Chapter 6

I couldn't believe my fairy eyes. Dross' tower? To be demolished? Who would authorize this?

"What?" Dorian repeated again, frowning at the door.

Clara arched an eyebrow. "I take it this isn't right."

"My left wing it's right," I snarled, stomping up to the offending sign.

"Can they even demolish a wizard tower?" Dorian mused thoughtfully.

In the impossibly small print at the bottom of the sign, the type of small print you have to be cautious of and read with a magnifying glass, read the name of the person authorizing the destruction. 'By order of Chancellor Hemperdink, to be carried out by fairy on this day the...'

Fairies do not destroy things. You hear me? They do NOT.

"Hey," Clara said, looking down the cobbled alley.

Dross' tower is situated somewhere in what I'm sure was once downtown Sweetginger, but is now slums. All the criminal magical users had their headquarters here; as a matter of fact, Drossden's tower was repo, off some old evil witch who planned to raise an army of gingerbread men that would go into people's homes and steal their left shoes. It was terrible.

I bet you think I'm joking too. I'm not. I'm dead serious. The whole city was in mass chaos for days!

...I tug your arm. It wasn't so bad, especially for those of us who don't wear shoes.

Dorian and I followed Clara's gaze and saw the man of the hour himself walking down the street. That's Hemperdink, not Drossden, by the way. He must have been alerted to my appearance, and knew he had to head me off. As you can imagine, I have a history with Hemperdink too. I didn't like his attitude once, so I turned his favorite Sugarbird into a caramel frog. He knows my loyalties, and he knows I'm trouble.

Well, he thinks I'm trouble. I'm really not. Honest.

The Mad Prince ducked out of sight down another alley, not surprising me. He did resign from the Nutcrackers, but that isn't to say he still didn't sort of run out on them. They don't typically just let you leave, y'know. Like the mafia.

Clara noticed his timely disappearance, and frowned at his retreating back. I hoped she wasn't actually going to miss him. What was I going to do if she did?

"Greetings, Chancellor," I said as cheerily as I could, pasting on a smile. I moved closer to him, hoping he wouldn't notice my charge in her pj's.

"Narr a'Toor," Hemperdink mused in reply, sizing up my four-foot frame. "As lively as ever, I imagine."

My mouth twitched ever so slightly in my false smile. "Indeed. I feel I should contest a certain demolition with you, Chancellor."

Hemperdink was a thin man, and not even old. In another life, he might have even been attractive, if it weren't for the permeating shrewdness about his person. He saw people as numbers and graphs, and it was only his loyal intelligence that kept Sweete from kicking him out of office. I kind of hated him too.

The Chancellor looked up at the tower behind me with recognition in his eyes. "Yes, the tower of the wizard, Drossden."

He looked down at me with disdain, curling his lower lip, utilizing the fact that he was taller than me. "Why should we keep it?"

I looked at him with a face full of incredulity. He had to know exactly what I was going to say to that. "Uh, because it's Dross' tower? He's still alive, you know, however much you don't want him to be."

Hemperdink frowned at me and narrowed his eyes, his temple throbbing. His was the worst kept secret in Magnolia; I don't know why Sweete hadn't seemed to have heard it. Maybe she just really didn't want to fire him. In any case, part of the reason I hated this man was because he tried to kill Drossden. Just, no one could ever prove it.

"But he doesn't live there anymore. He left Magnolia, never to return," he replied with his selfsame frown.

I was already angry with him, and I was about to let him have a piece of my mind when he interrupted me with a smile I didn't like.

"Despite what you may wish for, fairy, he's not coming back."

He turned my words on me. He was just like Dorian - he knew what buttons to push. Was it possible that I was easy to read?

In my debating with Chancellor Piss-me-off, I had also failed to notice when Clara had disappeared. She was a sneaky one, just like him.

I hoped he wasn't rubbing off on her. Wait, of course not. They were just naturally...alike.

Clara knew that the man I was conversing with was trouble; she had that much sense. I suppose she also was under the impression that we needed Dorian, so she also saw fit to go and find him.

