Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 1, After the Fall (6 page)

"Careful.   Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes," I said softly, mesmerized by the artwork, wondering what I needed to be careful of.  Maybe they were ancient and would fall apart at the slightest touch, but they sure looked sturdy enough.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

I turned around to see what he was offering.  He was standing near a table that had a decanter, a small silver bowl with a lid, and crystal glasses around it.

"What is that?"  The liquid in the crystal container was a light green color for the most part, but the cuts of the decanter made it look different shades, catching some of the darkness of the room to make parts of it seem almost black.

"This is absinthe here," he said pointing to the liquid I'd been eyeing with mistrust.  "But I have other things as well.  Juice, water, ...."  He looked at me expectantly.

"I'll have some water, thanks."  I had no idea what absinthe was, but it looked enough like a buggane martini that I knew it wasn't going to be my thing; at least, not in the middle of the afternoon.  I continued my perusal of his room while he poured me a drink from a bottle inside the cabinet the glasses were resting on.

A seating area of chairs and a couch dominated the space I was standing in.  The wood was done in a dark stain and each piece heavy.  This furniture was nothing like the type in the conversation area in Dardennes' office - those looked delicate and classy.  This stuff looked like things from an ancient castle.  The materials on the seats and backs were silk and crushed velvet, except for one chair that was done in a deep, blood-red leather.  Intricately-patterned, thick, persian-style carpets were scattered around the space.  There was an arch-shaped door on the left side of the room, leading presumably to a bedroom.  I still hadn't seen my own bedroom, and no way was I going to wander over and look in his.  I was afraid he might take it as a sign of interest - interest that I still wasn't sure I had, regardless of how stimulating I might have found our one and only kiss.

"Here you go," he said, walking over and handing me a glass of water.  

I took a sip.  It was cool and refreshing, making me want to guzzle it down, but I resisted, wanting to be able to make it last.  I was feeling weird around Ben and needed to keep something there to hold in my hand as a prop, if nothing else.  I felt on the defense around him, but I wasn't sure if it was nervousness stemming from the binding ceremony or the fact that I still wasn't sure who he was or even who
I
was anymore.  Life had changed so much in the last twenty-four hours, I was having a hard time adjusting or something.

"Did you design this room yourself?" I asked, taking a few steps back from him before wandering over to the tapestry with the dragons again.  There were four of the magical beasts on this one.  They all had a mix of colors to their scales, but each had one that was dominant.  From left to right, there was one purple, one silver, one red, and one black.  My eyes lingered on the black one, wondering if I had his fang in the holster at my leg.  I reached down absently to touch it, wondering if the slight warmth I felt there was my imagination.

"Yes.  I prefer darker colors.  I find them soothing."

I nodded.  "It's nice.  A little medieval, but nice."

"It is from my time," he said.

I turned to look at him.  He was staring at one of the dragons - the red one.

"What do you mean ... from your time?"

He looked at me, his eyes penetrating into mine.  "I am a changeling too, but I was changed a long time ago."  He turned his gaze back to the tapestry.  "When I was your age, this was the style."

"So that makes you, like ... a few hundred years old."

"Give or take," he said, noncommittally.

"You don't seem a day over three hundred," I said, forcing myself to keep a straight face.

"Thank you.  I think."

"You're welcome."

He was staring at me now instead of the tapestry, making me feel nervous again.  

I cleared my throat and walked around him to get closer to the artwork, moving along the wall and following the flow of the design in the threads.  "This is amazing.  It looks almost ... magical," I said, admiring the way the picture seemed to wink at me with its lights.

"It is."

I stopped, turning my head sharply to look at him, to see if he was kidding.

His expression held no trace of humor.

"In what way?" I asked, itching to touch it, but now a little afraid.

"In ways we don't need to talk about right now," he said, walking over and taking me by the hand, leading me to the couch.  "Come sit.  Let's talk about us."

My heart leaped into my throat and my hands immediately began to sweat.  "Us?  You mean, you and me?" I said, my voice coming out sounding slightly choked.

He sat on the couch and pulled me down next to him, letting my hand go.  "Don't panic.  I'm not going to jump you."  He smiled humorlessly.

