Chapter 60 #3
The trickster nodded. “Done. I like it.” He set the cage on the nightstand. “I’ll keep it right here. Feed it aphids and . . .”
“Larvae.”
“Right. Larvae. I’ll never give it a dish of water, and I’ll . . .”—he shrugged—“enjoy it. Thank you.”
The cruel one’s sister smiled and then held out the bracelet the trickster had given her. “Put it on me?”
He unlatched the bracelet and wrapped it around her wrist. The wind slipped over the cold chain, diving through the metal links.
“Ready?” the trickster asked.
He stood, and the cruel one’s sister stared up at him, a pleased smile on her lips.
“We never liked each other. But I bet you like me better than that insect.”
The trickster blinked.
“Admit it. After all, we’re going to have children together.”
At that, the cricket began to sing. It was a low, mournful melody. A sad, last-days-of-summer song.
The cruel one’s sister clapped. “See? I told you it could sing. Isn’t it pretty?”
The trickster didn’t look at the cage—he only watched the cruel one’s sister. “As long as we’re being honest,” he said, “we won’t be having children. I won’t be touching you. Ever. Thanks for the wedding gift.”
He turned and strode out of the bedroom.
The cruel one’s sister stared after him, a wide smile on her face. After the door shut and the trickster was gone, she smiled over her shoulder.
“Next time, when I tell you to sing, you sing, or I’ll pull off your legs.
” She laughed, and the sound was like the clinking of champagne glasses.
“By the way, did you see his shudder? He hates crickets. He thinks you’re disgusting.
He nearly let me kill you.” She shook the cage, rattling the cricket against the walls.
“I suppose he’s only seeing your true form.
Ugly, disgusting thing. You may think you were once something besides a creature, but you weren’t.
That’s a lie you told yourself. You’ve always been just an insect.
You’ve always been just a bug in my cage.
You may think otherwise, but that’ll pass.
Until then, enjoy the show. Tomorrow, my fiancé and I are getting married, and then .
. .” She stroked the satin duvet. “We’ll see. ”
She gave the lucky one a small wave and flounced from the room.
The wind moaned and settled on the soft bed, listening to the cricket’s frightened song.
Hours later, after the wind had trailed over the wedding hall and the poisoned arch and had listened to the Bards’ and the Clarks’ plans and precautions for the wedding, the trickster came back to his room. The wind trailed him, watching his shoulders sink as he shut and locked the door.
The Bards still lived in the penthouse downtown, but tonight, they and the Clarks would be staying in the half-constructed mansion. No conjurer ever left the site of their hall before a wedding.
The trickster stood at the closed door, his face wiped of all emotion.
Then he let out a ragged breath and scrubbed his hand over his exhausted features.
He looked so worn, so tired, and so much without hope that the wind wove a figure eight between his legs and then wrapped itself comfortingly around him. He shivered and then looked bleakly at the indentations where he and the cruel one’s sister had sat.
“What am I going to do?”
The cricket began a low, urgent song, and the trickster jerked in its direction.
“Oh.” He laughed and shook his head, then he thrust his hand through his dark hair. “I forgot you were in here.”
He strode to the nightstand and crouched down in front of the cage. He touched the bars, running his finger over the smooth wood.
The cricket’s song grew louder.
“If she made you, are you a listening device? Do you report back everything I say?” The cricket sang even louder, and the trickster’s eyes lit with amusement. “Or are you an evil cricket? As twisted as she is? Or . . .”—he tapped the bars—“are you like me? Caught.”
His mouth tightened, and then he lifted the latch and opened the door. “I don’t like seeing anything in a cage.”
The cricket stared at him, and he stared back.
“Go on. You’re free.”
He stood and stepped back, waiting for the cricket to hop outside the cage.
The cricket stood still, staring at him.
The trickster shook his head. “She’s right. You are stupid.”
He crouched down again and nudged the cricket from the cage with his pointer finger. The cricket squatted on the nightstand and then climbed onto the trickster’s hand. He shuddered and stared at the insect.
“Sorry,” he said. “I really don’t like bugs.
At all. I’m trying very hard not to squash you.
Basically because I think Last would go insane if I did.
Not that she isn’t already insane, but even more so.
Losing you, fine. Crushing you.” He shrugged.
“She acted like she wouldn’t mind if we killed you, but .
. . Why am I talking to a bug? I’m losing my mind.
” He gave the cricket an appalled look and brushed it off his hand onto the floor. “Go on. You’re free.”
When the cricket didn’t move, he swiped at it. “Go!”
The cricket jumped then climbed onto the nightstand and quickly hopped back into the cage.
The trickster stared at it. “What’s wrong with you?”
It hunched at the back of cage and stared at him with bright black eyes.
“I’m not going to lock the cage . . .” He stared at the cricket and then sighed. “Fine. I will. My luck, if I don’t lock the door, some rat’ll come in and eat you. Wait, that reminds me. You need food. Aphids. Larvae.” He shuddered. “Because one bug isn’t enough. I’ll be back.”
A cricket song later, the trickster strolled tiredly into the bedroom carrying a Styrofoam container full of tiny insects. He pushed a few through the bars.
“Here,” he said, and when the cricket ignored them, he sighed. “Well, don’t say I didn’t try.”
He turned his back to the cage and pulled his shirt off, displaying the mottled jackaltooth coloring that had extended past his shoulder and over his back and chest. He stripped down and then folded the blankets back on his bed.
He climbed in, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m getting married tomorrow.”
The wind settled onto the pillow next to him.
“No, don’t try to talk me out of it. I already know what you’re going to say.
” He smiled at the ceiling. “Last was right. Crickets are nice companions.” He turned his head and looked over at the bug.
“Although I truly think you should’ve taken the chance and left.
Now you’re stuck in a cage eating larvae.
” His mouth twisted. “With me. Bad luck, right?”
The cricket chirped, and the trickster smiled.
“What? You think it’s good luck? No. Let me tell you about good luck.” His smile softened, and he stretched his legs out on the bed. “Never mind. I don’t know what you’ll share with my soon-to-be wife.”
The cricket made a high, outraged noise.
The trickster laughed. “I like you. I mean, your eating habits are disgusting, and you are incredibly ugly. But, well, I’m going to be incredibly ugly soon too.
There is that. Did you know, I don’t actually want to marry Last?
Will you tell her that? No? You’re just a cricket? Just an insect? That’s good.”
He smiled at the ceiling and let out a long breath.
“It’s fine. I’m just a Bard. A loyal one. It’s my curse, being loyal. I’ll marry Last, because that’s what the Bard wants. But I wonder why she’s marrying me. Beyond the obvious black widow plot. She’s not subtle, you know?”
The wind sniffed then spun in a circle and plopped back down on the pillow.
The trickster reached over and flicked off the nightstand’s lamp. The room descended into a deep, still darkness.
The trickster let out a long, tired breath.
It was long past dusk, but the wind knew the boy would wait. He’d want to hear what the wind had learned.
The cricket began to sing. Its song sounded like coins thrown into a fountain. A sweet, honeyed melody flowed soothingly through the dark room.
The wind blew gently over the trickster’s cheeks. It sighed at the soft curling of his lips.
“This song reminds me,” the trickster said, “of someone I love.”
He fell asleep smiling.