A Lightning Storm of Spark and Flame

Chapter 9

Once they return inside the house, Phoebe and the man assist Grandmother into her favorite armchair beside the fireplace. The old woman is still dazed, staring blankly into the dancing flames as if they aren't even there. She responds when spoken to, but no more than that. Despite herself, Phoebe can't help but feel a twinge of concern for her caretaker. She recalls the bitter words from earlier about how her heart would one day get her killed, but she retreats to the kitchen to make a pot of hot tea all the same in hopes of helping Grandmother out of her shocked haze. The quiet footsteps let her know that the still silent stranger is accompanying her. There is no sound for the next few minutes, only the mundanely familiar clattering of the kettle on the stove and the running of water. Finally turning around, she sees that the man has perched himself upon a stool at the counter. "Now we just wait until it boils." she says, more for something to break the persistent quiet than anything else. When she can stand it no longer, she blurts out, "My name is Phoebe. Who are you?" Instead of replying verbally as she expects him to, he reaches for a notepad lying on the countertop and produces a pencil from seemingly nowhere. With her looking on in confusion, he begins to write, the soft scratching of lead on paper becoming almost hypnotic. When he seems satisfied, he pushes it to her. Everything starts clicking into place the moment she begins to read.
"Hello, Phoebe. My name is Chase Starling. I apologize for the confusion, however I am unable to speak due to being born with badly damaged vocal cords in this form. I can also communicate using sign language, but this method is far easier for those who don't understand it. I am here for your safety, as you've likely guessed."
Phoebe's jaw drops in surprise. He's not silent by choice, she realizes. Meeting Chase's steady gaze, she gives him a gentle smile. "I don't currently know sign language, but I am willing to learn." she says. "Thank you for all your help." For the first time since they'd met, his lips turn upwards and he smiles back at her, complete with dimples. Before anything else can be said, they both jump as the kettle whistles piercingly. Turning around, Phoebe pours a cup of steaming tea for Grandmother, then for Chase, and lastly for herself. On autopilot, she loads a tray with cream and sugar after stirring some of both into her own mug. She allows Chase to do the same before she makes her way into the sitting room. Grandmother is in exactly the same spot as they'd left her. She barely reacts when her granddaughter places the tray on the small table beside her, but she does take the cup when it's offered directly. Phoebe stays nearby until she's sure that the elderly woman won't drop the ceramic mug, then returns to the kitchen. Chase hasn't moved, but he now cradles his warm cup between his elegant hands. She joins him at the counter, feeling the radiating heat of her drink even before she takes a sip. She's comforted by the knowledge that it contains nothing at all that it shouldn't. The scratching of Chase's pencil makes her turn toward him. He seems contemplative, as if choosing his words carefully. At last, he slides the notepad close enough for her to see.
"It was a handmade sedative in your tea that day. She wanted to hold back the full extent of your power. I'm afraid she has been doing this for a very long time. At least two years that I am aware of. That is why you feel weak and drained after using it extensively."
Phoebe has to reread the words multiple times before they sink in. "Are you sure?" she asks in a voice barely above a whisper, still struggling to believe it. She highly doubts he would lie to her, but the idea that she'd been naive enough not to recognize Grandmother's malicious intentions for that length of time is deeply disturbing. Chase's solemn nod confirms it all. She's equal parts horrified and angry. This entire time, she'd lived in a house with someone whom she had trusted and respected completely, but who had ultimately betrayed her a little more each day. Chase snaps his fingers softly to get her attention before she can spiral even further into her thoughts. With a start, she realizes that he's added more to the paper.
"Sorry to drop all this on you all at once. It must be quite a terrible shock. But that is far from all I must tell you. I do not wish to impose upon your hospitality for much longer, however there is a great deal of information to share. Do you want to discuss the rest at a later time? I would certainly understand if so."
There's absolutely no hint of impatience or insincerity in his face as he waits for her answer. In fact, Chase appears to empathize with her inner turmoil. "No," Phoebe replies, slightly surprised by the strength of her conviction. She straightens her spine and takes another sip of tea. "It's alright. I want to know. Please, continue." Fascinated, she watches the shifter as he begins to write once again. His slender hand guides the pencil smoothly across the paper, but he seems very meticulous in what words he chooses.
"What do you know of your backstory?"
She frowns and confusion at this question, not having expected their conversation to go in this direction at all. Yet why else would he ask if he doesn't know a little something about it himself? "well," she begins while scrambling to gather her own meager knowledge on the subject. "Grandmother always said that my parents were killed in a shipwreck. She took me in and raised me, so I've been here ever since. That's all she ever tells me when I ask." To her surprise, Chase looks almost angry as he stares at her. Indeed, the paper is indented slightly with the force of the pencil point when he next slides it over.
"That's not what happened to you! This will take longer than I feared, I'm afraid."