Chapter 27 The Bird And The Cat Return To Normal
The Bird And The Cat Return To Normal
TAURUS
“That was unexpected,” I smirk, pushing a wisp of hair out of my face. It’s spooky to have my face grinning at me in an expression I don’t think I’ve ever made before. My wife nods and rolls to her, er, my—hell, she bloody stands up and I have no idea how to describe it.
“I’m glad you didn’t skewer Damien before he told us how to work the pants.”
“Bloody rainbow-hugging prat,” I grumble. “If I could have figured out how to work everything, he would have been in real trouble.”
She chuckles low and helps me up, bending to kiss my lips. “Well, luckily for him, you couldn’t.” Looking around, she sighs. “I think we need to get back to the party. I don’t know how long we were gone, but I’m sure our mates are tired of holding the fort down on their own.”
I growl, not looking forward to charming the wits out of the dull at all, but I nod. “Talia’s not a social butterfly, and the lazy one can only hold her back for so long. We should get out there.”
I take her hand and kiss her chin. “It was bent and a little unusual, but this was a fun one, minx. I think we can avoid the rest and find a bed later, though.”
“We don’t need no stinking magick to get wild,” she gives me my fangy grin, and I thank Satan that I found a woman so entertaining and endearing once again. She’s infuriating and intoxicating and just about every other passionate emotion you can list, and I love every second.
This is the perfect sodding woman for me, and I thank Hell every day that I answered her email instead of ignoring it.
The door opens when we approach, and we step out, a whoosh of magick hitting me as soon as we clear the threshold. I look down at myself—my actual self—and feel relief. I meant what I said: fun for a lark, no need for repeating. I’m satisfied with the parts they grew me with.
My minx tugs my hand and gives me a ‘cat that ate the canary’ grin, fangs and all. “I’m awfully glad that you got this time to experience what it’s like in my space without calling a hurricane and portal, though.”
“I don’t know how you do it, wife. With all that shit swirling around, your beast yapping in your mind, feeling everything happening all around you. You have a maelstrom of shit going on inside. It's a small wonder you’ve clung to the sanity you’ve got.”
“Amen to that. You’ve seen my mind palace, and you know how I control it.” Her face turns white, pale as a ghost for a moment, and she whispers, “Um, you didn’t—you didn’t open any doors in there, right?”
I arch a brow, turning to look at her, the whole of her worry bleeding through in the way she clutches at my hand—a little too tight, nails almost piercing skin.
“I figure anything lurking behind a door is something that ought to stay there until the time is right to open it, love,” I told her.
“Magick gave me a peephole, but that doesn’t mean I’m the sort of bastard to peep through it. ”
I try for a gentle smile, knowing that the past is never really dead. It’s always the same with the powerful: nothing scars as deep as the monsters and secrets hiding in their heads.
She laughs, but it’s a thin, glassy sound, brittle enough to shatter.
“You might not like what you see, right?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
In that moment, I can see the doors she meant, locked and barred by her, and I feel the things pacing behind them, hungry and patient as they wait to be released.
As much as I prefer honesty, I’m fairly certain she’s correct about none of us being ready for those horrors.
Shaking my head, I draw her close to me, wrapping my arms around her narrow shoulders. ~I love everything I see in you. All of you. I might not let the people involved live, but it wouldn’t change what’s in my heart. ~
My message unfurls between us, seeking to patch what old wounds it can. She makes a sound I can only call a sob and a laugh combined. Lifting her face, she kisses the underside of my jaw, the spot where her fangs left a scar. “I hope so,” she says, her voice low but steadier. “I really hope so.”
“Someday, you’ll feel comfortable letting me decide for myself,” I reply, and I mean it. We’ve been dancing this same routine for months, and though her steps are lighter now, she still keeps her foot on the brake when I get too near the black box in her head.
As fate would have it, we’re interrupted.
A commotion at the end of the corridor reveals a git in a pirate costume, complete with tricorn and a ridiculous amount of eyeliner, dragging along a bespectacled wench, both of them loud enough to raise the dead.
I sigh, already bracing for annoyance, but my wife beams, slipping into her social mask as if it’s a second skin.
“Lily! Mercury! So good to see you!” she calls, her voice suddenly bright and sweet.
The pirate gives a dramatic bow, nearly tipping his hat into his companion’s face. “Been searching high and low, port and starboard for ye, lassie!” he bellows, and my wife cackles, raking her hand through his already-disheveled hair.
I size them up. The wench is Lily, obviously—the other ‘mayor’ of this little underground domain.
She has the air of a woman who’s survived on wit and humor, and there’s a brittle steel in her eyes despite the sunny smile.
Her partner is another story entirely. He is not human—a droid, most likely, though wonderfully crafted.
The way he moves is smooth and calculated, but unnervingly graceful, like a cat trained to walk on its hind legs for the amusement of its owner.
I watched the pirate-droid’s every move. He will be a walking corpse soon if he gets more physical with my wife than he already is. I snort softly—but keep my face neutral. The last thing my wife needs is my starting a fight when she’s finally relaxing.
My minx is bouncing in place now, giddy as I’ve ever seen her. “Lily, Mercury, this is Taurus.” She leans in conspiratorially as if presenting a new pet to her best friends. “He’s my mate.”
Lily’s gaze flicks over my form—my actual one, thank all the devils—and she smiles with cautious approval. “He looks even better in the flesh than in the stories,” she says, extending her hand with just enough flirtation to throw me off for a half-second.
Do these people just flirt with everyone they meet, even before they know if it’s welcome?
