A Boy and His Dragon (22 page)

“Do go on, Arthur, don’t mind me.” Bertie’s tone said he very much would mind. He sounded absolutely
forlorn
. It was especially strange when he was scowling so fiercely that Arthur was surprised that the room wasn’t bursting into flame. Arthur hadn’t done anything wrong, but he went motionless anyway, only moving again when Kate spoke in his ear.

“Okay, I admit he sounds hot.”

“You have no idea,” Arthur told her seriously, if faintly, because he didn’t think Bertie had ever looked at him in quite this way before, disappointed and saddened and hungry enough to leap over the railing to grab Arthur that very second.

Arthur straightened, not sure what else to do, with sweat prickling under his arms.

“That’s not the fairy, is it?” Bertie turned to come down the stairs, leaving one hand on the railing as he did in a way that seemed A Boy and His Dragon

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sophisticated and ridiculous at the same time. He must watch soap operas in secret too.

Arthur let out a small breath because Bertie wasn’t any less upset than he’d been a minute ago; he was just pretending that he was. Arthur met his gaze the moment Bertie was downstairs with him and thought about how it would be nice if that melting stare meant Bertie was jealous.

“What fairy?” Kate was still on the phone. Arthur almost hung up on her but controlled the impulse in time.

“I’ll talk to you later, Kate,” he said instead and
then
hung up on her before she could add anything.

“Kate?” Bertie stopped for a second’s thought before his frown faded away and he swept forward. Arthur had the fleeting thought Bertie was going to grab him again, or at least hug him, but he stopped again before Arthur had to think of what he’d do if he did.

“Your sister? You didn’t need to hang up on her on my account, Arthur.”

“I know.” Arthur was only just starting realize that he hadn’t been breathing normally. He sucked in air, because he had a question to ask. If Bertie hadn’t been jealous, he’d been doing a good impression of it and that was almost unbelievable. “But, um….”

“Is she well?” The anger, if it had been anger, was completely gone from Bertie’s expression and voice now. He was just softly rumbling concern far too close to Arthur’s space. “You two are close, aren’t you? I could hear it.”

“We are. We kind of had to be.” Since he hadn’t meant to say that, Arthur looked away. He put his phone in his pocket and then went back to his bag to get his laptop out. “I mean, she’s fine. She was actually worried about me.” He realized what he’d been about to say and cleared his throat. “She worries a lot these days. That’s all.”

“And you worry about her.” Bertie didn’t make it a question and Arthur turned to glance at him.

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“She’s had some problems, mostly with alcohol,” he admitted carefully, watching Bertie’s expression go thoughtful before he went around the table to sit on the sofa. He was studying Arthur with that same curious look he got for any story. For a second, Arthur wondered if that was all it was, and then Bertie exhaled.

“The poor thing. And you, too, because you took care of her.

Don’t deny it, Arthur.”

“I wouldn’t.” Arthur blinked and lifted his chin. He wasn’t ashamed of anything. “But it wasn’t so bad.” Bertie made a small sound of protest, so Arthur shrugged and fussed over his laptop as he brought it to the table. “So I skipped a few meals. If you saw how she’s improving, you’d see it was worth it.” When he dared a glance up, he got a doubtful stare complete with pursed lips, but then Bertie leaned forward.

“I should like to meet her, Arthur.” He was so warm Arthur was almost sure he meant it, but he knew his frown was still in place. “If you would ever allow it.” There was something so careful in his words that Arthur looked down at himself. His hands were in fists at his sides, as tense as his shoulders.

He opened his mouth, shocked to realize how protective he still felt about Kate, and forced his hands to relax. Not that he was any kind of threat to a dragon, but he felt the need to apologize anyway. Bertie waved at him when he tried.

“You should never apologize for protecting what you love, Arthur.” Bertie’s approval washed over him. Arthur put his head down and took a moment before peeking in Bertie’s direction. He was sitting quietly, looking for all the world as if he had nothing better to do than sit and listen to Arthur talk about his sister. As if Arthur was going to talk about his sister with him.

