Chapter 8
Iris
The quicker we can figure out how to open his little portal thing again, the quicker this Boogeyman can be out of my hair. I really couldn’t afford to miss today. The shop is packed with orders, and with a massive wedding coming up this weekend, we really need all the help we can get.
Looking over at him, I wonder if I can convince him to go to the shop instead, so at least we can try to accomplish both tasks at the same time.
However, I’m not sure how I would explain his horns.
Or the dark grey skin. Maybe an early Halloween costume?
No, no one will believe that. But then again, Hollybrook is bursting with all sorts of theater people; he could blend right in.
I also have no idea how I would explain to Vera why I suddenly came in after profusely apologizing in the email, letting her know I had an emergency come up.
Heaven knows the last time I called in sick.
I’m so attached to Petal Pushers that I usually pop in even on the rare day off that I get.
It’s part of the expectation of being an owner. I’m always there. Always available.
As I start typing random search terms into the browser, no idea what I’m looking for or what I expect to find, a part of me thinks that maybe being stuck in my apartment with the weirdly attractive mythical creature could be exactly what I need.
“So, uh, do you eat anything other than souls?” I ask, trying another query:
How to get a boogeyman home?
He comes to sit near me, opting for the floor instead of the sofa. With the blinds closed, he can move about the space more freely, not having to worry about the morning sun. When the afternoon sun hits the big window, though, that may complicate things.
“I have never tried anything else,” he responds.
“Really?”
“Yes. I have never had a need. Your people feel enough fear to help us subsist. Add in the souls we consume on a nightly basis, and we have no problem with survival.” His response is honest and even-keeled.
No emotion exists behind those words. No remorse for stealing the essence of so many. It’s just a fact to him.
“Do you not question why you need souls? Or the impact of what you do on those you leave behind?”
“Do you question the impact of your food choices? Or transportation? Or technology? Or anything else you need in your day-to-day life?” he responds, again with no emotion behind his words.
“Touché.”
He brings a knee up and rests his forearm on top as he turns his head to face me and says, “We do what we need to survive.”
And to survive, he threatened me and all of my loved ones. Not exactly the most romantic offer I’ve had, but I’ll give him points for creativity.
“Well, if I’m going to survive this day, I’m going to need food at some point.
” I place my laptop on the couch and get up, going to the drawer in the kitchen with all the take-out menus.
“We don’t eat souls here, but we do have food that can heal it.
Have a look through and decide what you want for lunch later,” I say, tossing the stack on the floor beside him before returning to where I was seated.
He shuffles through the menus as I try another search:
Boogeymen
This brings up the lore of the Boogeyman.
I scan through summaries discussing the not-so-mythical creature, their penchant for frightening children to behave, and potential kidnappings.
I glance over at him, trying to see him through the history of his people, but all I can see is the strong jaw that wiggles ever-so-slightly as he focuses, the way his hands seem to caress the paper as if it were fragile threads, ready to break at the slightest touch.
I’m not so completely out of it that I can’t appreciate that, while unconventional in appearance, he is quite attractive.
His arms are strong. His body is broad and well-cared for.
Not that I was looking too hard, but I am pretty sure there were at least eight well-defined abs there.
Add in the horns, and he certainly presents as an intimidating figure.
But even so, he’s not hard to look at. If I had run into him at a bar somewhere, and you know, didn’t think I was losing my mind at a mythical creature being real, I wouldn’t say no to him buying me a drink.
I’ve also noticed that when he talks, he seems to do it with great care.
He’s selective about what he discloses and only wants to give the information that is necessary.
Which makes sense when, according to the lore, he spends his life in the shadows.
Sharing too much personal information would likely be harmful.
It would make him a target to others. Especially if he is as powerful as he says.
I wouldn’t be surprised if there have been attempts to overthrow him before.
“This,” he says, handing her a menu for the Vietnamese place a few blocks away.
“Good choice.”
“It had the most of these things. I assume that is good.”
I laugh lightly. “Those are peppers. It means the food is spicy.”
“Is that good?” he asks, his voice sounding almost concerned.
I smile at him. “I think so.” I place the menu beside me and look back at my computer. “I’ll order it in a bit. They aren’t open for a couple of hours, but it’s good that we have a plan.”
“Yes,” he responds, glancing at me before turning to stare ahead. “A plan is good.”
“Alright, with that sorted, how do we open this portal thing of yours? The internet isn’t exactly being helpful in answering how to get a Boogeyman to go home.”
“That is a good question. My usual method has not worked.”
“And what is your usual method?” I ask, wondering how often he actually has to open portals. Which then leads me to thinking about how many other bedrooms he’s been in over the years, sparking a small flame of jealousy.
Whoa, there.
Jealous?
Yes. Jealous. The flaming green ball rolls inside me, twisting just enough to let me know it’s there. But I barely know him. What do I have to be jealous about?
Before I have time to examine this new feeling fully, he saunters back to my bedroom.
Quickly following him, I watch as Basil stands next to my bed, his brow furrowed in concentration.
He extends his hands in front of him, his wrists pushed together, while his hands open and curl toward each other as if he is holding a ball of power between them.
His arms rotate, spinning the invisible ball in his hands as he says, “Open up.”
Definitely thought that was going to be more intense than it was.
Nothing happens. No secret doors open, and no light glows from under my bed. I don’t really know what I expected, but I thought maybe there would be more to it than just saying open up.
“That’s it?” I ask, covering my mouth with my sleeve to hide the laugh trying to break through.
Basil turns, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. “What do you mean, that’s it? You just witnessed magical power and unprecedented strength.”
I can’t help it. I let the laugh loose, keeling over as I wheeze.
When I’m finally able to breathe again, I reply, “That was magic. All you did was hold your hands out like you were playing basketball, and then told it to open up. If that is your best example of magic and your unprecedented strength, it’s no wonder it didn’t work.
” Turning around, I wave him off with one hand and sit back on the couch, still giggling to myself.
Basil stomps over to me and collapses back onto the floor, looking dejected.
“Look,” I say, leaning over and putting a hand on his shoulder.
It’s surprisingly warm, like holding a fresh cup of coffee.
And the texture is rough under my fingers.
Not jagged, like I would expect, seeing all the ridges on his skin, but more like a well-worn piece of bark or a freshly cut piece of wood.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry. But given all you’ve talked about, I thought there would be… more.”
“There should have been. The portal should have opened. There should have been a glowing entrance for me to go into. Instead, nothing.”
“I could see that.” I rub his shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. He doesn’t balk away from my touch, so I assume he doesn’t absolutely hate it. “So what do we do?”
“I don’t know. I have never had this problem.”
“Okay. What would you tell someone to do? Imagine you are one of your underlings. They are stuck in the human realm, with no way home. What would you tell them to do to try and fix it?”
His head falls back onto the cushion behind him as his eyes close.
I watch his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath and then as it contracts while he releases it.
It becomes so mesmerizing just watching him breathe, seeing the muscles under his skin work, that I forget what I even asked by the time he answers.
“I would tell them to think of their training. To go back to the basics and try those.”
“Okay. What’s the first step you would suggest?”
His eyes pop open as his head turns to look at me. Basil’s eyes are blazing red. A scorching fire ready to consume me.
“Feed.”