Feather: Book One Page 16

  Sam’s body began to shake with laughter and Edgar glared at him over the top of his glasses. After a moment however, he too began to smirk as though some sort of invisible exchange had occurred between them.

  Throughout the rest of class they continued exchanging information and I only grew further irritated. It was like they were secretly talking about me through their body language, like old friends, and it was pissing me off. I tried to glare at both of them but they ignored me and I was left staring at their two eerily perfect faces in complete confusion.

  When class was over, Sam turned to me with a happy look on his face while mine was still distorted in bewilderment, “Well Estella, it was a pleasure to meet you. See you soon?” But before I could utter a word he was gone.

  Sarah and Scott looked at me with baffled expressions. I watched as Scott stood, but instead, I remained seated, sulking like a child.

  “Are you staying behind for a bit?” he asked as a sarcastic grin crossed his face.

  Sarah glared at his smart aleck remark. “Scott please, what did I tell you?” she whispered, her voice harsh and grumbled.

  He smirked again, “Yeah I know,” he paused to compose himself, “I guess we will see you later Elle,” and with that they left, their arms wrapped around each other like four year olds in love for the first time.

  Edgar approached me at a saunter, his legs swinging with happiness and a smug look on his face. “Are you giving up on college already?” he breathed, taking a seat on the stool where Sam had just been.

  “What was that?” I finally spat.

  He let out a deep laugh, “That’s Sam, didn’t he tell you?” His eyes were bright and amused, teasing my intelligence.

  I snorted, crossing my arms in a pout, “Yeah, but I think he’s a jerk and I also think he was hitting on me.”

  Edgar laughed at me even harder, “No, I doubt that.”

  I was steaming now, my face like a red balloon. “How do you know him,” I bellowed.

  His laughter faded at my show of anger, “He’s been a student of mine for a while.”

  “Well Scott’s never seen him before,” I retorted as Edgar’s face curled into the same malicious grin Sam’s had.

  “No, when I say a while, I mean a while.” His head tilted down, his gaze holding mine as he waited for me to get what he was saying.

  “Oh,” I suddenly dropped the angry face as I realized that knowing him ‘a while’ meant that he was also like us somehow, immortal. “Well,” I paused, unfolding my arms and placing my hands on the table, “Who is he, and why is he here?”

  Edgar leaned his face in toward me with his knees around mine as he scooted the stool closer. He grabbed my hair from around and behind my head and laced it over my right shoulder as he leaned into the contours of my neck.

  “He’s doing me a favor, but he’s not one of us. Sam is something else,” he whispered, his hot breath so close to my skin that my body began to anticipate the explosion of life. Just then, I felt his nose graze a spot just under the hook of my jaw. He slowly trailed it down my neck where he pressed his lips against the ridge of my collarbone.

  My mind went blank and Sam’s menacing face melted away. All I could feel was the way his lips curled onto my skin, his breathing steady and calm. He leaned his hands down onto my legs as he brought his body closer. He stayed there for a moment before he finally sat back and I relished the beautiful color of his eyes.

  “Thanks for that,” he breathed, his chest rising with control and ease.

  I smiled for a brief moment before the fire died.

  Edgar smiled back, “So, if you’re skipping classes now, do you want to go back to the house with me?”

  My mind surged with excitement, “Yeah.”

  There was so much there to explore and learn. It was just the thing I was hoping he’d ask. He lifted me from the stool and placed me on my feet with ease, his large muscles flexing. The existence of Sam was still bothering me, and I didn’t understand who or what he was. I couldn’t get over the way he had acted toward me, as though his sole duty was to drive me crazy. And besides, what kind of favor was he doing for Edgar?

  I pondered over this fact the whole walk through the woods, but came to no exact conclusion other than if Edgar was trying to remain inconspicuous about who he was, I didn’t think that inviting his tall, strong, handsome, and clearly out of place friend to the college was going to help his situation. When we reached the meadow, he turned to face me and I felt my body tremble in anticipation for his touch.

