Chapter 8 #2
I’m still not sure I actually believe in magic. People do nutty things with genetic experimentation these days, and I more than most know that people are doing all sorts of things on the black market. . .
“Dinner’s ready,” says the grinning one of the two-faced guy, popping up behind him. “May I escort you to dinner, beautiful?”
I frown harder in his direction, but it doesn’t seem to turn him off.
If anything, his maniacal grin only gets brighter.
My hand strays towards my pocket and the knife there.
Maybe it’s only the lion-goat brother who can crumple steel like a tin can.
If Two-Face attacks, I know I’ll at least try to get in a well-aimed slice or stab first. Those necks look awfully sliceable.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ll be joining us for dinner!
” The woman from earlier hurries forward when she sees me, and I withdraw a step.
I pull my hands from my knives in my surprise, especially when she comes barreling towards me.
“Oh my god, it’s so nice having another human around.
I’m Hannah. I can’t remember if I introduced myself earlier. ”
I watch her teeth as she smiles big at me.
“Come on, I’ve got the table all set. Abaddon’s getting the baby settled.
Have you met baby Raven yet? She’s an absolute doll!
I was so scared when I came back from getting her up from her nap, and Romulus told me they’d just sent you out into that cold. Are you a hugger? I’m a hugger.”
She comes towards me with open arms, and I back into the bathroom door, a noise like a squawk coming out of my throat.
Immediately she drops her arms. “Shit. Not a hugger. My bad. I’m so sorry. I haven’t been around other humans in awhile, I forget about personal space. It’s so not a thing with these guys.”
I stare at her, my shoulder hunched defensively and remember something I don’t usually have to think about: I’m not good with. . . people.
The grinning one bursts out laughing, a high, manic laugh that makes me want to reach for my knives again.
“Remus,” barks the woman. “Don’t be an ass. Look, I’m sorry I’m being too much. I’m embarrassed. I’ll tone it down, I swear. Why don’t we all go over to the table? I cooked a really delicious meal, and it’ll be totally calm. We’ll all behave.”
“Speak for yourself,” says Remus, and Hannah smacks him on the arm.
“Is it literally possible for you not to be an ass?”
Then the six-armed one steps between me and them, blocking my sight. I’m grateful. I look up at his chin. “What is,” I start hesitantly, “your name?”
“That’s Thing,” says Remus. “He came out of the forge, and our Father said, ‘What is this Thing?’ And it stuck.”
I frown, not knowing if the mean one’s being sarcastic. I’m bad at telling when people are joking. So again, I look at the six-armed one’s chin. “Is he joking?”
There is silence and then a gruff, “He is not.”
I feel a rush of anger on his behalf. “Your dad seems like an ass.”
Remus begins to cackle anew at my assessment. “My consort is smart and beautiful.”
Thing holds out his arms but stays several feet away as if he’s being careful not to touch me and show me that he doesn’t intend to. “The dining table is this way.”
I blink, not expecting the soft words after the barrage from the others. But it makes it easier to follow where he directs me.
The calm moment doesn’t last, though. When I walk across the large, empty room to where the table is set up near the fireplace, the one with horns is there, along with—
“Ba ba ba ba ba ba!”
I pause, a bit taken aback by the cute little baby with a puff of black curls, two little horns protruding from her head, and tiny silken black wings sitting in a wooden hook-on high chair attached to the table beside her much more intimidating father.
Hannah hurries over to sit in a chair beside her daughter.
In the center of the table is a large roast of steaming meat. There are a lot of other unfamiliar dishes, the intense smells wafting my way and immediately making my shoulders tense.
I blink, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
“Where would you like to sit?” Thing asks.
“Beside me, obviously,” Remus answers, walking to one side of the table and sitting on a bench. He pats the space beside him, and I narrow my eyes. Yeah, he’s definitely shit at personal space.
Thing stomps ahead of me and sits beside Remus, pointing to an open chair at the opposite end of the table. “Don’t be an ass,” he grumbles at his brother.
Remus makes an injured noise. “I’m just trying to get to know my consort.”
“She is not your consort,” Thing growls as I start to feel stabby again. “Stop saying that, or I’ll rearrange your face. And I don’t mean just sending you to sleep.”
“Please,” Remus scoffs. “As if you have any control over when I wake and sleep.”
Thing turns to Hannah. “Give me the baby.”
Hannah makes an outraged noise. “You can’t use my baby as an on-off switch for your brother! It’ll give her a complex!”
“Ba ba ba ba ba ba!”
I slowly approach, about to take a seat where Thing pointed.
Thing jerks one of his many thumbs in my direction. “Our guest won’t be comfortable during dinner with him here.”
I pause before I sit. “I could just eat my dinner somewhere else. Maybe in my room, if there’s somewhere I can sleep for the night. I’m actually really tired anyway—”
“Nonsense!” Hannah cries, then swings the baby out of her high seat and hands her to Thing. He stretches out his uppermost pair of arms and takes the baby.
“Hi, sweet Raven,” he says, making his voice sweet and gentle, which seems especially incongruous with how big and intimidating he is the rest of the time.
“Do I have no say in this?” says the large, goat-horned man from the head of the table.
“No,” says Hannah and Thing together as Thing plops baby Raven in Remus’s lap.
