Bronze Gods by A. A. Aguirre

tiny dots of light, seen through a wispy veil.
Not
only
a traveler,
said her quiet self.
Though that is true, as far as he has spoken.
It did not reassure her, for there were many ways to lie, and she was familiar with most of them.
    With a long, narrow face, he was not handsome, and something in his bone structure suggested that the veneer of civilization ran thin. Impeccably groomed raven hair and a trimmed goatee softened some of the sharpness though he still possessed shades of the potentate. Tall but not gaunt, the stranger emanated power from the tailored cut of his coat to his manicured hands.
    “Either your feet have trod this path before, or you had need of refuge,” she returned, concluding her study.
    “Either, or,” he agreed. Careless and languid, he stopped three paces distant, giving her a smile, ivory against olive skin. “Fortune has smiled upon me that I behold such beauty. And how shall I address you?”
    The formality of his manner told Aurelia he was very old indeed, even if his face did not agree with his eyes. An ancient part of her soul thrilled to life, recognizing his fey strength. He might be full Ferisher, the way she felt in his presence. But no, they were gone. Those who had not interbred with the immigrant population had passed from sight and were now lost spirits, unable to touch the world that once belonged to them unless they were called through various rituals.
    He drinks the light.
Her nerves jangled as if she stood on the edge of a great precipice.
And he speaks in riddles, frosted with flattery.
    “In the dark, I daresay you have little idea whether I might break mirrors with my face. But I will forgive your lapse this once. I am Aurelia.”
    “I have sharper sight than most. And I should stand by my words against any challenger.” His gaze slid from her face as if reluctant.
    “I dislike being praised for a merit which was none of my doing.” Her smile was a bright, fleeting thing.
    “Call me Theron, should you choose to address me. What do you name this place, then?” His attention settled back on her, light as a shadow, and as revealing.
    “This is the Acheron Club. Do you realize you’re trespassing?”
    “Ah.” His gaze rested on her still, her pallor reflected back to her in his eyes, and he ignored the question. “Do you often wander this maze, Aurelia?”
    She arched a brow. “That answer depends on why you ask me.”
    “I ask that I might know.” Apparently sensing her growing impatience, he added, “If you are here often, you might direct me to the exit.”
    “You found
me
, easily enough,” she murmured, “and moments ago, you boasted excellent sight. Thus, I doubt you need rescuing. But I have no reluctance to play the part since you seem to want it so.”
    With that, she took his arm and began to walk, negotiating the first turn. Aurelia was aware she had not answered his question any more than he’d answered hers; such dissembling annoyed her, but she was not her father’s child for nothing; nor had she come away empty-handed in guile.
    “You shall be rewarded for your kindness.” He matched her pace easily. Slow as his movements seemed, each step devoured distance, her hand resting in the crook of his arm. “Too long have I spent already wandering, after all.” His smile was tinged with rue.
    Aurelia contemplated his words as they walked, paring them away to the smallest kernels of truth. Thus, in silence, they completed the rest of the turns that carried them beyond the hemlock hedge. Once they reached the stone path of the garden, Aurelia paused, looking up into his face, and she gave him an uncharacteristically gentle smile.
    “You look most weary,” she said. “And having wandered, are no doubt happy to find yourself home again.” The words were instinct, no more, based on the intuition that familiarity led him here. “That being so, I offer you the hospitality of the club, Theron.”
    “Home. No.” As he turned to her, the gaslight