28. Zeke
Twenty-Eight
Zeke
Every time Finn did this—stepped out to take care of some sort of vague business he refused to talk about—it was a reminder that he was a temporary fixture in life. Usually I could brush it off and remind myself I’d always known exactly what he and I had.
He didn’t owe me an explanation because we weren’t romantically involved. There was sex. Sharing information. Nothing more. In fact, I still hadn’t figured out what he was getting out of this relationship.
But he’d only done this once since Azzie and Davyn started renting the house next door, and it had been months. Besides, this birthday trip was his idea.
The exchange, his leaving abruptly, left a scowl on my face that I couldn’t shake away as I walked into the room.
Azzie on the edge of one of the beds, her shirt still on, as she watched me. In the few moments I’d been in the hall, she’d pulled her hair into a thick braid that trailed down her back. “Didn’t say where he was going?”
I shook my head. “Same bullshit as always.”
She opened her mouth.
“And if you tell me it’s obvious he cares about me”—again—“I call bullshit.” I cut her off before she could talk. I trusted Azzie when it came to almost everything, but not her opinion about what Finn was thinking.
If she couldn’t figure out her own shit—what she and Davyn were to each other, that she was actually friends with Enid, that she and I?—
“Just because he’s bad at dealing with it doesn’t mean his feelings aren’t sincere,” she said.
I didn’t want to ruin the evening with this. “Lying isn’t a love language. Can we let Finn be Finn wherever and whatever the fuck that is, and go back to what we were doing?”
She searched my face for a moment, and stood. “Paint me like one of your French girls?” Her tone was instantly sweet and soft, as she plucked the paper bag of magical henna from the mattress and shook it.
I huffed at the bad attempt to change the subject, but it was exactly what I wanted. “Temporary tattoos aren’t what that line is about.” I took the bag from her and set it on the desk before grabbing a chair for her, and pointing it at the door. “Back to me.”
She stripped off her shirt without hesitation, but held it demurely in front of her chest as she glanced over her shoulder at me and batted her lashes. “It’s not?”
“Sit down.” I smacked her ass playfully.
I grabbed another chair and set it behind her for me and sat, as she took her seat. She pulled her braid over her left shoulder as she glanced at me again. “Are we having the sex ?” She teased. “Cuz this is the weirdest way I’ve ever done it.”
“I doubt that.” The conversation was ridiculous, but it made me feel better. Spending time with Azzie almost always did, even if she had her own deceptions. Unlike Finn, for the most part she was lying to herself, not me. Still a problem, but not in the same way.
I tugged her right bra strap down to expose her shoulder and neck completely, and she let out the tiniest sigh when my fingers brushed her skin. Did she know she was doing that?
“Keep facing forward.” As I talked, I cleaned the area I was going to paint on. Most people would sketch or transfer an outline of the art to the skin before they started painting, but that had never worked for me. The design would change a little as I recreated it on her back, but it always flowed best when I let my creativity draw as it wanted. “No more looking back at me, and as little movement as possible until I’m done. Warn me if you need to move or stretch.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I didn’t doubt it. She had the discipline to sit or stand or crouch anywhere for hours.
As I fell into the actual painting, there wasn’t a lot of conversation, but it was still comfortable sharing this space with Azzie. Over the past seven months, we’d spent a lot of time together. At times I watched her train with Davyn, and that was always fascinating.
It has the potential to be intensely hot, too.
Other times, she’d watch me work. Neither activity allowed much for talking, but we did that too. We’d compare notes about which parts of our past were the same and which were different. There was also a comfort in simply being near her.
Now, she was quiet aside from the occasional gasp or faint groan when the brush met more sensitive parts of her back, or when I drew my fingers along her skin. The atmosphere in here made it easy for me to fall into the art. To lose myself in the lines and the discipline she radiated and the faint scent of baby powder.
Davyn chided her occasionally for wearing anything perfumed, including deodorant, and she insisted she knew better, but she clung to modern conveniences. In my opinion, both reasonable, and one of her endearing quirks—the way she balanced a human world and a magical one.
Thinking about quirks brought my mind back to the frustration with Finn’s departure tonight. Not where I wanted to be, but apparently I couldn’t avoid it.
