No Reflections: Red Dragon, #1

By Danielle Linder

Robin has always believed in magic, but she didn't used to believe in fairies or dragons or things that go bump in the night. Not really. Then she met one.

Turns out, the old stories have a bit of truth to them, and getting the attention of the fairies is trouble. The kind of trouble that gets people killed or kidnapped, or eaten by vampires. When Robin's cousin and her best friend go missing, she has to decide if any of the fey who are suddenly interested in her for reasons they won't explain are trustworthy enough to ask for help. Either way, a rescue is happening. Saving the world from a power-hungry magical psychopath is just a side quest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Draconum Audio & Imprint
• Release date: Jun 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781922962027

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Long Light

Robin was never sure why she wasn't more surprised when she saw the mermaid.

She was surprised, definitely, but more because she hadn't expected to see anyone there at all, out past the rocks on an isolated, almost un–signposted beach in the middle of nowhere. At first glance, she was just an attractive woman, stretched out in the last of the afternoon sunlight next to a large tide–pool. It was only after a few seconds that the eye moved past the long copper coloured hair, and the bare, freckled breasts, and took in her tail. The first thing she reminded Robin of was a butterfly, with the brilliantly gaudy peacock colours of her, copper hair and then that tail, black and yellow and blue, glistening in the water. The second image she brought to mind was of a snake. 

The mermaid sat up and moved backwards at once in an impossibly graceful, sinuous movement. Robin froze, and tried not to look either threatening or scared. She also tried to remember anything she might know or have heard about mermaids, but drew a stuttering blank of but they aren't supposed to be real. None of the stories were supposed to be actually real. Not like this. Robin wondered if maybe she had blundered into a movie set, or some sort of.. elaborate practical joke? It didn't make much more sense than an actual, real–life mermaid, but still.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, staring at each other. Eventually Robin tried, Hello? Her voice sounded weirdly normal, and she cleared her throat self–consciously.

The mermaid tilted her head slightly to one side, and said in heavily accented English, Hello.

I'm Robin, said Robin, relaxing slightly.

That is a bird, I think.

Yes. 

Is it your actual name, little bird?

Yeah, she shrugged, My parents liked birds. Or something. Are you really ––?

Robin wasn't sure how she would have ended that sentence, but the mermaid smiled, and propelled herself up to sit on a rock, dangling her tail in the water. Would you like to touch?

She smoothed her hands down her body and over the top part of her tail as she asked. It didn't look like a fish tail, but it didn't look like pictures of mermaids either. There wasn't the tell–tale bend where a human woman's knees should have been, just a smooth, sinuous tail. If it was a costume, it was a very, very good one. It didn't look like a costume.

Robin took a step forward, and the mermaid smiled at her again, bright and sharp as broken shells.

Her tail was dry and cool, without either the slickness or the sharp edges of fish scales. Robin stood just close enough to reach over and run one finger down the side of what could have been the mermaid's thigh, if she had legs. The mermaid swirled the tip of her tail in the tide pool. 

Look down there, she said, and Robin looked without thinking.

The pool was as clear and still, and deep as anything Robin could imagine. It looked like a window, framed with rocks and beach sand. Robin looked into it, down and down through water like pale green glass, to where a city nestled between dunes of soft sand against a reef. Bright fish darted like colourful birds between buildings made of pale stone, and long strands of seaweed  drifted and fluttered in unseen currents. Wide streets of sand meandered between the buildings, which were decorated with stone arches and curlicues and shell mosaics.

The longer she looked, the more detail Robin could make out. Carvings on the walls, gardens of coral and seaweed around some of the buildings. People moved along the streets, some of them strange things that seemed part fish, gilled or scaled, and others as human looking as anyone she'd ever seen. A little girl looked up, deep golden eyes like yellow topaz catching Robin's gaze, and it seemed as if no more than the length of a room separated them. Then the girl blinked, and Robin blinked and gasped as if she had been underwater or holding her breath. She looked up, disoriented, and found that she was kneeling on the edge of the tide pool, right beside the mermaid. Much closer than was comfortable, especially if this was holy shit, a real, actual mermaid and probably very dangerous.

