Beasties

The crowd was a restless beast. Feet pounded on floorboards. Last minute bets rang out. Tension oozed down the walls and through the air. An oily serpent gathering every heckle and cry to itself, pulsing and growing and filling what space the jostling bodies could not occupy.

Taggart sat below all of this. He was in a dimly lit room, the only source of light was a bulb dangling on a length of electric chord. It jerked and shuddered with every footfall. Light flickered against the bare walls. Bits of dirt jostled free from the wooden slats above and danced around Taggart like some poor man’s confetti. His eyes were closed and he sat on a concrete bench. It was nothing more than a cold, grey slab. The chill pressed against his naked skin and into his muscles and bones. His feet rested on hard packed earth. Distantly, Taggart could hear his name weaving through the crowd. Distantly, he could feel fingers squeezing his shoulders, but Taggart was in a far off place and he wasn’t ready to come back. Not yet.

“Tag, come on boy.”

The voice floated down to Taggart. It plucked at him, an echo getting louder, digging into him and pulling, pulling.

Taggart let out a slow breath. He opened his eyes. Dull eyes, like the cracked surface of a dried riverbed. Or a potter’s clay still waiting to be glazed. But they would change soon. Just like the rest of him.

The fingers kept digging into Taggart’s flesh, a rhythmic and urgent motion. Taggart rolled his shoulders back. It was his way of letting his Keeper, Kabeer, know that he had surfaced. Taggart didn’t want to talk. The words would cut through his focus. They would shatter the fragile calm that he had constructed over the last hour.

Kabeer released his hold on Taggart. There was a loud clap as the Keeper’s hands came together. Taggart let the noise roll over his body.

“Ah! There’s my boy!”

Kabeer stepped around and leaned his face into Taggart’s.

Kabeer’s was an old face. A grizzled face, lined and pock marked. Grey stubble covered his cheeks and a thick scar ran against the line of his jaw. There was a slight stoop to his body where age had taken his strength and gravity was pulling him down, but Kabeer fought back. You could see it in the clench of his jaw and in the spark of his eyes. His body may be falling to the ravages of time, but his mind would not. He stared at Taggart. Burning blue eyes piercing into flat brown.

“Are you ready, boy?”

Taggart nodded. It was the only acceptable answer.

Kabeer’s lips stretched and parted to reveal yellowed teeth. A side effect from the almost constant use of tobacco. Taggart could smell it on the old man’s hair and clothes. A stale cloud formed when Kabeer exhaled. It was a wonder the pipe wasn’t currently stuck between his lips. As if sensing the thought, Kabeer stepped back and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a dark, red pipe along with a bag of dried leaves. His fingers danced a familiar routine across the worn wood and into the folds of the little packet. His eyes did not leave Taggart.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get at it, boy. It’s time to let the Beastie out.”

Taggart stared at his keeper for just a moment longer. He watched pipe meet lips and smoke curdle into the room. And then Taggart let go.

It started in his eyes. Always his eyes. The mud cracked and a burning amber flooded into the open space, pushing and drowning the brown away. His pupils shuddered. Some unseen force pulled and pushed till the black spheres became diamonds. The shift rippled down his spine and Taggart folded into himself. He dropped from the bench. Joints popped. Muscles tore. Heat seared across his skin.

Taggart was silent through it all. It hurt. Oh gods it hurt. He was ripped apart and sewn back together again and again. Of course it hurt.But it was a familiar pain. A constant in his life. Not like the first time. Never like the first time. Taggart took the pain. He gave into the shift. He let himself become.

A shiver rippled across Taggart’s new skin. It was thick and grey and covered in hard, bristle-like hairs. He had a tail now, barbed and deadly. The tip glistened with the promise of the poison inside. A ruff of a mane started between pointed ears and travelled toward a dip in his back. He stood on all fours, much bigger than he had been only moments before. Kabeer stood beside him, barely at a height with Taggart’s shoulders, but even still, Taggart was small for a Beastie. He didn’t see it as a flaw.

