Copyright © 2017 by Gus Kenney All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, obtained with permission of use, or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
**This is a pre-publication sample and may contain discrepancies from the published version on 8.04.2017 as the book has been professionally edited since this sample was submitted.
Dives
His name was not known to Elias Florentine. He was just some busboy that had been lucky enough to get a job at the only place in town that served food on a plate and not in a paper wrapper through a window. Elias had been coming to the diner off and on for years, and had grown to love the atmosphere, the food, and the people that had grown up in the area; some of them getting a job at the worn old building and working there until they were just as old and worn. He stepped around the broken remains of a cheap Formica table and recognized one such soul. Sharon had always served him a slice of pie cut a little bigger than the other pieces and spoke of her exes while she waited for a coffee break. Elias always remembered that she wore the brightest red lipstick all the time which made it easy to spot her mug from the rack that hung behind the counter. Her lips weren't the only thing red about her face now.
Elias looked around at the carnage and senseless destruction of the diner and finally let his eyes settle on the lone spot that had been spared. A man sat with his back to him at the only booth to survive, the booth that Elias always sat at. The point wasn't lost on him as he slowly approached, keeping his anger in check.
“It's safe to assume that we have your attention.” A voice too cheerful for the surroundings spoke when Elias stepped into his peripheral. He sipped at a steaming coffee and casually indicated the open seat opposite him. “Why don't you sit and we can catch up.”
“There is nothing I wish to say to you.” Elias growled and his hands curled into fists.
“That is because you think that I am somehow responsible for this.” The man flicked a finger towards the carnage around them.
“Are you claiming that you are not?” Many people swore innocence when they reached the end of their life. Especially when it was delivered by vengeful hands.
“You know that this is not my style.” The man scoffed and sipped at his coffee, deliberately slow. “I would have simply shown up and collected what is owed me.”
Elias snorted a weak laugh and moved to at least stand across from the man.
“I wasn't sure if you were ever to collect on my favor, Pick.”
“I always collect.” The man gave him a devilish smile that was only slightly dimmed by the friendly dimples that shown in his cheek. “And I go by Mr. Lucian now.”
“Are these souls what you have come to take from me?” Elias didn't care what the man called himself.
“I came to collect you.” Pick-Lucian finished his coffee and set down the empty mug. The one with the red stain. “I am recruiting your aide in a very important and dangerous mission. One that may very well spell certain death.”
“Death is not certain. You told me that.”
“We'll see about that.” Mr. Lucian stood up. “Shall we go?”
“You expect me to just leave this place.” Elias indicated the whole of the diner, feeling that such a show was unnecessary. “Why did you do this?”
“To repeat, and I hope this will not become a habit, I didn't do this.” Mr. Lucian smiled again. “The man we are going to be working for did.”
“When did you start working for anyone but yourself?” Elias sneered.
“When it became a matter of life and death. Mostly my life and a lot of other peoples deaths.”
“Do you think this is some kind of joke?” Elias snapped and grabbed the man by his throat.
“No.” Mr. Lucian wiggled himself out of the man's powerful grip enough to speak. “It's a test.”
“A test?”
“Yes.” The man rolled his eyes towards the shattered door. “They weren't sure if you still had it in you. Care to show them?”
Elias followed his gaze to where eight large men stood bearing an assortment of deadly implements; many of them still showing signs of recent use. Very slowly, he released Mr. Lucian and took the measure of each armed man.
“I will gladly show them.” Elias Florentine raised an empty hand and extended a single digit. “But pay attention because I will only do this once.”
Elias looked around at the carnage and senseless destruction of the diner and finally let his eyes settle on the lone spot that had been spared. A man sat with his back to him at the only booth to survive, the booth that Elias always sat at. The point wasn't lost on him as he slowly approached, keeping his anger in check.
“It's safe to assume that we have your attention.” A voice too cheerful for the surroundings spoke when Elias stepped into his peripheral. He sipped at a steaming coffee and casually indicated the open seat opposite him. “Why don't you sit and we can catch up.”
“There is nothing I wish to say to you.” Elias growled and his hands curled into fists.
“That is because you think that I am somehow responsible for this.” The man flicked a finger towards the carnage around them.
“Are you claiming that you are not?” Many people swore innocence when they reached the end of their life. Especially when it was delivered by vengeful hands.
“You know that this is not my style.” The man scoffed and sipped at his coffee, deliberately slow. “I would have simply shown up and collected what is owed me.”
Elias snorted a weak laugh and moved to at least stand across from the man.
“I wasn't sure if you were ever to collect on my favor, Pick.”
“I always collect.” The man gave him a devilish smile that was only slightly dimmed by the friendly dimples that shown in his cheek. “And I go by Mr. Lucian now.”
“Are these souls what you have come to take from me?” Elias didn't care what the man called himself.
“I came to collect you.” Pick-Lucian finished his coffee and set down the empty mug. The one with the red stain. “I am recruiting your aide in a very important and dangerous mission. One that may very well spell certain death.”
“Death is not certain. You told me that.”
“We'll see about that.” Mr. Lucian stood up. “Shall we go?”
“You expect me to just leave this place.” Elias indicated the whole of the diner, feeling that such a show was unnecessary. “Why did you do this?”
“To repeat, and I hope this will not become a habit, I didn't do this.” Mr. Lucian smiled again. “The man we are going to be working for did.”
“When did you start working for anyone but yourself?” Elias sneered.
“When it became a matter of life and death. Mostly my life and a lot of other peoples deaths.”
“Do you think this is some kind of joke?” Elias snapped and grabbed the man by his throat.
“No.” Mr. Lucian wiggled himself out of the man's powerful grip enough to speak. “It's a test.”
“A test?”
“Yes.” The man rolled his eyes towards the shattered door. “They weren't sure if you still had it in you. Care to show them?”
Elias followed his gaze to where eight large men stood bearing an assortment of deadly implements; many of them still showing signs of recent use. Very slowly, he released Mr. Lucian and took the measure of each armed man.
“I will gladly show them.” Elias Florentine raised an empty hand and extended a single digit. “But pay attention because I will only do this once.”