You could go there, the mermaid said softly, a cool ripple of sound. With no more than a wish, you could walk those streets yourself. Not everyone sees it so clearly.

What is that place?

Another world from this one, pretty bird. It exists in the corners of your eyes, down the road you didn't take, just over the horizon. One breath further than you have strength to swim. 

Robin edged back from the water, suddenly chilled, and stood up.

I should go. My friends will wonder where I am, she said.

The mermaid nodded, a ghost of a smile pulling at her mouth. Robin was suddenly certain that her disquiet was both obvious and amusing. She gave the mermaid an apologetic look and said, Thank you for showing me, though. It's.. beautiful.

The smile was more than a ghost this time, but gentler than it had been. The mermaid tipped her head again, then she pulled a silver ring off her left hand, and held it out to Robin.

Here, she said, If you change your mind, you may come to me with safe passage. Anywhere the water is deep enough to hold you, if you look, you will find that place. If you call, I will hear you.

The ring dropped into Robin's hand, cool and wet, heavier than it looked.

Without really intending to say anything, Robin found herself asking with all the politeness that a childhood full of fairy tales had instilled, What name should I call, if I called you?

You may call me Ruin, said the mermaid.

The name echoed in Robin’s mind like a soft wash of white noise as she picked her way up the beach. She had been walking for something like ten minutes before she realised that she had no idea where she was. It was disorienting. She had been coming up to this beach and the woods between it and the lake on and off for most of her life. She should know this length of sand and ocean like her back yard. The trips had been less frequent the last few years, but it couldn’t have changed all that much. Robin closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She could smell wood smoke on the breeze. Taran would be making dinner, cooking something on a campfire in the dunes that Robin would have needed a gourmet kitchen to produce. The camp site couldn’t be too far away. She breathed out and opened her eyes. Streaks of gold and apricot covered the sky as the sun sank slowly towards the ocean, and the light was starting to fade. Sea birds were circling, keening at each other as they headed back to their nests on the rocks. The same rocks where Jay had fallen and broken her arm when they were ten, and where she and Taran had found a nest one year with two fluffy chicks in it and gone back every day to watch as they grew bigger and fledged, and finally flew on their own. Robin blinked, and the world around her seemed to refocus. Of course she knew where she was.

It took another few minutes to reach their little campsite, walking up the beach in the fading light. Taran was prodding at the fire when Robin got back, turning a foil wrapped bundle over in the hot ash at the edge of the coals. The whole place seemed slightly unreal, with the old brown Kingswood and the bright blue shade tent incongruously placed in the stillness of the evening. It felt like the opposite of deja vu, a sense of never having seen these things before even though they were perfectly familiar. Taran looked up as Robin walked into the campsite, brushing ginger–brown hair out of his eyes.

Hey, Rob! Where’ve you been? I was starting to get worried.

She smiled and said, I’m good. I walked further than I thought, and I saw – something.

Very mysterious. Sounds like a good story.

Well, either a good story or it'll be in the newspapers tomorrow. Where are the others?

They wandered off that way about half an hour ago to make out in the dunes. I figured the only way to get them back here was to make dinner.

Good idea. Want some help?

Sure. Gonna tell me about this thing you saw?

You're like a terrier, Taz.

Adorable, yet tough and brave?

Robin laughed. Probably genetically inclined to hunt rats. I think I saw a mermaid, she rushed through the statement, as if saying it quickly would make it less ridiculous.

A mermaid. His tone of voice made it a question, but Robin ignored it.

She said, brightly, So, what are we cooking?

Taran laughed. Fish. What else? I want more details, Rob.

Robin punched him lightly in the arm and said, What sort of fish, Taz? And what can I do?

It’s the whiting that Alan caught earlier, and to be honest there isn’t much left to do. Get the bread from the car and slice it. Have a glass of wine with me. Wait for the others to turn up. Tell me about the mermaid.

