Page 7 of Misfit (Starshine)

T he familiar nightmare always started with the smell of damp earth.

It filled his nose, cutting through the fog of liquor that had clouded his head that night.

As it always did, the hauntingly familiar weight settled on top of him.

He fought it on instinct, but the weight only seemed to grow, bearing down on him, as inescapable and inevitable as nightfall.

Hot breath tickled his ear as he was overpowered, before a hand clamped over the back of his neck.

Quiet, boy. Don’t want to wake the camp, do you?

Arlon jolted awake, the echo of Vian’s voice still in his ear. For a moment, he just stared at the moonlight streaming in through his window as he tried to wrestle his racing heart back under control. His modest room felt oppressive in the wake of the dream. Too dark, too quiet.

It was too late for regrets, but a part of him wished he could go back to earlier in the evening and ask Fawn if he could sleep in her quarters with her.

Maybe if he had, the old nightmare would have stayed away.

Ever since Vian’s death, he had thought he had finally escaped this particular dream, and it rattled him to be proved so wrong.

He tossed his blankets off and got up, pulling a shirt on over his sleeping shorts.

Fawn had assured him that there was no place in the Crux he wasn’t welcome, and he hoped that remained true when he knocked on her door at whatever godsforsaken hour it was.

Trying to return to sleep in his own bed felt like tempting Vian’s ghost to visit again.

Instead, he went to his door and threw it open, only to earn a startled gasp from someone just outside.

It was Bridgette, a light globe clasped in her hand. She was backed against the far wall, one hand on her chest, her blue eyes wide with alarm.

“Gods, you scared the shit out of me,” she hissed, keeping her voice to a whisper.

“Sorry,” Arlon said, equally surprised to see someone else up this late. Yet some small part of him found it funny that he’d spent so many days searching for Garrett and Bridgette when at least Bridgette shared a floor with him.

The woman looked him over before she asked, “You alright? You look about how I felt when I thought you were a fucking ghost.”

Arlon swore and rubbed his tired eyes. “I—no, I’m fine. Couldn’t sleep.”

Bridgette frowned as some silent battle played out behind her eyes. Finally, she sighed and said, “I couldn’t sleep, either. I was going to go for a walk if you want to come?”

Frankly, Arlon was shocked she wanted anything to do with him. Especially something that involved being alone with him in the middle of the night.

It was like she could read his thoughts. She pulled a strand of spells out from under her nightgown. “I’m not stupid enough to go walking around in the dark without a little assurance.”

Something about her tone wrung a quiet huff from him.

The woman was an uncomfortable reminder of who he used to be, but that wasn’t her fault.

No doubt he was a reminder of something she’d rather forget, too, so the fact that she had even asked him to join felt significant. A tenuous sort of peace offering.

“You sure you want company?”

“Look, my husband likes you. I should give you the benefit of the doubt and at least try ,” she said matter-of-factly. Her eyes scanned over him again, appraising. “Besides, you’re the one who looks like you could use some company.”

He really, really did. Even now, his heart raced, still trying to escape the long-dead threat of Vian Wolf.

Bridgette hummed, reading his silence, before she jerked her head towards the stairs. “C’mon then.”

Arlon obeyed the command and fell into step beside her.

She led them down the stairs of the abjuration tower and through the main atrium before cutting towards the transmutation yard.

It seemed to be a familiar route for her, and Arlon was glad to only have to think about putting one foot in front of the other.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” Bridgette said as they emerged into the yard, finally breaking the silence that hung between them.

“For what?” Arlon asked, not quite able to hide his surprise.

Bridgette shrugged as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small clay pipe. “Garrett has had a harder time settling in here than I have. Your sparring sessions have helped.”

She walked over to the pagoda of woven trees before she took a seat on the bench underneath them. A match sparked against the side of the clay pipe before Bridgette lit its contents. She drew out a few puffs, and Arlon caught the familiar scent of tobacco and skunkweed.

“You want any? It helps me sleep when I’m having a rough night,” she said as she held the pipe out to him, smoke pouring from her lips.

Arlon eyed the offering before he took it. The clay pipe was comically small in his hand, but he filled his lungs with smoke before letting it out on a sigh.

“Fuck,” he murmured, the familiar taste plucking at a few good memories from his time with the Wolves. How many late nights had he spent smoking around a campfire, bullshitting about everything and nothing?

“Good, right?” Bridgette said, grinning as she took the pipe back. “Came from this apothecary in town. Far nicer than anything I ever found in Frostcliff.”

Arlon handed the pipe back to her before he took a seat on the bench next to her. “Do you ever miss Frostcliff?”

To his surprise, Bridgette laughed. “ Gods no. Not even a little bit. Frostcliff is a shithole compared to Straetham.”

Arlon chuckled as she took another puff out of the pipe. “Frostcliff wasn’t so bad.”

Bridgette released a plume of smoke into the air before handing the pipe back to him. “Spoken like someone who could come and go as he pleased.”

Arlon scoffed before he drew in a deep breath, the smoke dancing over his tongue.

It felt strange to smoke without a drink in hand, but the nightmare was a good reminder of why he’d never touch a drop again.

