The Pied Piper

Romance Story Challenge from DC Creative Writing Read and Critique, Prompts:

Also posted in the DC Creative Writing Read and Critque’s Wattpad anthology; find it and others here.

Where had her brother found this one?

Willow sat at her little table and stared from behind her menu at the well dressed man who had just stepped into the cafe. He wore a single, pink amaranth pinned to his lapel, a match to the one her brother had given her just this morning.

“This is how you’ll recognize each other!” He’d said excitedly, pinning it to the front of her dress with one of her straight pins.

“How silly, why don’t you just introduce us?” She’d fussed, even though inside she thought the idea deliciously sentimental.

“He’s a little….” Her stomach dropped when he hesitated and she opened her mouth to rescind her acceptance of the blind date. “Shy,” he finished, giving his typical one sided shrug. “He actually suggested this.”

“Oh,” she settled back onto her heels, feeling a little guilty for rising to say no so readily. She hadn’t dated any shy men… If he thought of this arrangement himself, maybe he was a romantic.

“Remind me how you know… Porter, was it?” She prodded as she turned back to her worktable. She lifted a few pins and tucked them in her lips as she pulled a dress across the broad, smooth surface before her. She remembered what Wesley had said about the gentleman in question perfectly, both of the answers he had already given her. But she wanted to see if she could get more details out of another answer.

“Nope, nope, I see right through you! Oh, my twin, you can’t trick me!” He closed one eye and pointed at her; an old joke they referenced often of people saying twins shared a soul and could read each other’s minds.

She turned just enough to catch his eye and threw a mischievous grin at him over her shoulder. “Fine, fine, go then and I’ll see you at home tonight, after your ‘jooob.’” She extended the word and gave it air quotes because he had refused to tell her any details about that yet either.

“Yes, I want to hear all about what you think of him!” He raced out the back door of the seamstress shop with a jaunty wave, completely ignoring her jab.

Now Willow watched the man, studying his every movement. His upright bearing and the long tailed, dark blue jacket he wore led her to guess he had money, but past that she could guess little of his background. He had an exotic cast to his face; a bit of tilt to his night-dark eyes, a fullness to his politely smiling mouth, and an angularity to his chin that clearly spoke of blood lines far from the boring villagers Willow had grown up around. His long, slender limbs also moved with a grace unknown to the wood cutters, smiths, and shepherds most common here.

This all came as no surprise, though. Wesley had gone to the city to seek an apprenticeship just under a year ago, so when his last letter told her a new friend would join him on his visit home, she had expected someone a little different. A little new. Not nearly so handsome, though.

The cafe’s front trellis trailed dark leaves to the man’s right and Willow watched, pleased, as he caressed a wide vine. He looked around, appreciating the open, thick beamed ceiling well over head and the clean, white-washed walls. A wide smile spilled across Willow’s face when he did a little double-take on the hand-painted motif around the joins of the beams in the ceiling. He clearly studied them a moment, tilting this way then that. The motif laced the dark brown beams with bright tea leaves and an occasional flower. A studious observer would notice that the blossoms echoed the art hanging on the walls made of dried flowers by the owner’s daughter. Willow had watched the owner painting it and loved the little detail.

Standing her menu on the table, Willow quickly felt that her long black hair had not escaped the wide braid she put it in this morning. Yes, the small handful of flowers she had filched from the vase at the front desk back at work still sat between the folds of the braid, a few loose strands trailed down her cheeks, and the peach-blushed amaranth at her breast contrasted nicely on her mulberry bodice. She took a deep breath and tilted the menu flat onto the table so she could welcome the man her brother had set her up with.

Not tall like the giant smith, but likely taller than her, he had dark brown hair that settled loosely around his ears, and the long fingers of a musician.

