Poor Old Soul

20 December 1999; The Blessing and Battlefield, City of Glasgow, Scotland, UK
.
Ken sighs, looks up from the worktable and Mister Hopcroft's water-damaged /Illustrated Pocket Guide to Lacustrine Lifeforms.
Da stares blankly toward the crowd on the path between the ranks of barrows.
Ken bites his lip, forces his attention back to the stained pages.
Da sighs, breath shaky.
Ken inhales deeply, closes his eyes, Reaches for Da's mind.
Butterflies in nervous yellow-greens flicker around him, never settling for long.
He pulls away, shakes the images loose.
Da sighs again, wand trembling in his hand.
"'ey, Da?"
He startles. "Yea, Ken."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing you can help."
There's no 'lie' in the words.
"But what /is it?"
Da picks up the heavy needle and cotton thread, returns to stitching new pages into Missus Schreier's field notebook without saying a word.
Ken's heart sinks; he swallows, aims his wand at Mister Hopcroft's mess, freezes, hairs on the back of his neck twitching.
""You're still—""
He jumps—wand goes flying—braces for impact.
""—here!"" Murron squishes him from behind, lifting him clean off his feet. ""Thank Goodness!""
Ken forces his shoulders down from around his ears, tippy-toes back to solid ground. "Where else would I be?"
""Out shopping? On your way home?""
He looks to the awning for patience. "Murron, I /told you I'd be here until tea every day over the break."
""Maybe you decided tea should be early today?""
Lessie marches up to the worktable, props her hip against it. "Maybe you should let him go, aye?"
""But—""
Lessie clears her throat.
Murron sighs, releases him, tucks herself under Ken's arm, asks, "What're you working on?"
"Trying to undo the soaking this poor book's had."
Murron makes a sad noise. "What happened to it?"
"Owner dropped it in Loch Lomond. Woulda lost it, too, but it hit a tadfoal on the way down and the thing actually /fetched it."
"They're so /cute," squees Murron.
"Then they grow up to be kelpies and get giant teeth and bite me," grumbles Ken. "Not so cute then."
"It's just the one which bites you."
"One's too many."
"Maybe he just thinks you're tasty?"
Ken rolls his eyes.
"You /are awfully sweet." Murron bats her lashes.
Ken's face goes all hot.
"You two are awful," huffs Lessie.
"You'll be less judgemental when you have a new boyfriend."
Ken tilts his head. "You and Brian broke up?"
"/I broke up with /him 'cos he decided he'd rather be a total asshole than a decent boyfriend."
"I /told you," chorus Ken and Murron.
They look at each other, break out laughing.
"You two are /awful," grumps Lessie.
"But are they ready to go?" drawls Don, strolling to a stop beside Lessie.
Ken blinks at his get-up: standard leather jacket, hoodie underneath pulled up over his hair and zipped all the way to the top, oversize sunglasses, gloves, lacy red-and-black /parasol over his head. "Wha-what are you doing here?"
"I'm your ticket to an early quitting time."
Ken blinks some more. "Um ... what?"
"/We—" Murron hugs him again. "—are going to Don's house for a sleepover!"
Ken ... raises an eyebrow. "A slumber party. With a vampire."
"Yea! It'll be so much /fun! We can stay up /all night!"
"But—"
"No one /sleeps at a slumber party!"
"But—" Ken looks to Don for help.
He shrugs.
"It's alright, Ken," says Da, passing back his wand. "It's a slow day and you could use a little fun on your holiday."
"But I want to help."
"I can handle whatever comes up."
"I know, but—"
"Please, Ken?" Murron looks at him with hope. "It won't be as much fun without you ...."
Ken's heart flutters, so he nods.
"We should probably make our exit before our ride gets bored and finds some trouble," prompts Don.
"Uh, I don't—"
Don waves it off. "Joking. Shall we?"
Ken glances—
Da, looking relieved, nods. "Go on, lad. I'll see you on Sunday."
"Thank you, Mister Gorman~!"
"You're welcome, Murron. Take good care of our Ken now."
"I will~!" Murron links their arms, heads them around the worktable and into the bustle of the market.
They're immediately swallowed by the crowd of shoppers.