He didn’t know what Bertie would say about Kate’s history, but he could guess now that he’d read some of Bertie’s books, where the sympathy he seemed to feel for everyone always came shining through. Maybe it was his delicate tone or the careful way he circled ever deeper, down toward the truth, as if the whole story had to be told, no matter how unflattering or ugly.

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Arthur bit the inside of his cheek as he debated and then tossed his head and gave in because he wanted to know what Bertie would say.

“I, uh, haven’t done anything like that since my sister’s ex showed up at our door a year ago,” he confessed after a moment, going on when Bertie held his breath. “He was abusive and had, well, she had—has—a drinking problem too, but his was worse. He was the reason she even started. She doesn’t like it when I say that.

Don’t tell her I did.”

“Of course not,” Bertie promised solemnly. Arthur shivered but looked over again.

“He hit her a few times that she told me about. She wanted out by then. She
was
out, living with me and going to meetings, and she didn’t want to see him and he didn’t want to leave.” He rubbed his cheek. “So I hit him. Punched him, really.” He’d never punched anyone before. He hadn’t even fought anyone since elementary school, and that had been play fighting. He was just grateful that it had scared Ricky off and he hadn’t broken any of his fingers. That punch had hurt for all that it also felt so satisfying and right.

“I knew it.” Bertie sat back and blew a smoke ring into the air though he didn’t have a cigarette. “My warrior.” He looked back at Arthur and let his pleased expression fade somewhat. “Is she better now?”

“She is. She’s been looking for work, which hasn’t been easy for her. She barely made it through high school,” Arthur elaborated when Bertie looked confused. “That was when, well, when my parents died. I was in school and I wasn’t there for her enough.” He hadn’t anticipated having this conversation ever, much less early in the morning without any food or caffeine to bolster him.

Bertie exhaled, without a ring of smoke this time.

“Sometimes the lost have to find their own way home.” He spoke as delicately as he wrote. “And I imagine you were also lost at the time.”

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Arthur had been younger, living at the university, far from home and Kate, worrying about finals and his sex life when he got the phone call.

“Arthur,” Bertie gently called him back from the memory.

“Was there no one else to help you? Friends, family?”

“I….” Arthur worked his jaw, but he still had to clear his throat again before he could talk. “People offered. They always offer. Most of them just”—Arthur shrugged—“didn’t really mean it.

They had their own problems. I—you shouldn’t expect them to give up a lot for you, and anyway, work gave me something to focus on.” Something that wasn’t how his parents weren’t
there
anymore. His voice caught on the last few words, and Arthur quickly scowled down at his laptop.

“You mustn’t be too hard on them.” Bertie seemed to be picking his words carefully. Arthur glanced up but only for a moment.

“I know. Being or human, it’s a lot to ask. I don’t blame them.”

“Oh, Arthur.” It was lighter than a feather and it made Arthur swallow. He could tell Bertie was going to offer to help and didn’t look up when he did. “I assure you I mean it when I ask if there’s anything I can do.”

“You already do enough,” Arthur managed, thinking that he ought to offer to make tea and leave the room to end this conversation. “More than enough.” He tried a smile to help disguise the force of emotion in his words, but he didn’t think he was fooling anyone.

“Hmm.” Bertie wasn’t indicating that he wanted tea. He wasn’t doing anything but watching Arthur. “Is Kate the reason you leave at night?”

Arthur’s mouth fell open. Maybe he just hadn’t been expecting that question, but he couldn’t think how he was supposed to answer it. In response to the vague shock Arthur was certain was all over his face, Bertie let out a little roar and shook his head. “It’s silly and A Boy and His Dragon

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dangerous for you to ride home in the dark and the rain when you’re only returning here in the morning.”

It didn’t make Arthur feel any better to know that Bertie was honestly asking him to spend the night for his own health and safety.

It should have, but it didn’t. He raised his head.

“I can’t ask that of you. You already feed me and overpay me.”

“Perhaps I’m just fattening you up.” Bertie attempted a leer but when Arthur kept his expression serious he sighed and got serious too. “Arthur.” He lifted one hand toward Arthur only to drop it a second later. “Arthur, you ought to ask. I am sure there are many out there dying to be kind to you, many who would have been kind to you when your parents died, if they had known how.” His rumble got lower as he went on. “I know you’re stubborn and determined and everything Gibson warned me about….” Arthur gave a start, because he couldn’t imagine what Professor Gibson would have had to warn anyone about him, but despite how Bertie’s eyes wouldn’t leave him, Bertie didn’t stop to explain.

