I Want To Hold Your Hand
Delores
I like the patio best before the sun gets high enough to make it too exposed.
It’s barely past eleven, and already the stone is radiating up warmth while we eat.
The walls of the library and annex close around the patio so tightly that I could probably jump from one side to the other, if I wasn’t already way too into the lunch Chess packed for us.
The little patch of Renard’s garden running along the southern wall is almost obvious with its damp soil, deep green spikes, and the gleam of new moss where he watered it before we sat down.
This is the first year since Apex that he’s bothered with a garden, and it makes me happy to see him working on it.
There are only two chairs, and they don’t match.
The table is a scarred old bistro number that isn’t fancy, but the food is pure Chessie homemade, so it’s fine.
He made sweet potato and feta wraps, a container of seed crackers, and a little dish of tapenade with a side of cut veggies so pretty I almost don’t want to eat them.
There are also two enormous mugs of what turns out to be spiced tea, not coffee, because he’s trying to fill me with beneficial herbs and stuff now.
I don’t mind, especially since he sent a few meat sticks as well to make certain that I get enough protein.
I poke at my wrap, tearing off pieces with the deliberate slowness of someone who is absolutely not looking at the person across from them.
It’s not that I don’t want to see him; it’s just easier to keep my eyes on the line of new plantings, where the pale-stemmed moss is already pretending to be settled in, even though Renard said it needs weeks to really grip.
My gargoyle eats like he does everything else—slowly, keeping his hands perfectly clean with monkish patience.
He’s been talking about the garden, but I think that’s to get me comfortable and chatting.
I don’t know why that is, but it seems like my very internal mate has something to talk about and doesn’t want to come at it directly.
“There’s a logic to planting,” he says, “but not the kind you find in books, ma petite. At least, not for these seeds. I cannot recall the Old Fae names anymore, but the moss is from the ancient hybrid lines, so if it takes, we will know by how it changes color at dusk.” He points at the moss, then the herbs, and then the border of tiny white flowers.
“It must fuse with its neighbor, or it is useless. They will not bloom for another two weeks, I think. Maybe three, if the cold returns. But once the rootlets have bonded, you cannot pull them apart except with fire.”
I nod, more to show I’m listening than because I have anything to add. “So you’re making an anti-vampire mat on the wall?”
“Call it that if you like. If nothing else, it is pleasant to look at and very few things are pleasant in September, as you have noticed.” He watches me, and I can feel the scrutiny, but he doesn’t push.
Instead, he sips his tea before telling me which plants he found, where the soil came from, how Chess bribed a campus groundskeeper with baklava to get a bag of volcanic sand for drainage.
Instead of paying attention as closely as I should, my eyes keep flicking to the new plantings, counting the leaves or the white dots of the herbs instead of holding his gaze.
It’s stupid, but I don’t have the energy to pretend I’m not still rattled from last night.
I definitely do not want to discuss that, and with Rennie being so talkative, I’m a tad worried it’s going to come up soon.
Maybe that’s what he wants me to spill my guts about? I’m not sure.
Rennie is a patient guy, but eventually, he nudges the conversation toward it, and my guess is proved right. “You are quiet, ma chérie. Last night—when we left the forest, you said nothing all the way home. That is unusual. Do you want to talk about whatever was bothering you?”
I freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth.
The world shrinks down to the moss on the wall and the worn wood of the table under my hand.
I have three options right now—lie, change the subject, or actually get it off my chest. Option one isn’t my style and option two he’ll pretend not to notice, so I’ll spend the rest of the day feeling gross about it.
Option three means I’ll have to say out loud that something unexpected and supernatural is happening to me, again, and I don’t really know what the hell it is.
After a second, I put the fork down and let my shoulders sag as I admit, “Something was off, that’s all.
It wasn’t the vampires, though I know they were there.
There was something else in the woods, and it…
” I search for a word and come up empty.
“I don’t know what it was, though. You guys didn’t notice it, so I was probably imagining things. ”
He nods slowly, the way he does when he’s turning a thought over in his head. “I saw nothing unusual, non. I trust your senses, though, especially since the Fae parts seem to be more active as you age. If you believe you saw or sensed something, it is likely true.”
I wipe my mouth quickly and then smile at him. “I appreciate the support, but it’s so… nebulous. I don’t know for sure, and it’s making me super nervous. That’s why I said nothing. I don’t need more shit, so maybe I don’t open the wrapping if I don’t want to know. You know?”
He tops off my tea even though I haven’t finished the last inch of it.
The gesture is unhurried, so I know he’s giving me time to think.
When he sets the pot down, he laces his fingers together and rests his elbows on the table.
“Do you know what I think? Before the wars, the Fae had a way of recognizing each other even after years or centuries apart. Sometimes, they knew even strangers on sight. Fionola told me it was not like one of the five senses, but like a pressure, a kind of memory in the nerves when it is triggered. She never explained how it worked because she could not talk about deep Fae secrets without being marked a traitor.”
Using her name is not an accident. He says it like a test, watching to see if I’ll break under the weight of it.
I don’t; that woman may have hurt him, as did his parent’s choice.
However, the man my gargoyle is now does not love her, nor does he want her back.
He grieved for much longer than he needed to, and her current behavior has soured the memories.
Regardless of why he opened a window I thought was nailed shut, I am not worried in the slightest.
Her thirst for vengeance has no boundaries, and it crossed the line when it put our family in harm’s way.
I look away as I consider what I want to say in response.
My eyes land on the spot where the white moss creeps over the edge of a brick, the fresh shoots already pushing up against the shadows.
For a minute, I sit there quietly and stare.