I didn't trust myself to speak, so I took a sip of my water instead.  I looked at him over the rim of my glass, remembering how I'd despised him and wanted him dead as recently as yesterday and as far back as all the months before that - since the first time I'd laid eyes on him, practically.  He was like a different person now, though.  I wondered how that could even be possible. 
Who had changed?  Him or me? 
I pulled the glass away from my face and swallowed.

"I told you already, Jayne," he said, looking at me earnestly.  "You are the one calling the shots here.  I'll be whatever you need me to be for you, okay?  No pressure."

"How come everyone keeps saying that to me?" I asked, smiling crookedly.  "The no pressure thing."

"Because.  You put too much of it on yourself.  It blocks your power and sometimes sends it awry.  You just need to learn to relax and go with the flow of our realm."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It can be, once you learn how to let go."

"Letting go?" I asked.  "Like you do?  Just let the world do what it does and not interfere?"

He smiled, nodding his head.  "Okay, so I've not yet learned to master the art of letting go completely."

"Or at all," I suggested.

"Now you're being too harsh.  I do let go whenever I can; and I can help you learn how to do it too, if you want."

I shrugged.  "If it'll make it easier to live with the screw-ups, I'm all for it."

"Not only will it make that easier, but it'll make the screw-ups less frequent and less ... epic."

I cocked my head.  "Are you suggesting I've had epic screw-ups?"

"Not at all."

Tim's voice broke into our conversation from beyond the door.  "Yoooo hoooo!  Anyone want to help a pixie out over here?  Can't fit under, can't fly through!"

"Go away!" I said loudly.

Ben jumped in surprise, leaning back a little with his hands up, looking confused.  "Wow, what'd I say?"

I laughed, shaking my head and getting up, waving him off.  "No, not you.  Tim.  He's at the door."  I walked over to open it.

"I really need to get one of those hearing spells from the witches," mumbled Ben, following behind me.

I grabbed the handle and pulled, but the door wouldn't budge.  I frowned, wondering if I'd missed a lock somewhere.  I moved my hand out of the way, but didn't see any kind of buttons or hooks or anything that could be securing the door.  I tried once more, but it definitely wasn't moving.  I tried to force the panic away, but my brain couldn't stop thinking about how I was trapped in the room with Ben.

"Here ... let me help you," he said, taking the handle and easily pulling the door in.

Tim flew through the opening, exclaiming as he went.  "Whoa, nice place.  A little heavy on the doom and gloom, but I like it."  Tim stopped in the middle of the room, doing a slow hovering circle before he stopped, facing me, his hands on his hips.  "It's
exactly
what I'd expect from the Lord of Darkness Himself."  He grinned from ear to ear.

"What'd he say?" asked Ben, shutting the door.

"He said he likes your place.  That it suits you."

Ben eyed me suspiciously, so I gave him my most innocent look.

"Thanks," he said, looking over at Tim.

Tim came over to me, doing some midair rolls as he talked.  "So, what's happening in here?  Were you guys making out?  Sucking face?  Snogging?  Lighting each other's fires?  Gettin' busy?"

I closed my eyes, sighing loudly before answering.  "We were talking about ..." I looked at Ben, not quite remembering what we'd been discussing.  My eyes kept going back to the dragon tapestry.  We hadn't really been talking about it, but it was far more interesting to me than anything else right now for some reason.

"We were talking about Jayne's powers and me helping her to use them better -to feel more confident- and for her to learn how to go with the flow."

"Oh, that's good," said Tim.  "I'm sure the green elves will be happy to learn they will be coma-free from now on."

I sighed.

"What'd he say?"

"His usual.  He's begging our forgiveness for the fallout we're suffering."

"Fallout?"

"From his intestinal issues."

Tim buzzed up in front of Ben, gesturing and yammering on and on about personal boundaries and so on.  

Ben heard none of it.  He just looked at me and said, "Maybe I don't want one of those hearing spells, after all."

I shook my head.  "Trust me.  Pixies are better seen and not heard."

We shared a smile, knowing we were both pissing Tim off to no end.  I was feeling more cheerful and confident already.  Maybe working with Ben wouldn't be all that bad.

