As You Wish (Book Lover 2) Page 4

  A couple of older men stood out on the wide cement slab beyond, drinking as they talked shit and a girl with floppy limbs smoked something not entirely legal within the arms of what I assumed was her boyfriend. One of the guys disappeared inside, reappearing with a big box of spray cans. “Ironlak,” he said with a grin and tossed one to Flea.

  “Nice,” he said, looking the can over. He moved over to the cement sheet walls, letting me go to spray a couple of experimental lines on them. I took a seat on a low concrete wall near the mural site. He nodded his head and then said, “Alright, let’s roll some green on for the background.”

  “Aren’t the flames red?” sandy hair said.

  “Nope, green, poison lime green.”

  Dark hair shrugged. “I’ll see what’s in the car.”

  “That’s Scott,” Flea said, sitting down by me and pointing to the sandy-haired guy. “The other one’s Meeks.” Scott lifted a hand and waved at me. “This is Tess.”

  “Your new girlfriend?” Scott said. Flea’s eyes went down to where my hand and his were just touching but was saved from answering by Meeks returning with paint tins and rollers. “This is Tess,” Scott said, gesturing to me.

  They didn’t say much as the three of them got to painting the two flat sheets of cement, not really bothering to do a perfect job, just getting the colour on. Why became immediately apparent as Flea began to work with a black spray can. He flipped off the nozzle provided, picking up a replacement from the box. He shook it as he looked at the bare green space and then after pulling on a respirator; he started to paint.

  Dark lines slowly revealed his design, one that could have been a complement to the tattoo he had shown me today. Familiar green licking flames appeared; storm clouds were sketched in using blends of dark grey and purple and off to one side was the sprawling form of Miazydar, a picture of writhing strength, hanging mid-air and ready to strike. “Your dog likes art?” Meeks said as my dragon got to his feet. He moved over to the artwork, sitting behind where Flea worked, watching the whole process.

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “I’ve never seen an animal do that before. Must like Flea,” Scott said.

  “He rents the space next to our shop, so he sees him all the time.”

  “Oh, so you’re that Tess,” Scott said.

  “What does that mean?” I said, but Meeks just shot his friend a look, shaking his head slightly.

  “I’m gonna get a drink. You want a beer, Tess?” Scott asked.

  I didn’t want a beer; I hate the taste of beer. Sour, fermented yuck, but I need something to do with my hands. I’d barely spoken twenty words to Flea, never met his friends before and was feeling completely out of my depth. Miazydar came and sits by my feet, his soft silky coat on my skin instantly soothing me. “Yeah, sure.”

  As Scott disappeared inside, more people came outside. A few guys drifted over to watch Flea paint, talking to others about how they think it’ll turn out before going out onto the cement slab to smoke. The sickly sweet smell of spray paint filled the air. Then a bunch of girls emerged, giggling and struggling to stay upright. Two of them just walk on past, one waving to the guys smoking with their friends. The other pulled up short, looking at the mural, then Flea. I recognised the blue-dyed hair and long limbs. It was Sable.

  “Oh, my god!” she yelped, her hands going to her face as if she was trying to keep the shriek in. “That’s…” her hand shook as she pointed to the artwork. Flea turned around, obviously wondering what the fuss was and she launched herself into his arms. He yanked down the respirator, trying to step backwards out of her grip, but she just bounced up and down, making inarticulate squeaking noises. Scott reappeared, taking in Sable and her incoming friends with a smile.

  I could see why. Sable’s friends were equally as gorgeous: long flowing hair, tiny little denim shorts or minis and many, many tattoos. My mother hated it, but full sleeve tattoos on young women wasn’t a big thing anymore. I looked down at my own slightly freckled skin for a moment, rubbing my hand along it. My beer was redeployed into the hands of the new girls. I looked down, rubbing my hand over Miazydar’s head. I must look like the world’s worst dog owner, but I rarely patted him. It was something he really only tolerated when I needed it the most. He looked up at me and said; They do not compare with you.