Robin shook her head and went to fetch the bread and wine from the car, but she was smiling. A glass of wine should chase away the lingering sea–sound which echoed like white noise in the back of her brain.

There isn't that much to tell, she said. I was walking, and I came around some rocks and there she was. Sitting on the rocks next to a tide pool. Naked.

What did she look like?

Beautiful. Scary. Sort of – I don't know, like a story. Utterly unsurprising while at the same time, bloody hell a mermaid. You know? And she looked kind of like a sea–snake, all twisty and boneless, and bright yellow and black. Except the human part, obviously.

You know that's not actually obvious with spirits.

Robin glanced sideways at him, then went back to opening the bottle of wine. Fair enough, I guess. She was pale, like never seen the sun Viking pale. Other than her tail, I mean. With really long fingers, and.. sort of.. claws more than nails. Coppery hair, but dark, not like mine. She didn't look like a spirit, Taz.

Sounds like a spirit to me. It's the tail that really kicks it.

You'd know better than I would.

Taran grinned at her. As if you've never seen them.

Robin shrugged. Not for a long time. And not like this. I don't hang out with shamans and hippies nearly as much as you do. Or.. dryads and whatever. I mean, I know they're there, Taz, but there's knowing and there's.. too real.

Sounds like you should hang out with more shamans, honestly. What else?

Um. She spoke English, but with a weird accent.

You spoke to her?!

Robin smiled and said, Seemed rude not to, when she spoke to me. I thought of you, though. I wasn't on the ball enough to ask her anything important. I was too worried that she was going to drown me in the tide pool or something.

Taran paused and looked at her. He said slowly, So what you're saying is that you not only saw a major sea spirit, you were close enough to her that you were worried about being drowned?

Robin swallowed at the sudden sensory memory of the smooth, dry scales of the mermaid's tail. Yes, she said. Close enough to touch. It wasn't on purpose, Taz, I'm not really sure what happened.

"I believe you. You were scared of the domovoi in Aunt Alicia's house for years, you wouldn't have wandered up to something as big as a nereid. Sounds like an interesting afternoon, though. Wish I could have seen her."

"I was not afraid of the domovoi! I just didn't like Alicia's cat."

Taran just smirked at his cousin. Robin scowled back at him, then grinned as she poured them each a glass of wine.

Alright, maybe a little bit, she said, but I was only ten, and it bit me.

That actually was the cat, said Taran, pulling the foil packages away from the fire.

Robin made a rude noise. How can you tell with shapeshifters?

Taran shrugged. Just can. You gonna tell me every Chinese person looks the same?

Of course not!

It's the same.

Sandy footsteps interrupted as Jay and Alan walked up, holding hands. What's the same, asked Jay, finger–combing the tangles out of her long, chestnut hair as she tried to re–braid it without getting more tangles from the wind.

Spirits, cats, and people. Long story, said Taran. Have some wine instead, and it looks like the fish is cooked.

Robin filled another two glasses, and topped up her own.

I shouldn't, said Alan. I'm driving, remember?

Doesn’t matter than much, said Jay, opening the second bottle to let it breathe. We’re walking distance from the lake anyway. We can come get the car tomorrow and drive it round, and just walk to the house tonight.

Robin raised a glass and said, Don't make me drink alone, Blondie.

Alan smiled and raised his glass to clink on hers. Never. Although I swear I will rethink that if you insist on using an 80s band as a nickname. You're more inventive than that.

As Taran handed round the foil parcels of fish he said, Have you sorted out catering for the party, Jay?

His cousin looked up from her wine and said, Why, are you volunteering?

Unusually reticent, Taran shrugged.

Jay pulled one of the fish parcels open, and said, No, seriously, Taz. Are you volunteering? You know I’d take your cooking over pretty much anything else, ever.

I was thinking of starting a business. Thought maybe I could try some ideas out on you guys. Not for money, though, Taran added quickly, More as a sort of engagement present.

You can't cater a whole party as an engagement present, said Alan.

Just the cake, then, said Taran, smiling. You have to let me do that.

Jay clapped her hands together and actually bounced in place, nodding enthusiastically. Alan laughed at her and said, Alright. Just the cake.