Now, this is where she stopped being so sensible: Sweetginger is a big city, and we were downtown to start with. She didn't know how far Dorian could have gone in those minutes. She still didn't know what he was. She knew all of these facts, but still she went out to look for him.

I worried about that woman.

Still in her plaid flannel pj's and barefoot to match, Clara had walked some feet down the alley Dorian had disappeared in when a stab of pain shot through her leg. Gasping and falling to the dirty cobblestones, she remembered that her leg had been burned after all. Gritting her teeth, Clara slowly pulled up the leg of the garment to her calf and inspected the wound. The skin was red and angry, and felt like ten bee stings. She was going to need medical attention, and had no idea where to find it. She supposed she could ask me, or Dorian, if she found him. To her, we both seemed to know a lot.

But she had to get to one of us first, and she didn't feel like walking on her burnt leg. She sighed. There was nothing else for it.

"Dorian?" she called hopefully. If that didn't work, she'd call for me.

She wasn't long in waiting. A figure that was somewhat Dorian-shaped, coming closer, broke away from the darkness of the brick wall some distance away. She was uneasy for a moment, first wondering if it was him, and then wondering if he might be feeling murderous. The first proved to be unfounded, and the second was rather far-fetched as well.

The Mad Prince stopped in front of her, looking down at her injured leg with a frown. She looked up at him with a politely innocent expression, waiting for him to say something.

"You're a lot of trouble."

That seemed to be his favored opinion of her. He'd said it twice now.

She shrugged. "You going to do anything about it? Like help me up?"

He thought for a moment, though what about she didn't know, then shook his head and stooped down to help her up. Clara gripped his shoulders as one of his arms circled her waist, and they stood.

Clara was somewhat surprised at the ease with which he took her weight, even before she'd added her own efforts. The man must've been sinewy under that stiff military coat.

"Is he gone?" Dorian asked.

Clara was somewhat disappointed that he hadn't suggested they go find her a hospital or something. He saw the burn. It needed attention, antiseptics, the full monty. Unless he was a doctor - and she really doubted that - she needed a hospital.

If they even had hospitals.

Bad thought!

"Who?" she asked. "That Chancellor Someone?"

Her companion nodded. Clara rolled her eyes.

"I don't know. He was still talking to Narr when I left."

Dorian looked suspicious, though for the life of her she didn't understand why. She wasn't the person deemed 'murderous' by a fairy.

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

She gave him an obvious 'what do you think?' look. It seemed rather clear to her.

"To find you, of course. You're not doing your job if you wander off."

She still remembered his words to protect her. She was going to hold them to him too, damnit.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he turned a disapproving frown on her. "You have a responsibility too; to keep yourself safe. You shouldn't have left Narr. What would you do if someone else found you?"

She wasn't ready for this scolding. No one had scolded her in three years, yet Dorian had done it twice in the same day. It was getting aggravating.

Instead of answering him (she doubted it was a question meant to be answered in the first place,) she replied with another question.

"What's with you and her, anyway? Why all the love?"

Dorian's face hardened, and the muscles of his jaw were twitching again. He looked away from her gaze, eyes narrowed. For a moment, she didn't think he was going to answer.

But he did. "She's just being foolish. She looks like a child, and that's what she is. She just wanted someone to blame for...her tragedy, and I was it."

Clara could tell that this wasn't the whole story. He wasn't telling her something; he mentioned no murders.

She had just opened her mouth to inquire about that very point when he predicted what she'd say, and cut her off with a hand.

"You'll just have to wait a little bit for the rest of the fairy tale. Narr will have to tell you what she blames me for. I can never get it from her straight anyhow."

"Oh," Clara answered, somewhat dejected. She gave way to a shiver. Dorian noticed.

"Hey," he said. "Are you cold?"

Never mind the burnt leg...?

The woman looked up at him with a cynical smile. "A little. Don't worry about it."

Dorian rolled his eyes at her statement. With the hand not supporting her, he dug into one of his satchels. It seemed a repeat performance from earlier that day; it took him a long time to find whatever he was looking for, but he did eventually find it. From the bag at his side he pulled a wrinkled yet clean-looking jacket, like the one he wore. With a simple look her way, he offered it to her.