“But you
should
ask someone for help.” For the first time in several tense minutes, Bertie finally glanced away. “I’d prefer it be me, of course, but it doesn’t need to be.” Arthur kept his gaze on the side of Bertie’s face, noticing the straight line of his nose again as if he hadn’t already memorized his facial features. Bertie looked like he always did, rough with stubble, pale and dark at the same time, powerful even with the full force of his personality aimed at the fireplace instead of at Arthur.

The clothes he was wearing looked thrown on and probably had been, but they still probably cost more than all of Arthur’s clothes combined. Bertie had a ton of money and treasure somewhere. Maybe he meant it when he said feeding Arthur was nothing; it probably was to him, but Arthur wished it wasn’t. It was a stupid thought, wanting someone to give up more for him when they already gave him more than so many others, but he couldn’t help wishing for it for a moment.

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“Really?” He didn’t know his own voice, it was so quiet.

Bertie looked back at him.

“Very much. I can’t tell you how much. Damn this lizard brain of mine.”

Arthur didn’t think Bertie was joking; there was no trace of the Cheshire cat grin. He frowned.

“I don’t know why you treat me like this,” he pushed out, since he was obviously dreaming this conversation. “I’m not anything special. I’m just an assistant. I’m years away from ever running a library or a collection, if that’s ever even possible. And when I came here I—” He closed his mouth as his eyes went to the shining scales just beneath the surface of Bertie’s skin. “I have no money.” He stated the obvious instead of confessing the truth. “I have no achievements.”

He couldn’t tell if the noise Bertie made was a laugh or something rude and disbelieving.

“Achievements, Arthur? I am reasonably certain that even if you could pull a sword from a stone, you wouldn’t want to. It’s remarkable, really. It’s the reason people like you are chosen to lead.”

Arthur didn’t move because he couldn’t, as his mind was stuck trying to understand that remark, but that just made Bertie sigh. “At the risk of sounding like a fairy, you, my darling boy, are quite shiny.” Bertie closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open. When he licked the air, he let out a sound that was almost obscene.

Arthur shifted and Bertie’s eyes opened back up.

“More than that, I am not the kind to sit back and watch another suffer, even humans who seem to enjoy it at times.”

“Hey,” Arthur protested weakly, but it was a welcome distraction. He put his hands up to his warm face and then jerked them back down when he realized what he was doing. “The moment I learn more about dragons….” He trailed off deliberately, expecting a comeback from an offended dragon and unsurprised when he got one.

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“Do you want to learn more now?” He had no idea why Bertie kept waiting for Arthur to ask, when he was only too happy to lecture about other things freely and without asking, but the brightening of his expression helped Arthur relax a little bit more.

He nodded.

“I still can’t see exactly where your book is going. I know it’s about a family group that no longer exists….”

“Or so it seems, Arthur. So it seems. There is quite a bit of evidence to the contrary. Children born after the Norman conquest that had unusual abilities. A lingering reputation for magic and mysticism in those mountains, and an unusually high number of children accused of being changelings despite how the fairies have long denied that they ever snatched a single child. If you look a few centuries later, there start to be reports of miners so good they can see in the mines without a lantern.”

He was implying that those human children had had some Being blood, and not just a little, but enough to give them powers that went beyond the usual skill with magic that accompanied human and Being children.

“Can you see in the dark?” Arthur interrupted, coming closer until he could sit down on the opposite end of the couch.

“No,” Bertie tutted but carried on smoothly, “but I can light my own way.”

“What happened to them? The children?” Arthur thought of his laptop but didn’t turn to get it. He wasn’t going to forget, and he didn’t want to miss anything.

“Burned, I imagine,” Bertie snorted. “They would have been burned as witches or shunned as outcasts or sent away, often to America to be the Colonies’ problem. The fey weren’t supposed to exist in the New World. But think, Arthur, a century later and they might have ended up in a sideshow or a hospital. A century after that and they might have been recognized for what they were.