Chapter 3 #2
He remained quiet—half out of confusion, and half because he really did worry Sutaire would try to ruin him for wasting the resources he’d used in the last week.
“We all knew it from the moment you arrived—why, Lovey could barely contain herself. ‘He’s so different.’ Yes, yes, you’re quite fine, whatever.
” Reeves flagged the pen back and forth as he spoke.
“You stood out. You’ve continued to stand out.
Bren will be disappointed, I’ve no doubt. But none of us will be surprised.”
Hawk tried not to take it personally, but the words felt like a knife in his side. “Because you expected me to fail.”
Reeves’s eyes widened in surprise. He leaned over his desk and said, “What? No. As I said; you’re uniquely suited for Sutaire. Unique and pretty and kind and untouched? By all accounts, we knew you’d do damn good work.”
“But you said you’re not surprised that I’m leaving. That I…” He reached up to rub at his face, and sighed. “I can’t go through with this. I’m falling in love with March, and I will not be able to stop, and if I cannot remain with him, in his bed, I’ll simply fall apart.”
“Obviously.”
Hawk froze. It seemed like the world froze, in the moment, except for the flickering of the candle flames around the room. Then he said, voice a squeak, “Obviously?”
“March turned in his resignation earlier today, for the very same reason. You were together but a week and already he was lost to you.” Reeves sighed.
“I expect this to happen in our line of business, and it does happen, but with March? He’s a consummate professional.
I’d say it’s a shame, but he’d been with us for an age, and I want what’s best for him.
” He pulled out a sheet of paper from a folder upon the desk, and presented it for Hawk to see.
He placed the pen atop it and said, “And I want what’s best for you, too.
Sign here. This releases you from any extended obligation. You may stay the night, of course.”
Hawk looked at the contract, but couldn’t read a word through his spinning mind. March retired. March retired. March was gone? And said Hawk was the reason why. “Why?”
Reeves’s gray brows furrowed. “Why may you stay? We’re not monsters. It’s nearly eight at night—it may be hard for you to find a place to go at this time.”
“No. Sorry. I…” Hawk lifted the pen. He scrawled a signature near the bottom. He shook his head, like it may clear his thoughts, but it was no use. His heart and mind both chanted in unison: find March. Find March. Find March. “Thank you, Reeves. I’ve got my things ready, and I’m—I’ll go.”
Reeves took the contract back and said, “As you wish. Thank you for calling upon us, Hawk. Perhaps I’ll see you again—the garden has never looked so pristine. Perhaps you may return to us in other capacities? We’ll see.”
Hawk agreed with a nod. His heart continued to race.
Find March.
He stepped out the front door of Sutaire, into the gas lantern-lit night, and the late autumn breeze made him shiver within his robe, even with his wool coat on top.
He kept the robe—kept all his clothes—because it wasn’t as if there were many lanky little elves lurking about anyway.
Better the clothes got used rather than disposed of.
He looked one way, then the next, and hadn’t a single clue where to start.
Where would March have gone?
Behind him, a familiar voice said, “You really weren’t going to say goodbye to me? Even though I’m probably your best source to find out where our beloved March has gone? Even though I helped you tame the mop you call hair?”
Hawk spun around to see Angel lounging in the doorway, examining his nails.
His white gown for the evening pooled at his bare feet.
If not for the pointed ear, Hawk really could have thought him to be a vision of the angels some mortals worshipped.
“Angel. Angel, yes, you’re right—I should have come to you, I just.” He could think of nothing but March, March, March.
“Ask me quickly; our patrons are due to arrive at any moment.”
Hawk rushed forward and asked, “Where did he go?”
“He’s got a patron that owns a carriage house near the train station a few blocks away.” Hawk took off in the direction of the train without hesitation, but Angel barked a laugh and added, “Upstairs. He’s in the upstairs unit, sweet Hawk!”
Hawk spun on his heel but continued to walk backward, in the right direction, and he gave Angel a wave. “Thank you, Angel. Again.”
He waved in turn, and a tall woman approached Sutaire, bashful and afraid. Angel held out a hand in greeting to her and Hawk heard him say, “Don’t you look beautiful tonight?”
There were a number of carriage houses—seven, precisely—but Hawk was not above knocking on every single one.
His bag of things, and gold, was quite heavy, though.
