“Keep playing,” she ordered with a wicked smile. And I obeyed. How could I not when her voice sounded like honey? Though, the music of her moans would be the sweetest I could think of.
Turning my attention to the sheet music, I focused on the notes, the movement of her hands, then her lips across my skin. Pleasure and tension built up in my body, and though my fingers stroked the keys, the real conductor was beneath the piano. My flame slid her hand between my—
I slam my hands down on the keys as footsteps ring out behind me.
“Hey bud, how you holding up?” Rosie asks, the scent of herbal tea heavy in the air, suggesting she has brought me a cup. I cannot bare it; closing my eyes tight, I continue to play. I meant to return the mortals—I truly did. But the pair insisted on staying, and I cannot lie: they have been an unexpected comfort.
The cup is placed on the ledge, and whether it is the honey in her voice or the drink that brings me back to the moment, I do not know.
“Do not patronize me.” I groan. Anything could have happened in a day’s time. Two years ago, I watched Heather’s life fade by way of a bullet that was meant for me in only a few moment’s time. “How long have you all been here?”
“Long enough,” Rosie replies. I am sure that they could see the haze in my eyes and blush to my cheeks while I sat here, lamenting. I decide it might be best to not ask anyone leading questions. It seems Holly, Oak, and Rosie have all been watching me daydream at the piano, and I am thankful that the memories that surfaced did not last long enough for me to do anything foolish…
But my desire for Heather is unfathomable, and the fear that I will not be there in time to save her is too horrible to conceive of. My patience has bounds and waiting for diplomacy has pushed them too far.
I’ll never forget the horror of seeing the light in her eyes flicker into something unfocused and far away. I acted before it was too late, and now my flame shares the power and burden of my abilities. Butwhat if I had not found her in time?
A world without my flame is too miserable to bear.
“I’m not trying to downplay this. It’s just… I don’t know, Holly told us this kind of thing happens here. It seems like everyone is making progress. Plus, there’s no way Heather would marry anyone else.”
“I have been corrected,” Holly grumbles. With a glance toward to the family portrait, she grimaces before tossing one of her knives directly into the painted face of our father. “The danger is not to be underestimated.”
“Oookay.” Rosie nods. “Then remind me exactly why we aren’t allfreaking out?” There’s an edge to her voice now.
“I think we covered that earlier, didn’t we?” Oak says casually, wringing his neck from his place on the chaise lounge “What stage of grief are we currently in—shall I get my armor?”
I shoot him an undeserved glare. I should never have lashed out at him.
“Heather has helped me overcome my monsters,” I say quietly. “It pains me that whatever she is facing, she is doing it alone.”
“Moth…” Rosie’s voice is quiet. The scent of the tea she brought wafts toward me from its place on the ledge of the piano. I draw in a deep breath, muttering an apology to her and Oak.
As far as my memory serves, I have never been good at friendship. Still, I accept her drink and kindness. The text Heather sent said she was safe.
I will just have to trust in that until we have a lead. If we are to rescue Heather, we will need some sort of plan that involves more than rumor-hunting and diplomacy. My wings itch to fly straight for where she’s hidden, and my claws tremble to feel King Magnus’s flesh turned to ribbons in my grasp. My hands slam down on the keys before pushing myself away from the piano bench.
“Let’s just try todistractourselves then, hm? It worked for you earlier at Ruby and Pepper’s house, right?” Rosie says slowly. “Oh, I know! How is the manuscript going?”
My writing?I let my jaw go slack. That is what she wishes to talk about now?
“It is of no concern at this moment,” I say, burying my head in my hands. Before all of this, the writing had been an easydistraction when I could not sleep at night. I did not anticipate finishing it. Or to “query” it for publication, something Heather has encouraged me to try. She says it’s “too good to sit in a notebook forever,” and I will not deny there is some part of me that craves to be known—not a blurry photograph but in a way I can choose.
“Oh, come now, brother! Indulge us if not a little bit,” Holly says encouragingly. I suppose I can update them, though it may not be the uplifting shift in conversation the group is hoping for.
“It has gone well,” I begin. “The e-mail replies however have noted I have archaic prose and a genre-crossing plot.” The rejections are of no consequence, though I do not think it is good conversation.
“It will find a home,” Rosie says, though the deep frown on her usually smiley face is … telling.
“Of that I have no doubt.”
“It’s not like a creative to be so sure of themselves,” she says, nervously tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.
“I found one—a home I mean.” I shrug, closing my eyes and thinking of the life I built with Heather. “So there is hope for it yet. Even if it does not amount to publication, it is an outlet. My former life in Eclipsica is hazy at best.”
Holly’s frown deepens; I should have chosen my words more carefully. My absence has caused her hardship, and I do not mean to add more melancholy to the already dreary mood.
“That must be hard,” my mortal friend says gently. I nod, unwilling to say anything further.
