Parley #2
It would only be bodies. Mara knew that, knew that it would be well for her to attain release by hands not her own, but even hearing that from Ofelia had not been comforting. Because how could she be satisfied with a union of bodies when she had known a union of souls?
And Ethan was approaching, whether she was ready for him or not. His footsteps were close enough now that she spent some of her restored strength to glamour herself to invisibility. If he saw her here, he would speak to her. And if he spoke to her…
Mara did not know what she would do.
She rolled over to her stomach, watching through the irregular gaps in a prickly pear as he came around the bend.
He had discarded his overshirt, and the chemical fragrance of sunblock had joined the musk of his deodorant, preceding him like a cloud of pheromones, somehow discordant and appealing at the same time.
It was the nostalgia of it, Mara decided as she watched him deposit equipment on the same rocky shelf as before.
When she had lived in the city with Tristan, they had often gone to fairs overrun with humans layered in thousands of scents.
Trying desperately to evade their humanity with every science at their disposal.
Scents, intoxicants, chemical armor to protect from the nature they could choose not to fight.
She had laughed about it with Tristan every time, teasing him even as she inhaled his familiar human scent.
Ethan had gone back around the bend before Mara realized her heart had not twinged at that memory.
A wave of renewed grief rolled over her.
It had been this way for the past year, memories detaching themselves from her mourning like grains of sand falling from a sandcastle.
She knew she should be relieved that there was less to pain her, but each time it happened, it only made her more determined, sent her out into her garden to renew the blossoms and remind herself of what she had lost.
Today, she dug her fingers into the sand, called deeper in the earth for power. She would restore her garden when Ethan had been sent weeping from her sight.
He made four trips, heavily laden with lumber and equipment, before he finally stopped, erecting a small pop-up sunshade and collapsing into the shadow it cast. His final trip had included a large plastic cooler, which he now opened, removing two canned drinks.
Beads of condensed moisture sparkled in the sun.
“I know you’re there,” he said wearily. “This one’s for you.” He set one of the cans on the sand a few feet away from his sunshade and popped the tab on the other, then took a deep drink. Whatever it was, it smelled of honey and peaches.
It was unwise to reveal her presence, however he believed he knew of it, but she had already flung wisdom to the winds today.
She coaxed the sand beneath the aluminum can to swallow it, conveying it to her invisible hand.
It was still cold, though the thirsty earth had absorbed the condensation, and she frowned at the unfamiliar label.
“What is a Beelini?” she asked aloud.
He lazily glanced around, his eyes skating over her unseeing, then sighed and took another drink.
“Peach mead. Or melomel, technically. Try it, Sue Storm.” He settled more comfortably into the shade, his eyes drifting closed.
“I declare a truce for the next thirty minutes. That cooler was fucking heavy.”
She sighed and sat cross-legged, dispelling her glamour, then popped open her can. “That is not my name.” The honey and peach smell was intense, underlaid with the tang of alcohol.
Ethan flickered a heavy-lidded glance at her, then looked away again. “So you don’t go to the movies much.” He sat up just enough to take another long drink of mead. “Susan Storm is the Invisible Woman. Part of the Fantastic Four.”
“Ah, yes. That one. I saw it many years ago.” Mara took a cautious sip, humming in approval at the sweet bite. “They did not seem especially fantastic to me. I am not fond of the computer magic they show in movies. Real magic is not so…obvious.”
“So you haven’t seen the new one.”
“There is another? Why?”
Ethan shrugged, the movement drawing a sibilant purr from the vinyl of his sunshade. “I don’t know. Because Pedro Pascal?”
“I do not know that name. Do they yet use computer magic?”
“Seeing as no human can stretch their body like elastic and you apparently did not show up for the Invisible Girl auditions, yes.” He sent her a sidelong glance that was somehow both teasing and measuring.
Mara grumbled through her next sip of sweet mead. “I would not wish to be in a movie.”
“Hmm.” Ethan stretched. “What movies do you like?”
“There was one I remember…” She frowned. “I believe there was a cat?”
Ethan laughed. “That narrows it down, sure.” He looked at her again, his regard steady. “You’re welcome at my place for a cat movie marathon anytime.”
“My thanks.” Mara said acidly. The mead was delicious, but she was growing irritated again. Did he think they were friends now? She tipped back the can and swallowed the last drops, then set the can on the sand beside her. It looked as out of place as Ethan’s green Jeep.
“Do you recycle?” Ethan sat up suddenly, leaning out into the sunlight. It haloed the smooth waves of his hair.
Mara rolled her eyes. “Yes, there is a truck that comes here for collection every Tuesday.”
Ethan held out a hand. “Toss it. I’ve got a bag going. And I’m collecting the pop tabs.”
“Whatever for?” Mara tossed the empty can over the cactus barrier. It landed several feet away from Ethan, which had not been intentional but did serve him right. She was not here to make things easy for him.
He reached to pick it up, then vigorously wiggled the pop tab until it snapped off with a metallic ting. “My sister uses them to make chain mail.” He broke the pop tab off his own can, tucked the small pieces of metal into a pocket of his backpack, then put the cans in a half-full cloth bag.
Mara narrowed her eyes, surveying Ethan’s piles of supplies.
He really had quite a lot, and now that she was looking at it, not all of it seemed to be related to his siege.
There was his armor, true, and his backpack, and piles of lumber and folded ladders, but that was only half of what he’d stacked on the rocks.
Why had he brought his recycling bag? And a full cooler?
What was his strategy now?
She rose to her feet abruptly. “The truce is over.”
“Already?” Ethan let out a dramatic groan. “Well, if you insist.”
He stood and stretched, his T-shirt riding up to expose a pale strip of stomach that glistened in the sunlight.
The man was so sweaty. It was revolting and seductive at the same time.
The sight tugged at memories of Tristan, sweet ones, and she was flushed with heat now, desire for what she could never have.
Except she could.
She could have Ethan now. She just had to step forward.
Instead she retreated into the earth, slipping through the sand until she had reached the pinnacle of the hill.
She emerged in her bower of pink and yellow blossoms, not even bothering to stand, just settling into the sand and letting it buoy her up.
The ripples of his steps thudded against her skin like a heartbeat.
He was assailing her hill—probably exactly the same way as before, the fool, with a stepladder and a bridge—and soon she would have to go and stop him, but she could cede the first ring. That territory was not important to her.
She would need her strength more for what came next.