Mirror Darkly

 

The clouds were crying

The trees spoke your name

Birds stopped flying

At the spot you were lain

The sky was the grey velvet before a storm, the clouds like chips of shale. The trees quivered as the wind whispered in their branches and I smiled. I had always liked the rain, always liked the darkened sky as it wept. Thunder was my lullaby—lightning my fleecy blanket, the dance of tangled branches and blackened leaves my childhood toy. Storms cleared my head; put me at ease, something I could never achieve in my daily life.

A low rumbling echoed in the empty land and soon the soft patter of rain filled my head. That’s when I noticed it—it him? Is there a difference? He stood there, in the rain, as if it wasn’t coming down in buckets. His fine, neck-length hair was the color of the void—sucking all colors away into its depths, and curled around his face like Michelangelo’s David. His eyes were slanted slightly; cat like eyes a piercing cobalt-blue. His skin was pale cream and he seemed for a moment a living shadow. Dark leather hugged his lean build; a hunters outfit. And he was staring right at me.

“Shit!” Ah yes a magical word—shit, it sums up how I was feeling and how I was. Which was in deep shit.

I sat up sharply cracking my head against a low beam. The pain grounding me as my heart beat a rapid tattoo against my ribs. I clutched at my abused face as I looked around, my eyes watering even as the pain faded to a dull ache. The attic was dark, my clock reading five am. Of course it was. Then the dark man was just a dream.

“Why a change now?” and why did it seem as if he were not a dream. Those eyes….why did they seem familiar? The confusion turned to irritation, anger, and general nasty feelings—a Molotov cocktail of teenage angst. Yah that’s what I was feeling—talk about explosive personality. My stomach growled angrily and I remembered Fritz had caused me to not get my one meal. Anger level? Up by two notches. What could make this moment better? Agrippa busting in for-some-unknown-reason.  To make the situation better I remembered not bothering to put on pants. Joy-of-my-life.

“Aubrey get downstairs and tend the guests!”

“Its five in the fucking morning tend them yourself!”  I snarled, the anger making my voice a sharp rasp. She took a step back, her face paling before she remembered that I was just the work boy. Yep, I would be feeling that remark later when Wolf got word. Ah well, in for a penny in for a pound yes?

“You should be honored that the guests want you to tend them!” her shrewish voice somehow managed to become more shrill.

“Oh? Guess that means I rank you now.” Oh the look on her face as she stormed out. It was worth the beating I would no doubt be getting. Still, better put some clothing on. Agrippa may be an idiotic fop but a liar she was not; if I was wanted downstairs then it would be better if I went down fast. Get it over with. The ladder squeaked again. Agrippa again? Geeze.

“Just wait a fucking moment.” A belt fell heavily across my shoulders throwing me off balance. I straitened quickly and turned…to catch the next hit full in the face. Shit did that burn. A large, rough hand gripped my sore jaw; Wolf’s eyes were dark with anger. Well Agrippa wasted no time with tattling. The mewling quim. He said nothing, just dragged me over to a low beam and bound my hands up to it. As the next lash fell I saw for a moment, Agrippa’s smirking face at the stairs. Bitch.

I bit my lip as the next one hit, damned if I would make a sound. On the fifth strike I felt as if my back were on fire. By the tenth my skin split, hot blood running in thick rivets like lava. I bit my lip so hard it bled on the seventeenth, but I didn’t make a sound. A small victory.  I wasn’t standing anymore by the thirtieth, hanging from numb arms as my blood pooled at my feet. He was behind me, I could feel him, but the belt didn’t come.

“You will learn your place boy.” Wolfgang growled, his hand gripping my hair as he yanked my head back, I could barely hear him over the sound of  heart beat and ragged breathing. The ropes were cut and I fell, not finding the strength to do more than tremble.

“Wash that filth off and tend our guests in the salon.” 

The finest example of a fathers love.

“Tend to our guests in the salon.” Well here’s the salon where are the fucking guests?!

