felt in him. He wanted to pull her close and hold her, protect her like he felt he should with every fibre of his being but they had only just managed to pull clothes on and he had a funny feeling that that might be detrimental to keeping them on. Plus he quite liked her in his shirt. It looked good on her. Her legs crossed under her, her makeup gone, her lips swollen, hair mussed up... “Oh god.” He groaned, feeling the stirring urge and she look at him with mischief in her eyes. “Oh please tell me you’re not thinking what I am.” * Sebastian was thinking about the psychic again. He knew he had a privileged life. He knew that his life had been easy until now – much easier that was for mst. He not inly had the Money that made people want to be friends with him, he also the whole world at his feet if he wanted, he had everything else. From the outside his life was so easy. He had had an idyllic childhood in terms of freedom, running a-mock in the lush golden grasses, under shrubbery, looking for the friendly folk and seeking out maenads and dryads through a pebble with a perfect, natural circular hole in its centre. He had a father, with money, and such a sense of duty that he could overcome the paternal loathing he felt towards his second son and given him a staple allowance (or bail). He had a loving mother, even if she struggled against her pale despair. He wasn’t bad looking with his mother’s eyes and lashes, his father’s jaw and his grandfather’s statue. He had had a great education at one of the finest schools in Britain – a small private school in Oxfordshire. He had a great chance at a brilliant university – namely Edinburgh. But such good luck and privilege of birth didn’t mean much to Death. Sebastian knew Death intimately. He had been born without breath – a limp, cryless sack of bones and bink skin. His grandmother had died three days after his birth on the day of the Deus moon. His grandpa had followed on his eighteenth summer. His other grandparents – including his beloved grandpa were killed in a crash before he left school. He dog Aschputel died when he was ten and he’d buried her alone with Kaio in a bin bag in a six foot pit in the woods. Then his sister. He paused in his thoughts. Remembering again the witches soupe made out of the sky –red as yew berries that poison birds and bubbling with Midsummer heat. Again her grey eyes lost in her skull, staring backwards at the brain that failed her. Agains the bright red cherry blood splashing on the earth and bark – smudged like lipstick by her flailing arms. Yes – he knew death. The impartial spectre, picking up souls and tucking them into its bag of names. He liked to think of a reaper carrying her in his bone-stick arms. He knew death and loss and the strange hole it made in your life. Finally he decided to say something, “Do you think the darkness is death?” “No.” She mused, “No I don’t think it’s death. I think it’s more phenomenal than that. More tangible.” He exhaled slowly and she looked at him, “There’s a reason you asked that isn’t there.” “Yeah...” “You don’t need to tell me.” “I know.” He grinned, “I’ll tell you one day anyway. I have a feeling that I’ll be sharing my whole life with you.” His eyes followed her form over and again, appreciating, adoring. “Ok.” She shivered under his gaze, “Don’t say that yet. I’m a little intimidated by the fact that I feel exactly the same way.” He shrugged and smiled, “Just put it out there though.” He then started laughing, “And I still can’t believe I let you do that with the food!” * When they woke up the next day it was grey and that strangely balmy cold that stuck to your skin and made you feel almost damp. He led her through the greenery of the park, noting that the gloomy grey had meant that the street lights hadn’t turned themselves off yet and the black stick fingered trees seemed to be swallowed into the low hanging cloud. It was typical early November weather and Alain looked at him in vague dismay. He shook his head and took her hand and lead her down a ways before hailing one of London’s black cabs. It glittered in the damp, spray flaying up from the road behind it. The puddles falling and rising from the road in lieu of each car. As it pulled up beside them, he opened the door, ushered Alain inside and said softly, “The British Museum please.” “Oraight.” The cabby said, speaking with a toothy smile inplace, “I daresay you’ll be intrigued by the Images and Sacred Texts-” Alain and Seb lurched forward, “Brian?!” There was a throaty chuckle and the familiar eyes, like burnt copper with their green rim and umber iris, caught theirs in the mirror. “Your gramps wann’ed someone safe to pick you up like but knew you’ll not listen if he asked. So we’re not giving you a chance,” The words settled like dust in the cab. Alain looked at him, her hand clenched around his and Sebastian could see the flicker of understanding and curiousity that he was rapidly coming to associate with her. Running a hand through his hair and ruffling it up slightly, Seb sighed and let her take control. “You know what’s happening to us.” “Yes. But it’s ok. You’re figuring it out on the same ways. I want you to go to the exhibition though. Buddhism across Asia, the Pharoahs. Focus on the cultures and the ley.” “You’re speaking a lot less generally than before.” “I’m speaking for Selwyn.” “What?” “I’m speaking for Selwyn. I’m his mouthpiece for the time being.” They were driving a slow and winding way to the museum and he wondered why but as he looked out the window, he could see a vague haze across London that reminded him of the shadow they’d seen last night. He shivered. He was going to protect her even if it meant taking that darkness and making it his cloak. Lack of understanding wouldn’t stop him for long. Throwing himself head first into problems was a skill and he had the luck to pull him out of it afterwards. Hopefully that would be enough until they were actually told what the hell was happening to them. “Selwyn also adds that you’re not to worry. You will feel the Call waning in the next day or so.” Sebastian looked up, alert, looking aghast as he suddenly realised what that would mean, “We’re going to have to go to my mother’s charity gala... like this...” Brian burst out into laughter. Alain’s expression was caught between horror and amusement. Sebastian shuddered, then laughed a little but, “I suppose we’ll just have to give them a show.” |
| Alain had gone down to the Smithsonian as often as was possible. Sometimes, it had been every weekend spent wandering the halls, slowly but surely visiting every corner of every building. It had taken years to accomplish that feat and it was something Alain was intensely proud of. Growing up in New York, she’d seen the Met and the Museum of Natural History, MoMA, and so much of what America had to offer. The British Museum, as such, did not overawe Alain as much as she believed Sebastian had hoped it would. It was beautiful, full to the brim with treasures from around the world, ancient and modern, north and south, east and west. But Alain couldn’t help but think that perhaps some of them should be back where they belonged. There was too much power here, she thought, but she couldn’t explain just why she was thinking that way. As Brian had explained, there was an exhibit on Buddhism. ”Father frowned upon this stuff,” Sebastian whispered as a kindly docent—a man almost into his dotage—led them through the statues and documents that made up the rooms and rooms of history. “Being at one with the universe, the godliness of the human, my father never approved. He didn’t believe it was righteous.” “I find that I don’t much like your father,” Alain replied. She stepped forward to gaze into the face of a life-sized statue of the Buddha of Good Fortune. He smiled back at her and, for the smallest instance, it seemed to Alain that the eyes flashed in recognition. Starting, Alain blinked and cleared her head with a small shake. When she looked back at the statue, it stared back, eyes blank stone. “In that, we think very much alike.” Sebastian stopped to eye an old Indian weapon, a whip-like sword that looked like it would cause a lot more damage than an Indiana Jones whip. He stared at it, serious-eyed and grave. Alain saw him tense slightly and wondered if it were on purpose that he dropped into a fighting stance. What was happening to them? Why was she seeing magick in everything and why did Sebastian seem to be channeling a warrior of old? “Everything is connected.” Alain started. The old docent stood behind her, hands behind his back. They were the only ones on his tour, which Alain thought odd, but no one else had shown up. “Everything is one. You are the channel, Alain. As such, you are the center. Everything that they were, you are. Everything that he is, you will be.” Alain blinked. “Excuse me?” “Enlightened.” The docent smiled. “Your grandfather has told me much about you, of course.” “You know Grandpa Selwyn?” Sebastian jumped suddenly and shook as if pulling out of a dream. “Seb, our docent knows Selwyn.” In a few strides, Sebastian stood at her side, just slightly in front of her. It was a defender’s stance. What was happening to them? “Indeed. He instructed me to show you around the museum today.” Turning to Sebastian, the docent nodded his head. “You can stand down, young man. Clear your mind. Close your eyes and breathe. You are in the hall of Buddha. Dismiss the warrior and breathe in the monk.” Alain watched in amazement. What had just happened to Sebastian? “What?” Sebastian asked eventually. “What just happened?” “I am afraid, young man, that you two are having the mysteries shoved at you a little faster than anyone has anticipated. You have inherited the mantle of leadership much earlier and much younger than anyone could have intended. The death of so many of our prominent members has disrupted the balance.” “W-what?” Alain felt the ground go out from under her. Knees sagged and she sank, none too gracefully, to the floor. Immediately, Sebastian was at her side, glaring daggers at the docent as the warrior glint burned in his eyes once more. “You mean…you mean?” The docent nodded apologetically. “I am afraid your grandfather’s death is not of natural causes, young Alain. He wanted me to keep this from you, but he and I are of a different mind on this subject. You two must know the dangers you are in before you can be expected to take the journey.” Again, he turned to Sebastian. “Young man, sheath your weapon before I am forced to remove it from you.” “We should get out of this room, maybe?” Alain asked, feeling a strained vulnerability she had never felt before in her life. “Maybe he is being affected by the room we’re in.” “As are you, young one.” Sebastian helped her up, clutching her close and keeping her away from the docent. “You are connected with the mysteries in here. Feel it beneath your feet and it will give you strength. Feel the