"Sh-shouldn't we wait for Lessie and Don?"
"They'll catch up~!"
"But—"
"Ooo!" Murron stops short—
Ken stumbles to a halt.
—twists around. "May I have a moment to buy some sweeties?"
Don, no too far behind them with Lessie at his side, inclines his head. "Go on."
"Thank you~! C'mon!" She grabs Ken's hand and tows him over to the Gemmells' candy cart, with its rainbow banners and sparkling rock candy flowers.
Something tickles Ken's nerves.
He scans the crowd between him and Da's stall, ruffles his hair.
"What flavour would you like?"
"Huh?" Ken shakes himself back into the moment.
"I want to buy you something. What flavour would you like?"
"Oh ... I-I don't really want any. I'm not big on sweets."
"These aren't all sugary, though! Look, 'garlic toast'!"
"None of those in my house," says Don.
"That thing about vampires and garlic is true?"
"Nah. Just don't enjoy the smell of it."
Lessie narrows her eyes. "Then why do all the textbooks say yer 'allergic' to it?"
"You believe everything you read?"
Lessie scoffs.
Murron squeals, "They have 'apple pie'! And 'pickle'! And 'marinara'! And 'sour grape'!"
"Really?" Lessie leans in.
"Yup! Look!"
Ken sighs.
Don, cluster of lollies in hand, edges along the barrow, sunglasses up on his forehead, squinting at the labels on the candy jars.
"You need your eyes checked?"
"Vision's fine. It's the handwriting what's crap."
"Riiight."
Don sniffs, continues picking through the flavours on offer.
Mister Gemmell finishes with another customer and bustles over to them. "Hello, Mister Douglas! We have your special order ready, if you'd like?"
Don straightens, raises an eyebrow. "You're two weeks early."
"Since the bairns're home for the holidays, we ran a few extra shifts and got a bit ahead."
"Well, thanks to you it'll be a merrier Christmas party at my house."
"That's the sort of endorsement we love to hear! Excuse me a moment while I fetch your box."
Don inclines his head.
Mister Gemmell skips off behind a curtain.
Murron sidles up to Don, sparkles at him. "You ordered a whole /box of sweeties?"
"A /case of lollies, actually."
"Really? What flavour? Can I have a few?"
"Murron—"
"You're welcome to a share, but I don't think you'll like the taste."
Murron queries.
"Here you go: one case of the vampire special," announces Mister Gemmell, thumping down a box the size of the school library's dictionary.
"Excuse me, what flavour are these?" asks Murron.
Mister Gemmell shifts, flicks his eyes to Don.
"They're 'blood'," he answers.
Ken winches his mouth shut.
"'s'not /too surprising, yea? Some of my colleagues miss the taste."
Mister Gemmell and Ken shudder.
Murron nods, earnest. "I'd like to try one, just to see."
"We can break into this when we get back to the house." Don turns to Mister Gemmell, "The usual price?"
"Aye."
Don digs in his jacket pocket, barely glances at the handful of bills and change he pulls out, hands it over. "That should cover the box, these, and the handful the young miss wants."
"Hey! I can pay—"
"Shush. Save it toward your honeymoon."
Murron eeps, blushing, then presses tight to Ken.
His ears flame.
Mister Gemmell melts a tad. "There's a wedding in the offing?"
"Mhm!"
"S-s-someday. M-m—"
"They might as well be married already," puts in Lessie.
"Then I have just the thing!" Mister Gemmell spins, nabs something from a shelf, whirls to face them, displays two palm-sized transparent bottles to Murron. "Crystallized champagne with a nip of sugared Blessing sunshine inside. Guaranteed to brighten any event, no matter how rainy the day."
"That's /amazing," breathes Murron.
"Only the best for true love," intones Mister Gemmell, eyes twinkling.
"How much for those?" asks Don.
"Free for the young lovebirds."
Don shakes his head. "Sorry, but you know me. I don't accept free gifts or samples."
"Always careful, aye?"
"Aye."
"Five quid for you."
Don offers another bill to Mister Gemmell, then tucks the box under his arm. "Thank ye kindly."
