Dahlia

  “You’re late,” Portia didn’t even look up from behind her oversized desk as I walked into her office. She was looking over some sort of document—a contract, probably. She picked up another and seemed to compare it to the first as she muttered, “You’re late, again.”

  The old woman was obsessed with schedules. Despite acting as though she was unbothered, I saw the tension on her aging face. She was angrier than she wanted me to know, but I noticed everything about her. I knew her well now—perhaps better than anyone else. Portia may have been fifty-one years old, but she looked and acted far younger to me. She seemed far closer in age and appearance to Max, as though they were siblings and not mother and son. Portia was nearly as tall as Max—a major feat given both mother and son were nearly six-foot tall in a city where men were rarely that tall.

  “Sorry, Grandma,” I leapt onto the sofa along one of the walls and propped my feet up on the arm of the red lounger.

  This caught Portia’s attention.

  She looked up over the documents and scowled at the sight of my dusty boots on her furniture, “You’re practically a wild animal.”

  “My teachers used to say the same thing—it won’t change anytime soon, old woman,” I propped my head up on my arms and studied the textured ceiling absently as I waited for Portia to finish whatever she was working on. She couldn’t ignore me for long—she didn’t like to keep people waiting—even “wild animals” like me.

  I imagined shapes in the plaster above as I tried to keep my mind off the Imms I’d run into on the way here—especially Hawthorne. I sighed deeply and rubbed the bridge of my nose when I realized I’d thought of them again. It had been foolish to believe I could avoid their attention altogether. I’d become complacent—comfortable even.

  Their presence only increased my chances of discovery. The more the Imms came around, the more likely they’d notice I wasn’t quite human. Perhaps, they’d see my flesh regenerate before their very eyes after I cut myself on some glass. Maybe they’d notice my eyes were too green to belong to a human of this world. Or perhaps they’d recognize my Imm father’s scent on my clothing after one of our weekly meetings. There were so many ways I could give myself away—so many details the Imms might notice if they looked hard enough.

  It was better to stay as far away from them as possible.

  I struggled to keep my mind off the risk posed by the Imm men, but luckily, I didn’t have to wait long before Portia cleared her throat, “I have a shipment coming this evening. I need you to meet the caravan at Dosier Pass this evening and escort them the rest of the way here—unseen, of course.”

  Portia was the wealthiest person in Firen. There wasn’t a merchant in town—in the entire world, for that matter—who hadn’t heard of her. She worked with everyone, which is precisely how she’d become so successful. Portia had her hands in everything. She had businesses everywhere in trades, merchandise, and even restaurants.

  “Of course,” I agreed absently as I continued to rub the bridge of my nose.

  Escorting shipments wasn’t an unusual task. In most of Portia’s shipment contracts, she didn’t assume liability for the caravan until they passed over Dosier Pass. Usually, she had normal guards meet the caravan at the pass, but if she had an important shipment coming, I followed it back to Firen as a precaution.

  “What’s in the shipment?” I asked casually, knowing the question would put her on edge.

  She clenched her jaw angrily, “I don’t pay you to ask questions, Dahlia.”

  “You barely pay me as it is,” I lied as I winked at the old woman, her expression softening as she realized I was teasing her.

  I should have been terrified of Portia like everyone else, but I was far too valuable to the woman. Some said she even treated me as a daughter, not an employee.

  Portia opened a drawer in her polished wooden desk and pulled out a small red box topped with a white ribbon. “I like to think my gifts make up for your inadequate compensation.”

  I sat up with interest and eyed the box excitedly, making her laugh, “You’re nothing if not predictable, Halfling. All you really want is something shiny for your collection.”

  I shuddered at the sound of my identity coming out of her mouth.

  Halfling.

  About a year into my work for Portia, she discovered my secret when I saved her from being trampled by a spooked horse outside her stables. She was left entirely unharmed, but I ended up with a long gash down the side of my face—thanks to a quick kick from the damned creature while I was focused on keeping Portia upright. My face healed as Portia watched, eyes wide and far too interested. She quietly shared my identity with Max, but no one else. That made these Ferros the only two people, besides the woman who raised me, who knew I was half-Imm, half-human—that I didn’t quite belong in this world.

