Chapter VI #2
Sable is not sure what to make of her little human.
Mariam is a sweet, gentle soul… and no good at flirting.
The thought lifts her lips on one side. No, no good at flirting at all.
Last night was an interesting exercise in Sable’s self-control.
What she wanted to do was tear that damned blue nightie off of her and ravish her until the wee morning hours…
but clearly Mariam is not prepared for things to go in that direction, not yet.
But she is open to it. Last night proved that much.
Sable’s ears perk when the humming begins from the bathroom, followed by running water.
Her eyes flit from the bathroom door to outside, watching the Reapers spar in the courtyard, either with dummies or with each other.
Most of them are older warriors, ones evidently trained well with blade, bow, or fist. There are maybe one or two others who are green and fresh-faced.
They hold their blade wrong, use the wrong bow arm, and don’t duck properly.
Sable used to enjoy sparring with her brother Fang and the clanmates around her age.
Before the violence started. After the clan’s clash with the Summer Court, sparring for fun ceased; instead, it became a means of survival, of testing each other to see who’d be the next to be killed.
Sometimes they drew blood. Sometimes they broke bones.
Sable hates sparring with others.
“Sable? Are you alright?” Mariam’s voice breaks through her darkening thoughts and draws her back to the present. To the soft woman standing at the threshold of the bathroom door, watching her.
“Just… what’s the phrase, ‘lost in thoughts’? Yes.”
“They seem to be bad thoughts. You looked… very upset.”
Sable softens her voice, not wanting to scare her. “I was… just thinking about how things changed in my clan. Lost in memories of good times before they turned… hmm. Sour.”
Mariam comes to her side and rests her soft hand on the one Sable has holding the drapes open. The kind touch sends chills over her skin. “I’m sorry, Sable. Do you want to talk about it?”
Sable realizes her breathing has become shaky.
She steadies herself, takes a deep breath in, then out.
“No. Not yet, anyway; I don’t need to terrify you with more horrors from my life just yet.
” She says it like it’s a joke. If only it were.
She dreads the day Mariam asks about her exile.
She dreads having to let Mariam know what a monster she really is.
“Okay. The bath is ready, if you are.” Mariam offers her a sweet smile, one Sable returns as best she can.
It occurs to her that Mariam must barely be able to stand being near her; she must stink badly from the lack of bathing for…
honestly, Sable isn’t sure how long it has been since she properly bathed.
Five days in the human realm, yes, but while being punished, time seemed to mock her, warping until day and night held no meaning. At least a week.
“Thank you. I’ll be back shortly.”
“I set you some clothes in there, too, by the way.” Mariam removes her hand and allows Sable to pass her, and as she does, Sable runs the backs of her fingers over Mariam’s arm.
“Thank you.” Sable closes the door to the bathroom behind her.
Sighing softly, she strips naked, then manifests a gray tendril of magic to peel off the bandages she otherwise would not be able to reach.
She trashes them into a small, dingy off-white bin by an object that would have been totally unfamiliar to her before she came to this realm…
A “commode,” she thought it was called, or perhaps a “toilet.” The discarded bandages smell strongly of oregano and ground willow bark.
They’re light pink in some areas from what little blood still oozes from her wounds, but are mostly stained green and brown from Mariam’s poultices.
Then she turns her attention to the mirror.
Sable winces as she looks over herself, her nose scrunching and her lip curling.
She looks horrific. Even with the poultice covering her wounds, she can see where the scarring has begun.
How can Mariam stand to look at her? And not just look, but touch her gently, and never show an ounce of disgust?
Emotion overtaking her, she turns away from the mirror and to the bath instead.
Her eyes register a silver showerhead hanging over the porcelain white tub.
Letting out a shaky breath, she watches the steam dance in the air above the hot bath Mariam has drawn her.
She steps into the tub and sinks into the water slowly, hissing as the water seeps into her wounds.
The pain is terrible, even as the heat soothes her.
Most of her healing is behind her; all the lighter wounds are now scar tissue.
The scarring… she will have to deal. She will just have to deal.
When she is submerged up to her neck, Sable closes her eyes and leans her head back on the rim of the tub, just enjoying the water’s warmth.