Taggart raised his snout and sniffed at the air. Thick gobs of drool hung from a row of razor teeth. He shook his head and flexed his paws. Kabeer smacked Taggart’s side. Taggart growled softly. He needed a moment, just a moment, to get used to this form. Kabeer was always impatient.

“We don’t have all day, boy.”

If it was strange for Kabeer to call a grown man, boy, it was even stranger for the old man to say it to a Beastie that could rip him to shreds in mere seconds. Taggart didn’t dwell on the thought. He didn’t have space for petty concerns. He had a job to do and he would do it well.

With a final shake of his head, Taggart strode into the tunnel and emerged onto the arena floor.

The crowd erupted.

Taggart gave them no heed. The people that came to watch these fights were nothing more than bloodthirsty scum too scared to get their own hands dirty. They’d sit up there, protected by money and status. And they’d look down at Taggart and at whatever other Beastie had been sent into the pit and they’d watch them tear each other apart. They didn’t deserve his attention and if not for the debts he owed, Taggart would not be their entertainment.

The ground shook. Taggart fixed his eyes to the tunnel opposite his. Growls and thuds echoed from the darkness beyond. A hush descended on the crowd. It was a new fighter, at least, new to Taggart. He did not recognise the name, but whoever and whatever was coming to face Taggart, it was colossal.

It seemed for a moment that the entire space held it’s breath. Only the pounding of those massive feet against the dirt and the roars of that thing filled the space. And then the Beastie exploded onto the sand.

Dirt scattered into the air. The Beastie blasted a circuit around the arena. It growled. It roared. It stood up on it’s hind legs and pounded at it’s chest. The crowd was a mess of shrill delirium. The Beastie was giving them exactly what they wanted. Exactly what Taggart refused to give. It was a sore point for Kabeer that Taggart refused to show boat. That the crowd so often threw their support at his opposition. But Kabeer had no room to complain. Not when Taggart kept his purse full. It was the win that mattered. Not the spectacle.

Taggart kept silent watch as his opponent continued the wild performance.

While Taggart’s Beastie looked like something crossed between a boar and a hound, this Beastie was a Gorilla through and through. A massive, hairy primate that could crush Taggart in one hand. Wicked fangs descended from it’s jaws and muscles bulged from every limb. Deadly, for sure, but if this pre-fight performance told Taggart anything it was that this fighter was erratic.

A deafening buzz sounded across the arena and the crowd fell silent. The Gorilla turned to face Taggart and without warning, it stormed at him. The fight had begun.
Taggart sidestepped the first charge easily. The gorilla turned with him and charged again. This time, Taggart moved toward his opponent. He ducked beneath one meaty arm and sliced his claws against the other Beasties ankle. It was a small strike. A graze, really, but the Gorilla shrieked with uncontrolled rage. Taggart dropped back and surveyed his opponent. For all it’s size, this Beastie was rash and undisciplined. A hand came smashing down. Taggart skirted out of harms way. He ducked around the Gorilla and then struck from behind. His teeth sank into the Gorilla’s exposed flesh. Copper flooded his mouth. Taggart let go and darted out of range.

Taggart spun, muscles bunched and ears alert, ready for the next attack. But it didn’t come. The Gorilla was standing in the centre of the arena, staring down at it’s side. At the blood oozing out of a row of puncture wounds. A minor injury for the arena, and yet, it had caused this Beastie to loose all focus. Taggart watched those hairy arms shudder. His ears pricked at a quiet whimper. The Gorilla looked up and Taggart met it’s eyes. The only thing that glistened in those deep, green pools was fear.

Taggart growled.

This wasn’t an undisciplined fighter. Not some brute used to winning on size alone. This Beastie was inexperienced. New to the ring and the pain and the bloodshed. Taggart growled again. The organisers should know better than to match fresh fighters against him, no matter their size.

Taggart paced a circle around the Gorilla. It had one giant hand pressed against it’s side. Blood pooled between sausage fingers. It eyed him warily. It was afraid to charge. It was afraid to be struck again. But the match wouldn’t end until one of them crashed into the dirt. Until one of them stopped getting up.

Taggart moved in. He would make it quick. It was the only gift he could give this rookie and maybe it would serve as a lesson in remembering to keep your guard up.

