:::blows off cobwebs from blog:::
Shh… I know it’s been a long time, but you’ll see - it’s just like riding a bike. You’ll remember how to do it. Trust me.
Because I’ve finished my manuscript and I’m chewing my hands off while waiting for NaNoWriMo to start the new project, I figured I would put a little somethin’ somethin’ on the blog. So, here’s a taste of LONDON’S CALLING. ~~~
Dante lifted his eyelids only enough to see Sebastian holding a wet towel over his head, dripping its cold contents onto him. “What is this nonsense?” he growled, putting his arm over his face.
“Ye’ve been asleep for three days, Dante.”
“What do you mean, three days?” Dante bolted up, then laid back down as the room began to spin in his dizziness, and his stomach churned.
“I mean you were downstairs having tea and then … slam… you were unconscious. I assume you had a concussion from your injuries that you didn’t take care of.” Sebastian pointed to his head.
Dante tenderly touched his forehead. It wasn’t as painful as it was before. “It’s healed some.”
“Yes, three days gone, now. You look practically human.”
Dante touched his ribs. They were still sore to the touch, but not as bad as before. Unfortunate that he had to take a three-day nap, but apparently, it was worth it in the long run. He’d healed without bearing the brunt of it.
“You did have a fever for a moment or two. I came to talk to you but we couldn’t rouse you enough to speak coherently. Just some rabble about some bird and a ring of fire. I couldn’t make out any of it.” Sebastian shrugged and put the towel down on the nightstand beside Dante’s bed.
“Bird and a ring of fire?” That didn’t make any sense. He tried to recall what would make him dream or think that, but nothing came.
Dante sat up a little slower this time. The room stayed still. He glanced around the small dusty room to try and trigger any memory of what happened. He sighed, the thoughts not returning. “What happened, Seb?”
Sebastian sat on the chair beside the bed. “You were mugged outside Miss Merriweather’s. Someone found you wandering around, dazed, outside, and brought you here in a carriage. I watched out for you from as far away as possible. I didn’t want anyone to think I was trying to steal from you. You know how your family is about me. I showed up the next day, don’t you remember?”
“No, I don’t remember much at all,” Dante answered, concerned.
Sebastian chuckled, standing up to walk toward the small desk in the corner of the room. He flipped it open and pulled out two shot glasses and a decanter filled of dark amber liquid.
“You want a drink, mate?” He offered, pouring a glass for himself.
“Just water, please.” Dante propped the pillows up on his bed and reclined again, with his arms tucked behind his head. He tried to remember that night. Only flashes of red feathers and fire entered his mind. Then the coppery memory of blood returned. He licked his lips, recalling being beaten in the face. “It doesn’t make any sense. Sebastian, what did we see at Miss Merriweather’s?”
He returned to the chair beside Dante and handed him a glass of water. “We were drinking your father a farewell. And seeing some sights, I suppose.”
“Stop being cryptic. I don’t remember what we were doing.” Dante took the water and took a sip, not trusting Sebastian not to put vodka in it instead. Tasting the untainted cold water, he drained the contents as if he’d never experienced it before. He stood, steadied himself for a moment, then walked to the desk himself and poured another glass. He walked back to the edge of the bed and sat facing Sebastian.
“We saw a burlesque show. A very nice one at that. You couldn’t take your eyes off one woman.” Sebastian laughed. “Then again, she gave us a right nice little side show,” he said and laughed harder, putting his hands on his chest in bawdy gesture.
The memory flooded back in a flash so harsh, Dante sprayed Sebastian with the water.
“Delilah!” he all but shouted and then grabbed his head with the pain it caused from the noise.
“Yes, that was her name. Delilah Knightly. Do you remember now? She also managed to get herself arrested. Remember that? And the part where I came to your house and showed you the bloody newspaper? Yeah. That too. You passed out… So forgive me for not divulging too much information at once in fear your sensibilities will be compromised again by a bit of a tart. Smallish tits, too, if I remember correctly.” Sebastian took a drink, but didn’t finish, as Dante swung a fist and smashed it out of his hand.
“Get out, Sebastian.”
Sebastian jumped up, wiping the booze from his shirt with his hands. “What the bloody hell was that for?”
“It was for being a hoodlum, Seb. She’s a lady and that’s final.”
“A Lady? Are you joking?” he bellowed. “She’s a feathered fan and a handful of sequins away from a prostitute.” Sebastian dodged another swing from Dante and jumped over the edge of the bed toward the door. “You’ve lost your mind, Heller. Send me a message when that lump on your brain has gone away. You’re acting like a lunatic.”
Dante threw his glass at the door as it slammed behind his friend and watched it shatter to pieces. He stood in the room, his heart pounding. Why did he have that reaction? Why would something like that infuriate him so? Ms. Knightly was far from his ward or wife. She was a random person who’d been kind enough to offer him a hand up and a handkerchief. Yet his heart pounded in his chest as if he were willing to dodge a bullet for her, or worse.