The waitress who had greeted the handsome man now beckoned him to follow her. He lifted a hand to indicate she proceed him and she skipped forward, blushing fiercely. Willow’s eyes narrowed and she wished she could have heard what he said to the frill ensconced young woman. If he would flirt with other women upon arriving for a date with her, he could go poke holes in a…

“Good afternoon,” his low, purring voice stopped her thoughts in their tracks.

Oh.

She felt a warm blush touch her cheeks, and stood to give herself an excuse to rub at her face hastily.

“Willow, I presume?” He reached up and touched the globe of peach and orange petals on his lapel, looking at her own.

“Yes, Porter then?” She opened an inquiring hand toward him and he nodded.

God, those dark eyes could quicken the blood of a dead woman.

Willow suppressed a smile at the thought and turned to pull her chair back in with her. Porter took a few hurried strides and caught her hand under his as he reached for her chair. They both leapt away from the contact in surprise, giving surprised little laughs.

He folded his hands together uncertainly, so she used both hands to fold her skirt against her legs and welcome his assistance. He slid it in against her legs and she sat.

“Thank you.”

He had lost the graceful edge to his movements. Maybe this was how his shyness showed?

How cute!

“So Porter, my infuriating brother refused to tell me much about you. He said he didn’t want to color my impression.” She rolled her eyes, looking to him to agree with her assessment of her brother’s silliness, but instead she found him smiling fondly at her.

He doesn’t know me well enough to smile like that….

“That was my doing, I’m afraid,” his voice sent goosebumps flowing down her skin and she clenched her knees together to distract herself from the thought-melting allure. “I… want people to get to know me and make their own judgments.”

“Oh, well, alright then. Here I am, to get to know you. What do you do, Porter?” Willow leaned her elbows onto the table, settling her chin into her hands, and giving just one bat of her eyelashes; the picture of attentive interest.

“Well… maybe we could start with a bit of background?” The uncertain shyness broke up the smooth cadence of his voice and his hands fidgeted under the table.

How fascinating. One moment he’s suave enough to be a prince, the next he’s a little boy. What is this ground that makes him feel so uncertain? Aloud she said only, “Yes, certainly. Are you from Arrow Mark?”

“No,” his smooth purr returned.

Maybe it’s a good thing he gets moments of uncertainty afterall…

“But I have been working from there for the last couple years. I tend to move around a bit…” Apprehension crept into his last words and Willow had no trouble saving him from it.

“Oh, but how wonderful! So have you seen far flung corners of the world?” She rolled her head with the last, allowing her own day dreams of traveling to show through her broad smile. Her eyes returned to him to find his lips slightly parted in a slow smile of surprised delight.

“Uh, yes. Yes, I have been to the ivory towers of the WrestHold. I have seen my very breath freeze into snow on the frozen plains of the Jurgon peninsula. I’ve even swum in the crystal clear waters of the Lion Islands.”

“Oh, now I know you’re lying,” Willow sat back forcefully in her chair, crossing her arms before her and pouting at him. “Everyone knows those aren’t real.”

His brows drew together in genuine confusion and disappointment. “But, of course they are.” He reached around and patted the pockets of his jacket. “Oh damn, it’s in my case. I have spines from the deadly fish, and a couple of the famous dappled shells.”

“Hm, you’ll have to show me those for me to really believe you. Why don’t we go back to Arrow Mark. So you’re not from there. Where are you from?”

“You likely wouldn’t have heard of the town, it’s north of…”

“Oh my god, Willow!” Willow jumped and spun to find her best friend Grace racing toward her. “Did you hear?” Before Willow could communicate to her friend with her eyes to stop, shut-the-fuck-up, and go away the girl nearly skidded into the table. “The Town Headman secured a contract with the Pied Piper!” Grace nearly screamed, even as her voice carried the breathy edge of a whisper.

“Wait, what?” Willow’s train of thought crashed headlong into her friend’s piled brunette ringlets, and she lifted a hand to try and slow her friend — to no avail.

