Do you remember the day we met?
I can still picture the airport with its insect-eyes, glass ceiling and smooth marble floors - still feel sun beating down from above even as I froze in the airconditioned hall - still taste the musk of summer in my lungs.
And, of course, hear the voices and voices and voices clamoring around me from the throngs of people.
I still don't know for sure how I spotted you that day, spotted your bleached blond hair and sharp eyes. You had on your usual thick rimmed glasses with its beaded strap and your instrument case slung over your back.
You know I think it was fate, and I know you hate that word, but I'm still going to say it was that.
It's more romantic that way.
Then the moment ended - you disappeared in the sea of strange faces, and I got called back to the present.
"Did you have a good flight?"
I turned at the familiar voice, suddenly strange without the static of the phone or the metallic clip of an internet connection.
"Welcome back to Hong Kong, Misha."
"Dad!"
I closed the few steps between me and my father and threw my arms around him. I felt him hesitate for a split second then return the hug. Once I'd gotten my fill, I pulled back and grinned.
"Told you I'd be taller than you now."
His suit smelled of familiar cologne and something floral that I didn't know. Had he mentioned a new 'her' to me? I couldn't recall.
He decided to ignore my comment and instead looked behind and around me.
"That all you bringing?" he asked, a little surprised. There were lines around his eyes and mouth that hadn't been there before.
"You said to pack light."
"That I did." He chuckled and took my one piece of luggage, a large knapsack, then held it out to the side expectantly.
A man appeared seemingly out of thin air and took it from him.
"This is Colin," my father said. "He'll be helping you with the move here."
I gave the man a polite nod. "Hello."
He returned an equally polite gesture but said nothing.
"Right," said my father, clapping his hands together. "If you don't need to pick up anything else…?" He looked questioningly at me.
For some reason my foolish mind went to the blond young man I'd seen earlier, you.
I shook my head.
"Let's go."
--
In addition to helping me untangle all the complexities of emigrating, this Colin also turned out to be a driver with a very steady hand, a no mean feat on those chaotic streets.
Everyone had to get where they were going now, and no one seemed to like using their indicators.
I stared out my window, half terrified, half amazed. I'd gotten a license during my second year at university but ever since all it had done was keep my library card company in my wallet.
"You can take a nap if you like," said my father from the passenger seat in front of me.
I shook my head with a grin. "Nah, I'm fine. I slept loads on the plane."
I saw a wry smile cross his face in the rear-view mirror. "I wish I could say the same when I fly, but alas…"
"Oh, Dad? Did you get the letter from my new university about my transfer? I got them to send it to your address."
This time there was an odd look in his eye and, when I think back, I saw Colin's hands tighten on the steering wheel.
"Letter? I will have to check." If I'd been paying attention I would have heard the lie in his voice, but I wasn't. There was a whole new world outside my window just flying past me.
We'd crossed the harbour a few minutes ago and were now breaking off from the main deluge of traffic onto a, relatively, smaller road. I traced its course up the mountain and felt a little faint.
"So steep…" I murmured. My father laughed.
"Get used to it. The whole island's almost one large mountain."
I nodded dumbly as the angle of the car became more and more vertical. Outside the window I saw a jogger in full active wear negotiate the slope at a slow walk.
But the car and its mechanical heart had no trouble barreling up the mountain and we sped up and up and round and around.
Eventually we came to a stop at a set of red lights, and I sat forward to get a better look out the window.
Outside, I saw whole forest of trees with roots for branches growing obstinately from the sidewalk. I'd always assumed my father lived some place more flush with high-rises, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he'd changed.
"Dad," I asked. "Where are we going?"
"Ah, you've noticed," he said from the front. He pointed at the road ahead. "I thought you'd like to take a short detour to see your mother."
My heart leapt to my throat, and I sat forward even as the car pulled ahead. "Absolutely!"
My father laughed at my reaction.
"What did I tell you, Colin? The kid's beaming from ear to ear."
Colin nodded but, again, said nothing.
