Chapter Sixteen • Chapstick • Lillith
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Imiss Damien.
I miss him all the time.
He’s been coming to the shop every day he can, but it’s been getting busier for him.
He has an album to record with his band, and they still have tour dates in other cities soon.
I’ve been trying to do all of the reading I can while he’s busy, but it’s hard not to be distracted by daydreaming about him.
He’s been a really good sport about my supposed UTI.
He hasn’t pushed or pressed me about sleeping together.
But all the kissing has left my lips in a constant state of pleasant bruising and not so pleasant chapping.
So I’m taking a little break from the never-ending stack of books to work on a salve for both my lips and Damien’s.
Gods, he is a good kisser, though. The best I’ve ever had.
I don’t remember a time when I was so content just to kiss someone for hours on end.
It makes me wonder what it will be like when we finally can sleep together.
It’s probably going to be explosive when we can put our physical chemistry to use if the day last week on the couch was any indication.
I set a small cauldron on my counter over bed of hot coals. I’m not fully focused as I place a few pellets of beeswax inside, along with coconut oil, shea butter, and sweet almond oil.
Maybe it was a bad idea to grind on his thigh and hand until I came, I think, as grabbing a metal stirrer and shifting the contents of the cauldron, watching the mixture come together.
The moment of weakness certainly walked the very thin line between fucking and not fucking.
And I know I left some... er... residue on his jeans and hand.
I hope it wasn’t enough to touch him with my curse.
As I work, a bell chimes from the door in the shop. Not the door to the outside—the door to The Buried City. It’s bespelled to only be heard by people who know about The Buried City and the “door” is more like a glamoured portal.
Visitors know to wait until I give them the okay to come through.
Normally I don’t make them wait long unless there is someone else in the store.
But Damien is supposed to be coming to the store at some point today.
With his habit of surprising me, I’m worried he’s going to show up while someone weird is here.
It’s not that I’m embarrassed by him or anything. I just worry about anyone from The Buried City knowing that there is someone precious to me in my life. I hesitate a moment before grabbing a vial of essential oils and a dropper, then finally say, ‘Coast is clear,’ to the empty store.
In strides none other than Bastion Bramblethorn, the last man I slept with and my friend since childhood. It’s rare to see him outside of The Buried City, and I can’t say that it’s a particularly welcome visit, considering the circumstances.
Bastion is like the sun incarnate. His hair is a warm strawberry gold and his skin is tawny despite his chronic distaste for leaving his subterranean abode.
He’s wearing his normal colors and fabrics—gawdy silks in royal blues with golden accents.
It reminds me that I need to return his pants to him.
He’s unique in that he’s always dressed like he’s on his way to a renaissance fair.
Today he wears a pair of blue velvet harem pants, decked out in golden embroidered stars and a gold silk vest over a peasant top that slips off his shoulders, exposing the tawny skin in a little sliver between the two garments.
Bastion and I... We’ve had this on-again off-again thing for years.
We have really great sexual chemistry, but we’re too incompatible when it comes to everything else.
It was an honor last year when he asked me to act as the goddess in his ritual.
It was a thrilling and powerful thing to engage in ceremonial sex magic with him, but the aftermath left a sour taste in my mouth that almost ended our friendship and ruined sex with him thereafter.
It felt so good to be worshipped by him for once, so when the reverence he had for me in the throes of that ecstatic trance state faded, I realized I needed something more.
“Bastion. What brings you out of your little corner of the underground?” I ask as he sidles lazily up to the counter and leans his weight on his elbows.
He peers into my cauldron, likely trying to figure out what I’m working on.
He’s a gifted practitioner, and often supplies helpful input whether it’s desired or not.
But today he appears to have little to say.
For once. At least not about my cauldron.
“A little birdie tells me you have a new devotee,” he says, his lip curling with wry amusement. “And also that you’re bereft of one ultra-powerful protection spell.”
I scowl at him. “I’m going to kill Wren,” I say.
“Don’t. She didn’t actually tell me; I caught some little glimpses of one of her premonitions,” he says with a casual flourish of his hand. “I thought I’d try to help you out.”
