Chapter Thirteen #2
A terrible possibility occurred to David. “You didn’t.” He should have considered that this wedding business involved Meredith actually speaking to Adalynn, which posed a whole new set of dangers.
Meredith let his bracelets fall into place and gave his wrist a brief shake, sending them into a cacophonous jingle that seemed to please him. “Nah, what do you think? Florian’d skin me alive, and anyway, I am not trying to Make a Spectacle,” he added conscientiously.
#86: He makes a spectacle of himself constantly whether he intends to or not.
Still, at least he was showing good sense on this particular occasion.
“She showed me photos of the dresses and the decor and everything,” Meredith explained, taking up his usual perch in the window.
David returned to the kitchen, scooped the sliced tomato into his salad bowl, and reached for a red onion. It was not without suspicion that he pointed out, “You still sound awfully wistful.”
“Course I am, who wouldn’t want to wear a lovely ball gown—”
“I certainly wouldn’t.”
“—and dance to Edith Piaf?”
Without thinking, David scoffed, “Who’d dance with you?”
There was a little too long of a pause before Meredith replied, “Ah, well, nobody, I suppose. Just as well, then, isn’t it?”
David paused in his slicing. This, too, was a deviation from the usual script.
They insulted each other, yes, but then the other insulted right back.
And in this case, the comeback should have been effortless: Meredith pointing out the obvious, that he had no shortage of willing partners for dancing and, in all likelihood, a good deal more.
Pushing aside his unease, David switched to the more important question. “And since when do you like Edith Piaf?”
“S’pose I’ve gotten to like her now since you play her so much.”
David suspected Meredith couldn’t tell the difference between her and any other chanteuse, but before he had the opportunity to question him further on the topic, there came a rap on the deck doors.
Mrs. Jupiter waved from the other side of the glass. David set down his knife and wiped his hands on a tea towel, but Meredith got to the door first. From behind him, Bianca growled at the black cat that sat at the witch’s feet.
“Oh, hush, Bianca,” said Meredith. “Morning, Mrs. J, won’t you come in?”
Mrs. Jupiter graciously refrained from pointing out that it was past two in the afternoon, and instead said, “Thank you, but I’ve only got a moment.
Left the cauldron simmering, you know, and I mean to go look in on the Mice here in a bit.
However, you’ll be pleased to know I’ve found an answer to your problem. ”
“Oh? Which problem was that?” David hadn’t been aware of a problem, other than Meredith in general, but he didn’t think she’d have any ideal solution for that.
“The two of you losing each other all the time, of course.” From the folds of her voluminous shawl, she produced two bracelets. “Here you are. I’ve enchanted these to track each other.”
Meredith eagerly took the bracelet Mrs. Jupiter offered him, a wide bangle of embossed brass, and slipped it onto his wrist. “Thanks, Mrs. J. This is brilliant!”
David hesitated. She meant well, of course, and one oughtn’t to refuse a gift, but he didn’t wear jewelry as a rule, and he certainly had no intention of matching with Meredith.
Mrs. Jupiter presented him with his own bracelet—a cuff of braided leather, adorned with carved brass beads. “This seemed more your style.”
That was true; it was understated and masculine, and if he had been of the inclination to wear jewelry, he would’ve chosen something like it.
“Thank you,” he told her. “I appreciate it.” He did appreciate the thought, if not the execution, and dutifully put it on. The moment he did, both he and Meredith exclaimed in surprise as each bracelet gave a faint but definite pull toward the other.
“Magnetism?” asked David.
“Magic,” corrected Mrs. Jupiter. “A simple locator spell. It’s effective at a distance as well, but both must be worn in order for it to work.”
“How thoughtful of you,” said David.
Afterward, he promptly shoved his into the back of his dresser drawer and put it out of his mind.
—
“Oh, David, come on, you can’t show up to Kinley’s like that,” said Meredith. “You look like an accountant.”
David lowered the newspaper to glare at him over the sports section. “I am an accountant.”
“Yeah, I know, and so will anybody else who looks at you.”
“Better this than parading myself around like a shameless strumpet.” In David’s opinion, his own outfit—dark slacks and a pin-striped button-down in soft gray—was perfectly presentable.
Meredith, on the other hand, keeping to his usual black, had changed into skintight jeans so shredded that they consisted of more holes than denim, and a shirt cut low enough in front to expose a fair amount of ink and sparse dark-blond hair.
