“Demisexual. People who only form physical attraction after they’ve established a deep emotional connection to a person. Kind of like … you can’t find someone sexy unless you trust them first. I think.” The upward quirk of her mouth is rueful. “Honestly, I only have an idea of it.”
“That’s … I’m not sure I …” Words fail me as I examine what Ame just described. Is that truly a possibility?
“Mor?” Ame’s voice pulls me out of an internal whirlwind, and I meet her searching eyes. “If that word helps you, then great. But while I know how much you love organizing things”—she waves around to encompass the library—“keep in mind, you don’t need to label yourself. If you like someone, you can just like them. If you find someone attractive, you can just find them attractive.”
“Stop lecturing me,” I grumble.
Ame grins, and it wrinkles her freckled nose.
Whatever we might have said to each other next is interrupted by a soft yet distinct noise.
A scratching at the back door.
Ame and I share a look, and I press up from my chair to explore. Cracking the door lets in a chilly breeze, the cacophonous pound of precipitation, and a soggy raccoon.
The creature waddles into the kitchen like it owns the place and merely forgot its key.
“Hey!” I yelp.
“Oh.” Ame’s voice is soft with wonder. “You found your familiar.”
“I … what?”
Then it occurs to me that Ame works in a veterinarian’s office and is much more used to reading the emotional auras of animals than I am.
“I’ll grab some towels,” my sister announces instead of explaining further, disappearing in the direction of the laundry room.
As if understanding what Ame just said, the creature sits back on its haunches and waits, little arms rubbing droplets from its face.
“My familiar?” I whisper, half to myself, half to the raccoon.
Two liquid black eyes meet mine, and something settles in place in my chest.
I lower to a crouch myself, extending my hand. The raccoon reaches out and curls its little clawed digits around my pointer finger. Almost like we’re shaking hands.
“Hello.”
The raccoon chirps.
Then Ame returns with towels, and we carefully pat the forest creature dry, braced the whole time for it to stage a protest. But the raccoon merely sits still, then wanders over to one of the many cat beds placed around the library for Lucky. It curls up on the plush cushion and falls asleep.
“Aren’t they supposed to be nocturnal?” I whisper to Ame.
She shrugs. “Familiars make their own rules. But I can ask Lucky to keep an eye on your new friend.”
So, with my familiar asleep in my research room, under the watchful eyes of a black cat, I retreat up to my bedroom. But I’m still not sleepy, so I prop my laptop in my lap and proceed to googledemisexual.
At some point, I must have dozed off because my screen is black when I wake up to a thunderous crash overhead.
32
Bo
The boomof thunder wakes me up, but it’s the rending crack of a tree that sends me stumbling out of bed and into the torrential downpour. In the flashes of lightning, I catalog the damage, spying a massive branch that’s torn free of a tree and smashed into the roof of the library.
The roof of Mor’s bedroom.
Without thought, I’m shifting, taking on the horrific form of my monster as I charge toward the house. Navigating inside would be too slow, so I leap for the lowest point on the roof and climb upward. The storm rages on around me, not satisfied with the damage it’s done.