Christmas Presences
I woke with an angry swat at my alarm clock. Not because of the irritating sound it made or the unfortunate hour that it woke me. No, it was because it never just woke me up anymore. No matter what I did to prevent it, the damn buzzing was always heard by my bed mate. I had even asked for a different clock hoping that the noise would be better suited for me being allowed to wake up in peace. Like most mornings, I remained perfectly still after silencing the horrible device and kept my eyes closed, hoping that I could make him think I was still sleeping, so that he would follow suit and let me sneak away when he snored.
The second shrill sound to fill my small bedroom was the screech that tore from my throat as the coldest and wettest nose to ever exist plunged into my ear and exhaled. I wildly shoved and prodded my dogs big head to get his impossibly frigid feature away from me. This only caused him to yawn and stretch. I realized what he was doing a second too late to grab the headboard, and his massive paws and long legs soon had me falling onto the floor. I lay there in what little of the blanket his bulk didn't weigh down and considered my options.
Two Christmas' ago...
“What do you think?” Grandmother asked in a tone that suggested that she didn't really care what my answer was going to be.
“It's...” I didn't dare blink or look away from the big round eyes of the animal for fear that it might sense such an act as weakness and attack, “big.”
“Of course it is.” Grandmother hobbled over to pat the dog on his big head. The beast, because dog did not seem sufficient, twitched its pointy ears at the gesture but didn’t look away from me. “Do you think I would leave you a pet that wasn’t physically capable of protecting you?”
“Pet?” I finally looked away from the beast. “What?”
“Mother Morgan took it upon herself to,” Uncle Mort took a moment to select his words, “acquire for you a pet that could potentially keep you safe from danger if a member of this family was unable to make it to your aid.”
I wasn't certain if I knew Uncle Mort's moods well enough or if he really did nothing to hide his petulance at the situation. I couldn't blame him for feeling that way. He had been a thorough and capable protector my whole life. In fact it would be considerably shorter without him. The singular blight in his column had been the one time he had tried to kill me but that didn't count because he had been severely manipulated by a creature that wielded fear as a weapon. The incident with my Changelings also didn't count because they weren't really me. So yeah, perfect record by my calculations. I didn't see the need for passing the job to a creature known to drink from toilet bowls.
“I just knew that the child always wanted a pet.” Grandmother shuffled past me while giving me a big fake smile. “It's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil their grandchildren.”
I could count the times that Grandmother had acknowledged our familial status, as anything more than superficial, on the toes of a peg leg. She had once vehemently proclaimed how we were not family and that was one traumatic childhood scar that was hard pressed to heal up anytime soon. She was clearly up to something and by the way she kept glancing over to Uncle Mort, I had my suspicions as to what.
“I always wanted a puppy.” The bid dog tilted his head at me and my mouth dried up as I fought the urge to apologize to it.
“He is better than a puppy.” Grandmother proudly said. “He is fully grown, trained, housebroken, and unshakably loyal to you. And only you. Once he is named, of course.”
Grandmother was too much of a control freak to even consider letting me have a pet that wouldn’t or couldn’t in some way answer to her. But it all made sense now. She was making a point of showing me, and probably Uncle Mort as well, that she didn’t trust in his abilities to keep me safe but also didn’t trust in my own capabilities to stay safe either. I wanted to remind her that it was me that had defeated the Sleesh, the fearsome creature that had been sent after me to end my life. The creature that had manipulated and dispatched each of my guardians in one night, including my grandmother. And I had been the one to evade the pursuit and murderous intentions of Burymore Legions. Apparently, overcoming the machinations of legends only garnered you condescension.
“But I didn’t ask for a dog.” Was all I could think to say in the face of such a blatant attack on my safety and my uncle's guardianship.
“And I didn’t ask to be saddled with the safety of such an unruly child.” Grandmother snapped. “Nor one so ungrateful.”
“She is not ungrateful.” Uncle Mort interceded. “She just knows the rule of the house pertaining to pets.”
“And what’s that?” Grandmother fixed him with a look to rival the great beast that breathed down my neck.
“Over my dead body.” Uncle Mort looked ready to step up to Grandmother in a way that I had never seen before. It made me proud to see it done.
“Too late for that.” Grandmother barked and before Uncle Mort could say anything back she slammed her staff on the floor loudly. “Enough. The matter is closed. Lucy needs a protector that cannot be swayed by the abilities of any creature, human and herald alike. Is that not wise?”
“Yes.” Uncle Mort said in a snarl to rival what was clearly becoming my pet.
“Very well.” Grandmother turned to me again. “Name the beast child.”
“I don’t know what to call it.” I said honestly. “I just met it.”
“What? Do you need time to bond with it or something? I already told you it is completely loyal to you. The bond is forged. What more do you need? It only needs a name so it can answer when you call it.” “Well...” I looked at the blank face of the dog and felt nothing for it. Taking a deep breath I took a step to the side of the animal to get a better look at him. I had basically come down in the early morning rush of opening Christmas gifts and found I was face to face with the beast. He swiveled his block head to follow me and when his neck couldn't propel his vision far enough he turned to follow me. “Oh, sit down.”
The floor shook when his colossal bulk hit the carpet.
“See,” Grandmother said proudly, “it does exactly what you tell it without a second thought. The perfect protector.”
I saw the grimace of insult on my uncle’s face.
“Just name the thing already, Lucy.” He said with a sigh of resolution. “It is not likely that we will be rid of it with such a glowing opinion from your grandmother.”
“I will.” It didn’t seem like I had an opinion on it that mattered. I had wanted a puppy for a long time, a couple years in fact, but Uncle Mort had always felt that a pet was unnecessary and a distraction. I could understand his views now. It would never have been easy for him to protect me if I was more concerned about a puppy in times of crisis. Grandmother's pet apparently alleviated that concern. And if I had gotten a puppy when I had first asked, it would have been close to the age that the big canine appeared to be. I took a step towards the seated beast and tried to picture what I would be calling it. Names that I had once considered for my dream pet didn’t fit in the slightest. I looked it over and it seemed to return the gesture in kind.