  It’s not about comparison, I replied. I looked up where Sable’s friends now had their arms around Scott and Meeks. I envied the easy way some people seemed to be able to just mesh with others. They are them and I’m me. One’s not better than the other, it’s just different.

  Well, I for one am glad my rider is considerably quiet by comparison. That screeching noise they are all making is quite hard on my ears in this form.

  I’m sorry. We’ll head home soon. I only came because Ash was hassling me and where is she now? Why do people always do that? They get so caught up on you coming to some event and then you never see them for the rest of the night. She wouldn’t even know if I was here or not. We could be at home, reading a good book.

  I like it when you read to me. It reminds me of things from home.

  Do you miss it? We can go back through the gate again. I need to head back to the Celestial Record.

  Sometimes. Your world is very…busy by comparison. It would be nice to stretch my wings.

  Then we will. It’s Sunday tomorrow, so the shop’s closed. We’ll slip through early. I’ll let Ash know before we leave. Miazydar laid his head down on the concrete, seeming more relaxed than I’d seen him in days.

  “It’s not yours.”

  I zoned back in, seeing Sable and Flea looking almost like they were arguing.

  “Uh, I’ve got a full back piece that says otherwise. I asked you specifically to design me something one of a kind, something that no one else has,” she said, her voice beginning to rise.

  “Lady, I did just that. I’ve never tattooed that design before, on anyone. It’s not on my flash sheets; it’s not in any of the magazines I’ve been featured in. It’s a new design and I have already retired it. No one else will ever have it on their skin.”

  “So why are you saying it’s not mine? You designed it for me.”

  “I didn’t design it for you. It was something I’ve been working on lately.” He picked up his book and flicked the pages for her. “I was drawing her well and truly before you walked in the door and I used the design because she seemed to fit your brief.”

  Her brow creased, then smoothed. She forced herself up straighter and then smiled. “I’m sorry, I thought...” She laughed. “I don’t know what I thought.” He just nodded and turned back to his painting.

  “Hey.” I glanced up to see Sable had come to sit by me. “I’m Sable. Are you like the shop girl or something?”

  “Oh no,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Girlfriend?” she looked quizzical with her eyebrow cocked.

  “No, I’m his… landlord, I guess.”

  “Oh.” she moved so she could watch Flea paint. “Do you do that a lot, hang out with your tenants?”

  “My sister and I, we only have the one, well, two if you count Gabe, but he’s her boyfriend.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You’re Ash’s sister?” I nodded. She seemed to look me over more closely now. “Yeah, I guess I see the resemblance. How do you deal with the temptation?” she said, jerking her head in Flea’s direction. “I think I’d be next door ‘talking business’ every damn day.”

  I stared at Flea as he worked. His movements were precise and economical, he made none that weren’t needed and the paint mimicked this. He is the brush, I realised. Rather than gesturing with his hand or brush like a traditional painter would, he needed to move his whole body to create the shapes and lines of his piece. His singlet slipped off his shoulder, revealing lean muscles that worked hard to make his vision a reality. I knew what he looked like under those temptingly threadbare clothes. Like any women watching him walk past would see the muscles along his ribcage, his chest, as he moved
. His clothes were so oversized they provided tantalising glimpses, but I’d smoothed that garment up and over his head, felt that firm body against mine, felt his rigid length grinding into my core, watched his thick cock bob free when I tore off his pants.

  While we are in Damorica, we also need to work on shielding, Miazydar said, shifting restively on the ground.

  I know.

  You desire the one you work with and he desires you. It’s only a matter—

  I’ve got it, dragon, really I do. You don’t want to be linked to my mind when I get to the happy place and I don’t want that either. We’ll work on it tomorrow, I promise.

  “So do you?” Sable asked, dark eyes boring into mine. “Go next door every day?”

