Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The sound of my alarm was a physical assault.
I jolted awake, the taste of salt and Skye still lingering on my lips, only to be met with the sterile chill of my apartment and the relentless blare of digital noise.
The transition was never less than jarring.
One moment I was wrapped in warmth and the scent of ocean; the next, I was alone in my cold bed, aching with a hollowed-out exhaustion that went deeper than bone.
A pattern emerged from my nightly adventures. Somehow, I found my way back to him each night, only to be brutally returned by the light of dawn in my world and the rise of the storm in his. I was living two lives, and the mortal one was starting to fray as the weeks passed.
At work, Sylas left a mug of violently black coffee on my desk. “Not sleeping well, kitten?”
“Something like that,” I grumbled, gulping the coffee like it was the elixir of life. “Can I borrow an amulet?” I asked Xavier, who was back to tapping away at his computer, which I found strange since I answered his email.
“Sure,” Xavier said without even looking at me. “Take whatever you need. Just put it back when you’re done.”
That easy, eh? I got up and made my way down to storage, taking the underwater amulet and the curse breaker sword. Could that cut through a magical chain?
By the time I fell asleep each night, my mind was buzzing with strategies, my body thrumming with a new, determined energy. I was no longer a passive victim of the curse. I was a planner. An explorer. Only, neither the amulet nor the sword arrived in the other world with me.
Frustrating, but I refused to be dissuaded from my purpose to free Skye.
Another night in his arms, fighting sleep, to waking and returning to the office.
I added the items back to storage with a sigh of profound annoyance.
I trudged back upstairs, the lack of rest making the fluorescent lights hum like angry insects.
Sylas waited beside my desk, the amulet guide having returned to the desktop, a new box of sparkly necklaces beside it. He didn’t look up as I slumped into my chair.
“No luck with the shiny toys, kitty?” he asked.
“They didn’t… transfer,” I admitted.
“Hmm. Shame.” Sylas flipped open the amulet logbook with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Maybe the design is wrong. The greatest forgers fail a thousand times before their first success.”
“They all begin with the obvious,” Xavier added, his eyes never leaving his screen. “True mastery is awakened by seeing what could be, not merely what is.” He finally paused his typing and speared me with a look. “Document the new acquisitions. Then return them to storage.”
“More junk before the solstice rush,” Keanan grumbled.
“No more fae ‘gifts,’ please,” I said, the memory of the painting a fresh ache. “Why don’t we just take pictures? It’d be faster.”
“A lens captures only reality,” Xavier stated, as if explaining something simple to a child. “It is blind to potential.”
“Then maybe you should hire an artist,” I muttered, the words out before I could stop them.
Xavier’s typing ceased. He slowly turned his head, eyes locking onto mine. “I did.”
The two words hung in the air. He held my gaze for a long, weighty moment, then returned to his work.
“But I’m not.” Not anymore.
Sylas broke the tension by pulling the giant, half-eaten chocolate cake with white icing from the fridge and slicing off an enormous portion. He shoved the plate into my hands. “Eat. You’re too skinny to be a hero. And take the rest home. Sugar is inspiring in the best of ways, kitten.”
That night, the cake box sat on my counter, open, while I ate a forkful of rich buttercream. My gaze drifted to the painting. Skye was there, right now, trapped in his eternal sunset, the calm before the storm, probably never having tasted chocolate cake.
A wild and impulsive idea took root.
I abandoned the cake and opened the box of art supplies I’d retrieved from my parents.
My hands trembled as I uncapped a tube of white and a tiny bit of burnt umber.
With a detail brush, I leaned close to the canvas.
There, on the distant tiny island where Skye and I spent most of our days, I painted a single, almost invisible detail: a perfect little slice of chocolate cake sitting on a rock.
Would it work? I studied the tiny slice a dozen ways before setting the paints aside and crawling into bed.
If this worked, I’d need to replenish my paint supplies.
Sleep would put me back into Skye’s world.
Was this a way to bring my own to him? I closed my eyes and prayed the universe granted wishes.
I woke with familiar arms around me, the steady rhythm of Skye’s heart against my back. But today, a new, rich, sweet aroma wove through the salty air. My eyes flew open.
There, on the flat stone near our spot on the sand, sat the slice of cake. It was perfect, exactly as I’d painted it, down to the delicate swirls of buttercream. My heart leaped into my throat.
Skye followed my gaze. He pulled me closer, a low, protective growl rumbling in his chest. “What is that?” he murmured, his voice tight with wariness. “Where did it come from?”
“Me,” I whispered, heart pounding with hope as I twisted to face him. “I painted it.”
He stared at me, eyes wide with confusion and awe. “You… painted it? With mortal magic?”
“Something like that.” I took his hand, pulling him toward the rock. “It’s cake, a dessert.”
He hesitated, waiting as if it would leap up and devour me, but I broke off a small piece and brought it to my own lips. “See? Safe.”
It tasted like cake. Rich and sweet, decadent. I brought a bite to his lips. He watched me, his trust in me warring with centuries of instinct as I placed the morsel on his tongue.
His eyes widened, not in alarm, but in pure, unadulterated wonder. A sound of deep pleasure escaped him, something between a sigh and a hum. “What is this sorcery?” he breathed.
“It’s just cake,” I laughed, feeding him another bite.
I’d forgotten to paint a fork, leaving my fingers covered in frosting and chocolate crumbs, but Skye caught my wrist and pulled me into a kiss.
One not borne of desperate longing, but of sweet, shared discovery.
He tasted of chocolate and ocean, a combination that was uniquely, perfectly us.
We fed each other pieces of cake between kisses, each bite dissolving into laughter and the slow, exploring warmth of our mouths.
When the last crumb was gone, I looked at the empty rock, then at the painting’s horizon, a world of possibilities exploding in my mind. Was this what Xavier meant by ‘be’? I could paint stuff into reality? Maybe I wasn’t just a visitor in Skye’s world anymore. I was a creator in it.