Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Goldie sailed through the grand, wrought-iron doors of Greymarket Towers. The building itself seemed to share her elation. The usual dim, moody lighting in the lobby had warmed to a soft, golden glow, and the ivy that snaked along the walls rustled in a pleased, welcoming way.
She bypassed the newer, sleeker elevator for the old, cantankerous one with the scuffed brass doors and arthritic groan. As the doors rumbled shut, she slipped into a low, smoky rendition of “Boogie Shoes.”
Tonight, the elevator was particularly appreciative.
Its groans and creaks harmonized into a bass line that thrummed through the floor and up her legs.
The lights flickered in rhythm with her voice, casting playful shadows that made the cab feel alive, conspiratorial.
By the time it chimed at the fourth floor, Goldie felt as though she’d just finished a duet with the building itself.
She practically skipped down the hallway, heart soaring, so caught up in her joyous momentum that she didn’t see him until she nearly collided with him.
He stood outside her apartment door, tall and motionless, cloaked in shadow and silence. A fixed point in her suddenly tilting world. Splice.
Her heart gave a happy little flip. Gods, he looked good: his dark, vine-like hair curling neatly around his birch-bark skin, his leaf-shadow-green eyes catching the dim hall light.
Her body answered with a thrum that recalled every scandalous thing they’d done with his god in the atrium that afternoon.
“My meeting with Tamsin was a success,” she announced brightly, unable to keep the triumph from her voice. “We have so much to discuss!” She unlocked her door with a flourish and swung it open, a clear invitation.
As if on cue, the cats slipped out of the shadows. Maeve wound herself around Goldie’s calves judgmentally. You came home earlier smelling of god-sex, and now you smell of plans. Explain. Where’s my dinner?
Oberon, all sleek midnight and aristocratic scorn, padded to Splice and settled at his feet. Pick me up. Adore me.
Splice looked down at the cat. Oberon leveled him with the kind of expectation that required no magical translation whatsoever. With a soft sigh, Splice bent and scooped Oberon into his arms.
Goldie’s laugh burst out bright and unguarded, breaking the tension and sending a warm shimmer of magic through the air. For a heartbeat, they were a peculiar little tableau: a witch, a plant-man, and two feline tyrants presiding over it all.
“Here’s the good news!” she declared, heading into the kitchen. “Tamsin is going to help us. I told her about everything, and we have a real plan now.” She busied herself with cat food, turning to beam at him with a sparkle of triumph.
“You told her everything?” Splice crossed to her, Oberon draped in his arms. The sleek cat licked his chin. Splice shuddered but didn’t stop stroking his fur. “Was that wise?”
Goldie shrugged as she scooped kibble into the bowls.
“I mean, she’s my coven leader. And yeah, it’s problematic, but I trust her.
We’re not going to worry about the whole woo-woo evil Land Trust thing right now, since they’re in comas.
First, we fix Mycor and the land, then we solve everything else. ”
She set the food down. Maeve padded over with her usual air of expectation, while Oberon leapt from Splice’s arms to join her, tail flicking like a banner.
About time, Maeve purred between mouthfuls. Schemes are fine, but dinner first.
Oberon licked his whiskers and cast a smug glance back at Splice. Not bad, plant-man. You’re learning.
“So what’s the plan, then?” Splice asked. “How do we heal Mycor?”
“So we were on the right track with the whole ritual-sex thing.” Goldie waved a spoon in the air like a wand.
“But Tamsin says to excise the hurt, we have to do it at the source. Tomorrow night, she thinks, because the crescent moon will be waning—” she waggled her fingers theatrically, “—blah blah something about optimal timing. In other words, we get to have ritual sex in the Grove Core. I told her I’d talk to you. ”
She laughed, bright and a little wicked. “I know, what a hardship, right?”
Splice didn’t laugh.
The sound of her own chuckle echoed back, suddenly too loud in the room. She turned toward him, expecting at least a smirk, but his face… his face was strange. Shadowed. Still. His eyes fixed on hers with a weight that made her stomach plummet.
Oh, gods and goddesses.
Wait. Was he—?
Had she read this completely wrong?
She thought he’d liked it. She knew he had—hadn’t he? Every kiss, every low sound in her ear, every time his hands stroked her skin—none of that could’ve been just duty. Could it?
Had he only been enduring it? Was that what he and Mycor had been talking about?
Her pulse stumbled. The air felt too thin. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.