“Right?! Oh, can you imagine! Do you think he really looks like a rat, like people say? Maybe he has a tail! How gross to be surrounded by rats all the time! But oh,” she swooned into Willow’s lap, letting her head fall dramatically back onto Willow’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to see the spectacle of it all! He’s supposed to dance through town with his flute.”

“That is wonderful and all, and Grace-darling I love you, but I’m going to have to ask you to…..” She tried to encourage her friend back to her feet to leave, but the actress without a stage her friend had become turned in Willow’s lap and gave her giant, pouting eyes.

“What’s wrong? I thought you would love to hear about the disgusting thing that will come and take the other disgusting things away with it!”

Willow sighed, sagging back against her chair. She lifted a hand and pointed at the quiet man, sitting patiently at the other side of the table. Grace turned to follow her friend’s pointing and leapt up so quickly she almost took the table with her. Porter’s quick slapping of hands down on either side of the polished surface proved its only salvation.

“Oh. My. God! I’m so sorry!” She turned quickly to Willow, “God, he’s handsome, good job!” Willow’s blush returned tenfold at Grace’s loud whisper. It took her a while to lift her eyes after her friend had raced off after a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so sorry. That was…”

“No apologies needed. It’s so nice to have friends so happy to see you.” She looked up the rest of the way to find a somber expression on Porter’s face that belied the kindness of his words.

Willow bit her lip. How do I recover the ease before the bull in the china shop came through? Ah ha! She caught the eye of the waitress and gave just the tiniest  tilt of her chin to call the girl over.

“What kinds of things do you like to drink?” Willow asked as the girl drew near, all smiles for the man in the dark jacket and a flat expression for Willow.

Ah the jealousy of women, ugh.

“I really like trying new things. What do you like best here?” His voice sounded so… normal. No magical edge of seducing charm wove through his words, so gooseflesh inducing richness, just a man’s voice. Was this a third version of him? If so though, was this his normal face or a mask of annoyance? If he grew annoyed so easily maybe she should just end this and cut her losses.

“The green tea is especially popular!” The waitress chimed brightly and Willow started to heave a sigh but stopped before releasing it when she saw Porter had not lifted his eyes from her.

“Well, I like a spicy tea mix the owner makes herself. I’ve never heard of it anywhere else, so that should certainly be something a little different for you.” This lifted a corner of his mouth and he nodded curtly to the waitress.

Not flirting with the other girls then, well maybe I’ll stay for a little longer.

Willow opened her mouth to try and get their conversation back, her eyes drifting across the table tentatively, when he slid into the silence. “What do you think of the Pied Piper coming to town?”

It was her turn to look up at him in confusion. It took a moment to recall that Grace had burst in talking about the Pied Piper. Willow finally smiled, “I don’t know if I believe Grace. I always heard he only took contracts with real cities. Woodhaven is a far cry from a city.”

He smiled amiably and tilted his head granting her point. “What a frightening idea though,” he leaned back in his chair and Willow caught a sharpness in his voice. “The man comes to a place and then rivers of rats follow him. Rivers of foulness and disease, attracted by his strange magic.” Porter’s head fell back, looking as though he spoke to the ceiling.

Willow leaned her elbows forward onto the table again, lacing her fingers together and studying the handsome man before her.

Now aren’t you just a puzzle.

“Strange, yes,” she said slowly, carefully watching for any movement, any flinch, any tick. There, his hands. They seemed the window to the man’s soul; they clenched shortly then fell open just before the rest of him sagged a bit.

He lifted back up and Willow launched into the silence before he could voice the words she saw forming on his full lips. “But what magic isn’t strange? That is the definition of magic, is it not? The ladies who come into my boss’s shop squeal of the magic she does to make them look beautiful, and they’re not lying. She is amazing with a needle and thread. This man, this Pied Piper, he is amazing with a flute, I hear. I would love to hear him play.” She finished on a smug smile as she saw the surprise blossom on her tablemate’s face. He swallowed and the waitress saved them both from having to decide what to do next by arriving with their pot of tea.

