Ink and Flowers - 14. 14: Finley

I couldn't help but snort out my amusement and a little smoke as I closed the apartment door behind me. Tony and Patricia- her scent was unmistakable, a hint of floral fragrance still hovering over it. From what I'd heard, it had taken long enough.

The comedy of the situation fizzled out before I even got down the stairs, though. I felt a little sorry for Tony - and Patricia, if she was still there - to be ambushed like that, but Emmett's well-being was more important. And a murderous, tainted deer-shifter cop was definitely more important than sex.

With a faint shake of my head, I got into the car. The smell of Emmett's fear still lingered in it and I gritted my teeth. Business of the herd or not, but I would have loved to spit a load of fire in Dex' face. Or two or three. And if dragonfire alone wasn't enough (unlikely, dragonfire burns extremely hot, even spit in human form), I could always have fallen back on good old dragon traditions: shift and eat the enemy.

I'd eaten a tainted creature once before and I'd been really sick for several weeks afterwards, but in this case I would have taken that in full force with a smile. Emmett was more important than a possible stomach ache. Apart from that, as an empath he would probably have taken care of me anyway.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth at the thought. Homemade vegetable soup and a hug would certainly have helped better than the horrible diet our doc had put me on at the time.

My imagination took over a little and I had to adjust myself before I could get out of the car. The guilty conscience followed hot on the heels. After a sigh, I climbed the stairs and, after glancing at my phone, wondered when I could disturb Uther on this Sunday morning. His bad news was unlikely to get any better if I tried to ignore it.

With the plan to simply text Uther, I entered the apartment and stood rooted to the spot when Emmett's smell hit me with full force. I just managed to catch the door before it slammed shut far too loudly. How was it possible that every breath was filled with Emmett?

I licked my lips, tasting the air. Slowly, I walked through the apartment, opened one of the windows, and then looked around again. My eyes fell on the peach Emmett had been maltreating and a realization hit me. Emmett smelled of peaches.

The dragon inside me stirred, growling possessively.

More than that, Emmett had no sweat smell at all. Or to put it another way, the peach scent then took on a different undertone. That was what had thrown me off at first, because it was a trait of the Fae folk - and dragons and Fae haven't gotten along well since time immemorial, so my subconscious had warned me.

Fae folk. Great.

With a slight shudder, I typed the message to Uther and then lit a cigarette. Blowing the smoke into the cool morning, I thought. I don't know much about the fae, but my limited knowledge made me think of Fairy or Pixie. Considering his coven background, though, Elf was also uncomfortably close.

I shuddered again, stubbed out my cigarette and was about to close the window when the sudden ringing of my phone made me flinch.

“Uther...”

“Good morning, little brother,” Uther greeted me in a tone that seemed more suited to small children. “Up so early already?”

I sighed, half relieved that he hadn't made a video call this time. “Been a bit of a strange night.” I sighed again as Uther's request for video augmentation of the call promptly followed.

“I see.” Uther nodded, himself disheveled, unshaven and obviously sipping his morning coffee. It was an hour earlier for him than it was for me, but I didn't ask why he was already so awake and ready to talk.

I nodded back and decided to sit down at the dining table again. Leaning the phone against the napkin holder had worked pretty well last time.

Uther actually waited until I was seated, then he put down the cup he'd been sipping from and smiled wryly. “I've got some bad news. And a few insights. Or maybe it's more hypotheses, because you can't say much for sure.”

“Do I really want to hear the hypotheses?” I asked skeptically. I mean, I didn't want the bad news, but what must be, must be.

“Don't you want to understand why you are the way you are?” Uther asked back, almost gently.

“Does it matter?” I rubbed my forehead. “I mean, I've gotten used to being different.”

A long sigh came from Uther, then he smiled crookedly again. “Really?”

I sighed as well, but a little annoyed. “Really. I'm about to find some happiness for myself, okay? Bomb's still fighting. Probably never going to stop.”

Nodding slowly, Uther looked to the side, it seemed like he had notes lying there. The man really was prepared, hallelujah. “Shall we start at the beginning?”

Seeing little chance of stopping him from sharing his hypotheses with me, I shrugged resignedly.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “You know twins are extremely rare in many species.”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Because the stronger twin drains the weaker one's strength to the point of death. But most of the time, the pregnancy isn't advanced enough for the stronger twin to survive long enough with a corpse next to it, so they both die.”

Uther nodded. “In your case, that means you're too strong to die that way.”

“Yay.” I commented dryly.

“And then Bomb's natural instinct to kill younger and weaker siblings was triggered.”

“I know that, Uther.” Dry became cool. This really wasn't my favorite subject. “Of my thirty-three years, thirty-one were pure survival alongside a murderous twin.”