“Nice to meet you, love,” I reply, taking her hand and brushing my lips against her knuckles. Old-world manners were drilled into me by the Company training, even if I’m nervous about it now. I turn to Mercury, giving him a nod—the sort you give a rival or a potential meal, depending on mood.
Mercury winks back flirtatiously, the cheeky bastard. He seems entirely unfazed by my display. I expected some territorial posturing, a flash of jealousy or at least a reminder of Lily’s claimed status, but he seems more interested in the exchange than threatened by it.
“Ah, our reputations precede us,” Mercury says, and I catch the subtle flicker of mechanical diaphragms in his throat. “Lily’s told me a great deal about you, Taurus. I’ve always wondered if the rumors were true.”
What rumors has this woman I just met repeated? Is this place just one huge grapevine of bullshit gone wild?
I grin, letting a little fang show. “Depends on which rumors you mean. Most of it is exaggerated. The rest are too boring to repeat.”
Lily laughs, and her hand lingers in mine a fraction longer than necessary before she withdraws it. “Mercury’s a collector of sorts. Always after a new story or a new face, and never satisfied.”
The pirate gives a mock sigh. “Alas, the curse of intellectual curiosity. I suppose it’s better than being a glutton.” He raises an eyebrow, challenging me, and I find myself liking him a little. There’s something oddly charming about his complete lack of social fear.
My wife squeezes my arm, and I feel pride radiating from her in thick, warm waves. She’s in her element here, introducing parts of her oddball family to one another, and determined to prove we could all get along for a night.
I’d do just about anything to keep her that happy.
“Anyway,” my wife drawls, “the feast is starting soon, and I think you’ll like what’s on the menu. Leo and the boys have been busy in the kitchens all day.”
Lily winks. “I bet they have something special for us to sample, hmm?”
I try not to bristle at the reminder that in this community; I’m the oddity, the guest among friends and replicants and whatever else lurks in the corners of these halls. But if it makes my wife happy, I’ll play along.
“Lead the way, then.” I offer my arm and let Lily loop hers through it. My wife does the same on the other side, and Mercury trails a step behind, hands clasped at his back like a happy observer.
A voyeur, perhaps? I’ll have to research that.
We walk through the corridor, the magick in the air still humming, and I try not to think about what’s behind the doors in the deeper parts of the mind-palace.
I glance at my wife, who is laughing and chattering with Lily.
I catch her eye for a moment, and there’s a flash of gratitude.
She’s glad I respected her boundaries, but also that I’m being kind to her friends.
It’s a little thing, but it matters a great deal to me.
The kitchen area is a riot of color and noise, every surface packed with edible oddities.
There are at least three versions of food made with blood, a cluster of items that I believe will appeal to witches, and a handful of droids getting trays ready before taking them out the back door.
It’s a carnival for misfits, and my wife is right at home.
Lily leads us out the back door and Mercury mutters something about fetching drinks. Interesting that he’s modeled after my kind—the brothers—and yet he’s not a whit concerned I touch his woman.
A bizarre lot, these droids.
“Twist has a suitable spot in the crow’s nest,” he says when he comes back with a tray of drinks to hand one to my wife. “He looks peachy.”
So he’s responsible for that furry thief—good to know.
She smiles and nods. “He’s fitting in perfectly.” I snort, and she amends the statement. “Well, he would if he’d quit stealing every shiny thing he can find, including Taurus’ cuff links, watches, my jewelry, and other assorted expensive items.”
“A pirate’s life for him, then. Tally ho!” His eyes catch someone passing by as he finishes giving out the drinks, and he looks at his companion. “We should go say hello, pet.”
Lily smiles and nods, wiggling her fingers at us. “Talk more later?”
“Absolutely. Go,” my minx says as she sips her martini. We watch them scamper off, and she chuckles as she turns to me.
“Are they all like that?” I mutter, rubbing my temples.
“No, Mercury’s on the eccentric side. Though, I guess everyone’s mad here,” she muses, standing on her tiptoes and looking around. “I think I saw our family over by the outdoor bar. I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise.”
I look over and see Talia spinning Baby like no one’s business, her eyes watching the sizable crowds that fill the room for anyone to come close to Sampson. I knew she’d be taking her job seriously.
Given the look of the crowd here, I can’t say that I blame her.
My minx grabs my hand again and blinks us to their side.
I have to say, she’s come a long way with that since she was dropping glasses mid-air on every try.
She can get multiple people decent distances and herself long distances and through the portal to come out of the Rift.
She’s a natural if I’ve ever met one.
“Oi, Sampson, Golden Goddess. How’s it hanging?”
My primary gives us a look as if she’s ready to gut the both of us and growls through gritted teeth, “Thirty fucking minutes of chatty how-do-you-dos with morons and that’s what you have to say?”
“Oh, love, don’t fret. It’ll get easier as people drink and break off into rooms and groups and such. No need for the frowny face.” Minx leans in and brushes her lips over her mate’s, pressing their foreheads together.
I figure if it’s okay for them to have a moment, then I can have one, too. I stroll closer to the guest of honor and yank him close, stealing a kiss. “How about you, Sampson? Are you ready to jump ship for Bermuda on the yacht yet?”
He sighs, giving me that lethargic grin that makes my insides curl. “It sounds like a sodding plan to me, but it’d be impolite. At this kind of event, there’s a lot of schmoozing required of the queen.”
“The saving grace is the very little the two of you are wearing, that you’ve got my scotch behind the bar, and that the terror—” I shouldn’t have voiced that last bit out loud because a loud noise followed by raucous music out front stops me short.
Everyone in the patio area turns their heads, watching the driveway in anticipation as the music gets louder on approach.
I have a bad sodding feeling about this.