“How did you come up with your snake's name, Frankie?” I asked my friend a few hours later when he had shown up to brag about his holiday bounty. Actually it was for an early dinner with his family and mine. Frankie was slowly raising a nervous hand towards the dog’s head. The massive pooch watched the small shaking hand as it came up to his nose and then alighted on its forehead. If I could have guessed at the dogs expression it might have been uncertainty as Frankie started to pat its massive head. I was just happy that it hadn’t taken Frankie’s hand off. The dog had looked ready to kill every visitor that had crossed the threshold and only didn't because I simply told him that they were a friend. A single word and he sat back and just watched them amiably.
“I don’t know.” Frankie shrugged as he continued to pet my dog. “I just looked at him and knew that he was a John Smith.”
A python named John Smith. I had thought it was unusual but it had gained Frankie a few friends in school, something I was jealous of. But at least we were even now. His pet had scared the crap out of me when I first met it and now mine had done the same.
“I'm not getting anything from this guy.” The dog turned its head out from Frankie’s hand and looked at me expectantly. “Sorry.”
It gave me a deep sigh in answer.
“How is this so difficult?” Grandmother shared in the animals annoyance.
“Let her decide.” Aunt Lexi spoke up. “You may force the creature on her but she will freely choose what to call it.”
“Small victories.” Grandmother muttered beneath her breath loud enough to irk Uncle Mort.
“And you thought the worse we would be dealing with today is convincing Mort to let her keep the earrings.” Aunt Eva said tapping her wine glass off her sisters.
“That subject is not closed.” Uncle Mort said coldly.
“You could name it after someone in one of your books.” Tim suggested, the most he had said once he was in my uncle's presence. “I used to have a guinea pig named Simkin. I can't remember what book that’s from.”
“He doesn’t look like a Sherlock.” I frowned. “And definitely not a Nancy.”
“How about Sam?”
“Too…plain.”
“Nobby?”
“Too insulting.”
“Gaspode?”
“Too odd.”
“How about-?”
“I don’t think the books you read will work, Francis.” Cecilia said, wrapping her arms around her son and pulling him to her. “Maybe something else.”
“How about cartoons?” He was quick to suggest.
“No.” Uncle Mort and I said nearly simultaneously. I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to rely on anyone else for this and though Frankie’s heart was in the right place, it wasn’t his responsibility. Much like a lot of things in my life, I had no control over what was going on and this poor animal was just another pawn caught in the crossfire. And I had been treating him poorly and ignoring him all morning. It made me feel bad for him and I reached out tentatively and touched his face, and focused on him as a living being and not as a victim to my life. Immediately his tail started to slap on the floor and it sounded like it might bust through to the basement. I stared into his deep amber eyes and tried to, I guess, feel who he was. There was obedience behind his scary visage, as well as intelligence and loyalty, and deeper the unconditional love that all pets had in them. I stroked the short soft fur of his nose and head and ran my hand down his long neck. When I placed my hand on his huge chest for the first time, and felt the heat and solid thump of his heart beneath my touch I knew who he was.
“Boris.” I said with certainty. “His name is Boris.”
“Excellent.” Grandmother said with approval, but it wasn’t her approval I sought. Very slowly, my dog leaned forward to my face. I expected him to sniff me like it had everyone that had been deemed as friendly. Instead I got what felt like a sopping wet wallpaper brush dragged up my face in one icky pass. Before Boris could lick the other side of my face, I pushed his muzzle away and gagged where he had got me in the mouth.
“Yuck.” I exclaimed and had to wonder why all my friends always started out by rubbing me the wrong way.
Now.
After a minute of considering falling back asleep, a dark shape emerged over the edge of my bed. I opened my eyes in time to lunge away from an accumulated drop of drool falling from Boris' jowls.
“Eww. Yucky dog!” I jumped up and was ready to senselessly scold my dog. Something about the way I got up triggered some strange animal instinct and Boris was standing on the bed, his long tail nearly brushing the ceiling, and acting like I was going to throw a ball for him. “No. Not playtime.” All he must have heard was playtime because his tail got faster and his head dropped. “Not playtime.” I repeated slowly. He was off the bed and running excited circles around me. “No, silly dog. We're not playing.” His big butt hit the floor and his tail did an excellent job of cleaning the dust from beneath my bed. “I don't have any toys.”
A minute later I was opening my bedroom door and ordering him to go get a toy as I tried to clean what felt like gallons of saliva that he had plastered on my face with his insanely long and sopping tongue. I took his distraction as a means to grab my clothes and run to the bathroom.
“Foul beast!” Uncle Mort's typical title for Boris bellowed up the stairs as my dog, most likely, ran across or into him. “Insufferably creature.” He made a good show of expressing contempt for Boris, but deep down my uncle had grown fond of my dog. It was either that or he enjoyed the battle of wills with the creature. “I have nothing for you. Get thee hence.”
I heard the back door open and shut as Boris was let out to go to the bathroom, which meant that my uncle indeed would have something for him when he came back in. Unless he went in the yard. Uncle Mort made no effort to supporting any life in what little space consisted of the backyard nor any upkeep of it, but he refused to let Boris sully (his words not mine) the brown moldering space between the back porch and the fence to the park. It was the lone command that Boris ever obeyed that wasn't from me. He knew automatically to run to the neighbors yard and take care of his business there. Which would have caused issues in the past but they had moved out shortly after I got my dog. Not because of him. They had stopped over, the same day I got Boris, to express their appreciation for having such nice neighbors and that they were moving out of state.
Not the most unusual guests that day.
Same Christmas...
“A fine animal.” Dargo said, admiring my dog. “What breed?”
“It's a mutt.” Grandmother answered quickly.
“That's an understatement.” Aunt Lexi stage whispered around her fifth glass of wine.
“This is all well and good, but could someone please call him off.” Copius Wilts asked from beneath the weighty paws that Boris held him down with. The Ruke's lackey had shown up a few minutes after Mr. Muldoon had been given my blessing for Boris.
“That depends.” I was in a good mood and feeling sure of myself. “Are you here as a friend or foe?”
“I swear to you, your high–.” Copius bit the word back when Boris treated him to a threatening growl. He was a very good dog for picking up on the irritation that came over me when people tried to call me what I wasn't. I was just Lucy. Nothing fancy. Nothing else. Just me. And for the last month only me for the first time in my life. “Sorry, Miss Bison. Force of habit from my upbringing.” Copious apologized and Boris stopped growling. “I am here for only the best of intentions.”
