Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
T he sun had risen during their outing, and Mrs. Plank was in the kitchen when they returned. She clutched the table, looking severely shaken to see Crow up and about. “But yesterday you were?—”
Simeon stepped in. “Looked much worse than it actually was ma’am. One of those scrapes that bleeds everywhere but doesn’t amount to much. A kip in a good bed and a decent meal, and my mate’s right as rain. And look! We brought you a fresh bagel.” He handed her the paper bag.
She took it warily, as if she feared it might explode. “I run a respectable house,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. And that’s why we came here yesterday instead of anywhere else. We knew you’d have a clean, safe room for us—away from undesirable elements.” That was laying it on thick and he knew it, but she was still overcome by Crow’s miraculous recovery and might not notice.
After a moment, she clutched the bagel close and gave a little nod. “Would you care for some tea?”
“We’ve just had coffee, ma’am. And now that Mr. Rapp has had a bit of a constitutional, he needs some more rest. ”
“Where is the other gentleman?”
“Had some business to attend to. I expect he’ll return later.”
She still didn’t seem entirely comfortable with them, but she didn’t stop them from walking down the hall to their room. As soon as Simeon had shut the door, Crow was on him, caging his face with palms, driving him back against the wall, giving him kisses that tasted of milk and coffee.
Simeon loved it when he and Crow were slow and tender with each other, but he also loved it when they were a bit rough, when they went at it as if challenged to get off as hard and fast as possible. When, like now, Crow’s mouth and hands were all over Simeon, and Simeon grabbed him back and held him so close their bodies nearly melded. Despite what they’d said while eating breakfast, they didn’t bother removing their clothes. They simply unbuttoned their trousers and pushed them down, along with their underclothes, hiking their shirt fronts out of the way.
Crow’s ass flexed and bunched under Simeon’s palms, and Simeon tilted his head back as far as the wall allowed so that Crow could lick and bite at his neck. There wasn’t enough air in the room and it was too hot and they couldn’t press themselves together tight enough and it was gorgeous and Simeon had his eyes squeezed shut and someone was moaning and bloody hell it wasn’t enough wasn’t enough until it was, and then it was almost too much and Simeon would have cried out if Crow hadn’t muffled him with his own mouth.
Panting, flushed, they separated just enough to grin at each other and then press their foreheads together. “You’re lovely,” said Simeon.
“Another moment of joy, right?”
They dozed for a while after that and when they awoke, freshened up a bit. Simeon went in search of Mrs. Plank and returned to the room with a fresh pot of tea. On the way to the kitchen he’d had another of his spells, this time seeing a young woman sitting in the parlor and watching something on a screen that was hung on the wall. The woman had brown skin and short hair the color of spring grass, and she wore nothing but a black bra and a pair of gray shorts. Simeon had watched her for a moment, feeling himself erode like a sandbank in a storm, and then was able to wrench himself back to the present. Even though he didn’t tell Crow about this incident—what would be the point?—Crow knew. As soon as he caught sight of Simeon, Crow grabbed the teapot from him, set it down on the table hard enough to make it slosh, and dragged Simeon to the bed.
“Dammit, Simeon!”
“Not doing it on purpose.”
“I know. There must be some way to stop it.” Crow was squeezing Simeon’s hand hard enough to hurt, but Simeon didn’t complain. The discomfort was oddly comforting.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
Crow made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “We could… go back to the Frugises. Maybe they know something. Or maybe they can point us to someone who does.”
“Or perhaps they decide it’s best to kill me after all. These spells could be related to that prophecy.”
“Fuck.”
That was such a succinct summary of their situation that Simeon didn’t feel the need to add to it. “I’d fancy some tea. ”
Although Crow’s scowl was in full force—comforting in its familiarity—Simeon accepted the cup from him. Crow didn’t take any for himself, apparently preferring to pace the room.
Simeon was going to suggest that they take a walk, just to get a change of scenery and burn some nervous energy, but the door crept open and Bran edged inside. He looked surprised to see Crow up and about. “You truly do heal quickly.”
“Yeah.”
For a moment Bran remained near the door, his mouth pursed in indecision, then he stalked across the floor, poured himself a cup, and sat gracefully in one of the chairs. “I apologize for… for leaving so abruptly. It’s quite a lot, you understand?”
Simeon put his tea on the little side table and went to crouch in front of Bran. “I do. And I’m sorry. Things seem to get complicated with Crow and me. I simply wanted to meet you.”
Still very straight-backed, Bran smoothed his hair as if trying to tidy it. Or perhaps he was thinking about how similar it was in color and texture to Simeon’s. Then he looked down at his hands. Simeon noticed that Bran’s fingernails were ragged but clean.
“I never thought I’d see you again.” Bran’s voice was soft. “I almost believed I’d imagined you. I’ve only scraps of memories, you see. I have an excellent memory in general, but I was so young. You as an infant, sitting on someone’s lap and smiling while I pull faces. You crying while a man and a woman cry as well. You in a woman’s arms, and you’re looking very solemnly down at me as we walk between tall buildings. I think those things truly happened, but I’m not sure. ”
“Memories are flimsy things.”
Bran nodded, reached for his teacup, and pulled his hand back again. “When I was a child, I never yearned for family. Instead, I worked hard at my lessons in the Castle, intent on spending my life in service. I was determined that I would be superbly skilled at it. My master would find me essential. I would have a place and be respected.”
This notion was personally alien to Simeon. The only time he’d worked for anyone was in the carnival, and that was different. His sense of pride and self-esteem had never come from how others viewed him. Even Crow—oh, Simeon was bloody grateful to have him and delighted in Crow’s love and trust—but he was fairly certain that Crow couldn’t have felt those things if Simeon hadn’t first felt them about himself.
