Chapter Twelve November Seventh
Pine Ridge, New York
AKA Euphoria
I asked for the lights off, so they are. I asked to be in my room, so we are. The only light is the digital numbers on my phone screen, showing me that it’s already midnight.
The rest, I leave up to Artie, even though he keeps trying to leave everything up to me.
We lay side by side, hands over clothing, rubbing and stroking.
His fingers find their way under my waistband first, and I hold my breath when his hand finds my wetness.
Is that gross?
“Ohh, you feel so good. And you like this!”
“How can you tell?”
“I always thought the wetter the better?” he asks, worry in his tone. “Wait, is that a myth? I’m not very experienced, either.”
“That isn’t a myth. I’ve never felt like this, never let myself.”
Artie leaves kisses across the skin of my neck and works lower as I keep unbuttoning one more button, each one a few minutes later than the last. The heat keeps building.
Growing. Artie nuzzles my breasts, the same pale pink as my skin, topped with small dark-maroon nipples.
When his tongue flicks over one, first hesitant, and then deliberate, my back arches, and my hips collide with his hand.
“Artie, yes. Like this. Like that!” I cry out, lost in sensations and too overwhelmed to explain. Overwhelmed in the best way, with my breasts on fire under his tongue and my crotch soaking his hand as he explores the layers of silky folds that guard my warmest, wettest secret spot.
“You never... No one has ever touched you? Here?”
“No. That’s just for you.”
“For us. So.” Artie rests his head above mine, eyes closing when I knead my way down his back, making him arch into me, too, so that I can almost imagine what it would be like when he’s inside of me.
“So, the first time can hurt. That’s what people say.
That’s why wetter is better. I don’t want to hurt you, so we could just do this tonight. The rubbing and kissing.”
I nod, relieved that I’m not failing his expectations, but also sad.
Because part of me knows it’s going to feel wonderful when he’s in me.
That this is how humans connect on the deepest physical level—how beings that are half-human, half-monster connect, too, it seems. “If it hurts, I’ll ask you to stop. ”
“But if I hurt you, that might mean you won’t—”
“Hey. I’m not going to stop feeling this way about you,” I whisper. “There’s a big difference between people hurting me on purpose and someone loving me and my body not being experienced.”
“You’re the best. But there’s another reason, too. Babies.”
“I’ll be quiet,” I promise, and hope I’m right. The book I was reading made it seem like sex was loud and full of a lot of swearing. “I don’t think I’ll wake Laurel.”
“No. We could... We could have another baby. I think.”
My mind fast forwards. It’s the same sick, dizzy, wonderful sensation of a plane taxiing down the runway and finally hitting the air. A baby of our own.
No, that’s Laurel. But a sibling for Laurel. Someone like her. A chance for her to never be alone. Maybe a little boy. A chance for Artie to have a son, a boy to raise into a man who will love and protect people.
“I want those things, but not yet,” I say, tongue sticking to my teeth as my mouth goes dry.
“You do? I mean, so do I! That’s great news, but I’m not ready for two babies either. One is keeping us busy. We’ll have to get some protection at the store.”
“But just touching doesn’t...?”
Artie’s lips find mine, then my right breast, then my left. His fingers find and massage the hard spot between my legs that feels the best.
I know names of parts, or at least I think I do, since I’ve never had anyone to tell me if I’m correct, and for a second, I’m furious that I was forced to be my own teacher 90% of the time, that books were my instructors, and that I had no one to discuss the material with.
Mostly, though, I’m happy that I kept going. That I didn’t break, even though I now understand that’s what Barton ultimately wanted. Happy because I can ask Artie. That he can explain, that he will explain, with love.
“Ah. Ahh!” My gasps build.
“Good?”
“Yes!” I whimper and lock my leg over his. My hands tear at his shirt—literally tearing, by the way, because I guess my monstrous strength comes out when I least expect it. “Oh, no!”
“I get one of these every year, don’t worry about the old shirt,” Artie grunts, mouth on my neck, sucking and nibbling. His hand moves harder and faster. “Tell me when.”
I’m not sure when, or even what—and then it happens. The building gasps and building pleasure crest as one, and my thighs shake around his hand.
“Did you come?” Artie asks when I go quiet and still, and hold his wrist with nerveless fingers.
“Does it feel like the best thing ever, and you want more, but you also have no muscles left?” I ask.
“Yes. Just like that.”
“Then I came.”
SHE CAME. SHE SLEPT. I came—in the bathroom across the hall, so I wouldn’t disturb her. But then I crawled back into bed and curled around her. My Imogene. My love. Her skin is warm against mine, and she clings to me in her sleep.
I think I’ll wake her up with breakfast in bed, and maybe a round two...
EAR-SPLITTING WAILS catapult Imogene and me out of bed. I don’t know if it’s day or night, but a topless Imogene is racing for the crib in Laurel’s room, while I’m close behind.
“Oh, God. She’s hot! Like burning up!” Imogene cries, picking Laurel up and pressing her hand to her cheek.
“She’s got a fever?” I hiss.
Something is wrong. Laurel wails and rubs her ears, tugging the right one and screaming like someone’s stabbing her.
I’m panicking.
But Imogene is coming unglued.
Sobbing. Kissing Laurel with shaking lips, rocking her desperately.
“Honey, she’s probably just got a cold. Maybe an ear infection.”
“I took her out to the park, and it was so cold today...”
“She was left lying naked outside in the mountains. She’s not dying from a trip outside in her stroller, all bundled up,” I reassure.
