Free Scryer by Sinden West Page A

drink, plus, this is a
nice flask. It would look good in my collection.” He took it from my cold hands
to have another drink.
    “You have a collection of flasks?”
    He handed it back to me. “Not yet, but I
figure everyone needs a hobby. What’s yours?”
    “Boxes.” The word came from me
automatically, like I didn’t have a choice. I took a swig then continued, “I
collect ornamental boxes that serve very little purpose.”
    As I handed the flask back to him, my
skin brushed against his at the same time that the silver reflected…and there
was nothing. No shimmering, no fog.
    I hid a smile.
    “Okay, box girl. It could be worse; it’s
better than collecting shoes. I had a girlfriend once who collected shoes.”
    “No, shoes are fine. Shoes are useful.”
    “So are boxes. They’re good for hiding
things in.” Then he lifted the flask upside down and not a drip appeared.
“Sorry, box girl. I’ve cleaned you out.” He stood and tucked the flask into an
inside pocket in his woolen coat.
    “Are you really stealing my flask?” I
raised an eyebrow at him. If he were, I probably would have let him.
    “No, I’m just holding it hostage.”  He
reached out and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. “Come on, I’ll buy you a
drink to replace what I just drank, and if you want to still jump in the
river…well…it’s lovely in the moonlight.”
    “I wasn’t going to jump in the river,” I
said, half laughing at his nerve. It was like everything was one big joke to
him, and I wondered how much he’d had to drink before coming upon me and my
flask.
    “It’s all right if you were. We’ll come
back in summer and go skinny-dipping if you like. It’ll be fun.” Suddenly, he
twirled me around as if we were dancing. “Now, let’s go. We have to find the
seediest bar this side of town, the kind where your feet stick to the floor and
there’s been the same guy sitting at a bar stool for the last twenty years.”
    “What’s your name?” I laughed, delighted
at the fact that I couldn’t read him, while also charmed at his drunken, light-hearted
nature.
    “Lake.” He did a dramatic bow. “It’s
fucking stupid, I know.”
    I thought it was perfect. “I’m Ivy.”
    His face stretched in a smile, showing
perfect white teeth. “Ah, Ivy. Then it’s fate. We both have nature names. Are
you a nature lover, Ivy?”
    I couldn’t help the frown that came over
me. “No, I’m more of a destroyer.” All the light and fun in him seemed to disappear
as if slowly evaporating into the atmosphere. His smile faded as he tilted his
head to watch me. His eyes were on me so intensely that I had to look away. I
looked down at the ground.
    His feet scrunched on the fallen leaves
beneath us as he stepped closer to me. I felt his hands brush against my hair,
and his lips were planted softly on the crease in my forehead. I looked up in
stunned surprise. “Oh, Ivy,” he whispered. “So am I.” Nothing seemed to move
then, it was as if everything were frozen in time. The wind didn’t blow and the
river didn’t run. It was only us. There was nothing but that moment.
    Then he cracked a grin and everything
seemed to revert to normal, time moved again, and I could breathe. My hand was
grasped firmly in his. “Come, Ivy. We had better go quickly. We have a lot of
drinking to do to become happy once more.” He pulled me along beside him, and I
was forced to run.
    “Why aren’t you happy?” I called to him
as our shoes crushed the dry leaves beneath us and the threatening darkness of
night loomed around us.
    He looked back at me with a smile. “It’s
a secret, Ivy. I have to drink more before I tell you all my secrets.”
    He never did tell me though. I had to
figure them out for myself. I never saw him that drunk or crazy again either.
That night, he led me to a dark bar filled with unsavory people who were down
on their luck, and for once, I felt fortune shine on me. I felt light and free,
and perhaps that was how my