Only if it has that chocolate buttercream, said Robin, laughing.

Ooh, and the little meringues with nuts in them, said Jay. And marshmallows. I remember you made marshmallows for Kara's birthday last year. They were fantastic!

Taran laughed, and said, Your wish is my command.

How far, exactly, is the lake from the beach, Robin? Alan asked, glancing back at her with a slightly worried frown. We aren’t going to be one of those horror stories in the news about people who get lost in the bush after leaving their cars, right?

That’s mostly a problem during the day, said Taran.

And Jay has her compass, so we can’t be lost, said Robin.

Yeah, said Jay, who was taking compass readings for the fifth time in as many minutes. Sure. Why not?

Shouldn’t we be there by now, though?

Robin nodded, and said quietly, "We should. We should be there already. In fact, unless we’ve gone seriously wrong we should be there now. But it’s a big bloody lake, so even if we’re off course, we just follow the shore once we get there."

Alan stopped walking, halting the other three as well, and said, We are lost then?

Taran shook his head, hair haloing in the torchlight. Not lost exactly, just temporarily misplaced.

Jay was still looking worried, glaring at her compass. Robin stared out at the trees, turned to oddly twisty humanoid shadows by the bright moonlight. Outside their small pool of conversation and faded torchlight, the moon and the wind turned everything strange. Robin shivered slightly, although the air wasn't cold.

Misplaced is leaving your keys in the fridge, or forgetting where you put your sunglasses, said Alan. I think if it's people, it's lost. How big is the forest? How far could we go if we miss the lake somehow?

We could walk for days, said Taran calmly. Except that the rangers would almost certainly find us before that.

Alan frowned. Not as reassuring as I'd hoped, Taz.

Jay, said Robin, trying to ignore Taran and Alan, Are we still heading basically east?

I have no idea. I think my compass is broken, or else we’ve found a new version of the Bermuda Triangle, said Jay. She held the compass out to Robin with a shrug.

Robin looked at the compass; the needle was spinning and wobbling, refusing to settle down and point in any one direction.

Ah, she said, and gave it back. So we should keep moving.

Jay nodded. They started walking again.

A few minutes later, Taran sighed and said softly to Robin, There are owls following us.

Robin looked up, and frowned. There were three large barn owls keeping pace with them, gliding silently from tree to tree like ghosts. As Robin looked at them, all three settled in a large tree nearby. They were so close that Robin could have reached out and touched one if she’d had a box to stand on.

Seriously? Robin sighed.

Jay, said Taran, Owls.

Jay looked up, then scowled and put the compass in her pocket.

Oh bloody hell, she said. I thought it might still be just the wine, and a broken compass. But it's not, is it?

Doesn't look that way, said Robin. Taz, you're our spirit–whisperer, can you do anything?

Taran shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and looked up, directly at the owls, and said loudly, Alright, that's enough of that!

Robin, said Alan quietly, out the side of his mouth, Who is he talking to?

Robin glanced at her friend, then looked back at the owls, and said, He’s talking to the owls. I know it seems a bit weird, but.. this kind of thing has happened before.

Not for years, though, said Jay.

Robin nodded. And definitely not since Gran died.

We’re not hurting anything, Taran continued, still staring at the owls. And we're not going to follow you anywhere. Go on, back to wherever. Go!

One of the owls flapped its wings slightly and resettled itself. It slowly blinked its huge, yellow eyes, then ignored Taran and the others completely.

What exactly is talking to the owls going to do? Alan asked softly, with the slightly horrified voice of someone who is unsure if he should admit to seeing something at all.

Looks like nothing, said Taran.

It’ll be a long night, then, said Robin, and sat down on the ground.

Jay sighed. We should still keep moving, you know that Rob.

Alan shook his head and said, Jay talks to birds all the time, although I haven't seen Taran doing it before. I didn’t think any of them except Sammy listened.

Most of them don't, said Robin. Owls are different.

Can one of you explain what the owls have to do with anything?

