Chapter Twenty-Four • The Buried City • Damien #2
Her fingers twitch before squeezing mine. Her face glows bright scarlet even in the dim twilight as she chews on her thumbnail. I realize for the first time that the nail on her index finger is missing. I wonder when that happened.
“I wasn’t just going to bring him down here and leave him vulnerable to glamours or enthrallments,” she mumbles. “And Damien wanted to see some of my magic.”
“So you gave him the equivalent of an engagement ring?! Lillith, he has some of your power now,” Blingmoney says.
“Oh, shut up. She has plenty to spare,” Wren says, swatting his chest with the back of her hand. She bounds over to us and pulls me into a big hug. “Welcome to the family, big guy!”
“It’s—damn it all, it’s the principle,” Bastion Blustertwat says. “I’ve been asking to do this for years, Lillith!”
“And I’ve told you that I only intended on performing that rite with someone that actually means something to me—not as a way to share power with each other,” she says, still holding my hand as I try to catch up with this whole conversation and reciprocate Wren’s hug.
“So, wait—I have some of your power now?” I ask. “And... it’s like an engagement ring?”
Lillith’s eyes are wide as saucers as she looks at me.
“YES!” Butterdish says at the same time that Lillith cries, “No!”
“Unbelievable,” Bingocard says, facepalming.
“Could you just shut up already?” Wren snaps. “I’m regretting letting you come to greet them.”
Lillith’s best friends bicker while I steal a glance at my girlfriend.
She looks pallid and stressed when she meets my eyes.
I wink at her and give her a lazy grin to let her know that if this red band on my wrist really is the equivalent of an engagement ring, it’s no big deal.
I’m in. I’m more ‘in’ than I have ever been ‘in’ with something in my damned life.
Her smile returns to her face, hesitant.
I suppose I should be a little upset that she gave me power without telling me—or that this is more serious than she originally let on.
But I’m just... Fuck, I’m just not. I spent the last few weeks worried that Lillith saw me as a passing phase.
To know that she’s doing these serious, maybe even permanent things?
It’s reassuring.
“Wren, can we go to the shop?” Lillith asks.
“Oh sure,” Wren says, finally letting me go. “And now you can even touch the books, Damien. Congratulations.”
I chuckle. “Hah—thanks,” I say. “Uhm... Why couldn’t I touch them before, again?”
“Because they’re warded,” Lillith says with a roll of her eyes. We start walking into town properly. “And if you’d grabbed one when we were cleaning them up at my apartment, it would have slammed you into this realm, into Wren’s basement. And it would have been very, very unpleasant.”
“Wow,” I say. “Wren, you’re kind of evil.”
“Not as evil as you are, according to Lillith,” she sing-songs.
“Okay, can we take a break on the humiliation for the rest of this visit? Please and thank you?” Lillith says. “You got what you wanted, right? He’s here.”
“Yeah, but being evil is fun sometimes,” Wren says with a pout. “Think of the look on his face, Lillith. Come on.”
Man... I’m starting to think that there’s a good reason for there to be a special town just to corral these weirdos.
I mean, I’m used to weird and celebrate it.
But I sort of draw the line at pranks that can cause a coronary event.
Lillith meets my eyes with an apologetic smile that says sorry to subject you to this, but I did kind of warn you.
I squeeze her hand and smile to myself as we follow Wren and Bastion through the town.
It’s... cute. It kind of reminds me of a place like Disneyland or some place right out of a Ghibli movie.
Each business looks kind of like Lillith’s shop.
Victorian buildings with colorful awnings and hand-painted or hand-carved signage.
Some of the signs are in languages I can’t read—their letters all angular and strange, some even looking like wingdings or something.
Lillith points to the different languages and names them.
Elder Futhark, Sanguinian, Faerieglyphs.
I wonder if I can ask Wren to borrow some books to start learning the languages here.
It all just seems so cool. We pass a lounge that looks like it would host some jazzy house band.
A young woman chats with one of her customers for a moment before she waves excitedly at Lillith.
Half her hair is golden copper and the other half is silvery white, like Lillith’s.
Her eyes are like a cat’s, black pupils a fine line in golden irises.
“Lillith! Long time no see,” she says with a strange accent—it’s like that guy I ran into at the bar. Not quite Welsh, not quite Irish, not quite Scottish. Maybe even a Latin lilt.
“Briar! I’ve missed you! Can we catch up soon?” Lillith asks.
She laughs and shrugs. “I’m ready whenever you are. You know I’m only on life five!”
Briar returns her focus to her patron and I look down at Lillith with a question in my eyes.
“Daughter of a familiar. She inherited his nine lives,” she says in a whisper. “Her mom is so cool. You’ll have to meet her.”
“I’d love to,” I say. I look up at the sign to keep it in mind when I return. The lounge is called The Cat’s Cradle. Hah. Cute.
Before long, we arrive at a squat, somewhat dilapidated building that looks like it’s being held together with cobwebs.
Wren walks toward the door, and it opens for her before she touches it.
The hanging sign tells me the bookshop is called So Wrote It Be.
A play on the phrase ‘So mote it be’, I figure.
And I’m living for all of these clever business names.
I’m excited to figure out what the other languages translate to.
Lillith pulls me in behind her, and despite the worn out look on the facade, the inside is refreshingly modern, tidy, and smells like burning incense.
The floor is so well-polished I can see my reflection in it, the lighting is moody and cool, there are happy plants climbing up the bookshelves and the ladders and the stairs.
“Holy shit,” I say on a breath.
“Isn’t it the best?” Lillith gushes, bouncing on her chunky boots. “I love this place.”
“Not that you’d know; you haven’t been here in like a year,” Wren says.
“We already hashed that out, you bitch,” Lillith says.
Bastion vanishes somewhere into the back of the store, grumbling something about marking and wastefulness. I give his retreating form a withering look.
“Make yourself at home, Damien,” Wren says with a smile. “I’m going to go get some tea and snacks.”
“Here, I’ll show you my favorite spot to sit,” Lillith says.
She leads me to a corner tucked away beneath a loft.
There are a couple of comfy looking papasans, a macrame hammock, and an enormous sofa that looks like it will swallow us up in comfort.
I scoop Lillith up into my arms and she lets out a startled yelp as I plop us down onto the couch.
I wind my arms around her middle and crush her against me.
She’s smiling as I lean in to kiss her and she goes languid in my arms as soon as our lips meet.
I moan into her mouth as she combs her fingers into my hair, pulling just enough to cause a dull little ache that makes me melt. Our tongues meet for a brief moment, then I break away from her mouth to brand her neck, nipping and biting as her legs squirm.
“Damien,” she whispers though a sigh. “They’re going to see us.”
“Let them see,” I say, lips brushing against her neck before creating a tight seal to mark her. “Especially Bastion Bingbong.”
She laughs before her breath hitches, and she lets out the most amazing little whimper that has me wanting to march her back home and get her undressed. I pinch her skin between my sharpened teeth and she squeaks as I hold onto it.
“Really?”
I know that voice. That’s Bastion.