Raven Chapter 15 Divine Software and Faulty Hardware 180 #2
I don't wait for a response, sliding out of the center and into the labyrinth of cluttered worktables. Silas swats at the air, eyes darting like he's witnessing new horrors every few seconds. The guys have moved into a huddle and are talking in low, urgent tones.
I’m almost out of the mess of worktables when my feet stutter to a stop. Caught like a deer in headlights as my focus is dragged entirely to Silas.
It isn't the sight of him that holds me, but the feeling that slams into me from across the room—a wave of psychic vertigo, a silent, screaming static that grates against my soul.
I don't hear words or see visions. I feel it: a bottomless, echoing ache, a cacophony of fractured noise sanding him down to a raw nerve.
And I know it. Not what it is, but what it feels like. Forty years as a ghost, watching a world I could never touch. His prison is a cage of unbearable sensation; mine was a cage of unbearable silence. The isolation is the same. We’re both haunted, just by different ghosts.
No wonder the guy had a few screws loose. I don't think I could function with that psychic screeching sanding down my mind 24/7. Then again, anyone who looks at that kind of power and thinks, "Yeah, I'll trade my sanity for that," was probably not playing with a full deck to begin with.
I tear my eyes away, the vertigo still clinging to the edges of my awareness.
My mind is roaring. I move on autopilot, letting my hands trail over cool, pulsating crystals and warm, intricate brass gears to ground myself.
A glint of gold catches my eye through a doorway and my body moves towards it without permission.
A tall, ornate mirror stands before me, its surface swirling with a faint, oily sheen.
I can’t help but drift closer to it, desperate to see if it’s the same in this reality as it was in the one I was just dragged out of.
The gold frame still glitters, the gems and knotted metalwork still reminding me of the twinkling universes under Jim’s skin.
The only difference is the surface itself. The ancient, living energy I felt in my ghostly form is absent. I jolt when I realize I never questioned that energy before. Never even registered its existence.
Gods, I need a book, a manual, just anything that can tell me what the hell is going on. I’m only a few days into this existence, and I’m already exhausted by all the things being thrown at me.
I shake myself. Now is not the time to wallow in self-pity. I’m here, and it’s where I’ve always wanted to be. I’m going to enjoy it, dammit. Even if it hurts.
Movement drags my focus back into the slowly swirling depths of the mirror, and I can swear I see the same figure I’ve seen in the mirror before.
I reach out, desperate for answers. Before I can touch it though, a streak of chocolate-brown fur skitters down the ornate frame, stopping at eye level with me.
I yelp, snatching my hand back.
It chitters—rapid, squeaky sounds—then shimmies up the frame in a way that seems to defy physics.
"You must be his familiar," I say, then stop. "Wait. Have you been here the whole time? Five years in this workshop and I never noticed you?"
It chitters, and I swear it sounds like laughter.
Right. So either I'm incredibly unobservant, or this little bastard is a master of stealth. Given my track record, probably both.
Its eyes seem to linger on my chest as it continues chittering. I look down at where he’s staring and groan.
Oh great, the ferret is a pervert.
Definitely a he. No woman would be that blatant. We have standards .
Can't even be mad, though. A good pair of tits makes everyone look twice.
It takes me an embarrassingly long minute to realize he’s staring at the crystal pendant resting between them—and not the tits themselves.
“You like this?” I ask, lifting the crystal. He just squeaks and starts wiggling.
I shrug, not feeling any hesitation about letting him get a look at it, so I quickly slip it off and hand it to him. When his little fingers meet mine, the static—that low-level screeching I've been picking up from Silas—quiets completely.
A wave of understanding hits me. This isn’t just the pet Silas thinks he is. This is a partner. Silas hears things—screams, static, the universe's worst hits on an endless loop—and this little creature soaks it up. Living, breathing noise-canceling charm.
“So you’re the reason he’s still, at least a little, sane,” I say, smiling at him. “He’s lucky to have you.”
He chitters again wildly, as if in agreement, before reaching up into some hidden magic pocket and grabbing out a small, shiny, discarded gear. His little hand reaches out and hands it to me. I take it from him, hug it to me.
My first gift.
“Do you think the guys will help me frame it?” I ask him.
“Or maybe, if you can find another, I can make a pair of earrings?” I reach up and feel my bare lobes.