“So you know about the youngin?” Dargo assisted the dapper man up when I called off my dog, if just temporarily.
“I'm privy to most of his lordships secrets.” The man picked up his hat where it had been knocked off and fussed with the brim. “I reassure you all that I have never once betrayed my Ruke and would give my life before doing so. Therefore whatever secrets you share with him are just as safe with me.” A few breaths that were being held were released. “And my siblings.”
And back in those breaths went.
“Mr. Wilts,” Uncle Mort said, sweeping into the room with a steaming platter, “to what do we owe this visit.”
The typical venom in my uncles voice for dealing with anyone from the courts was diluted to mild annoyance. I knew that my family and I had reached an accord with Lord Cid over the danger to his life and power if he decided to expose us. It was mutually assured destruction that turned us from adversaries to, from the ease of the advisers arrival, acquaintances.
“I have come to inform you that my lord has decided to honor your request.” Copious said, with only the slightest tremor to his voice.
“Decided to?” Grandmother sneered. “Bertram doesn't fear being forsworn?”
“Officially,” Copious cleared his throat, “Lord Cid fears nothing.” I thought he was going to leave it at that, but after a few seconds he continued. “But being as that you have him in a vulnerable position, he informed me to tell you that he was compelled to accept your request under his own volition and not under threat. A reminder that it is his decision to not expose your secrets.”
Like I said, mutual destruction. My home was in a cold war with the Ruke and his court. I had yet to decide which of us was the Reds.
Now.
I threw my clothes on in the bathroom and got a no ready for when I exited. Boris was caught mid lick when I opened the door to his happy returned face. I rubbed his head which was a mistake because he must have smelled the lotion I had put on my hand and immediately I found his nose in my palm sucking every particle of scent from it. For a big dog he was able to keep himself focused on the smell even as I swung my hand back and forth rapidly trying to dislodge his interest. Once back in my room I honked his nose and told him to lay down. My bed springs suffered his excited, obedient, leap onto the mattress and the crash as he folded his big legs up and laid down, watching me.
“What are we feeling today?” I asked him as I faced the small mirror above my dresser and flipped open my even smaller jewelry box. If I was a few years younger I would have marveled at all the glittering gems and shiny metals. Now I just regarded the colored glass and nickle and brass as a means to assert some maturity over my life. It was a delusion since all the jewelry I possessed had been gifted to me as I had no say or purchasing power with my uncle when it came to apparel and even less when it came to accessories. He had allowed me to keep the piercings as a reminder, I think, of what I had been through and what I was ultimately giving up. Which is why I usually wore the simple studs that I had been given when I had gotten my ears pierced with my mom. “Melancholy it would seem.” I answered my own question with a deep sigh
Boris whined softly. I looked over at his big sad eyes and he rattled his jowls with an exhale of breath. I reached back for the ring my aunts had gotten me years ago and slid it over the faint red line I sometimes still saw on my finger. Ready for the day as best as I could be, I ran over and cuddled with my dog for a minute to let him know I wasn't as sad as I could be. It was a struggle some days to cope with letting my real family go; no matter how many times I told myself that it was ultimately for their safety. I had been able to meet them, and though they were no where near perfect, I could hold those memories forever and it filled the gap built from years of never knowing them. Now I had to deal with never knowing what happens to them.
Not directly anyway.
Then...
“Could you get us another bottle, Mortimer?” Aunt Eva asked Uncle Mort after he had just sat down from showing Grandmother out.
“You have yet to finish the last one.” A familiar refrain to my younger days.
“So sorry.” Aunt Lexi scooped up the half full bottle and topped off her glass, Aunt Eva's, Cecilia's, and with no one else drinking she slugged the rest straight down her throat. “How about now?”
I wasn't sure if I should laugh or not. The look on everyone's face, including my uncle's, was priceless but I was starting to become concerned with the level of intoxication that Aunt Lexi was indulging in. Between her and Aunt Eva's visits they could polish off a bottle of wine between them over one season. Tonight I had already counted two bottles in the sink and even with help from others it was worrisome. I think Uncle Mort was about to speak my concerns when his expression changed and he got up without another word. I let my worries go when I heard Frankie squealing in protest at having Boris easily drag him across the floor by an old hank of rope that had been dug up to give my dog a toy to play with.
“I don't want him.” I told Boris when he held his prize up for me. Frankie was immediately, unceremoniously, dropped by my dog and I was given the gift of more slobbery kisses. “I don't want that either.” My protest was ignored by the beast.
“It would seem that I found an unusual surprise in the pantry.” Uncle Mort's tone screamed awkwardness and after I wrestled away from my dog's affections, I found him standing with a large present in his arms. “It seems Santa Claus,” several of us couldn't help but giggle at his pronunciation of the spirit of the holiday, “left you one more present.”
His voice had gone from awkward to an attempt at jovial which made me very apprehensive to accept the package he offered. The idea of a last minute gift was uncharacteristic of my uncle and more so in the presence of others. Gift giving between him and I always happened after breakfast, and then we exchanged gifts with Grandmother and my aunts when they arrived for dinner. The last few years that had been tweaked slightly to include the involvement of Frankie and his family but nothing this severe. I had gotten better at adapting to changes in this house, but never when it came from my uncle. His expression was typically blank which did nothing to alleviate my apprehension, and it was only from the excited insistence of Frankie that I ripped off the wrapping paper.
If the dog had been a surprise then their were no words to describe how I felt about the computer. There was much cheering about the expression on my face and soon explanations by all those present for their involvement in my receiving such an utterly unexpected gift. Tim had been consulted for the technical aspects of the device and Cecilia for the security from prying eyes. My aunts had been in charge of probing me to learn if it was something I was even interested in and for helping negotiate a fair price. Frankie's part had mostly been anything he suggested was put down as not going to happen and not telling me he knew. I finally looked up from the disbelief of what I had before me and witnessed the faint traces of a smile on my uncle's lips.
It wasn't customary or encouraged to hug him in front of company, but I couldn't help myself from squeezing the dickens out of Uncle Mort. He returned what he felt was prudent and immediately imparted the new rules of the house as it pertained to the device. I knew what most of them were already going to be. Computers were not a foreign concept to me, and as much as I was sure my uncle was going to enforce his policies, it was one area I had him beat on knowledge. He had waited until Grandmother had left because she would have freaked out at the idea of bringing technology into the house as it was one thing she would not be able to control. It was one of the few things that I could.
