Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Goldie and Splice woke the next morning tangled in her sheets, the morning light filtering through the blinds to stripe their bodies. There was no awkwardness, no fumbling for excuses or hasty departures. Instead, a charged stillness settled between them.
Splice kissed her once, lingering, then said he needed to be with Mycor, to explain the plan, gauge his strength, and see if the god sensed anything they should prepare for.
Goldie, jittery with purpose, watched him go and then set herself into motion.
She needed to get to work, not just to keep busy, but to prepare.
She wanted to research a few rites, confirm the moon-phase notes, and she figured she might as well pick up extra candles and blessed salt, just to be safe.
At the library, she tried to lose herself in the mundane: re-shelving, reorganizing returns, running her fingers over the spines like prayer beads. But her body still hummed with leftover heat. The air felt thick around her, like the whole building was waiting.
Eventually, Goldie glanced up to see Nell leaning against the returns counter, arms crossed, eyes flashing white.
Goldie offered a tired smile. “Chasing the threads, or talking to Sig?”
“I’ve been chasing the threads on you constantly,” Nell said, her voice flat with frustration. “You seriously think I haven’t been trying to scry whatever the hells is going on with you? And making Sig do the same? What kind of futures-seeing best friend would I be if I wasn’t doing that?”
Goldie winced. “Oh, Nell. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark. I just... things got complicated. Fast.”
The faint glow in Nell’s eyes sharpened until her sclera was threaded with light. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, as if she were half speaking, half listening to something far away.
“When Sig and I try to find you, it’s like you’re caught in a knot,” she said softly. “The threads tangle in themselves. Every time we trace you, it loops back, and something pushes against us.”
Goldie laughed weakly. “That’s... comforting.”
Nell didn’t laugh. “I don’t get the sense it’s dangerous, just... loud. It feels like you’re standing in the center of a storm, and the threads are bending around you instead of through you.”
The pulse under Goldie’s skin thumped once, answering that truth. She pressed a palm against her sternum, grounding herself.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That tracks.”
“And right now, it feels like the air right before a thunderstorm. I don’t know what’s coming, but something is.” The glow in Nell’s eyes dimmed slightly, though they remained white and a faint charge still hung in the air.
Goldie let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to worry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Nell dropped into the rolling chair behind the desk with a sigh, rubbing her temples like she could knead the static out of her skull.
“You’ve been distant. And that’s okay. I mean, I saw yesterday’s City Hall drama online and figured that things were happening with you and the Thornfather’s Assistant—” she said the title with exaggerated gravity, “—but I told myself you’d talk when you were ready.”
Goldie hesitated, thumb tracing the worn spine of a copy of Magical Land Use in the Municipal Era. “So. Cliff Notes version?” She cleared her throat. “The building let me sleepwalk and the Assistant went with me—”
“I’m sorry, what?” Nell’s voice hit a register that made two students at the microfiche table glance over. The Dyad-white in her eyes snapped back to their usual green. “You went on a sleepwalk date? Did you sleepwalk-bang him? Is that why you called him your boyfriend in that video?”
Goldie groaned. “Yeah. Well, no. No sleepwalk-banging. That happened after. But we figured out why I was sleepwalking and how to fix it, and...” She waved a hand vaguely. “It’s a whole thing.”
“You figured it out?” Nell leaned forward, the humor in her voice fading. “What kind of thing? Do you need help?”
Goldie huffed a laugh, though it sounded more nervous than she intended. “It’s long and complicated, and if I start explaining it now, we’ll be here until closing. Just know it’s being handled tonight. I’ve got the help I need, and I promise I’ll give you the full debrief once it’s all settled.”
Nell tilted her head, studying her with narrowed eyes.
“Pinky swear,” Goldie said, offering a small grin. “There’s a lot of spice. Definitely worth the wait.”
Nell was silent for a moment. Then she said softly, “Okay. You’re a big girl, Goldie, so I’m not going to yell. But is whatever you’re doing tonight... safe?”
Goldie nodded. “Yes. Weird and complicated and full of ritual, but safe. Splice—the Thornfather’s Assistant—will be with me. I won’t be alone.” She waved a hand with a flash of her usual flair, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “I promise.”
Nell studied her for a long moment, then rose from the rolling chair with a sigh. “All right. But if the threads start burning, I’ll make Sig drag your sparkly ass out of whatever mess you’ve found.”
“Deal.”