  No, because if I did, it would be like last time, except this time I wouldn’t need to be so drunk. My mouth would be on his and I’d be tasting that curious mixture of cigarettes, minty chewing gum and him. His lips would drag against mine as if we were somehow stuck together, unable to pull away for any length of time, doomed to lose ourselves in a cavalcade of kisses. Because if I did, I would be fully conscious when I pulled his clothes off and mine and I would have more than brief, startling, technicolour flashbacks of how his body looked and felt under my fingertips. I would slow the moment when he pushed his cock into me down to a glacial pace so I could memorise every damned moment. So that when we drew apart and went our separate ways as we are destined to do, I would have something to hold on tight to in my empty bed.

  “Not unless my sister forces me,” I said with a shrug. Her eyes scour my face for signs, of what I’m not sure. That I’m lying? That I’ll get territorial if she makes a move? She glances back as he begins to sketch in the girl, the dragon rider from Sable’s tattoo.

  “She kinda looks like you,” she says, the muscle in her jaw flexing. She doesn’t wait for me to reply, instead, she gets to her feet and takes her place next to him. I look at them, two long, lean, beautiful forms, standing like they belong together and I got up. He hasn’t done a bad job of recording how it was that day at the Prince of Damorica’s manor, before it all burned to the ground.

  I nod and then walked away, through the door, back into the shed, dodging noisy revellers and clots of people chatting, past dancing girls and long-haired boys, bikes, cars, machinery, until finally, I’m out in the open. I gasped in the cool, clear night air; just enjoying the emptiness for a moment. Miazydar looked at me, his eyes reading my body language. He’s right, our world is too full of everything.

  I pulled out my phone to ring a cab, scrolling until I find a company I haven’t used before. “Tess!” I hear my name, but I focus on the task. I have to get out of here, I don’t want to be ensnared by any more social obligations. “Tess?” Flea ran up, putting his hand on my shoulder and turning me around when I didn’t respond. “Hey, you OK?”

  “I…” I can’t put it into words, this need. It hurts people to hear I can’t always be around them, that sometimes I have to be alone. And if it doesn’t hurt them, it certainly pisses them off. Their eyes go flat and empty, backing away before I can even explain why.

  “You want to go? Let’s go.” He took my phone and shoved it in my pocket, me jumping at that small intimacy. “The dog hates cars right? We’ll take it slow, we can stop if he needs to be sick as many times as you like.”

  I looked at him, wondering what the hell was going on underneath that inscrutable face. I looked over his shoulder where people were having a great time, a silhouette that looked like Sable’s appearing in the doorway, pausing to search the carpark. “Don’t you have to paint? What about your friends?”

  He smiled at this, his teeth bright against his olive skin and then that arm went around my shoulders again, tucking me into the side of his body. “It’s no big deal, I’m not great at collabs. I tend to take over. Meeks and Scott will do the filling in. They’re bloody good and it’ll get them in with the graffiti groupies. Well, where do you want to go?”

  If he’d asked me five minutes beforehand, it would have been home, definitely. Instead, my eyes went to where my body met his. “Take me to the shop,” I said. “I think I want to get a tattoo.”

  6

  Miazydar sat on my lap as we went, his head out the window the whole time. We only had to stop a couple of times. Flea didn’t say anything until we got there, stopping by the front door. “You sure about this?”

  “Yeah, I mean, I’ve thought about it before, but I never really found a design I liked. It’ll need to be somewhere discreet, otherwise my mum will lose her shit.” His eyes instantly dropped to my body as he considered this.

  “Yeah, that should be doable. You could do something on your back, or on your hip, even your stomach or chest. Do you wear bikinis much?”

  “God, no.”

  “Well, let’s talk artwork first and that should help work out where it could go.”

  It was weird, walking into the shop at night. He flicked on some of the lights but not all of them, creating an almost cosy little circle of light in the empty space. “I’ll just grab some paper and pencils. Have a look at the designs on the walls; let me know what jumps out at you.”

  I walked up to the beautifully framed images. Page after page of pin-up girls and demons, mermaids and skulls, it was all lovely, but not what I was looking for. It wasn’t until I got to the third or fourth frame that I began to see what I wanted. The drawings stopped being beautiful clichés and became something else. Twisty, twiggy faeries peeked out of groves, stilt-legged fantastical beasts stalked over rolling green hills, wise women with skulls in their hair and great bearded wizards toting crystal topped staffs.