“Dying?” Imogene whispers, then sits down hard in the cheap, build-it-yourself armchair that’s in Laurel’s room.
“Not dying. Look, you call Libby. Ask what pediatrician they use. I’ll look up what to do online and see if I can find a local doctor. Maybe she’s just hungry?”
“No,” Imogene says emphatically, and I don’t question her.
“Baby pain reliever and fever reducer. Check her temperature.” I scroll through my phone and read Dr. Internet’s advice, feeling like a failure. “I don’t have any of this stuff.”
“It’s four in the morning. The grocery store is closed.”
“It is, but it’ll be open in a couple of hours. If not, I’ll drive out of town, find an all-night pharmacy. Look, she’s calming down when you hold her,” I reassure, and wrap my arms around them both.
“What if it is my fault? What if she’s really sick?” Imogene whispers as she kisses Laurel’s forehead.
What is she really asking? “Well, you’d stay by her side until she was all better, and I’d stay by both of you.”
“If it’s my fault—”
“How could it be your fault? For it to be your fault, you’d have to want to hurt Laurel on purpose, and I’ll believe that when Hell freezes over.”
DR. VAUGHN ISN’T SHOCKED by Immy’s appearance, and he gives us a kindly smile when we stumble into his office at eight, his first appointment, desperate first-time parents camped out on his door.
Even though I’m not Laurel’s birth mother, Artie doesn’t correct him when he greets us, “Well, hello, Mom and Dad. First time with a sick baby?”
“Yes. I think it’s her ear.” Artie says, unstrapping Laurel from her carrier and putting her in his lap.
“Oh, that’s an easy fix if it is. Hello, cutie. Hello!” Dr. Vaughn gets Laurel to stop half-whining, which she’s been doing nonstop. He waves a bright red and yellow ball in one hand and peeks in her ear with his otoscope while she’s distracted.
“Yep, that’s an infection, but just a little one. And baby krampuses are usually really tough. This little lady must be spoiled and happy all the time to even let you know so early.”
“You’ve—you’ve seen them before?” I ask.
“No, but I do a fair bit of reading about the paranormal community. Opening a practice in Pine Ridge has made me one heck of a reader. The library in town is top-notch. And there’s a woman in the computer science department.
.. Dr. G, I call her. She gets me all my obscure occult-type materials that the magic shop and the library don’t have handy. ”
As Vaughn speaks, he continues his examination.
“Other than this ear bugaboo, she’s a healthy baby.
Half-krampus, half-human, just like Mom, hm?
” His eyes cloud for a second. “Normally, we’d see some fading of the krampus characteristics since she’s only a quarter krampus, but sometimes those genes are strong.
If you’re thinking about siblings, you should know they might be almost entirely human-looking. ”
“That’s fine,” I blurt. “But Laurel is—”
“Right as rain after twenty-four hours on antibiotics—but keep her on the full seven-day course, or it’ll be worse.
Also, has she gotten to the very splashy stage when she takes her bath?
” Vaughn boops Laurel’s nose and puts her flat on a special scale in the corner of the room.
He coaxes her body to stretch out, and I can see that there’s also a ruler on top of the flat surface.
“She has been loving her baths lately. Very wriggly,” Artie confirms.
“She probably got an excessive amount of water in her ear. The pointed shape—it all trails down into the ear and then can trickle into the ear canal. I’d suggest a hair dryer on low for five minutes after her bath, making sure you aim it at the ears.”
“We will. Do we have a hair dryer?” Artie looks at me.
“We’ll get one when we get her medicine.” I take Laurel back.
“90th percentile for humans, and just about average for what she is. You’re doing a beautiful job, parents. I’ll just— Ooh.” Dr. Vaughn stops as he starts typing on his laptop.
“Ooh?” Artie and I say as one.
“There’s no insurance completed. I’ll send you back out to the reception desk to get that filled out so I can put this prescription through.”
“Ah. Doc, we’ll pay out of pocket. Her birth certificate isn’t ready yet. We had a home birth, and there’s red tape in completing the request. Without the birth certificate, my insurance hasn’t added Laurel. Yet.”
“Hm. Well, I understand the home birth, especially if you’re new to paranormal-friendly Pine Ridge.
I want you to make an appointment with Alban and Alain Wymark.
They’re lawyers. And warlocks. Alban’s twins are my patients, and I’ll vouch for him.
If you need something filed or found—” he meets my eyes, “like maybe something you think the regular courts wouldn’t handle properly, you see them and tell them I sent you.
Things like birth certificates, Social Security cards, identification papers that members of the supernatural community sometimes neglect to get until they arrive in Pine Ridge and realize they don’t have to hide.
.. Yes. They’ll take care of everything.
In the meantime, we’ll put this in after you get your insurance information updated.
I’m pretty sure we have a prescription discount card for you, Dad.
You’ll fill out some information and get the app set up on your phone.
It’ll be more than it would be with insurance, but less than it would be without the card. ”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Vaughn. We’ll get an appointment with those guys. Do you know if they’re expensive?” Artie asks, taking the black-and-yellow cardboard card that Dr. Vaughn pulls from his desk drawer.
“Not in this case. They’ll work out a payment plan, too. This community takes care of each other, especially if there might be members with ‘limited options.’”
I squeeze Artie’s hand and breathe out a sigh of relief. Laurel’s okay. And if these warlock guys can get her a birth certificate... Maybe they can get me one, too?