Willow studied him intently, watching his expression ease from surprise scrunching his eyes together, to interest smoothing them, and finally a bit of delight lifting their corners. The young waitress didn’t have any special smiles for Porter when she saw how he looked at Willow and she left with a quiet word to call her if they needed anything else.

“Do you play any other instruments, Porter?” Willow asked, unable to keep the triumphant mirth from her lips as she poured cups of the black tea for them both.

Flabbergasted looked good on such a handsome man.

~          ~          ~          ~          ~

With spring came the new versions of everything. Fresh new water from the mountains, baby fawns in the dappling sunlight, bright new blooms everywhere; Willow loved spring!

Porter hated spring.

“Yes, and you know what else has been busy all winter? Those that come running out in droves along with your cute little bunnies and fluffy, baby birds?”

She turned a pout at him, an incongruous expression as she continued to skip with her joy of the perfect spring day surrounding them. They strolled along the sand-colored cobbled road next to the river, their hands brushing whenever Willow brought herself back to a normal walking pace — which she made sure to do every few skips.

“Of course, I know. But it’s worth it for the other wonders of spring!” she cried. Her untarnished mood prompted Porter to raise a well formed eyebrow, but it pulled the corner of his mouth up with it and she giggled, pleased. She threw her arms up as if she could gather in the crystal sharp sunlight and the ribbons of cool breeze that slid between her fingers.

“Yes, for people whose work is not tied to the breeding habits of vermin,” Porter lapsed back into his doldrum.

Willow turned to remonstrate him for fouling a lovely day and walk, but found him biting his lip with drawn brows. She cocked her head and waited for him to speak. But instead his brows only sank further together, his eyes flinching back as if expecting a blow.

What has happened now?

Willow very slowly edged forward, sliding her fingers underneath his. She moved as if his hand were a small bird or lizard that might run scurrying away if she moved too quickly. But once their fingers matched up, she slid her grip around his firmly.

The green eyes dropped to her grip, bounced back to her face, then closed. The tension eased from his brow and he swallowed. Willow waited.

“I’ve never spoken to someone like that.” His whisper made Willow lean in closer and she would have called it a ploy from anyone else. Her hair tousled forward and slid over their fingers.

What do I say? What can I say?

“Thank you.” This felt weak in the face of the hurt in his lovely voice, but it jerked his eyes open and searching for hers.

His shoulders melted down and he leaned his face forward as slowly as she had slipped her hand into his until he lay his forehead against hers. Now he closed his eyes and squeezed her hand.

“You are a singular creature, Willow.”

Oh that voice this close…

Had he leaned in for a kiss, or anything else, Willow couldn’t have stopped him right then. But instead he gently withdrew and straightened his spine with a deep , pleased sigh. “Weren’t you taking me somewhere?”

Willow blinked languidly before the question clicked and she hopped around to hide her parted lips, moistened in anticipation. But he didn’t take his hand away and Willow was loathe to relinquish his.

She settled in to walk at his side, keeping her head ducked enough to hide her hot face for another dozen steps. They came to the intersection where she had planned on taking a left, toward the river-walk and the lovely Half Moon Garden. But she found her feet leading him back into the city.

“Why don’t I show you the scrumptious scones in the plaza first? We can take them to the garden with us?” She asked. He stopped and she lost her grip on his hand. She reached back, encouraging him to take the step separating them again.

He bit his lip, looking deeper into the city past her.

Is he afraid he’ll be recognized?

He licked his lips as if to speak, but whatever troubled him died on his lips when his gaze came back to her and found the offered hand. He reached out and cupped his fingers under hers, as if afraid her hand could burn him.

She wrapped her fingers around his, rolling his palm in her grip a bit before repositioning and threading their fingers together. Then she gave him a tug and made him trot to keep up with her until they reached the circle.

