The Boy With Black Eyes

Intimacy in Ink

Melissa might have spent a significant portion of her childhood growing up in downtown London, but downtown Chicago was like nothing she had ever seen. The buildings were huge, nearly blocking out her view of the grey sky, wind whipping her hair in every which direction, stealing her breath from her chest, gawking at neon signs and flashing lights, freezing in front of shop windows to peer in at whatever it may be, t-shirts, sweaters, expensive pairs of shoes, bags, chocolate arranged like a tiny town, a pizzeria where the oven was pressed close to the window and she could watch the pizza rise as it slide through the oven. Gus was patient with her, always just a couple stops away, ready to tell a story, explain a facet of history or an interesting fact he knew about the city, a smile on his face. When they skirted through shadier areas of the city, Melissa skipped close to his elbow, and anyone who might have been giving her the side-eye were rapidly brushed off by the tall man in the trench coat, staff at the ready, eyes shaded by his hat.

The Chicago Park district was ungroomed, as winter still plagued the city with occasional sleet storms and blizzards that blew off the lake nearby, but they wandered through it regardless, Melissa paying rapt attention as Gus described the colourful flower beds that would soon cover the paths and trellises all around them, stooping down to her level to point indiscriminately out on to the lake, showing her where she could see Michigan on a rather clear day. His stubbly cheek brushed up against hers so he could shout over the wind, before they took off walking again, a rather vicious gust of wind whipping the long pewter-green scarf across Gus's shoulders and into Melissa's face, the tassels catching her across the face with enough velocity to make her wince.

Once they were out of the biting wind, and again walking among buildings taller than any she had ever seen, Melissa skipping forward every five steps or so to keep up with his long stride, she smiled up at him and asked, "So... My scarf saved your life?"

A smile down at her, the cheeky wink of one hazel eye. "Has more than once. I got into a nasty tussle with a ghoul and for some reason, he couldn't get talons in this wonderful scarf of yours. Like it turned to iron at his touch. Very strange." He gave her a look, one that managed to say "thank you" and "how'd you know I'd need that, you marvellous creature" all at the same time.

"How would one kill a ghoul?" Legitimate curiosity. She didn't even remember learning about ghouls in second and third year Defence Against the Dark Arts. Jaddah had spoken frequently about Djinns and ghouls, but maybe they were different in the New World. She'd heard stories of shape-shifters from GrandDad, but they probably weren't even related to each other.

"Oh. Well, you just chop off it's head and burn the body. Drop-kick the rest into Lake Michigan."

"And that works?"

"Most of the time." He gave her a non-committal shrug and continued toward the end of the road, she skipping along beside him. "Once in a while you need to kill 'em twice."

"That's upsetting."

"Yes. Yes it is."

After a quick detour into a cafe that had a bright neon sign on the front door, Gus covering the tab on a bitter black coffee with nothing in it, and a strong tea full of milk and cream, they were marching and skipping down the sidewalk again, the wind cutting down for the moment. They got on the topic of their families, Gus seemingly fascinated by where all her grandparents came from, as their range was rather worldly, and how their features changed the shape of her face, all except the bright yellow eyes, which were something that were very unique to her. She was under the impression that he grew up very detached from his family, adopted or no. Or maybe he'd met his birth parents and hated both of them. Maybe it was just something he'd always wanted, to share a connection with someone significantly older.