Sometimes I can use the cane instead of my crutches before I get my leg on in the morning, but usually I need it if I’ve been on my prosthetic too long and walking has started hurting.
In an effort to distract myself, I ask, “What’s up with the thing in the basement? Why did it suddenly attack? It feels like it’s been there a long time, but it never manifested like that before.”
Darcy releases a subvocal growl. “It was probably caught in the magic when you teleported with the flink. Shit like this happens all the time. The creepier a place feels, the more susceptible to infestation it is when it comes to those things. You teleport, and magically speaking, it’s fairly difficult to teleport a living being, so you weaken the membrane of the universe, and that allows other things to travel into our universe.”
“That’s how you end up with hauntings?” Bellamy questions as Fox returns with my cane.
I finish securing my prosthetic, and I take it from him, muttering, “Thanks.”
“There are other ways, but that’s what happened here,” Darcy confirms as Romily types out a message and sends it.
Darcy reads it aloud, “Since we’re asking questions. What is a feu follet beyond a will o’ wisp? Yes, I could google it, but I don’t think I trust the internet to tell me about paranormal people after the whole thing with succubuses not being strictly women thing.”
I perk up at that. “What are succubuses?”
Darcy answers me first, and it sends another bout of affection pulsing through me. I’m really pushing the limits for his idea of a casual hookup. I wonder if I can convince him to stick around for the friendship we’re developing. I don’t think a one-off would be good for him, and something inside me tells me that we’re not meant to be temporary.
It’s not even weird how attached to him I’m getting. I have terrible taste in men, and he’s clearly my current mistake. I warned myself not to do this, but here I am, fully invested in trying to bag a blood witch.
“Succubatare the creation of Bona Dea as a gift from Lilith to Bacchus. They were food for Lilith and Bacchus specifically, though any incubaccha can feed from them. They’ll feed demons that require the magical and living energy of others to sustain themselves. As far as we know, there is only one in existence right now, and he’s one of the Foxilys.”
Darcy answers Romily’s question next. “The feu follet are swamp witches that spend the majority of their time as balls of energetic light like you saw Elijah become. They’re notorious for leading the lost into witch groves.”
Romily uses his hands to ask what a witch grove is, but Darcy doesn’t look like he understands, so I ask for him, “What’s a witch grove? And what do they do with the lost?” I add that for my own benefit.
Romily points to me and nods.
Darcy’s eyes dance between me and Romily suspiciously. “You definitely belong in the Foxily family,” he mutters, and Fox nods approvingly. Romily beams, and Bellamy sighs as Darcy continues his explanation. “A witch grove is two things at the same time. It’s a dry place in the swamp where a witch has made their home. Humans sometimes come across them and talk about them as haunted places with ornaments made of the bones of small animals hanging from the trees. It’s also a gateway space between this universe and a pocket realm where a feu follet’s true home is. If they get a human into their pocket realm, ain’t nothin’ can be done to bring them home. Normally, humans that get lost and end up in a witch grove because they followed the feu follet don’t want to leave even if rescue arrives. The feu follet treat their pets extremely well, and whenconfronted with the possibility of returning to their old lives, the humans usually choose to remain in the grove.”
“I like that.” It’s nice to come from a benevolent ancestry.
Darcy smiles affectionately at me. “You’re barely more than human, but that tiny spark of swamp witch has been awakened inside you, and you’re incredible.”
“Of course he’s incredible—he’s a Foxily,” Darcy adds when Romily sends him a text message.
“Foxily.” I try that out, but it’s a little weird.
Romily continues to type, and we all wait. Any of the other people could explain this to me, but we wait for him because… I suppose it’s because he deserves to be able to have the conversation he wants to have.
“I love this for you,” I tell him aloud while he’s typing.
He pauses to look up, then smirks and nods and goes back to typing. He gets it.
Darcy lends him his voice again, “In about ten years we’re all changing our names and identities to keep up with the human government, yada, yada, yada, and we’re all taking on the surname Foxily, so everyone knows we’re family. I’m still trying to come up with a good name for me and Fox so that the next surname after Foxily will be just as wonderful as Foxily is. It’s a struggle. We need two names that meld together like Brangelina and Swelce.”
“Nice. Like Dylaney. Dylan and Melody. I bet we can come up with some great names.” I like how they’re centering their family like that. Romily seems like the kind of guy who’s good at building his life the way he wants it to be.
“Dylaney. That’s a good one,” Fox mutters, and Romily shakes his head at him. Fox speaks aloud while Romily is pointing at his face and wagging his finger. “You don’t get to choose our future names. You are the worst at choosing names.” Romily turns toward me and Fox talks for him again. “He namedhimself Arlington Fox this time around. Do you know what his fathers call themselves? Patervulpis because they wanted to declare that they are Fox’s fathers, but they didn’t want to be super obvious about it, so they picked a language that no one speaks. It’s funny they do that, but that means we have to pick names so that when they change their name, it’s not completely ridiculous and unutterable.”
“Makes sense. I heard about the Patervulpises. I think Darcy said something about getting me in an orgy with them.” I turn to Darcy, who takes my hand and leads me onto the array he reactivated while we were talking about names.
“After I’m done with you,” he announces and shoots Fox a little grin.
Fox rolls his eyes, and I think that’s the first time I’ve seen more than a stoic expression on his face. “Don’t.”
He’s a man of few words except when he’s talking for his partner, and I’ve clearly landed in the right crowd—anyone willing to do a difficult thing to give aid to someone with a disability is my kind of person. He’s voiced his objections, and it’s only fair to take them into consideration when he’s adopting me into his little found family.
“Don’t worry. Orgies really aren’t my thing,” I reassure him. Besides, I’m not going to want to hop back in the sack with anyone when Darcy’s done with me. I can feel that in my bones already.