I squint at him. “Why? You never want to help me without asking for something in return.”
“Lilipad, we’ve been friends since we were children. I regret that our past intimacies have soured that,” he says. “You hardly ever come around since Beltane last year. Is it so hard to believe that I might miss you?”
“Bash, you know I adore you. But you’re not really known for your warmth and care. You tend to lean more into the aloof mysterious type, despite your choice to dress like a court jester.”
He rolls his eyes. “Please, you know how highly I regard you. I don’t think I need to shower you in platitudes to communicate. I did ask you to continue our lines together when we were kids. Remember?” he says.
“Oh, yay. Someone wants to breed me and leave me.”
“Well, now that you have a new plaything, we hardly have to worry about the longevity of a marriage.”
“No, we just have to work out how to co-parent,” I say flatly. My stomach sours with guilt. The factory is closed. There’s no uterus to house a fetus anymore.
He has no idea how far off the table this idea is. And I’m dreading the day I have to tell him that.
“I’m happy to take on the burden of care if you’re not prepared to give up your youth,” he says.
“I’m sure.”
“I’m getting sidetracked,” Bastion says. “I came here to help you.”
“Yes,” I say, happy to change the subject. “Pray tell. What have you brought me?”
Bastion reaches into his interior pocket and produces the world’s tiniest spell book. Seriously, the damn thing is the size of my palm. He sets it on the counter top and the worn gold foil of the embossed letters reads, in all caps, THE TINY BOOK OF COPIOUS KNOWLEDGE.
When I pick it up and thumb through, the text is tiny. It’s the size of the lettering on the back of a credit card. And the information is dense.
“It was my father’s. Man was a proper twat, but you know as well as I do that he loved collecting rare tomes. I took a few glances through this one and found some interesting notes on an adaptation of a cord cutting spell that might interest you.”
My stomach falls. I don’t want to do a cord cutting with Damien.
Bastion takes my hand and squeezes it. “Relax, Lilipad. Read it before you panic. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Although...I do wonder...”
“Wonder what?” I ask. The shift in his tone telegraphs some of that unsolicited advice.
“Well, it’s just that Wren seems to be under the impression you’re carrying quite the torch for this fellow.”
“Okay, and?”
“Is that wise?” he asks.
The bell for the front door of the shop jingles. Damien stands in the entryway. I snatch my hand out of Bastion’s and smile at the man I’m presently devoutly obsessed with. I don’t miss how his eyes bounce between me and my old friend. I wonder how it looked just now. Not suspicious, I hope.
“Oh, hello,” Bastion says, nonplussed. “I’m Bastion Bramblethorn, a friend of Lillith’s.”
He approaches Damien and shakes his hand.
“Oh, uh—cool. I’m—”
“Daniel. Daniel Hawthorne!” I interject. “Bastion was just leaving. Right, Bash?”
Bastion looks at me, his gaze roving over me from head to toe in that way it does when he’s offended. I frown at him and he rolls his eyes.
When I look at Damien, something that looks a little like hurt flashes in his face and I realize what it must have seemed like for me to give Bastion a fake name.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m embarrassed by him.
He can’t think that, right? I mean, he’s Damien Devastation.
I should be the one worrying if I’m embarrassing him.
“I think... I’ve worn a pair of your pants before, man,” Damien says to my horror.
Bastion tilts his head and looks over at me. “You kept those, did you?”
“You don’t typically react well when I get rid of any of your precious wardrobe,” I grumble.
“I gave those to you because I didn’t want them anymore,” he says. “You can do what you like with him. But if they have sentimental value to you, Lilipad...”
This. Fucking. Dick. I’m going to kick his ass the next time I’m in The Buried City.
“You should really go,” I say with a scowl. “I know you need to keep that appointment.”
Bastion rolls his eyes again and shakes his head. “Right, I suppose I better go since I have to take the scenic route. Nice to meet you, Danny. Treat our Lilipad well. She’s a goddess among commoners.”
“Don’t I know it,” Damien says with a tight smile as Bastion exits the front door.