  Or any world, for that matter.

  Worse, I was a Red Halfling—my very existence was unlawful.

  Even I didn’t know why my existence was a crime. Halflings weren’t forbidden anywhere else in the web of human worlds that made up the Mirnen Kingdom. In fact, in some places, they were considered common. But for some reason, an Imm King from long ago decided that Red Halflings needed to die. So, he hunted them all down—purging them from existence and banning all future Red Halflings.

  I forced away the thought of a Halfling genocide and refocused on our conversation. Portia’s comment about my love of gifts was not wrong. According to my thorough analysis of my own psyche, I used trinkets to fill the void and loneliness of life as the sole Halfling in Firen. Sure, honest companionship would be better, but gifts were much easier.

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  I stood and crossed the room with a grin, “You do give the best gifts, old woman.”

  Pausing before her desk, I reached for the box, but she caught my wrist with one hand and shook the box playfully with the other, jostling whatever lay within. She winked, “You can have this, but there are a few things I want to discuss first.”

  I looked at the box longingly for a moment and sighed, “Fine. What do you want to…discuss?”

  With her free hand, she pulled a small, brown notebook from her desk and looked it over as she spoke, “Did you mend the guard uniforms?”

  “Finished on Wednesday.”

  “And the new drapes in the Ledge?”

  “Done.”

  “And the thief from Haran?” Portia looked up at me questioningly over the notebook.

  “Tracked him down and transported him to the holding cells yesterday,” I met Portia’s questioning gaze and added, “He’s a fighter—fair warning.”

  And the thief was a fighter. Had I been human, he would’ve knocked out my teeth with an elbow—maybe even broken my jaw—but a single blow to the side of the head was enough to subdue him.

  Portia released her grip on my wrist and returned her notebook to her desk.

  She looked down at the desk and became thoughtful as she asked, “The Reaper—you swear it isn’t you?”

  “Imm-God no!” I ran a hand over my face in frustration, “Do you really think I would put myself at risk like that? I’m not getting involved with the Imms—ever.”

  Portia considered my words, my demeanor, and the expression on my face before saying, “If you are the Reaper, it ends today. The Predictors want him caught—the Council is about to ban anyone from supporting him. His supporters will probably be hanged outside Calo Castle soon. And now, the Imms are asking questions. Next, they will start scrutinizing shipments. The Reaper puts us all at risk—and he’s bad for business.”

  “He also stops rogue Imms from kidnapping children from their beds,” I argued half-heartedly as I studied the violet hue of my nails—painted with the same violet nail polish I’d used to paint Al’s eye patch.

  I didn’t care about the Reaper. Sure, I didn’t want the Imms to kidnap our children, but I wasn’t about to do something about it. I was far more interested in remaining undiscovered—and alive.

  “Let the Calos deal with the rogues,” Portia clasped her hands in front of her face as she continued to watch me.

  I rolled my eyes as I thought of the Imm family—Simon’s own family—who resided in the imposing, black castle at the top of the hill Firen had been built on. The silvery-skinned Calos were supposed to protect the Red—watch over us. Other than Simon, I hardly ever saw the Calos on the streets of Firen unless there was some sort of special occasion or celebration that warranted their presence.

  They were about as good at guarding the people of Firen as a cat might be at guarding a house from intruders. Sure, the cat may fight back when spooked or in self-defense, but it was otherwise disinterested in the matter altogether—content to hole up in a safe place until the threat passed.

  “What else, Portia?”

  She seemed about to press the subject of the Reaper again but surprised me when she said, “I think you are due for a reminder to keep my son at arm’s length.”

  “I think I’ve done an adequate job,” I continued to study my nails and hoped Portia wouldn’t notice my cheeks heating as I thought of what Max and I had been doing in his bed just an hour earlier.

