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BACK TO FRASER'S FRACTURED FICTION Mistress Estellaby A. Fraser
© Copyright 2003 A. Fraser. All rights reserved.
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Mistress Estella
A Brotherhood of Darkness Story
by Anne Fraser
copyright 2003
The dishes clinked in the drainer as Ray Griffin finished tidying up from dinner.
A mundane, domestic sound from a mundane, domestic chore. Bachelor he
might be, but that was no excuse for not doing housework, at least the more
obvious kind. There were probably dust bunnies evolving their own species
behind the couch.
The key word there, he reflected as he left the dishes to drain dry (there were
limits, after all), was "bachelor". These days, that word seemed to conjure up a
bevy of Hollywood-eager women vying to be contestants with a man as the
prize. Or was it the other way around? He found reality tv too damn depressing
to pay much attention; it all came down to human beings being treated like
objects. At any rate, he certainly wasn't the type of bachelor that they made tv
series about. At least not reality type tv series with women trying to be the one
he picked. More like, he thought without bitterness, the type of tv series with
the word "Dark" in the title, involving women trying not to be the one he
picked.
There weren't very many bachelors around who were former black sorcerers,
complete with a collection of stomach-churning scars, a nifty tattoo of a
pentacle, a gold earring, a falcon familiar who'd been conjured out of their own
blood and pain, and an underground workshop hollowed out of a cliff. There
probably was enough material there for a tv series, Ray thought as he tossed
some meat scraps to said falcon, but certainly nobody would call it reality.
Andrei shrieked, and flapped over to land on his master's shoulder.
"How about some tv?" Ray asked.
The falcon shrieked again, which Ray generously translated as "Sure, as long as
it's Animal Planet."
Andrei launched himself off Ray's shoulder and into the living room, where he
settled on a specially built perch. His master followed.
As he sank into his favourite chair in front of the idiot box, Ray found himself
violently longing for a cigarette. It had been six, no almost seven years since
he'd quit, and still the cravings caught him off-guard. It would have given his
hands something to do as he watched tv and contemplated the long, lonely
evening, one in a series of long, lonely evenings stretching into the echoing
abyss of...
"Ring. Ring. Ring."
Damn. "Hello?"
"Hello, Ray." Mary Fairlawn's terminally cheerful voice greeted him.
"Hi, Mary. How's everyone at Fairlawn?"
"We're all just fine. I'm just calling to make sure you remembered that you're
coming over for dinner tomorrow night. I'm making fried chicken."
For Mary Fairlawn's fried chicken, grown men had been known to crawl on
their knees up mountains. She didn't make it very often, on account of a
cholesterol count in the outer stratosphere, but when she did, she invariably
invited Ray to come and share it. She seemed to think he needed fattening up.
"Of course I'll be there, Mary. Can I bring anything?" It was a ritual question.
"Just yourself and Andrei," came the ritual answer.
"Okay, I'll be there at six."
He hung up, and turned on the tv. The long, lonely evening, one of a series of
long, lonely evenings, stretched out before him into the echoing abyss of...
"Knock, knock."
Damn.
He got up, noting that Andrei hadn't stirred or given him warning. He knew who
to expect even before he opened the door, then.
"Hey, Ray."
"Hey, Francis," he nodded, standing aside so that the blond young vampire
could come in. "What's up?"
"Nothing much," Francis shrugged, zipping off his leather jacket and struggling
out of his engineer boots. "Just thought I'd drop over and see what you were
doing."
"As a matter of fact, I was contemplating the long, lonely evening, one in a
series of long, lonely evenings stretching into the echoing abyss of dismal
eternity."
"Man, you have got to stop reading Kafka. What's on the tube?"
Francis didn't have satellite tv. (Nobody out on the Cliff Road had cable, it was
just too far from town, but nearly everybody had a dish). He lived in a
ramshackle, self-built shack next door that barely had electricity. As a result, he
spent a lot of time with Ray. The mage didn't mind; it was company, of a sort,
even if the shows they watched tended to be heavy on the jiggles and short on
plot or character development.
"I promised Andrei I'd let him watch Animal Planet," Ray said.
