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Without speaking, he turns from me heading back towards the kitchen. I give my half-completed painting another once over, desperately wanting to ignore the pang of hunger in my stomach and finish it. I force myself to my feet, my legs aching with pins and needles from being in the same position for so long. For all the books and stories about our purpose, the purpose of The Order, there’s little information on what happens to a member after they die. Apart from going to the Underworld. You’d think by now someone would have at least had the decency to make something up in times of distress. I suppose now that there’s no chance of saving our asses, that’s what I’m most curious about. If maybe that’s what she wanted to show me. Although it didn’t feel like Clotho this time. When I enter the kitchen, taking my spot at the island, the questions that have been lingering in my mind since our most recent litter of revelations are on the tip of my tongue.
What happens next? What about the painting? What does it mean? Why won’t they just fucking tell me what I’m supposed to know?
He sits down with a loud thud, far from the normal prideful elegance he’s imbued with.
We’re all exhausted.
“The picture... it looks like the back shelf in the library. He mutters, pushing my plate towards me.
“Why wait to tell me that after we left the room?”
“If I told you in there, would you have left?”
Probably not.
I roll my eyes, trying to picture how he’s making that comparison, and nothing comes to mind. Although I try to spend as little time in the library as possible. We sit in comfortable silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Annoyance flares through the bond along with... what?
Respect? Gratitude?
I glance up at the cameras littered all over the house, knowing they’re watching. Carlton stands without speaking, helping himself to Milo’s bourbon. I smile, imagining how Milo is cussing him right now. The kitchen camera shifts position towards Carlton, confirming my suspicion. Like I didn’t know they’ve been watching me off and on all evening. Carlton glances up, noticing it before downing the drink and carrying the dirty glass to the sink. My eyes fall to the crumpled shirt he’s wearing, kicking myself for not noticing sooner.
Focus, Kita damn.
I don’t ask what happened. If he just came from seeing his sons, I can imagine he’s not going to be the mood to discuss how or why he pissed Milo off. Who is the most likely culprit. Not that it’s hard to get under his skin. Carlton seems to do it faster than anyone. For good reason. He shifts on his feet, looking uncomfortable, “I’ll stay here until your friend comes.”
I sit my fork back down, eyeing the bite I just stabbed into for myself, “It’s okay, she should be here in an hour or two. We all need our rest. I’m sure tomorrow will be exhausting.” For them maybe, all I have to do is show up. Even knowing that it doesn’t help wean the nervous excitement I feel. It’s not a legal marriage, but a marriage recognized in the eyes of our goddesses, of The Order is more than enough for me. He grumbles, sitting back down before pulling out his laptop from the briefcase he must’ve brought in with him.
Okay, guess you’re staying then.
It feels weird feeding myself. This house feels weird without them in it. Without their bickering or their hands lingering on my skin as I walk past. The way they gravitate towards me no matter what we’re doing, “I’m glad I don’t have to stay here without them.” The words slip from my mouth before I think better of it. Making the clacking of his fingers on the keys of his laptop stop abruptly. He lists his head before nodding, “I’m glad they won’t be alone. Tomorrow is your wedding day, Kita. Try to relax. The end of the world can wait.” He looks up, his eyes going far past the high ceiling and the elaborate light fixtures, “They owe you all that much.”
I don’t think the gods care much for what we’re owed.