“Oh, neat.” Frankie said scurrying up next to me. “Now you can play with me and Palmer online.”
And that was the day I realized I had forever lost my best friend to a video game.
Now.
I stopped at the computer setup along the back wall of the dining room that had once held a hutch of dinnerware. Uncle Mort had decided that the computer would stay in a central place in the house so that he could better monitor my usage. I generally used it for school research and learning, nothing frivolous or stupid like cat videos and illegal downloads. Sometimes I was allowed to peruse more relevant pop culture items like I had when I had to pretend to be my changeling, but not often as much of that had not even interested me then. But whenever I could get away with it, I got on social media under a fake name, as rule number nine had been no social activity that could be tracked to or identify me, and looked up some of my changeling's old friends. I mostly frequented Sabrina's page, as at the end of my time living an other's life, I had started to make a real connection with her. She was doing okay, most of her issues were about still reeling from the other girls rejecting her but she was starting to make new friends, real friends, and getting by. I tried to find information about my parents, but the best I could do was medical reports about my father's practice and little else.
“What are you doing?” Uncle Mort popped his head in from the kitchen.
“Checking the weather.” I lied, clicking over to a different site.
“Why?”
“That way I know if I should grab a jacket or not.” I didn't think he had caught me, but couldn't be too careful. I cleared the history and shut it down.
“Such reliance on technology.” Uncle Mort scoffed. “Boris.” My dog, ever at my side popped his head up. “Is it going to rain today?” With a slapping of long ears and loose skin, he shook his huge head. “There you have it.”
“You trust the dog to tell you the weather over the computer.” I patted Boris' head because I didn't want to think I was putting him down. “Is that some weird Art I haven't heard of?”
“Don't be foolish. Boris is trained to protect you from threats and danger. I'm sure that if the weather was of concern to him, he would let us know.”
I studied my uncle's face for several seconds to see if he was messing with me.
“You do realize that sounds crazy, right?”
“No crazier than what you talked me into today.” The low grumble of irritation that I had heard often the last two weeks returned to his voice.
“You were the one that encouraged me to be more active in my schoolwork.” I twisted his words. He had actually said something to the effect that he was concerned that my activities outside school might hinder my work in school and I should find ways to compensate. Since most of my issues out of the classroom were related to family or Fey, I didn't see what else I could do.
“Yes. You were to be the active one, not I.” Uncle Mort manhandled my sandwich as he stuffed it into my lunch bag.
“My teacher said that any student who got their parent or guardian to chaperon would receive an extra ten percent on their final grade.” I put my hands on my hips. “It's just one little field trip.”
“It was just one trip in the park and one Halloween.” He finished making his lunch with the same gruffness as mine. “We both know how those ended.”
“True, but it's just one field trip. What could possibly go–.” I stopped myself from uttering that old cliché. “I'll be on my best behavior,” a thought leapt into my mind, “as long as you are to.”
“I make no promises.” He crossed his arms over his narrow chest. I gave him my best doubtful glare. After a minute under such scrutiny, a sigh escaped him and he unfolded his arms to reveal two hooked blades in each hand. My breath caught in my throat until he set them both on his cutting board. “I will do my best, okay?”
How could I argue with that.
The second shrill sound to fill my small bedroom was the screech that tore from my throat as the coldest and wettest nose to ever exist plunged into my ear and exhaled. I wildly shoved and prodded my dogs big head to get his impossibly frigid feature away from me. This only caused him to yawn and stretch. I realized what he was doing a second too late to grab the headboard, and his massive paws and long legs soon had me falling onto the floor. I lay there in what little of the blanket his bulk didn't weigh down and considered my options.
Two Christmas' ago...
“What do you think?” Grandmother asked in a tone that suggested that she didn't really care what my answer was going to be.
“It's...” I didn't dare blink or look away from the big round eyes of the animal for fear that it might sense such an act as weakness and attack, “big.”
“Of course it is.” Grandmother hobbled over to pat the dog on his big head. The beast, because dog did not seem sufficient, twitched its pointy ears at the gesture but didn’t look away from me. “Do you think I would leave you a pet that wasn’t physically capable of protecting you?”
“Pet?” I finally looked away from the beast. “What?”
“Mother Morgan took it upon herself to,” Uncle Mort took a moment to select his words, “acquire for you a pet that could potentially keep you safe from danger if a member of this family was unable to make it to your aid.”
I wasn't certain if I knew Uncle Mort's moods well enough or if he really did nothing to hide his petulance at the situation. I couldn't blame him for feeling that way. He had been a thorough and capable protector my whole life. In fact it would be considerably shorter without him. The singular blight in his column had been the one time he had tried to kill me but that didn't count because he had been severely manipulated by a creature that wielded fear as a weapon. The incident with my Changelings also didn't count because they weren't really me. So yeah, perfect record by my calculations. I didn't see the need for passing the job to a creature known to drink from toilet bowls.
“I just knew that the child always wanted a pet.” Grandmother shuffled past me while giving me a big fake smile. “It's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil their grandchildren.”
I could count the times that Grandmother had acknowledged our familial status, as anything more than superficial, on the toes of a peg leg. She had once vehemently proclaimed how we were not family and that was one traumatic childhood scar that was hard pressed to heal up anytime soon. She was clearly up to something and by the way she kept glancing over to Uncle Mort, I had my suspicions as to what.
“I always wanted a puppy.” The bid dog tilted his head at me and my mouth dried up as I fought the urge to apologize to it.
“He is better than a puppy.” Grandmother proudly said. “He is fully grown, trained, housebroken, and unshakably loyal to you. And only you. Once he is named, of course.”
Grandmother was too much of a control freak to even consider letting me have a pet that wouldn’t or couldn’t in some way answer to her. But it all made sense now. She was making a point of showing me, and probably Uncle Mort as well, that she didn’t trust in his abilities to keep me safe but also didn’t trust in my own capabilities to stay safe either. I wanted to remind her that it was me that had defeated the Sleesh, the fearsome creature that had been sent after me to end my life. The creature that had manipulated and dispatched each of my guardians in one night, including my grandmother. And I had been the one to evade the pursuit and murderous intentions of Burymore Legions. Apparently, overcoming the machinations of legends only garnered you condescension.
