Cinnamon & Lemon
A Nicholas Flamel fan fiction
2/20/2011
"All of my memories keep you near;
In silent moments, imagine you'd be here.
All of my memories keep you near;
The silent whispers;
The silent tears..."
-Within Temptation, Memories
*Prologue*
The foreign smell of cloves filled the air, and the warm green glow emanating from his hands shimmered and solidified, forming a long, deadly sword. Its sharp blade reflected his dark face, with its tear stains; his blood-shot eyes, dark pools of oil—just like what Will used on his cars—filled with pain and sorrow; the lines that stress and lack of sleep has etched onto his visage.
His hands shook, and for an instant his heart quailed. Fear of what his resolution entailed made him shudder. But he immediately banished it. He had to do this.
Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since it had happened.
Cinnamon and lemon...
Each night he relived that moment.
Red and yellow...
Every day he drowned in sorrow.
"I'm sorry..."
Three long weeks. Now he had finally conquered the indecision he had quarreled with so strongly. Now he was ready.
"We'll see each other again someday. I promise."
Cinnamon and lemon...
"I'm sorry."
Red and yellow...
"NO!"
Cinnamon and lemon...
He lowered the mental barrier that had warded off the phantoms for the past weeks. He let it fall, let it crumble. He let the memories, good and bad, wash over him. They poured out in a wave that engulfed him, blotting out the dark room, with its carefully locked door. He let the memories claim him, let them numb his weary senses.
"NO!"
Red and yellow...
Cinnamon and lemon...
*Chapter One*
Thunder made the windows rattle. Dark clouds covered the sky, blanketing the world in darkness. Sharp seams of lightning zigzagged across the horizon, ripping gashes in the black clouds like claws on a curtain. The lights flickered and died, leaving the room in darkness.
"My word." A match scraped, and with a hiss, the flame flared into life, casting an eerie red glow about the room, illuminating the two couches, the black, lifeless screens of the computers. "We just lost power, I'd say."
Palamedes laughed, and his deep voice with its Babylonian accent rumbled through the room. "Yes, Will, state the obvious."
Will shook his head. "You needn't be so rude." His voice was sharp and clipped, never slurring a word. The long vowels of the English were present in his speech.
A candle sputtered as the flame made connection with the just cut wick. The dancing tongues of fire sent shadows scattering across the walls. They looked like long fingers, outstretched, searching. Palamedes watched the shadows as they crawled along the shabby walls. He remembered with a pang how the fingers had used to inch their way down the metal walls of the junkyard. He sighed, closing his eyes to try to block out the painful memories—memories of fire, of the baying of hounds, and the childish voice of an Archon.
Gabriel whined, sensing the negative flow of Palamedes' thoughts. He looked up, his red eyes frightening in the dim light.
"What are you thinking about?' Will asked. He reached down absent-mindedly to stroke Gabriel's ears.
"Nothing. Just...nothing."
"It looks scarier here," Will said. "In the junkyard, it had more of a mysterious air. But here, here it just looks wrong. Like someone trying to find you."
Palamedes nodded. Will was right. In the metal shack that had been their home for so long, the fingers had not been so menacing. They had left an enigma behind them, a question. Where were they going? What were they looking for? Here, in the dingy apartment, there was no question of what the fingers were looking for. They were looking for him. Palamedes. Even more horrid memories came back, these of dark eyes and blood red lips, of slim, dainty fingers that killed without mercy, of the spicy smell of cinnamon.
A small burst of yellow light coincided with the lightning's purple flash. Palamedes looked up.
"What are you doing?"
Will smiled, the bright yellow of his aura dancing across his face, echoing itself in his washed-out blue eyes.
"Practicing." Will sent another pool of lemon-scented magic dripping to the stain on the floor that had been there as long as they had. It shimmered, and disappeared. "Finally," Will sighed. "I was beginning to think I would never get rid of it."
Gabriel lapped at the yellow residue with his forked tongue.
Gabriel was the only Torc Madra they had kept. The others, at least those who had not been lost in the battle with the Archon, had been chased away by Palamedes. They were sufficient animals. They would fend. Palamedes had fought for the ability to keep Gabriel. Will was very attached to Gabriel. Only a promise of the dog's silence and house-training had managed to calm the hyperventilating manager.
"Do you miss the junkyard?" Palamedes asked. He hated how he sounded, lost and unhappy, like a child. But he couldn't help it. The junkyard had been his creation, his idea. To lose it, for Flamel of all people, had been a sore blow.
"Of course," Will said, not looking up. "I think of it all the time. I miss it." He sighed.
"You know, Palamedes, we can—we will—rebuild sometime. Perhaps not there, but, sometime, we'll be able to rebuild it." He sighed, the sound of his exhalation whistling through the room. "Do you feel like dinner?"
"Yes. Do we have steak?"
Will smiled. "Yes, we do. We're on the same page, you and I."
They both laughed. Gabriel barked joyfully.
"No, hush, Gabriel," Palamedes shushed him. "Remember, you can't be loud."
The hound fell silent immediately. Will and Palamedes laughed again, though not as loud, and with less abandon than they had a few moments before. The need to silence Gabriel had reminded them of the loss of their home, and a part of their freedom along with it.
A cold blast of air swept over them as Will opened the freezer.