Taggart was a bolt of lightning. He moved in and out, landing quick blows and small strikes. The gorilla howled and spun and tried to keep up, but Taggart was fast and his movements dizzying. In a matter of seconds, Taggart saw his opening. His tail flicked out and the barb struck the Gorilla deep in the chest. Taggart held it there for only a moment, a quick pump of poison into the Gorilla’s veins and then he pulled back and retreated to the other side of the arena. The Gorilla looked down at it’s chest. It looked at Taggart and for a moment, it seemed like the Gorilla would charge, but then it’s body began to sway.

The poison took hold fast. It wasn’t enough to kill the fighter, but it would result in a burning fever that lasted for days. Unpleasant, but the fastest way to get both of them out of this pit. Taggart watched the Beastie twist and sway and then the colossal thing crashed to the ground. The arena shook. A hushed silence descended over the crowd. There was no cheering. There was no sport to this match. Taggart had been too efficient. It had happened too quickly for any of the audience to follow the fight. And Taggart would pay for it. The audience had not got their money’s worth. The organisers would take it from the winnings and Kabeer, in turn, would only increase the debts that Taggart owed. It was a high price to pay for a small act of mercy. A high price for a match that should never have been fought.

Taggart turned, ready to leave, but a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned back to the arena. The Gorilla was shifting. They weren’t supposed to do that. Not in the arena. Not in front of the audience. Taggart watched, at first in fascination and then in horror. The body kept getting smaller. And smaller.

Too small.

Taggart ran. He shifted into human as he went, exchanging four legs for two and the cover of his animal hide for fragile human skin. He didn’t care. Damn the rules and damn this place. That fighter was too small. Taggart skidded to a halt beside the body. He dropped to his knees.

A boy. It was just a boy. Taggart cradled one hand beneath the boy’s head and another around his shoulders. He pulled the unconscious form onto his lap. Taggart felt like a giant. His hands were too big, his fingers too clumsy.

This boy too small.

Taggart had been ten the first time his Beastie had surfaced. He remembered the fear. The pain. He remembered the confusion. This boy was barely past his first shift. How was he in the arena?

Taggart looked at the tiny body and at the wounds he had inflicted. At the torn flesh and at the blood. How was there so much blood?

The wounds would have been nothing on an adult, but a child? Taggart looked at the chest wound. The poisoned wound. Already it was red and angry. Already the inflammation spread. Taggart could feel the heat of the fever gathering. The boy’s eyes flickered below his eyelids. He moaned softly.

“I’m sorry,” Taggart whispered. “Oh gods, I’m sorry.”

Taggart adjusted his hold on the boy. He stood. Match officials were hurrying into the arena. Kabeer approached from the left and from the right, the boys Keeper, Elena. It didn’t surprise Taggart. She was a hard lady. Perhaps the most cutthroat of the Keepers. She had to be. She was a woman competing at a man’s game. Taggart understood her why, but it didn’t mean he had to like her. He pulled the boy closer.

“Tag, put the boy down.” Kabeer spoke cautiously.

The Beastie simmered behind Taggart’s eyes.

“He needs medical attention.”

“And I’m sure he will get it.”

“Now Kab! I gave him an adult dose!”

The panic rose in Taggart’s voice. A growl lingered in his throat. Kabeer stepped back. He motioned to Elena. “I am sure his keeper will see to his medical needs.”

Elena stepped close. She looked at the boy and then she motioned to one of her henchmen, “Boyd, take him to the cells. Give him comfort. If he makes it, he makes it, but honestly dear, healers are expensive and I don’t think he’s worth the investment.”

The last was directed at Taggart. A game. Elena knew that Taggart would take the bait. Of course he would. Elena was soulless. She would leave this boy to die.

“I’ll take him.”

Elena arched a brow. “And will darling Kabeer cover the transfer fees?”

Kabeer shook his head. Taggart glared at the both of them. “I’ll take him.”

“You understand the transfer and the healer’s fees will come out of your pay? All future needs, come from you?”

