Sunday September 7th 2014

The students streamed past the stairs, voices loud and excited, the ones that had gone yesterday bragging about the village to their friends. Alexandra passed with her entourage spread out around her. The gold of her hair caught the light, hoarding it with jealous claws and needy hunger, gifting her with a nimbus of beauty. Raw wounds of wild, her savage soul glared out at the world from within the cancerous halo of the sun. Briefly her eyes touched his, locking emerald with his cold blue before she turned back to her glittering girls. Cesare pulled up his hood before resting his head against the stone banister at his back.

Lightly dozing, he heard Miss Raven’s heavy steps stop in front of him. Looking up, he caught her staring at him before she took the last steps down to the ground. “I'm surprised you came back. After today, you won't. I'm going to have you on your knees today.”

“I do my best work on my knees,” Cesare said with a grin.

“Weeding, smartass,” she said, fighting off her answering grin.

Rat. Fucking. Shit. Letting the last bag hit the ground, Cesare gave a deep groan of pain. They hadn’t gotten lighter, and he sure as hell hadn’t gotten stronger. Muscles that had torn yesterday twisted with new pain, fibers tightening along his back. Moving from flower bed to flower bed on his knees, the grit of the dirt rasped against his teeth while shoulders wove themselves into bars of tortured steel. The one good thing was working behind her. Seeing her big ass bent over in front of him, wide hips displayed in tight jeans, was a treat worth the hard work.

There were different kids in the cafeteria, but they were cast from the same worthless mold. Outcasts were like grains of sand, you walked on them but didn’t see them. Even they didn’t care about each other. Disgust strangled them minute by minute, violation shoved into gasping mouths until all they knew was hate. Caring was a luxury they didn't have, only survival was left to them.

Purposefully, Cesare handed Elizabeth her tray under the disgusted eyes of the kids. It would spread through the school. Gossip was a coin to barter for one less round of teasing and tears. But like when Elizabeth had come by herself, the line ended with him. Students coming in sat down, waiting, unwilling to follow behind a Chthonic.

Cesare filled two trays before following her outside and taking the same seat as yesterday. Silence is a fey thing, unbound by rules or the plastic needs of the civilized. You can be alone in a crowd, everyone protected and insulated in their bubbles of godly arrogance. Or feel tied to someone you will never know, the silent communion of two bubbles becoming one. He'd shared that with a few homeless over the years, two lost souls taking what they could without a word.

The rest of the day went as he thought it would. Dirt, pain, and fantasies of big-bottomed girls. This time he followed Miss Raven back to the cottage—even if he was Igor, humpbacked and dragging a lame foot, to her Doctor Frankenstein.

Miss Raven set an electric kettle to boil. “Take a seat, I’d hate to see you crippled for tomorrow's class. I'll make some tea that helps with the soreness.” There was only one seat, a small stool that sat alone under a work table. “Sorry, I’m not used to company.”

Over the kettle was a cabinet of dark wood. Runes blackened like aged blood ran up one side and down the other. A chill skittered down his spine at the sight. A staring hunger radiated from the holy cuts, goggling eyes of things who’d ravaged reality before stars were born. Twisting on the edge of sight, the runes turned along an axis buried in dimensions birthed of madness. Watching him, the runes bled diseased appetites, etheric fingers groping at the edges of his soul, greedily seeking purchase. Thoughts given barbed form, they were the questing needs of those anathema to the real.

“It's more of an herbal tea.” Smiling, he watched her fuss over the cups. “Unlike most herbal teas, it does have some green tea added. The herbs are medicinal and should help with the inflammation.” Her eyes rested on him. “I ... enhance it … with my power. If you have an objection ...” Her hands stilled over the cups, palms down, steam wreathing and blurring the edges of flesh.

Maybe he should care, but she was beautiful and lonely, and that had always been a murderous combination for him. “Sounds good.”

She turned away with a smile only seen at the corner of her lips. It was an intimate thing to heal someone. People said they cared, but almost no one tried to help. Everyone had their own demons to feed, it was hard to find the flesh to sate another’s. She was trying to help him ... how long had it been since someone gave a damn whether he was hurt?

Her voice fell into a cadence ancient with centuries, a song old when man stepped onto land, a music birthed in the hearts of Gods when stone was young.

Brigid of the eternal flame

She who will never be buried beneath the earth

She who aided the Mother of all Gods in her time of need

I have no money to offer

No food to gift you

All I have is my devotion

I entreat you to breathe your blessings into these cups

Let them soothe our pain

Rekindle our wavering flame with your eternal fire.

It was a small thing, a moving heat haze shimmering and dancing around the cups. A trick of the eye, or the hand of a goddess who'd loved man and monster before hate was old and hoary with power. A thing from beyond the sunlite world of lies and meat.

