Intimate
She can never know. It will only get her killed. And that cannot happen.
Idon’t know that Trish and Marla will ever quite understand what their intervention did for me. Sure, I knew my depression was bad. I knew I’d given up.
But between Azazel’s exposure therapy and the gals’ wake up moment, I feel okay for the first time in years. And it helps, too, that I’ve had a meal or two at their house every day since.
Percy’s funeral had been a mental setback, but the ladies hadn’t forced me to talk about it yet. Though I can tell they’re both chomping at the bit.
“Earth to Arya,” Marla says, and I nearly shriek when she’s right beside me.
I glance around and realize Ty has left for the day, leaving just Marla and I at the house until Marla’s shift at the bar.
“You zoned again,” she says, returning her eyes to her sketchbook. “Though it made it easier to draw you.”
“Keep telling a gal that, and she’ll think you’re flirting,” I snort, letting my shadows play and move through the house.
“Don’t you dare,” Marla says, a somewhat menacing growl leaving her throat. “I still haven’t heard the end of that.”
“I just like having something to hold over you,” I say, and weave the shadow around the coffee carafe, refreshing my cup from across the room.
The fine “motor” skills, as they were, seemed to be the ones that I struggled with the worst before reaching Tempest. That and the spirits, of course.
But with the last few days spent here messing with minute motions, or in the colosseum wrangling spirits, I feel like I might be mastering these powers after all.
Certainly, better than letting them control me.
“Are we going to go down to the colosseum again?” Marla asks, and I glance over at her.
She had wanted to see the spirits, and I’d obliged.
Except then she’d actually seen them and I think it scared the shit out of her.
“No, I invited the spirits here instead.”
That gets her attention, and she nearly snaps her pencil before angling a nasty glare at me.
“Kidding–” I say but hear a rapid knock at the door.
“You’d better be,” Marla says, crossing the kitchen to the den and then the door. “’Cause I’d be real pissed if I have to pick up ghost jizz—”
She swings the door open, and whatever crude thing she’d been about to say dies on her lips.
And I nearly topple out of my chair when Bloody Mary steps through the door like she owns the goddamned place.
Ty stands behind her, looking like he’s seen the horrors of the universe.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding?” Mary asks, a familiar coolness in her voice. “And here I thought you were shirking your duties.”
Which is incredible given she saw me training yesterday.
I stand and move to the door, stopping beside Marla, who shifts nervously behind me.
Mary catches the motion, and her lip pulls back.
“What do you need?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral, though it only seems to goad her.
“Do you live here now, Hiraeth?” She asks. “Have you chosen domesticity?”
I frown, but then glance beside me. Marla, for all of her bravado and wit, is essentially clinging to me. She and Trish may be exceptional, but neither have powers beyond those of a fox.
Though I can see what this looks like to Mary. And it’s patently absurd that she should even care.
I grit my teeth, and wonder if I really want to test her.
“I asked what you needed,” I say again, gesturing for Ty to go.
He takes my meaning and literally takes off on all fours.
Mary turns to watch him go, and I can almost see the way her jaw ticks.
“Why aren’t you training with Azazel?” Mary asks, her eyes pinning Marla who wraps her arms around me now. I’d laugh if it weren’t so apparent how much Mary scares her.
And Mary fucking knows it, too.
“Stop glaring at her,” I hiss, and Mary’s glare snaps to mine. “You’re hardly beating the allegations acting like this.”
Marla apparently thinks it was the wrong thing to say, too, because she begins to shake, face pressed to my ribs.
“Why haven’t you been in your lessons,” Mary grits out, ignoring my comment.
“I have been. You fucking saw me yesterday,” I say back, scoffing at her behavior. “If that’s all, I’d ask you to leave. You’ve already scared Ty shitless and you’re scaring Marla.”
“Leave us,” Mary says, and I realize too late she’s speaking to Marla.
Marla detaches herself from me and makes to move out of the house, but I grab her by the shoulder.
“You will not make her leave her own goddamned house,” I snap, pushing Marla back behind me. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I give Marla a soft squeeze on her shoulder, and all but push Mary out of the doorway and back onto the deck, pulling the door shut behind me.
“Who is she?” Mary asks, and I shake my head in confusion.
“The fuck—“
It’s the final straw, and I feel rage rear its ugly head.
“You’re fucking jealous?” I scoff. “Is that it? I stop trying to get your attention because someone’s shown me more kindness than I’ve ever experienced in my entire fucking life and you have the gall to be jealous?”
I step forward, getting directly into Mary’s space–and, to her credit, she doesn’t back up.
“I would like to know who it is that is distracting you from your–”
The front porch explodes into shadow, bathing us in inky nothingness. Mary’s eyes illuminate orange, then red.
The red brightens, becoming incandescent.
We stand there, suspended in an ageless battle of wills.
Until I let the darkness drop, allowing the artificial lights to once again make their presence known.
“I’ve been fucking practicing. Can’t believe you’d act like this after seeing me just yesterday.”
