Page 98 of Florescentia

“I suppose you wouldn’t have been as much help as Calum anyway.” I smiled, turning down the path as I looked for more graves.

An audible scoff again, this time with a slight hiss.

I chose a newer grave, where the dirt was upturned and richer than the surrounding soil. Astraea truly wasn’t built for having as much development as it did. The soil was sandy, loose, more so in this area. I supposed that graves were the only things they could put here, realistically. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the coffins migrated over time below the surface.

I scraped the pencil again over the paper, collecting another name, and another smear of dirt.

Rachel Witham

“Do you know these people?” he asked.

“No.” I moved on to the next, this time venturing off the path and toward some of the crypts and mausoleums, decorated with statues and pillars. Of course, there were still small headstones gathered about.

I flicked one of the rusted bells hanging on a cross. I knew the city was stingy, but you would think they’d have had at least enough to take the bells of the safety coffins off after some time; the dead weren’t going anywhere at this point.

“I don’t trust that man.”

“You know his name is Calum,” I stated, eyeing him as I surveyed my next pick.

“You shouldn’t trust him with something as serious as this. You are wasting your time asking for his help. He isn’t there to help you.”

“Why is he there, then, Altair?” I turned on my heel, the dry earth crunching under my boot. I snapped my notepad shut, stepping toward him. “Could it be that you are feeling some sort of way about another man being friendly with me?”

“If you are insinuating I am jealous, then you forget that I don’t entirely suffer from the same ailments as you people,” he hissed. His eyes were sharp, shoulders rigid.

“You people,” I repeated, an amused whisper. “Do you think that fondly of us? Of me?”

His eye twitched, his facade easily fallible.

“Are you sure you are so immune?” I poked his chest with the corner of my notebook.

He took a step back. Such a comical reaction to little old me, with a tiny notebook and sharp words. Perhaps he was getting soft on me.

I shoved him, and he stumbled from the sudden assault. His back hit a tall headstone, and his hands immediately flailed against the stone to get up.

“Ah, ah.” I clicked my tongue at him, placed my boot on his thigh. “Where are you going?”

“Apparently nowhere.” He glared, his eyes sliding down to my boot peeking under my skirt, my heel dug into the meat of his thigh.

“Before you change into some monstrosity and whip me around like a rag doll, like I know you want to,” I began, stepping off his thigh, “how about we test your abilities.”

“Excuse me?” he scoffed.

I gathered my skirts, lowering myself to my knees, just above his lap.

He pressed his body against the stone, pupils widening and constricting, completely unaware of how honest a human skin could be.

I leaned close, sitting down on his lap with my hands pressed into his chest. Our noses touching, I could feel every breath, every beat.

“Whether or not you can be afflicted,” I breathed, “since you are so sure you’re some numb, boring piece of wood that can’t feel a thing.”

For once the shadow was quiet, but that only meant he was stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“You can’t cheat by removing the cock from your body.” I spread my legs, my knees rubbing against the dirt. “Now, give me something to play with.”

That was when I felt a bulge form.

“You are so good at following directions.” I touched his face.