"Do you… do you think she'll recognise me?" I asked as the car rumbled on.
"Oh, I'm sure she will," replied my father. "I think the better question is: will you recognise her?"
--
Bran stepped down from the bus then took a step further to avoid the crowd of elderly folk that came barreling down after him. The sidewalk was just a narrow spit of raised land to the side of the gushing road and Bran leaned against the raised embankment on the other side to let them past. Once they had, he righted himself and looked around.
It was an odd place for a bus stop, almost random in its placement - then his eyes caught the sign across the road. He couldn't read all the characters, but he could read enough.
Down the hill, was a cemetery.
The gnawing in his stomach got worse. It had started in the airport - no idea why - and had led him here. Why? He still didn't know, but he had a sneaking suspicion.
There was something wrong with that young man, the one from the airport.
Their eyes had only met for a moment - a fraction of a moment - but…
Bran adjusted the instrument case on his back then started after the elderly folk getting ready to cross the road.
--
"I… I don't understand…"
The concrete and stone world around me swam and I dropped to the ground as my knees gave way.
My mother's smiling face looked back at me, vacant and still.
It was a photograph; she was a photograph. One that was in black and white and printed onto tile.
A funeral picture.
"She's…"
A gravestone.
"Dead."
My father's voice was light, jovial even.
"When…?"
"When did she die? Oh, I don't know. A few years ago, a decade."
I heard his shoes click against the cemetery's concrete ground as he came up behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder. There was a loop of yellow paper around his wrist.
"How do you feel, Misha? Alright?"
I struggled to control my breathing. I wanted that hand off of me, but I couldn't move, my eyes fixed to that little gravestone with my mother's photograph on it.
"How does it feel, Misha," my father whispered by my ear, "to have such a touching reunion taken from you, just like that?"
I lunged for him with a clawed hand, a scream, my scream, ringing in my ears.
--
Colin held the beaded chain tightly in one hand and formed the sign of the lotus with the other. His lips moved silently as he chanted out the restraining spell.
"Yes… Yes, just like that!" said Misha's father, Artemis Long, and Colin's master. There was a long, red gash down the side of his face, but he didn't even seem to care even as the rain made it sink into his starched shirt.
Colin formed the sign of the blossom. Power coursed down each bead on the chain and into the writhing serpent it held.
The dragon screamed in pain and anger.
Colin sighed. He was glad he'd thought to pre-prepare a simple Coil for this harvest. He came to the end of the chant and began the third repetition, all the while keeping the chain still.
"Steady…" Artemis slowly approached the dragon, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a crystal and held it before him. "Now…"
Colin barely reacted to the sword cutting through his middle, his chanting only faltering for a second, but that was enough.
Before the surprise assailant had finished the swing, the dragon that had been near paralysed on the ground, suddenly rose and ripped free of the restraint, its screams now renewed.
"What the-"
Artemis barely dodged the sharp blade as it came for him. He rolled backward and caught a glimpse of the attacker: a blond swordsman dressed all in black.
Rage filled Artemis' chest. "Colin!" he barked.
On the ground, the body of Colin twitched then twisted, then split to become two, four, a dozen smaller Colins that rushed towards the swordsman.
The swordsman's blade twitched, slicing two of the Colins in half, but still more assailed him.
Artemis, thinking the tide was back in his favour, turned to the dragon and the chain of beads that it was trying to claw from itself.
"Now, just be a good boy…" he muttered to no one in particular as he reached for the end of the chain.
The dragon growled then lunged for him, chain forgotten, rage completely filling its mind.
Artemis knew it was over. He was close, this close to making it, but no. He was no longer a brash young man. He knew his limits.
Without hesitation, he ripped the paper charm wound around his wrist and vanished before the dragon's sharp teeth snapped together.
And right as Colin's master disappeared, all the little Colins suddenly scattered.
The swordsman swore, swung, but missed all but one, that one reverting to just a sheet of paper.
Like Artemis, Bran knew when to cut his losses, so he turned his attention to his quarry, that bad feeling - the dragon.