Chapter 6 Puzzles and Palm-Readings
Chapter six
Puzzles and Palm-Readings
Quin
What was she doing? No, really, what the actual fuck was she doing?
The question reverberated around her brain as Quin collected her belongings and sent her assistant home an hour early.
Glyma sat in one of the waiting chairs, scrolling on her phone, still wearing Quin’s cardigan—which Quin liked way more than she should.
Not only was it her clothing Glyma was wearing, but it meant she smelled like Quin now.
Their scents combined in, what Quin thought, was a lovely mix. Warm spices, peppery but sweet, mixed with smokey char and scorched earth. They shouldn’t have worked together, but they did. It was intoxicating. And so very, very dangerous.
Her possessiveness made no logical sense.
They’d known each other for a week? Less than?
But the mere suggestion that Glyma wear Marci’s sweater instead of Quin’s had made her stamp her hooves in irrational rage.
She’d even imagined, for a split second, headbutting poor Marci across the room.
Which was just… It was just ridiculous, okay?
Quin never acted like this. She never felt like this.
She was calm. She was collected. She was marble and stone and titanium!
At least, she had been. Now? Now, she felt…
mushy. Soft and gooey. She was rippable flesh and brittle bone, and she feared one touch of Glyma’s soft hands would shatter her right apart.
And yet, she wasn’t afraid. Worried over her mother’s reaction should she ever find out Quin was even entertaining thoughts about a Succubus from Lust?
Yes. Nervous over what it could mean for her, for Waryn, for the family?
Of course. Anxious that she was playing too close to the fire, and she’d inevitably be burned? Most definitely.
But afraid? No. In fact, she’d never felt so unafraid before in her life.
So when she left her office, turned out the lights, and found Glyma waiting for her near the front door, her too-small cardigan stretched to ruin over Glyma’s full bust and tummy, Quin felt nothing but relief and hope. Like she was finally on the cusp of something that tasted like happiness.
She didn’t understand it, but for the first time, she was willing to trust her feelings over logic. For the first time, she wanted to be more than plastic, more than stone and metal. She wanted to be real; she wanted to be free. She wanted to be flesh and bone and alive.
“Ready?” Glyma asked, and it was so innocent, so simple.
To Quin, it signified something much deeper and much more terrifying when she said, “I’m ready.”
“Good,” Glyma said, and her smile was brilliant.
Quin offered to drive, and after a short back-and-forth, Glyma relented.
Technically, Quin could have teleported them both wherever they needed to go, but she did genuinely enjoy driving.
Plus, teleporting—especially carrying someone with her—was exhausting at the best of times.
At the end of a busy day, it could entirely drain her of energy, and she may not be able to teleport back.
More than any of those reasons, though, Quin simply wanted more time with her.
Glyma chatted most of the drive. There was a nervous edge to her rambling, but Quin liked listening to her talk and learning more about her.
She’d grown up in Lust, an only child to a single mother—she’d never known her father—and attended a few years of culinary school, focused on baking, of course.
She hadn’t finished her degree, though she pointedly skipped over the reason, hurrying to change the subject.
She liked puzzles and crafting. She dabbled in stationery and paper maché.
Anything involving glitter, which made Quin wince.
She was still finding glitter in her office, even though she’d vacuumed at least thirty times.
Pieces of confetti had hidden away in every nook and cranny of Quin’s briefcase and computer bag.
She’d even found a streamer in her coat pocket, which was physically impossible since her coat had been on the opposite side of the room during the confetti explosion.
Glyma talked about a yoga class she’d attended with her friend Krul, and how she was meaning to go back, but she was just too busy. From context, Quin suspected Krul was more than just Glyma’s friend. He was an Incubus, and she inferred that he did more for Glyma than simply offer his company.
Quin had never envied a man more, which made the feminist in her gag.
Of course, Glyma needed different types of sustenance.
Casual sex was simply a part of everyday life for Incubi.
On one hand, Quin was horribly jealous—of both Glyma herself for being able to partake so freely, and of her partners for having had the opportunity to touch and taste the woman Quin longed for.
On the other hand, it sounded rather exhausting and annoying to have to get naked and vulnerable simply to feel satisfied.
Not that Quin wasn’t sexual. She was. In theory.