“But I didn’t ask for a dog.” Was all I could think to say in the face of such a blatant attack on my safety and my uncle's guardianship.
“And I didn’t ask to be saddled with the safety of such an unruly child.” Grandmother snapped. “Nor one so ungrateful.”
“She is not ungrateful.” Uncle Mort interceded. “She just knows the rule of the house pertaining to pets.”
“And what’s that?” Grandmother fixed him with a look to rival the great beast that breathed down my neck.
“Over my dead body.” Uncle Mort looked ready to step up to Grandmother in a way that I had never seen before. It made me proud to see it done.
“Too late for that.” Grandmother barked and before Uncle Mort could say anything back she slammed her staff on the floor loudly. “Enough. The matter is closed. Lucy needs a protector that cannot be swayed by the abilities of any creature, human and herald alike. Is that not wise?”
“Yes.” Uncle Mort said in a snarl to rival what was clearly becoming my pet.
“Very well.” Grandmother turned to me again. “Name the beast child.”
“I don’t know what to call it.” I said honestly. “I just met it.”
“What? Do you need time to bond with it or something? I already told you it is completely loyal to you. The bond is forged. What more do you need? It only needs a name so it can answer when you call it.” “Well...” I looked at the blank face of the dog and felt nothing for it. Taking a deep breath I took a step to the side of the animal to get a better look at him. I had basically come down in the early morning rush of opening Christmas gifts and found I was face to face with the beast. He swiveled his block head to follow me and when his neck couldn't propel his vision far enough he turned to follow me. “Oh, sit down.”
The floor shook when his colossal bulk hit the carpet.
“See,” Grandmother said proudly, “it does exactly what you tell it without a second thought. The perfect protector.”
I saw the grimace of insult on my uncle’s face.
“Just name the thing already, Lucy.” He said with a sigh of resolution. “It is not likely that we will be rid of it with such a glowing opinion from your grandmother.”
“I will.” It didn’t seem like I had an opinion on it that mattered. I had wanted a puppy for a long time, a couple years in fact, but Uncle Mort had always felt that a pet was unnecessary and a distraction. I could understand his views now. It would never have been easy for him to protect me if I was more concerned about a puppy in times of crisis. Grandmother's pet apparently alleviated that concern. And if I had gotten a puppy when I had first asked, it would have been close to the age that the big canine appeared to be. I took a step towards the seated beast and tried to picture what I would be calling it. Names that I had once considered for my dream pet didn’t fit in the slightest. I looked it over and it seemed to return the gesture in kind.
“How did you come up with your snake's name, Frankie?” I asked my friend a few hours later when he had shown up to brag about his holiday bounty. Actually it was for an early dinner with his family and mine. Frankie was slowly raising a nervous hand towards the dog’s head. The massive pooch watched the small shaking hand as it came up to his nose and then alighted on its forehead. If I could have guessed at the dogs expression it might have been uncertainty as Frankie started to pat its massive head. I was just happy that it hadn’t taken Frankie’s hand off. The dog had looked ready to kill every visitor that had crossed the threshold and only didn't because I simply told him that they were a friend. A single word and he sat back and just watched them amiably.
“I don’t know.” Frankie shrugged as he continued to pet my dog. “I just looked at him and knew that he was a John Smith.”
A python named John Smith. I had thought it was unusual but it had gained Frankie a few friends in school, something I was jealous of. But at least we were even now. His pet had scared the crap out of me when I first met it and now mine had done the same.
“I'm not getting anything from this guy.” The dog turned its head out from Frankie’s hand and looked at me expectantly. “Sorry.”
It gave me a deep sigh in answer.
“How is this so difficult?” Grandmother shared in the animals annoyance.
“Let her decide.” Aunt Lexi spoke up. “You may force the creature on her but she will freely choose what to call it.”
“Small victories.” Grandmother muttered beneath her breath loud enough to irk Uncle Mort.
“And you thought the worse we would be dealing with today is convincing Mort to let her keep the earrings.” Aunt Eva said tapping her wine glass off her sisters.
“That subject is not closed.” Uncle Mort said coldly.
“You could name it after someone in one of your books.” Tim suggested, the most he had said once he was in my uncle's presence. “I used to have a guinea pig named Simkin. I can't remember what book that’s from.”
“He doesn’t look like a Sherlock.” I frowned. “And definitely not a Nancy.”
“How about Sam?”
“Too…plain.”
“Nobby?”
“Too insulting.”
“Gaspode?”
“Too odd.”
“How about-?”
“I don’t think the books you read will work, Francis.” Cecilia said, wrapping her arms around her son and pulling him to her. “Maybe something else.”
“How about cartoons?” He was quick to suggest.
“No.” Uncle Mort and I said nearly simultaneously. I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to rely on anyone else for this and though Frankie’s heart was in the right place, it wasn’t his responsibility. Much like a lot of things in my life, I had no control over what was going on and this poor animal was just another pawn caught in the crossfire. And I had been treating him poorly and ignoring him all morning. It made me feel bad for him and I reached out tentatively and touched his face, and focused on him as a living being and not as a victim to my life. Immediately his tail started to slap on the floor and it sounded like it might bust through to the basement. I stared into his deep amber eyes and tried to, I guess, feel who he was. There was obedience behind his scary visage, as well as intelligence and loyalty, and deeper the unconditional love that all pets had in them. I stroked the short soft fur of his nose and head and ran my hand down his long neck. When I placed my hand on his huge chest for the first time, and felt the heat and solid thump of his heart beneath my touch I knew who he was.
“Boris.” I said with certainty. “His name is Boris.”
“Excellent.” Grandmother said with approval, but it wasn’t her approval I sought. Very slowly, my dog leaned forward to my face. I expected him to sniff me like it had everyone that had been deemed as friendly. Instead I got what felt like a sopping wet wallpaper brush dragged up my face in one icky pass. Before Boris could lick the other side of my face, I pushed his muzzle away and gagged where he had got me in the mouth.
“Yuck.” I exclaimed and had to wonder why all my friends always started out by rubbing me the wrong way.
Now.