Taggart nodded. He could survive the arena. He could live the pit. The boy didn’t need to.

“I’ll take him.”

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Madame Gresham’s Finishing School for Ambitious Young Ladies

It was almost a kiss. Moonlight had dappled against their skin; a kaleidescope of shadow and light filtering through the oak canopy. The chirrup of night bugs had filled the air and Fiona’s eyes had fluttered closed. Her body had moved closer on instinct. She had felt his breath, felt his lips brushing against hers.

But then Ashely had dropped from the tree above them.

Reverberations slammed through the earth and Fiona jerked back. She was only half aware of Dane scrambling to his feet. Her eyes were on Ashley and then onto Sonja who was circling in from behind. Fiona cast her eyes around until she found the third, Jules, materialising out of the mist.

Where had the mist come from?

Fiona didn’t have time to figure that out. Her heart was a fluttering mess. She was in trouble. A lot of trouble.

“Fiona Harding. Breaking the rules. You know, I almost didn’t believe it when Madame briefed us, but… here you are. Even the mighty fall.”

That was Jules, cool voice and cool stride, her eyes dead set on Fiona. Ashley chuckled. “Oh give her a break Jules, she was just having a bit of fun.”

Jules’ attention shot toward Ashley. “We are not here for fun. And Madame wouldn’t see fit to give her a break.”

Ashley’s eyes glittered, cheeky retort no doubt ready, but Dane’s voice cut into the night.

“Ladies! If you’ll excuse me.” He made a sweeping bow and shot a quick wink at Fiona. Fiona’s cheeks warmed. She couldn’t help the grin that split across her face. Dane matched her grin and then he backed away, melting into the darkness as quickly and quietly as the girls had materialised out of it.

“Well you are in a lot of trouble Fiona. I’d try not to grin like an idiot if I were you.”

Fiona’s face went blank. She turned to look at her best friend, but for all of her words, Ashley was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Fiona’s lips twitched up again, but then Jules spoke and Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Shall we get this over with?” Bored. Serious.

Fiona sighed, got to her feet and dusted leaf litter from her butt. With a quick stretch and rolling of her neck, Fiona started back toward school. The other girls formed a tight triangle around her. Ashely and Sonja taking either side at the front and Jules following behind. It was all a bit much. Sure, Fiona had snuck out and sure, she had gone to meet a boy, but she wasn’t about to make a run for it. Where would she go?

A few short minutes later and the wrought iron gates loomed. The girls paused. Sonja stepped up to work the intercom and while they waited, Fiona found herself staring at the metal plaque adorning the red-brick wall. Big, curling letters proclaimed:

Madame Gresham’s Finishing School for Ambitious Young Ladies

And then the school motto in a slightly smaller font, but just as bold and daring:

Bring your own Knives

It had been that line that had made Fiona choose this school. Out of all of the schools that had promised to transform young girls into new versions of themselves, better versions of themselves, only Madame Gresham’s had said anything about the finer arts. Fiona was certain some of the other schools would teach the arts, but they were shoehorned into overcrowded curricula and lacked any real importance. Madame Gresham, on the other hand, had structured her entire curriculum around the arts. Madame Gresham was forward thinking. She was bold.

And she was incredibly hard on all of her girls.

The gate swung open and Fiona swallowed a lump of fear. She and the other girls moved onto the school grounds. Her gut tightened with each step. Beads of sweat glistened along her arms.

Oh Fiona, what were you thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking. Not really. With Dane it had been all butterflies and adrenaline. Not how Fiona should be. Not what Fiona had been taught. Too soon, they were at the school buildings. Too soon they were moving through doors and along carpet lined hallways. Too soon, they stopped in front of Madame Gresham’s office. Sonja stepped up and tapped her knuckles against the wood.

“In,” came Madame Gresham’s voice. Dulled by the walls it had to travel through, but still strong. Solid. The hairs on Fiona’s arms stood to attention. She breathed deeply.

Calm. Poise. Strength.

The door swung open. Fiona let out the breath. The procession proceeded into the office. Madame Gresham did not look at the girls. She was busy looking over a file, my file, Fiona realised, and while her eyes did not stray from the pages, she spoke.