Only now does Mary look a bit loss for words. “I did not–”
I dig the knife deeper.
“And, for the record, that’s Marla. She lives with her wife, and their three-year old daughter,” I enunciate each detail. “They’ve been treating me to family dinners and tales of their lives in exchange for me giving me a fucking will to live. No thanks to you.”
She looks like I physically hit her, but even with the way I feel, I’d never lay a hand on her. Not intentionally, at least.
“Who are they?” She whispers, and I nearly let the anger fizzle at the morose expression on her lovely face.
“Voltox,” I say, and when she doesn’t react, I continue. “Fox people. They’re normal and I like them. A lot. I’ve started to get to know the people here. The ones that aren’t–”
I gesture at her, and it looks like she might be sick.
Which is an odd reaction, since she seems so bound and determined to make herself out to be this figure of legend.
I turn to go back inside, but delicate fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling me back to her.
She’s insanely strong. I can match her siphon, but there’s far, far more to Bloody Mary, and maybe I should be more afraid, like Marla is.
“I–” she lets out, not letting go of my wrist. Her throat bobs. “I just needed to know you were okay after yesterday. I’m sorry.”
I frown, but don’t say anything. The spicy perfume she wears hits me like a train, and I have the insane desire to lean in and kiss her.
“I’m glad you’ve made friends,” she says, nodding quickly as if convincing herself. “Please offer my apologies to Marla and her wife.”
“Maybe you should,” I say, and, to my near horror, Mary’s eyes drop. She looks downright ashamed.
And there’s something else, too.
Something darker, maybe. Something far, far softer and dangerously vulnerable below the surface.
“You’re right,” she says, eyes not raising to meet mine. “And then I will take my leave.”
Mary moves past me, releasing my wrist.
She knocks on the door, and it opens immediately.
Marla lets out a yip, but leaves the door open a crack.
“I apologize for my behavior, ma’am,” Mary says, and sounds like she genuinely means it. “Hiraeth–Arya is very special and I feared she may not be well after the funeral yesterday.”
“That’s–It’s fine,” Marla stutters, but Mary shakes her head.
“No, I was out of line. I apologize. It will never happen again.”
She turns on her heel, and strides from the yard, only glancing back once before disappearing into a red mist.
“Fuck,” Marla says, letting out a soft sob. “Fuck me.”
I turn and usher her back into the house.
“Oh, god,” she whispers, pacing the foyer. “Oh, god, Arya.”
Shadows wrap around her shoulders, pulling her to a stop.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. She’s being fucking weird, and I called her out.”
Marla lets out an incredulous, somewhat manic laugh.
“You called out the Bloody Mary? To her face?” She laughs again. “Of course you did. It’s what we talked about. You’d do the right thing no matter what.”
Marla wipes a shaky hand at her eyes, brushing tears from her fur.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, taking a step forward.
She takes the initiative and wraps her arms around my waist, burying her face in my chest.
“Does she do that often?” I ask, and Marla shakes her head.
“I’ve never even been that close to her before,” she says, voice muffled by my shirt. “Her power felt tangible.”
“Yeah,” I say, snorting. “It’s really difficult to ignore.”
“Ignore?” Marla asks, raising her face to meet mine. “Arya, I couldn’t even breathe, much less talk.”
I frown, but nod, pulling her close again.
“I’ll go see what she needs later. For now, go back to your drawing and finish it. I wish to be memorialized for the way I just saved you.”
That gets a small laugh out of her, and she nods, rubbing at her eyes and crashing back onto her seat again.
But the point is still salient. Mary’s power is strong on a normal day, but even I could feel something off. Whatever’s going on, the fluctuations nearly put Marla into a coma, and I can only imagine what it did to Ty.
For all of her bullshit, Bloody Mary is not okay.
“Did she say funeral?” Marla asks, and I groan, slumping back into my seat as well.
“Percy’s,” I whisper, studying the floor.
Marla doesn’t ask if I want to talk about it.
“It only feels real now,” I say, rubbing my hands together. They feel dirty. Unclean. “I killed her, you know.”
The sketching stops, but I don’t look up.
“You didn’t. Omen did.”
“My shadows spiked her. I missed and they got her instead. I was untrained and weak.”
“You were manipulated by a figure with more experience and an unknowable power, Arya. No one’s beaten Omen.”
“But if–”
“If. If. If. If,” Marla says, and I feel her staring.
at me. “If the First Disruptions had never happened, my people might have perished without help. If the Second had not, we may all be dead–or worse. If you had never sat down in that diner the other night, I might not have gotten the gumption to invite you to my home. Omen may manipulate fates, but they’re not the arbiter. You are more powerful than they are.”
“Evidently not,” I say, my fingers biting into my palms.
“You have a family. You have us. You have this place. They’re alone with a psychopathic god and a merry band of backstabbers. You will always be more powerful.”
In the safety of Marla’s home, I finally let the tears fall, thankful she makes no move to comfort me further.