  He grabbed both of my hands with a smile and I kept my eyes wide open, waiting for the wind and swirling so that I could observe exactly how it all worked. A gust tickled at my hair, quickly followed by a heartier blow, and then, it was like being in the eye of a tornado and everything was now crashing around us in a way that would suggest the meadow were destroyed. I tilted my head back and looked up through the eye with my curiosity alive.

  Suddenly, the noise ceased and I heard the familiar ticking of the clock in the hall. I smiled and ran into Edgar’s chest as he doubled back, grabbing my hands and pulling them from around his waist and placing them at my sides. He gave me a dark warning glare as I noticed his jaw was tense and his arms flexed.

  I smiled playfully as I stepped back, giving him space to re-group.

  “Elle you really shouldn’t do that. I am a warrior, and when I get attacked like that, my first instinct is to snap your neck. Do you know how horrifying that sort of thought is to have toward the person I love and need?” He walked toward the library and I dutifully followed as he lounged down on the couch with a sigh.

  I frowned, feeling my spirit die, “Sorry.” I sighed. “Are you tired?” I asked, changing the subject.

  He gave me a reproachful glare, his hand on his forehead, “How would you be if you’d slept on the floor?”

  My guilt thickened, “Oh.”

  He laughed at my sad response, his happiness returning. “Tonight I’ll sleep better in my own bed.” He emphasized ‘own’ in a funny matter, a way I couldn’t quite describe.

  I frowned. “So you’re leaving me all alone in the cabin?”

  Edgar chuckled in a menacing manner, “You think I’m going to let you out of my sight?” he mused, “I’m kidnapping you. Besides, this house is much better than that rickety cabin and I happen to have a lot more comfortable surfaces if you haven’t noticed.”

  I gave him a reproachful glare, feeling his power over me. I looked around, finding it undeniable that he was right. Every couch was overstuffed like a giant bean bag of comfort.

  “Besides Elle, are you forgetting? This is your home.” He looked up at me, a glare crossing his face that I couldn’t understand. “Last night felt like I was staying in a hotel room and I never do that unless I have to. But, you were worth it.” He gave me an assured smile.

  I was blinking at him as the awkward silence between us grew. He leaned forward and grabbed me around my waist and pulled me onto the couch next to him. His face was full of emotion as he inched closer to my face, his breathing fast and heavy. My heart rate beat swift and hard against my chest as his intensity drew closer, all playfulness aside. He was more than a warrior, but a hunter, and I couldn’t help but feel as though at this moment, I was the prey.

  I felt his breath fall across my lips and I my lungs ceased. His urgent eyes scanned mine as he weighed the situation and the level of his composure. His breathing stopped as he pressed his soft lips against mine and I sat there in shock, frozen by the feeling I had longed to experience. He exhaled as he let himself go, bringing his hand to my face where he gingerly cupped my cheek, gently curling his lips around mine and molding his body into me.

  My heart burst open in my chest, the fire inside me blazing harder than it ever had. The pull toward him became unbearable and I leaned against him, throwing my arms around his shoulders in my foolishness. He jerked away in one sudden movement. Breathing hard as his face became painfully torn between his vices and h
is virtue.

  “Wow,” he gasped. “What are you doing?” he cried playfully. His eyes were pitch-black and I sat back, giving him some space.

  “Sorry,” I smiled as the lingering fire inside me dissipated.

  “I said it was getting easier Elle,” he teased, “That didn’t mean go for it.” His breathing slowed and his eyes faded to a brilliant blue. “At least I know I’m storing a lot of energy,” he laughed.

  I looked at him with innocence.

  After that, we kept our distance as I spent a good couple hours simply scanning the shelves upon shelves of books in the library. There were some that looked older than time and some that were shockingly new, including books about the stock market. He watched me pace around the room as he pretended to enjoy a book he had sitting in his lap but he rarely turned the page, suggesting he was more fixated on the company than the entertainment.