"You're spoiled," Francis informed the falcon, who shook his wings at the
vampire. "Hey, I brought the beer this time." He held up a six pack.
"Make yourself at home," Ray said.
Francis did so, flopping sideways onto the couch, cracking open a can, and
taking possession of the remote. He had a hole in one of his socks, Ray noted--
another bachelor.
Of all the Brotherhood, Francis was Ray's closest friend, and a total mystery. He
knew the stories of all the other vampires; he knew how Mitch Pritchard had
become a werewolf; he knew the Druids and their long, tangled history. All he
knew about Francis was that the boy had become a vampire at age 19 (mental
age about 12 and a half), and that it had been a woman who had turned him.
Francis refused to talk about anything else--who he had been, who his family
was, even where he'd been born. His accent was New England, but that still
covered a lot of territory. His name--Francis Xavier Calvert--seemed to suggest
that he'd come from money, but he didn't behave like someone who'd grown up
rich.
Ray shrugged. One of these days, he was sure, Francis would open up.
But not tonight. Francis drained his beer, flipped through a few channels, and
grew bored. Ray drank a beer, too, but was content to let the sound bites from
channel hopping wash over him. Finally Francis stood up, but not to reveal his
entire past. Instead, what he said was, "Let's go the fair."
"The fair?" Ray Griffin's eyebrows quirked, stretching one or two of his myriad
scars in interesting ways. "That's for the kids and the tourists."
"So?" countered the rather pretty young blond man standing across from him.
"I'm a kid. You can be a tourist if you like."
Ray sighed. Francis Xavier Calvert was his best friend. He was also as
annoying as hell, and half his schemes ended up causing trouble. Usually for
Ray.
"The accidental tourist, maybe," Ray said wryly.
Francis just grinned. It was absolutely useless to try and make him feel guilty,
even about the time a few years ago when he'd caused a motorcycle accident
that had left Ray with a badly broken leg.
"Come on, Griff," Francis coaxed him. He knew that Ray hated being called
"Griff". "It'll be fun. We can play Whack a Mole."
Ray thought about it. Usually the only Cliff Roaders who went to the annual
Fletcherville Summer Fair were the Fairlawns. Likely even they weren't going
this year. Galen and Vivain were a bit too old now for kiddy rides and cotton
candy.
"We'll surprise the hell out of the townies," Ray objected. It was a feeble
protest, and Ray knew he'd lost.
"I hear they have a wicked good fortune teller," Francis said.
"You've been here too long. You're talking like a Mainer. 'Wicked good'?"
Ray shook his head. "If you say 'Ayup', I swear I'll sell you to L.L. Bean."
The perennially young vampire laughed. "Come on," he said. "We'll take the
bikes, they'll be easier to park."
Shortly thereafter, two motorcycles roared down the Cliff Road towards the
town. The fair was set up behind the civic centre in the large park, both of
which had been established with generous donations. The donor wished to
remain anonymous. Ray and Francis and the townspeople, should they wish to
admit it, knew perfectly well that the donor was Gideon Redoak.
The fair was easy to spot. Just head for the spider web of lights that outlined the
Ferris wheel. Orange-vested volunteers with flashlights directed traffic to
available parking. Ray and Francis left the bikes where they were told. Francis'
Harley quietly dripped oil and rust onto the gravel while Ray's beautifully
restored Norton Commando did nothing so socially unacceptable.
"That bike of yours is an absolute sin," Ray commented as they queued up to
pay their admission fees.
A shrug was his only answer. It was the only one he expected. It cost them
five dollars each to get into the fair. A sign assured them that all proceeds went
to charity. Inside the snow-fence gates, booths and rides lined what were
normally soccer fields and baseball diamonds. Most of the rides were for the
under ten set, but there were a few for adult thrill-seekers. The Ferris wheel was
popular with young couples hoping to get stuck up at the top.
"Hey, water guns!" Francis was examining the various games where idlers could
spend twenty dollars trying to win a stuffed animal worth five. "And they've
got that balloons and darts thing."
"I thought you wanted to play Whack a Mole," Ray said.
"Yes, but one must savour the anticipation. You can't rush right into Whack a
Mole. You have to save it for later, so as not to ruin the purity of the moment."