Sammy’s the first bird Jay and Taz learned to talk to, said Robin. Must be getting old now. How long do cockatoos even live?

Alan smiled and sat down next to her. He said, Yeah, not that old. Cockys can live sixty or seventy years. He talks, too, now – he learned my name. Only took three years. You're not going to distract me, though. Owls are in no way the same thing as a pet parrot, and talking to them is weird. Spill, Robin.

I think we’re getting away from the point here, said Jay, clearly changing the subject. I'm not keen on staying out here all night.

It’s ok, said Taran, I always bring a contingency. Can you light it up, Rob?

He pulled a tiny paper bag out of his pocket, and held it out towards Robin.

No saltpetre this time, right? Robin asked as she stood up and took the paper bag from Taran’s hand.

Taran grinned. No, no saltpetre, no gunpowder, not even soap. Nothing that’ll explode. Just good old fashioned salt and iron, and some sage.

Jay looked over at Alan and said, I recommend blocking your ears for a minute, love.

Robin turned the little twist of paper in her hand. It took a few seconds for the feeling to come back to her, the peculiar way of crossing her eyes and pushing. She held the paper bag in her fingertips, as far away from her as she could, and pushed, just like that. It hurt, the spindle of fire sliding up through her skin like a needle to spark on her fingertip. The little twist of paper burst into flames, and then went out just as quickly. As the fire died, there was a small pop, like displaced air. One of the owls shuffled along the branch, looking uncomfortable, and then opened its mouth and screeched.

The noise was horrendous, a rising whine like fingernails being pulled across a blackboard. Robin raised her hands to her ears, although it didn’t help. Any responses to the noise or to the strange behaviour of the birds were drowned out as, with a creek and groan of breaking wood, the enormous tree that the owls were perched in crashed to the ground.

That was. Um. Unexpected, said Robin into the silence, as the rest of the group stared at the fallen tree.

Taran bent at the waist into a theatrical bow, and smiled.

A little overpowered, maybe, said Jay, But it did the job.

Through the gap where the fallen tree had stood, they could clearly see the lake shore, and the verandah lights of the lake house.

Chapter 2: Aside: Seashore

The mermaid looked up the beach, towards the tree line.

I know you’re there, she said.

One of the many shadows among the trees stirred, and resolved into a dark haired young man. He walked down the beach, moving easily on the soft sand.

Enjoying the moonlight, Lady?

She smiled, and said, The moon is bare risen, Enchanter, and the sun only set. I am between lights, watching the winds play.

The waves broke and whispered on the shore, slowly turning the mermaid’s tide pool into a small lagoon as the tide came in. Neither of them spoke for a long minute.

Eventually her visitor said, Will there be storms tonight, Lady Ruin?

No, she shook her head. It is not the season for it. Nothing is stirring.

Not even you?

Not even, she agreed with a smile.

Not casting your nets, then? I need not expect nereids singing in the brooks, nor merrows trampling through my woods to fetch you some pretty mortal playthings?

I wouldn’t want to frighten them away from the sea, would I?

I wouldn't think you'd care much for frightening them or not. It’s been a long time since a human caught that much of your interest.

Almost as long as it’s been since one caught yours, Talsin, said Ruin, with a small smile.

I could hardly ignore the effects of your touch so far inland. The woods are abuzz with sea–salt and riptides.

So, it is no more than a territorial question which brings you here?

That would be enough, he said, with a shrug.

Then you would have no objection if I claimed one of the mortals, as long as I stay on my side of the sand? Maybe more than one of them, said Ruin, with an amused glint in her eyes.

Talsin turned to stare at her directly, and said, I would be most displeased if any one of those mortals were to drown, or vanish far from shore.

Especially the girl with the otter hair and my ring on her finger?

That one did attract my attention, it's true, Talsin said, with a wry smile.

Ruin chuckled, and said, Mine too; she shines like a lighthouse on a dark night. She could be a great power, one like that. If the Liosa don't take her.

They won't.

They will if no one prevents them. You know this as well as I do, Enchanter. They will take her, and break her, and leave no more than a husk of that fire when they're done. If she is here to be stolen.

