Boyfriend?The word cracked through him and landed where the earlier blow had struck, disorienting and dizzying.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Karen cooed, faux sympathy dripping from every word. “You’re not one ofthose,are you? Just because hecallshimself an entity doesn’t make it true. The paperwork says otherwise. Nature itself says otherwise. He’snotreal, honeybunch.”
Goldie froze. Then, slowly, she straightened, every inch of her brimming with glittering fury. Her bangles chimed like a warning bell. “Funny that you thinkpaperworkdecides who’s real. If that’s true, half this city should vanish in a puff of bureaucratic smoke. You don’t get to declare who’s allowed to exist just because your filing system can’t keep up.”
The hallway went still, then rippled to life. Doors cracked open. Heads popped out from offices and cubicles up and down the marble corridor. A few junior clerks froze mid-coffee run, eyes wide. The muffled clatter of keyboards faded as whispers spread like wildfire. A pair of security guards leaned against the wall near the elevators and turned their heads away, clearly deciding this was above their pay grade.
Karen barked a sharp laugh. “Oh, look, you’re making a scene. How unoriginal. What’s next, tears?”
Goldie’s voice leapt an octave, fiery and theatrical. “Tears? I think you meantears of joy,because, sugar, if he’s not an entity, then I don’t know who gave me five screaming orgasms last night.”
Scandalized and impressed gasps cascaded down the hall. Someone near the copier coughed to hide a laugh.
Karen actually sputtered, color blotching her cheeks. “Th–that is indecent! This is a government building!”
Goldie pressed forward, voice carrying clear to the far stairwell. “Oh,indecent?You haven’t even heard of indecent yet. Let me tell you, those vines of his do things your battery-operated boyfriend could only dream of.”
She spun toward a bystander staring in horrified fascination and winked broadly. “Imagine a lover with more hands than you can count, wrapping you, holding you, teasing wherever you beg for it. And the tongue?” She flashed a wicked grin. “Darling, picture it while you’re tied up in all the right places. Better than a Rabbit. Better thanthreeRabbits on high speed.”
The hallway detonated. Gasps, muffled laughter, and the unmistakable sound of someone choking on their own spit ricocheted off the marble walls. One of the guards swore under his breath, started forward, and then thought better of it. The other muttered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Splice’s mind blanked. Goldie was saying those things publicly, and every word hit him with a dizzying mix of humiliation and a stunned, almost painful warmth he couldn’t begin to categorize. He was still reeling from the casual certainty with which she’d saidboyfriend, and now here she was, throwing herself between him and insult like it was a holy mission.
No one had ever defended him. Not like this. Not with fire and laughter and utter, reckless devotion. He didn’t know whether to cover her mouth or fall at her feet. Maybe both.
He suddenly winced as Carmen’s nails dug into his arm. “I don’t know what the hells Goldie’s doing,” she hissed, dragging him sideways, “but she’s giving you an opening. Move.”
He barely had time to protest before she shoved him toward a side corridor and spun to face the chaos head-on.
“Council business or not,” Carmen shouted, her voice cracking like a whip through the din, “you don’t get to scream in public like a banshee,Karen!And while I’ve got thefloor, where’s my permit paperwork, huh?Three weeks and counting!”
Quiet as breath, Splice slipped down the side corridor. Voices echoed behind him, feet pounding, and something heavy clattered against marble with a crack that sounded suspiciously like a chair going over. He smiled, sharp and fleeting.Bravo.
He skidded to a halt at a brass directory plaque, fingers darting down the list.Truckenham, Council Office 3B.Destination secured, he launched down the corridor, passing a series of wilted potted ferns that perked up sharply as he ran by.
At the office door, he found the entrance bound with wards and thick strips of red tape stampedSEALED BY ORDER OF THE BELLWETHER POLICE.
Splice exhaled and laid his palm flat against the wood of the door. The grain was dry, but under his touch he felt the faint echo of what it had been: forest, sap, shade, a thousand seasons gone. He closed his eyes and let his breath drop low, down into the rootwork of himself.
“Will you hide me?” he whispered, not in a human tongue, but in the low, rustling cadence of leaves. “Child of the forest, splinter of the old green, kin to the Thornfather. We were one trunk once. Shelter me now, and I will not forget you.”
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the door shuddered. The protective sigils quivered like startled birds. The tape browned, curled, and sloughed away, shedding flakes of dried warding dust. A low, reluctant click echoed through the lock as it unlatched itself.
Splice smiled faintly as he turned the handle and slipped inside. “Not an entity,” he murmured. “Then they can’t arrest me, can they?”
He slipped inside and flicked on the lights. A faint shimmer of police ward residue clung to the walls like spiderwebs. The airsmelled of dried ink, stale coffee, and the faint copper tang of magic.
Truckenham’s broad oak desk dominated the room, its surface littered with neat stacks of files marked with colored warding slips. Splice moved fast, skimming the tabs as he flipped them open:
Ashenvale Ventures: Memorandum of Sale
Green Holdings Land Trust: Original Charter (Annotated Copy)
Estate Transfer: Marlow Truckenham, Will & Testament (Provisional Filing)
Splice grabbed everything he could, folded the folders flat, and thrust the whole stack into the waistband of his trousers. He tugged his jacket closed over the bulge, fastening it with sharp, efficient movements.
He flicked the light back off and eased the door shut with a soft snick.They would know someone had been here, eventually. But for now, the wood would remember his touch and keep his identity a secret.