Ray crossed his arms. "Francis, have you ever considered therapy?"
"Let's try the good old tossing rings onto bottles game," said Francis, as if he
had not heard.
"You can't win at that game. It's rigged." But Ray followed Francis anyway.
"All proceeds to charity, remember?"
Even so, Ray found himself studying the array of bottles and multi-coloured
plastic rings. Gaudy stuffed animals hung from the supports of the booth, lures
to the unwary. You had to get a ring on one of the specially marked bottles to
win a prize. It wasn't utterly impossible, just highly improbable.
Francis paid for a handful of plastic rings and handed half of them to Ray. "Bet
I win something before you do."
"What's the bet?"
"A six-pack. And no cheating."
It was Ray's turn to look innocent, or at least as innocent as his hard-bitten
appearance allowed. "What do you mean, no cheating?"
"No using magic to help you win."
"I'd never dream of it."
"Yeah, right," the vampire grunted.
"Okay, then," the mage nodded. "No using your vampire mind whammy
powers to make them think you've won."
"Deal."
They'd attracted a small crowd by now, though fortunately none of them had
heard this exchange. The sheer novelty of seeing two of the usually reclusive
Cliff Road Crowd had drawn the spectators. While the Fairlawns were
frequently spotted in town, Ray and Francis were far rarer sights.
Fletchervillians couldn't resist getting a good look. A few tourists had
drifted over as well, to see what the townies were looking at.
Francis grinned and waved at the spectators, loving the attention. A handful of
teenaged girls perked up and waved back at the pretty boy. Ray wished he had
a hat to pull down over his eyes. He threw his rings, missing the targets.
The vampire stopped hamming it up and tossed his rings. The first four missed.
One did snag a bottle, but not one of the marked ones. The sixth, however,
settled perfectly over the neck of a prize winner.
"We have a winnah!" the booth operator shouted. "The young man wins his
choice!"
Francis looked startled, but rallied admirably. "I want the blue dinosaur," he
said.
A gigantic blue dinosaur was unhooked from the ceiling and handed over. It
was more than half the size of Francis.
Ray fought a laugh and lost. "How the hell are you going to get that home?" he
asked.
Francis looked at his prize in some dismay. The Harley did not have a sidecar.
Then he remembered the teenaged girls. One of them was still hanging around,
trying not to look hopeful. He picked up his prize and carried it over to her.
"Would you like to have this?" he asked her.
"Yeah!" Her expression made it clear that she thought the dinosaur was second
best.
"I'll trade you for your name and phone number."
Back at the booth, Ray exchanged amused looks with the operator.
"How'd he do that, anyway?" asked the carny. "It's almost impossible to win
this game."
Ray shrugged, enjoying himself hugely. "Maybe it was magic."
"Sure."
"I hear the fortune teller here is pretty good," Ray said casually.
"Mistress Estella," the carny nodded. "She's kind of spooky."
Ray put this down as advertising hyperbole. He didn't really want to go to a
fortune teller. But he knew, without even consulting Mistress Estella, that his
very near future included a visit to her. Francis really wasn't that subtle. They'd
come here to see this "wicked good" psychic, not to win stuffed animals or
throw up on the Tilt A Whirl.
Which was why Ray was determined to torment Francis. It had already cost
him five bucks and a six-pack to be named later, but it was worth every last
cent.
Francis didn't win every game he played, or even every second game. That
would have made him suspicious. But by the time he'd traded up to an
enormous St. Bernard at Whack a Mole, he'd run out of potential girlfriends and
was reduced to donating his prize to a six year-old boy.
"Happy now?" Ray asked. The most he'd won was a small stuffed donkey in a
silly hat, which he kept. He could give it to Aisling Edwards.
They were walking past a booth selling the usual fairground snacks. The smell
of sugar and popcorn wafted tantalizingly on the night breeze. Francis stopped
and sniffed, and an odd, almost wistful expression appeared on his face.
"Happy?" he repeated. "No."
Ray instantly regretted the bit of fun he'd been having with his friend. Francis
seldom expressed his feelings about being a vampire. To be here, among this
happy, sweating, breathing, eating, living crowd of humans and never, ever,
really be a part of it...