power of the universe bundled here in this building.” “I do not like this feeling,” Alain replied. “It feels like stolen power.” “The artifacts are safe here,” the docent replied. “Safer than they would be in their home countries. It is for the preservation of the mysteries and the power of the universe that we house them here at the museum. Only a sampling, but enough that we can learn from the past. Our ancestors understood the universe to be greater than our understanding of it. These remind us of that respect.” “What does that have to do with Alain? With me?” Sebastian’s voice sounded hard. It was free of the jocularity that usually lilted within every word. Hard and serious…and deadly. As if Sebastian would lash out if he had the ability to do so. Only their ignorance kept them from acting. They felt the power, they understood it on an instinctual level, but they could not yet use it. And that ignorance was dangerous for them. “You two are the epicenter of our group. The center of the mysteries. You two control the power, release it, direct it. The conduit. Brian told you your specific roles.” The three of them entered the next room, stepping out of the Buddhism exhibit and into the hall of Pharaohs. Alain gasped at the pulsating rhythm that poured over her body, wafting from the artifacts and thrumming in her veins. Each piece of Egyptian history sang to her, and the words were so sweet, the song so tempting she could hard keep her hands by her side. She wanted to dance, and the steps she needed appeared in her mind. She wanted to strip, to take Sebastian with her, to make scintillating love in ways unexplored between them. No matter the docent; his energy would make their casting all the more potent. “It is from the Egyptians that most of our rituals come,” the docent spoke. Sebastian stood beside him, gaze indolent and sultry, body twitching with the same energy that flowed in Alain. The Call fairly screamed at her now. “They understood the power of the human body, the power in our ability to create life knowingly. They represent the body. The Buddhists are the soul.” Sebastian made to come toward her, arousal very apparent. Alain shook her head and bade him stay where he was. “Not now. Docent, what represents the mind? What culture is rational thought?” The docent smiled. “Wisdom is the Greeks, knowledge the Romans. I will take you two there.” Turning on his heel, he walked them out of the Egyptian room and through a series of halls. Alain panted through them all, willing her pulsing blood to slow. The Egyptians were body, the Buddhists were soul. The Greeks and Romans were the mind. That left the heart, emotions, love. Who ruled love? Who ruled aggression? “The province of the heart is here in Britain with the Celts. It is personified in Queen Boudicca, who loved her people so she went to war with Rome to do it. Courage and aggression, love and compassion all in one. The human spirit. It is for this reason that it is we Brits who hold control of this power.” Alain smiled. “But I am an American, sir.” The docent did not return the gesture. “It is for this reason that we believe the power is so strong in you. Selwyn had theories that magick is a genetic disposition. Spread the genes…” “I think I got it,” Alain replied. “Basic genetics. I’m outside the normal spectrum, but my blood is enough British to fulfill the requirement.” They entered the Greco-Roman exhibits, and a wash of rational calm spread throughout her body. “It is so odd the way these different rooms have such a different affect on me.” “We are open to the energies,” Sebastian replied. “I think I get it. Selwyn means to expose us to the energies of the body, soul, heart, and mind. After this, he will teach us how to use them and bring balance to ourselves. Once we get that, we will be effective as a power source.” “Correct. I am Selwyn’s Historian. My role in the Club is to teach new members. Unfortunately, we have so little time. The death of so many of our members has caused the power to spiral out of control. And things are in a precarious situation.” Alain sat down, pleased to be thinking rationally for the first time in days. “What is it that the Hellfire Club does? What is in those Caves?” “Everything we have to fear.” “That doesn’t sound foreboding at all,” Sebastian replied, after the span of a few moments. “It is something only the High Priest is able to explain. There are mysteries within mysteries. Selwyn will explain when you return to Wycombe. We can keep him alive…” “Will you stop upsetting her?” Sebastian clearly hadn’t overcome the warrior instinct, even in the Roman room. Not that that was surprising, really. The Romans were warriors in their own right. Everything was connected, indeed. “Apologies, High Consort,” the docent replied, bowing slightly. Alain leaned into Sebastian, appreciating the warmth of him, the support radiating and comforting her bombarded soul. He put an arm around her and held her close. The Call pulsated between them, but it was weak here, muted by warm feelings of love and comfort. Everything was connected. “You two need to bring the world into balance again. I have a warning for you, however. Not everyone can be trusted. Even people you believe to be beyond reproach. Trust yourselves, trust each other, and trust the energies to guide you aright and the power will sing for you.” |
| The moon was pale, a white bone face in the sky with a halo made by the dust of the dunes. Navy sky was almost royal blue; the stars were so bright and so many wafted in their milky streams like glitter floating on cataract eyes. Fizzing comets swept across the moon with pink, blue-green tails of ice and peculiar space heat. A yellow haze sat on the horizon, promising a windy future across the desert, and a cool breeze drifted lazily from the North. Two conical peaks could be seen, tipping their hats to the skyline and the wind flew from there. Picking up the sand as it came, the wind arrived, first just a brush of coolness from the Mediterranean. The desert stretched for miles, the sweeping sands that moved like hair as they flickered across the surface of the dunes in the wind. The winds wound their way across the moon-silver mounds, whooshing as they went, hissing softly. The dunes were like waves, constantly shifting, lifting, rising along the earth and sinking down, deep, tumbling into shadowed crests. Below, in a winding snake, the Nile’s banks were widening, green plumage spreading; at first thinly like sea grasses then thicker and coarser as the skin of the sand brushed only small parts of the earth between. The river was rushing, a great vein of life bleeding outwards into the land around it. Upriver, in the far distance, pyramids, with their conceited guardian, sat perched on the outskirts of Cairo. A falcon cried out overhead, its echoing screech rested somewhere between an imperative and a scream. The shadow of its wings spread huge and grey before it twirled out of view. Two men wondered at this, their thoughts wondering why Ra would cry out at the last hint of day and decided that it must be to do with the comet. “I thought I –” A woman’s voice transfigured the night as she stepped out of the camel-coloured tent. Her voice was deep and smooth, with a particular affectation to it that belied an Irish ancestry. Her tanned face was softly rounded, oval shaped, with cheeks like peaches and just as pink from the sun. Her forehead was faintly scarred from pox and her mouth too big for her face but her dark hair was pulled up off her face in a high, plaited bun on her head and made her long features seem altogether seemly. Like her two male companions, she was wearing a long, light robe of a pale rose colour, like a faintly pink piece of quartz. “Miss Edgeworth?” One of her companions inclined his head as she emerged whilst the other extended his hand for her to take. “I thought I heard a falcon.” She began again, her lyric voice curling upwards in the wind and sand, “For the comet?” “So we suppose.” “How strange... and we are so far from Ozymandias now... I would have thought...” She was musing. “Miss Edgeworth, I feel that though we have but begun our journey the affectations of these signs are beginning to overcome our rational senses. The falcon’s cry may have been of no coincidence or it could have been such a thing as to lack portent.” The man whose head was gently bowed spoke smoothly, his accent a gentle Southern English tenor, “But we desired to find the imbalance in the chains you have woven and have found ourselves here in the merciless hold of Egypt, a land corrupted by our countries colonial enterprises but with nothing but two trunkless legs in the wilderness.” “My dear Mr Brackley,” Miss Edgeworth began, “The extension of the empire is breaking up the natural chains and the flagitious beast we purportedly detain grows, the halitosis of its breath begins to permeate the rocks of the very church we design to hold it. “We cannot hold back the empire but we can rest assured that we have done everything to strengthen the chains that were so neglected in the last years of those before us.” On ‘us’ she folded her delicate arm in the crook of the second companions arm, her fingers just grazing his wrists. Of all the group, the silent man who held Miss Edgeworth looked the most concerned. His face was turned to the sky, his eyes lifted and the dark trim of his eyebrows were pulled into a frown so his whole countenance was made forlorn. “My lord,” Miss Edgeworth began, “Henry, whatever is the matter?” Lord Henry Wolsingham, (great, great uncle to Lady Baker who would be born nearly two centuries later) glanced down at the elegant lady at his side with a small smile that did nothing to allay his frown or her fears. “My dear Margaret, I feel it is a warning. There is a darkness that is coming across the desert with the siroccan winds and naught much we can do, we must delay either not at all or decide to meet this darkness.” “Oh! What a warning! Wither did you get this message? From the falcon’s cry?” “I do not doubt some divine inspiration, the gods have been very wise in allowing us some inclincation towards the world,” He replied. Unlike either Miss Edgeworth or Mr Brackley, his tone was unchanging and measured, cool as the air around them. He was also older, with grey peppering the dark brown curls behind his ears. He wasn’t an attractive man, pointed and too pale, even after the several weeks in the Egyptian desert. There was something to his stature though that reflected his title, made him seem powerful, made him seem to exude something distinguishably sexual. “I feel our best course would be to continue on our way, the camels are hardy creatures, if we keep them well watered I’m sure they will carry us further,” said Mr Brackley and Lord Wolsingham nodded, “Miss Edgeworth, you should ride with my dear friend, try and rest yourself.” She scowled and looked read to argue when Wolsingham