Chapter 17
Colette
Archer arrives promptly at nine in the morning, ready to write.
There’s an awkwardness between us, like a fog that refuses to clear despite my attempts at jokes, the inn’s delivery of scones and tea, the inn’s opening of the window to shake us up with frigid air, and Mossette’s happy pouncing among the beams of sunlight streaming through the—now thankfully closed—window.
“I see this part of the scene as elevating the tension,” Archer is saying.
He glares at my wall, tapping his quill on his chin and distracting me with how handsome he is until I don’t recall the story element we are discussing at all—as usual.
“The criminals upstairs are nearly finished with their dark deed and, hmm, maybe they can shout threats down to our couple.”
“Ah, yes.” I screw my eyes and lips up and take on a deep voice with a Kingstown accent. “Almost time to tie up loose ends, isn’t it, Bludger?”
Archer chuckles. “Maybe a touch less theatrical, but yes, that’s the idea.”
“Our characters could smell fire?”
“Yes! I love that.”
“People about to be burned alive. You love that.”’
He doesn’t notice my raised eyebrow and wry look and is clasping his hands, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“I do,” he says wickedly. “What’s a story without fear? Boring, that’s what.”
“Well, this isn’t a rom-com,” I concede, “so I guess you’re right on that one.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at me and pens a few lines on our draft. “What do you think?” he asks as he hands it over.
The ink glistens in the morning light. “It’s good. I like that bit here.”
We go back and forth about the dialogue, me adding humor and him adding scene details like the scent of what might be pitch and the sound of doors slamming.
“We are reading this piece tonight. Here at the inn.”
“What?” Archer stares at me.
“We need one last strong reading to draw the crowds to the Snowlight festival.”
“Colette, last time—”
“I refuse to let negative people keep me down. I can deal with critique from the audience.” I want to add that this time, I swear I won’t be found weeping like a ninny in the alley, but I’m trying very hard to value my emotions, both good and bad.
I’m not a ninny for feeling sad. Maybe if I keep repeating that to myself, I will eventually believe it.
“All right,” Archer says.
“Will you join me?”
He bites his lip with one fang and looks at Mossette, who has curled up in a patch of sunlight. “I’d rather not.”
“That’s okay. I can handle it. There will be a sizable crowd regardless because it’s amateur music night.”
“What?” The whites of his eyes show completely around his irises like a spooked horse.
I snicker. “I decided to hold an amateur music night once a season so those learning instruments and singing can work on their skills with a crowd.”
Archer grimaces like someone who ate some bad soup.
“Yes, it won’t be pleasant the entire time. But that’s good! We’ll be helping the young ones with their musical goals and the old ones start something fresh and fun.”
“First off, we? And secondly, I didn’t realize you were such a patron of the arts.”
“I’m a supporter of everything wonderful,” I say, spreading my arms.
“Everything?” His voice lilts up at the end.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Like horses?”
“Definitely.”
“Smaller domesticated animals?” he says, pointing to Mossette.
“Of course.”
“Libraries and baked goods are obviously on your list.”
“Obviously.”
“Grumpy vampires who aren’t into the many gatherings you like to arrange?”
I laugh then and pull him to his feet. He’s still holding his quill as I spin him around. “Yes! Am I supporting you properly?”
“Indubitably.”
“Is that how you use that word?” I spin him around once more, delighted that he’s allowing this silliness.
“I think so?”
Chuckling, I release him even though I truly want to continue clumsily holding his hands and pretending we could be a couple. I refuse to think about the future. I’m just going to savor this moment. That’s a skill I have—savoring.
“Tonight,” he says, taking up his writing spot once more, “if you feel you need me there because people aren’t behaving properly, send me a note. I will show up for you. I swear it.”
“Even if the room is packed and there is terrible music being played too loudly?”
“Even then,” he says, his voice a sigh.
I grin and pat his knee before returning to my desk. Mossette hops into my lap and I stroke her soft mossy green and leafy orange fur. Archer and I get back to work on the short story, nibbling sandwiches the inn magically produces and taking turns pacing to think.
It’s one of the best days I’ve ever had in my entire life.
That night, the common room is indeed packed.
Tourists with curious eyes and foreign accents ask about room rates at the front desk.
Dew is handling it nicely, though she does look a touch worn out.
Her hair is frizzing out in the heat of the crowd and the line at the desk is growing longer instead of shorter.
The lad Cyrus let me hire for the event appears at the front door just in time to give her a hand.
Locals gather close to the amateur musicians who are all seated in the back corner to await their performance.
I gave them each an assigned time so they would know when to be ready.
