Evelyn slowly unzipped the bag, revealing an iridescent linen dress. “Wow. Trev… this is too much…”
“No… no, not at all. On loan from the cosplayer. And since you prepared dinner the last couple of times, I’ve brought some food…”
Evelyn chuckled. “We’re going to eat like the ancient Greeks?”
“Think of it as culinary fareinspiredby the era, with lots of items from Aphrodite’s Grill over on Seventeenth. As for the music, you ever heard of Yanni?”
Evelyn took the dress into the bathroom. Her makeup was indeed strewn all over her face. Two weeks ago, she would’ve pitched herself off a bridge before she’d let someone see her in such disarray. And yet here she was, jacked-up face, dude outside waiting with glee. Her dude.
When Evelyn came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, she spun for Trevor in the flowing dress that grazed her feet. She loved how the linen rested on her skin, how the braided midriff fabric snaked around her torso and back, how the skirt billowed at the slightest movement. She didn’t know where Jackie had found the garment, but it was lovely. Not too grand, not remotely close to a wedding dress. Just right.
“Oh, baby,” Trevor whispered as he drew her close. “Look at you. And wait… I have an extra something.” He dipped into his bag, pulled out a crown made of olive leaves interlaced with lilies of the valley. He placed the crown atop her curls. Evelyn didn’t know how to articulate the array of emotions she was experiencing… smidgeons of embarrassment and surprise, but mostly awe.
They embraced for what must have been the millionth time that evening. And it still wasn’t enough.
The spread was grand. Sparkling water and agiorgitiko wine, tzatziki, dolmades, marouli salad, chicken souvlaki… The return of dinner by candlelight. Trevor lit incense that he’d brought over, the smell of frankincense and myrrh soon filling the studio. His playlist, a fusion of electronic jazz and synth-y new age sounds. Evelyn, in fact, recognized one artist, the warbling Irish lady, Enya, who provided tunes for several lucrative advertising campaigns she’d studied in business school. Did the music represent what Mediterranean folks listened to thousands of years ago? Not by a long shot, but it fit the mood.
The two finished their meal and roamed her apartment in flowing white draped around their bodies, the color a heavenly contrast to their skin. Trevor’s beefy gams a wonder. She hadn’t realized just how much his skirt barely concealed his boulder behind, which she touched over and over (and over) again. He placed his hand over hers and planted it on his derriere, a silent confirmation.This is where I need your hand to be.
She and Trevor slow danced and rocked each other tight. He rested hishead on her shoulders, kissed her collarbone, her neck, the underside of her chin. His beard, a lush forest that created tingles on her skin. Pink-and-red rose petals lay underfoot, Evelyn finally able to use the packet of bathtub petals she’d kept under her sink for an at-home spa day that never materialized. She imagined that she and her man were on a flower-laden field somewhere in Rock Creek Park. The sun shone down upon them, a sign that they were favored. Her home city was safe and there was nothing to fear.
Evelyn’s eyes glanced over at her coffee table as something sparkled, catching her eye. Trevor’s amulet glistened in the flickering shadows that only candlelight could create.
He was right. It was a beautiful piece of art, though something about it still creeped her out.
Time passed. Trevor got up, prepared a little plate of bits and pieces from the dinner spread, and placed it on the nightstand. He removed his sash and chiton and stalked to her bed naked again, a round, husky panther who seemed to intuit that he should never keep his clothes on for long. Being in his baby’s presence meant being free. She took off the dress so as not to ruin it and remained in her slip. They lay in silence, fingers interlaced.
“You scared?” Evelyn asked.
Trevor nestled his face by her shoulder. “About demon-eye shit?”
“Yes, about demon-eye shit.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, to be honest, I’m scared. I’m fuckin’ petrified. But I’m happy I’m here with you. That we’ve taken time out… for this.” He looked up at her. “We’ll get through demon-eye mess together. That okay with you?”
Evelyn nodded and kissed his wrist. “That’s okay with me.”
SECOND INTERLUDE
The shadow was startled. The voluptuous woman’s soul was a beacon, a star. A shining thing that made the entity recall those who had once lived free on the island, who had escaped deprivation. When humans were fresher and purer and unsullied by modernity.
Her passion was uncommon, so voluminous, so rich in expression that the entity almost forgot about the other humans it had begun to consume. Her man’s passion mirrored her own. He was easy to latch onto for his desire for the woman filled his every pore. But she was an unexpected delight.
The shadow was shaken. It was enraptured by the woman’s joy. It was resentful of what the woman had. His joy had once been robust as well. Fleeting. A phantom memory that eluded him, that it had tried to grasp for over a hundred years. A futile act. Better to eat.
Yes, it took time to establish contact with humans through portals. The waiting was sometimes unbearable. But the entity had waited before, would do so again. What a feast she would be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JEREMIAH
He was relieved that patches of memory still came to him. That there was a semblance of relief to be had in the unending torture that life had become. There were things that he most certainly would have liked to forget. Like the words uttered by Dr. Shapiro, whose gentle face became sadder and more drawn each time he entered Jeremiah’s room. Who came with news that despite their best efforts… after days of trying IVs and meds and cooling blankets and strategically placed ice packs… they still didn’t know how to reduce his fever. That he was also now suffering from internal bleeding, the cause of which they couldn’t determine. That his eyes were glowing red nonstop.
The last part came as no surprise to Jeremiah, the pain and burning so bad that at one point he clawed at his eyeballs. He now viewed the world in murky, crimson hues. He was strapped down to his bed, not because they thought he was a real danger to anyone, even after being taken in by police, but because they thought he would literally rip his eyes out from their sockets.
Did they realize that he could no longer speak, that he’d completely lost his voice? That the creature hadtakenhis voice away from him? He’d triedto warn the doctor. Jeremiah was more than certain that there was indeed a thing that had been coming for him, a sly, vicious thing that only brought misery. He wanted to cry so bad, thinking about what had been stolen. But he was so tired, didn’t have energy to do even that.
His hands were dry, cracked. Hurt like the dickens. He had the vague memory that at one point this would’ve been unacceptable, that he would never have let himself go in this way. Douglas would’ve applied lotion on his hands, would’ve plied it on his palms and around his fingers. Taken his time with the gesture, said something flirty.