“You’re both being ridiculous,” Remus starts to say. “I’m not afraid of my own niece—”
And yet, his words cut off as soon as the baby’s in his lap, and his hands shoot out to steady her. He blinks down at her once, twice, and then his head does that unnerving Exorcist-spin thing.
“Romulus, thank God,” Hannah says to the twin who blinks awake in Remus’s place.
He’s much calmer as he smiles at the baby, lifting her in the air like an absolute natural and perching her on his shoulder to rub her little back underneath her wings.
She coos and babbles away into his ear, her wings fluttering happily.
“You’re just in time,” Hannah says brightly. “Thing caught a lynx, and I made a feast.”
“I don’t see why a spy for the enemy should get to eat my food,” the horned one growls from low in his throat.
Before I can get the words out that are suddenly clogged in my throat, Hannah glares at him. “Don’t you start, Abaddon. We just got rid of Remus, and you are not going to ruin the first opportunity I’ve had for company in months.”
Then she pops up and smiles at me. “Want me to dish you up a little of everything?” I can feel her hundred-watt smile even though I drop my eyes to the table.
I nod and try to remember how to act like a normal person. Then I remember I’ve never been normal. Then the obvious occurs to me—treat it like a job.
I pretend to be normal when I’m hunting a mark. Maybe I can do that long enough to make it through this dinner. I just have to mask all my natural inclinations and habits by behaving the way I observe others behaving.
I close my eyes a moment, take a slow breath in, and when I open my eyes, I’m Social Ksenia. She’s an act, but she tends to put others at ease.
“Sure,” I tell Hannah, curving my lips slightly. Pleasantly. Now I’m the pleasantest bitch you ever met. “I’ll take a little of everything. But no peas or mashed potatoes, thanks.” I try not to shudder at the thought of peas or the strange consistency of the potatoes.
Hannah pauses, frowning at me. “So you just want meat and carrots and. . .?”
“And bread,” I supply helpfully.
She shrugs and plates up my food. I try not to squirm at how the juice from the cooked carrots mixes with the meat. I reach for the bread and put some on my napkin before she tries to put it on the same plate.
“Do you want some wine?” she asks as she hands me the plate.
I’m about to say no. I rarely drink, especially when I’m in enemy territory. But then I see her pull out a fresh bottle and a corker and hesitate.
It’s been one hell of a day.
I suddenly remember my fifth kill, when I injected poison through a cork into a really expensive Riesling. One of my smoothest kills. Though I’ll admit, the lack of blood was a little bit of a letdown. Not even a nosebleed. The bastard was just slumped over his plate of caviar.
“Sure, I’ll have a glass,” I say, feeling reckless. I watch with more concentration than is probably appropriate for Social Ksenia to make sure the foil wrap from the top of the wine looks intact and has no holes before she inserts the corkscrew to pull out the cork.
I pull the glass towards me after she pours it, watching carefully as she pours herself a glass.
I only take a sip after she does. I’m glad for the bit of relaxation as the men pile their plates high with meat.
Hannah’s the only one who eats the peas, and I try not to stare as they keep running away from her fork every time she scoops them up.
Romulus holds the baby with one arm and eats with the other.
Abaddon tries to use his fork and knife, but the small, delicate utensils are awkward in his large, clawed hands.
After about five minutes, he gets frustrated and tosses them beside the plate, grabbing the large hunk of meat from his plate with his hands and tearing into it with his teeth.
I avert my eyes quickly. I’ve been told people get uncomfortable when you stare. Social Ksenia usually knows better, but these are rather extreme circumstances. I take another swig of wine.
“So, tell us again how you came to be in our forest?” says the horned one—Abaddon.
I choke a little on my wine before setting it down, pretending to look him in the eye by inspecting his unique lion’s-eye irises and reply, “I haven’t, actually.”
He sets down the last of the meat he hasn’t devoured yet. “So tell us the story. Hannah-wife likes to believe the best of everyone. I am the opposite.”
I narrow my eyes, breaking the gaze I’ve been working so hard to keep as my muscles tense again. Is he trying to say this is some sort of trap?
“I have invited you to my table, so there is peace between us for the moment,” he continues. “But we have been under threat.” This comes out as a rumbling growl from the back of his throat. “So please, tell me how you came to my doorstep.”
“Abaddon,” Hannah chides. “I told you I wanted this to just be a nice dinner.”
He looks at her. “And I want you and our child to remain safe. It does not seem like a coincidence to have an intruder at our door when we know we are being watched by a rogue angel.”
I understand wanting to protect one’s territory, so I hold up one hand. “I’d think it’s obvious I’m no threat to you. I don’t know anything about anyone named Angel. I got lost in the forest this morning, and all I want is to get home.”
“Where is home?” Abaddon asks.
“No offense,” I say, dropping Social Ksenia’s mask and glaring his way. “But I don’t even tell my friends where I live. Much less my enemies.”
“I am your enemy then?” Abaddon says, lifting out of his chair.
I move to stand as well, hands to my knives. “If that’s what you decide.”
“Stop it,” Thing says, getting to his feet. He glares at Abaddon. “Brother, you will keep your thoughts to yourself.” Then he turns to me, his face earnest. “I meant it when I said you are safe here. We are not your enemy.”
I move away from the table, my fists clenched. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Is there a room where I can spend the night?” I glance in Abaddon’s direction, thinking, preferably one with a door that locks. “I’m going to have a long journey tomorrow, so I’d like to rest now.”