took her hand in his, “The importance of thy continued health is more than ours. Thou knows what we are seeking in a way that we cannot fathom.” * As they were making their way home, Sebastian tried to clear his mind, telling stories, relevant stories of course. Ones that pertained to the things they’d seen. He was still trying to quash the feelings that the museum had instigated in him and he found it easiest whilst relating stories. “Selwyn seemed to find it amusing that I had such a serious relative.” Sebastian grinned, pointing at the relic in the cabinet, “This is the artefact he and his companions brought home with them from Egypt. Apparently they found some ancient burial ground and brought back the artefact to prove their finding but when an expedition went to rediscover this site, there was no trace, it had been once again consumed by the desert.” Alain looked at him oddly and he continued to explain some of the things the docent had led them to throughout the museum. “Hey, don’t give me that look. It’s a Selwyn story.” * Lying still, the little blond haired boy was a strangely healthy looking patient in the hospital. His cheeks still held a rosy glow and his skin was a light golden colour from the sun. He was a pretty child with a rounded, puppy-fat face and plump, pink lips and dimples in his cheeks. No one quite understood why this one was here. All they knew was that he’d had a seizure and his organs all seemed to have been bruised from the inside out. His friend, a dark, curly haired girl from Japan had told them that it was because one of the older boys had ripped a page out of his magic notebook and that the boy believed that the book represented his life. Ripping out the pages made him lose a part of his life. “They ripped the pages up into wee pieces and it hurt him a lot!” She had implored at her carer’s sleeve, “Please get the book back so he gets better!” The carers had shaken off the seven year old and told her that they’d let the doctors fix him and that there was no point in worrying over a silly notebook. The heart monitor continued steadily. Bleeping softly, continuously, a heartbeat moved in dit dat patterns on the machine though the little chest seemed to hardly rise or fall. He lay alone, there were no relatives in the hall because he hadn’t any and the home that he was in couldn’t have waste a body looking out for a child that wasn’t even awake. They’d left a number to be called if he awoke but they added that they’d rather they weren’t bothered until morning. In the middle of the night, two ten year old boys crept outside and burnt a little navy notebook. The boy awoke screaming. His skin was red and raw. At two-fourty-three a.m the time of death was called. For all they could tell, the boy had spontaneously combusted. No one knew what was wrong with him. * “Apparently that was the end of the curse.” “And what does that have to do with this tomb?” Sebastian grinned, “The paper in the notebook was made from a special material that had been stolen from the tomb of an unknown Celtic laird.” “Unknown?” Alain looked pointedly down at the long, unpronounceable name typed below the photographed relic in her hand. The guide book was beginning to come in useful. “Yeah well, Selwyn said that they’d got that wrong.” “Uh huh...” They walked on, hand in hand, the call building up again between them but a sudden chill had swept up Alain and Seb felt it thrill through her. “Who was the boy?” Seb frowned, “His name was Christopher Higgins apparently.” “And the girl?” “Vicky Hebblethwaite.” * Alain rested her forehead against his. Their rough breathing heaving in the space between them. He had felt it building, almost painfully; augmenting through the day, peaking in a deep, throbbing spike in his gut and making him want like he’d never wanted. He had never starves for anyone the way he starved for Alain. He had been appeased by her closeness in the Roman-rooms, but that lustful protective surge that had made him want to clutch her to him, cover her with him, disguise her from the outside world, that... that had been unforgettable and he’d hardly ‘stood at ease’ from the instance he felt the relics and monuments and motifs from bygone cultures pulling at his consciousness as powerfully as she did. Not quite of course... because he felt for her more than dead hosts. The docent had antagonised him too. Undeniably, undeliberately but he’d felt as if that man had threatened his Alain. He was the dragon and she was his treasure, something beautiful and precious and yet so much more as well. He was no Smaug. Yet... his breathing was harsh, rattling in his throat and he knew that they were lucky they’d chosen the sofa to do this on rather than the wall otherwise she’d have serious bruises to add. As it was, he had been feeling possessive and she had been feeling overwhelmed and together that had equalled... this. “I’m seriously not used to being this serious the whole time.” He finally bit out. They still hadn’t moved, he was fully within her, they were joined, their clothes were discarded haphazardly. They had been desperately craving each other but not overly hurried, he’d still teased her, letting her know that though she was the most important thing in the world to the Club, she was even more amazing to him. “I’m not used to seeing you so serious either,” she muttered against his ear and sighed. “Let hope it doesn’t last.” “Yeah...” He grinned inwardly, tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue because he could no longer resist, “No problems with that. Mother’s party will be banter. All those pretentious tailored suits and lairds and lords and petty dukes and the OBEs and MBEs... we’ll be amazing.” “I dread to think what you’ve planned.” “Don’t worry, it won’t be anything you don’t approve of. You decidedly dislike my father after all.” “Well that’s justified. It’s your mother’s gala though.” “My mother is represent by Nat. Me and Max on the other hand...” They finally slid apart, he kissed her gently as he pulled away, albeit reluctantly and pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa on to their naked bodies. In comfortable silence they lay, content and quiet. “You know I hope Selwyn explains things soon.” Alain whispered then and he nodded, pressing his lips again her hair, “I was worried when I saw your reactions earlier. You just seemed so different. Innately different.” “I think I was. Kind of anyway.” He paused and sighed, “It felt right to protect you, like that was all I was meant to do. To make sure that you were safe, not part of whatever else there was going on.... I....” coughing to clear the words, he muttered “I love you. Really I do. And... and I just felt... like it was right to be like that.” “You know. Serious sounds weird from you.” “Maybe I should just get a fuck off sword.” “What would that say?” “So much more than that monster truck you suggested.” “Hey! I told you that that would be over compensating.” “Sword. Truck. Gun?” “This suits you much better.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” “But you didn’t answer my question.” |
| “I suppose you know all about my family,” Alain whispered, staring out at the moon. She was still naked, towel draped loosely about her hips and thighs after her shower, looking like nothing so much as an ancient Greek statue. “At least the English part. I don’t know anything about my father. My mother didn’t marry him.” The stories had made Alain pensive. Sebastian knew so much about his family and she knew so little. Allysa had spent the last years of her life keeping Selwyn out of her daughter’s life. Something had happened between father and daughter, something that had ruined the relationship for decades. Thinking about it, Alain was beginning to wonder if she had an idea of what had happened. “Does…did my grandfather have any friends from Eastern Europe?” Alain turned away from the window, moonlight casting half of her face into shadow. The marks of an Eastern pedigree were everywhere in Alain’s face and build, so much so that only her eyes could have marked her as Selwyn’s granddaughter. It hadn’t been hard for a young Alain to figure out from where her mysterious father hailed. Sebastian shrugged. “I think so, but I can’t be sure. I seem to recall a Ukrainian knocking about with Selwyn for a while. They got into a fight a few years ago, so Vladimir doesn’t come around much these days. Why do you ask?” “You mean my distinctive features didn’t give that away?” Alain smiled, standing and sashaying over to her consort, allowing the towel to droop and finally puddle to the floor at her feet. Sebastian stared, eyes wide with appreciation. “I was thinking about the possible side effects of all of this…fornicating.” “Why? You think perhaps your father…?” Alain nodded, sliding into the bed next to Sebastian and nuzzling up next to him. His fingers twined into her curls, the gesture more comforting than sexual for the moment. “I think perhaps Grandpa intended my mother to join. Maybe she did join.” Sebastian shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Your grandfather loved your mother, but I always got the sense that he thought her lacking. Knowing what I know now, I don’t think your mother possessed the gift. But Selwyn needed an heir…” “You don’t think my father…raped my mother, do you?” Alain started. Her grandfather would never! But…there was so much she didn’t know about Selwyn. Maybe her grandfather was so desperate that the power be kept in check that he would force a man upon his daughter to breed a suitable heir. “No. But perhaps Vladimir seduced her. Everyone seems to know when we have sex; perhaps there was a way they could have…you know, used that energy to work a ritual? A ritual that would ensure your mother conceived…you.” Alain pursed her lips, pensive. “Perhaps. But we don’t know that Vladimir is my father.” “I think he must be. You look like him. I remember thinking that you looked familiar the first time I saw you, but I couldn’t remember why. You look like Vladimir.” Sebastian sat up. “Maybe we can get Selwyn to introduce you to him!” Alain shook her head. “No. You said they fought. If grandpa doesn’t want to see someone, I think he must have reason. That docent said not to trust lightly. I don’t think we should trust someone that my grandfather doesn’t trust.” “You don’t know that Selwyn doesn’t trust Vladimir. We could at least ask, yeah?” Sighing, Alain shifted, pulling the blanket over her midsection. “I don’t see why not. He is my father, after all. I think I should be allowed to know him. And if he’s still alive, he might be able to help us if Selwyn…is unable to.” “How did we get so grown up, Alain?” Sebastian asked suddenly. “I know we were joking about my being so serious, but how did it happen? Is it this power? And how do we understand so much of it without knowing a damn thing about it?” Alain didn’t have to think much about that