"Let me get a sack for all the loose ones ... here we go." Mister Gemmell collects the sweets from Don and Murron, including the sunshine bottles, packs them away, folds the top of the colourful paper bag into a sort of fancy locking closure, passes it back to Murron with a wink. "Enjoy your sweeties /and your sweetie."
Ken ducks his head.
Murron curtsies. "Thank you, sir~!" She links her arm with Ken's, sets them strolling toward the Gate.
Don and Lessie fall into step behind them.
At the coat check, they return their chips to Emma Scobie, who summons their coats and hats and scarves with a flick of her wand, barely looking up from her book.
"What're you reading?" asks Murron as Ken helps wrap her second scarf.
Emma sighs, holds up /I Thought He Was Just Shy!: Identifying the Vampires, Werewolves, and Other Non-humans Among Us, quickly resumes reading.
Ken winces, Murron growls, Lessie steps—
Don cuts in front of her, asks, "You get to the section on vampires yet, miss?"
"No."
"Want the secret?"
She glances up. "Int it the teeth?"
"Nah, it's the brollies." Don twirls his, bows—"Enjoy the sunshine for me."—saunters up the steps to the Gate.
They hurry after him, step through the double door into—a stomach-dropping sensation—the cozy back room of Gowdie and Gray's.
"Everyone make it?" Don checks them over, folds up his brolly.
"Of course," sniffs Lessie. "This's /Faerie magic."
Don snorts a laugh. "That's exactly the problem sometimes."
Lessie jogs a few steps, plants herself in Don's path. "What's that mean?"
"Means a friend of mine—a totally human friend, mind—spent a fortnight in there when the Gate wouldn't open for him."
"What'd he do to piss The Blessing off?"
"Was too handsome for his own good, 'parently." Don steps past Lessie. "One of the Summer Court ladies had a crush on him and convinced The Blessing to help her press her suit." He twists around, grins. "Don't get any ideas, MacDonald."
"Yea, please don't trap me in there."
Murron sniffs, marches after Don, towing Ken along. "I don't /need help from anyone to love you."
Ken's heart does a happy flip.
"N-no, you don't."
Outside, they hunch through sharp cold and blowing snow down the block to where a snugly bundled bloke leans against an absolutely /spotless people carrier.
He straightens slowly, bobs his head to Don, drawls, "Boss."
"Kennedy."
Lessie looks from one to the other. "You have a /chauffeur?"
"I have a mate who likes to drive."
"And he refuses to learn how."
"I'm too old to learn a new trick."
"You've been saying that since the seventies, mate."
"Then it's even more true now, aye?"
Kennedy rolls his eyes. "Oh, aye, sure—"
"How old are you?" interrupts Lessie.
"We're both too old to answer that question." Don shoos them toward the car door Kennedy's opened. "Everyone aboard 'fore we freeze."
They pile in: Murron against the far window, Ken in the middle, Lessie on the other end.
Don climbs into the front seat.
Kennedy slides behind the wheel, starts the engine. "Where're we headed, Boss?"
"The Battlefield place."
"Introducing your little friends to Her Highness?" Kennedy eases them into traffic.
"She hates it when you call her that."
"That's the general idea. /Someone has to take the piss out of her."
"And yer just the idiot for the job."
"That I am." Kennedy turns them south at a major crossing.
Don shakes his head. "I should let you retire to the country before you get yourself killed."
"Oh, please do."
Don laughs.
"Wow," breathes Murron, her face pressed to the tinted glass.
"What d'ye see?"
"There's so many buildings! And people!"
"It's just—"
"You know she doesn't see the city often, Lessie."
Lessie huffs, goes back to watching the streets with her peripheral vision.
Ken does not sigh; instead, he leans against Murron and studies Glasgow as it glides by.
The car comes to a stop at the top of a hill, at the end of a row of large, well-kept terraced houses.
"Safe, sound, and on time, as always," announces Kennedy, pulling the parking brake.
"Next thing, you'll be wanting a tip," grumbles Don.
"Nah, but I have one for you."
"Oh, aye?"
"Yea. Have fun but don't let these wee yins run yer old bones ragged."
Don scoffs, lets himself out. "Get back to work."
"Yes, Boss."
Lessie hops to the ground.
"C'mon!" pleads Murron, nudging Ken in the back.