“Good work girls. Now off with you. Fiona and I need to have a little chat.”

As one, the girls bowed and backed out of the room. Ashley gave Fiona’s hand a quick squeeze as she passed, but nothing more. It was the only support Fiona would receive. The only support anyone could give. Fiona had made this mess on her own and it was hers to clean up.

Fiona waited. Madame perused the file a moment longer, then she placed it on her desk, her slender fingers brushing the pages and she looked up at Fiona.

“Did you have a lovely time, dear?”

“I…” Fiona’s words caught in her throat. It was a trick. Say yes and betray her training. Say no, and Fiona would be a liar.

Madame did not wait for Fiona to respond.

“You are one of my top students, Fiona.” She gestured to the file. “And yet, how easily a quick smile from a handsome boy had you loosing all sense.”

Fiona swallowed. Her voice stuttered. “I did not loose all sense, Madame.”

“Oh?”

“My training has prepared me for…”

“Did you think you could trust him?”

Fiona paused. Her spine tingled.

“Where are your knives?” Madame asked. Fiona swallowed. She looked down. Her hands went to her hips. Her fingers brushed leather and buckles, but no hilt nestled into her palm. There was no steel to weigh the scabbards down. Her knives were gone. She looked up at Madame, her eyes now wide from shock.How had she not felt her knives being taken? How had she not felt their absence?

Just then, the door opened. Fiona watched as Dane entered the room. She watched as he walked to the desk. She watched him place her knives on the polished wood and she watched him give Madame Gresham a sweeping bow before leaving the way he had come. He did not look at Fiona even once. Her stomach roiled. Fiona had to fight with everything she had not to be sick.

“Did you think it was love?”

Love, no. But the start of something, maybe…

Madame sighed. “It is a hard lesson, Fiona. Trust is a valuable commodity and not one to give out lightly, especially not by one of Madame Gresham’s girls. I trust you will be more discerning in the future?”

Fiona nodded. Her face was a mask, a stone statue with no emotion, but inside, Fiona was breaking.

Of Shadows and Storm

Eshente stepped through the night. Her footfalls beat a soft cadence against the backdrop of chirruping bugs and in the distance she could hear the soft grumble of a storm building. Clouds had been gathering overhead for some time and no moonlight shone through. It was mostly dark. Only a few households were still awake and even then, the light that spilled across the sidewalk was soft and pale; filtering through closed curtains before it could escape into the night. Eshe could hear sounds from within the buildings, but they were quiet sounds. The last of the dinner plates being dried and packed away. The soft chink of wine glasses. The sultry chuckle of a lover and the grumbling snore of someone already deep in sleep.

Eshe pulled up the hood of her cloak and plunged her hands into her pockets. It wasn’t cold. The night was pleasant enough for this late in the season, but Eshe should not have been out this late. Eshe should not have been alone.

A flap of leathery wings and a high pitched screech had Eshe jumping on the spot. She looked up, her breath hitching from the sudden fright. A massive, black mass moved in the palm fronds above her.

Eshe took a steadying breath.

Just a fruit bat.

The fruit bats were enormous and loud and slightly terrifying when they dropped from their perches before spreading their wings and swooping low, but ultimately, they were nothing to worry about.

Eshe let out her breath, shook her nerves free and started along the sidewalk once more.

She had not even made it five steps when a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm grabbed her waist. Eshe screamed, but the sound was lost against calloused fingers. She tried to pull away, but her attacker only held on tighter. Eshe was pressed into her assailant’s body. A body that was much larger than Eshe’s. Eshe screamed again. A hopeless act. She pulled her knees up to her chest. The sudden shift of weight threw the attacker off guard, but not enough. Eshe dropped to the ground. She felt the grip release, but she was too slow getting up. Too slow to scream for help. Hands grabbed for Eshe and she was ripped backward once more.Back into a wall of muscle. Back to the hand over her mouth. Eshe tried to fight, but her arms were pinned and her attacker wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. They held Eshe high now, her feet just skimming the ground and they were walking backward, taking Eshe to whatever hellish end they had chosen.
Eshe could not break free.