"No," Francis repeated, the look vanishing. "I really wanted that St. Bernard."
"Oh, for... come on! Let's go see this 'wicked good' fortune teller of yours.
Maybe she'll tell you that you're going to win ten more prizes at the water
guns."
The fortune teller's tent had a line-up. Apparently Francis was not the only one
to have heard of Mistress Estella's reputation. Ray left Francis in line and went
to get something to eat. Diplomatically, he finished his hot dog before rejoining
the vampire.
The line moved slowly, giving Ray lots of time to reflect on why he was so
reluctant to do this. Odds were that Mistress Estella was an outright fraud. It
was possible that she might have a touch of the Sight. Many psychics had it, in
small measures. A touch of the Sight, a dose of intuition, some good guesswork
and a fair knowledge of human psychology, and you had a "wicked good"
fortune teller. No possible threat to Ray or the Brotherhood.
So then why were his senses, honed by nearly thirty years' accumulated training
and practice in the occult, screaming at him to get the hell away from here?
Francis didn't seem to feel it. But then, he was a vampire. His senses were
different, attuned to other stimuli. With all of these people around, the smell of
their blood would be nearly overwhelming. Given Francis' oaths not to attack
humans within town, it must have been like being stranded in a pasta bar while
on the Atkins diet.
Suddenly, it was their turn to go in to see Mistress Estella.
The tent was dark, lit by a few candles. A table with two chairs, one on either
side, stood in the middle. Two more chairs sat against one "wall" of the tent,
along with another long, narrow table. There was no crystal ball anywhere in
sight. Nor was anything within the tent particularly occult-looking. Not one
star or moon. No pentacles, incense, Eye of Horus, pyramids, wizard figurines
or dream catchers. Ray felt his hackles rise. Only one kind of person was as
supremely confidant as all that. The only type of person who could do away
with all the paraphernalia was the type of person who didn't need it.
"Mistress Estella travels light," Francis remarked.
"Visit as many summers fairs as I have," remarked a voice, "and you'd travel
light, too."
They both turned. A woman had entered through a side flap of the tent.
'Without either of us noticing,' Ray thought. It wasn't a happy thought. It's hard
to sneak up on a vampire.
She was rather ordinary-looking, really. No beauty of the ship-launching
variety. Neither tall nor short, dark nor fair, fat nor slim, voluptuous nor flat-
chested. Her hair was black, her eyes brown, her features Middle-European, her
accent pure Middle-American. She wore a white frilled blouse, a flowered skirt,
and sandals. Her long hair hung in a pony tail. She had two small gold hoop
earrings, but no bangles and no scarves. She looked more like a check-out girl at
the local supermarket than a carnival fortune-teller.
"Well, now," an amused smile tugged at her lips as she looked them over.
"Who wants to go first?"
"Oh, Ray's the only one here for a reading," Francis replied. "I'm just here to
make sure he gets it."
"Then sit over there," the fortune teller indicated the chairs over to the side,
"And keep quiet."
She watched Francis comply with this request, her eyes narrowed. It wasn't the
usual look that young women gave the beautiful vampire.
Mistress Estella (and Ray couldn't help the stray thought that the name sounded
more like a dominatrix than a palm-reader) turned to her customer.
"Cards or palm?" she asked.
"Don't I have to cross your palms with silver?" he replied.
"I prefer paper money," Mistress Estella answered. "It's easier to carry. Five
dollars for palm, ten for the cards."
Ray looked in his wallet. It echoed. "Palm," he said.
They sat down at the table and he showed her his left hand. It was as if he had
handed her something with a live current running through it. Her eyes widened
and she gasped, dropping his hand.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Raymond Griffin," he said.
"That is only a name you wear."
"It's the only one I've got." Ray was really wishing that he'd listened to his
instincts.
"Let me see your palm again," Estella demanded.
Francis stirred on his chair. "You don't have to, Ray," he said. "This was a
mistake. Give him his five bucks back, and we're out of here."
"I told you to keep quiet!" Estella snapped at him. She took Ray's hand again,
turning it palm side up, flinching so slightly that he almost didn't catch it.
She didn't talk about the length of his life line, or trace the heart line, or study
the patterns of swirls and whirls. She didn't comment on the old scar that
marred part of his palm.
