IV - Metallic

Hershel paused just outside the living room and tilted his ear towards the doorway. He held a tray nestled with sandwiches and cups of merrily-steeping tea. When he had departed to the kitchen to make them lunch, Emmy and Luke had only just begun their little competition, and now it was well underway. It would be quite rude of him to walk into the room while Luke was still in the middle of his poem.

It had been Emmy's idea, of course, as most things seemed to be. They had both noticed Luke struggling to grow more social towards the inhabitants of his new home. Hershel had predicted as much, in fact, based on his initial aversion to Emmy. Luke was comfortable enough now around the two of them and a few other staff members, but whenever any of Hershel's students were involved, he grew silent and stubborn. Not a single word from either one of them could convince him to join the conversation, even when it was about something he had in the past shown interest in.

Emmy was the first to come up with a plot—and it was very much a plot, with all the sneaky half-manipulation Hershel had come to expect from her. She had proposed a little game between herself and Luke. They would each memorize as many poems as possible and recite them aloud, with all the proper emotion, as though they were speaking to someone out of their very souls. The winner would get to recite a poem at the next student function the three of them attended. It was a clever ploy, and Hershel was hardly surprised when Luke's eyes lit up with anticipation.

Emmy clapped and cheered as Luke finished his poem and bowed with a flourish. He popped back up and smiled. "How was that?"

"Brilliant!" Emmy said. "You're awfully good at roaring and raging at the universe. Dylan Thomas would be in tears if he could have heard that performance."

"I bet he's too busy rolling in his grave," Luke laughed. He flopped down on the sofa and pushed her off the cushions. "Your turn! Go on!"

"Oh, all right," Emmy said with a dramatic sigh. "If I must." She straightened her skirt and squared back her shoulders. Hershel took another step towards the door, but stopped short again as she began. "For my next performance, I'll be reciting 'Annabel Lee', by Edgar Allan Poe."

Ice flooded Hershel's veins.

(Her hair shines copper in the sunlight, curls over her shoulder, falls soft against her round face. One slender finger trails along the page. Her brows furrow, dark eyes focusing intently on dark words.)

Emmy smiled and tossed her hair over her shoulder. When she spoke, her voice rang clear, but her eyes were misty, as though remembering something through years and years of heavy fog.

"It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me."

(The lenses over her eyes glint in the golden light. White dress shuffles as she half-turns toward him. She lifts her head. Smiles.

Sorry. I didn't see you come in. Have you been there long?)

"I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love,

I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me."

Hershel took several steps back and leaned against the wall. A sour, metallic tang filled his mouth. When he spared a glance at his hands, he noted they were shaking. His knuckles had gone white from how tightly he gripped the tray. Not a good sign, some dim, detached part of his mind observed. But at least he wouldn't drop the thing.

(She looks down at the book. Cups it in ceramic hands, a china doll cradling a precious jewel, reclining in splendor on her cushions in the window.

Do you know this poem?)

"And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea."

(It was the last complete poem he ever wrote, you know. It wasn't even published until a few years after his death.

One tawny curl escapes over her forehead. She brushes it back with an impatient motion. Her skirt bunches around her ankles. Bare toes curl into the cushions.)

"But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."

(She snaps the book shut with one hand. Balances it on her knee. Looks up again, an apologetic smile curling at her lips. The window is a wall of light and she is curled against it, painted in bronze and copper and brass and gold.

I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't care a lick about it.)

"For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling— my darling— my life and my bride,

In the sepulchre there by the sea,

In her tomb by the sounding sea."

(But this is one of my favorites.)

Emmy dropped into a deep bow, her dark brown curls sweeping over her shoulders, and for half a second, Hershel saw them glow copper, ablaze with the light of an afternoon sun streaming in through a wide bay window. Then she straightened, and eyes that were just a few shades too dark, sepia instead of sienna, met his.

"Professor?"

The concern in her voice and the way her eyes widened made him glance down at himself again. The tray was still in his hands, but the surface of the tea rippled with the vibrations humming down from his shoulders. He breathed in deeply and unwound his muscles, unlocked his elbows, drew away from the wall and stood under his own power again.

"What's wrong, Professor?" Luke already had a hand wound into his sleeve. Alarm lit his eyes up like searchlights, sounded in his voice like warning bells. "Are you all right?"

"Don't just stand there and ask him questions!" Emmy snapped. "He looks about to faint!"

She caught Hershel's other elbow and steered him into the living room before he could gather his wits enough to protest. Luke pulled the tray out of his hands and set it on the low table, and Emmy deposited him rather unceremoniously on the sofa. She backed up and put her hands on her hips, her lips pursed.

"I'm fine," Hershel managed to push out. A taste like the sharp edges of tin foil lingered on his tongue. At least his voice was steady, if a little fainter than he might have liked it to be. "It's nothing. Just a dizzy spell. Perhaps I didn't eat enough this morning."

Emmy and Luke traded doubtful glances. Hershel was certain he didn't ever eat enough by their standards. He was also certain they didn't believe a single word of it. He would have been disappointed in both of them if they had. A skeptical, questioning mind was an invaluable resource, after all.

He tried to rise, but Emmy put a hand on his shoulder and Luke caught his hand. "Stay put," they said simultaneously, and Hershel might have laughed if he had been completely in control of his own faculties right now. As it was, he was lucky to manage a thin smile.

People were like puzzles. Once you understood their patterns, their behaviors were easy to predict. Hershel knew already that until he returned to them and to himself, apprehension would drip from every word and look and motion. He knew Emmy would stay long past the time she might usually go home, long enough to cook dinner and hover over him until he ate a satisfactory amount of it. He knew Luke would stay up long past the time he should have been in bed, only to fall asleep at some ungodly hour in the morning, curled up against Hershel's side. He knew they would ask him again and again until frustration wore them down what had happened. What was wrong. What they could do to help.

He knew he would have no answer for them.

And he knew that all he would taste for the rest of the night would be sour metal—that all he would see would be bronze and copper and brass and gold.