He scrambles to the pavement, swallows as the fanciness of neighbourhood registers.
Don herds them up the steps to the door of the last house.
Murron pokes the bell.
"I have a key, ye know."
"But you need to be welcomed in!"
"/My house's exempt from that."
"Oh. Right." Murron hangs her head, blushing.
Ken takes her hand in his, squeezes gently, looks up as the bolts rattle.
"'s'awright. My life's complicated and you're trying to help."
A pretty, red-haired woman about Murron's height and Don's (apparent) age swings open the door, beckons them into the close. "Welcome, everybody! C'min!"
They shuffle in, step out of their shoes, hang their coats and hats and scarves on hooks along the wall.
Don straightens, shrugs off his coat.
The redhead pecks his cheek, coos, "Hey, you."
"'ey. Everything going to plan?"
"Everyone'll be there on time, properly kitted out, if Kennedy doesn't get himself nicked for reckless driving on the way across the city."
Don snorts a laugh. "If he does, he'll talk his way out of it, like  always."
She laughs, sparkles around at them. "Hi! I'm Cherish, the lady of the house."
"I'm Murron!" She squash-hugs Cherish.
"Whoa! You're a strong one!"
"Mhm! You're pretty strong, too, but selkies are /extra powerful."
"Selkie? I /thought I recognized those freckles!" Cherish returns Murron's grin, then focuses on Ken, smiling encouragement.
"I'm, um, Ken."
"Oh, /yer Ken."
"Y-yea?"
"Don't worry. He's—" Cherish tilts her head toward Don. "—only said good things 'bout you."
"Umm, okaaay."
Murron beams at him and Cherish.
Lessie clears her throat.
Everyone attends.
"Lessie MacCailin."
"Ah, the School's golden girl!"
Lessie preens, suddenly sobers, asks, "How long've you two been together?"
Don startles.
Cherish wrinkles her nose. "Eww. You think ...?" Grimaces. "He's not my /husband, he's my /da."
"You ha-have a /daughter?!" squeaks Ken.
"It's /obvious," sniffs Murron. "They /look related."
Lessie and Ken blink at her.
"Hopefully not /too related, for her sake," says Don.
Cherish gives him a Look, pouts, "He hasn't told ye about me before?"
All three of them shake their heads.
"/Da!" She smacks Don's shoulder, only half-playful.
Don rubs the spot. "My private life's /private, yea?"
"If I didn't know better, I'd worry I embarrass you."
Don sniffs.
Cherish laughs, turns to them. "Don't give him /too rough a time tonight. He's a real softie under all the hard man posing, bless his poor old soul."
"Out." Don points to the door. "You. Now."
"Yes, Da." Cherish kisses Don's cheek again. "Love ye, too." She grabs an anorak from a hook, stuffs her feet into boots, and skips out the door.
Don watches her go, then rolls his shoulders. "Right."
They attend.
"Ground rules. You can go anywhere and touch anything that's not behind a locked door, but don't get /too loud or the neighbours'll call the police and that's not something I want to deal with." Don fixes them with a Look. "So you don't, either."
Murron and Ken nod; Lessie does, too, but adds an eye-roll.
Don grunts approval. "Lemme give ye the grand tour. This way." He waves them from the close through the first door on the right.
A comfortable reception, complete with a big television and heavy curtains closed over the window.
"This's where you'll be sleeping, /if you'll be sleeping, tonight."
"It's so /big! And look at all the movies!"
"Figured you'd appreciate all the space and a choice."
"You're the best!"
Don peels Murron loose. "New rule: no hugging me."
"But Cherish—"
"Don't believe a /word she says."
Murron looks to Ken.
He shakes his head.
"But—"
"This way." Don beckons them along. "Washroom's in there and this's the kitchen." He stops in the room at the end of the hall.
Ken grinds gears. "Th-this's half the size of my parents' /flat."
"It's 'cos Cherish knocked out the wall 'tween it and the dining room."
"You let her get away with anything, don't you?" smugs Lessie.
"/You try'n stop her," mumbles Don. He clears his throat, continues, "I brought a rabbi friend-of-a-friend over to make sure everything's right for keeping kosher. Food's all proper and everything's labeled so me an' Cherish don't ruin it."
