It was awkward. And, Goldie admitted, kind of adorable.
The new quietwas most noticeable in Goldie’s apartment—or rather,theirapartment, as she was learning to think of it. The space had settled into its new, larger shape as if it had always been that way—the widened doorways, the softened light, the extra space that somehow felt like it had been waiting for them all along.
Splice moved through it with a strange, hesitant grace. He was still quiet, intense, and prone to standing out the window for long stretches as if listening for a sound only he could hear, but his restless edge had faded. The Thornfather slept peacefully in the atrium, and for the first time, Splice was simply Splice. AnI,not awe.
He was also, to Goldie’s amusement, trying very hard to be responsible about his new position. Most mornings she’d find him at the kitchen table with the tablet Detective Oseki had dropped off, poring over legal documents with the wary patience of a man translating a cursed scroll.
He hated every second of it. She could tell by the way his jaw worked, by the faint patterns of vines blooming at his temples. But whenever she came up behind him and slipped her arms around his shoulders, he’d sigh, lean back into her, and let the tension go.
He was trying. And gods help her, she loved him for it.
The building approved of the entire situation wholeheartedly. Mr. Lyle now greeted Splice with the same formal, slightly fond nod he gave Goldie, and the older elevator now played soft, jazzyharmonies whenever they rode it together. All in all, Greymarket Towers seemed to have decided that Splice’s personhood and Goldie’s happiness were the new normal, and it wasdelightedabout it.
It was on a quiet Tuesday night, while Splice was dutifully attempting to understand something called a ‘riparian rights clause,’ that Nell and Jem arrived, armed with three different kinds of sugary treats and a bottle of sparkling wine.
Splice emerged from his paperwork, gave the women a polite, slightly awkward nod, and then announced, “I believe it is time I consult with Sig.”
Goldie arched a brow. “On riparian law?”
“No,” Splice said gravely. “On composting. And women.”
And with that, he disappeared out the door, off to meet Sig for what had become a semi-regular ritual: long, muttered conversations in the community garden, where they bonded over soil pH, dietary restrictions, the baffling resilience of human women, and the burdens of divine purpose versus municipal bureaucracy. It was a new friendship. It was adorable. Nell and Goldie were both over themoonabout it.
Nell popped the cork on the wine and gave Goldie a long, appraising look. “Okay,” she said, pouring three generous glasses. “Spill it. How’s domestic life treating you? You’ve never had a live-in boyfriend before, and doing it with a cryptid is a whole new flavor of strange.”
Jim, whose husband Hollis was a dapper and charming Tariaksuq, leaned forward eagerly. “Does he molt? Does he leave dirt smudges on the upholstery? I swear, Hollis’s face flickered at me the other day when I used the last of his fancy olive oil. He claims it was my imagination, but I know a passive-aggressive shimmer when I see one.”
Goldie laughed. “No molting, but he does talk to the plants. Last night, I caught him having a very serious discussion with the fern in the hallway.”
It was a funny, absurd little detail, but as she said it, she felt a wave of affection so strong it almost stole her breath. This was her life now. It was strange and complicated and absolutely perfect.
“But for real,” Jem said, tucking her feet under her. “The sex. We need to talk about the sex.”
Goldie grinned into her wine glass. “Finally, we get to the important part of the debrief.”
“I’m serious!” Jem insisted, gesturing with her cupcake. “Hollis is wonderful and attentive, but sometimes it’s like making love to a concept. A very handsome, well-dressed concept, but still.” She shrugged and grinned. “Not that I’d change him. I just usually like to know which plane of existence I’m kissing, that’s all.”
Nell snorted with laughter. “Try having a partner who believes sex is an event on the level of the Olympics. Sig is the most considerate lover I’ve ever had, but sometimes I would like it if he wasn’t so serious and we could just have a quickie without him waxing poetic about my body and my ethos.”
Goldie felt a wave of warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the wine. “It’s pretty fantastic,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. “With Splice, it’s like everything is new. He’s learning how to be tired. How to be hungry. How to just be in a body without a divine purpose driving his every move.”
She took a generous gulp of her wine. “Also, there are vines. And he knows how to use them.” Shesangthe last part, wagging her eyebrows for effect.
Nell let out a horrified scream of laughter while Jem clapped her hands like she’d just witnessed a miracle.
“He’s very inventive,” Goldie went on, clearly enjoying herself. “And his vines? They can kind of appear… anywhere.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Anywhere on his body.”
The three of them dissolved into laughter, then into a warm, knowing quiet of women who’d all found their hearts in the strangest, most magical, and most wonderful corners of Bellwether.
Suddenly, Nell’s eyes unfocused and turned Dyad-white. Her wine glass tilted, and Goldie caught it before it spilled.
“Oh, hells,” Goldie muttered. “Is it another Doom?”
“No…” Nell’s voice had gone far-off, full of static. “It’s… threads. The Lustrum is breathing again.”
Jem straightened. “That sounds bad.”
“Not bad. Just… awake.” Nell’s expression softened into wonder. “I see the shape of something rising. A woman in the dark, singing under the surface of the water. She’s been there a long time. Waiting for someone who forgot how to breathe.”