Tears blossomed.

I’ll be at the palace, Cherise. There is no safer place. Don’t bother Unam. I’m sure he has far more important work than following me around.

Had it been only that morning that Eshe had spoken those words to her maid? A lie. She had not meant for the words to be a lie, but the princess had been different today. Every other summons to the palace had been for only an hour or two. Gossip over tea. A stroll in the gardens.
Those trips had been boring for Unam. Playing chaperone for the noble ladies was a waste. Eshe had only been trying to spare him the agony of small talk and tea cakes.

And now look at what had happened. If Eshe didn’t… if she…

Unam would never forgive himself. Cherise would think it her fault for not insisting enough.

A huge sob wracked Eshe’s body. She threw her arms about again, but the attempt was feeble. She knew she couldn’t win.

A hot breath squirmed against Eshe’s neck. Her attacker leaned in close. The voice was low. Barely more than a whisper. Eshe pulled her head away as best she could.

“Shh. The less you struggle, the easier this will be. I’m sorry.”

Eshe grimaced. What kind of an attacker apologised to their victims?

The kind that wants you docile.

Eshe whimpered again. They were off the main street and down some dark alley. No light filtered onto this sidewalk. No sounds of life echoed from beyond the walls. Eshe felt her captor stop. A brief thud of what must have been the back of their foot against a door and then the alley was fading from view as Eshe was dragged into a darkened room.

“Shh,” her attacker said again, but this time she was lowering Eshe to the ground. Their journey, it seemed, had come to an end. Eshe’s butt pressed into cold stone, but still the grip did not slacken.

“I’m sorry, again, that it had to happen like this, but we need to talk and I couldn’t have anyone knowing that we met.”

A pause. A sigh. “Please don’t scream.”

The hand lifted from Eshe’s mouth and the attacker stepped back, leaving Eshe sitting on the floor. Eshe scrambled to her feet and brought her hands up in loose fists. She had barely any combat training. Mother was horrified that Eshe had any at all and now, standing in this room, already defeated she understood that her father’s little compromise had been just that. Little. She hadn’t been prepared for this. Any of it.

You shouldn’t have to be Esh! – Her mother’s voice.

Eshe swallowed her fear and faced her abductor, but the room was dark and she spoke only to shadows.

“What do you want with me?” Her voice shook as much as her hands.

There was a small click and then light rushed into the room. Eshe threw a hand over her eyes and squinted at the sudden brightness. She heard more than saw the body shifting closer again.

“To talk,” was all the woman said. And she was a woman. A fact Eshe hadn’t been able to discern in the struggle or in the whispered words. Eshe blinked her eyes a few times as they slowly adjusted to the light and then she gasped.

“You’re… you’re one of Princess Dekali’s personal guard!”

Eshe stepped back. Had she done something wrong? Had she lost the princess’ favour this easily? The guard must have seen the look of panic that flooded Eshe’s face because she stepped forward and said. “I am not here on behalf of the princess.”

“Then why…”

Eshe watched the guard wearily. One hand snaking toward a door handle that was much too far away. The other still hovering near her face where it was guaranteed to be useless. This woman was a giant. Impossible to forget. She was all lean muscle and sharp angles. Ash white hair cropped short to her skull and eyes that were a fierce, ice blue. McGallen. Princess Dekali had called her McGallen and Eshe had to admit that she had found it hard to stay focused on the conversation when McGallen was in the room. Her eyes had kept roaming toward the statuesque guard.

“Because I need your help,” McGallen finally said. She was watching Eshe intently, but she had made no further move.

Eshe swallowed. “With what?” Her eyes darted around the room, but what she was looking for, she could not say.

“A matter that I hope is of mutual interest.”

McGallen paused, took a deep breath and then launched into an explanation.

“I was watching you today, at the cages.”

Eshe felt an involuntary blush creep into her cheeks. She had been watching McGallen too, but that had been before McGallen had kidnapped her! Eshe schooled her emotions. McGallen continued to talk.

“I noted your… discomfort. You did not like what you saw.”

