"I know," Johnnie snapped. "Do not worry, babysitter. I will try to avoid your getting injured a third time in the line of duty." He turned sharply on his heel and strode out of his apartment and down the stairs.
"Good morning, Johnnie," Peyton greeted. "G-man."
"Peyton," Johnnie greeted. "Would you tell Micah, whenever he shows, that we went to go speak with the imp who troubled him before? I do not know how long it will take."
Peyton nodded. "Sure thing. You two take care, huh? Ain't no fun seeing you so worn out and beat up all the time."
Johnnie shrugged, and settled his fedora more firmly on his head. "It is the inevitable result of being a dashing detective and his arrogant bodyguard."
"I'm arrogant?" Bergrin demanded. "Who wears two thousand dollar suits in the low-rent district of the city and doesn't see a problem with that?"
"And what?" Johnnie retorted. "I should wear jeans and a goofy cap?"
Bergrin glared. "My
mom
gave this hat to me, so shut up about it."
"It is a very cute hat," Johnnie said in his haughtiest tone, then strode out of the bar amidst Peyton's laughter. Outside, he asked, "Which way?"
"This way, Highness."
Johnnie fell into step alongside Bergrin, gripping his cane in one hand. "How did you find him? I know you excel at finding things but—how do you do it?"
"It is not something I can really discuss, Highness."
"But you told me about your mother," Johnnie said, feeling hurt for no good reason. "Even my father thinks she ran off, when obviously she did not." He felt even worse when Bergrin offered absolutely no reply.
He had missed something, Johnnie thought, and that irritated him. He was smart, he was observant—and he had thought after all that had recently happened, since waking up in Alec's house, that something had shifted between them.
It seemed he had been wrong, however. Since last night, it seemed they had slipped back to the way they had been at the start. The silence in regards to Bergrin's mother seemed to indicate any reply would be an unpleasant one.
He had thought it a show of real trust, that Bergrin had talked about his mother—but it was quite obviously something he regretted. "Do not worry," Johnnie said bitterly. "Whatever misgivings in sharing the confidence, I will not share your secret. I might despise them, but I understand when it is not my place to share one."
When Bergrin turned to look at him, Johnnie jerked his gaze away, really not interested in whatever ice would be in those damned hazel eyes. A hand fell on his shoulder, but Johnnie pulled away, snapping, "Do not touch me."
"Johnnie—"
"Oh, look at that," Johnnie said, rounding on him. "It knows my name and can actually use it."
Bergrin's mouth tightened. "It?"
"If I am to be a Highness, you are an It," Johnnie retorted.
"Why are you so mad at me?" Bergrin demanded. "I'm still bruised because of you, I got maybe two hours of sleep because of you, and if your father finds out I'm taking you straight into danger
on purpose
he'll gut me and all I get from you is snapped at and called an It?"
He reached out again, but Johnnie stepped out of reach. "All you do is whine about me being a burden; all you do is shove in my face what an onerous duty I am. I thought—" He bit down on the words, refusing to be so weak as to admit that he had thought they might be friends. "I am sorry I am such a bothersome Prince and I am definitely sorry that I invaded your home because of duty and I am sorry you regret telling me about your mother. If I am nothing but one travail after another to you, by all means recall your replacement and make him my permanent babysitter."
He stormed off down the street, but remembered as he reached the intersection that he did not know where they were going.
"Damn it, Johnnie—"
"Twice in a row, wonders never cease," Johnnie muttered, then looked up reluctantly as Bergrin reached him. "Still here?"
"Goddamn it, Johnnie—"
"Three times in a span of five minutes, it is a miracle."
To his everlasting astonishment and outrage, Bergrin reached out, grabbed him by his arms, and shook him—hard. When he was released, Johnnie swung out with his cane, only further annoyed that he only hit Bergrin because Bergrin allowed it. "Do not do that again," he hissed. "I told you not to touch me."
