Sneak peak - Malcolm

There was a small tap coming from my window. It roused me from a deep slumber, my lashes sticking together. The room was still dark, the small candles I had placed within my home lanterns still doused. It took me a moment, the edge of sleep still clinging to me. But as the tap sounded once more, I lifted my head from the pillow, looking around the room. Somewhere, it registered to me that it was coming from outside. I still had yet to make a front door and at this point, I didn’t think I was going to. Not having one left me with a sense of security that I oddly clung to in recent days.

Standing, I padded over to the window, drawing the curtains aside. Malcolm stood on the opposite side of the glass, a worn jacket pulled around his shoulders, snow flecking the black fabric. I frowned as I pulled open the window, silently stepping aside to let him in. He ducked his way through, climbing into the small little place I now called home.

“What time is it?” I asked. Voice still raspy with sleep.

He stared at me, as if the idea of time had yet to register to him. Suddenly, he was looking around the room, not quite sure how he had even gotten here in the first place. “Late,” he said, licking his chapped lips. He half turned back to the window. “Sorry. I should go.” 

When he turned to leave, I reached out for him, grabbing onto his arm. He startled as my warm fingers gripped the cold leather of his jacket. There was no resistance as I tugged him back, leading him further into my home to sit on the sofa.  

“What happened?” I reached out, slipping the jacket from his shoulders, intending to replace it with something warm. I could feel it then. The sticky sign of blood against his skin. Eyes wide, I pushed his jacket fully away, seeing the torn shreds of his sweater and the dark blood that soaked through the grey threads.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

Reaching for the hem of his sweater, I slowly pulled it up and over his head, ignoring the look of protest he tossed my way. The skin of his shoulder was mottled and burned. Looking like it had been cauterized after a large gash had been etched into the muscle and bone.  “That’s not nothing.”

Getting up, I went for the first aid kit that I had underneath my sink. It had herbs and tonics, most of the brews ones I had learned while employed to Hazel. I looked for one of the antiseptics, while also getting out some distilled water to clean the wound properly.

When I turned back to the sofa, Malcolm was just sitting there. Staring off in the distance, his mind occupied.  I knelt before him, slowly beginning to wipe off the excess blood and the charred bits of flesh. A putrid smell came away from the rag, the remnants of magic shining at the edge of the wound.

“Malcolm,” I started softly. He hadn’t even flinched. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

I blinked slowly, still not quite looking at me. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugged me off, making to go move away, but I placed my hands on his knees and with the gentlest of pressures, kept him down. “Malcolm. What. Happened.”

Maybe it was the gravity of my voice. Or maybe the pain was starting to push through him enough to make him notice that something was wrong. He blinked a few times, clearing the haze from his vision, but when he looked at me, I felt something in my chest break.

“Why wasn’t I ever enough for her?”

His lips were numb as the words came spilling out.

Lucinda.

He had never been enough for his mother.  She had made it quite clear from the time he was born.  A child born without magic. One that didn’t even look like her. Then, as that child grew, he cast aside the female trappings for his true self. Forsaking the female line and showing no respect for the craft that Lucinda had worked so hard to obtain. Malcolm had never wanted to be like his mother. He wanted to be his own person. And Lucinda had not once even tried to understand that.

Grabbing the salve, I dipped my fingers into the pot before raising them to his flesh and smearing the concoction over the bumpy surface. I could feel the loose flaps of skin rub oddly beneath my fingers. The exposed muscle. The little bits of charred whatever it was that had been used to close the wound.

“I don’t know,” I answered him slowly.

“I would have done anything for her, you know. When I was little, I would have learned. I would have followed her lead. If I thought for one second that she would have been proud of me.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think you should follow your mother's wishes just for the hope that she’ll be proud. While I don’t know much about parents, I do know that they should just be proud of their children for being good people. And you, Malcolm, are good people.”

He snorted in bitter laughter. “I wasn’t. For a long time. She wasn’t proud of me then. She isn’t proud of me now. She wasn’t proud of me for making my own way in this world. For learning magic despite not being born with it. Everything was a slight. Everything. How I presented. How I spoke. The people I hung out with. Who I loved. My job. My apartment. My taste in music. Even loving Hazel somehow offended her. As if I was supposed to hate my sister because she was only half my blood. Or because she had the magic that I did not.”

The wound was closing beneath my fingers, and I took some of the gauze from the nearby box and began to tap up the wound.  “What has brought all this on?” I whispered. I had seen him not long ago. He hadn’t even uttered Lucinda’s name unless it was to spit it out like a curse. So why had now become so different.

“I went to see her.”

I glanced down at his shoulder. “Is she the one who did this to you?”

“Yes.”

I stood, my fists clenching at my sides. Lucinda had no place in this world. I had thought it for a long time. But now, the desire to rid my realm of her was strengthening tenfold. Because I feared if I did not, then the Albright’s were not going to last. The children of this monster were slowly dying, day by day, due to her simply walking the cobbled streets.

“Don’t,” Malcolm said. “There’s no point.”

“She hurt you.”

“And she’ll do it again.”

While every ounce of me wanted to run out of the building and find Lucinda, I felt myself going towards Malcolm once more. Because while I would feel justifiably elated to have Lucinda’s blood soaking my palms, the person who needed me was right in front of me. The man who never shared his inner thoughts. The one who didn’t show weakness. Who was always taking care of everyone else.

Closing my eyes, I sank down next to him. Rage coursed through me, nearly causing my body to shake. But I pulled him towards me, manuvering him so his head could lay in my lap. One muscled arm came out, wrapping around my waist, pain lashing across him as he moved his wounded shoulder.

“I want to make this better,” I told him.

He was silent, fingers curling against my side. “Do you think my other mom loved me?” he asked. “Can you– is there a way you could see her? When she was still alive, at least?”

I hadn’t thought of it. Looking into the memories of the past. Getting to see who the woman was that technically had birthed Malcolm. What had happened to her. If she had held him and looked at him with care.

“I don’t know if I can,” I told him. Disappointment shot across his face as he swallowed thickly. “But, Mal. I will certainly try.”

He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s nothing.”

But I knew that it was everything.