  “What are you thinking?” His voice was a low buzz in my ear and I jumped and shivered in response. When I turned around, there was only a small gap between the wall, me and him. He crossed his arms across his chest and I tried not to notice the swell of his biceps as he does. He smelled so good, like winter rain and something citrusy.

  “I want a dragon,” I said without thinking. Miazydar’s ears perk up and he moves closer.

  You would permanently mark your body with my image?

  Well, yeah. It’s me and you forever, right?

  “Lemme guess, a red one?

  “Yeah.”

  “Any of these interest you?” he says, showing me several frames of designs. There are sinuous Chinese dragons and burly Western ones, small pieces and large. “Not any of these, huh?” I shook my head. “C’mere,” he said, stepping back and going to the workbench he had set up. He pulled the black journal out of his pocket and flicked through the pages, putting the book down open in front of me when he found what he was looking for. There was Miazydar.

  I felt a weird jerk in my chest. He was with me every day, my dragon, but to see him rendered as he should look… I didn’t get to see him often enough like that. I reached out to touch the page, then pulled them back. “It’s OK,” he said. I ran my finger lightly along the sweep of his wings, the curl of his tail, going from one drawing to the next. I flipped the page and the next, looking at design after design. Any or all of them would have worked for me. For a moment I imagined myself like Sable, my skin a kaleidoscope of colour. I went to look at the next page, but his hand covered mine.

  “The rest… the dragons designs are here. There’s some other stuff in here from Damorica but…”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” he said, pulling back his hand and rubbing it on his leg. “I mean, you were there. It’s not a secret. Well, it is, but the artwork… Fuck, just take a look. I’ll get some colours together.”

  I watched him walk away into the gloom of the shop before I turned the page. There were some beautiful renderings of Natty, Gump and the canids from the prince’s manor. I flicked quickly past the images of the Mellors and some of the other soldiers, not wanting to remember them anytime soon, or their fiery deaths. There were quick sketches of the ruins that littered the Damorican countryside, some of the newer buildings, even
what looked like the old Imperial Palace. Then I turned the next page.

  I pulled away, my fingers slipping from the page and resting limply on the bench. My eyes went wide and I just stared, taking a moment before flipping through the pages, faster and faster. It was me, page after page of me: at the shop, in my frou-frou dress in Damorica, hunched over and looking upset in the punt, sitting at the dining table in the manor, reading, talking, smiling, crying, day-dreaming, arguing and then finally, there she was, the girl on Sable’s back, the girl Ash, and then I, were for a day: the dragon rider. A lot of these drawings had to be imaginings, he had never seen me sleep within Miazydar’s coils, or look down over an alien valley or flying over foreign lands. He sat down when I got to the final one, a quite detailed portrait of me. He stared at me, eyes, face, carefully blank. “So what do you think?”

  My brain stuttered then froze. I’ve read millions of books, they’ve given me blueprint after blueprint of acceptable behaviour. I’ve explored and observed the consequences of thousands of different scenarios within the pages, but my mind was coming up with nothing right now. Artistic boys are a trope I’m familiar with, they’re usually either sweetly obsessive, only able to communicate their feelings through their scribblings, or, they’re creepy stalkers. The behaviour’s very similar, it was just the bad guy’s persistence in the face of romantic rejection that seemed to foreshadow their subsequent shitty actions. For me to work out how to respond to Flea, I’d have to know how to cast him: as a lover or stalker. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He picked the book up and briskly flipped through the pages, bringing it back to the dragon ones. “Look, this one was what I was thinking.” It showed a back view of Miazydar, his tail whipping, his wings flung out as if he was flying upwards, rapidly gaining height. His head was pulled back and his mouth open, baring his sharp fangs as if screaming his challenge. “I mean, we could add some flowers along the sides to make it more feminine if you like.”