"You need to tell Magnur," Ziggy continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Today. Now."
"I know."
Ziggy handed my phone back to me, watching as I blocked the new number and took screenshots of the message and photo for evidence.
"Good," he said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For being here."
"Always." He squeezed my shoulder, then straightened up, visibly shifting gears. "Now, let me tell you about my hookup last night."
I recognized what he was doing, changing the subject to pull me out of the dark place my mind was heading. It was a technique we'd perfected over years of friendship. I let him do it, grateful for the lifeline.
"So," he began, returning to his spot on the bed, "I met this satyr at The Cauldron, you know, that new place on 7th that serves those color-changing cocktails?"
I nodded, forcing myself to focus on his words rather than the sick feeling in my stomach.
"Anyway, he was hot. Like, objectively gorgeous. Curly hair, bedroom eyes, legs for days—well, the top halves of his legs, anyway." He winked. "So we're flirting, right? And he invites me back to his place. I'm thinking, score! But then we get there, and turns out he lives with his entire herd."
"His what?" Despite everything, I found my attention caught by the absurdity.
"His herd! Like, twelve other satyrs all crammed into this loft apartment. Apparently they're super communal." His hands flew as he told the story. "So I'm standing there in the living room, surrounded by all these half-goat men, and my date says, 'Oh, by the way, we share everything.' And I mean everything."
My eyes widened. "No."
"Yes!" Ziggy nodded enthusiastically. "Turns out I had accidentally agreed to some kind of satyr orgy situation. Which,under different circumstances, might have been intriguing, but—"
"But you were expecting a one-on-one situation," I finished for him, feeling the corner of my mouth twitch.
"Exactly! So there I am, trying to figure out how to politely decline a twelve-satyr gangbang, when one of them offers me something to drink. I'm thinking it's just like, water or whatever, so I say sure."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. It was NOT water. It was some kind of fermented... I don't even know what. Tasted like feet and fire. So I spit that shit out."
A snort of laughter escaped me before I could stop it.
"Turns out," he continued, "that's like a huge insult in satyr culture. Like, the equivalent of slapping someone's grandmother. So now I've got eleven offended satyrs and one very embarrassed date."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"The only reasonable thing, I pretended to get a phone call about a family emergency and bolted. Then I blocked his number and took three showers when I got home. I swear I can still smell goat."
I laughed hard until tears leaked down my face and my stomach hurt. Ziggy grinned at me, mission accomplished.
"There she is," he said softly. "My best girl."
I wiped at my eyes. "You're ridiculous."
"And you love me for it." He hopped off the bed and moved to my closet. "Now, let's get you out of that shirt and into something for your client meeting, and I have a lunch date that hopefully doesn't involve hooves."
I let him pull me to my feet, grateful for the distraction, I changed quickly and dropped my bag by the door so I'd be ready to go as soon as Magnur returned. I had just finished mymeeting when another knock sounded at my door. I didn't need to check the peephole to know who it was. The thread between us hummed with proximity, pulling taut like a string connecting my sternum directly to the demon on the other side of the door.
Ziggy darted to the door and pressed his eye to the peephole. He turned back to me with an exaggerated "oh fuck" expression, fanning himself silently.
"That is a whole lot of man," he whispered, eyes wide. "You weren't exaggerating."
"Told you," I whispered back, smoothing my skirt nervously.
