"Who is Gordon?"
Mary's voice came from behind me, and I looked up from my bag.
"Gordon Murray?"
She checked the envelope again. "Yes. Murray was your orderly?"
I hummed an agreement, scanning the address before ripping open the letter. She laughed when I immediately started reading.
"Let me know when you're done. I wanted to ask about the cottage you found."
I glanced up long enough to smile a thanks, and she left as I sat on the bed, still reading. I had not heard from Murray in years.
"Doctor Watson, I seem to have been remiss in my letter writing. I only just realized how long it has been since I filled your mailbox. Let me offer an apology along with a remedy. A small package should follow this letter in a few days.
"Until then, how are you? How is your wife? Holmes? I have enjoyed reading the adventures you publish in the Strand, but something is different about these as opposed to your previous ones. I hope all is well.
"I am still in Scotland. You know I moved back in with my parents after the war, but one problem after another has prevented me from moving out. Father started having heart problems, then Mother fell and broke her ankle. She was very surprised when I set the break before the doctor could arrive. I have you to thank for that, though I wish I had not needed to use it on her.
"I plan to take over the shop from Father, eventually. Never thought I'd want to be a gaffer, but I do enjoy it. The creativity, the customers, all of it. I help him with it now, usually the smaller stuff requiring less experience, but that's alright. I will get better.
"How is your practice? Do you and Mary have a young one yet? I bet I can guess what you named the child, if you do. Do write back. We need to be better about staying in contact.
"Sincerely, Gordon Murray"
Even the mentions of Holmes could not kill my grin, and I reread portions of the letter. He was going to be a gaffer, a glassblower. When we had discussed this around the fire, he had been adamant that even returning to his hometown would not put him in the glass shop. Claiming a Gordon in a glass shop was like a bull in a china shop, he had suggested smithing, printing, or even salt mining before he would ever consider glass. I would rib him about that in my reply, as he fully expected.
Later, though. I needed to find Mary, then we needed to finish packing. The letter slipped into my pocket.
A shiver shook my shoulders, and I refocused to find myself sitting on my bed, the thickest blanket gripped in my shaking fists. Some of the tremors came from the regression, but not all. Thirty minutes spent wandering the library had done nothing to help the shivering that had started on our walk, and I pulled the blanket tighter. Supper was in less than an hour. If I intended to hide my constant chill from Meredith and Nicolas, I needed to stop trembling.
A difficult task when a roaring blaze did nothing for the shaking trying to settle in my core. I grabbed a second blanket, wrapping them in tandem as I moved to the hearth. The bricks felt like rocks behind my shoulder.
Cold water cascaded from a clear sky, soaking my clothes and the path alike, but I could not feel it. Hot terror drowned even the roar of the falls.
"Holmes!"
Silence but for the ringing in my ears. I stumbled further up the path, hoping, praying this was not how it looked.
"God, no. Please. Holmes, where are you?!"
No answer, and flickering movement caught my eye. My knees buckled as I read the note.
No. No, he was here somewhere. He had to be. I forced myself to my feet, staggering toward the falls in search of my friend.
"HOLMES!"
Nothing. Deafening silence answered me, and the rocks remained stubbornly empty the entire length of the canyon. The grief I had been denying crashed onto my shoulders, sending me to my knees once more. Rather than try to get back up, I used the opportunity to peer over the edge.
"Holmes, answer me! Please!"
Sprinting footsteps provided a warning just before a strange hand pulled me back. Words drifted past my ears, but I could not understand them. My friend was gone, lost to the crashing water.
Had it been fast? Had he been injured first? Had they gone over together, or had Holmes clutched a rock for a while, waiting in vain for me to return so I could help? I had no way of knowing, but the possibilities tormented me almost as much as the knowledge that I had killed him.
I was a murderer. I had abandoned my dearest friend, left him to die. This was my fault.
"Holmes, no."
The plea came out more like a sob. I barely heard it, and I knew the officer could not have. He continued talking, saying something about returning to town though I paid him no mind.
My actions had killed my brother. I had no reason to leave this cliff.
Small hands impacted my side, then grunting registered. Frantic stomping accompanied low mutters, and the falls disappeared behind a blazing hearth in an empty room.
