Shadewalker || ONC 2024

Chapter 12: Pastries

Three days had passed since Iris had awakened. And what long days they were. The first night, she had slept poorly after Talan left. Her father had come to her room to fuss over her and had refused to leave until Iris insisted that she simply must have some time alone. He would not give her any updates on the situations regarding Tilda Veil or Eliana Prewett, apart from stating that she was safe now and she needn't worry. 

The hospital had released Iris the next morning, and she had been in the rented suite on the second floor of the Sealight Hotel ever since. Both her father and brother had forbidden her from stepping one foot outside, insisting that she needed rest.

But Iris had become restless. Exceedingly, frustratingly, restless.

The hotel suite was beautiful, with its ornate rugs of deep, ruby red and sapphire blue, elegantly carved cherry furniture, and wallpaper with twisting, fantastical plants and birds printed on it. There were three bedrooms and a central living area. Iris had claimed the far room as her own, and she had taken to spending her days perched on the blue velvet window seat, paging through Mayweather's Complete Illustrated Guide to Native Plants of Felise or watching the crowds filter through the street below. This place was not her home though. It was more like her prison.

The McClaines did indeed own a modest house in Lyndemar. However, they used it so rarely that Erold Sr. typically leased it out. Iris supposed that they could have demanded access to the place. It would have had more room, and while she still would have felt trapped, the house would have been significantly less claustrophobic. However, it would be mighty suspicious for the renters to pack up and find new lodgings on short notice. Suspicious enough for neighbors to talk and for word to make it back to Tilda Veil. 

Iris and her family were still in hiding, after all, in spite of Talan's and Adrian's protection and her father's vague promises of safety.

Not for the first time today, Iris looked out onto the street below her window, fingers tapping against the cover of her book. It was somewhat difficult to try picking apart distant shadows from her habitual spot on the window seat, up high on the second floor of the Sealight Hotel. Occasionally, she could make out the faint outline of a man standing in a dark alcove – he typically stationed himself by the bakery, directly across the street from her window. It was Talan, of course. And more often than not, she couldn't see him at all. Today was one of those lucky occasions that she could.

Iris allowed herself a small smile. They had spoken ever so rarely since she had been discharged from the hospital – it had been nothing more than a quick exchange of words to update her that Tilda Veil had disappeared – but he had made the effort to let her know that he would not back out of his promise to keep her safe.

There was a knock at the door, and Iris sighed. She set her book aside.

"Yes, Erold, you may come in," she said.

Almost immediately, Erold swung the door open and strolled in.

"I got us some pastries!" he announced, waving about a small brown parcel. He set it on a spindly round side table next to one of the armchairs and unwrapped it, proudly displaying the flaky, jelly-filled sweets.

Iris's stomach rumbled, but she still narrowed her eyes at the sight.

"You went out again," she observed. Adrian had made it very clear that none of the McClaines should be out and about until he was able to figure out what Tilda Veil was up to. Based on Talan's warning, the woman seemed to have disappeared from the map, and both Adrian and Erold Sr. were reluctant to make a decision on their next move until her whereabouts were known.

"Pfft, of course – do you really think I'll just let myself stay cooped up in this stuffy old place?" Erold flopped into the green armchair next to the side table and plucked a pastry from its wrappings. He grabbed another and tossed it to Iris. She caught it easily.

"You're making yourself a walking target," she replied, dusting fresh crumbs from her skirts and taking a bite. It was a lovely treat, she had to admit; soft, still warm, and very nearly worth Erold's recklessness.

Erold simply scoffed. "Do you seriously believe that, Iris? I'm perfectly fine, and I've got protection enough for the city. See?" He pulled out his revolver and twirled it in his hand.

Iris stiffened. Why hadn't their father confiscated that thing from Erold already? His gun had gotten their family into enough trouble as it was. And for Erold to be brandishing it indoors like a toy? Iris felt her lip curl in disgust.

Erold must have seen Iris's expression because he stowed the revolver away and sighed. "Look," he said, "We're not known here like we are in Whychfeld, and this Veil lady barely even knows what we look like. She's never seen your face, and she's only caught a few glimpses of mine – it's my reputation that got us into trouble more than anything. She wasn't even there at the pub the night that – "

"Erold," said Iris, sharply. "The woman lost her little brother because of you. Do not for one moment let yourself believe that you should have been allowed to get away with your stupidity."

"Igor thought the game was a good idea at the time too," Erold pointed out, but his shoulders slumped, and he looked away. "I'm just saying that we don't have to be as careful as these shadewalkers think," he added. "We have to let ourselves live, Iris."

"We have been in hiding for no more than four days," Iris reminded him. "Are you really so impatient to expose yourself to a woman out for blood?"

"Four days as of now – what about a week from now, or a month?" Erold got to his feet and tossed the remainder of his pastry back on the table. "I'm not meant to hide away, Iris. I need to see things and meet people. And anyways, it's you Tilda wants, not me."

Heat boiled in Iris's chest. "She wants to punish you with my life!" she cried. "You are her true target – if she cannot get to me, then who knows what she'll do if she finds you instead?"

But Erold waved off her fears and strode towards the door. Iris found that her hands had clenched into shaking fists.

"Erold!" she called after him.

"I need some air," he said, not turning around.

Again? He was going out again? Stupid, stupid brother. Iris grabbed the nearest thing by her, Mayweather's Complete Illustrated Guide to Native Plants of Felise, and flung it at his back. It hit Erold squarely between the shoulders, and he flinched, but that didn't stop him from walking straight out the door.

"You're being an utter ass, Erold. I hope you know that – an utter ass!" yelled Iris from her seat by the window.

Erold simply slammed the door on her.

Chapter word count: 1210

Cumulative word count: 18063