question. Somehow, her soul seemed ready to answer. “It is wisdom. And it is based on the human soul. It isn’t something that you have to learn. Once you’ve opened yourself up to it, you understand it. But…but using it is something else entirely. To shape it as we will requires knowledge…specific knowledge. So while we can understand the power itself, we cannot know how to use it until we are taught.” “So speaks the High Priestess,” Sebastian replied, chuckling. “Why did I ask? You seem to know all the answers these days.” “As if, you jerk!” Alain shoved at Sebastian playfully and suddenly his hand in her hair was no longer comforting. Now it was arousing, and Alain prepared herself to answer the Call again. She could feel it waning, but every so often (only three or four times a day now) it spiked, and they were dragged into passion again. Sebastian slid easily into her, so well in-tuned with her body by know that it was almost done without thought. Even from behind, he knew exactly what to do to please her, and Alain responded just as Sebastian wanted her to. It was a joining of two halves with them, coming together as one in pleasure. As the power built around them, Alain studied it, sensing it and tasting it with every quick breath or gasp of pleasure. It was heady, the way in entangled them, built around them, and yet…and yet it was them in away Alain still couldn’t explain. She could feel the potential in it, yearned to shape it, to bend it to her will. It could answer her call and do as she bid it to. But she realized, with a pang of regret, that she didn’t know it well enough. So, instead, she released it as she came, willing it to be used only for good. That much she understood. She could not shape it, but she could give it purpose. And Alain’s purpose was good, to bring balance to the world once again. “You know, I do believe it’s getting better every time,” she breathed out, voice still low and husky from exertion. Indolent and satiated, Alain realized she still had not yet come to terms with what exactly she was doing with Sebastian. But she didn’t really care. There were things the two of them did, positions they achieved, levels of pleasure they ascended that should have burned bright red on her face. Instead, she wanted more. But was it the sex or the power, the boy or the protector that she wanted so much? Alain knew, of course, that it was only the Call that was driving she and Sebastian to hump like rabbits every chance they could. Any other time and the fucking would have become tedious and likely painful. But the Call seemed to leave her wet as October and permanently revved up, turned to eleven, and any other euphemisms for aroused that came to mind. And under it, Alain understood that she actually loved the man she was with. She wondered, for a moment, if it was the power that brought them together. Some ritual, perhaps, designed to entwine their hearts. Had she chosen him, or had someone chosen him for her? Instantly, she dismissed the thought from her mind. It was simply fate that had brought them together. No matter the circumstances, eventually she would be with him. It was just the path that was so strange. After all, a little over a week ago, she’d been eating Chef Boyardee out of the can. And now she was moaning like a slut, desperate in her need to feel Sebastian inside of her again as the afterglow of their first attempt faded away. And now Sebastian was sawing in and out of her like a man possessed, mind and soul bound together with sexual urgency, lost in the swimming need of the Call. He chanted her name as a whisper, otherwise devouring every inch of skin he could reach with teeth and lips, nails dug into the muscle of her buttocks, pulling her down on top of him every time he thrust. Sebastian was lost even worse than she, the blues of his irises near black from lust. Alain watched, suddenly and strange separate from the thrashing, writhing figures on the bed, and she understood. The idea wasn’t to melt the mind and the body, but to use them together, as one. Sebastian and she were as one now, their souls so tangled that they reached for one another to become whole. And when their bodies joined, that left only their minds. And it was her job to make sure their minds connected. But how? They needed to get back to her grandfather. Somehow, he needed to explain to her how she was to drag Sebastian out of himself long enough to shape the power they were creating between them. Turning her awareness to the window, Alain shuddered. The ley lines rose bright and powerful, but a few of them had disappeared. The land was horribly out of balance and something—something big—was threatening to escape. Grandpa had to teach her how to work with this power before something horrible happened and it was too late. ***** Across England, hands snapped up the moment Alain’s awareness separated from her body. Selwyn Barclay nearly rose from his chair before realizing his legs were too weak to hold him these days. Sebastian’s friend Kaio gasped aloud and cursed in awe, wondering how she’d managed to do in a week what had taken him years to learn. The Seneschal felt fear. The Beast cried out in anger, feeling its chains tighten around it, and vowed to have her as its own. “She will be mine.” |
If Sebastian had not been paying attention, he probably would never have noticed the shift that took place as one minute they moved together and the next he was left behind. At first Alain’s passion seemed to wrap around him, within and without him, whilst the next it seemed distant. It was like her body and his body were writhing, the twin coils of their arms and legs melding, getting as close to each other as possible, then there was some shift and he found himself losing touch with her and it hurt him, physically ripped at him. She needed to take him with her, she needed to teach him how to form with her fully. He thrust harder, trying to seek her out but couldn’t. He was too lost in the haze of the Call to try to figure it out alone. As he felt the warms walls around him clamp down in final ecstasy he threw his head back and howled, desperately wanting to feel her return to him. He couldn’t protect her if she wasn’t with him and she wasn’t with him. And then she was. Her energy spiralled out around him, he felt as if he’d been pumped full of adrenalin and he pulled her close into his body, chest pressed to her back, face buried in her neck as he tried to calm down the animal desperation he now felt to keep her with him. Trembling with tension, his breathing ran ragged. He couldn’t imagine them in that moment. Her beautiful, pale body quivering and spent beside him, their kneeling bodies on the bed, his arms clamped around her like a margay desperately clinging to a branch. His body would be golden next to her silver-moon skin, sweat glistening on tiny fibrous hairs. She would be almost limp in his grasp and he would irrationally rock her even closer to him. “Don’t leave me behind again,” he muttered, steadying his nerves. Gods if this was even a glimpse at what Selwyn felt without Lillian, “Don’t ever fucking leave me behind again.” Alain was consumed, her head lolled back onto his shoulder and she sighed, “You should have seen it, the ley-power in London.” He said nothing, knowing innately that there was no point in letting his hurt nor his nonsensical anger conquer him. This was all so new, he told himself, so new that it was easy for her to forget him. Or maybe she didn’t know how. Or maybe she couldn’t take him. Maybe it was somewhere only she could go. Maybe he just enabled her. Maybe it was his job to make sure she could reach that distant place and still come back when they were through. Maybe he would never be as close to her as he wanted to be, so closely interwoven as he desired. He’d thought they were meant to be like a tapestry, like needle and thread moving together in a weave, creating a picture of something extraordinary. He kissed her neck through her hair, inhaling the scent of her and shatteringly coming back to a sounder sense of mind. * The gods that Sebastian worshipped were a motley band of likeminded creatures. It had started with a love of Norse myth, the idea of gods and men walking on a strange earth of fire and ice. Celtic legends soon preceded. Then some of the more obscure and diverse entities. He always held a certain few in high esteem, the ones he respectfully nodded to when he saw their tokens lingering. Furthermore, the gods were unified in some sense. They were all storytellers, all liars, all witty, petty, pranksters with a penchant for the persecuted. Or they were decadent hedonists. Or they were natural, winking supporters, names written in stars and earth patterns. Yes, he would show respect to all pantheons but he felt an affinity with some, an affectation that made him thrum when he encountered them. So it was no surprise when he found himself dreaming in riddles, with Anansi and Loki and Coyote and Reynard the Fox all padding along the footpath of his subconscious. He often met them in this dreamscape. They were silent symbols, watching in his sleep. These dreams were not infrequent. Yet since Alain’s arrival, he’d not had one and he hadn’t really done anything to trigger a dream. His dreamings were predictable. Almost orchestrated by occurrences. Tonight was different. He sat in a garden. The garden was a perfect oval and he sat just off centre, on a deck-chair, next to an empty lounger. In his hand was a glass of cool, fresh lemonade, the colour of yellow blossom. Around him the grass stretched, short and cropped like cricket ground grass. Trees rose up with leaves like a thousand tiny shards of mosaic glass as the world flattened them against the orange sky. Looking around, he saw only grass, glass trees and a hedge of white roses half flecked with blue. Blue roses. He frowned. Blue speckled roses like goose eggs. A spider crawled across his hand. Creasing his eyebrows together, he wondered where it had come from. “Hello.” A grim faced, pale pointed man with dark hair and a melancholic glower spoke from the empty chair. It had been empty, “Nice day for a lemonade.” “Lemonade.” He looked at the glass in his hand. “You caught the sun in that one.” “Stop confusing him, Henry,” said a sweet voice from in front of him. Looking up sharply, there was now a pretty, auburn haired, middle aged woman reclining on a lectica that had certainly not existed before. “Some of us have something to say to him.” “Something to say.” For some reason, everything was a fog of sound, a gentle, murmuring echo instead of sounded words, “You have something to say.” “When you hold the sword you are the shield and when you hold the shield you are the sword. You are the protector.” “Some of us die young.” “Think about the time that this truly began in. The age of revolutions. We lived, we died, we fought, we loved, everything we did was harder than any other before or after. We