Silver Dew Read online

  When I first saw the bus’ bright lights coming down the street towards us in the hazy twilight, I thought I might be dreaming. Neither of us dared speak our hope out loud as the bus approached and slowed. Sebastian butted out his cigarette and we stood up together, clasping one another’s hands tightly as the bus came to a stop and opened its doors. Hope rose in my chest like a ray of light breaking through a stormy sky.

  We had to first wait for the passengers to disembark before we could move forward. All my hopes were destroyed as the driver began shaking his head at us.

  “Sorry kids. This is my last stop for the night, I’m off-duty now,” the dark-skinned man apologized in a friendly-enough tone. My throat tightened up from frustration and fear. I felt like the world was falling apart around me as I realized, this could very well be the end.

  “Please, sir. I have to get to my father’s house tonight. I want to see him. We have to,” I desperately begged, trying to keep my voice from quivering.

  The man looked confused, his dark brows pulling down over his eyes. “Sorry, there sweetheart but you’ll have to find another way to your dad’s place. I’d love to help you out but there’s nothing I can do for you – I’m off duty. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Sebastian answered politely as the driver slowly closed the doors before us and began to pull away. Sebastian turned his back on the bus and held his arms out to me. I threw myself against his chest, giving in to the panicked despair that threatened to overwhelm me. In the fading light, with my exhausted, bleary eyes I almost missed the sign on the back of the bus. As luck would have it, a driver not wanting to yield angrily honked his horn, catching my attention. The car’s headlights lit up the back of the bus that it nearly rear-ended. The sign was perfectly highlighted for me, the car’s headlights focused straight onto a photograph of my father. I gasped out loud.

  “Sebastian, look!” I cried as I pushed away from him, pointing towards the now retreating bus. Sebastian twisted around just as the car lurched around the bus, obscuring the advertisement on the rear from view.

  “What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asked in confusion, squinting after the bus.

  “I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed excitedly. “There was an advertisement for a law firm – my father’s law firm. Stevenson Justice ‘a local lawyer fighting for local rights’,” I quoted. Sebastian didn’t seem to understand, his expression still doubtful and defeated. “Sebastian, my father always works late – always. If his office is nearby…”

  A dim spark of hope lit up Sebastian’s expression. He grabbed my hand and we started running down the street, back towards the phone booth we had used earlier.

  I cursed myself for not thinking of this sooner. I had just assumed that if my father lived on the other side of town that his business would be there also and it probably was but any hope, not matter how small, was all we had right now and was worth investigating. My hands shook as I turned the pages of the phone book, rapidly searching the yellow pages until I found it, Stevenson Justice, 1420 Elizabeth Street. The street name sounded so familiar, I was sure we’d passed it earlier. The map in the front of the phone book confirmed it. Elizabeth Street was only two blocks away from where we’d been dropped off by the Greyhound bus. If we hadn’t started criss-crossing through town incase the police were searching for us, we would have walked right past my father’s office. As soon as we realized how close we were, we took off running hand-in-hand, back the way we’d come. I could almost feel the seconds ticking by as the sun sunk below the horizon and a cool evening breeze began sweeping the city streets.

  Despite the cooler evening air, we were both sweaty and slick faced when we reached the street-level entrance to my father’s small, two story, office building. My father’s office appeared to take up the whole first floor and I thought there might be a small apartment on top. I could imagine him spending many nights there, working late to establish a new firm in a new city. I could only hope and fear that I’d find him here still tonight. Butterflies fluttered nervously in my stomach and my palms became sweaty. I took a quick second to run my fingers through my dirty, knotted hair and to wipe the perspiration from my face on the sleeve of my thin, cotton shirt before I boldly reached forward and tapped on the door.

  Nothing happened, no one answered. We could see into his office through the tinted glass door and there was obviously no one there, all the lights off and his staff long gone. I refused to give up though. I knocked again and again, eventually pounding on the door with my fists, growling in frustration. Sebastian gently pulled me away.