"There is blood here," she said. "Power bought with blood. The power always
has a high price. There are echoes in this hand, echoes of screams. This hand
has done evil. But its wielder is not evil. Your past is written clearly here."
Her eyes briefly met his, and he saw...pity? Understanding? Horror? "But it is
your past. You have spent too long doing nothing, remembering the past, and
going nowhere. There are many choices, paths ahead of you."
"How do I know which is the right one?" Ray asked.
"Simply choose," she replied. "This stasis is not a choice."
"So you can't actually see my future?" he challenged her.
"If you do nothing, then you have none. The future is unclear because you
dwell on your past. You must act to make a future." She released his hand,
unable to prevent a look of relief. "This reading has ended."
Ray stood up, a bit shakily. "Thank you. I think."
"Sheesh, you call that fortune-telling?" Francis scoffed. "Read my palm,
Estella!"
Her eyes blazed with anger and contempt. "There is nothing there to read. You
have no future. You are dead."
"Not too many dead guys drive a Harley," Francis retorted, unruffled.
"Vampire," she spat. She looked at Ray. "Consorting with the dead is one
reason why you are caught in this stasis. They do not learn, do not change. It
can be contagious."
"Francis is my friend," said Ray quietly. He looked at the vampire. "We're
leaving." He turned to Estella. "That's one choice."
They walked out of the tent. Ray was almost surprised to find that the fair was
still in full swing. Rides whirled, bells rang, children ran laughing.
"What the fuck was that all about?" Francis asked.
"She has the true Sight," Ray answered. "Among other things."
"She knows I'm a vampire," Francis said. "Should we do something about
that?"
"I doubt very much that she'll tell anybody."
Choices. Paths. No future if he stayed in place and did nothing, but no hint of
what it was he should do instead. He looked at his hands.
There is blood here. Power bought with blood.
"You okay?" Francis asked. "That was a pretty weird reading. I thought it
would be the usual 'you will meet a pretty girl, fall madly in love, and have
eighteen children' crap."
"Why on earth would I want eighteen children?" Ray asked, distracted and
aghast at the thought.
"Well, it would certainly be a choice," Francis grinned.
"Fuck off," Ray answered.
"That would be another choice, yes."
"At the moment, I'm choosing to go home," Ray said, striding towards the
parking area.
Francis opened his mouth to protest, decided that it would probably be the
single most stupid thing he'd ever do, and firmly closed his mouth again.
"Home's good with me," he said with uncharacteristic meekness.
There are echoes in this hand. Echoes of screams.
Ray arrived home safely, shooed Francis on his way, fed Andrei, stripped out of
his clothes and went to stand under the shower. The water swirling down the
drain refused to surrender to narrative drama and turn red. But it was a
sleepless night.
In the morning, he took the toy donkey down to Meadowsweet Ridge as a
present for Aisling, who had recently turned five.
"Thank you, Uncle Ray," said the little boy, with a big grin.
He couldn't get used to "Uncle". Even the Fairlawn twins had never called him
that, but Pandora and Nicholas had raised their son not to call adults by their
first names only. "Uncle" was easier than "Mister".
"So, how was the fair?" Nicholas asked, watching Aisling try to keep his new
toy away from Bel, the family dog.
"We're thinking of taking Aisling," Pandora said.
"Stay away from the fortune teller," Ray advised them.
He stood up and walked away. He left his lemonade untouched and a truly
astounded couple exchanging questioning glances. He couldn't stay and answer
their well-meaning, concerned questions. He didn't know how to answer them.
You have spent too long doing nothing, going nowhere.
He drove to the fairgrounds, but he didn't have ten dollars to go and see
Mistress Estella again. He wasn't even sure he wanted to, but he needed to talk
to someone. Not Francis. Francis was a drinking buddy, a pal, the kind of guy
you hung around with in high school. Ray had never actually gone to high
school, but the analogy held. He couldn't talk to Francis. He might have been
able to talk to Pandora and Nicholas, but not with Aisling there. No, there was
only one person he could trust with this. The person to whom, sooner or later,
everyone in the Brotherhood turned.
"Walk with me," Michael said.