A middle-aged pixie flutters her blue wings and strums a lute slowly, singing a particularly baudy and oddly tragic song that’s popular at Grumlin’s tavern, the Goat and Dragon.
“And they turned and danced all through the night,
Cloven and crested meeting with delight,
The ship swayed with the weight of devotion,
And the wind threatened to feed the ocean,
Over they went and into the sea,
Still dancing and loving and like flower and bee…”
“Why does everyone love this terrible song so much?” Lysandra is at my side, drinking Snowlight mead I had brought in.
I shrug and clap as the musician launches into the wordless bridge. “I think it’s down to the driving beat. Easy to sing along. Easy to dance to.”
At last, it’s over, and I clap along with the rest of the room. I take Lysandra’s hand and she helps me to stand on the nearest table.
“Hello, everyone!” I call out above the noise.
The crowd turns toward me, and I lift the draft of Archer’s and my story.
My hands are shaking. I hate to attribute it to the folks who said things about me at the last reading, but that’s exactly the reason.
Well, that and Archer didn’t surprise me and show up.
After the lovely day we had, I thought he might change his quiet ways if only for a night.
After clearing my throat and taking a steadying breath, I read the exciting scene that Archer and I completed, the part about smelling the fire and the door slamming overhead.
When I finish, the gathering room fills with applause and murmuring.
I hear several people guessing what’s going to happen next and how they would escape the wine cellar.
“Where’s your co-writer?” someone in the crowd asks loudly.
I look for the source, but can’t spot him.
“Master Darkheart must not think much of this project if he never shows for a reading. I’m not into romance, so I don’t even see why you’re doing a co-writing project.
I prefer his thrillers without all the silly content your type tends to throw in. ”
My dinner curdles in my stomach. I can see the man who spoke out.
It’s a tourist in muddied traveling clothes near the door.
He’s tall and has his arms crossed like he doesn’t even want to be here.
My face is hot, and I’m annoyed enough to feel tears pricking at my eyes. I hold my chin high. I begin to answer.
The front door swings open with a fresh wave of the inn’s magical scent of clean linens and lemon wood polish.
Archer stands in the doorway, his cloak whipping around him and his glare already aimed at the heckling tourist.
My heart jolts, and Archer gives me a quick nod before pushing through the crowd to the tourist. Archer is nearly as tall as the heckler and a lot broader and scarier.
“Reword your question, human,” he growls out. My toes curl inside my boots. “Do it now, or I’ll make sure you don’t say anything else for the rest of the night. Perhaps for the rest of your life.”
The room is silent except for the snap of the fire. My heart pounds in my ears. Is Archer going to hurt him? I don’t want him to, of course, but also, I have to say his defense of me makes me hot in a more pleasant way than I would ever admit.
The heckler is pale as milk, and his eyes are on Archer’s fangs, which are bared and fully threatening. I’m glad neither Mayor Rustion nor his guards are here or Archer might be in for some legal trouble.
“I…” the heckling tourist stammers, but nothing else intelligible comes out.
“Why don’t I see you to the door?” Archer says in a low and menacing tone. He takes the man’s arm roughly, and the crowd parts to allow them to the door.
Archer tosses the man out and into the snow. The door is wide open still, so I can see the man scramble to his feet and hurry away. I can’t fight the grin crawling over my lips. I don’t even try.
Archer spins and locks that feral gaze on me. A thrill passes over me like the shadow of an eagle, then he is making his way to where I’m standing on the table near Lysandra. I climb down and look up at him. His eyes are the eyes of a predator.
“Archer, thank you.”
The space between us is a storm, lightning striking and wind pushing my heart toward his.
“I…” he starts, but doesn’t finish his sentence.
It’s like we are somehow alone in this packed room. I can only feel his breath on my face, his heat just inches from my body, his gaze locking me in place. My heart jumps from one rhythm to another.
His hand rises and he cups my cheek. “Colette.”
I melt into his touch. “Yes?”
Is he going to kiss me?
“Colette, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the reading. On time for the reading, I mean.”
“It’s all right.”
His lips part, and it’s as if he wants to say something else, but the words never fall from his tongue. He lets his hand fall to his side.
“Good night,” he says, and he turns to leave.
I’m standing here, trying to catch my breath, when I realize Lysandra is talking to me.
“That was something,” the faun says, grimacing.
“Yes. Something. Right.”
I let her tell me about how Dew starting entertaining the crowd with jokes to soften the mood. The music starts up and it’s like I’m waking up from a beautiful dream.
Even if I never manage to crack the nut that is Archer’s heart, I know I will never, ever forget him.