Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Multiple things happen at once: Betsy shrieks, I gag, and Flint lurches towards the table in what I assume, and desperately hope, is an attempt at grabbing the lightly bleeding critter. Calida uses a wing to smack at his hand and…
My ears hear what sounds like a crow, but inside my mind, I hear a maniacal giggle.
She’s enjoying this.
Fuuuuuuuuck.
Flint recovers from having his hand slapped in time to gently grab the alive rat in one hand and Calida’s body in the other. She makes another crow-like sound, although this one doesn’t sound anything like a laugh. More like a squawk, really.
Keeping a firm grip on both, he walks to the door, side stepping around Betsy, who shrinks back with a hand pressed to her bosom.
Giving her the side eye, I toss the throw aside and follow.
I reach the door in time to hear the tail end of Flint explaining to Calida that some meals, specifically “living meals” should not be taken in the company of strangers.
He firmly chides her for dropping a bloody rat on a table.
Apparently, dragons are supposed to have table manners. I wonder how old she is. She certainly seems young.
He realizes I’m standing there and turns to me.
“Is there anywhere she can eat her snack that she won’t be disturbing anyone? I understand it’s abrupt, but she really does need to eat. Traveling can take a lot out of them.”
I think. I obviously don’t want her to eat her furry snack inside, especially with Betsy here, but I also don’t need to try to explain to the neighbors why there’s a winged reptile eviscerating a rat in our entry space.
I also don’t really want to know where the hell she found the rat, and make a mental note to call an exterminator.
With my limited attention span, I really should be making a real reminder, but I’m not sure where my phone is and I can’t exactly look for it right now.
Especially with Betsy watching, wide eyed, from the threshold.
“Um… there’s a small courtyard out back? Or the roof? Either of those would be fine. She wouldn’t be disturbing anyone with her snack there.”
He looks at Calida with a pointed gaze, I think to make sure that she understands me. Calida gives one head bob and Flint puts the poor rat down on the cobblestones. She dips her head, collects her prize, and again takes off.
Which just leaves us with Betsy.
I turn to look at Betsy and expect her to still be hovering in the doorway, examining our handsome stranger and the weird flying iguana.
To my surprise, she’s nowhere to be found.
Shit — she’s probably calling animal control or the cops or a fucking news crew.
That’d be my luck, with the way this day is going.
Is Mercury in retrograde? Is there a full moon?
My luck cannot be this shitty!
Flint looks at me and shrugs. He shrugs his beautiful, sculpted, muscular, shoulders….
Bitch– Betsy. Where. Is. Betsy?! FOCUS.
“Betsy?” I call. I have no idea where she is or what she’s thinking. I step inside and scan the main room, but she’s nowhere that would be obvious. “Betsy!” I call again.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard you. I’m not deaf.” Her voice is coming somewhere in the stacks of books.
“Are you okay? I thought you were done today.”
She comes bustling out — how does she always have so much energy — from the romance section. “I’m fine, pumpkin. How are you and your friend? Do you need anything?”
Why is she acting like she didn’t just stumble into the bookstore to find a giant bloody rat on the table, me laying around on the couch, Flint studying me intensely, and a fucking dragon about to go to town and do the happy food dance while ingesting said bloody rat?
Better question — why is she avoiding eye contact?
“Uh — we’re fine.” I manage.
Flint isn’t looking at Betsy or me, but rather at the ground, as he goes back to his chair.
“Flint,” she calls, forcing him to look up. “Do you need anything, sweetie? Casie means well, but her head is in the clouds half the time and forgetting things the other half.”
She slides up to his side and lays a hand on his bicep. Flint looks distinctly uncomfortable with Betsy shamelessly feeling him up.
“Betsy, what are you doing back? I thought you were gone for the day.” I take her hand and tug, gently, but firmly.
I’m trying to detach her from Flint’s bicep.
His uncomfortable look sets me on edge even more and, really, old women should be held to the same standard as old men — stop touching other people’s bodies without permission. It isn’t that hard.
“Oh,” she titters, “I forgot something and we finished up early, so I figured I would stop by and collect my copy of the book before book club tonight. I need to double check my tabs to lead the discussion!” She shakes the paperback in my face.
With a bunch of very awkward flustering (mostly on Betsy’s behalf) and a lot of avoiding any sort of contact on Flint’s end, we get Betsy on her way again. At this point, I just close the door, make sure the closed sign is visible, and collapse on the couch.