had to. “People forget that with a respect for the old world, with a respect for myth and for local community, there is incredible power. When reason took over – when the consuming powers of science and logic permeated the heartland – the imbalance was too great. Social order was struck down, a frenzy of fear, irrational fear, bloomed and spread, fiery and destructive. The enlightenment disassociated man and nature.” “That’s not to say that many of its teachings weren’t accurate.” Henry added in his smooth, accentless voice, “Much of what was taught was true. Man is equal – social structure had to shift and adapt and correct itself but because that change was coming, gradual and peaceful, when the balance was so thoroughly disrupted by the Scots...” “It nearly destroyed everything. With the expanding empire...” “It was a time of discovery.” “Everything was fragmentary.” “Pieces were breaking apart.” “It had to be fixed.” “I don’t...” The grass was shrivelling inwards from the trees that seemed to dissolve, the sky was crumbling and slowly blackening. They were being eaten up their words were slurring and separating into sand. “The body of the world has to be unified with the body of man, mother earth has to be part of her daughter in woman. We are the heart. We beat and the world beats with us.” * Shooting up out of the bed, Sebastian bent forward with a gasp, “Oh gods.” He sat their, panting for breath for a moment, noting Alain still sleeping peaceably beside him. He was terrified. His heart fluttered angrily like a wild bird trapped in a golden cage. He couldn’t remember anything. He remembered darkness eating him. Words. Words with no meaning. The dream had left him with only a fear and a desire to hold Alain tighter. Wrapping an arm around her waist he lay back down beside her and tugged her towards him. He lay hishead over her shoulder and slowly slipped back into gloomy slumber. * The kitchenette was full of light from the mid-morning sun by the time Alain came down after the smells of coffee and cooked breakfast foods. Sebastian hadn’t slept much longer after his strange awakening in the night and he had decided around eight to go downstairs, go shopping for food and then read for a while before making something interesting for his beautiful, sound-asleep lover. Whatever it was that had rent her from him last night must have been exhausting. She came downstairs in his shirt and he felt a stirring that he pushed to the side without realising and he smiled. “I made breakfast.” “You keep surprising me.” “No I don’t. You just like to make me think I’m surprising you.”He said it without thinking, flippantly dismissing her comment with a wave. He looked down at the page he’d been reading, folding the corner and then standing, moving to greet her with a chaste kiss that he forced himself not to deepen. “Love, there’s something we have to do today before we go home.” “See Selwyn? I know – I was thinking the same thing...” She began in a hurry, sipping at the dark coffee he’d placed in her hands. “No. Buy you a dress.” Choking on her morning life source, she looked at him in confusion, “What? Why?” “My mother’s gala. It’s like a cocktail party. But more than that. It’s an all day thing. You’ll need at least one dress. If not two since you’ll be expect at both the morning and evening events...” “I’ll be expected.” Her voice caught almost angrily on the word ‘expected’, “I wasn’t told about this.” “I know. I’m sorry.” “Am I not ‘expected’ to be spending time with my grandfather? What happened to that part of my trip?” Sebastian winced at her words but knew he hadn’t started this conversation very well, “Selwyn will be there. It’s been organised for weeks. He’ll not miss it. But that means you’ll need a dress and I’m determined to take you to get it.” “Sebastian...” “Seb,” he corrected offhand, “Look I know that you’re probably thinking that you came prepared for a brief stay and maybe a funeral.” He took her hand, kissing it gently so she knew that he wasn’t say that with any cruelty, Selwyn’s death would hurt him too, she had to know that, “You won’t have been prepared for all the bullshit British propriety. Even if you think we’re a bit Austen. You won’t have been prepared.” “I... Seb...” “Let me take you to a friends store. It’s a place called Boho. It only sells very unique clothes but it’s not as pretentious as the labels my mother’s invitees will be wearing. I’ve little doubt in my mind that more to do with this Hellfire Club business will be going on there than I’ve ever noticed before. There might even be allies to make or,...” He cut himself off, not looking at her because he knew she’d been angry before and probably still ought to be. “Seb?” She asked quietly and he nodded, eyes flickering up to her mouth but not to her eyes. She kissed him, like the first time they ever kissed and he fought back the urge to act in the exact same way as before. “As long as it’s a dress your father will highly disapprove of, you can take me shopping.” He grinned and attacked her mouth with his own and when they finally broke apart for air again he kissed the tip of her delicate nose and told her, “You won’t regret it.” |
| “So I need two dresses?” Alain purred, taking Sebastian’s arm and throwing it over her shoulder as they walked down the street. Seb had wanted to take a cab, but Alain was too much of a New Yorker to hire someone to drive her around, so she braved the underground for the very first time. It was much the same as the subway, minus the urine and grab ass that went down every time Alain braved the underground train system. Now they were walking, taking advantage of the first blue sky Alain had seen since landing in England. “Yeah. One for the morning and one for the evening.” Seb pulled her close, lowering his arm to wrap around her waist instead of her shoulders. “Cocktail dresses work, though the evening dress should be more formal.” Alain chuckled. “Sebastian Baker, are you insinuating that New Yorkers don’t know the difference between a garden party and an evening gala?” “No…no, of course not. But the English do things differently, you know.” “Of course. But I may be excused a great deal being the American, after all. I’ve seen the way your mother dresses and, frankly, I will never, ever put a cardigan around my shoulders. I’m not heading to the country club any time…ever.” Seb rolled his eyes. “You’re determined to offend someone, aren’t you?” “Isn’t that what we Yanks do best? Throw tea into Boston Harbor and piss people off?” “Something like that.” Sebastian leaned over and kissed Alain on the cheek. “But you are good for much much more than that.” “According to your illustrious father, neither of us are good for much. I don’t think he approves of me very much.” “He doesn’t approve of much.” Seb shrugged. “It’s fun to make him angry. Anyway, here we are.” He gestured to a shop, the one he’d called Boho earlier. Alain pulled open the door and walked in before he had an opportunity to do the honors for her, holding the door open for Sebastian as he followed. Inside, the music rolled with sensual, undulating waves. Drums and sitars, the kind of music that resonated with the soul and snaked its way into your limbs, moving and twisting them of its own accord. Alain gave in to the feeling, weaving her hips in the figure eight pattern she’d learned was the most basic of belly dancing moves and creating mindless shapes with her hands. Sebastian laughed and shook his head. “Can I help y—oh, Sebastian! Come on in!” A small Indian woman, beautiful in a way that took a moment to figure out, came out from behind the counter. She wore a sari bound up in a soft bustle a-la the Victorian era, a black corset, and floor length canvas skirt. Her hair, the deep black of her people, was bound in a messy bun atop her head. All in all, she looked stunning. Alain approved, mightily. “Parminder, my dear, you look stunning!” Sebastian, arms and smile wide, embraced the woman, lightly kissing each cheek by way of greeting. “Are you sure Narubi approves of this?” “My mother hates everything I do and has shown her displeasure by wearing my garments at every formal event she’s attended for the last three years.” Parminder had a wonderfully rich, deep voice, from which even wry humor seemed pleasant and charming. “And how are you, Seb?” “I am well. Shopping for mother dearest’s gala.” Parminder clasped her hands. “Oh goody. It’s always a pleasure to dress you.” Still smiling, the woman’s eyes shifted over to Alain. Dark and clear, they ran over Alain with cool assessment and Alain felt a warmth wash over her as if Parminder were seeking into her soul. The Indian woman was testing her, all the while smiling welcome. Well, Alain thought, I can play, too. Crossing her arms, Alain stared back, letting the woman see that she was Selwyn’s granddaughter and newest High Priestess. Yes, I am sleeping with Sebastian, as you no doubt know. Apologies if you thought he could be yours. Suddenly, Parminder nodded slightly. “And you must be Selwyn’s granddaughter, Alain. I am Parminder Bhamra. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She moved to kiss both cheeks, but feeling mischievous, Alain reached out and took the woman’s hand by way of greeting. “Greetings,” she replied, smiling. “I am, indeed, Alain Barclay. Nice to meet you, Miss Bhamra.” “Please, deary, call me Mindi.” Clasping her hands, Mindi looked from Seb and Alain. “So, you are here to shop, Mr. Baker. For yourself or for Alain?” “Her,” Seb pointed. “Two dresses, for mother’s gala. Day and night.” Mindi smiled delightedly. “Wonderful! You, mister, go wait in the lounge and we’ll bring her out when she is done.” Hooking her arm through Alain’s, Mindi brought her back toward the dressing rooms, waving a bemused Sebastian away as she did so. “So, High Priestess, has the Call been enjoyable for you?” Alain smiled. “Oh yes. Sebastian is a wonderful lover.” “I know. We, uh…got wasted at a party and…well…” “It happens,” Alain replied, shrugging. If the woman wanted to test her, then she would be more than up to it. “God, but he’s got a tongue on him. He’s better than any man I’ve had the pleasure of taking to bed. And I’ve had a lot of opportunity to figure out what exactly I like from him in the last couple of days.” “Indeed.” “So, Mindi,” Alain continued. “I am the High Priestess. He is my Consort. I’m pretty sure that whatever fling you guys had, it’s over. I don’t plan on sharing him and I’m positive he doesn’t want to be shared. So, if you don’t mind my being frank, let’s cut the bullshit and stop playing girl with one another.” Mindi laughed. “I like you. Selwyn is a good man and he was a great High Priest. I’m sure you’ll succeed him well. Now, about that dress…” “Dresses.” “Yes, dresses. What would you like to wear?” Alain chuckled. “Something sexy. And something that’s exceptionally likely to cause a few heads to turn.” “I have exactly the right