Are you suggesting that I should steal her instead?

Would I make such a suggestion to you, my favourite adversary?

Ruin, there have been no enchanters trained since Mathmireu was killed, said Talsin. There have been no new dragons since the purge.

Ruin frowned, and said, Then perhaps it's time you did something about that. I know your teacher’s death hurt you, old friend, but time moves on. The world is poorer for having lost its enchanters, and I would not be averse to a few more like you. If you want the human, take her. Or I will.

Chapter 3: Dreams

Robin woke up in the dark, gasping for breath, heart pounding as if she’d been running, or swimming hard. It was still well before sunrise, but adrenalin and half–remembered dreams of drowning had banished any hope of sleep.

She padded through the house restlessly, trying to be quiet as she boiled the kettle and made herself tea. The old floorboards creaked, unless you stepped in just the right spots at the edges, where the faded green wallpaper and wooden skirting boards met the rich, red–brown boards. Everyone else was still asleep and the entire valley had that quality of quiet that only happens in the hours between midnight and dawn. Robin fetched a blanket from the cupboard, then took it and her tea outside to curl up on the old couch on the verandah and watch the stars fade. The first birds were already waking up, and snatches of birdsong added to the stillness rather than breaking it. It was almost bright enough to make out the carvings on the balustrade that defined the edge of the verandah and stopped fools and drunks from stepping off the edge and breaking an ankle on the sudden drop. The couch hadn’t changed in a decade, even down to the threadbare patch on one arm where the upholstery had needed replacing since she could remember. Everything about the place was familiar, loved. It had been more than a year since she’d last been to the lake, maybe as much as two, and years since she’d stayed over like this and watched the sky slowly paling, but it made no difference. She could have drawn the scene from memory.

Robin sighed. She still missed her grandmother, kept going into the kitchen and half expecting to see her there taking down jars form the high shelves or pulling a tray of cookies out of the oven. It wasn't the same without her, but that really didn't justify not coming up here. She had missed the lake house itself, and the lake, and the woods. She sipped her tea, watching the pre–dawn light slowly gathering like a ground mist among the trees.

Her eyes drifted shut, then open again. The place still affected her that way, relaxed her on some level that never let go otherwise. Robin drank the last of her tea and sighed, feeling the stress of the last few months slipping away. She stared out across the lake, enjoying the tranquillity. Even with the drought, everything was green, unlike the dead, dry browns and yellows of the city. Robin idly twisted the silver ring on her finger, watching the lake and the forest, half–asleep. The sound of the wind in the tree–tops was almost the same as the sound of waves, or a waterfall. Almost as if you could walk into the woods and be underwater, she thought, with the trees sounding the wash of the tide far overhead.

Robin found her eyes drawn back to a particular patch of forest, a little way from the lake shore. She couldn’t immediately identify why she was watching that bit of the woods in particular, but something about it kept her attention, pushed her back into wakefulness. It took several minutes before Robin’s eyes re–focused on the trees and saw the man standing perfectly still among them. He was wearing clothing that blended into the forest, greys and browns, and he would have been almost impossible to see except for his eyes. He was watching Robin, and when he saw her notice he smiled slightly and inclined his head. Robin nodded back, wondering who he was; there were several cottages scattered around the lake, mostly for hire, but she hadn’t thought any of them were occupied.

Morning, called Robin, loud enough to be heard but quietly enough not to disturb her still–sleeping friends inside the house.

It is, he replied, and his voice was warm and expressive, and made Robin think of old–fashioned radio actors. He was pretty, too, slender and muscular with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. 

Did you get in last night?

No, he said, I’ve been here for some time.

Oh, okay. Enjoying the lake?

I’ve always loved the lake. What about you?

Robin smiled, and said, I love the forest, really, more than the lake itself. But the lake is beautiful. It’s a bit strange being back, really.

You haven’t been here in a long time, then, he observed.

Not since – never mind. No. Not in a long time.

The trees remember you. Even with the touch of salt water on you, they recognise you.

Robin hesitated, and gave him a strange look.

