Page 10

Being the subject of an Oracular’s prying questions is nothing if not humbling.

‘Obviously.’

Lavender just tilts her head in acquiescence, before going back to texting. ‘Who are you messaging now?’ I ask her.

She looks at me through the corner of her eye. ‘Don’t judge me.’

The beginning of a smile pulls at the corners of my lips. ‘Who?’

Lavender cringes. ‘A bee-shifter.’

Hm. Bee-shifters are… well, they’re lovely… it’s just they’re a bit dizzy. Also, the male bee-shifters do this thing after sex where they just… die. It was quite the shock my first time with one. But then, you know – they are immortal, so it’s only a year or so before they reanimate and come back better than ever.

‘Whatever gets you going,’ I supplicate.

Twigs trailing through her rather flat lilac hair, ‘I’m seeing him tomorrow for a quick link.’ She says, ‘It’s just ever since that fucking asshole Fae, I’ve been in such dire need of a pollen injection.’

Quite the euphemism.

I shrug, not really knowing what else I can say until I remember our previous chat. I frown. ‘Aren’t you seeing that Dryad tomorrow?’

‘Not until evening.’ She smirks.

‘Lavender, you slut!’ I joke. But I suddenly fret that she’ll take it the wrong way.

That is, until her laughter rings through the night. It sounds like a bell chiming. I release the captive breath and smile to myself as I sip the spiked coffee. It’s nice to say something right. It’s nice to be understood.

And on that note, time to end the night on a high.

‘Well, early start tomorrow – I’ve got a job to hunt down.’ My hands clap the backs of my knees as I use them for leverage to get to my feet, body still stiff from the exertion of my earlier walk. ‘I’d better head in.’

‘Good luck,’ Lavender slurs after an undignified snort.

‘No need for luck, I have trauma induced determination and looming destitution to spurn success.’

‘Atta girl.’ Her branch smacks me on the arse, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d mistake it for a sign of affection. But I do know better. Especially after what happened with Tilly. We’d spent years together. We’d survived together. But it didn't mean anything. I am, after all, mortal. What point is there creating a lasting relationship with a being whose time is so fleeting?

So, no. Lavender doesn’t actually like me. I’m just a distraction. And that’s fine, I guess…

I think one of life’s greatest tragedies is that even if you do have lots of friends and lots of family, no one ever really knows you. No one ever really understands. Because there’s so much depth to a soul – it’s not something you can sink to the bottom of. There’s just not enough time. You can only ever float along the surface, wade around a while and say things like ‘how was your day’ and ‘what’s your favourite colour?’ Maybe sometimes you’ll take a dive. And ask things like ‘what’s your biggest regret?’ or ‘who broke your heart?’, but even then, you’re not really knowing them. A person is so much more than words can ever really capture.

It’s for this reason – as I head inside with half a bottle less of cheap liquor – I download Door and sit there contemplating my ideals for the better part of an hour, before finally relenting and pressing that seductive little sign-up button lit all in red at the bottom of the screen.

The couch groans beneath my weight as I shift my feet underneath me, giddy. The lounge room is cast in low light. Perfect for romantic conversation and other endeavours of the heart. I’ve been having polite conversation with a man by the name of Henry for the past twenty minutes, and I have to say I’m quite proud of my quick responses and minimal conversational blunders. Not too bad for a socially inept awkward.

After exchanging phone numbers and transitioning to text, an image is sent through, though too small to see. I squint.

‘Is that a nose?’ Head tilted, I click to enlarge it and wait as the image buffers.

The picture appears in high definition at precisely the same moment I hear a low voice drawl from behind me, ‘That, is a cock.’

‘AH!’

A chorus of high-pitched squeals ensue, while I trip twice over my own feet and then hit my shin on the coffee table and fall to the ground. You know – just for good measure. Meanwhile, a tall man with impeccable dark hair glares at me with his head cocked and his immaculate brows pinched. He has a sharp jaw, and high cheek bones. Everything about him screams menacing attraction. Is the middle-ground between impressed and unimpressed, sickened? I think that’s the look he’s giving.

‘Who are you, and what do you want?!’ Along with my ability to form a coherent thought and not just yell wordlessly, I’ve uncovered a candle stick that looks like it’s been pilfered from a game of Cluedo, hiding beneath that stars-awful coffee table.

The very good-looking felon who’s probably going to murder me soon, frowns.