This was his usual routine when someone came to him with a problem. Walk
through the gardens at Fairlawn, let the ritual of the walk order your mind and
put things in perspective. Let the beauty of the gardens, now a kaleidoscope of
summer colour, ease the urgency until you could speak clearly. Let the garden
heal.
"You've been to see the fortune teller at the summer fair," Michael said as they
reached the outer edge of the gardens.
"Pandora or Nicholas told you," said Ray.
The Archdruid chuckled. "So, you are prepared to grant Estella the Sight, but
not me?"
"I... sorry."
"Actually, Nicholas did tell me. I don't read thoughts unless I've been invited
to. Does this Estella truly have the Sight?"
"She knew that Francis is a vampire."
Michael dismissed this evidence with a wave. "That could simply be acute
observation skills. All that's needed is to notice that he doesn't breathe."
They do not learn, do not change.
Ray shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "She has the Sight," he said.
"Ah."
The really comforting thing about Michael was that he knew when not to ask
questions.
"Am I achieving anything by staying here?" Ray asked.
"It is not always necessary to achieve," Michael replied, "sometimes it is merely
necessary to be."
"Thank you, Yoda."
Michael sighed. "Sorry, didn't mean to sound so utterly Zen. What exactly did
she tell you?"
"That I have no future as long as I remain unchanging."
"But you have changed," Michael pointed out. "I remember a young man who
was so afraid that he hid behind arrogance and bluster. Where is he now?"
A wry smile answered him. "Still here," Ray answered, "just older and wiser."
"Wiser implies learning, which implies change."
"Ah, but lately?"
"Do you feel the need to change?"
"I didn't until last night."
Michael contemplated a riotous display of begonias in silence. Ray fidgeted,
but managed to hold his tongue.
"What else did she say to you, Ray?" the Archdruid asked the begonias. "Why
do you have your hands in your pockets?"
This hand has done evil.
"You noticed." Ray took them out, trying to look casual.
"You're not going to go all Lady MacBeth on us, are you?" Michael inquired.
The words were light, but his tone wasn't.
"I hope I'm a bit more stable than that."
"She told you that you have blood on your hands, didn't she?" This was not
asked of the begonias.
"It's true."
"Yes," Michael nodded. "But so what?"
"What?"
"She also told you that you are not evil, am I right?" Michael asked.
Ray's head lifted. "How did you know that?"
"Because you aren't evil. As for the not having a future if you don't change or
make a choice..." Michael shrugged. "It's not something I really like to do,
trying to see the future. The temptation to change it or force it to come true is
sometimes overwhelming. Still, there are things I cannot help knowing." His
expression was unreadable.
Ray wasn't insensitive enough to ask what those things might be.
"She told me that simply making a choice was the right answer," he said after a
moment.
"Don't choose simply for the sake of what some fortune teller said," Michael
answered, again speaking to the begonias. "Know what the choices are first,
and consider the consequences. Make it an informed choice, not an impulsive
one." Michael turned to look at his friend. "No more snow banks, Ray."
Several years ago, Ray had walked into a blizzard and tried to find peace from
his haunting past in a snowbank. It had taken a great deal of effort to save him.
He'd been lucky; he hadn't lost even a toe or finger to frostbite.
"I promise," came the ready answer.
"What did she tell Francis about his future?" Michael asked.
"She said he didn't have one, because he was dead. She told me that consorting
with the dead was one reason why I didn't change, because they never do."
"Ah-hah. There, you see, she doesn't know everything. Vampires can change."
"I wish Francis would change his socks more often."
"She disturbed you very much, didn't she?"
"Yes."
"Then likely she spoke to something deep inside of you, a need for change, for
choices, that you have not admitted to yourself. Give yourself some time to
think this over. I wonder if I should go and see Mistress Estella."
"She would most likely refuse to talk to you. She flinched when she held my
hand, and she wouldn't touch Francis."
"If she backed away from a harmless boy vampire, perhaps I should send Alex
or Gideon to see her."
Ray found himself smiling. "I had no idea you were so vindictive."
"When one of my friends is disturbed, and another one insulted, I can be. Go on
home, Ray, and try not to let this bother you. If you feel yourself becoming
obsessed with what she told you, come and see me. I'll speak to Francis, as
well."