I’ve been wondering, he continued, how close you are to waking. Trees don't remember just anyone, after all. You’re Eleanor’s grandchild, aren’t you?

After a long pause, she said carefully, I'm fairly sure I'm awake. Who are you, again? Should I know you?

I am called Talsin, her visitor said.

That’s an interesting name. She waited for him to respond, or say anything, but he just stood there. Do you often talk to trees about people they may or may not remember?

More often than you might think, although I find the other things they remember more interesting, normally.  Trees are very honest, if a little slow to respond.

Robin stood up and walked to the edge of the verandah. She would have gone further, to a more conversational distance, but something in his face stopped her. She couldn't have said what the expression was, but it was disturbing in the way that a dream is sometimes disturbing. Not dangerous, necessarily, but something close to it. She stopped at the edge of the verandah and leaned on the railing.

After a pause, during which she just looked at him and tried to work out what made him so oddly interesting, Robin said, I can't place your accent. Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?

What would you do if I did mind?

I might ask you something else, I guess. Make a few assumptions that would have seemed crazy to me yesterday, but are a little more plausible after last night. Maybe I'd see if you know anything about owls. Would you avoid that question too?

That depends. You haven't answered my question yet.

You’re very good at answering questions without actually answering the question, said Robin. I'm not sure how well it works as a conversational technique.

He smiled, and said, It’s an art. I practice. You're not bad at it yourself.

She smiled, and said, Will you answer my questions if I answer yours?

Are we negotiating?

Sure.

Excellent. You first, then.

Robin paused, looking at him. Then she shrugged slightly. Alright, I can't see the harm. Yes, my grandmother was Eleanor Leander. Why does that matter to you? Did you know her?

He walked closer and leaned against a tree. He said, I did meet Eleanor many years ago, although I didn't know her well. We were neighbours a long while. What did she tell you about me and my folk?

I don't think she ever mentioned you, at least by name.

He waited. After a minute Robin added, I couldn't tell you what she might have said about your 'folk' unless you're more specific.

When you work it out, you can get back to me.

Okay. Robin looked at him curiously. Why did you say that the trees remember me?

Because it's true. Will you tell me your name, Eleanor's granddaughter?

She hesitated, then said, I'm Robin.

He waited for a minute for her to continue. When she didn't, he said, Are you done with the game so soon, Robin?

Are we playing a game?

It keeps life interesting.

I have this feeling that playing games with you, even word games, without knowing the rules isn't safe.

You're beginning to understand, then. Playing word games with me probably isn't safe, regardless of the rules. He smiled, and it was just a little bit too.. sharp. Predatory.

Robin felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She asked quietly, Is this the sort of game that has a winner?

It could be.

Ambiguous. How can I tell who's winning?

Decide what you want, and when you achieve it you've won. That's normally how winning is defined, I think. Is there some secret you wish to unravel, some riddle or mystery you have always craved an answer to?

I don't –

Have a care, Fledgling, he interrupted, You already owe me three answers, and I will know if you lie to me. A lie grants me a forfeit. He smiled, and added, You wanted to know the rules.

Robin swallowed past a suddenly dry mouth and said, Good. Okay. Sure, good to know. I don't really spend my time wondering about secrets and riddles, but I'm sure I can come up with something I want from this conversation. I mean, if nothing else, I would like to know what your winning condition is.

Talsin smiled slightly, and said nothing.

Robin tried again, Do you want something in particular, Talsin?

I do, he said, walking closer.

Robin watched him as he walked up to the the verandah, lithe and graceful as a dancer. He didn't walk like a normal person, more like a cat, entirely comfortable in its own skin and absolutely aware of its surroundings. And he still gave off that sense of almost, maybe danger, like there was something about him which didn't quite fit. Robin found that she was holding her breath, watching him. He stopped a step away from the edge of the railing, almost close enough to touch, and watched her. He smelled of lightning, of rain and ozone. He definitely didn't smell of anything human. Robin felt her heart rate increase, a chill of adrenalin tingling in her fingertips. Being this close to him felt rather