thing in mind.” ***** “So, Sebastian, what do you think?” Alain stepped out of the dressing room wearing her daylight look. Mindi had even done her hair and make-up, and supplied her with shoes to complete the outfit. The two women had taken the opportunity to talk, purposely ignoring Sebastian and the Hellfire Club. The look on Sebastian’s face was more than enough for Alain to feel delicious, though she managed to keep from glancing over in smug satisfaction at Parminder. “Holy…Jesus, Alain. H-holy…” Sebastian stammered out, eyes running up and down wildly. “You’re…holy…” Alain spun, showing off the tunic dress she’d selected for the morning portion of Mrs. Baker’s big gala. She figured that she might have gone a little too slutty for the occasion, but she really didn’t mind. And she was pretty sure, judging by the darkening of Sebastian’s gaze, that her lover didn’t mind, either. The dress was a micro-mini and hugged every inch of Alain’s curvaceous body. It boasted a single, bell sleeve, leaving the other arm and shoulder bare, and a bright paisley print. Mindi had styled it with a single large bracelet on the bare arm and left Alain’s long hair down, allowing it to flow over her shoulders. Sexy high-heeled sandals added four inches of height to Alain’s already above-average build, and make-up had been used to give her a healthy beach glow. “I look good, hmm?” Alain spun again. “I figured that I could show up and stop the show no matter what day part.” “I don’t think my mother will approve. And I’m sure my father will have an apoplectic fit.” Standing, Sebastian ran a hand down her body. “I, of course, love it.” “I figured. Now, let me get changed and I’ll show you the nighttime look. It’s a wonderful little dress. Just as short, of course, but it’s made of midnight blue satin. And it looks almost like it’s been twisted in the middle and has a bunch of Greek draping and stuff. Nice dolmen sleeves, I think they’re called, and a deep V neckline. You’ll absolutely love it! I like it much better than this dress.” Kissing Sebastian quickly, Alain took Mindi by the hand and practically dragged her back to the dressing room. “I see, High Priestess, that you know exactly what our intrepid Baker enjoys.” “I do, indeed, Mindi. It just happens to be what I enjoy, too. And, like any woman, I enjoy having my boyfriend struck dumb by just how sexy I look. Now, let’s go. I wanna show him my evening dress!” “Of course, High Priestess.” “Alain. I’m not the High Priestess yet.” Mindi shook her head. “You are. You have been for some time. I remember the exact moment I felt you and Sebastian join. I daresay all of England felt you two that night. Just because you don’t understand it all doesn’t mean you’re not what we say you are. You just need the training. But…you know, I can’t say much. I don’t know all the secrets.” “I know, only Selwyn can teach me. Which is exactly what I plan to do as soon as I can get back to Wycombe. But, as it stands, London has too much to tell me just yet.” Mindi nodded. “As long as you listen, you’ll learn exceptionally quickly, Alain. And you’ll be an amazing High Priestess. You and Sebastian are perfect for one another and your power will be quite…potent.” Smirking, Mindi pulled Alain’s dress off of the hanger and starting unzipping it as Alain slipped out of her day dress. “Especially since you seem to enjoy raising it so much.” |
Sebastian was smirking. That was never a good sign. Kaio frowned, staring at the young man that was preparing himself for the annual charity gala in the full length mirror before them. Really, smirking was a very bad sign. It never meant the same thing. Even when it looked like the same self-satisfied grin associated with a good grade or bail money or an upcoming horserace or pre-emptive antagonism of his father. Kaio couldn’t help but worry. Sebastian tightened his bowtie, smoothed down the front of his shirt and lifted his eyes to grin at his reflection. There was definitely something going on. “How do I look?” Those electrifying eyes caught his. For a moment he froze, staring at Lord Baker’s second son with an unfathomable expression on his face. “Kaio?” Kaio’s chest constricted. He shifted from his laid back position on the end of the bed, crossing his legs as a distraction from his pause, “You look great Seb.” “I think my parents may even approve.” Seb’s voice was musical, humour laced with the words as if he had discovered some great new game. “Which is why I’m finding this all very hard to understand.” Kaio decided to try, “Last year you turned up with a hole in the knee of your Lewins suit and a vermillion leather jacket from the nineties.” “I excused myself to change, didn’t I?” His best friend was grinning again, “This time I just happen to be turning up looking the part of a Peer.” “You changed into the same suit you wore when we were nineteen to a Halloween party.” Seb’s eyes glittered, “Semantics, my dear friend.” Kaio sighed, “What are you planning?” He finally asked, he knew that anything other than a direct question would result in the inevitable circles that Seb so enjoyed running around. “Planning? I don’t know what you mean.” False innocence. Really? Kaio raised a well groomed eyebrow. The man in the mirror rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Seb began, pausing only to run a hand through his freshly washed hair, Kaio couldn’t help but notice the way it fell, curling along the nape of his neck and the collar of his shirt, “I won’t be needing to cause any scandal tonight.” Kaio paled, “You won’t? But then... who...?” He didn’t miss the exasperated motion of expression. “Not Alain.” Please not Alain. The last thing they needed was Lord Baker on the scent of their new High Priestess. Seb didn’t know enough about his family to do this. “Well she’s an American. Americans... are different to us British. Different manners. Different fashions.” “You’re going to try and play this all off as ignorance?” Taking a couple steps back from the mirror and spinning to face him, Seb stood, that all too appealing cologne hanging in the air, lips quirked as they had since they were young, a small hum in his affirmation of his plan. “Your father isn’t an idiot, Sebastian.” “My father also isn’t her father. Thank god.” Kaio flushed, knowing as he did that his best friend was more than just sleeping with the American he knew what that blasphemy was all about, he tried to ignore how that hurt. “So shall we go, mon cher?” “Mais oui, mon petit chou!” Perhaps he could get used to this. Perhaps... perhaps this wouldn’t be the end of things as the Seneschal had suggested. He could live with this so long as Seb remembered him. Even though he hadn’t called him back all the time they were away in London... perhaps... nothing really had to change did it. And he could live as friends. * Surprisingly, or at least it would have been to Kaio, Sebastian wasn’t worried about what his father would think tonight. He knew that his father would be scandalised. The proud face would turn that peculiar shade of red, his lips would purse into a thin line, his expression would try and stay cold but everyone would be able to see the fury burning behind his emotionless eyes. It would be marvellous. Especially since no one would be able to blame him. Not even if they requested to see his accounts – he’d not paid for them using his father’s funds, instead choosing to use his own despite the fact that he was hardly grossly successful. No, all the upset would be with Alain and no one would be able to be truly angry with her anyway. She was the American, the guest: beautiful but ignorant. Recalling the way she had smiled so lasciviously as she’d emerged in her first dress, the way her gaze had scalded him as she’d stepped out in the second, he almost groaned in memory of her. He’d been unable to help himself when they’d finally left Boho to go home, he’d been helpless, thrown into that passion that was becoming less and less frequent though nonetheless undeniable. They’d enjoyed themselves, with him bringing her to completion with his tongue and his hands, her pleasure finishing him. He did groan then. How would they make it through the day with this cord tied so tight between them? Scrutiny would follow her every action, her movements under the eyes of all in attendance. Scowling, he felt a flare of jealousy but he squashed it quickly. He was much more worried about their predicament than he was about Kaio’s concerns over his father’s wrath. Together, he and Kaio stepped out of the cool confines of his room, closing the door behind them, and he couldn’t help but skip with his eyes along the corridor to the turn that would lead to Alain’s rooms. He could imagine her skin, the silken feel of the dress as it skimmed her curves- No. He mustn’t think of that. A hand on his shoulder, a knowing smile on his friend’s face, Kaio indicated the correct way towards the party. Nodding in reply, he let Kaio lead him down, listening with half an ear to the banter, glad that he’d always have this man part of his life even if he couldn’t share this strange new world with him. Or... could he? He’d have to ask Selwyn. * Lady Baker loved parties. She thought of them as extensions of herself because she was in every aspect of them. The flowers, she had picked them up herself, planted them, nurtured them like the daughters she had always wanted and in memory of the one she had lost. She decorated the whole of the lower floor with them so that her guests would walk through the dark wooden hall surrounded by the gentle wafting scent of lavender and sage. When night fell, she’d light the dozens of small candles and the warmth of the flames would dance across the walls. It would be marvellous, people would bathe in the daylight, admire her beautiful gardens. They would watch her as she moved through the rows of flowers, her skin as pale as the anthriscus sylvestris and allium ursinum, her delicate world come alive. She greeted the first few arrivals, passing them off to Nathanial after exchanging pleasantries and noting their smiles. This was the one time of year she was truly at the centre of her own life. She only hoped that this year... From the door she could hear the mellow tones of Sebastian’s conversation. He looked wonderful, just the way she’s always hoped he’d look. Was he finally growing up? Growing into himself? “Lady Baker!” came the voice of her close acquaintance Lady Bradshaw, “We are shockingly late, dear Lady Baker; we hardly dared to come,” she said obsequiously, “We do apologise.” “Oh don’t fret about it, you’re perfectly on time.” Laughed Lady Baker, “Wonderful to see you.” “You too, of course,” she smiled thinly, turning to the wiry fellow at her side, “My husband, Sir Gayton Bradshaw.” “How wonderful to make your acquaintance at last, Sir Bradshaw.” He gave a curt bow, made brief by the tightness of his suit over his shoulders, “Yours too, Lady Baker, I hear a great