Clara was a little taken aback. She told him she was fine, something he discarded. On top of that, he offered her his jacket, which in and of itself was nice. It stopped being quite so nice and gentlemanly when it was the crumpled up spare and not the crisper one he wore.

She gave him a dirty look. "I'm fine. Did you think I was lying?"

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. "Women never say what they mean, only what they would like to hear of themselves."

That was strangely...insightful. Clara was shocked enough by the statement to accept the jacket. Moreover, she accepted his help in pulling it on. Upon his face was an ill-concealed smile, but she even managed to miss that. It wasn't right, she decided. It wasn't right for any man to know that much. She looked up at the sky, expecting someone to get struck by lightening.

In this, she was disappointed.

"You there!" a voice called, hurried footsteps echoing down the alley, "Why aren't-"

The footsteps stopped, and Clara turned to look behind them at the man who'd just run up. She noticed the same white jacket they now both wore covering his torso. Dorian and the newcomer were affiliated somehow.

"Dorian?" the man asked in a skeptical voice.

They regarded each other for a while, Clara's companion biting his lip. He was debating something, and it probably had to do with running away. Well, he wouldn't dare-

-Leave her. Suddenly, Dorian shoved her toward the man and took off down the alley, away from me as well as his charge. Clara flailed her arms as she lost her balance and tumbled into the man, knocking them both to the ground.

Clara was angry. He'd actually left her. Funny, she hadn't pegged him for being a coward. Or totally selfish.

"Fine then, you motherless statue! Leave me! See if I care!" she screamed after him.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her bottom lip, glaring in the direction he'd retreated.

A muffled groan brought her attention to the man she was now sitting on. "Air..."

"Oh!" Clara squeaked and hurriedly stood up and moved to the side, letting the man gasp in lungfuls of precious oxygen. "I'm sorry! Are you all right?"

"Where?" he gasped, standing shakily to his feet. "Where did that Prince go?"

"Uh..." she mumbled intelligently, looking around. A moment ago, she had known exactly where he'd fled. Damn her battered cranium, she couldn't remember anymore.

"I didn't see."

The man looked at her with some suspicion. He pointed an accusing finger at her wardrobe. "Are you pretending to be a Nutcracker, or does His Highness know you well enough to give you a jacket?"

Clara was wondering why he made no mention of her pj's, but was glad for it nonetheless. In any case, she met his suspicion with splayed legs and put her hands on her hips in a scorned-woman fashion: "I don't know these 'Nutcrackers,' and I damn sure don't know the man that just ran away from me. What do you want with him, anyway? A pink slip?"

The man took a step back, surprised by her sudden hostility. What he didn't know was that the scowl on her face originated from the pain shooting up her leg.

"I-I'm sorry, miss...?"

"Clara! Now answer my question!"

He looked properly shamed, like a little boy, even shifting his feet nervously. Inwardly, Clara was grinning.

"I - nothing, really - just, there's an outstanding warrant for his arrest-" His eyes were distracted.

"Why?" she snapped, eyes narrowed.

"Um..." he was visibly trembling now, his eyes fixed somewhere on the pavement beside her. Clara wondered if she had been too hell-furious, and also what he was looking at; she dared not avert her eyes to see herself.

The man seemed distracted. "He's wanted for...for murder..."

Clara's eyes went wide at hearing this - I think she should have known better, taking what I told her into consideration. The man was a lunatic, and I swear, I'm the only one who saw it!

The man seemed to take heart at this, and stiffened his trembling body. "Miss Clara, I'm afraid I'll have to take you in for questioning-"

There was a thump, and the man suddenly collapsed, eyes fluttering shut as he fell with a dieing groan. Not that he was actually dead, see, not that kind of dieing - though I am surprised it wasn't.

Clara was surprised to see Dorian standing there, his fist falling to his side from delivering the blow. His face was stony - well, stonier than usual. He took Clara's forearm in an iron grip, and his eyes too glanced to the pavement. He said nothing, setting his mouth firmly, and took up the man with his other hand.

Now allowed to look, the woman did - and saw the strange silhouette that plagued her room that fateful night.

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AN: Any reviews? No? Well, some people must like it.