I don't. I don't want to find out, either.
No, I don't want her to come in. I want her to invite me out to play.
“My name is Lucius. I’ll watch over you while you sleep. Would you like that, Agatha?”
“Are you lonely?”
Damn her. I’m taken aback. I want to prey upon her weaknesses, and she calls me on mine! With a hiss, I answer, “Yes.”
“D’you... D’you wanna sleep here? You shouldn’t drive home like that, you know,” she flings one arm across the vacant pillow beside her.
“I’d love to. Just call me over. Just ask me.”
“I did ask you, silly Lucius. You can sleep here.”
A jolt runs through the surface of my world, and I see the tiny cracks appear—a wall I can break through instead of the hard, invisible barrier that’s kept me trapped for eons.
I place both hands on the surface of the mirror and feel it flex and ripple. A knife-like sliver of light and dark meet, a flare of white flame that burns with cold.
Ages of waiting and hiding. Centuries of walking the line to keep myself “alive” in this half-existence.
No one has ever tempted me to reveal my name or come out of my prison for simple, peaceful exploration before. There are risks as well as advantages, and I’m always much more calculated.
Until her.
“You are quite special, sweet, scared, sad Agatha,” I whisper, flowing into the human world. Air fills my nostrils for the first time in a thousand years, so heavy and thick that I choke at first.
Her scent swallows me whole and turns me hard at once.
Berry is wide-eyed and hissing in the dark, tiny back a white arch of anger. I hold out my hands, and the little beast puts her pale pink nose on one grayish-purple finger. “I won’t hurt your human,” I promise, remembering how clever this tiny assassin is.
I’d like to bring Agatha pleasure, to use her to gain my own, but frankly, I don’t know if that’s possible. The air in my lungs (such as they are) is so heavy that I pant with each whispered word. The floor under my shadowy tentacles drags against me like the press of a rushing wave.
I’m so strong in my world, and there’s so much power in playing with the mind. This is new—and surprisingly arduous.
I heave myself onto the bed and feel the softness of the sheets and the plump firmness of the mattress—and Berry’s tiny claws on my currently solid tentacles. I’m tempted to whip one up and back, sending the kitten flying, possibly smashing it into the wall and killing the little thing.
“Stop that,” I warn in a snarl.
Aggie moans softly and burrows into my side. “Shh. Shh.” She awkwardly pats my arm and then pulls the blanket up over my chest. “You’re cold.”
I suppose I haven’t warmed up to human temperatures yet, but when I feel her press against me, my blood starts to simmer with lust.
How can she look so sophisticated and glamorous—even when she’s completely drunk and talking to cats? A smile plays over my lips. “Beautiful. You’re a rare one, Agatha.”
“Mmm. Thank you.”
“I’d like to visit you every night.”
“I have...book club. Wednesdays.” Her voice slurs with sleep.
“After.”
“Mmkay.”
My chest shudders with something like peace. Limbs go loose. Tentacles collapse into shadow, and Berry stops attacking me with a startled “mrr!” before stalking up to make a bed on the slightly concave space where ribs surround the navel.
I haven’t felt like this—ever. Not even while I was alive.