deal about your contributions to the committee you sit on with my wife.” Lady Baker gave a thrilled little laugh, “All nice things I dare hope. Do make yourselves welcome. Champagne tables are to the left and my son will then guide you through to the gardens.” “Thank you. We’ll see you outside.” “You shall.” She smiled benignly, beginning to move away to the Notts who were just entering with their twin girls when she heard an aghast little ‘o’ and then, “Oh my dear lord!” Alain Barclay was stalking down the passageway between the hall and the stairs, her eyes smoky with a dash of gold and rouge. Her cheeks, her smile. Lady Baker’s mouth dropped a little before she closed it abruptly and forced a small smile. This was almost as bad as Sebastian. “My granddaughter is quite stunning, is she not?” Selwyn’s deep, old voice moved like a river through the whispers of the room. His chair was wheeled in, his beatific features pulled into the only true smile in the hall. Dear Lady Bradshaw was opening and closing her mouth like a fish. Even she couldn’t help herself and she claimed to be the most composed of ladies. “Indeed she is Selwyn,” her son replied, “She is quite the most beautiful woman in the room.” Lady Baker finally relaxed. Sebastian had had his hand in this no doubt but with both a Baker and the remarkable gentleman in his chair, no one could dare say anything against the young woman in her... cocktail dress. Kaio was nodding at their side. The girl had supporters, how fortunate. Her husband, would have a hernia, but at least the gala would continue. * Seb casually wove his way towards the woman catching all the eyes of the crowded hall. He let a brief flash of jeakous wash over him before he saw the knowing look in her eyes and he accepted that here was not the place for his protective instincts to kick in. “Selwyn is here my dear.” He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, ignoring the whispers, ignoring the hush, “You look amazing.” She smiled coyly, “Well let’s try and keep me in the dress for a while, shall we?” “I don’t think your grandfather would have it any other way.” “Let’s talk to him. I’m so glad he made it.” |
| The party was…well, Alain wasn’t properly sure she could call it a party. It seemed to her eyes that it was rather more a collective, tittering conversation amongst silk-and-diamond-clad flowers and their stoic counterparts. Very…civilized. No wonder Seb’s idea of mischief had been to cover a police vehicle in stickers; no doubt it was the talk of the town amongst these sorts of vapid, shimmering smoke creatures. But Alain couldn’t be too judgmental. There were parties like this in New York, too, amongst the more self-important of the city’s denizens. Nothing compared to what they offered here, though. Mrs. Baker had clearly outdone herself, even going so far as to plan exactly where each flower would be placed and what time the lights would come on. She clearly took joy in it. Oh, but how banal, these sorts of things. How boring one’s life must be for such an event to be a highlight of the year. The crowd parted, a veritable Red Sea, as she and Sebastian entered the evening’s entertainment, he dressed as a proper English gentleman and she a veritable Whore of Babylon, apparently. All she’d done was put on a short dress, shone a little leg, and the entirety of the party was staring at her like she’d strutted in naked and bedded Seb on the hors d'oeuvres table. Actually, come to think of it, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea at all. Except in the sense that it would be the worst thing she could do for both her reputation and her ability to move forward into whatever position Grandpa Selwyn had designated for her. To be truthful, the yearning sexual need that had encompassed her whole being for the past few days was all but gone now, replaced by the not-inconsiderable need she felt for Sebastian on his own, without the call, or whatever it was their irrational need to fuck like rabbits was named, practically forcing her to do it. So it was quite possible for her to wait until the end of the evening to sink into his bed and do unspeakable things to him. It didn’t hurt to remind him that he should endeavor to do the same, however, which she most certainly had. “Oh, look, it’s your father,” she whispered, leaning in and smiling, careful to seem light and cheerful, no more aware of her faux pas than a blind man is of a rainbow. It was amusing to be seen as both scandalous and yet almost be excused from it in the same thought, so unaware and so outside the realm of understanding as she so obviously was. As if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. Mrs. Baker and Grandpa Selwyn obviously understood, if the look on each of their faces (resignation and amusement, respectively) was to be believed. “He most certainly doesn’t look happy to see us,” Seb whispered back, the glee evident in every inch of corded muscle and in each green eye, his lips parted in a devilish little smile. “Whatever could that be for, I wonder?” Alain chuckled. “And your brother, too! How delightful. They both look ready to have an apoplectic fit over my legs, too. Are they that good, you reckon?” “Mmm, long and lean, my love. I’m a fan.” Seb’s voice growled slightly, and Alain felt a shiver in the air. There was a subtle darkening around him, and a dangerous trilling of the energy between she and he. Alain missed Selwyn looking up and frowning, and several others among the partygoers becoming just slightly more attentive to the conversation going on between them. But she didn’t miss the way Maximillion’s eyes sharpened as he sipped his wine, glaring daggers at them both. “Calm, love,” she said softly, thumb running along his knuckles by way of comfort. “I believe you’re doing something…magicky, and people seem to be noticing.” “What exactly is going on here?” Lord Baker interjected before Seb could reply. He was aware enough of the situation to remain quiet, but the vehemence in his voice was enough to send spit globules flying through the air. Seb took the brunt of the liquid abuse, but a few droplets of angry saliva projectiles landed on the blue silk of Alain’s beautiful dress. “Are you aware, young lady, that you are completely underdressed for such an occasion?” “I am now, sir, yes.” Alain smiled. “You must forgive me. We have no such parties at home…or, at least, none that I attended. This would have been perfectly adequate for any such events back in New York.” Lord Baker turned red. “Sebastian, I demand to know how this occurred. You were to take care of her. And to not even alert her to the importance of formal dress at your mother’s party!” “Again, sir, I must take the blame. I assured him I knew exactly what to wear. This is quite formal in my parlance, and told him that I would of course buy a formal dress for the evening. I’m afraid he simply took my word for it. It is I who am completely at fault here.” Alain nearly laughed. Lord Baker looked ready to have a heart attack at the impropriety of her dress, and yet seemed completely unaware that she was toying with him. A simpering smile and ingratiating tone seemed to work wonders with him. “Ah, yes. Well, you are American, after all…can’t be expected…” Lord Baker harrumphed. Seb sidled forward and oozed charm. Only Alain could see that he was practically shaking with mirth. “No one seems to be running for the hills, Father. Selwyn, I believe, has taken the situation in hand along with Mother, and explained to everyone that it was a cultural misunderstanding and must be taken as such.” “It’s true, Father,” Maximillion interjected, even as his lips twisted with distaste. “Selwyn and Mother are explaining to anyone who’s asked that Miss Alain is from America. Even Sebastian’s friend Kaio is helping. There will be no scandal from this evening that won’t later become an asset to the family. Miss Alain is Selwyn’s granddaughter, after all, and quite lovely.” He somehow managed to pull his puckered lips into a smile, which looked for all the world like the guardian at the gates of Mordor. Alain tried not to gag. “Very well.” Lord Baker, while not pleased, seemed at least mollified, and headed off for the food and another glass of wine. Maximillion ponced his way over to Alain’s side and bowed, taking her hand in his own to kiss it. Where her body had flushed with glorious fever at Seb’s touch, Alain felt icy disgust dance through her. “You do look most lovely this evening, Miss Alain. Your dress is beautiful, if rather short.” Alain smiled winningly, feeling Seb at her shoulder and willing him to stay back. She didn’t rightly know how to describe it, but she could feel his energy waxing and waning with his moods, as if his aura crystallized into jagged edges and sharp points. His was the strength of the warrior, the courage of the ultimate defender, the stoic masculinity of his kind. Alain could sense it tickling her, dancing along the edges of her awareness, teasing and urging; she forced herself to ignore it. He needed to learn how to control it, that much she knew, just as much as she needed to learn to control whatever it energy it was that seemed to follow her like a bright cloud. She knew that, even had she worn the world’s most appropriate dress that evening, eyes would follow her. Men would want her, women would feel communion with her, and their energies combined would birth something great, the ability to shape the world. And it was within her womb that they intertwined. Alain knew it, felt it, understood it. But she could not explain it, even to herself. “Thank you, Maximillion.” Seb’s delighted amusement abated, giving way to the seething jealousy of his guardianship. “You are looking quite dapper this evening, and properly dressed. I seem to be the talk of the town tonight.” “It is only because you outshine even the brightest star tonight, Miss Alain, and they all whisper for want of your beauty. None of them would dare slip into a dress that so depends upon the shapeliness of the human form. Michelangelo would want to carve you, Botticelli would wish to paint you upon the half shell, Leonardo…” “Donatello and Raphael would want to comb the sewers for pizza and kill Shredder in my honor?” “Excuse me?” Max raised an eyebrow. Alain chuckled. “Nothing. It was a show…Anyway, I do believe I see my grandfather over there and I would very much like to speak to him this evening. He keeps sending me off to do other things, but I won’t let him do so tonight. Have a good evening, Max.” Taking Seb by the arm, Alain waved and headed off for the other side of the room, where Selwyn sat, surrounded by well-wishers and an appreciative audience of laughing neighbors. “You did that very well, Alain love.” Seb leaned into her, as if to nuzzle her neck, but remembered that they were not to do such things in front of the family. Not until they understood what exactly was going on between them. Alain