The flush of enthusiasm at being able to share his knowledge fell from Uther's face, giving way to a certain contriteness. For a moment he hesitated, then continued more soberly: “During your prenatal development, there were disruptions in the mana pool under the family estate. You remember the mana pool?”

“It's not a mana pool, it's a first-degree nexus, no ifs, ands or buts,” I corrected him and he grinned briefly.

“Psht. Do you know what conditions we'd have to meet if the government knew that?”

I snorted with a hint of amusement and gave him a weak shake of my head.

“Disruptions, yes.” He nodded and glanced at his notes again. “According to the records, they came from the southern ley lines. And south of us, right on one of those lines, lives a tribe of nymphs. There were seven major disruptions within a few weeks, and during that time the nymphs had a queen change due to a death.”

I nodded as a sign that I could follow him this far.

“Nymph magic is feminine, Finley, and given the strength of the disruption it has caused, it is reasonable to assume that this magic has changed you,” Uther continued. His serious tone would have been well matched if he had looked at me over the rim of a pair of reading glasses.

I frowned in confusion. “Are you saying the nymphs and their feminine magic turned me gay?”

“Oh, no, not that.” He shook his head hastily. “That was Bomb with the ritual, but the nymph magic laid the groundwork for it in the first place.”

I blinked at him. “I'm not following,” I admitted.

“I can't say what the nymph magic did to you, but Bomb's ritual apparently sucked everything feminine out of you. Including your interest in women.” Uther pulled up one corner of his mouth. “I actually didn't realize it, but when you labeled yourself gay, it clicked. The summer before the ritual, you told me about Kate, the rebellious witch, and how you had a crush on her. Do you remember?”

A rebellious witch called Kate? A little surprised by the information, I dredged up my memory. Yes, there had been a Kate in our class at the Academy, but she had left after three years or so already. Wild black curls and a crazy laugh.

“Weakly,” I replied. “Well, I just remember there was a Kate...”

Nodding thoughtfully, Uther looked at me. “So Bomb didn't fail completely after all.”

Indignation at this trivialization, anger and old pain welled up inside me. “Excuse me, but Bomb wanted to sacrifice me and-” I paused and took a deep breath, releasing a lot of smoke in the process. “Uther, drop the subject, will you? I don't want to talk about Bomb, and I certainly don't want to talk about the ritual. I don't care why I'm different from other dragons, it's just who I am.”

“But it's important to understand-”

“No,” I interjected vehemently. “Not for me. I haven't seen Bomb for two years, and if it turns into two hundred years, I'm certainly not mad about it.”

In nature, killing younger siblings is quite normal for many animals. I don't blame Bomb for having this instinct or for following it. What I do hold against Bomb is the maliciousness towards me. Completely unwarranted maliciousness and blame. We're both not normal, but please, where is that my fault?

“If you think you need to discuss this with someone, you can try Bomb instead,” I added bitterly when Uther remained silent.

Now he lowered his eyes. “It's not... Okay, all right.” He nodded curtly and smiled cautiously. “I'm sorry.”

I nodded back and then we were silent for a moment. Laboriously but firmly, I pushed the memories back into their dark little corner, decoratively sprinkling the almost twenty-year-old dust over them.

“Do you have a clearer idea of what Emmett might be?” Uther then asked, both cautiously and curiously.

“Fae-folk,” I sighed and rubbed my face. “I should read up on it, I guess, so far I'm guessing Pixie or Fairy. Or an elf.”

Uther chuckled. “An elf? Seriously?”

I grimaced. “He comes from a coven, so he's definitely not a pureblood. There's a lot in favor, a lot against.”

Wiggling his eyebrows, Uther sipped his coffee, which must be cold by now. “You'll be disinherited if you bring an elf home. Shall I cross your name out of the family register already?”

“Fuck you,” I replied, but so quietly that I wasn't sure if he had heard me. In any case, he didn't react. “It's not like there's anything I can do about it.”

“No, hardly.” Uther gave me an amused wink.

I grumbled grumpily. Elves are half fey and half human, combining the worst of both. Skittish, sensitive, overbearing, crazy magical talents... the only thing they're good at: looking pretty. These hybrids also reproduce in this way, with the negative traits often multiplying. As a result, they are anything but popular - unless they are strutting down the catwalk for a fashion show.

“How sure is your guess?”

“Well, he smells like peaches and-” Something in Uther's face gave me pause. “What?”

“Peaches?” he slowly made sure.

“Yes...” As a precaution, I followed up with an explanation and finally he nodded.

“That explains a lot,” he mumbled and nodded.

“Namely?” I asked promptly when he didn't continue. I was confused. Again.

“It fits together pretty well, yeah...” He was still nodding, but then his gaze jerked to me. He stared at me urgently and I shuddered a little. “Well, the bad news is and always will be bad news, whatever Emmett is.”

