“Canwegothroughthe labyrinth in the garden after our tour?”
A chorus of little voices chimed in, agreeing with the speaker, a small satyr who looked incredibly pleased with himself for being brave enough to ask the question all of his classmates were thinking. Madoc grinned, and Gwen felt her own mouth turn up at the sight, already knowing what was coming.
“Well, you can, but the hedge maze we have here is different from the labyrinth of Crete.Ourlabyrinth is unicursal, and the Cretan labyrinth we talked about today wasmulticursal. Can anyone tell me what the difference is?”
She smiled again when several small hands shot up as Madoc led the group of visiting schoolchildren out of earshot, their teacher and parent chaperone shepherding the back, ensuring no one dawdled or strayed.He’s going to be a great dad.The thought made her breath catch and her stomach flip, their recent conversation still fresh and full in her mind.
They’d already picked out the braided circlet she would wear on her wrist after their summer nuptials — white gold and delicate, inlaid with diamond chips that caught the light and sent a splash of rainbow color on the jewelry shop’s wall on the day she’d first tried it on, a twin of the heavier version that would go through his nose. The variety of wedding jewelry carried in the shop had made her head spin, a sign of the varied community she would soon call home.
Orcish cuffs and minotaurean circlets rested in the case beside all manner of rings worn on fingers and toes, necklaces and torques and hairpins, goblins and harpies and trolls, all having their respective cultures represented in a limited selection within the cases, a reminder that she’d soon be living amongst them. They both wanted children and during a giddy conversation in the pre-dawn hours several days earlier — pressed to his front in bed, in the house she’d soon be moving into — they agreed not to wait.
“We’ve done our waiting,” he’d reminded her, huffing against her hair as she agreed. Grad school and PhDs, postdoc research and dig sites, endless time away, endless time apart. “I don’t want to be the same age as the grandfathers on graduation day. Time to start actually living before our knees give out.”
“Withthe living,” she’d agreed, squealing as he rolled her. “The mummies can wait.”
“They’ll still be dead,” he’d assured her, blunt teeth nipping at her throat, her gasp as he pushed into her swallowed by his lips.
“So, how did you two meet?”
The voice of his co-worker, an amphibious woman with blue-green skin and glossy black eyes, who had been extremely welcoming when Madoc had introduced her around to the museum staff that morning, broke her reverie.Sleeva, that’s her name.
“It was on a dig,” Gwen laughed ruefully, thinking back to that sun-baked summer after her graduation. “A village settlement, Fort Meridian selkies. I had just graduated; he was already in grad school. The student volunteers were paired off alphabetically, and we have the same last name.”
She didn’t bother with the further explanation about minotaur naming conventions; that her mother had never used a hyphenated name, and Madoc’s clan had split into several bickering factions more than a century earlier, each changing their new clan name and all three names fading to obscurity until Bowman was the only name any of them used. They had joked that they would create their own clan name after their wedding, and she wondered if it would remain a joke once there were children in the picture.
“Ha! That was fate, wasn’t it?” the amphibious woman smiled broadly. “You kept in touch afterward, and it just went from there?”
“It was definitely fate,” she agreed, not mentioning the fact that it had only taken a few days of sweating their asses off side-by-side on the dig site to work up a sweat together at night in a barely-big-enough bed in the makeshift quarters.
Despite being Minotaurean herself, she’d been raised by her human-presenting mother in a predominantly human suburb, and Madoc had been the first male of her kind she’d been with. She’d had a handful of sexual partners at that point, but the mouthwatering sight of his thick cock and its first subsequent press within her had sent fireworks shooting behind her eyes, her body designed to accommodate his girth and length with ease. Moving with him in the small bed — the grit and dust of the dig site still hanging in the air, the close confines, the ruins and history surrounding them — it had felt magical. Magical and fateful, and when she’d cried out, climaxing around him, Gwen had been certain she could hear the echoes of lovers across two thousand years, living and loving and dying, right there, a touch of eternity.