After a minute of considering falling back asleep, a dark shape emerged over the edge of my bed. I opened my eyes in time to lunge away from an accumulated drop of drool falling from Boris' jowls.
“Eww. Yucky dog!” I jumped up and was ready to senselessly scold my dog. Something about the way I got up triggered some strange animal instinct and Boris was standing on the bed, his long tail nearly brushing the ceiling, and acting like I was going to throw a ball for him. “No. Not playtime.” All he must have heard was playtime because his tail got faster and his head dropped. “Not playtime.” I repeated slowly. He was off the bed and running excited circles around me. “No, silly dog. We're not playing.” His big butt hit the floor and his tail did an excellent job of cleaning the dust from beneath my bed. “I don't have any toys.”
A minute later I was opening my bedroom door and ordering him to go get a toy as I tried to clean what felt like gallons of saliva that he had plastered on my face with his insanely long and sopping tongue. I took his distraction as a means to grab my clothes and run to the bathroom.
“Foul beast!” Uncle Mort's typical title for Boris bellowed up the stairs as my dog, most likely, ran across or into him. “Insufferably creature.” He made a good show of expressing contempt for Boris, but deep down my uncle had grown fond of my dog. It was either that or he enjoyed the battle of wills with the creature. “I have nothing for you. Get thee hence.”
I heard the back door open and shut as Boris was let out to go to the bathroom, which meant that my uncle indeed would have something for him when he came back in. Unless he went in the yard. Uncle Mort made no effort to supporting any life in what little space consisted of the backyard nor any upkeep of it, but he refused to let Boris sully (his words not mine) the brown moldering space between the back porch and the fence to the park. It was the lone command that Boris ever obeyed that wasn't from me. He knew automatically to run to the neighbors yard and take care of his business there. Which would have caused issues in the past but they had moved out shortly after I got my dog. Not because of him. They had stopped over, the same day I got Boris, to express their appreciation for having such nice neighbors and that they were moving out of state.
Not the most unusual guests that day.
Same Christmas...
“A fine animal.” Dargo said, admiring my dog. “What breed?”
“It's a mutt.” Grandmother answered quickly.
“That's an understatement.” Aunt Lexi stage whispered around her fifth glass of wine.
“This is all well and good, but could someone please call him off.” Copius Wilts asked from beneath the weighty paws that Boris held him down with. The Ruke's lackey had shown up a few minutes after Mr. Muldoon had been given my blessing for Boris.
“That depends.” I was in a good mood and feeling sure of myself. “Are you here as a friend or foe?”
“I swear to you, your high–.” Copius bit the word back when Boris treated him to a threatening growl. He was a very good dog for picking up on the irritation that came over me when people tried to call me what I wasn't. I was just Lucy. Nothing fancy. Nothing else. Just me. And for the last month only me for the first time in my life. “Sorry, Miss Bison. Force of habit from my upbringing.” Copious apologized and Boris stopped growling. “I am here for only the best of intentions.”
“So you know about the youngin?” Dargo assisted the dapper man up when I called off my dog, if just temporarily.
“I'm privy to most of his lordships secrets.” The man picked up his hat where it had been knocked off and fussed with the brim. “I reassure you all that I have never once betrayed my Ruke and would give my life before doing so. Therefore whatever secrets you share with him are just as safe with me.” A few breaths that were being held were released. “And my siblings.”
And back in those breaths went.
“Mr. Wilts,” Uncle Mort said, sweeping into the room with a steaming platter, “to what do we owe this visit.”
The typical venom in my uncles voice for dealing with anyone from the courts was diluted to mild annoyance. I knew that my family and I had reached an accord with Lord Cid over the danger to his life and power if he decided to expose us. It was mutually assured destruction that turned us from adversaries to, from the ease of the advisers arrival, acquaintances.
“I have come to inform you that my lord has decided to honor your request.” Copious said, with only the slightest tremor to his voice.
“Decided to?” Grandmother sneered. “Bertram doesn't fear being forsworn?”
“Officially,” Copious cleared his throat, “Lord Cid fears nothing.” I thought he was going to leave it at that, but after a few seconds he continued. “But being as that you have him in a vulnerable position, he informed me to tell you that he was compelled to accept your request under his own volition and not under threat. A reminder that it is his decision to not expose your secrets.”
Like I said, mutual destruction. My home was in a cold war with the Ruke and his court. I had yet to decide which of us was the Reds.
Now.
I threw my clothes on in the bathroom and got a no ready for when I exited. Boris was caught mid lick when I opened the door to his happy returned face. I rubbed his head which was a mistake because he must have smelled the lotion I had put on my hand and immediately I found his nose in my palm sucking every particle of scent from it. For a big dog he was able to keep himself focused on the smell even as I swung my hand back and forth rapidly trying to dislodge his interest. Once back in my room I honked his nose and told him to lay down. My bed springs suffered his excited, obedient, leap onto the mattress and the crash as he folded his big legs up and laid down, watching me.
“What are we feeling today?” I asked him as I faced the small mirror above my dresser and flipped open my even smaller jewelry box. If I was a few years younger I would have marveled at all the glittering gems and shiny metals. Now I just regarded the colored glass and nickle and brass as a means to assert some maturity over my life. It was a delusion since all the jewelry I possessed had been gifted to me as I had no say or purchasing power with my uncle when it came to apparel and even less when it came to accessories. He had allowed me to keep the piercings as a reminder, I think, of what I had been through and what I was ultimately giving up. Which is why I usually wore the simple studs that I had been given when I had gotten my ears pierced with my mom. “Melancholy it would seem.” I answered my own question with a deep sigh
Boris whined softly. I looked over at his big sad eyes and he rattled his jowls with an exhale of breath. I reached back for the ring my aunts had gotten me years ago and slid it over the faint red line I sometimes still saw on my finger. Ready for the day as best as I could be, I ran over and cuddled with my dog for a minute to let him know I wasn't as sad as I could be. It was a struggle some days to cope with letting my real family go; no matter how many times I told myself that it was ultimately for their safety. I had been able to meet them, and though they were no where near perfect, I could hold those memories forever and it filled the gap built from years of never knowing them. Now I had to deal with never knowing what happens to them.
Not directly anyway.
Then...