felt the faintest stirrings of whatever mad call had overwhelmed them so recently, but pushed it away until later. Nothing could happen now, not while the family was watching, and Selwyn needed speaking to. ***** Maximillion watched Alain walk away, staring at the curve of her ass through the slinky cut of her dress. It was more of a nightgown, actually. If she bent over in that thing…Max shuddered at the thought and downed his wine to cover the flush of his cheeks. She should be his. He was the eldest, and closer to her age than anyone in the neighborhood. Rich, successful, handsome (if he did say so himself), and the heir to a Lordship, Max had it all. And yet she had gone off with irresponsible Sebastian. Sebastian, his bane, everything he hated about the world, embodied in one person. If Max were being truthful with himself, Sebastian had everything he wanted, and in spades. He was far better looking, more charming, funnier, and well liked. Things seemed to go well for him without the slightest effort. He had allies, he did, who always seemed willing to step in and fix whatever Sebastian ruined. Max had no such allies. He’d had to work for everything he got. He’d had to bow and scrape and rise through the ranks by virtue of his own sweat and tears, without the benefits of friends and charm. If anyone deserved her, it was Max. Yet she’d chosen Sebastian. And if he wasn’t mistaken, and he never was, they had spent much of the last few days in bed. He could tell. It was in her walk, the indolent saunter of a woman well pleased, and the way her eyes lingered over Sebastian, dark and sultry. His younger brother, for his part, seemed intent on declaring his conquest for all the world to know. Sebastian’s posture screamed that Alain was his. But it was more than that. He wondered what the others would make of this. They would probably already know. He was always the last person to see and to sense these things. Whatever they had tried to teach him over the years just simply hadn’t stuck. He couldn’t even sense things. No matter, though. Alain Barclay belonged to him, not to Sebastian. And he would have her in the end. ***** “Grandpa!” Selwyn smiled and wheeled himself over to where Alain and Seb stood, waiting for him to finish his conversation. “Granddaughter. Sebastian. You two are looking quite glamorous this evening, and right scandalous.” “It was intentional, of course.” Alain knelt down and placed a kiss on Selwyn’s cheek. She had to be careful in that dress, or else the entire party would have a great deal more to talk about. It was not the kind of attention that she needed. “I assumed so. Your young man is all troublemaking.” Alain and Seb looked at one another. It was a look that Selwyn recognized; the kind that he and Lillian had shared so often over the years. They spoke volumes, those looks, but what they said was only between the two that shared it. So they were connected already, then. It had gone quickly for them. Much more quickly than it had for Selwyn and Lillian, when the mantle had passed to them forty years before. The powers must sense that something was wrong. Why else were these two so strong, so instinctual in everything they did together? The chains were already stronger, the energy about the world already more balanced. And it had been less than a week. But what would happen when it came time to work a ritual with others? Would they know how to shape the energy to match their will? Power mattered nothing if the will were absent. Did he have time to teach them? Would the poison working its way through his veins give him the days and nights he needed to impart to them even the barest minimum of what they needed to know? And should he tell them of the Others? He should warn them. There were those not to be trusted. His Seneschal, for one. And were the Bakers truly untrustworthy, or were they just miserable? Selwyn could never tell with them. There were others…they’d met the Prophet, young Kaio…there was so much to tell them, so little time. “You know we’re together, grandpa?” Alain sounded uncomfortable and Selwyn couldn’t help but smile. She would have to get over that if she was going to be the High Priestess of their organization. “Of course. The entirety of our Club knows when the earth rises to greet the latest couple to wax. You are the High Priestess, he is the High Consort. It cannot be undone now. The earth and the sky, the sun and the wind have accepted you as their own. You embody them, and they rise to your call. Naught but your deaths can remove you now.” Seb sighed. “Death? Would anyone be attempting to bring us to our death?” “Perhaps. There are those who have broken with our group. They believe that the creature we keep in chains, the monster of the end of time, should be released. That the world is in such disarray that only the Armageddon can save it. We believe that is for the gods to decide. But a number of our members have left. You must beware them.” “Who are they?” Alain grabbed Seb’s hand and squeezed. “Grandpa, you need to tell us what’s going on.” Selwyn nodded. “I know. It’s the caves. You must not go into the caves alone, you’re not ready. Dashwood and his comrades released the beast, and it is our job to keep it in chains. It is Fenrir and the Kraken, it is the Titans of old and the hundred-headed beasts. It is the end of time. And you two are the focal point of all that we do to keep it tethered, and the world safe. You must learn the rituals, though you already understand them.” “How do I bring Seb with me? I reach higher. I see everything, but I cannot bring him with me.” Alain remembered the panic in Seb’s eyes when she’d returned from the world, how he’d begged her never to leave him again. Everything would be fine if he could only be with her. Selwyn nodded. “You should bring him with you now. Grab hold of his soul and it will rise with you. Your energies have melded together in such a way that you cannot be separated. Where one goes, the other follows. Such separation as you experienced will never happen again.” A coughing fit came over him then, and Alain, bless her, knelt beside him with a glass of water at the ready. “Thank you, my lovely. You and Sebastian will do wonderfully. Remember, to know the ritual is only to recognize it for what it is. To know is to merely press it into your mind. To understand is to feel it in your soul. Give things names that mean something to you and you will understand them. Follow your soul and trust in one another.” Seb sat in a nearby chair. “Who do you know we can trust?” “Trust the Prophet. Trust the Historian. The Baker is low, but trustworthy. You will learn to recognize the energies of one initiated into the rituals. Sebastian, boy, I have taught you more in your life than many others know. Trust in what I have shown and told you over the years and you will be more than equipped to guard my granddaughter. Alain, alas, there is much I cannot teach you. Lillian was the last to know them and she is gone. You must learn them on your own. You must trust yourself more than any being alive has trusted themselves. And you must trust Sebastian.” “What about my father?” Alain remained kneeling, her turquoise eyes, so like his, so like her mother’s, staring up at him with deep questions. “Can we trust him?” Selwyn closed his eyes and sighed. “Your father…your father is…” “Alain, Sebastian, Mother would like to see you.” Nathaniel had snuck up on them unseen. How much had he heard? How much did he understand? Selwyn did not know. “She would like to introduce you to someone new.” Alain sighed. “Again with the pleasantries. The entire English people must live on pleasantry and tea.” Plastering a smile on her beautiful face—so like her Father’s—Alain took Sebastian’s arm and used his weight to lift herself up. “We will come to see you tomorrow, grandpa. We have much to discuss about this beast in the caves. I…I feel like I understand, but I cannot explain it.” “Of course, granddaughter. Go off and be pleasant.” The two disappeared into the crowd and Selwyn sighed. So much to tell them. So much. Where did he begin? Where could he begin, when he had so little time? ***** “You should not have made them what you have made them, Selwyn.” The house was quiet. Everyone no doubt slept, except for Sebastian and Alain, who likely reveled in their newfound understanding of one another. Seb would want to see the world, to experience what Alain experienced, see what she saw. There was real love there. That was good. So often love came from familiarity rather than true passion. Selwyn liked to see they were an exception. He’d wanted nothing less for her. “The gods made them what they are, brother. I am surprised you have found out about it at all. Has my Seneschal finally shared some secrets with you, or have your skills become stronger in these last days?” “Do not patronize me. You picked him. You groomed her and picked him. This is all your doing, old man.” “What do the Others want with me?” “The Fraternity want you dead. Before you can share the secrets. Before you can tell them about us.” “They know already who you are.” Selwyn turned to face the young man before him. He so rarely understood. How had that blasted man corrupted this simple soul? Or perhaps not so simple and not so pure. Obsession could always do it in the end. “Our identities are still secret, Selwyn. This much we have confirmed. But it does you credit that you remain stoic in the face of your own death.” Selwyn smiled. “I have been dying for a long time.” “It ends tonight then.” There was the slick of a blade. “Oh, dear boy, you’re not going to stab me, are you? An investigation?” Selwyn shook his head and steepled his fingers. “It would not look well.” The boy shook his head. “No. My Master had informed me that the slightest cut will set the poison to working. You will be dead within moments.” “Then get along with it.” Selwyn did not want to die. He wasn’t ready. But it was clear that his body would not last much longer, and soon he would be without even the power of speech. And he wasn’t likely to get help; not this late at night. Not without attracting a scene. Not without revealing secrets that could not ever be revealed, for the safety of the entire world. If he needed to die tonight to keep the secrets, so be it “And tell Vladimir that his daughter will be his undoing. She is far stronger than he could ever dream of, and there is real love between she and Sebastian. Real love.” The boy stilled for a moment. “True love?” Selwyn smiled and nodded. Then he felt a sharp pain, and the world around him faded, slowly disappearing into a darkness that he had often seen, but never traveled. His last thought was that his death would cut the final cord stopping Alain from taking up the mantle he now abandoned. And he could only hope that she trusted herself and the right people. Or else all was lost. |
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