“We didn’t come and go, we snuck in and fled once we overstayed our welcome.

That’s what happens when you’re wanted in damn near every town in the Hobokins. ”

Bridgette hummed as she took the pipe back from him. “Garrett told me that you were with the Wolves for some time.”

He should have assumed this was where the conversation was going. It seemed like there was no escaping the thought of Vian tonight. “Too long.”

“How’d you fall in with them?”

Arlon sighed, and maybe it was the comfortable haze of the skunkweed that loosened his tongue enough to say, “It was the worst day of my life. You really want to hear about it?”

Another curl of smoke left Bridgette’s mouth, and she folded one knee, laying it across the top of the bench so she could turn to face him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Arlon raised an eyebrow but took the offered pipe all the same. He drew in a fortifying lungful of smoke before he said, “That morning, I’d lit my mother’s funeral pyre. That afternoon, I lost my home when my caravan kicked me out.”

Bridgette was silent as he took another long drag on the pipe before saying, “That evening, Vian and his pack caught up to me on the road. Tried to rob me. I had a death wish and nothing to lose, so I fought back. Vian later told me that he liked my tenacity .” He spit the word like venom.

“Instead of leaving me for dead, they took me back to their camp.”

“Gods, Arlon.” Bridgette’s voice was filled with equal parts horror and sympathy. “How old were you?”

Arlon handed the pipe back to her, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Sixteen.”

Bridgette scoffed, cradling the pipe in her lap. “Sixteen’s a cursed age.”

“Why do you say that?”

“That’s how old I was when my da sold me to that godsforsaken brothel to pay off his gambling debts,” Bridgette murmured .

Arlon looked at the woman in surprise. Her head was lowered, her long silver hair cascading over her shoulders to obscure her face.

“You said you’d tell me yours,” Arlon said after a moment. “Was that your worst day?”

“No.” Bridgette lifted her eyes to meet his, and Arlon recognized something of the pain and anger that lingered in them. “That was the night I took your old boss upstairs.”

Arlon’s stomach plummeted. “I-I’m sorry.” It felt inadequate. It was inadequate. There was nothing he could say or do that would heal the wounds Vian had left, but he still felt the need to try. “He was an evil fucker. He hurt a lot of people, and I’m sorry you were one of them.”

Bridgette’s eyes studied him, and it was like she could see all that he wasn’t saying. “You were hurt by him, too.”

He forced a smile, a weak, fragile thing. “A close second for worst day of my life.”

Bridgette’s wavering smile matched his. “Well, he’s dead now, right?”

Arlon sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. “He is.”

“Well, then. Cheers to one less evil fucker in the world,” Bridgette said before she held the pipe out to him.

His fingers brushed hers as he took it. “That story’s a happier one, if you want to hear it.”

Bridgette chuckled as she leaned back comfortably. “Go on, then. Tell me a happy tale.”

Arlon took another draw from the pipe, grinning as he released the plume of smoke into the night sky.

“After Fawn arrested me and a few of the others, I think Vian got desperate. He’d already proven himself a big enough problem to warrant the Crux’s intervention, but after his Wolves got thinned, he started killing more readily, got more brutal with his extortions.

But he was no less careful about covering his tracks.

For the entire year I was indentured here, Fawn was trying to track him down, without luck. ”

“So what made you decide to help?” Bridgette asked as she took the pipe back.

“Fawn promised me a clean slate and a new life as a wizard, to start.”

“And?”

“And… after a year of helping me recognize all the ways Vian had fucked my life up, I wanted to help,” he said.

Bridgette hummed as she tapped the ashes out of her pipe. “You’re also in love with her.” Arlon’s stomach plummeted, but at his look, Bridgette scoffed. “I have eyes, you know.”

Arlon cleared his throat, forcing that thought aside, though his racing heart took a moment longer to settle.

“Anyway, I gave her the location of every hideout I knew of under the condition that I got to come with her to clear them. We caught up to Vian at the tail end of winter, and I don’t think I need to tell you that a prick with a sword, even one as vicious as Vian Wolf, was no match for a fully armed wizard. ”

Bridgette leaned back with a smirk as she looked up at the sky. “Bet it was satisfying to watch him try.”

“It was the only time I ever saw him afraid,” Arlon said. “And knowing that he died feeling even a fraction of the fear he’d caused throughout his miserable life was good enough for me.”

“A deserving end,” Bridgette said before she spat on the ground next to her. “Hope Quietus sent him straight to hell where he belongs.”

Arlon copied the sentiment, spitting onto the grass. “Without a doubt.”

The silence that fell between them was a comfortable one. One that was only broken when Bridgette let out a wistful sigh as she got to her feet. “That was a happy story. I think I’ll sleep better for having heard it.”

Arlon would too, but he didn’t admit it out loud. Instead, he said, “Thanks for… this.”

Bridgette gave him an appraising look before she said, “Walk me back upstairs?”

Arlon got to his feet, and Bridgette slid her arm through his. The warmth of her touch was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. They walked arm in arm all the way back to her room in the abjuration tower, which was, in fact, just a few doors down from his.

“Goodnight, Arlon,” she whispered as she opened her door. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too.”