Nell’s expression softened. She stepped forward and pulled Goldie into a tight, brief hug. “You always find the drama, babe. But this time, please don’t let it find you first.”
Goldie pressed her cheek to Nell’s shoulder, closing her eyes for a heartbeat. “No promises,” she murmured.
When Nell pulled back, her smile was bright but uneasy. “Okay, but when you finally spill the tea, we’re doing it up right. I want the full goddess spread: wine, mini quiches, chocolate, and a charcuterie board. We’ll make a night of it.”
“Done,” Goldie said. “I’ll bring the drama. You bring the pajamas.”
“Perfect,” Nell called, already rolling the cart toward the archives. “Just the way I like it.”
The afternoon light when Goldie slipped inside the atrium of Greymarket Towers.
The glass ceiling was cloaked in thick clouds that dulled the sun to a diffuse gray glow.
Mist clung to the base of the hedge rows, softening the edges of the space, and the air smelled of loam and rainwater and something faintly metallic.
Mycor sat slumped in a throne of roots and vines that curled and bowed beneath his weight. Bruised streaks of rot threaded up his arms and across his chest. The god turned his head slowly at her approach, the bark cracking at the seam of his jaw.
“Golden flower,” he said, voice sounding like wind through dry branches.
Goldie crossed the room quickly and reached for his hand without hesitation. His skin was rough, splintering and peeling in places. But still warm.
“You look awful,” she whispered.
A low creak passed through Mycor’s chest. Not quite a laugh, but the memory of one. “Yet you blossom so beautifully.”
Goldie pressed her lips together, fighting the sting behind her eyes. “Where’s Splice?”
“He readies himself for the night’s work.”
Goldie reached up, brushing a piece of moss from the god’s shoulder. “We’re going to fix this tonight,” she said determinedly, her fingers lingering in the grooves of his bark. “You’ll be right as rain in no time flat.”
Mycor’s massive head tilted in a slow, regal motion. His free hand rose to her hip and gently, firmly, drew her against him.
Goldie settled against the god’s vast chest. Beneath his heat, she could feel the threads that bound them together: the pulse of Splice flickering down the bond, and, deeper still, the Grove Core thumping like a great hidden heart.
“You are strange and shining,” Mycor rumbled, voice soft with reverence. “And my Splice bends toward you, growing new and wondrous shoots.”
Goldie looked up. His eyes were ancient, dark as hollows in old trees, but also soft with affection. He bent his great head down and touched his forehead to hers.
“I have known many seasons with him, but none like this,” he murmured. “And though I ache at the ending, I am glad this season brought you to us.”
Something broke open in her heart, and her lips trembled. “Hey,” she said lightly, or tried to. “Don’t you dare talk like you’re saying goodbye. We haven’t had nearly enough orgies for that.”
A deep, amused sound rumbled through him.
She touched her hand to his cheek. His scent wrapped around her: cedar and compost, peat and petrichor, the memory of a forest long burned and buried.
“Hold on,” she whispered. “Please. For me. For him.”
The vines of Mycor’s throne stirred, coiling gently up her arms, brushing her shoulders in slow, deliberate sweeps as tender as kisses.
“For you both,” the Thornfather vowed.
Evening had fallen, painting the sky outside her window in bruised shades of violet and orange. A knock echoed against the apartment door. Goldie opened it to find Splice on her welcome mat, his silhouette sharp against the deepening twilight.
The day’s separation hadn’t dimmed the pull between them. If anything, it had clarified it, like light striking glass, refracting into something clearer and more focused.
“So,” she said brightly, “I hope you’ve been hydrating. I hear magical-healing-sex-rituals can be murder on the electrolytes.”
Splice stepped inside and turned to her. “I did drink water. But thinking of you did more to steady me than anything else.”
Goldie’s smile softened. “I thought about you too.” She paused, her voice dropping. “You and me.”
He moved closer, heat radiating off him. One finger tilted her chin until their eyes met, and then he kissed her softly.
“I’m looking forward to tonight, of course,” he murmured. “But more than that, I look forward to what comes after, when this is done. When we can figure out what we’re becoming.”
The space between them sparked with the weight of quiet hope. All her defenses, all her frenetic sparkle and breezy jokes, melted away into something warm, tender, new, and real.
“Me too,” she whispered.
Maeve’s indignant meow rang out from the hallway, perfectly timed. About time. Try not to ruin the mattress before dinner.