“Willow, why the rush? Are you sure-” They jolted to a halt as they rounded the last corner and found a crowd three deep lining the edges of the plaza. Porter shied back, but Willow kept a tight grasp on him.

Maybe crowds made him nervous. She could help with that.

“What’s happening?” Willow asked of an elder nearby.

“The Pied Piper’s to be workin’ his magic on the town,” rasped the elder, not tearing his eyes away from their search up and down the plaza.

Following his lead, Willow scanned the crowd and noticed a couple banners bearing hastily painted dancing rats and a hawker handing out cookies painted to look like rats’ ears.

But Porter is here with me… Maybe he has a partner?

“How fun, I want one!” She started to throw her hand up to catch the hawker’s attention when she felt Porter pull back again. She glanced back at the man to find his brows drawn and his green eyes darting around the crowd. Willow drew him closer to her, folding his forearm into her chest.

She leaned up on her toes, tilting her chin to whisper to him. He obliged to her invitation haltingly, but the worried expression lost its sharp edge. “Do you ever get to just be the audience?”

Despite her whisper, his eyes darted around them to see if anyone heard. But when he found no one and returned to Willow gazing patiently at him, he took and sighed out a slow, shuddering breath. “I guess only a few times when I was young. When I was in training.” His voice threaded so quietly through the crowd’s chatter she almost lost it. Had she thought about it before she mightn’t have been surprised, but his whisper made a shadow of his normal voice. The heady, deep vibration of it made her knees weak and she gripped his arm tight, leaning into him harder.

She swallowed through the heat that rose up her throat, “You never watch?”

“It can be…. Dangerous, for those who can hear the magic.” Porter continued to watch around them for eavesdroppers and didn’t notice the effect his voice had on Willow.

His answer gave her mind enough of a jolt to break from the spell of the sound of it. “So how did you learn to do it?”

He rolled his shoulders from stooping down to her and gave a genuine smile filled with understanding of how silly something was. “Very carefully.”

“Well, it looks like we won’t be getting a scone would you… like… a cookie…?” Willow’s voice trailed off. She had trouble maintaining the thought to finish the question.

Where is that music coming from?

She lifted fully from where she and the handsome, dark haired man leaned conspiratorially into each other. Her movements felt weighed down, like she moved against a current. She couldn’t even turn her head quickly.

The music rose. A tripping, fluttering, excited melody.

What a wonderful song for dancing…

Willow lifted her free hand toward the music, her eyes drifting closed in pleasure.

Porter’s hands closed around her arms like vises and the painful pressure of it snapped her attention to him. The light thread of music her feet had started carrying her toward shattered as she caught his dark, wary eyes.

“What…. Porter, that hurts…” his grip loosened but did not fully release. He looked down at her boots and Willow’s eyes followed. Her heels continued to tap along to the tune she thought she had lost. She willed them to stillness.

Strange…

“You can hear it, can’t you?” Her gaze rose, leery of the accusatory feel of his words. “Willow,” his voice came out a whisper but it carried all that warmth and heat of the kiss she hadn’t been brave enough to start yet. It shocked her and she focused. Her heels had started tapping again.

She swallowed. “Yes, I hear music. Don’t you?” A frightened edge threaded its way down to her fingertips and she gripped his arms.

“Yes. But I teach that music. I teach that music only to the very few who can hear it and want to take on the life of a wandering vagabond.” Disgust layered heavily over his smooth voice as his gaze jerked around them again, too many emotions to name rushing across his handsome features. He released her and took a half step back. His face fell and his shoulders hunched. Her fingers slid off the fabric of his sleeve, suddenly holding only air.

“What… how….” Willow gasped as it clicked before her eyes. “Wesley! You’re Wesley’s teacher. He’s been apprenticing with you!”

Porter’s shoulder’s went rigid and she sighed.

Working through all of his pain and rejection is going to take a while.

But her ideas of how to help him swept away on a tide of music, louder now. Tripping, rushing, leaping, enchanting music!

