The sea witch still has not returned from her summer holiday. Her Love has been feeding, though. A body washed up on the riverbank last week with all the signatures of one of Orthia’s predilections… although this is the first time we have ever seen one in the city. If they wash ashore at all, it is usually in winter when they have had a few months amongst the fishes, as it were.
As I take a seat, setting the mugs on either side of my chair, I pull out my notebook and make a note to get more information from Deg’Doriel about her companion.
Ramón, smoking a large cigar and with his shirt mostly unbuttoned, saunters up to the vacant wooden chair next to me. The sewer rat eyes the seat, eyes the mug next to it and grins at me. Something on his scales catches the light and as his tail swishes back and forth, I catch a whiff of something that isn’t his normal stench.
“If you so much as touch that chair, I will end you, Ramón.”
I do not even bother to look up from my notebook.
“So pissy all the damn time, Auggie, the ball and chain not-”
“Ray, c’mon now.”
Arlo’s intervention is the only thing that saves that vile lizard. Ramón knows exactly how to push my buttons, that bloodthirsty buffoon. He is lucky to have monsters as gentle as the ghoul around. Who has begun to look sallow again, his skin lacklustre and his hair greying at the temples. Even though he will deny his hunger, his true nature, Arlo must feed like the rest of us. It seems that there have not been so many accidents as of late. While he may have the highest count of us, having never actually killed anyone, he has expressed concerns about what happens when he goes too long without a proper meal.
Still, he is supposed to hear back about an interview at St. George’s any day now, so I will wait to have a tête-à-tête with him.
Nora is not here. An envoy from the fae realm, a coquettish little beast, has taken her place. They prance from one lesser monster to the next, absorbing as much information about them and what they do as they can. I even see them taking notes. At one point, I think I hear them say a name, which is practically against fae law, but I do not make a note of it. They are simply flirting their way through a group of new people. This one must still be green to not understand the mortal realm’s full goings.
Deg’Doriel is his same cheerful self. With the upcoming arrival of his new skin bag, the demon is on high alert. I do not want to know why. Perhaps he has looked the monk up online, or perhaps Margie Lawson is trying to drive him into a murderous rampage, but our fearless leader has been cagey, to say the least. Or perhaps even more so, he is still furious he was outvoted by the group.
The demon has always been one to hold a grudge for petty things.
I take a sip of my tea to avoid looking at my watch. Lesser monsters begin to take their seats, and Deg’Doriel looks pointedly at me.
“Mon abeillewill-”
As if speaking her into existence, the door to the basement room creaks open. Joanna’s shoulders hunch, and she makes some pathetically human gesture of apology before taking the empty seat next to me. I watch my mate settle into the wood back of the chair, her shoulders softening even though Ramón picks Arlo off his chair to sit next to her. She is not oblivious to the lizard, but she has already turned towards me while I hand her the coffee I have prepared for her.
The way she smiles, her cheeks flushed from running here, make my sands ripple under my skin. Thin tendrils reach out for her, to taste her gentle, sweet scent. It is not until Deg’Doriel aggressively clears his throat that I break eye contact with her.
“Jo, this is your first time here.” His grin is cruel as he looks at her, and I can feel the wavering in her emotions. “You can go first, though I’m not sure Augustine’ll need to take notes.”
“For Christ’s sake, Deg,” I say, waiting for him to turn his surly mood on me. I know not to speak of that person in his company, but I cannot find it in myself to care when it comes to easing my mate’s comfort.
“It’s no problem, Deg’Doriel,” Joanna smiles, but it is a bit wobbly.
She stands and turns to face the group of twenty or so monsters in the room. Her fingers dig into the handle of her coffee mug, and I feel her anxiety, the almost fungal taste it brings to her sweetness. I control myself, keeping my sands away from her. This is her moment; she can do this. I believe in her.
“Uh, hi everyone, I’m Jo.”
The crowd parrots back, as they are all transfixed.Mon abeilleis still mostly human. Her scent, her aura, her soul, they are still a part of her. The delicate gold sands that dance from her fingers tip are the small part of me that she has taken on. While we have not discussed the possibility that she may obtain some of my abilities, I do not think she would care either way. Her constant reminder to me,you make me feel alive, rings in my ears as I taste the hunger in the air. The sharks think they smell blood.
“I am officially unemployed as of today.” Joanna tucks some of her hair behind her ear and lets her fingers run over the bond mark on her neck. I watch, my sands threatening to rip through my shirt, as she presses into the raised scar. My lips stretch fully across my face as we make eye contact, and the blush deepens on her cheeks. “Um, I turn thirty soon, which I think if you had asked me at the start of the year how I felt about that, I would have said anxious and surprised. But uh, now I feel kinda ambivalent about the whole thing.”
There is a snort from a vampire in the back who is about Joanna’s age in physical form but has been coming to our meetings for almost as long as she has been alive.
She pauses before she starts again. There is a tension in my jaw, Joanna’s emotions in the bond turning from a slow drip to a steady bleed of guilt. She takes a sip of her coffee and swallows hard.
“And it’s been fifty-six days since I last killed a human.”