“Can we talk, Goldie?” Splice asked quietly.
Her stomach dropped. “Sure,” she managed, barely a breath.
They moved into the living room and sat on the couch. The hush between them was thick enough to choke on.
“Are you okay?” Goldie asked, softer still.
He didn’t answer. His jaw flexed and his hands curled against his knees, as if he was trying to brace himself.
The silence stretched until it felt unbearable, and the words spilled out before she could stop them.
“Oh gods, is Mycor horrified? Did he hate it? Did I—did I take advantage of him? Of you? Was it awful?”
Her throat tightened, words tripping over each other. “Because I thought—I thought you liked it. You said things—you touched me like—” She broke off, shaking her head. “But if I misunderstood, if it was just obligation—”
Her voice cracked. “Tell me I didn’t screw this up. Tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
Splice’s brows drew together. “Goldie,” he started quietly. “I—”
She clamped both hands over her mouth, as if she could physically stop the panic from spilling out, but the tears came anyway, hot and ridiculous.
Her breath came in shallow, quivery pulls.
Of course. Of course he said he enjoyed it.
Because his god is hurting. Because that’s what he does—he serves. Gods, how stupid am I?
“I’m sorry, Splice.” Her whisper was raw. “I didn’t think. We can find another way. We don’t—”
He looked at her, and something fragile and heartbreakingly human flickered across his face. Then he leaned in, slow and deliberate, and cupped her cheeks in both hands. “No, beautiful one,” he murmured. “No, you misunderstand. Hush, now. Don’t cry.”
“So you don’t hate me?” she whimpered.
He laughed. “Hate you? If what we did together is your idea of hate, then I am doomed. Because showing you how much I don’t hate you may very well kill me. Pleasurably, mind you, but still kill me.”
Goldie blinked through her tears, the panic loosening into something absurd and warm at the edges. He was teasing. He was not recoiling. She let out a shaky laugh and leaned into his hands, feeling ridiculous and relieved all at once.
“Sorry. It’s just that the whole can we talk thing got me discombobulated,” she burbled, words tumbling over themselves. “Not really a great way to start conversations. Human thing, you see.”
His voice dipped, warm and steady. “Has anyone ever told you you’re absolutely ridiculous?”
“Many times,” she shot back, her voice wobbling on a rogue sniffle.
He laughed again, the sound quiet but real. His arms came around her, drawing her close. She sagged into him, the tension unwinding at last.
“Mycor and I had a long conversation,” Splice said slowly. “It’s… different now, Goldie. All my existence I was only ever an extension of Mycor’s will. My thoughts were his. Our purpose was a shared root system.”
He slid a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. “But then I met you, and everything changed. Now I feel not like a we, but an I.”
Goldie’s breath hitched, a small sound breaking from her throat.
“A graft isn’t meant to grow away from its god, but it isn’t unheard of.
I don’t know why, but something in me shifted because of you, Marigold.
With all this mess—Mycor bound to the Green Holdings, you bound to the Grove Core, and me…
” He shook his head faintly. “I didn’t even realize it was happening at first. But the shape of who I am has completely changed. ”
He stroked her cheek. “And yes, we performed the ritual together. And yes, it was for Mycor. But now…” He leaned closer, lips hovering a breath away from hers.
“It’s more than that, Goldie. Of course, I want to heal Mycor. But it’s more than that. I want…” His voice broke, eyes burning.
“I want you. The ridiculous, sparkly woman who confuses and captivates me. If the ritual is what’s needed, we’ll do it. But before we do, before anyone or anything gets in the way… I want you.”
His thumbs brushed her face as he spoke, each word roughened by feeling.
“You’ve lodged under my skin like a splinter, Marigold, and I don’t ever want to pull you out.
I want to learn every inch of you: what makes you smile, what makes you laugh.
I want to feel you under my hands without the weight of gods.
I want to watch you lay out your tarot, wear your ridiculous clothes, and dote on those tiny terrors of yours.
I’m not human—I don’t know how to be human—but you make me want to learn. I want to try. For you.”
Goldie’s breath caught again, tears springing hot and sudden to her eyes. For a moment she couldn’t speak at all. Her heart felt too full, stretching wide and wild in her chest, singing straight toward him.
Her hand rose of its own accord, cupping his face. “Splice…” Her voice trembled, breaking on his name. “That’s… gods, that’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me.”