Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

“I came by today because—” “Take your hair out of the braid.” Startled, I confirm I heard what I thought I heard before giving him a look meant to eviscerate. It only makes him smile wider. “Nobody on earth gives the evil eye like you do.” “It’s a gift. Can I tell you why I came now or are you going to make another random demand that I’ll ignore?” “You can tell me why you came until you’re red in the face. Again, I mean. It still won’t make a difference. I won’t help you until you take your hair out of that hideous braid.” Insulted, I raise my hand to my head. “It’s not hideous. It’s utilitarian.” “Between that and the shapeless gunnysack you’re wearing, you look like you’re about to go churn butter somewhere. Or reshoe the old mare.” Ah, yes. This is classic Ronan. Clever insults delivered with a charming smile. He wields his scorn with the finesse of a swordsman. I feel the heat creeping up my neck but pretend it’s not burning. “Pardon me, Little Lord Fauntleroy, but not all of us can afford five-hundred-dollar haircuts and tailored underpants.” “Take it out.” “What’s the big deal about my braid, for God’s sake?” “Beautiful things shouldn’t be hidden. And your hair is beautiful, even dyed to match coal.” I curl my lip. “You should know me well enough to realize flattery doesn’t work.” “It wasn’t flattery. It was truth. Big difference.”