Flint seems similarly exhausted, although I’m not sure why. When you’re not any employee, Betsy is great. Maybe the groping threw him off. Who can blame him?
What right do I have to blame Betsy for groping him when I’ve been basically eye fucking him from the get-go?
I’m giving up. Today is a wash. I gesture to the burnt box of books. “Do you think you could haul that to the dumpster out back? And maybe check on Calida? I’m estimating out of my ass, but I feel like she should be done with her tasty treat by now.”
Flint gets up, and I’m not noticing his thighs flex because I am perfectly normal and not weird at all.
He picks up the box of charred books, putting it on his shoulder, as he maneuvers through the stacks. It's an odd dance, given the width of said shoulders with the box.
Once he’s out of sight, I drop my head in my hands.
What the fuck am I going to do? I have some elite male Fae warrior in my care (possession?) with a fucking dragon.
I have a shitty, tiny apartment. Calida sets fire to books, so even if I wanted to, I can’t leave them here overnight.
Aren’t all reptiles cold blooded? Logically that means that Calida needs somewhere warm to sleep.
How the hell can she be cold blooded if she breathes fucking fire?
Nevermind. I feel like there are so many more important things that I need to figure out before I start worrying about dragon anatomy.
I can’t leave them sleeping on the street. It’s too cold for her, for one, and I have no idea if Flint brought, or even knows about the proper currency in this world. Do the Fae use dollars and cents?
Shit. Not even the entire Earth uses those. I don’t know why I would think that other worlds would.
My phone goes off as Flint comes back in, dusting the ashes off his sleeve.
I choose to ignore it. I have enough problems right now without adding in the creepy testi-pics and texts that have been coming in for months.
“I’m about to head out,” I say. “Where are the two of you staying?”
I shouldn’t care, but… they’re strangers in, apparently, a strange land.
“Oh…” he isn’t making eye contact again. “We’ll… find a place. Don’t worry on our account. Calida and I will be fine.”
I study him, but he’s busy looking at the floor and avoiding my gaze. It occurs to me, belatedly, that while Calida has eaten, I haven’t seen Flint eat anything since he appeared on my doorstep.
“OK… Do you have a dinner plan?”
He looks up, sharply.
“I mean. I don’t have a lot at home, but I could probably stretch it to feed someone else if you’re hungry.” I glance towards the still open back door. “I can’t promise I have anything for Calida, but if she’s satisfied, we can go?”
He cocks his head in a way that, I assume, means he’s having a conversation with Calida that I’m not supposed to hear. But I’m her chosen person so shouldn't I hear it all? You know what — that’s a problem for another time. Future Casie is going to be so pissed.
“Calida is fine,” he says. “But I would be happy to share a meal.” He suddenly seems shy.
“Okay. Well, let’s lock up and go.”
I put what I think I need in my bag and check to make sure we’re locked up.
Fuck. If I forget important things on a good day, how much am I forgetting tonight?
Somehow, Flint has bundled Calida up, and the three of us make the short walk to my apartment.
The whole way, I’ve been frantically trying to remember what I have for food.
I’m pretty sure it consists of a salad, an emergency chocolate stash and wine.
A writer’s trifecta. Shit. Well, food delivery was invented for a reason.
I unlock my door and wince as Flint walks in. He glances around and I can only imagine what he’s seeing. Books are piled everywhere, including on the floor. My walls are a non-descriptive shade of grey-eigh. The altar in the corner needs to be refreshed. I’m lucky the Morrigan hasn’t smote me yet.
“It's not much,” I mutter, “but it’s home.” I shut the door behind us.
I quickly try to tidy up while he stands just within the threshold.
“It’s… cute.” he says, letting Calida go. (Wait! Where the fuck did she go?!)
I turn back to see him still standing just inside the door, studying the stacks of books that make up the bulk of the decor, my arms full of discarded papers.
I’m not usually this much of a slob, but I’ve been trying to churn out this book in every moment of downtime I have, so it’s gotten a little out of hand.
OK, that’s a lie. I have a lot of things to do and paralysis on where to start, so I sometimes just… don’t. Until the piles get to me, that is. Suddenly, the clutter and mess will start to make my anxiety worse, so I’ll stress clean. Usually not until someone comes over though.