Black Blood

-B2- Chapter 30

Pondering, I step away from the window. Every time we seem to get into calmer waters, the current turns. As if life doesn't grant me a single moment of peace, a moment to catch my breath.

'Why are you telling me this?' I ask him. I realize all too well that the amount of money on my head is attractive even to him. My father only seems to be driving the price up, ever more driven to kill his daughter.

'I'm not stupid. He won't stop once you are delivered. While I doubt a 22-year-old woman is the solution for the mad king, delivering you won't improve anything either. He will kill you and continue what he was already doing. Indeed, given your magic, he has even more freedom,' he replied with a shrug.

'May I conclude from that that you don't want four bags of gold bars?' The boy begins to laugh. His long legs bring him to the bed where he takes a seat. His hands are beside him on the mattress as he stares at the window.

'I think everyone could use that money, especially the people of villages like this and especially with winter coming. As much as people want to secure themselves for winter and be assured of enough food, they are more afraid of the king. He is more unpredictable than winter'. I take a seat next to the boy on the bed. The mattress is soft, almost too soft. He does not answer my question, not directly at least.

'What is your name?' I ask the boy, realizing that I have been sitting here for half an hour and have no idea with whom. He possesses money and magic, but I have no idea how much or which.

'Micca.' Without saying anything else, he gets up from the bed and walks downstairs. Although this would be a good time to leave I am not done asking questions. I want to know more about this encounter. There is a reason he pulled me into that alley. Silently Micca sits back down on the brown-green chair. He slides the small wooden table closer to him before opening a small drawer in the edge of the wood.

'Do you live here alone?' I ask as I move myself around the living room. My hands are behind my back as my heels slide across the stone floor.

'Sometimes.' I run my gaze more closely over the small portrait on the mantelpiece. The young girl looks exactly like Micca. The same green eyes, the same white hair and even the long eyelashes she has. If she is not his daughter, at least she is his sister.

'Who is this?' I ask referring to the portrait. Micca, meanwhile, has a bag of tobacco and tissue paper in front of him from which he rolls cigarettes. He doesn't look up as he slides the brown paper between his fingers. There is no doubt that he has done this before. His fingers seem to roll naturally over the tobacco.

'Joyce,' he replies gruffly without further explanation. Nor does he make any attempt to say anything further about it, doesn't look up.

'Is she your daughter?' I ask further. That is the moment he looks up. The two green eyes have an all-important look in them.

'Stop asking questions. You've got your tobacco. Fuck off.' I clearly asked a question I should have kept to myself. This is something my father said to me when I was younger. Not literally, but the message was the same. I am not sixteen now and Micca is not my father.

'I don't think about it. Why did you help me? Why did you pull me into that alley?' It would be more convenient if I left now, no more questions. Instead of being smart, I grab a rolled-up cigarette from the table, put it between my lips and light it with the matches left on the table. The hot strong smoke hits my lungs like a brick.

The moment I want to put the matches back on the table, Micca grabs my wrist. The once beautifully bright green eyes seem to have caught fire. Through my fingers, I feel the aggression coursing through his veins, pounding under my skin. Smoke slips through my mouth into my lungs as if my eyes have lost their power. With my free hand, I yank the burning cigarette from between my lips and blow out the smoke.