Ken swallows, still croaks, "That's a lotta bother for a sleep over?"
Don shrugs. "It's about respect. If we mess up, let me know and we'll make it right."
"A-alright." Ken shuffles his feet, nape tingling.
Murron looks at him, brow furrowed with concern.
He slowly shakes his head.
"Any questions?"
All three of them shake their heads.
"Then go entertain yourselves. If you need anything, I'll be in the office next to here."
"Thank you~!" Murron—
"No hugs!"
—eeps—
Ken grabs her arm, pulls her back to level.
—giggles.
"Thanks, Don. C'mon, let's see what movies he has." Lessie marches out.
Murron jogs in pursuit.
"I'll be right there," calls Ken.
""Don't be too long~!""
"I won't!"
Don leans against a countertop, crosses his ankles, raises an eyebrow.
Ken puts his shoulders back. "What the Hell's happening?"
"You're spending the night here with two of your best friends last I checked."
"That's not—" Ken takes a deep breath. "You pull me outta work, set up your house to keep kosher when there's no real—" Huffs. "What. is. happening."
"You want the truth, aye?"
"Yes. Please."
Don smirks. "Your parents wanted a day of 'alone time'."
Ken ... shudders.
"Miz Gowdie and your Mister Fairbairn thought I'd be an acceptable guardian in the meantime."
"I-I don't believe you."
"Really, now."
"Yea, if that's what was going on, why didn't they send me back to the School?"
"You picking up any of the usual signs of lying from me?"
"N-no ... wait, what? How d'you know about that?"
"Little birdie whispered in my ear."
Ken narrows his eyes. "Was it Murron? Or Lessie?"
"I protect my sources," smugs Don.
Ken scowls at him.
"That expression won't work. Cherish cured me."
"Not trying—" Ken sighs to a stop.
"/If ye wanna earn a few coins with it—your gift, not yer face—I might be able to find ye some 'secretarial shifts', if yer willing to play truth-sayer for me."
"What does that mean?"
"Kick me under a table if someone's lying."
Ken swallows, squares up. "What's the wages?"
"Seven quid an hour, double-time if I keep ye past yer curfew, agreed with your parents beforehand. Cash on or under the table, per your preference."
Ken blinks rapidly.
"That not high enough?"
Ken startles, flutters. "N-no, that's actually ... a lot? Minimum is only—"
"This's a specialized skill, yea?" He shrugs. "Need t'make a competitive offer to hold your interest."
"H-how can you afford that kinda pay?"
"Won't need you all that often and I have a bit of an inheritance from my sire to cushion things."
"A cushion ... this house?"
"Among other things."
Something ....
Ken snaps up straight, squeaks.
"You alright?"
"I-I f-figured it out," croaks Ken. "It's th-the house. We're e-evicted. And-and they sent y-you to keep me f-from seeing the bailiffs."
Everything about Don softens, even his voice. "They didn't want to upset you anymore than they had to."
Ken curls into himself.
"They'll be joining us here Sunday morning, staying 'til new housing gets sorted."
"Why you?"
"Wha?"
"Why you? Why are /you helping?"
"Because I keep promises."
"What promise is this?"
"/That you don't get to know. Trust it'll work out and I'm here to help."
Ken finds no lie in the air.
"I have a question for you."
"Wh-what's that?"
"Why aren't ye scared of me?"
Ken ducks his head. "Honestly?"
"'course."
"'cos Murron's not."
"She's good sense, yea?"
"Yea. Really good."
"I might not be trustworthy, but she is. Stick close to her and you'll be fine, alright?"
"O-okaay ...." Ken frowns. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"If it does, it's a bonus." Don smiles. "Mostly it's solid life advice from an 'old soul'."
Ken huffs. "How ancient /are you anyway?"
"That's /another thing you don't get to know. Now, get back to your girlfriends before they start wondering what's happened to ye."
"Only Murron's—"
"Yet they're both girls and your friends, so—" Don shoos him toward the hallway.
"Fine, whatever."
Don's eyes slide to something over Ken's shoulder. "Too late."
"Wha—"
Murron grabs his arm, drags him stumbling out. "We need your help picking a movie to watch."
Ken gets his feet sorted, lets her lead him along to the reception.