"Stop being such a fucking brat and give me a chance to speak!" Bergrin snapped. "I can't fucking apologize if you're not going to stand still to let me!"
Johnnie stood rigid, glaring at him.
Bergrin let out a long sigh, yanking off his hat to rake a hand through the hopeless tangle of his curls, then shoved the hat back into place and finally said, "I'm sorry, all right? I was just trying to harass you. I never meant I actually hated watching out for you. I don't. You
are
the most difficult job I've had in a long time, but that doesn't mean I dislike it."
"Fine," Johnnie said, even though it was not, because all he had really done was clarify that Johnnie was not a bad job. "But if I become too cumbersome a duty, by all means let me know."
"Oh, for—" Bergrin yanked his hat off again, somehow managing to still hold onto it as he sank both his hands into his hair. "Johnnie—I'm not watching out for you because I have to, you have to know that. I don't get beat up and almost killed just because it's my job. I mean, yes, okay, it's damned hard to tell the Dracula
no
and live to tell the tale, but if I could not stand you, or being with you around the clock, I'd tell him no."
The knot in Johnnie's chest eased a bit at that, even if he did not completely believe what Bergrin was saying. "So what about your mother?" he asked, and he did not want to ask because he was going to hate the answer—but he needed the answer, even if hurt.
"You don't like secrets," Bergrin said. "I thought—" He stopped, mouth tightening. "But you're so angry about secrets, and I thought maybe involving you in the secrecy surrounding my mother was simply one more thing you resented."
Johnnie's ire eased at that."It is the only secret anyone had told me, at all, without my having to dig it up or throw a fit about it first."
Bergrin rubbed the back of his neck, looking briefly embarrassed. "Uh—I didn't really think about it. Just seemed like I should tell you. Um. I'd tell you more, I think, but I'd have to talk to my folks first. I might be their kid, but it's ultimately their secret first."
Johnnie nodded, able to understand that even if he wished Bergrin would just tell him—but sort of happy that Bergrin wanted to tell him. He would take that, for now. Dismissing the matter, he cleared his throat, then asked, "So where are we going, exactly?"
Bergrin hesitated a moment, as though he was not quite certain he was finished with the conversation, but only said, "Turn right here, then down three more blocks. It'll be a dumpy looking brown building; our friend is on the third floor, in the back apartment."
Nodding, Johnnie led the way across the street, then down the three blocks. He was painfully aware whenever Bergrin lightly touched his back, a protective gesture as they traveled into the increasingly seedy neighborhood.
He tried not to wonder what it might be like to be touched that way affectionately, all out in broad daylight where anyone could see, and his companion would not object to being seen. More and more, though, he was realizing that just was not ever going to happen.
"Something is wrong," Bergrin said as they reached the brown building they sought and stepped inside. He motioned for Johnnie to remain just inside the door, and wandered deeper into the building himself. It was so rundown it should probably have been condemned. The rats were not even bothering to be sneaky as they crawled across the floor. The whole place smelled of piss and stale booze and overall rot.
"Something?" Johnnie echoed dryly. "I would hazard to say the list is a good deal longer than that."
"No, not that," Bergrin said, looking up the stairs, back to Johnnie, an odd timbre to his voice as he said, "I smell death."
"What—"
But before Johnnie could say a word, the few lights in the hallway went out, leaving them in near-absolute darkness.
And suddenly, there on the floor, visible only in the dark, was the spell cage into which Johnnie had unwittingly stepped.
Some of the lights came back up, then, leaving the spell cage partially visible. At the end of the hall, a man stepped out. He reeked of so much magic that Johnnie barely pulled out his handkerchief in time before he was sneezing into it—once, twice, three times.
Eyes watering, he kept the kerchief over his face, muttering through it. "Sorcerer."
Movement at the top of the stairs briefly drew Johnnie's attention, and he looked up to see two figures—a man, and the ominous shape of a dragon, still lurking in the shadows.