“Could you get us another bottle, Mortimer?” Aunt Eva asked Uncle Mort after he had just sat down from showing Grandmother out.
“You have yet to finish the last one.” A familiar refrain to my younger days.
“So sorry.” Aunt Lexi scooped up the half full bottle and topped off her glass, Aunt Eva's, Cecilia's, and with no one else drinking she slugged the rest straight down her throat. “How about now?”
I wasn't sure if I should laugh or not. The look on everyone's face, including my uncle's, was priceless but I was starting to become concerned with the level of intoxication that Aunt Lexi was indulging in. Between her and Aunt Eva's visits they could polish off a bottle of wine between them over one season. Tonight I had already counted two bottles in the sink and even with help from others it was worrisome. I think Uncle Mort was about to speak my concerns when his expression changed and he got up without another word. I let my worries go when I heard Frankie squealing in protest at having Boris easily drag him across the floor by an old hank of rope that had been dug up to give my dog a toy to play with.
“I don't want him.” I told Boris when he held his prize up for me. Frankie was immediately, unceremoniously, dropped by my dog and I was given the gift of more slobbery kisses. “I don't want that either.” My protest was ignored by the beast.
“It would seem that I found an unusual surprise in the pantry.” Uncle Mort's tone screamed awkwardness and after I wrestled away from my dog's affections, I found him standing with a large present in his arms. “It seems Santa Claus,” several of us couldn't help but giggle at his pronunciation of the spirit of the holiday, “left you one more present.”
His voice had gone from awkward to an attempt at jovial which made me very apprehensive to accept the package he offered. The idea of a last minute gift was uncharacteristic of my uncle and more so in the presence of others. Gift giving between him and I always happened after breakfast, and then we exchanged gifts with Grandmother and my aunts when they arrived for dinner. The last few years that had been tweaked slightly to include the involvement of Frankie and his family but nothing this severe. I had gotten better at adapting to changes in this house, but never when it came from my uncle. His expression was typically blank which did nothing to alleviate my apprehension, and it was only from the excited insistence of Frankie that I ripped off the wrapping paper.
If the dog had been a surprise then their were no words to describe how I felt about the computer. There was much cheering about the expression on my face and soon explanations by all those present for their involvement in my receiving such an utterly unexpected gift. Tim had been consulted for the technical aspects of the device and Cecilia for the security from prying eyes. My aunts had been in charge of probing me to learn if it was something I was even interested in and for helping negotiate a fair price. Frankie's part had mostly been anything he suggested was put down as not going to happen and not telling me he knew. I finally looked up from the disbelief of what I had before me and witnessed the faint traces of a smile on my uncle's lips.
It wasn't customary or encouraged to hug him in front of company, but I couldn't help myself from squeezing the dickens out of Uncle Mort. He returned what he felt was prudent and immediately imparted the new rules of the house as it pertained to the device. I knew what most of them were already going to be. Computers were not a foreign concept to me, and as much as I was sure my uncle was going to enforce his policies, it was one area I had him beat on knowledge. He had waited until Grandmother had left because she would have freaked out at the idea of bringing technology into the house as it was one thing she would not be able to control. It was one of the few things that I could.
“Oh, neat.” Frankie said scurrying up next to me. “Now you can play with me and Palmer online.”
And that was the day I realized I had forever lost my best friend to a video game.
Now.
I stopped at the computer setup along the back wall of the dining room that had once held a hutch of dinnerware. Uncle Mort had decided that the computer would stay in a central place in the house so that he could better monitor my usage. I generally used it for school research and learning, nothing frivolous or stupid like cat videos and illegal downloads. Sometimes I was allowed to peruse more relevant pop culture items like I had when I had to pretend to be my changeling, but not often as much of that had not even interested me then. But whenever I could get away with it, I got on social media under a fake name, as rule number nine had been no social activity that could be tracked to or identify me, and looked up some of my changeling's old friends. I mostly frequented Sabrina's page, as at the end of my time living an other's life, I had started to make a real connection with her. She was doing okay, most of her issues were about still reeling from the other girls rejecting her but she was starting to make new friends, real friends, and getting by. I tried to find information about my parents, but the best I could do was medical reports about my father's practice and little else.
“What are you doing?” Uncle Mort popped his head in from the kitchen.
“Checking the weather.” I lied, clicking over to a different site.
“Why?”
“That way I know if I should grab a jacket or not.” I didn't think he had caught me, but couldn't be too careful. I cleared the history and shut it down.
“Such reliance on technology.” Uncle Mort scoffed. “Boris.” My dog, ever at my side popped his head up. “Is it going to rain today?” With a slapping of long ears and loose skin, he shook his huge head. “There you have it.”
“You trust the dog to tell you the weather over the computer.” I patted Boris' head because I didn't want to think I was putting him down. “Is that some weird Art I haven't heard of?”
“Don't be foolish. Boris is trained to protect you from threats and danger. I'm sure that if the weather was of concern to him, he would let us know.”
I studied my uncle's face for several seconds to see if he was messing with me.
“You do realize that sounds crazy, right?”
“No crazier than what you talked me into today.” The low grumble of irritation that I had heard often the last two weeks returned to his voice.
“You were the one that encouraged me to be more active in my schoolwork.” I twisted his words. He had actually said something to the effect that he was concerned that my activities outside school might hinder my work in school and I should find ways to compensate. Since most of my issues out of the classroom were related to family or Fey, I didn't see what else I could do.
“Yes. You were to be the active one, not I.” Uncle Mort manhandled my sandwich as he stuffed it into my lunch bag.
“My teacher said that any student who got their parent or guardian to chaperon would receive an extra ten percent on their final grade.” I put my hands on my hips. “It's just one little field trip.”
“It was just one trip in the park and one Halloween.” He finished making his lunch with the same gruffness as mine. “We both know how those ended.”
“True, but it's just one field trip. What could possibly go–.” I stopped myself from uttering that old cliché. “I'll be on my best behavior,” a thought leapt into my mind, “as long as you are to.”
“I make no promises.” He crossed his arms over his narrow chest. I gave him my best doubtful glare. After a minute under such scrutiny, a sigh escaped him and he unfolded his arms to reveal two hooked blades in each hand. My breath caught in my throat until he set them both on his cutting board. “I will do my best, okay?”
How could I argue with that.