When I’m ready, I pick my fork up and stab a piece of sweet potato.
As I lift it, I look at him with an annoyed expression.
“That’s a fun thing to find out about yourself from a secondhand source,” I admit.
“But then, everything I’ve found out about being a shifter and the whole magic crap is from secondhand sources.
Lucille and Bruno really fucked me over with learning about…
shit, Rennie, everything. And that sucks all the time because I feel like a rube. ”
The nice thing about saying that to him is that he doesn’t try to fix it.
He sits, hands folded on the table as he watches the steam curl up from his mug.
My shoulders are hunched, back tight, and I’m looking anywhere but him as I open up.
His calming presence helps a lot, and as we finish the rest of the lunch, it’s like both of us are tiptoeing around a sinkhole.
When my plate is empty, I set the fork on the napkin and lean back in my chair.
Rennie immediately starts collecting the containers, stacking them with the care of someone who knows another family member will kick his ass if he leaves a mess.
I brush the crumbs from my hands into my palm and dust them off over the side, pretending not to notice that my knuckles are so white I might crack them.
My bag goes over my shoulder—heavy with books and dance gear—and as I reach across for the strap, my collar pulls wide enough to flash the healing mark Aubrey left.
It’s getting better slowly, but my mate doesn’t seem surprised that it’s taking longer than anyone else’s.
He wipes the table, wipes his hands on a folded napkin, and stands.
We both know there’s still a weird, invisible wall between us from the conversation, but he doesn’t push me to elaborate.
Instead, he offers his arm with a crooked smile, and when I take it, his hand covers mine comfortingly.
We walk out of the annex patio side by side.
Renard walks a little to the left so that if anyone tries to come at me from the side, he’ll intercept.
About twenty steps into the path, I finally say something.
“You know, I’m glad you and Aubrey are actually coming out of the annex more this year.
Even if it’s just to walk me to class or teach botany to students who don’t care.
It’s good for you.” I keep my eyes forward, watching a line of freshmen get tangled up in the path near the lake.
One of them is wearing a scarf so long he could lasso a deer with it.
Rookie mistake—don’t give anyone something to grab you by, kiddo.
My mate’s answer is immediate. “We managed perfectly well for centuries before the cats arrived at Apex. We went where we wanted, saw who we wished, and did not suffer for the absence of social obligations. I do not see what is so good about this change.”
I snort. “That’s not healthy. Just because you can survive alone doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”
He doesn’t respond at first, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch, like he’s biting down on a retort. “Is this your professional opinion, ma lapin, or your personal one?”
“Both.”
We enter the main quad by now, and I see him cataloging the foot traffic, making calculations about which clusters of students are more likely to get in my way.
He shifts his body between me and a pair of senior wolves, but it’s not aggressive; he just lets their eyes slide right off him, which is a power I wish I could borrow.
Walking a few more steps in silence, I look over to see if he’s going to reply.
Guess not.
Halfway to the Shird, the weirdness has faded enough that my pulse is no longer in my ears.
I tilt my head at Renard, refusing to let our time together stay stilted any longer.
“You know what’s weird? Even with all this…
” I gesture at the world, the campus, and the clusters of idiots in their idiot packs, “it feels safer this year. Maybe not better, but less like we’re waiting for the next bomb to go off. ”
My gargoyle hums softly. “That is the illusion of routine, ma chérie. Your schedule is packed so tightly that it is giving you a false sense of security. Having us all around is helping you, and that is very good news, but I fear the campus is not safer. It’s much more dangerous because we do not know all the players or what their skills are. ”
I grin, I can’t help it. “You’re like the French version of that downer cat poster. ‘Hang in there, it will never get better, but you won’t fall’. I mean, I know you enjoy brooding, but that was a lot.”
He laughs. “If I were to make a poster, it would be of you. However, as you know, Chester is the artist, not me. But I am not being… emo… as Fitzgerald likes to say. I am being realistic and truthful, which I know you prefer.”
“Fine, use my own words against me. I see how it is.” I nudge his arm with mine, and the last of the tension sloughs off. “I get your point, though. We definitely found something spooky in the forest, and there are constant issues everywhere. It’s hard to keep an upbeat attitude.”
The Shird is ahead now, its stone facade shining in the sunlight. Rennie holds the door for me, and we head for the elevator. We stay quiet as it lurches upward, but I don’t let go of his arm. On the studio floor, he walks me to the door. I stop, set my bag down, and turn to face him.
“Even if you are mopey, I still love you. I knew you enjoyed brooding on a balcony from the moment I met you, Renard Laveaux. So don’t get weird, okay?” I say with a firm expression.
“I know, petite lapin. And trust me, I very much return your feelings.” He leans in and brushes his lips over my cheekbone. “All I want is for you to be safe and happy. That is all any of your mates want.”
“That’s what I want for you guys, too, so don’t take any silly risks now that we know you’re right. Got it?” I shake a finger at him, and he laughs again, his eyes dancing.
He pulls back, eyes on mine, then steps away. “I promise. Now get to your class and I must away to mine. Use the app if it is needed, oui?”
“I will.”
Turning to go, my mate waves, and I stand there for a second longer to watch.
I’m still not sure what to do with the splinter of feeling lodged somewhere in my ribs.
The possible ‘Fae-sense’ thing is still a live wire in my chest, but now there’s a weird comfort wrapped around it, like someone insulated the raw end with memory foam.
I think that’s what Rennie did just by being present, and I sigh as the feeling washes over me.
I let out a slow breath, square my shoulders, and go into my studio to work.
I’ve got performances to rehearse and the clock’s already running—the rest can wait until I decide what the hell to do about it.