Bergrin moved protectively in front of Johnnie, suddenly holding the knife that Johnnie never actually managed to see him draw. The smell of magic grew stronger, too strong for Johnnie to smell it properly—all he could do was sneeze.
"So you are the dream child I have heard so much about," the sorcerer said, looking at Johnnie. "I was told that getting to you was difficult, as there was a particularly vigilant guard dog with you these days." He flicked a glance at Bergrin, and sneered. "Not so difficult at all." He snapped his fingers, and the man and dragon at the top of the stairs slunk down them. The dull yellow light of the stairwell lamps made the dragon's black scales gleam.
Johnnie barely noticed, more interested in what the sorcerer had just called him. Dream child? But he did not voice the question aloud, not wanting to admit to ignorance and reveal a weakness.
The spell, he thought suddenly. It had been a
nightmare
spell that had bounced off him. Johnnie glanced down at the spell cage holding him, the lines of it only barely visible in the yellow light. It included marks to keep in dream plane creatures. But that was absurd—this was the mortal plane. There were no dream creatures here.
Except the sorcerer had called him dream child.
And a nightmare spell had bounced off him.
And Johnnie did not dream.
That was too much coincidence.
Johnnie was yanked from his thoughts when the sorcerer spoke again. "So, guard dog. How would you like to die? I can tell you that after the last time, the dragons are dying to make you lunch."
Bergrin only laughed. "The method does not matter to me. If you are trying to scare me, sorcerer, you're failing miserably. Death does not scare me; certainly the threat of death does not."
The sorcerer sneered at him. "You talk big, dog, but all men fear death."
"I have nothing to fear," Bergrin reiterated. "But, by all means, give it your best shot."
The dragon snarled and lunged—only to crash into the cage that held Johnnie, snarling in fury. But even as it turned to try again, the dragon screamed in fury and absolute agony.
Johnnie's eyes went wide as he saw Bergrin drop the body of the dragon's owner, the man's throat sliced open. He had never seen so much blood.
Tearing his eyes away from the grisly sight as Bergrin dealt with the dragon, he watched the sorcerer approach him. "How did you know we would be here?" he asked.
"You're smart," the sorcerer replied. "After being brought up to date on everything, I knew you would come this way in due course." He lifted a hand, and Johnnie sneezed, realizing that part of the man's power came from a ring on his right middle finger. The sorcerer murmured something, and power rippled over Johnnie.
"My, my," the sorcerer said. "It's true. There is no touching you, not when the spells are that old and cast by Solomon's line. I suppose I will have to return—" He cried out in sudden pain, and Johnnie jerked, wondering when the hell Bergrin had killed the dragon, and how neither of them had noticed.
Bergrin grabbed the sorcerer by the hair, yanking his head to the side at a painful angle, then said in a soft, quiet voice, "You will not be returning, ever." But rather than kill him there, Bergrin abruptly threw the man against a closed door, so hard the man went through it, then followed him inside.
Then all Johnnie heard was a terrible scream, followed by an even more terrible silence. At his feet, the spell cage fractured, then faded away. Johnnie looked up again as Bergrin reappeared, blood-spattered and bruised, his mouth a grim line, his eyes dark. Johnnie looked at him, stepped closer, and started to reach out—but then was not sure he should, or even could.
"Are you all right?" he asked instead.
"I'm fine," Bergrin said. "I'm sorry I led us right into a trap; I should have seen it."
Johnnie shook his head. "Forget it. They obviously knew how to make certain you did not. We need to go see my father, and figure out what in the hell is going on, once and for all." He started to reach into his pocket to pull out his phone, when Bergrin abruptly stepped forward and grabbed hold of his arms again—but instead of shaking him, power flared, and they vanished.
They reappeared in the entrance hall of his father's house.
"I did not know you could do that," Johnnie said, hastily letting go before he did something stupid like continue to hold on.