  After another hour he finally stood, seeing I had grown tired of looking through ancient copies of travel books and Greek lectures.

  “Follow me,” his voice was sweet and soft as it cut through the silence, “Let me show you your room.”

  ME

  I followed Edgar out of the sitting room where we traced back to the entry, it was already dark and I felt relieved that I wasn’t going to have to traipse back through the murky woods alone, especially not with droves of things out there hunting me.

  The candles still flickered on the wall and the wax had burnt no further than it had been when we came. The chandelier above us sparkled in its antique glory as it reflected every glint of light and tossed it back toward us. There was so much history here, so many strange things that Edgar, and I suppose I, had collected through the ages.

  The granite floors of the entry had given way to marble stairs that were just as worn from time. The same brilliant velvety red wallpaper that was in the sitting room was also carried up the stairs, covered in a substantial layer of dust. I placed one foot on the worn stone, imagining myself doing it a million times before. We walked up the staircase on the left that curved up to a top plateau where it met with the other curved staircase on the right.

  There was a shelf at the top of the stairs and my eyes were fixed on it as I followed him into the left wing. A very old book sat alone on the shelf and it caught my eye, making me stop with a sudden skid. I narrowed my eyes at the cover of the book, carefully approaching it as I wondered what sort of book could be so delicately coveted on its very own ledge. I grabbed the book as Edgar turned to see where I had gone. He shuffled back toward me with a crooked smile on his face and his hands casually stuffed into the pockets of his pants.

  I ran my hand across the scratchy black cover. “Are you serious?” I asked, looking at him with alarm as I began flipping through the pages, gawking at the handwritten poems that formed in tangled masses before me.

  “Well,” he gave me a sly look of pride, “We were friends,” he said frankly, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal.

  I glanced at the signature page, running my hand over the deep pen scratches. Edgar A. Poe was viciously scribbled into the thick parchment and under the signature it read, “To Edgar, may you always be so obliged to steal my name…”

  I snorted, “So, that was why you introduced yourself as Edgar Poe.”

  Edgar was gloating now, “He wrote ‘The Raven’ for me.” His eyes glinted and his powdery pearl skin glowed with joy. He carefully pulled his hands from his pockets, taking the notebook from my grasp and flipping to the poem.

  I watched in amazement as his face became hard and solemn.

  “It was a dark time then, in 1845, and his friendship kept me alive. We suffered together, we suffered over life.” He looked at me with shame, “You had already gone and I was considering…” he paused, the words catching in his mouth, “I was considering suicide.”

  Sadness washed over me as the thought sunk in. I saw Edgar alone and helpless, his energy fading and his life over.

  His face remained cold and serious, “I was the forlorn student of the poem, the distraught lover slowly descending into madness, and Lenore was you, my lost love.” He chuckled lightly, “He was so inspired by our story, our life.”

  Seeing the words, the disturbed and lonely handwriting, made me sad. I felt angry about what I’d done. It was selfish of me to leave him so alone, so dead inside. Edgar reached over my shoulder and put the book on the shelf before me.

  “It was forbidden for us to confide in a human like that, to tell them our story, because it leads them to extremes, such as the paranoia of the Salem witch hunts. We have a certain responsibility Elle, to protect them, even from themselves. We are some of the only beings on earth that are close enough to touch the gods. Humans are our children. They were sprung from the same blueprints as us, but without the intensity of power, eternal life, and magic.”

  “This is why, in their world, you still see the same struggles as we have. The jealous husbands killing their wives and the wars between men are similar to ours. They are so oblivious to their creation and their importance on this earth. As you’ll see, in time, they will destroy this place, and all of us.”

  I felt his body behind me, shadowing mine as his warmth radiated onto me. I stared at the notebook for a moment, lingering. He tilted his head down into the contours of my neck, his breath falling across the curve of my shoulder like a wave of water. I felt as he gently pressed his lips against my milky skin and I shook as the hairs on my neck reacted to his intoxicating touch, joy surging through my veins.