  “I think someone’s coming,” he quietly announced.

  I squinted at the glass, just able to make out the faintest hint of movement before a light flicked on inside. My heart began beating double-time as a shadowy figure approached the misty, glass door and slid the lock aside with a click. The door opened just a few inches.

  “I’m sorry, we’re closed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” a gentle, female voice told us.

  “Dahlia?” I only just managed to call out her name before she closed the door. I watched her hesitate, then push the door open wider. It was her. My father’s new wife stood before me, familiar to me only from the few pictures my father had sent me of her and the one or two times I had stopped by his office in Victoria before he’d left my mother and moved to Toronto with his legal secretary. She looked nothing like my mother. For one thing, Dahlia was fifteen years younger and she also smiled a lot more. She was a little chubby but in a cute, rather pleasant way, with short brown hair that curled around her round face in a semi-wild mess. She was short too and though bubbly and cheerful, I remembered she was also very intelligent and could be quite forceful when she wanted to be. She really was a good match for my father.

  Dahlia stared at me with her large, brown eyes. She blinked uncertainly, obviously seeing some kind of resemblance in my face but unable to place the familiarity.

  “It’s me, Grace,” I clarified. “Gordon’s daughter.”

  “Grace? Oh my God! It that really you? Is this Sebastian? Oh my God! Come in! Come in!” she ushered us inside, recovering quickly. She couldn’t stop staring at us both though as she brought us in and sat us down in the office waiting room, her eyes too wide still and her mouth hanging slightly open.

  “Grace – what happened to you? Your mother told us you ran away from home but Sebastian’s foster parents told Gordon a completely different story – that you’d gone traveling with Sebastian for the summer and decided to leave early, before graduation. Lucky for you, you had enough credits and work turned in that you would still have earned your diploma. But… what happened? Why are you here and why are… you look so different!” she declared, her tongue babbling away but her eyes sharp and taking in every detail of our appearances.

  “I’ve changed a bit.”

  “I would never have recognized you!” Dahlia interjected. “I doubt your father will either. What is he going to think of all this?”

  “Is he here?” Sebastian chimed in politely. “We need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

  “No, he’s actually been at a meeting for the past few hours but he was going to swing by the office to pick me up before heading home. He should be here in about half an hour’s time. But… maybe we should clean you up before he arrives or I swear, you’ll give him the shock of his life! And you’ve got to explain to me what’s going on. Where have you been? What are you doing turning up here unannounced at eight o’clock at night?” Dahlia demanded. My head spun from all her questions.

  “We’ve been traveling across Canada,” Sebastian neatly cut-in. “We wanted to do it as cheaply as possible and rough-it where we could so we’ve been camping mostly. We hiked through Quetico Park a few weeks ago and then decided to take a bus out to Toronto to visit with you before our next destination.”

  “And where is your next destination? The Jensons said you were traveling on your motorbike – where is it? And what is it that you need
to talk to Gordon about that’s so important?” Dahlia drilled.

  “That’s between my father and I,” I firmly and politely replied. For a second I was worried that Dahlia might be offended by my firm tone but instead, she grinned in response.

  “So there is a bit of your father in you after all,” she commented, still smiling at me. “Here, let’s get you upstairs and into the shower. Sebastian, you don’t look too badly but Grace you’re a mess! You can fix yourself up while Sebastian tells me the whole story,” she suggested. I easily agreed, wanting to be as presentable before my father as possible and knowing that even Dahlia wasn’t likely to get much out of Sebastian. He would handle her questions better than I could anyway.

  Dahlia led us upstairs to the small apartment overtop of my father’s office. There were really only three rooms – a small kitchen/living room, a tiny bedroom with a small, double bed and a little bathroom with a toilet, sink and stand-up shower. The second bedroom in the place had been converted into a storage room for office documents and files. Dahlia set about making tea and chatting with Sebastian while I got myself into the shower.