Growing up, I hid so much of myself from the people around me and from me. My art. My desire to talk a problem through instead of solving things by being the guy who shouted louder than everyone else.
My sexuality.
When I met Finn, I was in my fifth or sixth year of being drunk. I’d fucked him in defiance of everything that held me back in my old life. Coming out to myself and getting sober at the same time wasn’t something I’d recommend to anyone, but he was there for me through both.
Part of me twinged occasionally with thoughts like it’s dangerous to be openly bisexual. People get hurt for things like that . Despite that, I could see myself falling for him under other circumstances. Ones where he wasn’t hiding massive secrets.
For Azzie too, if she’d stop insisting she liked being alone.
Maybe I was the fucked up one—picking people who were emotionally unavailable and proud of it.
At least I knew Davyn was just eye candy.
It’s dangerous. People get hurt.
The thought repeated in my head and I cringed. My hand jerked, and I drew a line across Azzie’s back that wasn’t part of the image.
“Fuck.” The curse slipped past my lips before I realized I’d said it aloud.
“Is everythi?—”
“Don’t move.” I stopped Azzie before she could turn. Not that anyone would get hurt, but I didn’t want her to make things worse. “It’s all good.” I cleaned up the mistake, but there was already a faint line staining her skin, reminding me of the misdraw.
She stayed perfectly still. “Are you okay?” Concern tinged her question.
“I’m fine.” And not in the mood to get into what I was thinking.
“The mind goes to shitty places when it’s allowed to wander.” Her voice was soft.
Because that was another thing we had in common. Not that childhood trauma was unique to us. “Yeah.”
I finished the rest of the image without further incident, but the ghost of my mistake nagged me.
“How’s it looking?” She asked after several minutes of me staring, not drawing.
“Something isn’t right. Give me ten more minutes.” I could turn the line into a sword, but that was more aggressive than I wanted from this design.
The picture was ruined. Nothing like what I wanted. A mistake. A fuck-up. Again.
I didn’t want my mind falling into that spiral.
Azzie reached back with her left hand, not moving otherwise, and found my free hand. She squeezed lightly.
I had no idea how her touch calmed me the way it did, or how she’d known I needed that, but I did know I had the power to do the same for her. The touch was enough to prompt me enough to press the brush to her skin again, and I let the image spill from me. Faint flowers growing from a fallen sprig.
When I finished, I took a picture with my phone and handed it to her. “All done,” I said.
“It’s beautiful.” Awe filled her voice. “The flowers are new.” Was that a downward tilt?
“I was inspired. I don’t even know what they are.”
“Lily of the valley.” She spoke softly. “They mean purity and luck.”
I could see why she might think neither applied to her, but purity wasn’t just about sex. Besides, I brushed my thumb along her skin, and my mind hummed at the connection. “I think you’re good luck.”
She handed my phone back. “I think sometimes you’re naively optimistic.”
“Only sometimes.” It was better than the hole of despair I’d lived in before I met Finn. “And I’d rather be the fool than the king.” Or in this case, the queen.
The more time I spent with her, the more I was convinced that she was meant to be the one with power after this prophecy ended. That wasn’t a burden I wanted, and while she still had some growing to do, she was strong enough to take on the world.
I still wasn’t willing to surrender my life in order for her to have that, but we’d made promises. I’d see her ascend so I could have my art and my life back.
I was in an empty lot. Weeds sprouted all around me, but somehow I was in the one spot in the middle of it all with bare ground.
Or it had been bare. I stared in confusion at the images in front of me, sketched in packed dirt, were multiple images.
My hands hurt. My fingernails were cracked and dark from mud and blood. My head ached.
I had no idea how I’d gotten here.
Fuck. It had been months since I wandered into the middle of nowhere in my sleep like this. Not since Azzie showed up.
There had been a few times between then and now when I woke up to pages of sketch paper spread out around me, that I had no memory of filling with multiple versions of images that meant nothing to me. I’d stayed in my room for those, though.
The pictures in front of me now made as little sense as always. Unlike other times I’d blacked out and drawn though, this didn’t look like variations of the same image. This was more like… a hallway? Were those rooms?
The dirt made it impossible to make out details, but the entire thing left me with a sense of dread. With the vague impression of death. Azzie’s. Davyn at Finn’s hand.