  “I think everyone knows you’re sleeping with my son, Dahlia,” Portia rolled her eyes, “And he certainly isn’t quiet about his feelings for you. In fact, he’s threatened more than one of my business partners for trying to get into bed with you.”

  That was news to me. But it certainly explained the lack of men propositioning me for sex in recent months. And here I thought they were all afraid of me. Maybe I wasn’t as scary as I believed.

  “What a bastard,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Ah, this surprises you,” Portia grinned at the expression on my face as she shook the red box once more and placed it on the desk between us, “He’s enamored with you, I think. I don’t blame him, of course. Young men around here think you’re quite the prize—and Max is far too competitive to lose you to one of them. I just want to remind you that I can’t have you put him at risk, given your…heritage.”

  “Is this where you tell me to stay away from your son altogether? We still work together, you know,” I crossed my arms, ready to argue.

  I wasn’t quite ready to give up my human lover. Max was good in bed—something that had proven hard to come by since I’d started seeking out men. It would be annoying to have to look for someone else to keep me company when the nights became lonely.

  Portia laughed loudly—a full-bellied laugh that echoed throughout the room. I felt my eyes widen. I rarely saw Portia so amused. Actually, I couldn’t remember ever seeing her laugh this hard ever—not in recent memory, at least.

  “No, not at all—he’d never forgive me,” She seemed to catch her breath for a moment before explaining, “But I expect you to keep your relationship casual—keep him at arm’s length.”

  “We don’t have a relationship,” I corrected with a wave of my hand, becoming annoyed.

  “Fine—then we understand each other,” Portia said, standing—her tall form imposing, though we both knew I was the more dangerous of the two of us. With her expensive clothes and controlled behavior, Portia simply had a more imposing demeanor—one people couldn’t help but fear.

  She leveled a firm look at me, “Promise me, Dahlia.”

  I yielded without hesitation, “Fine. I promise. Now, can I have the gift, please?”

  With a satisfied smile, Portia slid the red box back across the desk, and I snatched it from her so quickly that she flinched. I didn’t blame her. With my Imm-like speed, she probably never even saw me move.

  I slipped the white bow from the box as Portia collected herself to explain, “I think that suits you far better than any Imm woman.”

  I forced myself not to roll my eyes. I was nothing like the statuesque Imm women I sometimes saw on the streets of Firen. Sure, I shared their blood, but I hadn’t inherited my father’s Imm physique. At an inch or two under five and a half feet tall, I was tall among the humans here, but Imm women usually stood at over six feet tall. I’d heard most Halfling women were tall too—I was an anomaly, it seemed.

  But my Predictor mother was short—something many people confirmed over the years. Everyone knew my mother. She was the only Predictor woman ever invited to the Circle to work for the Imm-King. People from every world had heard of the marvelous Gemma Vita—the Predictor who seemed to control her visions—something I knew was impossible, but some Predictors were better at predicting the future than the rest.

  I opened Portia’s gift to find a braided, golden headband with green jewels embedded in the metal. It was skillfully made—perhaps one-of-a-kind. I eyed the jewels suspiciously. This was, by far, the most expensive gift Portia had given me. Typically, she gave me trinkets, nail polish, and clothing. She had, on occasion, given me small pieces of jewelry, but this was different.

  Portia took the stunning headband from me, and I stilled as she placed it upon my head and murmured, “Exquisite—just like you.”

  Her heart wasn’t in the compliment, but I hardly noticed. I was too distracted by the elaborate gift.

  Portia sat back down in her chair. She picked up the same documents as before as she dismissed me as if she hadn’t just given me a gift that could purchase a dozen homes here in Firen, and murmured, “The caravan will meet my normal security detail at seven o’clock this evening—you know where. Don’t be late.”

  I mock saluted the woman and turned as Portia called out, “It’s been years, Dahlia. She doesn’t want to see you.”

  By “she,” Portia meant Carmen.

  “It’s not your problem, Grandma,” I reminded her as I left to visit my oldest friend like I did every weekend.

  And like she did every weekend, Carmen would probably refuse to see me, once again.