Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
OTIS.
When I stride into the house, I find Clem standing on a stool in the kitchen, rearranging the jars in my spice rack.
She’s on tippy toes, wearing sneakers and the tightest little leggings you can imagine, a cropped t-shirt exposing the peachy human skin at her waist. I feel my fingertips tingle with the longing to run them over her midriff, to feel how soft her skin is, then slide lower, under the waistband until they reach her human folds, feeling for her wetness and knowing that she wants what I want.
How fucking inappropriate.
I give a small cough, and she turns around and smiles at me.
“Oh hullo. You have so many spices, most of which I’ve never seen before,” she chirps.
“I told you not to tidy the kitchen,” I respond gruffly, far more embarrassed by the X-rated thoughts in my head than by my abject disorganization.
“Sorry.” She looks unfazed, but steps down off the stool.
“I’d sorted everything in your office, so I thought I’d start on these shelves.”
I manage a smile. Clem is here to help me, and all I’m being is churlish, to hide the way my body is reacting to her presence. It’s not her fault that my lust is making me behave like an asshole.
“Apologies. Thank you,” I mumble. “And yes, we do have quite a few spices and condiments here in the Labyrinth that never make their way to Sparkle.”
“Like those tantarillo pickles last night in my burger. They were delish.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “And grappa?”
“I can’t say the same for the grappa.” She laughs. “How was your morning?”
I sigh, removing my hat and slinging it on the table, before ruffling my hair with a big green hand.
“Busy. But that’s the norm, we don’t have enough staff. We’re relying on volunteers at present.”
“I’ve organized all your sheriff documents into one folder, so that should help. Come and look at your office now.”
I follow her down the hallway.
My jaw drops at the sight that greets me. My office is transformed. Neatly labelled files are stacked on my desk, its surface now visible. She’s brought over a side table and placed the computers on them, with their cords. She’s even tidied the messy bookcase.
“I’m impressed. Thank you.”
“Will you be able to find anything now?” She cocks her head.
“Probably not, but I can ask you until I get used to the new system.”
“Promise you won’t just shift it back to how it was before?”
“I promise.” I grin sheepishly. “In my head, everything’s organized. I have a supersonic filing system up here.” I tap the top of my head with a finger.
“Yeah, I believe you—though many wouldn’t,” she teases.
My grin stretches. I like Clem’s gentle banter. People don’t tend to be light-hearted with me, maybe because I’m so fucking serious all the time. But I did used to enjoy joking around, way back when.
“Anyway,” she says, “come back to the kitchen, I’ll make us a pot of tea. I found some interesting ones when Jax came over.”
“So Jax visited, did he?”
“Yeah, soon after Tippy left.” In the kitchen, I sink onto a chair and watch as she pours the tea into two mugs.
“Checking in on you like a good brother should.”
She gives a grunt as she hands me a mug. “Being his usual annoying self, refusing to tell me much.”
She’s watching my face as if for a reaction. I just nod, uncertain what to say. “And then when Jax left, Sammy called me…”
“Yeah?” I brace for what I know is coming.
“She said she and Arlo are going to live with a wolf pack on level three.”
“Right.”
She glances at me “You knew?”
“I knew it was on the cards.”
“But that really scares me. I mean, what if the wolves hurt Sammy and the youngling?”
I thin my lips. “They won’t.”
“How can you be so sure? Tippy said it was wolves who killed your dad, Otis.”
I stare at her, taken off balance.
“Is that true?” she presses.
“In an unfortunate accident, yes. But wolf packs are complicated. It’s difficult to explain…” My words trail off and her lips turn down. “You’re trying to fob me off too. That doesn’t work with me, Otis. I’m the kind of girl who likes to be in control.”
My mind inappropriately conjures up an image of Clem in her pink bikini and black, high-heeled, thigh-length boots, standing over me with a whip. I shut it down quick smart before the image reaches my dick.
She picks up her cup of tea and takes a sip.
I do the same, and we drink in awkward silence for a moment before she bursts out, “I mean, I’m happy to help organize recipes for cakes and butter cookies and put all those weird equations into files, but I don’t like being kept in the dark.
” Her lips quirk. “Didn’t mean to make a pun, but you know what I mean… ”
I huff out a dry laugh. “Fair enough.” Of course she wants to know the full story, but some of it is highly sensitive information, especially about Jax.
If he hasn’t chosen to tell her yet, it’s not my place to be the messenger.
And yet, Clem has a right to know more— about Jax, and about the Labyrinth.
I try to find a compromise. “Look, I have to take the portal cape back to the Vault. Why don’t you come with me? If Silas is there, he can tell you some of the back story of the Labyrinth.”
“Who’s Silas?”
“He’s the curator of the Vault, and an archaeologist.”
Her frown is replaced by a smile. “I’d really like that. I’ll go and change into a skirt.”
“You look good as you are.” Way, way too good.
She shakes her head. “I always wore a skirt and blouse to work at DeVines. If I’m going somewhere important, I want to look professional.”
“Sure, if it makes you feel more comfortable, do it.”
She puts down her cup and jumps up from the table. “Back in a minute,” she says and skips out.
I get up, amble over to the sink and wash the cups, and in barely any time, she’s back.
“How do I look?”
I turn and gawk at her, dressed now in a pale pink blouse and black skirt that skims just above her knees.
She’s wearing high-heeled pumps that make her slender thighs even more shapely. Her pert little tits strain at the buttons of the blouse.
“Very professional,” I gulp gruffly. If only she knew how I want to tear that outfit off with my tusks!
But I don’t, of course. Instead, I grab the portal cape from the hook on the wall and lead the way down the corridor and out of the house to where my work jeep is parked out the front. I hold the passenger door open for her.
She hops in, and I get in the driver’s side, start the engine and grind the gears as we head down the tunnel toward the Vault.
“I recognize this place,” Clem says excitedly as we wind our way through the markets. “It’s not as busy as last night.”
“Most folks did their weekly shop last night. Being late trading, there are often bargains to be had.”
We drive on past the stalls and a variety of monster species shopping and chatting in the bright light from the sconces, signifying morning.
Most of us also have a body clock that adjusts to the shifts above ground, the sun rising and setting, the cycles of the moon.
We sense the four seasons. Even though none of us have ever been above ground, our bodies know the rhythm of the Earth.
Soon we reach a tall building hewn into the rock. The sign above the doorway reads:
THE VAULT: Open to the public Thursday–Sunday.
“Everyone can visit and see this stuff?” Clem turns and looks at me, surprised, as I bring the jeep to a stop.
“We put most of the artefacts on show to the public, yes. We like them to know our history.”
She pulls a face. “It’s the opposite in Sparkle. They tell us we’d be too traumatized if we found out about the past, so it’s better that we live in blissful ignorance. Our history is hidden from us.”
“Yeah, Sammy got a surprise too when she first got here. You’re sure you’re up for this?” I ask.
She raises her chin, a little defiant. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It can be hard to find out the truth about our intertwined worlds.”
“I got thrown in the deep end yesterday and so far, I’m doing great. Trust me, I’m fine.” She pins back her shoulders and throws open her door.
“Fair enough,” I mutter, remembering her reaction to the octomopede, which wasn’t exactly fine. The memory of her wet little body plastered to mine sends a ripple of pleasure to my groin.
Down, boy!
When we walk in through the grand wooden doors of the Vault, Brody rises to his feet at reception in his bear form, looking huge and shaggy and remarkably fierce, even though inside he’s nothing but a big-hearted cinnamon roll.
Clem stops short, and lets out a squeak of alarm.
Hmmm, not so tough after all, I think to myself.