He paced back and forth at the small green park before the train station, trying to find a safe place to stash his stuff while he made the rounds.
He wouldn’t be long, but this was the finest collection of items he’d ever had, and he’d be devastated at their loss.
He leaned over to look beneath a bench. There was enough room—it could work. And just as Hawk began to shove the bag beneath—
“Hawk?”
He jolted straight, turned to the voice, and there stood a vision in black.
March wore a black suit, fitted tightly at the ankles and wrists, squared at the shoulder, with a white cravat and tall hat from which his long black hair fell like a silk blanket around his square face.
Hawk, with his robe fallen off one shoulder, hair askew from the effort of shoving this bag beneath the bench, felt himself grow hot. “Hi.”
March strode over and said, “It is you. What in the name of Elys are you doing—” he peered at the bag, a look of genuine concern across his face. “Is this how Bren has you start your first night?”
“No,” said Hawk. He quickly combed a hand through his hair, and tried to adjust the robe that had become loose in addition to askew. “No, this isn’t…” He cleared his throat and said, as boldly as he could muster, “I quit.”
March began to reach out with one gloved hand and stopped short. “Whatever do you mean?”
His heart and mind had spent so much time frantically chanting to find March, but they’d not once colluded to help him find the words to say to him once he was found. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. When March’s eyes went round in surprise, Hawk said, “I don’t know what to say.”
A misty wind swept through them and Hawk shivered. March held out a hand and said, “Come with me. Let’s go inside; it’ll snow again soon.”
Hawk took his offered hand. Stroked the thin white fabric of his glove with one thumb.
“Okay.” He released March’s hand and fetched his bag again.
He heaved it over one shoulder and March led the way to the correct carriage house—sixth one on the right side of the station.
He unlocked the door and when they entered the dark space, March found a switch to activate the gas lantern overhead.
It was a studio-style apartment with red wood floors and ceilings—a modest kitchen that opened to a living space containing a soft, well-worn couch, and an even more well-worn looking bed.
There were two doors near the back—a washroom and second exit, no doubt.
It was small, but cozy. And grew all the more cozy when March lit the gas fireplace at the front of the room.
“Please, put your things on the table, there.”
Hawk did so. Then turned to face March, and inexplicably, his heart said again: find March.
He’s here, Hawk said to himself.
So go to him, his heart replied.
He did. He rushed across the room, and March looked surprised for a moment before he opened his arms, and they fell into a warm embrace.
Hawk’s voice was muffled in March’s shoulder as he said, “I left. I didn’t know you’d quit, too.
But I couldn’t stay. I wouldn’t be able to…
” He laughed at himself; even now, he found it hard to describe the life of an adame.
“I’d only ever think of you every time I had to touch someone else. ”
March squeezed him in response. Hard enough that it nearly hurt, but only nearly. He whispered, “But it’s good work, and it’s such a shame for you.”
“I’ve had a dozen jobs in my life,” said Hawk. “I’ll have a dozen more. I don’t care about that. I care about—” He shifted away from March, enough to look at his beautiful white eyes, and stone skin, and said, “I care about you.”
March bit his lip, visibly pained.
Hawk reached up to place hands on either side of his face. “You’re the one losing out, March. You should go back. You should live in luxury. You had the best job in the world, I think. And you shouldn’t leave for me. They’ll understand you breaking the rules—it was one offense.”
“It wasn’t one offense.”
Hawk pouted. “Two.”
“It was more than that,” March said. “I threatened Bren.” Hawk didn’t reply except to blink.
March peered off, guilt written plainly across his face.
“And I meant it, too. When they were going to give you to him, and he said he’d be pleased to show you the ways you may use your mouth, I threatened to remove his most favored appendage. ” He sighed.
“Three offenses isn’t so bad,” said Hawk. “I’ve gotten away with at least six in some jobs.”
March laughed as he said, “I don’t want to do that when you’re here, near me, with me. I don’t want to kiss a patron so he may live an additional week in his life. I want to kiss you. Every day. For my own sake.”
Hawk took in March’s face. And when his heart and mind chanted kiss March, kiss March, kiss March, he had to agree with the sentiment. He stood on his toes and closed the distance between them, and kissed March the way they both needed to be kissed.
March was two-hundred and twenty-six years old, and he was in love with Hawk.