Chapter Nineteen
Antonio
The metal of the freezer door was cool against Antonio’s forehead, the hum of it a quiet counterpoint to his own forced-level breathing. Too familiar, this trapped, walls-closing-in spiral. A world beyond his understanding or control, and Antonio caught in the riptide.
Usually, he’d let it wash over him, take the time he needed. But that wasn’t an option anymore. He’d sworn to stand by Declan. Not freak the fuck out in the kitchen. Useless, batshit wreck. Declan deserved better than him.
Just, he hated it. Hated that Declan was a target. Hated that the answer to violence was violence. Hated the ready way everyone nodded along and agreed to a fucking murder.
One thing, when Declan had to defend himself. Different to talk about hunting some fucker down with a knife in your hand. Or maybe it wasn’t. No one else seemed to mind. Faerie was faerie. Fae were fae. All he could do was shut up, get over himself, and not drag Declan down.
The kitchen door opened, and Antonio flinched at the sound, panic kicking up another notch.
“Talia’s waffles’ll do that,” Bo said as he closed the door. “Fucking delicious, so you throw yourself in the other room to keep from eating them all.”
Bo was a friend. He’d offered shelter when Declan needed a place to hole up. Antonio wasn’t scared of him. But looking at him just then, all Antonio could see was the way Bo’d stood there, watching, while the kelpie burned a curse onto Antonio’s soul.
“Sure,” he said, not mentioning the half-eaten waffle he'd scraped into the trash. “Declan need me?”
“Fuck if I know. I’m not his messenger boy.
” Bo ran his hand through his hair, sounding tense and unhappy.
He could join the damned club. “No, just…
Look, I don't know how to fucking say, ‘Do you want to talk about the shit that just went down' without sounding like a condescending ass instead of your friend, but there we are.
We can talk about whether there really is something haunting the place in Philly, instead, if you want.
Make a list of shit you need to get done and game plan it.
Sit in fucking silence if that'd be better. Something in between. Whatever.”
Watch your tongue or drown.
Antonio wasn’t the diplomatic type, never had been. Not good at thinking things out or keeping his thoughts to himself. Not good for much, really. Not even getting Declan on the Council.
He could hotwire a car. Fix an engine. Not skills that’d get him far in Faerie. He was nothing, and that’s all he’d ever been.
Christ, had last night even happened? Laughing and bound and so fucking secure in it, everything made right by Declan’s touch. This morning? Declan’s rasping groan as he came down Antonio’s throat, nails biting in so right.
It’d been real. It was real. He wasn’t fucking crazy. He knew what was real. He and Declan were real.
Or they had been.
He blinked at Bo, hollow (Hollow) and blank and wordless. Only Declan was safe and he couldn’t go to him now.
“Look, Bo…” I don’t trust you. “You don’t gotta worry about it. I‘m not gonna try to talk Declan out of shit. He has my oath, alright? Swore to have his back. I’m not arguing. Didn’t argue. I’m just … doing the dishes.”
Or anyway, he should be. So he crossed over to the sink and picked up a plate.
“Dude, I don’t give a shit if you talk him out of it,” Bo answered.
“Don't get me wrong, I'll be the first one to pour a drink in celebration if Nimai bites it, but I'm not going to throw a fit if it's not now.
Declan doesn't do it, someone will down the line.
Having his back doesn't mean doing everything he wants all the time.”
“If it’s not now, Declan dies.”
“He’s pretty tough.”
“Already happened once. Watched it happen and couldn’t do shit about it.
Hollow. You know what that means? Means Faerie doesn’t listen.
Doesn’t open the way. Doesn’t call for help.
Doesn’t stop the fucking bleeding.” He caught his voice threatening to rise, shake, and drew a breath through gritted teeth.
“Means you don’t exist while you’re there. ”
Bo stared at him, all horrified realization, so maybe he hadn’t known. You couldn’t, really. Not until you’d lived it.
“I, yeah, no. Didn’t know all that. Sounds like hell. Fuck. That's what happened?”
“Yeah.” Antonio scraped another dish clean before moving it into the sink. It was something to do with his hands. “Bastard came at him out of nowhere. And then Declan’s on the ground bleeding out and I’ve gotta ask him to fix it. Because that’s what I can do in Faerie. Fucking ask.”
Lift, scrape, sink.
Oh, and breathe. Remember that one. Mind your voice. Watch your tongue.
“Not gonna ask Declan to stop. Not gonna ask him to let himself die. Might not like sitting around and making plans to kill a guy, but I’m not gonna ask. I’m all asked out.”
