Blood

I’ve been standing about two feet away from the Fionns’ door for at least an hour, waiting for my ruddy brother to be done with his damned visiting.

It’s so incredibly stupid.

After Justin’s funeral Da and Gram had been allowed to go back to the house with Seanie yet since I am a sibling of George Owens that is basically old enough to drink I had to come to the house. I tried to argue with Reid about it, but without telling him that Mallory is a fucking faerie there was no way to convince him that I shouldn’t come. Bastard.

And so that means that I have been leaning, and will continue to lean against the wall with a beer I have yet to take so much as a sip from, surrounded by people I hate and bored as hell.

If only I was a couple years younger.

I tried going outside for a while, but it was really cold. If it wasn’t I would have been well on my way home by now. I mean, it really isn’t that long a walk, but I was required by Gram to wear a dress to the funeral, meaning that the only thing between the cold wind and my legs would have been nylons. Not great for a ten mile walk.

There’s some shuffling in the hall to my right as somebody tries to get to the door. Likely a smoker.

Shit, I think, since I’m wrong. It’s not a smoker, but Mallory.

He stops in front of me, starting to say something, and then something different. He doesn’t say either and instead, quickly moves past me to the door.

It opens, sending a chill wind at me, and then closes lightly almost immediately.

I glance around the hallway, looking for either of my brothers or Fletch. Mattie won’t be here since he’ll be tending to his mother right now.

I don’t see any of the members of my immediate family and so follow after Mallory, going back out into the December cold.

It’s just as cold as I remember it being, but I feel like I have to find Mallory.

Strangely enough, over the past couple days I think I’ve come to terms with him having Faerie blood, which is a terrible thing. I shouldn’t trust or want somebody that I know is one of the Good Folk. I should be repulsed and terrified of Mallory Fionn, but I’m not anymore.

It actually terrifies me more than Mallory ever could that I still want to be with him.

I look around and see him off towards the barn, leaning against one of the fence rails.

I jump down off the porch and trudge through the snow, getting a lot up my boots. My legs are already freezing.

Mallory doesn’t turn as I get closer, although I can tell he knows I’m here since his posture changes, although I’m not sure in which way exactly. He might be tenser.

I lean against the fence rail, my heart racing.

What am I doing? I think.

So maybe I hadn’t quite accepted what Mallory is, which oddly makes me feel better.

Mallory sighs. He turns and looks at me. Well, as far as I can tell anyway. He’s donned a pair of sunglasses that hide his eyes completely. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” I say, offering him the beer that I’m still holding.

He smiles for an instant, barely enough to be called a smile. I don’t like being unable to see his eyes. “Cheers,” he says, taking the bottle from me.

He takes a drink from the bottle, shaking his head and turning back towards his cattle and the Wood.

God, it looks so huge from here. So…ominous, but also not.

“I couldn’t be in there any longer,” Mallory says distantly. “I…needed a break.”

He shakes his head again, as though there’s something he’s trying to get rid of from his mind. “I know it’s wrong but I just…I hate this so much, I hate the way they look at me—” He sounds like he’s going to say more, probably something against himself, and I don’t want him to.

“Me, too.”

Mallory smiles, although I can’t tell if it’s a happy or sad smile since I can’t see his ruddy, beautiful eyes. His smile slowly disappears. “Lorna, why are you here? Why are you talking to me?”

It feels like he’s just hit me.

He seems to realise this since he takes off his sunglasses and looks at me apologetically. “Shit,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No?” I snap, looking away from him. The cold creeps up on me again, causing me to shiver.

“I meant it in general, not right here. I meant why you were at the funeral, why you haven’t left yet.”

I look back at him angrily. “And the second part?”

He hesitates, looking around as though looking for a solution he can pull out of thin air. “How are you not afraid of me?”

I feel myself relax. “I dunno,” I say, looking back at Mallory’s eyes. They’re squinted, maybe against the sun. “And—my brother made me come.”

Mallory nods distantly, drinking more of what had been my beer. He starts to say something and then changes his mind as he does so often.

“Do you want me to be afraid of you, Mal?”

He lets out a breath, looking up at the sky then quickly back down. “Yes,” he says. “…and no.”

He smiles, putting his sun glasses back on and regarding me once again.

“You look nice,” he says.

My heart speeds up a bit as he says that, so I try to off-set it by replying, “You don’t.”

Because he doesn’t. I mean, he’s by no means ugly but he looks crushed, like someone dropped a boulder or something on him. I think there are at least a few dozen more lines in his face than there were a month ago and he looks like he hasn’t slept in about that long.

Mallory laughs, regarding himself with a bit of a smirk. “No, I wouldn’t imagine I do.”

The mirth leaves the parts of his face I can see, leaving him sober. He looks back at the house.

“I should go back inside.”

I frown, because despite the cold, I really don’t want to go back inside, and I don’t fancy staying out here alone either.

“You can wait in my room until your brother’s ready to go. I mean, I don’t know what’s in there that you would find entertaining but it’d probably be better than the alternative.”

I force a smile, although I’m not quite sure why I do it. “Thanks.”

Mallory looks back at the house, and even though I can’t see his eyes, I can guess at how they look.

“Mal,” I say, touching his cheek with the tips of my fingers.

He looks down at me. I hate not being able to see his eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” I say.

He lifts his hand, touching his fingertips against the back of my hand before gently pulling it away from his face. He holds it loosely for a moment.

He smiles, only slightly.

“You know, I really wish I didn’t like you,” he says and pushes off the fence rail to head back to the house.