12. Chapter 12 #2
I croaked out a yes that echoed Serich’s and watched myself shake my head and laugh in answer.
“They’re old, my dear.” She said it as if I’d done something enchantingly silly. “The oldest of them all. A bit of mud wouldn’t have done you any good.”
I would have answered but I couldn’t bear to hear that awful frog croak erupt from my mouth. She drifted across the room in my underwear, my legs so colorless they acted as a bare canvas, soaking in the orange of the flames flickering in the hearth.
Sitting before a misty looking glass, she washed my face with a bowl of water and a rag. She traced the arch of my eyebrows, stroked the jut of my cheekbones like one would a cat, pressed her fingertips into the firmness of my neck.
“Even when I was young, I was never what one might call beautiful,” she said.
“It’s nice to see what it feels like every now and then.
I imagine you take it quite for granted,” she called over.
“When you’re young, you’re never going to be an old fossil.
You see nothing but your flaws. Not until you’re gray and wrinkled do you realize how perfect you were.
” She shrugged. In the looking glass, my reflection copied her as she stood.
I felt I’d die of embarrassment, watching her pluck at my naked thighs, testing the flexibility of my skin. Serich looked like he’d like to follow me into the grave.
She extended my arm, twisting my wrist this way and that. “How lovely, not to hear the creak of old bones when I move.”
I’ve never seen you so clearly before. It cocked its head, because of course he had had to come with me in the swap. The least the hag could have done was take custody of my demon.
You see me every single day.
Your looking glass is old and foggy, almost as bad as her old eyes. I felt him pressed upon his window, as if his nose were flat against the glass. I never even knew what color your eyes were. They’re silver.
They’re blue.
Silvery blue.
“So many bruises.” Her hand crept up my belly, felt along my spine where I knew patches of mottled purple would soon be flowering from my encounter with the succubus.
“You’ve been living hard.” She crossed my arms, grabbed the hem of my shirt, and lifted it over my head.
In the prismatic gradations of light dancing off her potions and poultices, the bloom of my breasts was on full display.
I felt a torrid rush of heat blister across my old, sunken cheeks. I averted my eyes; It moved them back. I tilted my head toward the spotted hands in my lap; he lifted my chin.
I can do this all night, he said, with a sidelong glint of mockery.
“These’ll need washing,” the hag in my skin said, seemingly to herself, fingering my dirty shirt. “We’ll get you sorted.”
What a show. Your companion, It said, shooting a glance at Serich, seems to be enjoying it.
He looks horrified. He did, as if he were watching a dreadful accident or something shameful, his eyes flickering from my body to his hands tightly snarled on his lap. I could feel the heat in his cheeks from across the table as he fidgeted in his chair.
He looks like a farmer at his first brothel, It said as the hag padded off across the room, loosening the knot at the back of my head so my hair swung loose, curtaining the jutting knots of my spine.
At least he’s not gawping.
I’m not a priest, It said, as if I could hardly expect different from him.
You were afraid out there. I said it mostly to steer It off the current subject, because I had the horrible impression the hag was about to strip off my underwear and bathe me in the middle of her kitchen. I hadn’t known you could feel such fear.
Yes, well, It said testily, as if I were accusing him of cowardice. Succubi and incubi are ancient. I’d be a fucking idiot not to fear them. I never wanted to meet one if we could have avoided it.
I’m not calling you craven. Water sloshed and trickled in the kitchen.
I kept my foggy eyes on my new ancient hands, watching the firelight play across the liver spots, the acid-green protruding veins.
That was bravery. Bravery is only ever born of fear; that’s what Livvy’s father always says.
And when he kept his sullen silence: Thank you for buying us the time to run. For not forcing me to leave Serich.
We’re not all evil, Des, It said, after what felt like careful deliberation. Our only crime is being born on the wrong side. And then, abruptly: You’re trying to distract me from what she’s doing with you over there.
I’m trying to have a heartfelt conversation. I tried to sound lofty, beyond reproach, but he snorted like he didn’t buy it. I heaved a sigh. You give me privacy every morning. Can’t you give me some now?
That’s a big favor you’re asking.
“Is she doing what I think she’s doing?” Serich said in a strangled sort of whisper, jerking forward to meet my eye.
“I bet you’re feeling lucky she didn’t take you up on the offer for your youth,” I said, in the hag’s rough voice.
She swished back over toward us, my body resplendent in an artfully draped shawl and nothing else, snapping my fingers under Serich’s nose. He stared determinedly in the opposite direction to avoid looking at her.
“Off with them,” she said. “If you want your clothes washed, now’s your chance.”