  I was shocked when I saw my reflection in the mirror. I hadn’t spent much time looking at my reflection in the past few months other than the glimpses I’d had in rivers and lakes. Even on the bus, I’d only glanced quickly at myself in the small bathroom mirror, knowing I most likely wouldn’t be pleased with what I saw and not finding it important enough to look. Now that I found myself in front of a fairly large mirror under the bathroom’s bright lights, there was nowhere else to look.

  I had cut my hair short enough that it didn’t quite reach my shoulders. With the extra weight cut off it, my wavy locks had sprung up into lose and messy curls and I was shocked to see there were actually small pieces of dirt and debris tangled into my hair. My hair was lighter in color than I’d realized too and my chestnut locks had been bleached and highlighted to a light, golden shade from the sun. My face looked much the same as I remembered though my eyebrows were a little thicker (having not been plucked all summer), my nose and cheekbones were dusted with freckles and my eyes appeared slightly smaller than what I was used to with their lack of mascara. My clothes looked disgusting under the bright lights – all the rips and stains obvious and overwhelming. I stripped down in front of the mirror, noting the small scratches, bruises and mosquito bites, and the dusty dirt that appeared to cover me from head to toe.

  I showered as quickly as possible, only taking the briefest of moments to enjoy the hot, steamy shower. The water that ran off me was a muddy brown and I almost giggled out loud as I realized half of my “tan” was in fact due to the thin layer of dirt and dust that had coated my skin. I scrubbed my body and my hair clean, tugging conditioner through my tangled locks and enjoying the sweet, floral scent of the soaps and shampoos.

  I hurriedly dressed in the clean clothes Dahlia had so thoughtfully gathered for me. They were hers so they fit me quite loosely but I didn’t mind. I cinched the cord on the flowing, white peasant skirt as tightly as it would go so it wouldn’t slide off my hips. I luxuriated in the feel of the clean and crisp cotton as I combed out my hair and applied a quick sweep of Dahlia’s eye shadow to my eyes, not bothering with any other primping as I knew I was quickly running out of time. Besides, I was curious about what Sebastian and Dahlia were discussing and wanted to rejoin them as soon as possible.

  I glanced in the mirror one last time to inspect myself before exiting. My curls were damp still but hung somewhat neatly to just below my jaw. I looked clean and fresh, like I’d been on vacation somewhere tropical with my freckles and tanned skin. I looked a lot more presentable anyway and enough like my old self that my father wouldn’t be too shocked – I hoped. The thin, mauve tank top Dahlia had provided me with just wouldn’t do though. The thick, black tattoo that snaked down and around my whole right arm contrasted drastically with my neat, conservative outfit. I knew my father would have a fit if he saw it – it was difficult enough to look at myself.

  “Dahlia?” I called, cracking the bathroom door open only slightly.

  “Yes,” she immediately answered.

  “Do you have another shirt I could borrow? Maybe something with long sleeves? I’m a bit cold in this one,” I lied.

  “Oh, sure. Just one sec, hun.” I heard her bustle away and rummage through the small chest of drawers we’d seen in the little bedroom. I reached through the door with only my hand for the new shirt but was shocked when Dahlia thrust the door open and I was forced to jump backwards. She smiled at me wryly.

  “I’m not sure if this one will fool your father though, he’s sure to notice that tattoo,” Dahlia stated matter-of-factly as she handed me a thin, white, zip-up hoodie. I put it on over my tank top protectively, wanting to hide the Binding mark from her sight. She was right though, the black pattern twisted out beneath the cuff and around my wrist to coil into the center of my palm. “Really, Grace. If you had to get matching tattoos, couldn’t you at least have chosen a smaller and more discrete design? You’re going to give your father a heart attack.”

  I didn’t laugh because it wasn’t really a joke. It might very well be true.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” I said politely as I stepped out of the bathroom, moving immediately towards Sebastian who sat on the end of a leather couch. He smiled at me reassuringly as I sat down close to his side, leaning into him ever-so-slightly.

  “You look paler,” Sebastian commented with a grin.