"Close the door," Palamedes said. "It's cold!"
"Wait a second. Patience is a virtue," Will muttered as he dug around. Palamedes could hear him talking to himself as he searched.
"Green beans...frozen, ugh...fries, ice cream...aha!" He surfaced with a package of steak, and tossed it triumphantly on the counter, along with a pack of frozen green beans.
"Green beans and steak?" Palamedes asked.
"No, just steak. These," Will held up the frozen produce, "I am throwing away. Who bought these anyway?"
"I did."
"Gross." Will chucked the green beans and started making steak. "This isn't going to be ready until about midnight. Perhaps we should get a snack."
"Should I run and get pizza?" Palamedes said.
"Mmm...Pizza," Will laughed. "That sounds good."
Palamedes heaved himself out of his chair and grabbed his coat. "I will return, with several large pepperoni pizzas and a couple liters of soda."
He closed the door behind him, and he could hear Will chortling all the way down the hall.
"I heard your dog."
The manager was a small man, but he had a way of getting in your face. Palamedes staggered backwards, trying to avoid running him over.
"Yes, I'm sorry about that. He got a little wound up."
The manager stepped forward, standing on tiptoe in an attempt to come face to face with the tall knight.
"You know what I told you. If he's loud, he'll have to go."
"I know," Palamedes said. "I'm very sorry, sir, about the inconvenience this must cause you. But the dog means a lot to my roommate. We are very grateful for your kindness in this matter."
Palamedes hated groveling, but he couldn't ask Will to get rid of Gabriel. Saying good-bye to the other Torc Madra had been hard enough for the English immortal. Getting rid of Gabriel would crush him. And they couldn't move again. Palamedes was sick of moving. He had refrained from buying a house, as he hoped to rebuild sooner rather than later.
"...kindness, along with my patience, is running rather thin," the manager was saying. He had apparently continued talking while Palamedes had been thinking.
"Yes, I'm very sorry. Very. If you could please excuse me."
"Don't forget your rent!"
"It's upstairs. I was going to turn it in tomorrow, but my roommate is still upstairs if you feel the need to collect it now."
"Very well. Keep that mutt under control, you hear me?"
It took all of Palamedes' control to quell the anger that rose in him at the man's belligerent tone. He hated being scolded, especially by his small manager. But he kept his cool and finally escaped into the night air.
It was a relatively short walk to the parking complex, and Palamedes welcomed the exercise. His job as a cabbie didn't really allow for stretching. Will always got a laugh out of Palamedes' only slightly exaggerated hobble at the end of the day, though he never failed to have a heat pack on hand.
Passers-by stared at Palamedes. Even though the sight of him walking to his cab at all sorts of hours had, over the past months, become a familiar sight, his height and muscle stilled awed them.
The parking complex was empty. Pretty much everyone who used it was either gone or in their apartment. Palamedes slipped into the black cab. The motor roared to life. He smiled. It had been Will's idea to put a monster truck motor in the cab. He had thought it funny, and Palamedes did too, though the noise had provided some problems with their manager. Palamedes had been putting off telling Will the manager's verdict on the poor vehicle.
Poor Will. The manager was hard on both of them, but he had, if not fear, at least a nagging respect for Palamedes that kept him from going overboard. That did not, unfortunately, extend to Will, who was forced to put up with their manager's harsh ways much more than Palamedes. Will had taken to hiding when the manager marched up the stairs to chew them out for some offence or other.
A pothole made the car jump, and Palamedes swore violently. "That stupid suspension!" He turned on the radio, and let himself simmer for the rest of the trip.
The pizza store was cramped. Several families with small children had chosen the same night to get pizza, and Palamedes was forced to stand in line. His cell phone rang while he was tapping his foot in impatience.
"Hello?"
"I just got plagued about the rent." Will sounded cross.
"I'm sorry. He stopped me to rant about the dog."
Will sighed. "We don't have to get rid of him, do we?"
"No. I managed to ward that off. But the car motor has to be fixed. He doesn't like the monster truck effect."
"Oh, yes, he told me that." Will's bad humor evaporated at the apparently pleasant memory of the manager's protest. "He turned red while making it very clear to me that the motor would have to go. Well, he actually told me that the car would have to go, but I assured him that it was merely a motor issue. So, you almost home?"
"No. I'm standing in line, waiting to order the pizza. How's the steak?'
"Marinating.'
"What kind of marinade? Lemon?"
"Of course. No real work involved in that recipe."
The cashier cleared his throat. Palamedes realized that the line was gone, and it was now his turn.
"My turn," he told Will. It should only be about ten more minutes."
"Alright. Ta ta!"
Palamedes hung up.
"Two...no, three large pepperoni pizzas please, and two liters of Mountain Dew."
The cashier nodded, and counted up the total.
When Palamedes arrived, wet, but bearing their snack, he found Will in a sour mood.
"Guess who came back?" he asked grumpily, in answer to Palamedes' questioning look.
"Mr. Manager?"
"Yes." Will threw himself onto the couch. "He came back in order to rant for absolutely no reason." He slid down the couch, covering his face with his hands. "I can't take this."
"I know," Palamedes said soothingly, trying to smooth Will's ruffled feathers. "Here, look, I got pizza and mountain dew."
"Mountain dew?" Will snorted. "We'll never sleep!"