There’s a secondary access to the portal to The Buried City in a nearby park.
It just requires jumping into a pond and soaking oneself.
A fate I greatly wish upon Bastion for his shitty comment about his pants. He totally did that on purpose. Ass.
I’m still seething after Bastion leaves. It keeps me distracted for a solid minute before Damien breaks my focus with a thumb over his shoulder. “That guy seemed like he was kind of a d-bag. He an ex or something?”
“Or something,” I sigh. “I’m sorry about him. He’s got a good heart, but he is a bit of a pompous prick.”
“Must be, to be dressed like that,” he teases. He smiles when I finally meet his two-toned gaze. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hi,” I say stepping up to him to wrap my hands around the back of his neck. “I’ve missed you. These last three days have been the longest of my life.”
“Tell me about it,” he says, leaning down to kiss me. “It’s been good to give my mouth a rest though.”
“Oh—that reminds me, I made you something,” I say, going back over to the cauldron I was working with and setting it off to the side. I add a couple more drops of essential oils to the mixture, not sure if the fragrance burned off because of the time it stayed on the heat.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Lip salve,” I say with a giggle. “I made enough for both of us to have some.”
“Matching lip balms? Cute.” He beams and I produce a couple shallow tins. I carefully pour equal parts of the mixture into both tins and set them aside.
“They have to cool,” I say. “But they should be ready to go by this evening.”
“Awesome,” he says. “So, hey. I thought we could go out tonight if you want. The guys want to drive out to the gas lamp district in San Diego. I thought we could get dressed up and go with them and then bail when they start to get lame.”
I smile but I’m sure it looks like a grimace. Even with the protective pendant I couldn’t leave Del Lune. I certainly can’t go without any protections.
“Thaaaat looks like a no,” he says.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I have to be here for the shop tomorrow and—”
He puts up a tattooed hand and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, little bird,” he says. “We’ll stay in.”
“I got a really good grocery haul today,” I tell him. “We can make dinner together and I can keep teaching you the Tarot.”
He smiles warmly and nods. “That sounds like a perfect night. Did you manage to get an appointment with the doctor? Make sure that thing you’ve got going on isn’t turning into a kidney infection?”
“Yep,” I lie, but it’s just about true with the book Bastion gave me. “I’ll be going in on Wednesday.”
“Sweet. Not that I’m like—it’s not because I’m eager to fuck. I mean, I am, but that’s not why I’m asking.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I know. I’m eager too,” I say. “How was the session today?”
“Great. We got a lot done,” he says with a smile. “I want to show you some of the stems when you’re done down here. Almost closing time, right?”
“It’s slow, maybe I’ll just close up early,” I say.
“Don’t,” he says. “I need to shower anyway, I got really sweaty today. Is it cool if I use your shower again?”
“Of course,” I say. “I’ll see you up there.”
He smiles as he leans down to kiss me again. “See you up there,” he agrees as he takes the stairs by twos and vanishes into my apartment.
I’m really starting to love this casual domesticity we have going on.
In fact, I’m really starting to love him.
And there is something kind of terrifying about that, if I’m being honest. I know Damien feels awkward.
I know he’s worried about the fact that we haven’t gone out again, that I won’t let him treat me to dinner or take me on trips, but he doesn’t understand how much it does for me that he’s simply into me.
I’ve never experienced someone so unapologetically attracted to me. So unapologetically eager to spend every spare moment with me. The fact that he’s willing to not only show me, but be open about it with others too.
He plays middle man between himself and the band.
Bringing me questions from Oren or asking Fletcher something for me and reporting back later.
Even arguing with Satoshi over the odd thing I’ve taught him.
He’s doing everything he can to embed me into his life and it’s nice to feel wanted. Appreciated. Admired.
Because I admire him so much. Every day since meeting him has felt like waking up in the fanfic of my dreams.
I round the counter and pick up Bastion’s tiny book, making sure to crack the spine out of spite. I reach up to the mounted magnifying glass I use to inspect jewelry and crystals and begin to read.
With any luck, this little book will actually hold the answers I need. With any luck, I can start treating Damien in the way he so very much deserves.