He stood and stepped back, waiting for the cricket to hop outside the cage.
The cricket stood still, staring at him.
The trickster shook his head. “She’s right. You are stupid.”
He crouched down again and nudged the cricket from the cage with his pointer finger. The cricket squatted on the nightstand and then climbed onto the trickster’s hand. He shuddered and stared at the insect.
“Sorry,” he said. “I really don’t like bugs. At all. I’m trying very hard not to squash you. Basically because I think Last would go insane if I did. Not that she isn’t already insane, but even more so. Losing you, fine. Crushing you.” He shrugged. “She acted like she wouldn’t mind if we killed you, but . . . Why am I talking to a bug? I’m losing my mind.” He gave the cricket an appalled look and brushed it off his hand onto the floor. “Go on. You’re free.”
When the cricket didn’t move, he swiped at it. “Go!”
The cricket jumped then climbed onto the nightstand and quickly hopped back into the cage.
The trickster stared at it. “What’s wrong with you?”
It hunched at the back of cage and stared at him with bright black eyes.
“I’m not going to lock the cage . . .” He stared at the cricket and then sighed. “Fine. I will. My luck, if I don’t lock the door, some rat’ll come in and eat you. Wait, that reminds me. You need food. Aphids. Larvae.” He shuddered. “Because one bug isn’t enough. I’ll be back.”
A cricket song later, the trickster strolled tiredly into the bedroom carrying a Styrofoam container full of tiny insects. He pushed a few through the bars.
“Here,” he said, and when the cricket ignored them, he sighed. “Well, don’t say I didn’t try.”
He turned his back to the cage and pulled his shirt off, displaying the mottled jackaltooth coloring that had extended past his shoulder and over his back and chest. He stripped down and then folded the blankets back on his bed. He climbed in, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.
“I’m getting married tomorrow.”
The wind settled onto the pillow next to him.
“No, don’t try to talk me out of it. I already know what you’re going to say.” He smiled at the ceiling. “Last was right. Crickets are nice companions.” He turned his head and looked over at the bug. “Although I truly think you should’ve taken the chance and left. Now you’re stuck in a cage eating larvae.” His mouth twisted. “With me. Bad luck, right?”
The cricket chirped, and the trickster smiled.
“What? You think it’s good luck? No. Let me tell you about good luck.” His smile softened, and he stretched his legs out on the bed. “Never mind. I don’t know what you’ll share with my soon-to-be wife.”
The cricket made a high, outraged noise.
The trickster laughed. “I like you. I mean, your eating habits are disgusting, and you are incredibly ugly. But, well, I’m going to be incredibly ugly soon too. There is that. Did you know, I don’t actually want to marry Last? Will you tell her that? No? You’re just a cricket? Just an insect? That’s good.”
He smiled at the ceiling and let out a long breath.
“It’s fine. I’m just a Bard. A loyal one. It’s my curse, being loyal. I’ll marry Last, because that’s what the Bard wants. But I wonder why she’s marrying me. Beyond the obvious black widow plot. She’s not subtle, you know?”
The wind sniffed then spun in a circle and plopped back down on the pillow.
The trickster reached over and flicked off the nightstand’s lamp. The room descended into a deep, still darkness.
The trickster let out a long, tired breath.
It was long past dusk, but the wind knew the boy would wait. He’d want to hear what the wind had learned.
The cricket began to sing. Its song sounded like coins thrown into a fountain. A sweet, honeyed melody flowed soothingly through the dark room.
The wind blew gently over the trickster’s cheeks. It sighed at the soft curling of his lips.
“This song reminds me,” the trickster said, “of someone I love.”
He fell asleep smiling.