Not empty. I started, then moved away.
"Easy, laddie. I'll not hurt ye."
A small human nodded a greeting before turning a dark scowl at my blanket. Standing no more than two feet tall, the elderly man's long beard fell over a deep red shirt almost to his belt, and feet smaller than my palm stamped one corner of the cloth.
If he wanted the blanket, he could have it, but a gesture stayed my leaving.
"I already moved ye away from tha flames. They didn't getcha, did they?"
What flames? I glanced between him and the fire. The strange gas Nicolas had piped to his fireplace created flames much too small to flick out of the hearth like coal or wood fires did.
"Laddie?" He took a fraction of a step closer. "Are ye alright?"
I nodded, struggling to find my voice. He could not be human, but whatever he was, he was not a born immortal. I would need words to communicate.
"I'm a nisse," he answered. "Name's Torsten. We don't have tha same talepathy tha big man 'as. Can ye not speak?"
I nodded again. I could speak, but not when the falls kept shoving itself to the front of my mind. I would need another minute to voice my questions.
He answered them anyway. "I hear when you think it at me, 'n I came in cuz I 'eard—cuz your blanket caught fire. Are ye hurt?"
"No." The word came out nearly strangled, and I coughed, deciding not to ask why he had changed reasons midsentence. "No, I'm fine. Thank you." I glanced between him and the locked door. "What's a nisse?"
"A guardian," he replied. "We protect families from trouble, evil." He studied me for a long moment, then conjured a chair beside the fire. "You need a guardian," he announced in a blunt manner that meant I would not change his mind. "I'm stayin'."
His time would be better spent somewhere else. I did not need guarding. "I don't have any more family."
"No?" He leaned back and raised an eyebrow. "Then why'd you folla' tha big man here?"
I hesitated. Alright, I could see that. Nicolas obviously cared what happened to me, though I had no idea why. He might consider me something like family.
"Did he ask you to check on me?"
"Nah." He waved away the idea, glancing into the fire as he did so. "'E's in a meetin' still. I wus in tha hall when tha blanket sparked. Elna axed me for a toy, an' I wus bringin' it back to 'er."
Elna was probably his daughter, I decided. "You do not need to make her wait."
He shook his head. "I'll take it when ye're at supper." He grinned at my surprise. "Tha 'ntire house knows tha big man has family here. Why else would 'e use tha smaller dinin' room 'cept with you? You and tha missus." He quickly shut his mouth, then added wryly, "We're not s'posed to call her that yet, but tha 'ole city knows where that's goin'. We ain't blind."
I faked the smile that failed to bloom. "Has Meredith discovered—" A dry spot in my throat cut the sentence in half. I covered a cough in my shirt before I could finish, "her Age yet?"
"Aye. They've got about ten more years 'fore he can ax her 'and."
She would probably say yes, if she fit well enough here for Torsten to call her "the missus." Good for her. At least one of the Maiwand survivors would have a happy ending.
Sympathy appeared on his wrinkled face, but he asked a question instead of commenting.
"Aren't ye goin' to ask how I got in?"
I shrugged. "Every magical being I have met has no need of doors," I replied. "Why should a nisse be any different?"
Torsten gave a low chuckle. "Why, indeed. You've known o' tha magical for a while, ha'n't ye?"
"I started writing at six and met Nicolas at about eleven."
He whistled, and I tried to smother a flinch at the memory. "Tha last one able to see that young wus sev'ral 'undred years ago." He broke off, thinking back, "Even he didn't build tha friendship you 'ave with tha big man, though. That's somethin' special, ye know that?"
I knew I cherished it, but special or not, someone had obviously cursed me to be forever alone. At least this would not end in his death.
"John?" A knock saved me from having to form a more suitable response. "Do you plan on coming to supper?"
Torsten nodded a farewell and vanished, leaving his chair in clear indication that he would return. I shook my head. Did all magical creatures insist on a large degree of stubborn mischief?
"Yes," Nicolas said when I opened the door, one blanket still wrapped around my shoulders. "Which is why you fit well here. Are you coming to supper?"
"Planned on it," I answered. I was not hungry, but that hardly mattered. "Just a moment."