Not, of course, that David was looking, but one could hardly help noticing.
For some reason, Meredith had topped off the ensemble with a strand of black pearls, and—
“And what the hell have you done to your face?”
“It’s triple-winged eyeliner! Do you like it?”
“No.”
He also hadn’t shaved in a few days, which made for quite the juxtaposition. Somehow it suited him, not that David was going to say so.
“Oh, come on,” prodded Meredith. “Quit being such a dishcloth.”
#87: He comes up with the most incomprehensible expressions.
David scowled. “Perhaps I won’t go at all. I doubt you and Kinley would miss me.”
Meredith’s teasing grin fell away. “David,” he said, “how come you don’t like Kinley? He likes you.”
“I just—he doesn’t—” In all honesty, David’s disapproval—he wouldn’t go so far as dislike—was based on impressions he couldn’t entirely articulate.
It was something about the way Kinley and Meredith went around being obnoxiously affectionate with each other, laughing at their little in-jokes, slipping outside to huddle together smoking cigarettes, which Meredith never touched at any other time.
That seemed the one reason that wasn’t too petty to say aloud, and David seized upon it.
“You only smoke cigarettes when you’re with him.
” To his chagrin, it sounded just as trivial outside of his head, but it was still preferable to admitting the truth—that David suspected the two of them really wouldn’t miss him in his absence.
“That’s not true,” said Meredith indignantly. “We do lots of other things. We make art, David.”
David took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not mean,” he said, choosing his words precisely, “that you and he do nothing but smoke cigarettes, but rather that he is the only person with whom you smoke cigarettes.”
“Oh, you should have said.”
“Come on,” growled David. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
—
McKinley Hendricks was a tall, lanky man with snakebite piercings and a graduate degree in political science.
He rarely smiled—in no small part, David suspected, due to the latter—and had a penchant for wearing black leather and anything that could be adorned with spikes.
Tonight was no exception to either his expression or attire, though the bleach-blond streaks he’d sported in his Afro a few weeks before were now bright teal.
In his downtown apartment, located on the second floor above the antiques shop, the party was well underway.
David recognized a few familiar faces from the Rat Cellar in the crowd, even if the corresponding names escaped him.
False prophet’s balm circulated in abundance, and fairy lights strung along the walls cast a hazy glow through its sweet heavy smoke.
Currently, Kinley was occupied rolling a joint as he pointed out various party guests.
“You know Yvonne and Jalisa—my sister and her wife,” he added, presumably for David’s benefit, “and that’s Spherical Jones over there talking to Ricardo—were you at the Rat Cellar the last time he came through town?
And I know you’ve never met—hey, ladies,” Kinley interrupted himself as two women approached side by side, one unsmiling and dark-haired, clad in full goth attire, the other cornsilk-blond in a long peasant dress of soft blue.
“Hi, Kinley,” said the brunette.
“Hi, Meredith,” said the blonde at the same time.
“Oh, good, I’d hoped you’d be here.” After air-kissing them both, Meredith said, “David, this is Mary Alice and Corpseflower. David is my roommate,” he explained to the pair.
“Hi, David,” they said in unison, studying him with a frank appreciation that was admittedly rather flattering even if thoroughly misplaced.
“Oh, er—pleased to meet you, of course.”
Meredith tutted at them. “Go on, can’t you see you’re embarrassing him? Don’t mind them, David, they’re harmless, really.”
The two women exchanged a look; then the blonde turned her attention to Kinley as he patted down his pockets in search of a cigarette lighter, offering her own instead.
The brunette, meanwhile, leaned in very close to whisper to Meredith—much closer than necessary, in David’s opinion.
Though he could excuse the whispering given the din of the crowd and the thumping bass emanating from the stereo, he was far less inclined to overlook the gross familiarity of her hand resting against Meredith’s chest, her eyelashes brushing his cheek as she pulled back with an expectant expression.
He didn’t seem to mind, however, so David confined himself to silent disapproval as he sipped his beer.
And now Meredith was blushing, which was somehow worse. His knuckles ghosted over her bare shoulder, and his voice dropped a little lower as he murmured something conciliatory and barely audible.
David turned away to give them privacy, but still caught a few words: “—no, no, last time was lovely…just not tonight, I don’t think…wouldn’t be fair to you, would it?”