But he wasn’t Bran.
“I’m sorry you lost your position with the Fitzrolfs. It’s not right to lose so much simply because you cared for another bloke.”
Bran shrugged this away. He cut his gaze to the fireplace, firmed his chin, and turned back to Simeon. “You won’t send me back to that day when we were discovered in the stables.”
“No. Think about it. You appearing suddenly as you are now—several years older, yeah—and encounter your sixteen-year-old self.”
“I….” Bran looked startled. “Myself.” Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him that his request, if granted, would result in two Brans at the same time and place.
“Nothing good would come of it.”
Simeon didn’t exactly know what the consequences would be of something like that, but Mr. Ame had warned the carnival workers that the results would be dire, and he was a truthful man.
After a brief pause, Bran spoke again. “Fine. Then send me back to when you found me. Or a few minutes after, I suppose, to avoid duplication.”
Simeon remembered the time river from which he’d plucked Bran—and the way the river had dropped abruptly just ahead. He shuddered. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Bran’s voice had turned sharp.
“What were you doing at the moment I took you away?”
Crow got up from the bed, walked over, and sat in the other chair, head cocked. Clearly he was interested in hearing this as well, although he didn’t say anything. He drummed his fingers softly on the table as he waited for Bran’s response. Simeon observed the long fingers that he knew to be permanently calloused from years of manual labor. He liked those bits of roughed skin.
“I was sitting,” Bran finally said. Primly, yet there was evasion in his eyes. A secret.
“Sitting where?”
“In… in a ruined church near Openshaw.”
Simeon crossed his arms and lifted one eyebrow. “A rather odd place to be sitting, innit?”
Blushing, Bran hung his head. “I was hiding.”
Simeon’s sense of foreboding grew so strong that he almost stopped the interrogation. But he had to know this, even if it was going to be unpleasant. “Hiding from whom, mate?”
“My… employers.”
“I thought you were a thief.”
When Bran looked up, the blush was gone and his eyes were hard. “It is a profession that puts one in contact with others of unsavory character. I’m sure you know this. I accepted a commission from some of these men and it did not go well. They were angry.”
Simeon decided that he didn’t need to know the details. His own career in thievery had been a solo act, but he’d encountered gangs and worse over the years. He knew there was a certain comfort in joining with others who had similar backgrounds. And sometimes there were promises of riches, even though the promises rarely held true. In any case, he’d never trusted anyone enough to throw in his lot with them. Not until Crow.
“Why would you want to return to a time when you were in dire straits?”
“I wasn’t! I was going to fly away. Soon. Only my purse was quite full, and I hadn’t yet worked out how to bring it with me.”
“Lack of pockets is a blasted nuisance, innit?”
“If I left it there, my employers would find it, and then I…. Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just send me back!”
“You hate me so much then?” Simeon didn’t try to keep the hurt from his tone.
Crow reached over and set a gentle hand on Simeon’s arm. “He doesn’t hate you, Sim. He doesn’t even know you. But he’s confused and scared. The dreams and the time thing and…. It’s a lot.”
“It’s better than dying!”
Both Crow and Bran looked shocked at Simeon’s outburst. He was shocked too; he hadn’t meant to reveal this information and certainly hadn’t meant to yell.
Resolutely, Simeon faced Bran. “You were going to die. Very shortly after I took you.”
Bran replied in a whisper. “How?”
“Dunno, do I? That’s the problem with bleeding prophecies—they never give you the specifics when you need them. But there’s no doubting what I saw.”
Like Simeon, Bran had a very light complexion, and now he’d taken on a sickly greenish pallor. “P-put me back after, then. I’ll skip the bit where I die.”
“Except we don’t know whether that works. What if sending you back to any time near then results in you being topped? I won’t be responsible for that.”
Bran thought for a moment. “I’m past my death now, and I’m not dead, so?—”
“Nobody’s given me the rules. None of us knows what would happen if I sent you back close to that event. We don’t know when it becomes safe, and I won’t mess about like it’s some bloody experiment!” He had raised his voice. A few deep breaths did little to calm him.
Now Bran’s eyes glittered, possibly with unshed tears, but his mouth was a hard line. “You are a necromancer, sir,” he hissed.
Crow pounded the tabletop, making them both jump. “Stop it. Calling him names doesn’t help. He’s never meant any harm to you, and he didn’t bring you here because he was on some kind of evil power trip. He’s looking for his family .”
Simeon shot Crow a grateful glance, aware that Crow knew from his own experience exactly how fraught that search could be—and how disappointing.
“I was dying when I first joined the carnival,” Simeon said. “And I’ve traveled a hundred years past that date. I don’t much feel like a dead man. Crow can attest that I’m quite alive, in fact.” He sighed. “And so are you. Now. But possibly not if I send you back. Look, I don’t understand it all. It’s bloody confusing. But we don’t have to understand it. We’ll work out the bit with the dreams. We’ll help you find a better life than stealing from villagers or hiding in church ruins.”
“The two of you with all your… your power. And I’ve none. What am I to be? Your lackey?”
“Our family .”
Bran shook his head and stood. “I wish to fly.”
“Wherever you go, I can?—”
“I understand. I am your prisoner.” Bran turned away from them and took his bird form. After freeing himself from his clothes, he flapped to the closed window and battered the glass until Simeon opened it for him. Bran disappeared almost at once.
Simeon collapsed into Bran’s chair and sank his head into his hands. “So that went well,” he muttered.