“No holes. Okay, new plan.” I look at him as if I’m about to set a very serious mission debrief.
“I need a needle, a book on how to make earrings, another gear or some other bauble you find fitting, and jewelry-making equipment.” He listens intently, nodding along with every item, and I smile, confident that I’ve found a new partner in crime.
“Well, now, that's quite a list. Lucky for you, wisp, I'm feelin' helpful.” Kieran says from behind me, and both the ferret and I let out a startled screech. He turns to the ferret. “If ye can find somethin’ to match that gear Widget, I’ll get the rest.”
The little ferret—Widget—nods before scampering off.
“Oh my gods, his name is Widget? That’s adorable.” I can’t help but vibrate with excitement as I turn towards him. “Is there a way to make a ferret a t-shirt? I have ideas.”
"If ye decided ye needed the song from a star, I'd just ask which one," he says simply, and I melt into an emotional puddle on the floor.
Instead of responding like a normal person, my brain and body have a catastrophic communication failure.
My body decides the only appropriate reaction is to climb Kieran like a tree.
My brain, lagging a full second behind as it tries to scoop my melted emotions off the floor, sends a jumbled abort command.
The result is a violent, full-body twitch that sends me lurching sideways. Kieran's hand darts out to catch me, but my body is on its own mission. All I can do is curl into a ball, desperately protecting the first gift ever given to me: a shiny little gear from an adorable ferret named Widget.
My hip and shoulder slam into the ground in quick succession, and a pained groan escapes me. Look, I get it. Pain is a thrilling reminder that I'm alive, physical, and finally here. But let's be real—it's still pain. And honestly? I'd rather just... not.
My soul is tired, and I have a very specific vision for my corporeal experience: a loving relationship with my guys, a lifetime supply of chocolate, and multiple orgasms per day. Is that too much to ask?
As if summoned by the thought, Dre materializes out of nowhere, his hands gently helping me up. Maybe his doctor-sense was tingling. It's very on-brand for him, and I appreciate him for it. Right now there's nothing I want more than to be utterly and completely pampered by this stunning man.
Dre guides me to a more stable standing position, his hands warm and steady on my arms. "Are you alright? That was quite a fall."
"I'm fine, the floor just attacked me," I mutter, brushing myself off. Then I lean in closer, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "Quick question since you're here... I think there’s something wrong with my custard-filled disaster bag. There’s no way the amount of leaking that has been happening has been normal. Also, the gods definitely have it out for me, so I figure there’s a tumor somewhere or some similar ticking time bomb.”
His brow furrows, a mix of concern and confusion in his light blue eyes. "Your... custard bag?"
"Yeah. This body. It's malfunctioning.” I motion to the apex of my thighs. “A few times my body has gone all tight and zingy, and there’s this… persistent dampness. It's like a leak. Is that normal? Because it feels very not-normal."
Kieran makes a choked noise off to the side.
I scrunch up my face, trying to find the right words through my mental montage of all the ways this body has betrayed me today. "I think the wiring might be faulty. As those humans say, I'm built different. But like, incorrectly .”
When my eyes meet Dre’s again, they are dark, his gaze intense and seemingly drawn to my neck. Kieran is suddenly closer too, his usual playful smirk replaced by a look of smoldering heat. All I can smell is cloudberries, pine, and something wild.
“Godsdammit, back up! You guys are making me leak again. I’m not sure if I have a set amount of leaks in me before I need to get serviced like some sort of car.
” I grumble but can’t help but lean in and get a good whiff of Kieran.
Then take a giant step away from them, asking, “What do you smell like?”
Their smoldering gazes have not cooled; if anything, they're hotter, and I cannot think of anything better than being sandwiched between the two of them. Sadly, being that close seems to short-circuit my brain, and I need answers. I'm not going to get them by licking the two delicious supes.
Or will I?
I take a step forward to move between them again but, before I can test my brilliant theory, a cool, stern voice cuts in. “Sea salt and amber.”
When I turn too quickly, my feet betray me again, and I stumble into Mr. Made of Stone himself. He catches me with effortless strength, sets me aside with a firm grip, then levels a cool, disapproving glare at the other two.
But when that intense focus shifts to me, my body does something I don't fully understand. My breath catches. My skin flushes. And that persistent ache between my legs suddenly has a lot to say.
Why does his disapproving stare feel like a promise I want to cash in on?