Chapter 7 Phury, son of Ahgony #2
As he refuses to project any farther out into the future, I reflect on the discipline needed to stay in recovery.
It’s such a constant, an unrelenting, and at times exhausting, toll that has to be paid, even though you didn’t want to be on that highway at all.
A lot of readers and fans overlook Phury, and I get it.
I understand why some of the other Brothers, who are much more…
extra…get the attention. Still, I continue to maintain that Lover Enshrined is one of my best books.
The Wizard and the ivy. The way Phury finally lets himself fall in love. Cormia and the Chosen.
In the last twenty years, I can’t even fathom how many people I’ve met at my events and at the conferences I’ve gone to.
It’s definitely well past the hundred thousand mark.
Yet there are exchanges that have stayed with me, moments where I’ve connected deeply with someone who read one of my books.
I think now of an event I did about a decade ago.
I was getting close to wrapping things up, and it had been a lot of fun.
They’re always a lot of fun, let’s be for real.
I had only a couple questions left that I could take and there was a woman who was sitting on the left, down close to the front.
She had long, pretty blond hair, and I remember that she was sitting precisely in the chair, her legs crossed at the knees, her hands in her lap.
Blue jeans. Some kind of cream top, like a sweatshirt or a sweater.
When she raised her hand, the rest of her didn’t move.
She wasn’t excited, she didn’t have a smartass expression on her face (these are my favorites), she didn’t lean forward like she was going to fall out of her chair.
I called on her maybe because her energy was different, and it was time to get serious. I ride the energy of the crowd at events, and try to vary the vibe between laughter and other stuff. Or maybe I just thought her hair was pretty. Or maybe, I don’t know, I was supposed to call on her.
She stood up. I can’t remember whether I gave her a mic or not. But I do recall how she spoke in a halting voice: “Do you have any idea how many people you reach with your books?”
I’m not one for compliments, and as I was thinking of a delicate way of parrying that, she continued. “Lover Enshrined really helped me.”
It turned out her husband had served in the military and lost his legs during combat.
When he came home, as a result of the pain medications he’d had to be on, he developed an addiction to the pills.
As she related their experience in a hoarse voice, I stayed quiet and let her share her testimony.
She said that the stuff in Phury’s book was so close to what she and her husband had gone through that she was able to see parts of them both in the story—and that had healed her.
I’m not sharing this to blow my own horn. It’s more that addiction affects so many people, and in a lot of cases, you wouldn’t know it from the outside. She seemed like the very last person who would have to deal with such a thing, with her pretty hair and her good posture.
It’s easy to write Phury off, but he showed such courage. And continues to do so.
“How are the Chosen?” I ask.
“Fantastic.” He smiles with a kind of pride. “They’re living their own lives, although Rehv is still letting us take over most of the bedrooms in his Great Camp. It’s been so great over the last thirty years to see them become individuals, with their own personalities, professions, interests.”
Phury was anointed as the Primale decades ago.
Historically, that meant he’d be the stud for the Scribe Virgin’s special class of sacred females, but he was in love with his shellan so there was no way he was having young with half a dozen prospective mahmen.
Instead, he freed them all from their lives of servitude and brought color to the Sanctuary.
It was the first crack in the Scribe Virgin’s control.
And now Lassiter is in her job.
Just as I think that, Boo the black cat, peers around the edge of the sofa. As a pair of pale green eyes stare over at me, I bow my head.
“So I’m afraid I don’t really have much to report.” Phury frowns. “I think that’s a good thing, though. Normal life is the biggest blessing of all. If you have your health, your family and friends, a safe place to rest and a full plate in front of you—what else is there in life?”
As I smile at him, he bends down and picks up the cat. He has no idea what he’s holding. He thinks it’s just a feline.
“Hollywood’s looking for you,” he says as he starts to stroke the animal who isn’t an animal.
“Oh? Is he in the—”
“He’s in the—”
“—kitchen.”
“—kitchen.”
I laugh and take a deep breath. As I let the air go, I reflect that compared to my conversation with Butch, with Fritz—undoubtedly whatever’s coming with V and Wrath—it makes sense that there was little said and all of the conversation was pleasant.
They say that conflict is the root of all story, and I have no conflict with Phury.
I’ve never had any. He is the very definition of a male of worth, and it is an honor to be in his presence.
So it makes sense that most of my meeting with him are my own reflections, as opposed to any back-and-forth between us.
Yet I know I could ask him anything.
And I would tell him I’m proud of him, but that seems condescending—
“Oh, it’s not.” His yellow eyes flip up to mine. “I’m proud of myself. I’ve done a lot to heal, and I’m far from where I was, in a good way. If you want to point that journey out in any fashion, I’m happy to hear those words.”
“Then let me say properly that I’m proud of you.”
He puts his hand over his heart and inclines his torso to me, and I am filled with warmth. It’s nice to know that some things work out.
“Give Cormia my best?” I tack on.
“Always.”
As Boo walks back and forth over his lap, Phury holds his broad hand with its trimmed nails at a hover so that the cat can pet itself. I get the impression that this is something they do a lot, and wonder if he’s questioned how the cat is down in town and up here.
Maybe he knows more than he lets on about what is currently arching its back and purring.
“By the way,” he says, “she’d love to knit you one of her sweaters, but she understands.”
“Yeah, hot flashes are a bitch. Better than a dirt nap, though.”
He laughs. “I’ll bet you’re right. And I’d get up to hug you, but I have a cat.”
“I totally agree. We do not disturb the animals when they’re getting attention.”
We’re both chuckling as I turn away. I’m glad the biggest, most beautiful Brother is next on my list. I’d hate to ruin this easy buoyancy with the likes of Wrath’s intensity.
Or Vishous’s pain-in-my-assary.
Is that a word?
It is now.