Ignoring where Holmes leaned against the office doorway, I stepped back into the room. The blanket landed in a heap on my bed as I swallowed a cough, and I slipped my shoes back on and rejoined him in the hall. He frowned at the coat I still wore.
"Are you cold?"
Not as much as I had been, but he did not need to know past or present.
"The blanket was comfortable." We turned a corner. "How was the meeting?"
"Useless," was the irritated reply. "Toymakers are mostly elves, while spellcrafters are mostly faeries. The difference in species combines with a difference in work environment to create misunderstandings that must be mediated to keep the peace. Most of their disagreements a human would outgrow in their teens." He rolled his eyes. "I still cannot believe I thought elves, of all creatures, would ever grow up."
I affected a grin at his tone. "Mr. Frost said the same thing about the faeries."
"Oh, it is true about them as well," he said with a flick of his hand. He lurched forward to get the door for me. "I just work with the elves more than the faeries, so I see their arguments firsthand."
"There you are, John." Meredith's voice cut off my reply. "I thought you might have gotten lost in a book. Kris really needs to teach me how he finds people so easily."
"I would bet it has something to do with that telepathy of his," I told her, following as Nicolas led us to the dining room. "Would it not be easier to find a person based on the volume of their thoughts?"
She huffed. "Figures it'd be something I'll never have." She swatted Nicolas' arm when he chuckled. "You know good and well only born immortals have that ability!"
The chuckle turned into a full laugh. "I had help," he admitted. "A nisse went by not long before me, and the tracks stopped outside your door, John. Was it Betina or Leon?"
I claimed a seat before answering. "Neither. It was Torsten."
Two pairs of eyebrows went up.
"Torsten?" Nicolas repeated. "Interesting."
"What about it?"
He said nothing, dishing himself some meat, but a glance at Meredith directed me back to Nicolas. I was just about to try again when he replied.
"Torsten swore years ago that he would never help another human. His last family had never heard the tales of the nisse, so when the mother saw him protecting the child from a polar bear, she thought he was trying to kidnap the boy. Torsten barely escaped to spend the next week in the hospital wing. What took him into your room?"
Well. That was strange.
"He probably saved my life." My gaze on the small piece I claimed for myself did not prevent me from noting the way they both froze. I quickly shut my mouth. Had I said something wrong?
"What happened?" Nicolas asked, his voice almost gruff.
"Blanket caught fire," I said hesitantly. I had no wish to offend either of them. "I was asleep, and his mutters woke me only after the fire was out. I think it just caught the edge, but I didn't look before you knocked."
Asleep or caught in a memory, the result was the same, and I watched to ensure I had not said something I should not have. Did nisse not like their deeds noted?
I had no way of knowing. Instead of a realization, then a reply explaining why Torsten would have done such a thing if he hated humans, Nicolas' ruddy face drained of color. Meredith's mouth thinned—a sure sign that something bothered her—and I looked between them, the bite I had been about to take halted halfway to my mouth. The event could have been very painful, of course—of all the ways I was willing to go, immolation was not one of them—but nothing had happened. I set down my fork when he remained still.
"Nicolas?"
He reanimated with a frown. "Were you injured?"
"It only caught the corner of the blanket."
Tension eased slightly from his shoulders, though I caught Meredith scanning me. What about this would affect them so?
"I could probably repair the blanket," I finally hazarded, "if you have a sewing kit."
Nicolas quickly waved me off. "One of the lutins has probably already seen to it. They are excellent with a needle. Did Torsten tell you why he decided to stay?"
I thought back. "Not really. Just something about me needing a guardian."
He chuckled at the mixture of confusion and irritation I tried to hide. I needed to build that barrier higher.
"Torsten was always particular about who he helped. His choice usually had more to do with clues only he could read than anything the person wanted. To choose you after so many years spent shunning all humans…" He trailed off, then gave me a sideways grin. "Well, whatever he saw, 'tis a high compliment. You might learn a lot from him, if you choose."
I nodded, and the conversation turned to other things, such as Meredith's opinion on the prank Nicolas had left in her room the previous week. If they noticed how little I truly ate, neither commented.
Seems Watson's slowly settling in. Hope you're enjoying, and don't forget to review!
...Seriously, don't forget. Reviews mean the world :)