  “Edgar Allan was a different kind of human. He was in tune with his creation and because of that, he wrote these beautiful poems, poems that touched humanity in a way no one could describe because it was a life they had long forgotten. I wish he could see us now,” he whispered into my ear, “He would finally believe in the love in which he wrote.”

  I slowly turned to face him, my eyes scanning his. His smile was deeply affectionate and overwhelming and his breath sent shivers down my spine.

  He laced his fingers through my hair. “Let’s get you to bed,” his voice was inviting and calm.

  I nodded as sleep began to tug at my mind.

  I followed him into the left wing, uncertain as to what I would find there and no memories came to mind. He looked at the handles on the doors before us with a flash of sadness in his eye. It was as though he was remembering a painful time, a time before this new life, a time when we had a memory to share. I stared up at the large doors. They were Victorian, painted a deep blue with gold leaf framing and hinges. I turned to look behind me toward the other wing. The doors there were cracked open, suggesting that that room was more frequently visited. As he drew open the double doors, a cloud of dust fell across us.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t changed it since you left,” he sighed, “I just couldn’t bring myself to come here. It was too painful.”

  The candles burst to life as we entered the room and a soft light filled the space. As I looked around, my mind tickled with warmth, like I had been here before in some distant dream. Everything my curious eyes laid upon felt like me, every picture on the wall and every color was a portrait of the soul I’d felt through Edgar’s touch.

  The walls were organized, not cluttered as they had been in the rest of the house. The layout of the room seemed practical and the use of space was pleasing. The ceilings were tall, probably eighteen feet, and for a moment, I thought it roughly resembled the Palace of Versailles.

  The floor was a dark lacquered cherry and the walls were papered in alternating wide stripes of deep blue and light blue with gold pinstripes painted between each. The ceiling was black as the night sky, making the room seem roofless and open.

  I walked to a portrait that was straight ahead of me as its magnificence stole the breath from my lungs. Something about the striking blues and smooth strokes caught my eye. As I glanced at the signature, my eyes struggled to believe what I saw.

  I twisted toward Edgar with wide eyes. “This is a V
ermeer!” I gasped, staring back at the portrait and noting the date, 1588. Within the glazed layers of paint, a girl sat at a large piano. She was alone except for whomever she was looking to. As I looked closer, I realized she resembled me, right down to my shockingly bright hair, thin features, blue eyes, and pale skin. Despite the physical likeness, something was different. Peering at it some more, I noticed the difference was that all my features were beautifully enhanced. I was a vision, more so than I’d ever seen and I found myself gawking.

  Edgar’s honey voice rose behind me, “You just loved him, his style,” he breathed. I turned to look at him and I could see the elation flickering across his eyes.

  Everything was so breathtaking, so unreal. “I can’t believe this, I must be dreaming.” As I walked along the walls from painting to painting, each was adorned with another famous name, Rembrandt, Rubens, and Van Eyck.

  “Your love for art was insatiable Elle. You were obsessed with its fascination, its mystique.” He stood near the door, careful not to invade my space though it hardly seemed mine.

  I watched him for a moment as I struggled to recognize his pose and his expression. His body was almost shaking, and his cheeks were flushed. I realized then just how painfully difficult this all was for him.

  “You only deserved the best Elle.” He was acutely aware of the way I had detected him as he tried to look away.

  I looked back to the wall as shock overwhelmed me. I had always loved art, of every kind, but this? This was something I could have never hoped to see in my lifetime, let alone own it and also become the subject matter. I urgently wished I could remember what that was like. I wanted to know how it felt to physically see the faces of legend. Each much crisper than a photograph and obviously much more real than the distorted and idealized self-portraits you see now. I pulled myself away from the walls, finally satisfied that I’d given each painting a respectful glance.