"I don't think it bothered him very much."
"Nobody likes to be told they have no future, Ray," Michael's rebuke was mild.
"Not even the undead."
"No, I guess not. Thanks, Michael. You've helped."
"That's what I'm here for." Michael had to resist the urge to give Ray a hug.
The mage didn't like to be touched unless he initiated the contact.
It had been brave of him to let a total stranger touch his hand, and look what had
happened! If Michael had Mistress Estella nearby at that moment... he shook his
head. Michael didn't know what he'd actually do to the fortune teller. He was
not a man of violence. Not for centuries, at any rate.
Ray went home to feed Andrei, then decided to take the falcon out for some
exercise. Andrei liked the beach, and the one below the cliffs was currently
inaccessible due to a little thing called high tide. The public beach in
Fletcherville would still have some sand. He put Andrei in
his cage and the cage into the car. Trying to drive a motorcycle while hanging on
to an excited falcon wasn't highly recommended.
There were some people on the beach, this being midsummer, but few of them
paid much attention to Ray. He knew he looked odd in long sleeves and jeans
on a beach in late June, especially all in black. Something else for the tourists
to gawk at. He shrugged. He set up the perch in the sand, really pounding it in
so it wouldn't collapse under Andrei's weight, and let the falcon out. Shrieking
with excitement, making some heads turn, Andrei flew up to the perch and
stayed there, watching Ray intently.
Ray walked down the beach to a spot perhaps thirty yards from the perch. A
few spectators gathered to watch, falconry not being a common sight on a
beach, but neither Ray nor Andrei paid them any attention. The human put on
his falconry glove and started to swing the lure. Andrei's eyes followed it until
Ray whistled the signal. The falcon launched into the air, soaring over the
heads of the spectators, making some of them duck. He flew past the swinging
lure, faking a snatch at it, and issuing a shriek of falcon laughter. He spiralled
high into the sky, then came diving down and snatched the lure neatly in mid-
swing, carrying it back to his perch. Another whistle, and he flew neatly to
Ray's glove, bloodied corpse in beak, gulping it down.
People applauded, and Ray grinned. "Shows are at two, four and six daily," he
said, "pay what you can."
People laughed, a few even made gestures as if to hunt for coins. Though he
was sorely tempted to accept the offers, Ray shook his head to show he'd been
kidding. If any of Fletcherville's finest had happened to be on the beach, he
could get in trouble for soliciting. They'd just love to pin something on one of
the Cliff Road Crowd.
"Don't I have to cross your palms with silver?" asked a familiar voice from the
small crowd.
Ray looked over, and sure enough, there was Mistress Estella, still plainly
dressed, taking a scarf off her head.
"I prefer bills," Ray answered. "They're easier to carry."
"I believe what I said is that I prefer paper money." But she smiled.
Andrei ruffled his feathers at her. She wore shiny hoop earrings again, and the
falcon loved shiny earrings. Ray had the scars on his own ear, next to his own
earring, to prove it.
"You might want to cover up with that scarf again," Ray said as the rest of the
crowd, sensing that the falconry demonstration was over, started drifting away
to their own pursuits. "Andrei wants your earrings."
"Andrei? That's an odd name for a falcon, considering it means 'manly'." Estella
put the scarf back on, covering the earrings.
"It can also mean brave," Ray said calmly. "Besides, why can't a falcon be
manly? Men can be hawkish."
"I suppose, but that's not a real falcon, is it?"
Andrei slurped down the last of the dead critter than had been the lure, looking
remarkably like a real falcon. Ray raised his glove and the falcon took off,
looping around Estella, and flew back to his perch. He still looked like a real
falcon.
"I won't ask how you know," Ray sighed, scuffing sand over the slight mess
Andrei had made on the beach. "Should I bother to ask why you're here?"
"Aren't gypsy fortune tellers allowed a day at the beach?" she asked.
"Are you really a gypsy?"
"Does it matter?"
Ray didn't glare at her, though he was considering it. Magic itched along his
fingers, begging to be used. No. Not in public.
"Don't you have a tent you should be in?" he asked.
"I only work after sunset. Something like your friend the dead thing."