"Jayne, I sure hope you don't really mean that," said Tim, buzzing over to land on top of the decanter of absinthe.  "Because I have some juicy news for you.  But hey, if you'd rather just see this pixie and not hear him, I'll understand."  He pretended to be admiring his fingernails, squinting his eyes in careful examination, first holding his hand in an upside down fist below his face and then opening his hand and extending his arm out to view his manicure from a distance, palm facing out.

"What'd you hear?" I asked, coming to sit down in the leather chair next to him, facing the dragons.

"I'm not sure if we should be sharing with you-know-who," he replied, trying not to look at Ben but stealing glances in his direction anyway.  He couldn't have been more obvious.

"What's going on?" asked Ben.  "Secrets?"

"Maybe.  He's trying to tempt me into begging for information right now."

"Take my advice," said Tim.  "You should beg.  Go ahead, I'm ready.  Lay it on me.  I suggest knees being involved."

I had nothing better to do to pass the time before dinner, and being alone with Ben made me uncomfortable, so I begged - but not on my knees.  The chair was way too comfortable, and the day I went on my knees for a pixie would be one for the record books for sure.

"Please," I said in a bored voice, "oh handsomest pixie of all pixiedom, please tell me what you heard."

"You can do better than that," Tim said, dropping his hand and looking at me, finally.

I cleared my throat, speaking now in a disaffected monotone.  "Oh, Tim, you godlike, fearsome, hot-sexiest pixie of all of faedom, please tell me what you heard."

"You're getting warmer."

I stood up and took a step towards him, fixing him with a devious smile.  "Tell me the fucking secret or I'll rip your damn wings off."

"Hey!  Watch the language, lady!  You represent the ruling class now.  You need to clean up your act if you want to get any action out of me."

I laughed.  "The ruling class?"

Tim smiled.  "Yeah.  You know.  Boss of the elements and all."

"Well, I didn't ask for the ruling class bit, and I'm pretty sure no one's going to listen to me if I try to boss them around anyway, so screw it.  Now tell me what you're hiding, or your wings are going bye-bye."

Tim folded his appendages in very tightly to himself.  "You'd have to catch me first."

I'm sure he thought he had it in the bag, but Ben had different ideas.  A wind came rushing into the room from I have no idea where, grabbing onto Tim and spinning him so fast, it turned him into a pixie dust devil.  One second he was sitting on the flat decanter top, and the next he was like a deranged ballerina, spinning in place at such a high rate of speed, I could no longer see anything but a fuzzy, pixie-shaped blur, squealing at the top of his lungs.

"Aaahhhhyyyeeeeee!!  Oookaaaayyyyyy!! Stop pleeaaaasse!!"

I put my hand on Ben's arm.  "I think he's ready to give up."

"Good," said Ben, closing his eyes once slowly, the wind disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.  He opened his lids back up.  "I don't like seeing you beg.  You shouldn't have to beg anyone."  I couldn't tell whether it was the sexual tension or anger that had him smoldering, but neither was welcome right now as far as I was concerned.

"He was only playing around," I said, trying to bank the fire I saw just behind  Ben's gaze.  "And I can take care of my own problems, thanks."

He shrugged.  "Your problems are my problems now, too."

"No, they're not," I said, getting testy.

"Yes, they are; whether you like it or not, agree or not.  We are one.  You need to get used to that."

"I don't need to do
anything
I don't want to do," I insisted, getting seriously cranky now.  I looked down at the glass of water in my hand that was half-full, sorely tempted to toss it on him to cool him off a little.  He was bossier than I generally liked my guys to be, and I was extra pissed now that I was tied to him.  One minute he was cool and interesting, and the next just ... not.  His attractiveness and ugliness flipping back and forth were giving me emotional whiplash.

Ben continued lecturing me.  "Need and want are two different things entirely.  What you need may not be what you want, but that is immaterial."  He glanced down at my glass and then up at my face again.  "And you can douse me with what's in there, but I'm not a wicked witch that will melt away."

"I was kind of hoping it would cool you down, actually," I said, looking back over at Tim.  He'd finally come to a rest, draped over the top of the decanter on his back, his arms and legs flopped over the edges.  The side of his face that I could see was the same green color as the liquid in the container.  I stepped over and put my water glass down, gently picking my friend up and setting him in my palm where he lay spread-eagle, nearly unconscious.  His wings looked a little tattered, but still useable, hopefully.