It's always so fascinating to see which of my characters, which character dynamic, is going to inspire another writer. I'm endlessly surprised by choices like Bat and Cowboy from Out of the Blue or, in this case, Archer and Rake from the Irregulars anthology.
I'm so happy Natasha Chesterbrook found the time to contribute once again to the advent calendar!
Green Glass Beads Coda
Archer blamed the whole thing on Great-Aunt Esmeralda’s
Cloisonne clock. Yes, he had a hand in it too, but it started with that damned
clock.
He’d featured the antique timepiece as part of a seasonal
display in the Saint-Malo shop window. Its intricately enameled decoration
provided an interesting focal point that caught the eye of many a holiday
shopper luring them in.
From the moment Timmy Twinkle – only one of the Fae would
imagine that moniker for the earthly realm – walked into his shop, Archer was
enchanted. Maybe it was the fact that Archer hadn’t seen much less spoken to a
single Fae in years or because Timmy asked so politely about the Cloisonne
clock or just because he was so darn cute, but Archer fell hook, line and
sinker for his charm.
Petite in a way the Fae usually were, Timmy Twinkle
possessed a head of shiny red ringlets that silhouetted a cherubic face, along
with a pair of bright blue eyes that sparkled – okay, twinkled! – even in the
meagerest of light. He moved with the agility of a dancer, so lithe and
graceful which was also common to the Fae, flitting about the store like a
butterfly dancing a waltz. And he seemed just as enchanted with Archer as
Archer was with him.
“If I’d known about this shop before, I’d have stopped in
sooner if only to meet you, darling.” He practically purred the word ‘dahling’
in a way that should have been too precious but sounded perfect to Archer’s
enhanced hearing.
Within an hour of Timmy’s entry into Archer’s shop with an inquiry
about purchasing an antique clock Archer felt like they’d become fast friends. Timmy’s
promise to return in the next few days while Archer researched new auction lots
for him felt less like a business transaction and more like a vow.
Timmy’s visits to the shop asking about upcoming estate
sales and appraisals, and to discuss his esoteric finds became the highlight of
Archer’s day. He appreciated the attention and solicitude but more than that it
felt like kinship, family. As if Timmy had unlocked Archer’s long abandoned
desire to reconnect with his people.
Archer was particularly excited about a recent item that was
up for auction in the coming week. A fine and rare Queen Anne period
phase 3 ebony striking and quarter-repeating bracket clock of beautiful
proportions and with great provenance from Tompion & Banger.
“The auction site won’t disclose the seller’s reserve price,
but I think we can expect no less than 150, 000.”
Timmy nodded, his blue eyes wide and fathomless, “$150, 000
is a great deal of money. “
“Euros, not dollars.” Archer hesitated, “Of course, there
are other lots we could look at.”
“Euros, you say. And the auction house?”
“Spenser and Collins. Very reputable. “
“Of course, nothing but the best! Oh, thank you so much,
Archer, you are a dear. Kiss, kiss.” And Timmy was gone with a wink and a
twirl. Archer couldn’t resist the smile on his face.
So naturally Archer wanted to introduce Timmy to Rake. Rake
who had enthusiastically adopted French culture as if he were born to it or at
least born for it. He appreciated the food, the wine, the couture, the whole
sense of being French and of course the art. The man was a work of art himself
with his size and commanding presence. Definitely something the French
appreciated…often. Much to Archer’s annoyance and Rake’s amusement.
But almost from the start Timmy dismissed Rake as
unimportant and appeared to time his visits with almost Swiss precision to
avoid any chance of running into the detective.
More startling was Rake’s response. He accepted Timmy’s brush
off with consideration and understanding. This bothered Archer who wanted to
take some umbrage for Rake’s sake. But despite the snub Rake wanted to hear
about Timmy’s comings and goings.
“Will he be attending the auction? “Rake asked.
“If he’s interested in bidding, he’ll have to. Spenser &
Collins does not allow participation by phone or internet. Of course, he could
send a proxy.”