“I…” Eshe tried to think of some way to excuse herself, but McGallen spoke over her. “I will remind you that I am not here on behalf of the princess.” McGallen took a step closer. Her expression softened. A sadness crept across her features. “I share in your discomfort.”

“Oh.”

Eshe dropped her defensive pose and looked at the guard. Really looked. She was tensed. Afraid. What must it be to admit to a noble woman, to anyone, that she did not approve of the Princess’ hobbies? It was Eshe’s turn to step forward.

McGallen closed her eyes for just a heartbeat. When she opened them, the sadness had been replaced by steel.

“The princess relishes in the suffering of those creatures. I do not. She thinks it sport to bait and tease them. As one of her personal guard…

I see these acts far more frequently than I can stomach them.”

Eshe swallowed hard. She shook her head. “I’m sorry McGallen. I have no power to stop it. You should know that.”

McGallen took a few more steps, closing the gap between them. “But you can. With help. With us. You can make the difference.”

Us. There were more of them. “But why do you need me?” Eshe asked.

“Because you’re a noble. You have connections.”

McGallen glowed. “With your help,” she said. “We can save the dragons from the Princess.”

Graveyard Shift

Josh breathed in the heady scent of roast coffee beans.

He had taken the two weeks of Christmas and New Years off. The manager had been less than pleased. It was a busy time of year and near impossible to find a replacement. Nobody wanted the graveyard shift on a normal night and when the promise of parties and wild revelry were afoot, they wanted it even less. Josh hadn’t wanted to go to the parties. Josh was never driven by want. He responded only to need and in that moment he had needed to escape the noise and the bodies and the confusion. He didn’t do well around people. He didn’t do well around anything. If Josh could have gotten away with it, he would not have had a job at all, but he had rent to pay and he preferred not to starve. The 24hr coffee shop and its twilight hours were an elegant solution to a complicated problem.

Except over the Christmas rush, but New Years had come and gone. The populace had returned to their beds (mostly) and the coffee shop had returned to relative peace.

Josh drowned in rich aroma.

The doors wushed open. Josh looked up. He expected noise. A cacophony of drunken camaraderie in search of caffeine and day old carbs, but the man and woman who entered the coffee shop were silent and alert. The man strode up to the counter. His stride confident; haunting. It was at once breathtakingly beautiful and terrifying. The woman remained just inside the door. Her eyes slowly swept across the shop, like she was taking every last detail in and then she turned and joined the man at the counter. She stopped with her body half facing Josh and half facing the small arrangement of tables and chairs that made up the sit-down portion of 24hr Java. The woman rested an elbow against the counter and arched her back. A languid jungle cat drinking in sunlight. Josh felt his skin prickle. He could almost hear her purring, could almost imagine the man giving off a low, throaty growl. Josh’s ears filled with static. His heart thumped and sweat began to bead across his brow.

Dimly, Josh registered the sound of someone talking. It took a moment for him to realise that the man was trying to place an order. Josh startled himself out of his stupor, blinked his eyes back into focus and turned toward the man. He tried, he really tried to look the man in the eyes, but something dangerous lurked within those chestnut pools and he shied away. Josh spoke to the counter.

“S…orry. I didn’t get that?”

“No,” said the man. “You didn’t.” The man’s voice was light. Charming almost and yet, there was heat in the words. Josh felt them slowly ignite across his arms.

“I said I would like a Green tea for myself, large. Black for the Lady, also large. Don’t get fancy with it. It makes her grumpy.”

The woman shifted to stomp on the man’s foot. He side-stepped casually and gave Josh a wink. Josh stared where the man had been. His ears were doing that thing again. That thing where the world felt muffled. Where it felt like someone had pressed the mute button. Except, each sound was suddenly heard in isolation. An amplified focus surrounded by a void. Josh twitched. His heart charged down an 800m sprint. He closed his eyes and half spoke, half whispered. “Green tea. Large, black. Got it.”

He turned his back on the customers. He stared at gleaming steel.

How could two people make this much noise?

Josh shook his head. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to understand this. He just needed to survive it. Make the drinks. Take the money. Watch them go.

