Chapter One
Spiro
“Thank you so much. I would never have found all the spices without your help.” I offered a friendly smile to the older lady at the store counter.
After driving to stores all over town to find new ideas from different cultures for my cooking, I was thrilled to find someone with such a wealth of knowledge.
The green scales on her neck shifted as she nodded, blinking her yellow eyes with two sets of eyelids.
“That was no problem at all. Have a lovely Christmas. And again, if you don’t find anyone to spend it with, our house is open, just call the store’s number.”
“That’s kind of you, Mrs. Jablonski.” I bagged the last items with my tentacles while swiping my card.
“And remember to stay safe. A snowstorm is coming. My husband said that it will be a big one. Not like the disaster back in ‘67, but we better be ready.” She tapped her temple. “He knows those things.”
“Thanks for the warning. With all this food, I can stay indoors for a month.” I patted my cart and moved along as she greeted the next customer.
I had arrived in Chicago from my hometown in Greece only two days ago and had been preparing for a cooking extravaganza by myself since the moment my feet touched US soil.
A toddler in a padded space suit and tutu with eyes as wide as saucers stepped in front of me. “I like your tentacles. Do they sting?”
“They do! But only when I tell them to. Otherwise, they’re the same as your arms and legs.” I wiggled one of the two tentacles on my left side.
“Oh.” The kid tilted his head. “Can I touch it?”
“Uh—” I looked around for the adult responsible for this child.
I didn't want to assume they were comfortable with their offspring talking to someone like me, with my otherness being so visible. Given my light burgundy skin color and set of four tentacles coming out from my sides, I wasn’t exactly a poster child for closeted cryptids.
A dark-haired lady ran over and picked him up. She smelled human, but some people were better at hiding their monster nature than others, so I had no way of telling her species for sure.
“I’m so sorry my son’s been bothering you. He’s very curious since he found out he might be able to shift when he reaches puberty.” She balanced him on her hip. “Which is a long time from now.” She booped his nose and turned to me. “Sorry again.”
“It’s no bother. Happy Holidays.” I waved to the grinning boy who was wiggling his arms as if they were tentacles.
Being surrounded by people so non-judgmental of my appearance was a breath of fresh air.
This was often the case in busy cities, where companies hired employees from around the world, and places that were popular tourist destinations.
The general public were more used to seeing cryptids who either chose not to hide who they were, or— like me—weren’t able to hide.
Some cities had cryptid neighborhoods that held events that catered to and showcased the culture of different species: like weekly markets, inclusive parties, and bingo nights.
Then there were towns—hell, even entire regions that were stuck in their intolerance, full of people marching the streets picketing to bring back The Cure.
Three decades ago, humans forced that drug on us.
Cryptids, monsters—whatever term people use to describe us—we were all Beings of Preternatural Origin, and they wanted to make every one of us appear more human.
Even worse, they wanted to strip us of our invisible powers too.
These days, cryptids could choose if they’d like to suppress some of their abilities or live fully as their true selves.
After my eldest brother, Nereus, had been bullied online as a teenager, I’d been avoiding social media and traveling altogether, unless I could be certain the place would be welcoming.
But over the past two years, the urge to see more of the world had pushed me to take a trip every few months.
Working at my parents’ restaurant as a cook brought me enough income to afford fancy holidays once in a while too.
And this holiday season, I definitely needed one.
Last year, both of my brothers screwed me over by leaving for the USA for Christmas.
And both of them, the absolute fuckers, had found their true love during that getaway.
Well, Ner did the finding, and Marin discovered he’d been in love with his best friend for years.
Only after both of them had gotten their Happily Ever After did it hit me how lonely my own life was.
But my hobby was also my work, and no one was ready for the amount of hours I needed to put into my career as a chef.
At least this Christmas I’d be spared watching my family in pairs and polycules, rubbing their happiness in my face, asking me if I’d found my fated mate.
It was Ner and Marin’s turn to spend the holidays at my parents’ place with all the extended family, while I would be spending three weeks chilling in a nice house in Chicago that I rented from Marin’s friend, Gabriel.
The gargoyle had bought the place and barely lived in it due to his busy art dealer lifestyle, so he’d been more than willing to let me stay over for a small fee—which I had to insist on paying.
Rumor had it that he’d moved to Chicago for love and was ready to settle, then ended up with a broken heart. But that was none of my business.
I was now driving back home at a snail's pace, pissing off the cars behind me, thanks to my lack of experience on roads full of snow. The car rental place had told me about the winter tires and all that crap they installed, but I was still wary. Even though my dad was from Florida and both my brothers and I were born in the US, I’d never visited this country long enough to warrant driving in winter conditions.
