by Christy Shorey and you

ARCHIVE: NOV. 23 edited for spelling and grammar

2567 words

Logan stood outside the door to Lacey's townhouse. He considered turning around and walking away, going to get dinner, or even waiting until she left, then going in to get his nightstand and just moving out in the night. He took a deep breath. He knew he was being ridiclous. He knew that he would eventually have to explain to someone about his past lives, the memories had already shown him that, and it might as well be Lacey. She had taken everything in stride so far. And, he tried to convince himself, if she really was the threat, the one who had doomed him to the cycle of lives with memories of lives before, well she already had plenty of information and opportunity to act.

He opened the door, and went in to meet his fate. Lacey was sitting, waiting patiently, with dinner on the table. "There you are," she said from her seat in the kitchen. "I was beginning to worry."

Logan shook his head. "Sorry," he said, and sat down.

They ate in silence. Logan was uncomfortable with it, afraid Lacey was going to ask him about his past lives, about that memory, at any moment, and he kept playing over his his mind what exactly he would reveal, and what he wouldn't. Lacey seemed to be drawing it out, however. When they were done eating, Lacey asked if Logan would mind doing the dishes. Logan happily took that chore as a chance to delay the enevitalble conversation.

***

Lacey setteled into a chair in the living room, and took a breath to calm herself. She had already determined the only way she was going to get more information out of Logan regarding the memories that haunted him was to share memories of her own. But these were things she hadn't told anyone, and she found she lost her nerve over dinner to begin the conversation. She tucked back a strand of the green highlights that had fallen across her eyes, and leaned back in the seat.

The water in the kitchen was turned off, and Lacy sat up. "This is it," she told herself, and called out "Logan, will you join me?"

Logan entered a moment later with two glasses of iced tea. He handed her one, and sat on the couch, holding the other glass with both hands. He looked miserable, Lacey noticed, and gave a small smile. He looked the same way she felt. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, willing her pounding heart to slow down to a managable beat.

She leaned back in her chair, and was pleased that her view of Logan's face was partially blocked by the furniture. She started to speak, but stopped, and made herself lean forward. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right.

"When I was growing up I was taught to always tell the truth," Lacey said. As she had hoped, Logan turned to look at her. "My parents thought it was important, but I learned that sometimes telling the truth isn't the best course." She took another deep breath and launched into a tale that she had never put into words. She could hear her voice carrying the tale, she even detected the strain at some points, but in her mind she was relivng the day.

She was eight when it happened, and was home due to a teacher work-day. Her mother had work, but her father freelanced- at what, he wouldn't say exactly, but he brought home money to support them. He had stayed home with her, but had seemed agitated. Lacey had asked him to read a story to her, since she was bored. He started to read Cinderella, when the phone rang. He left her in the living room, and went to the bedroom. Lacey heard the phone keep ringing, and finally the mechanical voice of the answering machine picked it up. Mommy never let the answering machine kick in if she was home. She always ran to catch it before the last ring, so the person on the other end got a live person.

Lacey heard an angry voice on the machine, and she went to the bedroom. The shouting has stopped, but her dad was sitting there on the bed with his head in his hands. She walked over and put her hand on his arm. "What's wrong, daddy?"

He looked up, and over at her. "Nothing, honey. But can you do daddy a favor? Can you pretend that he's not home? We won't answer the phone or the door or anything, and we will just play here all day."

"But mommy's expecting a package, remember? She told me it was my job to answer the door and get her package." Lacey was excited about it, becasue her mother told her the package was a gift for her father, and he wasn't to see the package yet.

"Okay, you can answer the door, but you have to pretend I'm not here."

Lacey had gone back to the front room to play, and await the package, but her father said he wasn't feeling well, and he was going to lay down.

The door rang, and Lacey had run to answer it. There was a man in suit on the other side. He had blinked down at Lacey in surprise, then asked, "Is your father home? I have a package for him."

Lacey looked up at the man and said, "My mommy said that I was to get the package for daddy. Its a surprise."

The man had squatted down to get on eye level with young Lacey. "Well, I promise he won't see anything, but I have to get a grown-ups signature for the package. I'll get in trouble with my boss if I don't. Will you help me not get in trouble?"

Lacey bit her lip, and rocked back and forth on her feet. "But Mommy said I was to get the package."

"I promise he won't see anything. Is he home?"

Lacey remembered what her father said, but more so was ingrained in her to not lie. She nodded.

"Where is he?"

"He's sick, he's lying down in the bedroom."

"Well, rather than make him get up and come out here, why don't I go back to him, and get his signature there. Is that okay?"

"I don't know..."

"I promise that if he gets mad, I'll tell him it was my idea."

"Okay," Lacey finally relented, and pointed the way to the bedroom. The man in the suit had patted her head, and asked what she was doing home, and she explained it was a teacher work day, so she was home playing.

"Well, I know how important playing is, so don't let me inturrupt you. I'll get the signature, and let myself out, okay?"

Lacey nodded, and went back into the living room. But she was afraid that the man might forget to give her the package after her daddy had signed for it, so she followed behind him to the bedroom, to make sure he just got her father's signature, and that was all. She looked through the door, which was mostly closed, and saw her daddy lying on the bed, with an arm over his eyes. The man was at the end of the bed, and just as she thought that he would shake the bed, or call out to wake her father up, he pulled out a gun and shot her father once, in the chest.

She didn't hear the shot, but saw her father's body shake at the impact, and a red spot formed. He tried to sit up, and as he moved his arm from his eyes, he saw the man and looked scared. Then another shot, and her father's face was ruined, and he fell over. Lacey ran to her room and locked the door, and didn't come out until her mother came home hours later.