“Could you-”

Uther raised a hand to interrupt me. “Your interest in Emmett has triggered your dragon's puberty. And his peach scent has intensified your already existing passion for peaches to the point of hoarding.” His eyebrows moved up as if he expected an objection, but I was far too stunned to say anything. “Finley... your hoard is all about peaches. And Emmett is most likely the centerpiece.”

“Peaches.” In disbelief, the word fell out of my mouth like a stone. “Peaches?!?” Shaking my head, I looked from Uther to the peaches lying on the table. “How is that supposed to work? Fruit spoils after a few days, the pits don't last forever either and even the fruit trees don't exactly last for centuries. And anyway, Emmett is a person. People, living beings in general, don't belong in a hoard.”

Uther let out a sigh. “Oh, calm down. There's so much more to peaches than just the fruit. There's the color, the scent, paintings... look at our dear sister whose hoard is about hedgehogs. Buy yourself a little house, paint it peach-colored and plant an orchard, put Emmett in the living room-”

“People don't belong in a dragon's lair, Uther,” I interrupted.

“Where do you think the fairy tales about dragons abducting pretty maidens come from?” he shot back, making an exaggeratedly questioning gesture. “It's not that rare for people to find their way into a hoard. The problem is the intensity.”

I closed my mouth and swallowed the words already on the tip of my tongue. He was right, many old fairy tales and legends were about knights who set out to rescue a kidnapped princess from a dragon's lair. I had never thought about it before, to be honest, at least not in that way.

“There are actually two problems,” he continued when I didn't say anything. “One is the hoard sexualization.”

I grimaced. “Is it as disgusting as it sounds?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Depends on what you mean by disgusting. Admittedly, it's more of a taboo subject, but it does happen that the hoard sexually arouses the owner. Looking at it, interacting with it, sometimes just a thought is enough.” He shrugged again. “However, it usually only becomes a problem when living creatures belong to the hoard.”

“That's what I mean by disgusting,” I muttered, rolling my shoulders uncomfortably. “The combination isn't very common though, I suppose?”

“Like I said, it's not really talked about.” Again, he gave me a shrug. “I just want you to know. In case anyone ever accuses you of anything...”

I snorted. “You can be sure Bomb will dig up that information and rub it in my face in front of the whole family.”

Compassion flitted across Uther's features. “It almost makes it a minor matter what Emmett actually is...”

Now it was my turn to shrug. “I don't really care what he is, I'm just curious.”

Uther pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Well. Let's get to my main concern. The intensity of your instinct in relation to Emmett.”

“It's strong...?” I offered in response, sensing this wasn't a good answer because Uther pressed his lips together for a moment.

“That's what I meant by centerpiece. Core piece. Crown jewel.” he then said. “If that's what he is to you, it's going to be a problem in a few decades. When he dies.”

My mouth dropped open, but my brain wasn't there yet. Admittedly, my own longevity was not a frequent topic in my thoughts, because my human form was still changing, still ageing. But at some point I would be old by human standards and still look like I was in my mid-thirties. Only, dragons easily live to be eight hundred years old. Whatever Emmett might be, his life expectancy was probably only a tenth of that.

Finally, I swallowed. “A dragon who loses their hoard - through theft, for example - will try with all their might and aggression to get it back,” I lectured in a whisper. “A dragon whose hoard is irretrievably destroyed-”

“For example, because it's dead.”

“- goes insane. And an insane dragon goes into a blind frenzy.”

“Until they are stopped.” Uther nodded slowly, the unease I felt written all over his face. “We should talk to Mother. The family needs to know. There must be someone ready to intervene if the worst comes to the worst. Even if it's probably decades away.”

I licked my lips, tasting the air. Peach. Emmett. I shuddered.

“How many dragons would it take to take you down?”

Two or three, I'd answered Emmett to that question, but I'd based that on a normal fight. “Six.”

“What?” Uther turned pale.

“Attacking from each side at the same time is the quickest way,” I replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, I guess I'll stay home then.” He gave a forced chuckle. “You'll probably pluck a theorist like me out of the air faster than I can reach altitude.”

“Probably.”

“Speaking of theorists... Finley, what we've just discussed... I don't know to what extent it really corresponds to reality. It could be different. You need to listen to yourself more closely in the near future.”

I nodded. “I... need a little time to digest this.”

“Sure.” A nod and a faint smile were Uther's only greetings before he ended the call.

My gaze slid to the peaches. Was this really it? My hoard, consisting of everything to do with peaches? It seemed incredibly silly, even ridiculous, but the thought of sharing that fruit with anyone other than Emmett elicited such an aggressive growl that I cringed at myself.

“Shit,” I let out quietly, accompanied by a puff of smoke. I suppressed the impulse to go out, shift and let out the mental stress with a firey roar. “Shit.”