Josh reached for a takeaway cup. His fingers touched smooth cardboard and a shriek raked up his spine. Josh jerked away. Cups tumbled. A slow motion arc and then thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Each cup landing louder than it should. Each impact a jerk of limbs. A breath hitched in Josh’s throat. He reached for another cup. A slow breath out as he made contact. The cardboard sent another tremor through him, but Josh was expecting it this time. He held. The cup did not fall.

He fumbled the teabag into the cup and then turned to the urn. Drops of scalding water scattered onto his shaking hand. Josh ignored the bites of pain, smacked a lid onto the cup and turned to the coffee. Somehow, he managed to get that cup filled too. Somehow, he managed to turn and slide them across to the man and woman.

“Cash or card?”

The man held up his credit card. Josh punched the numbers and then slid the card reader toward the man. It was only a moment, a brief second in which the man held his card to the reader, but Josh felt the proximity like a storm. Every nerve lit up. Every hair on his body peaked. And then the machine beeped, the man pocketed his card and Josh pushed himself as far from the counter as he could get. A few more seconds and Josh could sink to the floor. He could curl into himself. He could curse and cry and come out on the other side again. Exhausted, but functional.

The man and the woman chose a table and sat down.

Josh whimpered. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Why hadn’t they left? Why get take-away coffee if you’re not planning to take-it-away?

A low pulse throbbed in his temples. The stark white of fluorescent bulbs became arrows and his eyes targets. Josh turned his head away, but still the light burned. He clenched his eyes shut. Heart thumping. Nerves burning. Josh flung his hands to his temples. His fists found hair and dug in. Josh folded, spine curved, chest sunk to stomach. Static rushed his ears.

Customers in the shop. Don’t loose it. Snap out of it. You can do this. You can do this.

Josh couldn’t do this.

A cry broke through. A sound of abject acceptance. Josh was an antelope caught within a lion’s maw.

He sank to the floor. The mess of paper cups welcomed his broken body. A mess of a man surrounded by the mess he had made. His body heaved. Cries rose and fell in the stutter between half swallowed breathes. There was nothing but this moment. This panic. This world with too much noise and Josh with too many nerves turned on. Feeling too much, hearing too much. It wouldn’t stop. Josh couldn’t make it stop.

Fingers wrapped around Josh’s hand. They were ice against his scalding skin. Another thing to feel. Too much. Josh jerked away, but the hand held steady.

“No… Stop…”

Josh did not have the strength to fight the grip, but then he stopped needing too. Someone had turned the volume down. Josh sank into the silence. His breathing eased. The tension in his head melted. Slowly, Josh eased his fingers out of his tangled hair. Nerve endings went back to sleep and somehow, Josh’s body settled into equilibrium. It was a state unlike any he had ever know. Josh inhaled and was filled with joy.

He opened his eyes. The woman knelt before him, her fingers still clasped around his hand. Josh felt her intent gaze, but it did not bother him. The man was there too, standing above them. He watched while he sipped his tea.

Josh looked at the woman.

“What… what did you do?”

“Nothing complicated,” she replied. Her gaze remained fixed on his eyes. She stared at him like he was a curiosity. Like some puzzle that needed solving.

“What’s a boy like you, doing in a place like this?”

Josh looked from the lady to the man and then back again. Her voice had the same curious inflection as her eyes, but that particular line was, well… “Is this… some kind of creepy… pickup? Are you…”

The man chuckled. “Jana is a straight to the point kind of lady. If she wanted to proposition you, you would know.”

Jana, the woman, did not acknowledge the question or the answer that followed. She continued her inspection, fingers never leaving Josh’s hand. What would happen if she let go? What was doing? How was she doing it?

“Then what is this?” Josh’s gaze flitted between them. Two strangers who had been too loud. Much too loud for just two people and then with a touch, they had taken it all away again. Who were they? What were they? The man waited. He sipped his tea. The woman inspected. It was as if they were waiting for Josh to share a secret, only no one had let him in on it.

Jana tilted her head.

“Would you look at that,” she said. “He doesn’t know what he is.”