The cup was dark with flecks of tan. A snake coiled around its sides, the twisting body raised from the coarse clay. Scales rasped against hands gritty with the dirt he’d been working. “Drink it all, even the leaves. A blessing should never be wasted. Don't worry about the tools, I'm used to putting them away by myself.” She was already walking away as she finished her directions.

She held herself differently here than she did in the world. Here, she was confident and at ease, without the constant need to defend herself. Violation’s touch couldn't reach her here, this sanctuary was safe in a way that no place was for her. Alone, no one could hurt her. She cleaned the tools off before she set them back in their places, ready for next weekend.

“This is good.” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted them back, wincing at having shattered the quiet companionship the two had fallen into.

She continued her inventory, a smile in her voice. “Thank you. I seldom get the chance to entertain.”

“I don't see why. You have such wonderful seating arrangements,” Cesare said with a smile. “How did you get into gardening?”

“It’s always been part of me, given what I am.” Her eyes checked his reaction before continuing, “I found I loved spending time with them. It's like making tea. You pick out and blend your leaves, carefully choosing the taste and the need of the moment, whether you want it to wake you up, relax muscles, or some other purpose. Heating the water, pouring it into the cup, it’s all part of a ritual, something that moves beyond you.” Her hands trailed lovingly over boxes of bulbs ready for planting.

“Gardening is like that for me, a ritual that becomes life. You plan your space, carefully choosing the focal point, picking flowers that compliment each other, preparing the ground until it’s soft and ready for the seeds. Finally, you plant. But that’s just the start. You raise them bit by bit, watering them when they’re young, protecting them from weeds and weather. At the end, you have something that’s beyond yourself.” Her voice had turned gentle with vulnerability.

Without looking at him, she moved back to her tools. Cesare could tell she’d said more than she wanted … had made herself open in a way that had never worked out before. That was the problem with being alone, you never lost the craving for people.

Since she’d given him part of her soul, he could only give her part of his to balance the scales. “It's hard being alone. Not just that you don't have anyone to care for you or give a damn when you’re hurt. What puts the edge on the blade is that you don't have anyone to care for. It's like your love’s worthless, no one wants it. When you find something, an animal or a plant that depends on you, that needs you … that you can care for without the pain you’re used to ....”

They backed away from the conversation the way two dogs will after a fight, both having gotten in a few licks, more than willing to settle for a draw. When you’ve been hurt in the past, when every time you gave someone a piece of yourself they sharpened and honed it into a weapon against you … well, you learned to keep those pieces to yourself. They’d both gotten a weapon out of the engagement.

He wanted to drag his eyes away from her, knew that being open only led to pain. Yet his eyes couldn’t leave her. She would never have the grace of Anastasia or Alexandra, she wasn’t built that way. But she owned a softness they’d never have, a way of being that was of the earth. They were wind and fire, beautiful and destructive, quick to change and hard to predict. Elizabeth was all earth, slow and steady but no less deadly. While her thighs were big, she’d weathered the work better than him. Her ass was large and matronly, but she had the power to lift and haul the sacks of soil easily, drawing strength from that large base.

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.” Her words stopped his drink in mid-swallow. Busy cleaning the spades they'd used, she hadn't even looked at him. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

Shame, hot and viscous, poured into his body like acid. Gods, he’d forgotten what it felt like. It had been so long since he’d lowered his defenses enough to show interest in a woman. Calm clamped down on him, a switch flicking in his head. Shame and anger was shunted into the black hole of his soul, leaving only ice in its wake. It was the calm he used when he had to stitch himself. The mask that had gotten him through the butcheries of life.

Knocking the rest of the tea back in a shot, he stood. His words were antiseptic things, skinned of emotion. “Sorry, I never meant to make you uncomfortable. Can I get my money? I need to finish my studies for tomorrow, Miss Raven.”

She turned, eyes widening at what she saw. “I didn't mean ...”

He cut her off softly. “Yes. You did. Can I have my money?” Miss Raven looked at him for a long second before handing over an envelope.

As he walked away, her words reached him. “Thank you for your help.” He didn’t turn to acknowledge the comment. The control wouldn’t last long. Emotions were slippery, vicious things. No matter how much you wanted to hold them down, they struggled and bit to get to the good parts of your heart.

Safely away from her, the cold mask slipped off, his emotions boiling out of him. Fury poured through, bringing with it a sick feeling as adrenaline dumped into his system. Stupid meat didn't know it wasn't his life on the line, only his heart. He’d known it was a mistake and let it happen anyway. It was his fault. He could have stopped his staring, could have walked away or busied himself with something. Instead, he’d been stupid.

There were no illusions for him as far as his looks went. Like a woman once said, he was too ugly to have as a boyfriend but if he could get her drunk … well, in the dark all men are the same. Laughing caustically to himself, he let the bitterness of that time wash his anger and shame away.