“And where would he get such funds? I thought the Fae never
brought large sums of wealth to the earthly realm.”
Archer wasn’t sure why Rake cared. “Family money I assume.
Why?”
Enigmatic as ever, Rake murmured, “Just curious.”
When Timmy mentioned travelling home for the Winter Solstice,
Archer thought nothing beyond wishing him Bon Voyage and hoping he could
facilitate the bracket clock sale before said voyage.
Then Timmy posed a question Archer hadn’t thought to ask
himself in years. “Why don’t you come for a visit, Archer?”
Which is why Archer had no ready answer. Of course, Timmy
jumped into that stunned silence with “Surely the high court can’t hold a
grudge after all this time. We can celebrate the Solstice together!” This
pronouncement was of course accompanied by a twirl and furious batting of
eyelashes.
Archer wanted to scoff because the Seely High Court could
indeed hold a grudge for a millennium if they so decided and his re-acquisition
of the beads did not necessarily change that. Instead, he said, “Well, I have
the shop, and I don’t know if Rake could find the time and…”
“Oh, just close the shop like all the Parisians do. As for your
detective, well, I’m sure that’s not a very good idea. You know how the Fae
feel about demons and then there’s the problem of getting him a visa. Could
take months if not years.”
Tommy sounded almost gleeful.
That night as Archer nestled against Rake’s chest, embraced
by his powerful arms, he dreamed.
He dreamed of midnight celebrations on marsh flats surrounded
by the aroma of peat fires and the lilt of haunting tunes, of shooting stars
through the darkened sky, of the Fae gathered in packs imbibing mulled wine and
strong ale, feasting on honey-laden tarts. The gathering was imbued by a
brotherhood Archer had once longed for. The faces lit by hundreds of burning
candles all seemed familiar, like he should know each one.
And yet none were Rake.
Archer woke with a start and no small amount of relief to
find himself still lying next to Rake. Hearing that booming eight-chambered
heart was a balm to his soul.
That week was as busy as Archer expected in the lead up to
Christmas. Saint-Malo attracted a high number of tourists and featured festive
markets with local crafts, food and drink and seasonal light displays. Along
with guided tours down the historic city ramparts, many folks wandered the
streets looking for unique finds which Archer was only too happy to provide.
But by the end of it he just wanted a quiet evening at home. Preferably with
good food, good wine and a good time courtesy of Monsieur Rake.
The next day was Christmas and as Archer happily lolled in
bed wanting to be nowhere else, Rake returned from his morning walk with news.
“Your little friend Timmy was arrested at Dinard two days
ago,” Rake announced referring to the Brittany airport. “Attempting to smuggle stolen
goods out of the country.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stone with a
leather cord threaded through a hole in its center.
Archer frowned, “What, he tried to smuggle that?”
“No, it was that clock you were so enamored with.”
“But how did he-“
“He burglarized the auction house. And if you can believe, he
said he used this stone to give him protection from their security spells.”
Rake scoffed, “Turns out security cameras work just as well.”
Archer looked at the trinket, “They sell ones just like this
in the tourist shop over on the high street.”
“He’s known to Interpol and wanted in several countries for
illegal exportation.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Rake gave a very French shrug of his broad shoulders, “Until
he made his move, what was there to say?” Rake’s face softened, “Sweeting, you
were so happy.”
Archer sighed. “And to think I considered going with him.” He
supposed any friendship with a Fae would always be difficult, trust being in
short supply amongst them.
Archer held out the stone to Rake. “Do you know what they
call these?”
Rake shook his head. Archer continued, “A naturally
occurring stone with a hole through it is known as a hag stone or a witch stone
but more commonly called an Adder Stone. Folklore says these stones have
protective or magical powers.”
“Ah, but it is magical.”
“How do you mean?”
Rake lifted the Adder Stone and peered at Archer through the
hole in its center.
“I can see faeries with it,” he smirked.
Archer smiled and reached for Rake. “I’ll show you some real
magic.”
And like the tales of Saint Nicholas’ yuletide generosity, Archer
shared with Rake his own form of gift giving.
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