“I resented the fuck out of Ever for a while,” Bo said, as he piled fruit into Tupperware.
“Not him him. But the shit he did. During the trials, they put me in this big white room and made me wait.
Then Ever, he comes in and tells me that he made a deal with Nimai to protect me, to stay with Nimai and send me back here.
“I couldn’t say no. He made the choice without me. Didn’t ask. Couldn’t, but that didn’t matter, because ‘couldn’t’ still meant ‘didn’t.’ After he left, I spent another three days helpless while someone tried to rip him out of my head.”
Berries in tupperware. Plates in the sink. Antonio’s rough breathing and Bo’s harsh words.
“Shit,” Antonio said, because he was so damned eloquent.
“We put it in our oaths, that we wouldn’t make sweeping choices for each other.
Took me more than a little time to trust he’d keep to it.
Fucking fae shit, they don’t realize how tiny we are, and that’s even when you can do bits of magic.
” Bo put the fruit in the fridge. Antonio turned on the sink.
“So, like, I don’t know what it’s like to have that be all the time, be in that room always.
Not saying I do. Just, I get some of it, sorta?
The asking part, since even if they say yes it’s because they said yes. ”
“It’s shit,” he said, once Bo had wound down. “The walls you can’t escape from. The people telling you to forget. That what you know happened never happened.”
“Fuck everyone who told you that.”
Antonio didn’t let himself bristle at Bo’s words. Kept his snarling to himself, sponge squeezed in a fist, water pouring over his fingertips. They both had sore spots.
(Antonio wouldn’t let Declan curse the bastard for hitting his, though.)
“That’d be my parents.” They’d only wanted to help. Christ, the shit they’d put him through, trying to help. “My sisters. My friends.”
“Oh,” Bo said, wincing. “My bad. I was thinking therapists or forums or some shit. Sorry, dude.”
Somehow, Antonio managed to laugh. Hollow as the rest of him, but there.
“You know who’s never pulled that shit? Declan. He listens. Doesn’t second-guess me. Me, I plan to do the same. I owe him that. I don’t need to like it. I never expected to.”
“I know we’re not besties or whatever the fuck kids call it these days, but I don’t want…
Fuck, I don’t know.” Bo came over to the sink as he spoke.
“Early on, Ever told me that being bonded to someone you didn’t want to be around was a bitter existence.
Nimai made sure he knew what it was like.
Just, you don’t got to agree with him on shit.
You’re human. We see things different. Declan knew that from the start. ”
“He knew, yeah. We both knew what we were getting into,” Antonio said.
And the details, the refusals that led to Declan getting stuck with Antonio, those weren’t Bo’s business.
“No one’s bitter. No one’s looking for an out.
I’m just… doing the dishes. And once I’m done I’ll go find him and tell him we’re fine and we’ll make out, commit murder, and get ready to take on the Council.
Or we’ll die. And then we don’t got shit to worry about. ”
“Fuck, man,” said Bo. “Fuck. Room for me to dry?”
Could wash every dish in the house twice and not kill the sick, coiling guilt in his stomach. The road was the road, and he’d sworn to walk it. Said he’d stick with Declan, even when shit was fucked.
Shit was fucked.
“It’s your kitchen,” he said, pushing the bowl he held into Bo’s hand.
“Knock yourself out.” He was being a dick.
Bo didn’t deserve it. And Antonio really didn’t want to be eaten by a kelpie.
“Sorry. Thanks for, you know. Talking. Think I better go find Declan before he gets it in his head I can’t deal. ”
He could deal. He could teach a fucking masterclass in dealing. He was dealing just fine.
On edge, wired and wary, but still it felt good, pushing open the door to the little basement suite. Didn’t matter if Declan was pissed at him. Declan deserved to be pissed at him. Antonio still wanted to be where he was.
The crackle of a bonfire, the now familiar burn of smoke at the back of his throat. Declan. And there was Declan on the loveseat, his legs draped over the arm and his eyes on the ceiling, spilled like ink across the cushions.
“Christ, what sort of asshole walks off in the middle of breakfast?” Antonio asked, lips twisting into an attempt at a smile. “Someone should tell that bastard to get over himself.”
“Probably he had his reasons,” Declan answered, shifting to face Antonio. “As someone told many a time to get over himself, I believe I’d have to hear the bastard out.”
It was better like this. Just the two of them. They made sense. It was the rest of the fucking world that didn’t. Worlds. His and Declan's. Worlds broken for themselves and fucked all to hell for the other.
At least Declan was trying to fix his. It was more than Antonio’d ever done.