"Francis isn't a dead thing. And that's not really something you should say on a
public beach, anyway."
She drew back the scarf again, risking imminent falcon attack on her ears. "You
don't like me," she stated. This revelation did not appear to bother her.
"You've given me very little cause to, so far," Ray answered. "Now, excuse me,
I should get Andrei back home before it gets dark." He started walking towards
the perch, from which Andrei was watching them both suspiciously.
"It's the middle of the afternoon," Estella pointed out.
Ray stopped and looked back at her. "What do you _want_?" he asked.
"From you? Nothing."
"And you shall receive it. In abundance." He stalked off falcon-wards.
"Rocky Horror Picture Show!" she called after him.
He grit his teeth and ignored her. Andrei ruffled his feathers and shrieked. It
sounded like laughter.
"Great, you, too?" Ray asked his falcon familiar, with a sigh. "Come on, let's
get out of here." He held up his gloved hand, to get Andrei to jump on it.
But Andrei didn't want to go. He ruffled his feathers, screamed, and hopped
into the air. Ray swore at him, which didn't help. He could see Estella,
standing where he'd left her thirty yards down the beach, and she was laughing.
Great, just fucking great.
Andrei flew towards her, aiming for those enticing earrings. A large brown
falcon suddenly swooping at her ears disconcerted her, and she ducked and gave
a yell.
"Don't move!" Ray called at her, but the wind snatched his words away. "Oh,
damn." He whistled and took another bloody lure out of his bag. "Andrei!" He
mimed pulling a scarf over his head with his free hand as he waved the tiny
corpse of a field mouse at the falcon to get Andrei's attention.
With another of his laughing shrieks, the falcon obeyed. Ray shoved
him hastily into the cage, snack and all, absently-mindedly wiping the blood off
on his jeans. With Andrei safely locked up, he walked over to Estella.
"I told you he wanted your earrings," the falcon's master said.
"It's rude to say I told you so," sniffed the fortune teller.
"It was a choice to say it," Ray's smile was wicked.
"That isn't what I meant, and you know it!" she snapped, sounding now far more
like a supermarket check-out girl than a fairground clairvoyant. She
straightened her scarf, tucking the earrings back out of sight. "I can't help what
I see," she said, more calmly.
"Perhaps not," Ray nodded. "But perhaps you could be a bit more diplomatic in
how you phrase some things."
She glared at him. "The dead belong buried. I don't like vampires."
"Have you ever actually gotten to know one?"
"Yes." Somehow, that one word, one syllable, told an entire story. Ray wished
he knew what it was. Obviously, for a start, she'd met the wrong vampire.
"What..." he began.
"Don't."
He shrugged. "It's your choice," he said.
He walked back to the perch, which he pulled out of the sand. With it tucked
under one arm, and the other hand holding Andrei's cage, he started to walk to
the car. A vocal accompaniment from the cage informed him that the falcon
was not happy with this situation.
"He sounds upset," said Estella.
She'd caught up to them while Ray was struggling with the perch, and was
trailing behind the mage slightly as he walked to the car.
"I don't like being followed," Ray said, "he's picking up my mood."
"I'm not following you. My car is here, too."
"Fine, whatever."
He turned his back again, determined not to speak to her again. This lasted
approximately five minutes.
"You never did answer my question," she said, sandalled feet slipping in the
heavy white sand on a slight hill that lead up to the beach parking lot.
He sighed, set down Andrei's cage and the perch, and turned to give her a hand
up. She didn't flinch from the contact this time, but maybe she didn't have her
Sight turned on. Or something. Ray didn't have a lick of that kind of power; he
had no idea how it worked.
"What question?" he asked.
"Thanks." She gained the top of the hill, and smiled at him. Then she realized
her hand was still clasped in his and gave him a look. He released her with an
evil grin.
"What question?" he repeated.
"Who are you?"
"Just a guy in stasis who hangs out with dead things and has a falcon that isn't a
falcon," he replied. "There's my car. Been lovely chatting with you, but I really
must get Andrei home. Buffy the Vampire Slayer's on tonight, and I have to
cheer for the vampires."
He left her standing on the edge of the parking lot, staring after him.
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