Chapter 12 Diantha
Diantha
Aren’t Saturday mornings for sleeping in? Reading the paper? Eating chocolate chip pancakes with the company of a new lower?
Apparently not in Echidna, since everyone and their damned brother has descended upon Pandora’s Cup in some sort of secret competition to order the most convoluted espresso-based beverage.
No Funnies for me. I get to work brunch and lunch rush while trying to fight off memories of the grizzly feast-cum-attempted murder I witnessed moments after humping Orfeo’s thigh.
Speak of the devil.
“Orfeo.” My eyes almost bulge out of my head. I attempt to formulate a sentence multiple times:
What—
What the hell—
Why are you—
Finally, I land on: “What can I get you?”
He’s wearing a perfectly worn-in letterman jacket, a pristine pair of Sambas, and a U of E hat pulled down so low it meets the top of his sunglasses. If he weren’t so damn attractive, I’d think he was attempting to commit some sort of sex crime.
He leans over the service counter, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Can you talk? Just for a moment.”
“Um.” I turn back toward Evie. Her eyes are so wide I’m afraid she may also be at risk of losing one. Go, she mouths, snapping a bar towel at me. Then, louder, “Take your break.”
I round the counter and lead Orfeo through the swinging kitchen doors to the back alley. Far from any curious ears, I round on him.
“What the hell, you’re outside? During the day?”
“I know. Look—” He slides off his sunglasses and pushes back at the brim of his baseball cap.
When the weak, mid-January sun hits his face, something extraordinary happens.
It’s not just that his skin begins to almost glow as if there are thousands of microscopic flames beneath his skin, his face also begins to transform.
His eyes burn a fiery, molten kaleidoscope of yellow and orange, pupils constricting to pinpoints.
His fangs expand, longer and sharper and whiter than what I saw last night.
He looks less…less human. It’s like walking into a room you didn’t know had a mirror and catching your own reflection.
Pure adrenaline and fear and shock almost immediately eclipsed by relief.
It’s as if whatever humanity my brain has been automatically assigning to Orfeo’s gorgeous face disappears and his actual self is on full display. Bronzed, stunning, terrifying.
My breath catches in my throat, and before I can even fully understand what’s happening, he yanks down the bill of his hat. And it’s gone—the fear, the awe. His skin returns to its usual olive complexion and his eyes don’t blaze so fiercely, though they’ve retained some yellowness.
“Quite an inconvenience, isn’t it? Unfortunately, we will only ever be able to go to private beaches.”
I know he’s being sarcastic, but the idea of jetting off on a beach vacation with Orfeo makes my mouth go dry.
“Jesus Christ, Orfeo.” I grab his sleeve, yanking him back into the kitchen—or, I guess, he lets me yank him back into the kitchen. “What if someone sees you?!”
“Humans only see what they want to see.” He frowns down his nose at me. “You’re all quite lazy.”
“Oh, thanks. I’ve been up since five, making cappuccinos and asking people if they want their croissants toasted or not, but sure.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Do you…want to talk about last night?”
“Not yet. Not here. It’s too…” He shakes his head. “The woman is okay and the vampire has been vanquished.”
“That was a vampire last night, then?”
Orfeo grimaces. “I told you.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m not…I’m not afraid. Can you tell me what’s going on? What do you need to talk about?”
“I think I may have a solution to your mother’s problem.
It’s extremely dangerous and…and frankly, I may hate myself for bringing you into this, but we can help each other.
You could free your mother and…” He reaches for my hand, just like he did last night.
He takes my palm and lays it flat against his.
His heat radiates through me, a tidal wave of excitement and comfort that makes my thighs throb. “You could change my life forever.”
I nod. My mind is already racing. Selfishly, for a moment, I imagine him becoming human again. I imagine what it would be like to have him that way.
“Can you come to my home tonight? Around seven?” he asks, snapping me out of my daydream. “I’m staying in the carriage house at the Collegiate Inn on the road to New Hope. Bring your best dress.”
“My best dress?” I laugh. “Why do I feel like you and I have extremely different ideas of what my best dress should look like?”
He drops my hand and steps back, sizing me up. “You are, what? A size eight? Ten?”
My mouth drops open. “Okay, first of all—never ask a lady about her dress size.”
“What? It’s a simple question, Diantha. I have something that might work.”
