Silva closed her eyes, tucking her face against his chest as he turned them down the dark hallway, pulling the Pixie’s heavy back door shut behind them and setting the alarm. Tate ascended the staircase, still holding her aloft.
“It-it was only a minute or two, though,” she went on, talking into his shirt. “The door was stuck, and I had to push hard to get it open and then . . . and then I must have fallen, I guess? But it was only for a few minutes. Why did you call the police?”
They were back in his apartment then, everything felt cool, and familiar, and he carried her straight through to the bedroom, never slowing.
"A few minutes is all it was, little dove. You're right. I was just overreacting. But now I think you should get some sleep. We've had a very long night."
The party. He must've meant a long night from the unexpected party, Silva thought. But as Tate deposited her gently on the bed, peeling her out of her clothes and tucking her beneath the fluffy duvet, her eyes locked on the side of her pink quilted weekender, sitting atop one of his tall antique bureaus.
The weekender bag they had left to fetch, the one she had left in the car. The car that was parked on the other side of the lake. He would have needed to go down the alley to reach the road if he’d gone around to where the car was parked.I've been ‘round this fucking lake a dozen times. I was going back to dive in.
She didn't know how to explain anything. Her head felt heavy and clouded, and as Tate slipped beneath the sheets beside her, she didn't have the energy to question anything else. Silva pressed herself against him, letting his chest absorb the tears that were still falling as he stroked her hair. She couldn’t account for anything.
“It’s alright, you’re safe and sound now,” he murmured against the top of her head, placating and light. “Do you remember what I told you that first night we met, dove? I’m the scariest thing in the darkness. You don’t need to worry.”
It had been just a few minutes of time that she had lost, she was sure of it. The Pixie's door had stuck, holding them inside the pub, and she had gone crashing out into the alley.Then you must have fallen and hit your head.Tate would have found her sprawled in the alley the moment he reached the doorway, only a minute or two behind her. Silva felt her heart thumping in her chest, discernible in the tips of her fingers and beneath her jaw.
None of that explained why she was able to see the sky lightening beyond the window on the other side of the room, an indication that it was just before dawn. Her heartbeat thumped at the back of her tongue and behind her eyes. It had been just after midnight when the last of the party guests had left, when Tate had locked the door behind Ainsley and Elshona, after she'd hugged Ris, when they had gone upstairs to realize her bag was still in the car.
And now it was dawn. She had lost the whole night, somehow.But you only took two steps away from the door.Silva felt the timpani-like reverberation of a racing heartbeat against her, surrounding her, able to feel its panicked vibration against her skin.
As a golden finger of light began to stretch across the sky outside the window and her eyes fluttered shut at last, she realized it was Tate's.
Ris
"Are you going to let us pick our own dresses?"
Across the table, Lurielle's head raised from her phone, eyebrow arching.
Ris gestured to the bridal magazine open before her on the table. “Do you have a silhouette in mind? Is everyone going to pick their own or are we getting an assignment? This isn’t a traditional ceremony, right?”
Lurielle's eyebrows drew together, nose wrinkling as she considered the question. "Definitely not, but I don't want it to look like a human ceremony either. What were the trolls wearing to their spring weddings three years ago?"
Ris grinned, shuffling through the stack, finding an issue featuring trolls and goblins.
She and Ainsley had gone to a sale at the library in Starling Heights the previous weekend, housed in a beautiful, turn-of-the-previous-century mansion. She had laughed at him initially, rolling her eyes as he put several empty milk crates in the trunk of his car before they left, but Ris had been glad for his foresightonce they arrived back at his apartment, milk crates full of their purchases, along with most of the backseat.
He had exclaimed in excitement over a succession of reference books, insisting he’dalwayswanted to build her birdhouse as he brandished a hardback on woodworking, while she had cleaned up with several heavy, dog-eared coffee table tomes of high fashion photography.
She had picked through the several laundry baskets of old magazines somewhat halfheartedly, scooping up a handful of bridal publications, deciding the 10 for $1 price tag was more important than whether or not they were magazines geared for a specific species. As a result, they had several issues featuring human ceremonies, one featuring nothing but lizard folk, an assortment of goblins and trolls, and then paydirt — a single magazine featuring Orcish nuptials.
Lurielle had bitten her lip the first time they’d pored over the pages, eyeing the statuesque Orcish brides and the ornate cuffs placed on both their wrists and tusks.
“That looks really heavy,” she had muttered, once they’d turned the page to find a full-spread advertisement for an Orcish jeweler, the cuffs on display.
“He’ll just have to have one specially made for you,” Ris had shrugged at the time. “Something lightweight and delicate.”
“Ruffles,” she said now, turning the publication so Lurielle could see the goblin fashion editorial. “Lots and lots of ruffles. It’s awholelot. Silva would like this, probably.”
Lurielle snorted. "See, that’s the thing. I would want to make sure everyone has a dress they love, and all of your styles are so different. But,” she arched a blonde eyebrow in Ris’s direction with a sharp grin, “it should be pointed out that once I watched you attempt to go to dinner wearing a fishnet poncho with your nipples sticking out, so I feel like some guidelines need to beestablished. Khash's grandmother probably doesn't need to see that.”
“Well, that’s just great. I’ll have you know that was my number one pick.”
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of what seemed to be half the accounting department, gossiping about one of their bosses with no small amount of zeal. Ris glanced at her phone, knowing they needed to head back to their respective departments soon.No matter.There would be ample opportunity to continue the conversation that evening.
They had plans to meet for dinner that night in Cambric Creek — her and Ainsley, and Lurielle and Khash — before she and Ainsley drove back to his apartment in Starling Heights.
At first, Ainsley had been aggravated over his week-long reassignment to the Bridgeton office, grousing about it every evening in the week leading up.