She’d had sex with men, before she’d fully accepted that she was much too gay to enjoy it.
And she’d dabbled in her more rebellious years.
A kiss in the shadows. A dance in the center of the crowd where no one knew who she was.
She’d even touched, just once. An Elas girl in a back hallway of a club.
She’d been nineteen and tipsy, and when the girl had guided Quin’s hand under her shirt to palm her breast, she had nearly combusted. She’d kissed her way down the girl’s neck, desperate to put her mouth where her fingers were, but then the girl had pushed her away.
“I don’t feel so good,” the Elas had said, then she’d thrown up on Quin’s hooves. It had effectively ruined the mood.
Beyond that, Quin’s only sexual experiences had been with men, and none of them had been anything to write home about.
Her self-imposed celibacy over the last few years hadn’t been a hardship, per se, but she still grew lonely, still yearned for the touch of a gentle hand and plush mouth. Fantasy, always in fantasy.
Waryn had made it clear she could sleep with other people. In fact, he encouraged it. He had more qualms with her sexual repression than she did most of the time. As long as she was careful, kept it out of view, didn’t get caught—they both had an image to uphold, after all.
Since Quin had never met anyone who she wanted badly enough to risk everything for, she’d simply dedicated herself to her work, to her responsibilities. And only in the quiet of her bedroom, late at night, hidden in shadow, did she indulge in her imagination, fingers feather-light and wanting.
Shaking off the depressing thoughts, Quin focused back on Glyma’s chatter. The closer they got to the Lust district, the quieter Glyma grew until she fell silent completely. Quin attempted to keep the conversation flowing, but while Glyma responded politely, she had withdrawn.
When Glyma directed her to turn into the driveway of an assisted living facility, Quin realized why. The drive was winding, lined in scraggly trees. It wasn’t quite desert yet, but close.
Quin parked in the lot and killed the engine. Glyma stared down at her lap, fiddling with the handle of her purse.
“Probably should have warned you,” she eventually said, voice devoid of her usual animation. “I understand if you want to wait in the car. Or you can leave, of course. I can catch a tram home.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Quin asked.
Glyma shook her head.
“Do you want me to wait in the car?”
Another shake.
“Okay. Then I’ll come in with you.”
Relief loosened her taut shoulders, and Glyma nodded. Just once. Then she opened her car door and crawled out. Quin followed her, and side-by-side, they approached the entrance of the care facility.
Guiding Light Care Home was clean and surprisingly inviting. It smelled like air freshener and wax polish, but underneath was the distinct musty scent of age and deterioration. The front desk was manned by a Nymph who immediately greeted Glyma by name.
“Hi, Brenda. How’s Mom doing?” Glyma asked as she signed in.
“It’s been a good day. Night nurse caught her wandering the halls last night, but she was fine. Just a bit disoriented,” the Nymph said. “They took her back to bed, and she woke up happy as a krimpi.”
Glyma frowned. “I thought the meds were supposed to stop the sleepwalking?”
“She was awake, I believe,” Brenda said, checking the computer and reading the notes the night nurse must have left. “Yeah, says here that she was trying to find the neighbor’s flat to pick you up.”
A shadow fell over Glyma’s face. “Right. Should we be concerned about that? I don’t want her wandering and falling down in the middle of the night.”
“We’re alerted anytime a patient leaves their room, no matter how late, but there are sedatives the doctor can prescribe to help her sleep more deeply—”
“No, she gets groggy from strong sedatives. She hates it,” Glyma said, and Brenda nodded. “Thanks, anyway, Brenda.”
“Sure thing.”
They traversed the halls, passing nurses and staff, most of them greeting Glyma like they knew her.
Quin followed beside and slightly behind Glyma since she didn’t know where they were going.
When they came to a stop at an open door with the number 403 posted on it, Glyma took a few deep breaths, casting a quick look Quin’s way, as if to ensure she was still with her. Then she pushed into the room.
It wasn’t a hospital room like Quin expected.
The carpet was clean, if not a little worn, and the wallpaper was probably fifty years old.
There was a comfy looking bed in the corner, a dresser, and a door to an ensuite bathroom.
The rest of the space was taken up with a square table strewn with puzzle pieces.
And at the table sat a purple Succubus a few shades lighter than Glyma.