“Sorry I’m late.”  A waif like blond blushed in embarrassment as she stumbled into me. No no pay no attention to the barely choked moan of pain. It’s the floor boards you see, they just hate being stepped on. Can’t say I blame them. The girl was of average height, her blond hair fell in soft waves down her back, her body well shaped from something other than simpering and posturing as Agrippa was prone to. Cute, in a sort of disgusting-small-infant way.

“Your Wolfgangs son?” I take the cute part back; the way she was looking me over was just gross.

“You could say that.” Or not.

“You look nothing like him.”

“I take after my mother.” Well I don’t know that, but it could be true.

“Oh….you’re a mistresses son then?” and why, increasingly annoying guest, does it matter?

“If you want to think of it that way, sure.” Who knows, it could be true.

“What? No tell me the truth!” poke poke poke, ‘tell me everything about your life child’. Fuck this line of questioning.

“Can I interest you in any refreshments? Or music perhaps?” oh god that sounded disgustingly civil. Seems my mouth ran on polite when I was half out of my head rather than filthy like most peoples. I don’t know if I should feel happy, less chance of a beating in that category, or sad that my brain had a butler mode. I was leaning towards sad.

“Oh, music would be lovely.” She said in a syrupy tone as she gave me cow eyes, going on about her love of music and what not and I felt my mind blank. The sudden quiet was startling. Oh what now?

“Could you play this for me?” her fingers ghosted over the keys of a piano that hadn’t been used in years. And why did she just assume that I could play it? What about my faded-hard-to-place-colored shirt and patched pants gave her the impression of my being able to play that instrument?

“It would be a bad idea.” Because yah, I knew how to make noises with the keys and not sound like a poisoned yak but I’m sure that’s on the list of things-the-boy-isn’t-to-touch.

“I think it would be a good idea.” Crap. She had that look, the ‘I’m-better-and-you-best-do-as-I-say’ thing that Agrippa gets. Say no and Wolf-Blade will hear about it. Probability of a repeat of this morning’s events? 100% Say yes and Wolf-Blade will hear about it, literally. Probability of a repeat of this morning’s events? 100% there is just no winning in this situation.

“I can’t play it.” Technically not a lie if taken in the proper context.

“You’re lying.” Ok she saw through the context. Her eyes narrowed and she got that fluttery I’m-not-crying-I’m-pissed look. You and me both lady.  So we have reached that place in the road where stop and think ‘is it worth being nasty at this point?  I’m getting a whipping either way.’ But going along with what this thing wants may lessen the beating…

There is no way I can take another thirty hits.

No without being helped recovering and that won’t happen.

No way.

Damn, looks like I have to be nice.

“What would you like me to play?” not that I know any songs but whatever.

“Just whatever comes to mind.” Fuck is she reading my mind?

I walked over to the piano, one hand hovering over the keys as if they might bite me. Ridiculous it’s not the piano that will hurt. Well you don’t…Shut up brain! You’re not helping me be manly. Manly men don’t play…SHUT UP! I glanced over at what’s-her-face; her eyes were screwed up as if she was trying not to laugh. Shit she can’t really read minds right? But I’m stalling now. I took the last little step up to the piano, not bothering to sit down. That made this act to final somehow, more dangerous. A small part of my brain felt disgusted that I considered taping on old bone and out of tune metal dangerous.

Whatever comes to mind huh? I let my hands rest on the lower octaves—minor keys don’t sound as shitty out of tune than the majors, fingers plunking out a slightly-out-of-tune twittering that reminded me of sand and wings. What an odd combination. I saw her face darken out of the corner of my eye, as if the piano offended her. Not its fault no one gives it any attention. My right hand strayed up the octaves, a clashing trail left in its wake that somehow didn’t jar the lower undertones. It was like…like…battle. Battle? Now why would I think of that when fucking with a condemned piano?

My left hand sped up, wings beating faster. My right hand crossing over my left, the sounds like swords clashing. Cobalt eyes came to mind. I heard a hiss behind me and then felt a sharp pain at my temple.  I saw Wolf’s boots as my face crashed into the keys, my vision swimming.

A fitting crescendo if I do say so myself.