I arrived at Gabriel’s beautiful house in Winnetka and parked on the driveway, which was already covered in snow despite my having shoveled it in the morning. When I carried the groceries into the kitchen, I said a silent thank-you to Gabriel for having a huge fridge and freezer.
After two trips downtown, and three to the Greek, Polish, and Chinese parts of Chicago, I finally had everything I’d need for the cooking extravaganza of my dreams. A quiet getaway from my intense Greek family was ahead of me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so excited to be alone for a while.
Yes, I was supposed to rest and wind down, but that was not my style.
I had the time planned with details on what I needed to do every day, down to watching movies, naps, and of course, cooking.
No one would be disturbing my peace, and I’d have time to put together a new menu for the restaurant that included a wider variety of dishes catering to food intolerances.
Ready to watch whatever brain-rot movie I might click on, I grabbed the dolmades I’d prepared in the morning and shifted into my full form on the couch, my tentacles reaching from one end of it to the other.
Ah, I was alone at last. Even though I lived by myself, working in my parents’ restaurant and having a huge extended family meant someone was always in and out of my apartment, staying over for “just a few days” or stopping by “for a moment to catch up.” As I sank deeper into the couch, I let out a long breath and turned on the TV.
A knock startled me. I looked at the remote, the screen, and around me. Nope. I refused to believe what I’d heard.
Another loud knuckle rap on the front door well and truly burst my bubble. Next came a rattle. Was someone trying the lock?
Was it a neighbor?
With a heavy sigh, I rolled off the couch, turned my lower tentacles back into legs, and walked barefoot toward the wretched sound.
A look through the peephole revealed a mess of fiery orange hair. Summoning positive energy, I opened the door.
The young man on the other side offered me a radiant smile and twitched his furry cat ears.
He was slim and tall, dressed entirely in black, from skinny jeans to an oversized hoodie and a thin jacket.
His mid-calf combat boots were tied perfectly, and his bushy ginger tail swished behind him.
I’d call him a handsome twink if he weren’t getting on my last nerve just by standing there. Then, he opened his mouth.
“Hi. Are you Gabriel? Sorry I’m so late, but I had trouble finding this place.” His words came out rapid-fire, and he made it as if to enter the house.
I didn’t move, blocking his entry with my body, twice the size of his. “Who are you?”
“I’m the guy who booked this place for Christmas.”
“Nope. That’s me.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame. “I’m staying here until January.”
“You’re not Gabriel?” His smile wilted, and so did his ears.
“No.”
His eyes darted to my tentacles, then back to my face. Gabriel was a gargoyle, and if this guy knew that, he should be moving along now.
“But I have the confirmation and everything.” He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, but it slipped from his grasp.
In an attempt to catch it, he bounced the phone off his hands before the device landed with a crack, screen down on a rock protruding from the snow.
“Shit, shit, shit.” He fell to his knees and wiped the device with his sleeve.
“It still works! Look.” He opened the reservation email and showed it to me through a spiderweb of shattered glass.
He was kneeling, his big eyes on me, an offering in his hand. Like this, he was gorgeous in a chaotic fashion—disheveled hair as if he’d been shoving his fingers through it or pulling it, jacket flapping open, an utterly lost expression on his rosy-cheeked face.
I wanted to scoop him into my tentacles and keep him warm. The reaction was so visceral that my appendages floated in his direction. I snapped them back, crossing two sets over my chest and abdomen while reaching for his phone with my hand.
Indeed, he had a reservation for the last three weeks of December…of next year.
With a sigh, I blew up the details and turned the phone around. “Your booking is for a different date. Get up.”
He shot to his feet as if I’d stepped on his tail, and the immediate reaction to my command sent a tingling through my system.
“That’s not—” He frowned at the screen, cradling the device. “The year. I booked for the wrong year!” His bottom lip quivered as he banged his forehead with the phone. “You idiot.” He looked at me with horror in his gaze. “Not you! I was talking to myself.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I got that.”
“Oh, okay. I’m sorry.” He glanced around at the empty road on both sides covered in snow. “Could I come in and—” He reached for his suitcase. Also black, with band stickers on it.
“Forget about it.”
His hands fell with resignation and his ears flattened to his head. “But—”
“No. Find yourself another place to stay. Good luck.” I stepped into the house, slammed the door, and locked it with a loud clank.
I didn’t get far though, as the need to look through the peephole won over my couch plans.