“Yeah…I’m a size ten.” I frown at him. “Fucking crazy that you knew that, by the way.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be late, please. Collegiate Inn, carriage house. And here is my number…” Orfeo hands me a slip of paper with seven digits printed in almost comically ornate script.
“Do you…text?”
“No, I do not text. Call me if you need me.”
“Sir, yessir,” I say, slipping the paper into the front pocket of my apron.
Orfeo’s already by the kitchen door when he pauses and turns back to face me. “Diantha?”
“Yeah?”
He pauses, one hand tight on the doorknob, the other dragging back and forth over the sharp angle of his jaw.
His eyes lock on mine, and I feel that same spark of heat I felt last night as our bodies worked against each other.
In a few steps, he crosses the room. In one more, we are chest to chest. My breath snags and my heart rate doubles.
Orfeo presses his hands into the fridge doors, slowly backing me up until I feel the cold steel against my palms.
His arms cage my body, and he brings his lips so close to mine I can feel the electricity moving between us.
I try to keep my breathing even, but the sheer bliss of having him this close is like a nicotine buzz, the last hit of a drunk cigarette.
It’s the first bite of chocolate cake. The first stroke of a new hand between your thighs.
I lean my head back and let my lips part in a whimper.
Then, he brings his cheek to mine, all heat and dopamine and comfort. I coil into him, like a cat nuzzling into its favorite blanket. His nose traces the contour of my neck, then my jaw, until I feel his lips against my ear and his hands sweeping around my lower back.
“Sei dolcissima,” he whispers. “So sweet. Like a dove.”
I swallow hard. His voice washes over me, an invisible third hand coaxing me into his orbit. I rest my palms on his shoulders, melting into his touch. “I thought I was prickly?”
“Mm.” He pulls back and smiles at me. A soft smile. “Only when you’re nervous.”
And then he finally—finally— presses his lips to mine.
“Are you fucking the Italian vampire?”
“Evie!” I look up from my grilled cheese. The café is empty and we’re finally enjoying the calm and quiet after the lunch rush.
“What?” She laughs. “You came flying out of the kitchen like he’d just hoisted you up onto the island and ravished you.”
“It’s not like that. Not exactly.”
“Okay, what’s it like then?”
Evie and I have never really spoken about my love life. Mostly because it’s been nonexistent since I moved to Echidna. There’d been a few dates with a TA who ghosted after our drunken hookup. But there hadn’t been a lot of, uh, raw material from that encounter.
I throw her a bone and say, “Hot. Very, very hot. Like, I almost lose my mind when he kisses me—and you know how much the concept of insanity scares me.”
“Really?” She flashes me a shit-eating grin. “And the vampire thing is…is just, like, a fetish, right? He’s into blood play?”
I shake my head, holding back laughter. “I don’t know, what do your senses tell you, Ev? Does he feel supernatural when you’re around him?”
I can tell by the look on her face that she’s never thought of using her powers this way.
Maybe it’s not that Evie isn’t a witch; perhaps she’s just not a very good one.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” she admits.
“But he’s definitely stunning. Supernaturally handsome.
And generous. He put twenty bucks in the tip jar.
” She throws me a wink. “Always a good sign.”
Evie lets me keep the twenty-dollar tip and, with a little extra money in my pocket, I decide to treat myself to a manicure and pedicure.
Main Street is mostly desolate, with everyone having been chased inside by the wind chill.
Someone stands on a ladder outside Hades House, repainting the trim.
It looks like they’ve already put a fresh coat on the door.
I shudder at the thought of why new paint was needed so urgently.
With my nails painted a matching shade of deep, dark red, I dig into my very humble closet, searching for something suitable—all while knowing my “best” is pretty worse for wear. I like my style and I like my clothes, but undeniably, I’m broke as shit.
My options include a red satin number with a matching neck scarf, a simple black tube dress, and a coffee-colored chiffon cocktail situation. Rather than waste another moment trying to settle this decision, I zip the dresses into a garment bag and get to work on finger-coiling my hair.
If there is one thing in this universe that I have minimal control over, it’s my frizz.
My twenty-year-old car whines as I jam my foot down on the accelerator, willing us along another winding, hilly road. I always felt like this Honda would outlive me, but now I’m not so sure.