“After that, we were always a few steps apart. I wound up going to his school for my grad degree. We were there for a year together before he left to do his doctorate, then I did a fellowship in the same city before he left for postdoc research . . . and that’s how we’ve lived for the better part of the last decade.”
She similarly neglected to mention the way they grocery shopped over the phone together every week, did laundry at the same time, watched movies, and listened to audiobooks, anything they could do to make the distance chafe a little less . . . but his co-worker didn’t need to know that.
The sight of him sitting before his laptop screen, legs splayed open and hard cock in hand, was one she saw weekly, long-distance sex that paled in comparison to the real thing, but the best they could manage. She knew exactly in which direction his horns would slice through the air and the way his cock would jerk as he came to her encouragement; knew precisely where the thick white ropes of his release would splatter against his chest and belly. She knew the way his stomach muscles would tighten and contract, the way his heavy balls would rise and pulse as he emptied for her watchful eyes. Gwen knew he would be able to say the exact same thing, having watched her own climaxes weekly for longer than either of them cared to count, and his co-workercertainlydidn’t need to know that.
She didn’t bring up the fact that the odd collection of time they actually spent in one place — cobbled together weeks that sometimes turned into short, blissful months — were seamless and easy; that falling into step with each other was as natural as breathing, which only made the inevitable parting feel as if her heart was being slowly poked apart, bleeding her dry until she had nothing left.
“It’s okay, though,” she went on, “because we always knew where we stood. Being apart wasn’t ideal, but there wasn’t any resentment or anything because we were doing the exact same thing. All the same degrees, the same digs, the same fieldwork. I get to nerd out over bronze-age pottery with my best friend. How many people get to say that? I was a few steps behind him, but we both knew where we would wind up.”
“And I’m so glad it’s here!” the other woman squealed. “We’re so thrilled to have him; you have no idea. This collection he’s put together . . . it’s remarkable stuff. The minotaur community here is so proud to have this sort of representation. And how amazing that you were able to find a position so close! My kids love the history museum in Bridgeton. We’re not big enough to have any cool dinosaurs here. You’ll have to let us know when your exhibit opens, and don’t listen to what anyone tells you; you’re not even going to notice the drive! It’s a straight shot into the city. He said you’ll be moving in soon?”
Gwen nodded, feeling a flutter of butterfly wings move through her. “Next week. I’m flying back just for the day to turn the key in and make sure nothing is left behind, but the movers will already have everything packed and loaded.”
It was a rental house, the only thing that had been available when he’d taken the job at the small, private museum in Cambric Creek, simultaneously terrifying to contemplate and a relief that they’d be able to pick out their forever home together.
“We’ll keep an eye on things,” he’d assured her the first weekend she’d spent visiting Cambric Creek after he’d moved. “I already found an agent who will let us know when houses hit the market so we can see them as soon as they’re available. As far as rentals go, this one is pretty great. Look, we have a yard! Real grass! Can you even believe it?!”
“Perfect for kids,” she’d murmured, stretching her toes out to brush the grass beyond the edge of the flagstone terrace where she’d sat across his lap. “And the schools here are good, you said?”
“The schools here are great,” the amphibian woman continued, almost as if she were able to hear the conversation Gwen replayed in her head. “It’s the public system, but you’ll feel like you’re getting the benefits of private tuition. The classrooms all have aids and specialists and tons of one-on-one attention. My youngest, Finny, he’s at the primary school right now, and he cries on Saturday mornings when I tell him he’s stuck with me all weekend.”
Gwen joined her chuckle, trying to envision a little boy with blue-green skin and webbed fingers.
“Our property taxes are through the roof, of course, but it’s worth it. That is if you’re even thinking about kids,” she added hastily. “I don’t want to sound like a pushy great-aunt.”
“We are. And the schools were a big draw, believe me. I grew up in an all-human town, so the thought of our kids growing up in a diverse place is important to us.”