She has never had a warm bath. The closest she has come was during the summer when the water was lukewarm in the streams and rivers of the savanna. This heat is a welcome change.
* * *
The Reaper who leads this safehouse is a redhead with crinkly forest green eyes named Anima.
After meeting her, Mariam thinks the rumors she heard about Reapers were definitely overblown.
Anima just seems bubbly and friendly, a kindred spirit to Mariam herself.
She brings them breakfast on a big tray while Sable is still in the bath.
Mariam, though hungry, decides to wait for her; when she finishes, they dine together.
Breakfast is a quiet affair, a bit too quiet for Mariam’s liking.
Afterward, Mariam reapplies her poultice to Sable’s wounds, carefully re-bandaging them as well.
Then, they dress, leave the tray outside the door, and set off together to explore the safehouse.
The safehouse is a mansion made to look like a massive log cabin of a rich, cherry-colored wood.
Mariam and Sable’s room is on the first floor, hidden behind a staircase.
Mariam feels this is a fitting place for them to be, together and mostly alone.
Shaking that thought off, she leads the way through the cabin.
Up the stairs are more rooms for housing Reapers and, she assumes, non-Reapers, too.
Along the wall, near their room, is an armory; mostly melee weapons for sparring, based on what Mariam sees through the door.
Mariam has heard Reapers prefer old school weapons to firearms. She’s also heard some of them have been around since before those weapons were old school, so she supposes it makes sense.
On the opposite side of the cabin is the cafeteria, equipped with four long tables and a few two-seaters.
Mariam briefly wonders what types of food they have available; would there be options for specialized dietary needs?
Not that she has any, but her friend Leandra is a vegetarian, so she always thinks about it.
Mariam notices Sable is far more stiff outside of their room. Her eyes survey the entryway, missing nothing. Mariam hopes this isn’t too much stress on her still-healing body, but as they walk, her pace is gradually slowing.
The grounds come next. The safehouse complex is situated on a terrace carved into a forested mountain slope, which continues upwards at a sharp angle north of the building.
Behind the cabin, closest to the slope, are the sparring and training grounds, while both the left- and right-hand sides of the cabin house gardens.
The east-facing side, which gets the gentler morning sun, is a vegetable and fruit garden, while the west side has a large greenhouse made of colorless glass, set in front of a small brick medical annex.
The front of the cabin has a small parking lot for those using vehicles, and there is a winding dirt path leading directly from the cabin down to a nearby small village.
Anima mentioned they were welcome to visit, but to let her know so she could assign a Reaper escort. Just for safety.
By the end of the tour, Sable is breathing heavily and seems to be in quite a bit of pain. Mariam has been waiting for her to say something, but finally she can’t take it anymore. “Sable, do you want to go back to our room?”
“Yes, please,” Sable chokes out, her jaw clenched, her hands balled in fists, her entire body tense and tight.
Mariam gently takes one of her wrists and leads her back, avoiding the slowly growing crowd in the cafeteria.
A few heads turn to watch them, but no one says a word, which Mariam is thankful for.
When they enter their room, Sable is in a hurry to sit on her cot. She arches over her knees, hands digging into her thighs to keep herself propped half-upright. Mariam follows her, placing a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Sable, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“No, no apologies. I wanted to come with you.” Her breathing is labored, but she forces out another sentence. “I should be apologizing for not being stronger.”
Mariam kneels, lowering herself to Sable’s eye level. Those glittering eyes meet hers amidst sweat dripping down her forehead. “You never have to apologize for being ill or hurt. Never.”
Sable swallows, before lifting a hand and tenderly cupping Mariam’s face. She leans into her touch. “Okay. No apologies from me either, then.”
“Good.” Mariam kisses her wrist. Sable’s brows raise but she says nothing. “Lie down and get some rest. I won’t go anywhere.”
Sable pauses for a moment, her hand lingering, before she nods and lets her hand fall.
Mariam stands, missing her warmth as soon as they’re parted, and grabs her canvas bag.
As Sable lies down, she takes a seat on her own bed.
Sable pulls the cover over herself, and within a few minutes, Mariam watches her fall into a labored sleep.
While she sleeps, Mariam works at her laptop, brainstorming for her next novel. Normally she’s a mystery or thriller writer, but now she considers something new… Maybe an unexpected romance.