  “It happens when you lose a layer of dirt,” I answered with a shrug.

  “You do look a lot better Grace. Perhaps you’d like to clean yourself up quickly too Sebastian? I expect Gordon will arrive soon but you should have a few more minutes,” Dahlia mildly suggested. “I’m afraid there might not be time for you to shower and I don’t think it would be a good idea to lend you any of Gordon’s clothes – not that they’d fit you anyway.”

  “I’ll just freshen up then. I’ll be right back,” Sebastian added quietly, patting my leg quickly before standing up. I immediately felt anxious, unsure of what to say to Dahlia and how much (or how little) Sebastian and her had already discussed. I also didn’t want my father to arrive in Sebastian’s absence; the idea of confronting him alone terrified me even though I knew the task of convincing him to help us would fall mostly upon my shoulders.

  “Would you like some water?” Dahlia offered as Sebastian closed the bathroom door. She watched me with her large, kind eyes; eyes that were bright with intelligence and saw much more than one might expect. I knew that no matter how sweet and caring she appeared to be, I needed to watch what I said around her just as closely as I must with my father.

  Dahlia handed me a glass of water and then sat down on the small loveseat adjacent to the couch I sat upon. I could feel her eyes studying me so I carefully avoided meeting her eye.

  “Does your mother know you’re here?” Dahlia suddenly asked.

  “No, no one does.” I realized after I spoke that it wasn’t entirely true – the Others must have realized exactly what we were up to by now.

  “Did you want to call her?”

  “No, thank you. I’d actually prefer if my mother didn’t know that we’d been here,” I admitted. Dahlia studied me curiously, twisting one of her wild curls around her finger as she contemplated.

  “Sebastian said you weren’t planning on staying in Toronto long, perhaps only for the night?”

  I didn’t answer, not wanting to give anything away.

  “He made it sound like you were in some kind of trouble, like you were running from something?”

  Again, I didn’t comment. My nerves were starting to increase and I reached up to hold onto my amber pendant, its quiet warmth instantly soothing me.

  “Grace… what kind of trouble has this boy gotten you into?” Dahlia asked, lowering her voice. Her eyes flickered to the bathroom door, as if expecting Sebastian to suddenly come barging back out. “You’ve got to tell me the truth, hun. Has he put
you up to asking your father for money? Was it his idea to come here? If you’re afraid of him or if you need help–”

  “No,” I cut in. “It’s not like that at all, Dahlia. I love him – I want to be with him and he hasn’t gotten me into anything. This is actually all my fault,” I admitted, the truth of my words dragging down my heart. It really was my fault. If I hadn’t made Sebastian remember his past, if I hadn’t performed the Binding spell and in doing so, reawakened the forgotten magic inside of me, none of this would be happening. I couldn’t very well tell Dahlia all that though.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on.” Dahlia’s brown eyes were wide with what I felt to be genuine concern. I could tell she really did want to help, I just wished I could trust her.

  The bathroom door swung open and Sebastian stepped out into the room. He looked amazing – I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d brushed his black hair back from his face and it shone as if it had been freshly washed. His hands and face were clean, and he’d traded the shirt he’d been wearing for a “fresh” one from his bag that was impossibly white and wrinkle-free. He met my eyes with a smile and I instantly relaxed. My renewed calm lasted for only a heartbeat though as we all heard the sounds of the office door downstairs being unlocked.

  “Gordon must be here.” Dahlia quickly rose, looking quite anxious herself. “I’ll go and greet him, and let him know that you’re here.” She quickly disappeared around the corner and down the stairs. Sebastian came and sat by my side. He took my hand (the one that wasn’t nervously clasping my pendant) and linked his fingers through mine. His grip was warm and firm and reassuring.

  “It’ll be alright,” he murmured. We could both hear my father’s voice rumbling downstairs now and Dahlia’s soft soprano, tinkling in response. My heart began picking up in pace, my throat and lips becoming far too dry. “Just want for him to believe us. Want him to help us.”