“Willow!” Porter’s voice cracked through her dreamy turn toward it.

Annoyed she flapped her hand at the voice, suddenly irate that he had interrupted her. But he batted her hand aside as both of his dove forward and clasped both sides of her face. He tipped her back to look at him as she tried to drift back toward the plaza and the music.

“What are you-?!”

“Willow, what is my name?

“What? What a rid… I know what your…” She huffed to a halt, a thread of fear wending through the annoyance. Now she could feel he hadn’t grabbed her face, but covered her ears. The music came muffled and she found space in its jumbled chords to think.

Porter! How could I forget?

She opened her mouth to tell him she remembered when his attention shot up and over her shoulder, panic filling his eyes. She lifted her hands to grip his wrists and shifted his hands enough for her to turn and look as well.

A man came capering toward the plaza from the other side. He bore only a slim flute, but the music he wove from it was intoxicating. Willow took a couple steps back while stilling holding the hands that had tried to hold her back from the wonderful music.

The man who played it trailed a wide, dark cape with a broad hood pulled over his head. He bent into the rounded posture of a gallivanting satyr, throwing his head with crescendos of his song but always maintaining the drawn hood.

She had to join him! The music tapped out its rhythm in her very blood. She had to answer the call.

“Willow, please!” The hands grasped her again, this time around her shoulders. They drew her back into the solid wall of a tall figure. With no thought, Willow tried to spin and slap the offender. The arms leapt to circle her shoulders, clutching her back against it.

Then the figure started walking slowly backwards. “Willow, please. I’m so sorry. I should have known. If Wesley can hear the music, of course you can too. I should never have let us come here. Wesley isn’t trained well enough to protect any he bespells with the song.” The voice prattled in her ear, dimming the music.

She gasped and clutched at Porter’s arms.

“Porter, what’s happening?” She had just enough of a presence of mind to whisper and not alarm those around them. She turned slowly in the circle of his embrace, her feet tapping through far more motions than the turn required.

She found scared, hurt eyes. Tears. Tears? Those broke the spell of the music on her a little and she grabbed him more tightly than she had before.

“Can you teach me how to resist it?”

“Yes, but not while it has you.”

“How do you protect people from it?”

“I don’t… I don’t know once you’re already under,” the tears spilled from his eyes and he sagged to his knees, his arms still tight around her. She danced in place, looking down at him as tears eased down the strong lines of his face. He stared up at her like a terrified little boy.

She took his chin sharply in her fingers, an echo of how he had caught her arms.

His eyes went wide as hers had. Leaning forward, she gritted her teeth with the effort to keep the dance only in her feet. It fought to crawl up her legs, into her very core and send her frolicing toward the source of the music.

“Give me some of your music then,” she bit off through shivering effort and he had only a moment to look confused before she closed the last handspan between them.

Full lips are the best for kissing…

He didn’t tilt his face opposite hers, so their noses pressed for long moments as Willow just reveled in the feel of him against her. Then he surged to his feet, lining their bodies together, his arms clutching around her waist, releasing her arms.

Softness over taught muscle, warmth giving way to raging fire, breathlessness mixed with the rapid beat of gasping hearts. Willow broke the kiss with a laughing gasp but didn’t pull her face away, leaving the plane of her nose along his. She opened her eyes to drown in his languid green pools, the only thing she could see in the world.

His own pleased langur gave way to shock as he noticed her stillness. Smiling, he reached up and slowly, inviting her to stop him with his caution, wound a tress of her hair through his fingers. She closed her eyes, leaning into the caress and smiled when he groaned.

The tap of hard cured leather on stone told all the story they needed of her lifting toes. A tentative touch of lips and another kiss stole any need for more words. The world melted away and the only music Willow heard came from the beat of two hearts close enough to hear each other.

Fifty years later, Willow would still look up at Porter and tap her toes with a mischievous smile whenever she wanted a kiss.