Both notions made me want to retch, but I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat.
Great. My brain woke up before I did and chose torment.
Tell them .
Who? Azzie? Finn or Davyn?
I should probably talk to someone about it—sleepwalking to sketch out what felt like deathly visions, in the middle of large dirt clearings, couldn’t be normal.
What was I going to say though? Anything I told Azzie was as likely to be interpreted as prophecy related as it was to get me help. She’d dive into searching for answers, but I doubted my solution lay in the back of an ancient tome.
I could call Diego… and he could have me committed.
My head throbbed harder.
“ Oh .” The soft voice drew my attention.
I jerked my head toward the sound, to see the woman from yesterday—Callie—standing on the other side of my impromptu drawing session.
What was I supposed to say?
“That’s not how it happens.” She pointed at one of the squares.
What? “How what happens?”
She looked at me with wide eyes, as if she’d just realized I was here. Dark shadows lined her face, and she looked as haunted as I felt. “Sorry. Nothing.”
As I pushed past my reaction and made myself think, I registered that she was wearing a baggy T-shirt and sweats. Her hair was a tangled mess around her face. She looked nothing like the put-together woman we met yesterday.
Did she just get out of bed?
Then again, how bad did I look?
“Why are you out here?” I made sure the question was kind rather than accusing.
She shook her head and shivered as she rubbed her arms. “You’re not the only one dealing with sleep problems.”
“I’m not—” I sighed, not able to push out the lie. “Do you want to talk about it?” She sounded like she had a better idea than I did of what she was going through. Not that it would be the same as my issue, but I’d rather be distracted by someone else’s problems.
Callie gave me a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Desperately. Her voice was the faintest whisper in my mind.
“No, but thank you,” she said. “But I promise not to tell, if you do the same.”
After being pissed about Finn’s secret’s last night? After mentally grumbling about how much Azzie was in denial? Keeping a secret like this would make me a hypocrite.
Or it would keep me from being locked up. The last thing I needed was Finn or Azzie looking at me with concern and pity or that haunted tortured look they shared if I mentioned I was seeing images of the fut— things I didn’t understand. “Deal.”
“I should get back to my hotel before someone sees me.” Callie turned away.
“Wait.” I pushed to my feet, and when I looked at the spot where she’d stood seconds earlier, she was gone.
What was going on? With me. With her. With Finn. With the world.
I returned to my own hotel, grabbed a bottle of overpriced ibuprofen from the gift shop, and made my way back to our room. Inside, I found tangled sheets and no sign of Azzie. There was a note on the bedside table. Morning stuff. Back in a bit .
She must have left before I did, because I couldn’t imagine her waking up and not being concerned I was gone. It was fortunate that sleepwalking me had the foresight to grab my room key before I left.
My head throbbed in response. I dumped a few pills into my hand, filled a glass from the counter near the bathroom sink, and swallowed the drugs.
Great. Now my ears were ringing.
No. Wait. That was my phone.
I headed into the bedroom and grabbed it from the nightstand. Diego .
Tell him .
“Hey,” I answered in the most neutral voice I could muster.
“Hey, yourself. How’s it going?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Totally good.” I needed to stop that. I was going to give myself away.
“Uh-huh.” Diego sounded anything but convinced. “Is this you not keeping the heavy shit to yourself?”
After I met Finn, after I’d climbed out of the dark hole I buried myself in, I spent a weekend with Diego and Astrid in New York. They made me promise not to let things get that bad again.
While I hated the idea of hiding things from my friends, drawing vaguely disturbing images in the woods wasn’t the same as a slow death by alcohol poisoning. “I promise, I’m not hiding deep, depressing secrets.”
“You’d better not be.”
I hoped I wasn’t. “What’s up?”
“I called to wish you happy birthday ,” Diego said.
“ We called to wish Doomsday happy birthday .” Astrid’s distant shout came through the phone loud and clear. “Tell him to stop being a pussy and fess up about what’s wrong.”
I couldn’t help my laugh.
“Did you hear that?” Diego asked.
“Loud and clear. I swear I’m not hiding. Give me a little time to figure out how to talk about it, that’s all I ask. And thanks for the birthday wishes, to you and Red.”
How was I going to talk about this?
I had no idea.