"After that I told my friends that my dad was away on a vacation, or for work. My mother took me to doctors, who told her I was in denial about my father's death. None of them knew that I had witnessed the shooting. They all thought I heard the shots, or maybe saw his body, because that is what I told them when they pressed. They told my mother that I was in denail, that I was trying to pretend my father was away as a coping mechnaism, and that eventually I'd realize he wasn't coming back.

"But my mother realized it was more than that. She told my friends parents that my father was dead, and my friends stopped beliving me, so I started to tell them he had died in a plane crash, or in an auto accident - something that wasn't, as I learned later, a mob hit. I learned that day that telling the truth isn't always the best thing."

Lacey stopped, and blinked a few times. Her eyes were dry, which surpised her. She expected that telling the story would bring tears. She looked over at Logan, and saw he was staring at her, his eyes damp. The ice in Lacey's glass setteled, bringing her attention to it. She took a sip of her tea, and felt tears welling up in her own eyes.

"Why," Logan started, then stopped.

Lacey looked at him, ignoring the tears threatening to spill. "Why what?"

"If you keep using the lies... You tell people different things, about what you do, about your life, right?"

Lacey nodded.

"Then why do you always tell them your name is Lacey, if you are someone different to everyone?"

Lacey gave a small laugh, the tears spilling from her eyes. She blinked them away, but her voice betrayed her. "I...my father...he said to always, to always be proud of who I was. He said it was the one thing...the one thing that...that no one could take from me," she managed to finish, then gave in to the sobs which settled in.

She heard Logan get up, and stand behind her. He hesisated, then put a hand on her shoulder. She sniffled, and tried to find her voice again. "You know, everyone has always believed me, no matter what I told them. Except mom, she always knew the lies. But you don't believe them."

"No, I don't believe them, but now, at least, I understand why you tell them. But Lacey," Logan said, his voice gentle, "it's okay to be yourself. You should be proud of more than just your name."

Lacey shook her head. "I...I...this IS what I am, now. Why can't I be proud of *that*?"

*****

Dresden looked down at his plate, and realized that he couldn't eat any more. He gave a sigh, and handed it to Kyle, who was patiently waiting behind him. Margot was sitting across the table from him, with one of the books from the top of the pile in her hand.

"Okay," he said. "I'm done."

Margot smiled at that, but it felt more like she was bearing her teeth at him than anything else. Dresden managed a small smile in return, but knew that he couldn't hide the uneaseness he felt from his face. He had always been terrible at hiding how he felt.

"So, I see you've got a lot of research done the past weeks."

Dresden nodded. "I, um, have found many stories about people changing from and to something that they aren't. There, um, is a story here, that, uh, seems to deal more with what, um, what I think you were asking for."

Dresden reached for the book that was in Margot's hand, hesitant to take it. She sighed, and handed it to him. "You don't have to be scared of me," she said.

Dresden could feel a sense of peace settling over him, like the day when he had first met Margot, and his eyes shot open. "Stop that!" he said, pulling the book away from her.

She gave a small smile which flashed and disappeared. "Sorry, habit. I don't even notice I'm doing it most of the time."

"What, exactly, are you doing?" Dresden asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Margot sighed, and sat back in her chair. "The closest words I can use to describe it is a force of personality. It is the reminants of my power. I used to be able to control entire nations of people, they would act as I wanted, they would behave as I saw fit. Oh, I didn't abuse the power - with that many people it is hard to maintain control. But I also had other powers at my disposal."

"Like being able to change into a dragon?" Dresden asked.

Margot shook her head. "Being able to take human shape is something every dragon learns. The other powers I learned, I sought those out and learned them elsewhere. A school for magic is the best way I can describe it, on this world."

Dresden dropped the book in his hand. "Magic? Like wizards and sorcerers and stuff? But that is just fairy tales."

He felt Margot's eyes boring into him, and felt the flush rising on his cheeks, unbidden. "You are willing to believe in dragons, but not in magic?"

Dresden shook his head. "I'm not sure what I belive."

"I only use the term magic because it is the closest thing in your vocabulary that matches the power that I learned. Your planet hasn't developed or evolved such power, so I have no other context for it."

Dresden picked up the book again, and felt in the seat next to him. The jar of peanut butter was there, and he picked it up and hugged it to him with one arm. The shape of it pressing into his side felt comforting, like an anchor to reality. "So, you are not from this planet?"

"No. I arrived here about a thousand years ago. I was searching for answers, and thought this planet looked promising."

"How old are you?"

"I understand it's not polite to ask a lady her age," Margot said. "But I'll tell you anyway. Dragons live to be many thousands of years old. And, before you ask, I learned a way to travel through space and time at the school I mentioned before. Most dragons live across the galaxy on a few planets there; at least dragons like me. Others have evolved on other planets, but they are different."

Dresden hugged the peanut butter tighter to him. "Okay, suppose I believe you. Why are our fairy tales so important? What are you searching for?"

"In good time," Margot said. "Why don't you show me what you found, you said you had a story about five cursed brothers?"

Dresden felt Margot asserting her will against him again. He pressed the jar so it was digging into his side. "Stop that," he said, shaking his head, "I'll show you, just stop it."

Margot sighed, and the pressure went away. Dresden carefully put the jar of peanut butter aside, but still in reach. He pulled out his notebook, and referenced the page numbers he needed. Focusing to try to keep his mind clear, he explained about the brothers who were cursed in order to teach them different lessons of humility.