by Ramy Vance
He giggled and placed a hand over his heart. “Old soul.”
“Very old soul, indeed,” I agreed, and gave him a kiss he’d remember (and by kiss, I mean more than a kiss. But I’m a lady, and ladies don’t … ahem … kiss and tell).
↔
Once that was done, we fell into our cuddling position again, his arms around mine, silently breathing. Just when I thought he had drifted off to sleep, he whispered, “I wish I was a superhero.”
“Why?” I asked, pulling his arm tighter around me.
“So I could go on missions with you guys.”
It was a sore point for him that we wouldn’t let him come along when we were trying to deal with some rogue Other or fix some misunderstanding between species. But it was for good reason: I had three hundred years of experience as a vampire and a huntress. Egya was an ex-were-hyena, which meant he was annoying, always had some stupid joke in the chamber, but he was also an incredible tracker and warrior.
And as for Deirdre, well, Deirdre was a changeling warrior. In the fae world, she’d be the equivalent of an elite warrior. Think Navy Seal, Marine, Ranger and MMA fighter all rolled into one, and you still wouldn’t be close.
I touched my chest. “You’re here. I carry you in my heart.”
“Oh, ha ha. How very cheesy of you. But seriously, if I was a superhero, I’d be by your side. Doing good, righting wrongs. Battling the forces of Mordor on campus.”
“Hmph. Righting wrongs and fighting the forces of Mordor, eh? And tell me, superhero … what would your superpowers be?”
“I don’t know. Invisibility, for one. And the ability to turn kinetic energy into a blast …”
“Like Black Panther.”
“Black Panther and Harry Dresden’s rings.”
I nodded in approval. My super-hot boyfriend was a super geek, too. Definitely lucked out with this one. “Great. And your name would be …?”
“Kinetic Man.”
I turned around to face him. “Kinetic Man.” I giggled. “That’s a terrible superhero name.”
“Good terrible?” he asked.
“Terrible, terrible.”
“Still—”
My dorm room opened wide as Deirdre walked in, her barely clothed body covered in snow. “Sorry, milady,” she said. “I saw the foreboding sock-on-door and knew not to enter, but there is something that requires your attention.”
“What?” I said, sitting up and pulling the bed sheet to cover my more precious bits and bobs.
“Seems that Underdawg is in the halls of our residence.”
“Here? Why?” I thought about all the Others living in Gardner Hall. There were a hell of a lot of people he might try to drop into a river.
“Excellent question. Underdawg is rather inebriated, and understanding his slurred speech is quite difficult. But from what I’ve gathered, he claims to live here.”
Drunken Underdogs, Dorm Rooms and Suspicious Characters
Deirdre led us to Gardner Hall’s fifth floor, where we found a very drunk, very incoherent kid dressed up as Underdog banging on the bathroom door, crying, “Let me in!”
There were several kids standing around giggling at Underdawg, taking pictures and generally being unhelpful. So much for university comradery.
Then again, given how he was dressed, I didn’t blame them for not … ahh … engaging.
I, on the other hand, was already desensitized to a boy dressed like a 1970’s cartoon. “Hey kid,” I said, walking up to him, “what’s the problem? It’s unlocked.” I was wary of getting too close. After all, he was super strong and it was only by the grace of the GoneGods he hadn’t smashed through the wall.
“I want to get into my room, but they won’t let me in.”
“Kid, I don’t know where you think you are, but you’re banging on the bathroom door. And again, it’s unlocked.”
He took a step back, peered at the universal symbol for a bathroom—which, being co-ed, had both a little man and woman on it—and shook his head. “That’s not my room.”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. Where’s your room?” I got close and could smell cigarettes and the sweet, skunk-like smell of something a little more potent than tobacco. Made sense this kid liked the wacky tobacky. I imagine the cartoon Underdog is a lot of fun when you’re high.
Underdawg looked around and shook his head as he thought about it.
“Do you know where your room is?” Justin asked, stepping forward.
I put a hand out, cautioning him not to get any closer. This clearly annoyed him, because he pushed past me and put a hand on Underdawg’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “do you know where you are?”
“I’m …” Underdawg started, but his voice trailed off.
“He’s on the fourth floor,” said a voice behind us. I turned to see a girl standing in her comfy flannel pajamas and, despite a fair amount of confidence I was only attracted to men, my jaw dropped.
To say she was beautiful would be akin to claiming that Adele is OK at singing. Words just don’t do them justice. She was more than beautiful, even standing in probably the ugliest pajamas possible. I found myself swimming in her pristine eyes. And that was what made her truly unique: her eyes didn’t match. One eye was ocean blue, and the other was mercury silver. Her hair was a rainbow of silver hair that cascaded down to the small of her back, each strand a slightly different shade of gray. And as for that smile … ships have been lost at sea looking for that smile.
And it wasn’t just me; Justin had stopped moving, too. So had Deirdre, who simply muttered to herself in Elvish. I couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying (my Elvish is rusty), but it was something along the lines of giving up her left thumb for a night with the silver-haired goddess. Then again, she might not have been saying “thumb” …
“Sorry,” I said after a long moment of gawking.
“That’s Bogdan—Boggie for short. He lives on my floor.” She held up four fingers. “Fourth floor. Come on, Boggie.” She held out a hand.
Boggie smiled when he saw the goddess. “Hi, Cassy,” he said with an uncoordinated wave of his hand.
↔
I sent Justin back downstairs with Deirdre before his tongue tripped over his … well … tripped him up. Given how gorgeous and obviously turned on Deirdre was, I wasn’t sure that was my best move. But hormones be damned—I needed a few answers, and those two weren’t helping.
Cassy and I helped Underdawg back to his room, and given how he was moving, I could tell he wasn’t very strong. Not at the moment, at least. He was too malleable, too easy to manipulate. Drunken creatures with immense strength often forget themselves and break walls with a careless toss of the arm. Or split a pool table into two by accident (a long story from my vampire days).
But this guy, he was flailing and falling and nothing was breaking. Hell, I was able to hold his arm down with barely any effort. It just didn’t make sense after he’d taken down six ghouls by himself. Ghouls were Arnold Schwarzenegger strong—and I mean the Terminator, not Mr. Universe Arnie.
Whatever gave him strength has worn off. Or maybe it was an illusion, I thought.
“What gave him strength?” Cassy asked.
GoneGodDamn it! I was thinking out loud again. It was nasty quirk I’d inherited from my vampire days. All that skulking around in an empty, dark castle got lonely, and talking to myself was one way to pass the time.
“Underdog would take that pill and become super strong,” I said. “But this guy is jelly. His strength must have worn off. Or maybe Underdawg was never strong, and it was just an illusion.” I gave Cassy a shrug.
She lifted one gorgeous eyebrow. “You’re the girl from the basement, aren’t you?”
“Ahh, yeah?”
“Heard about you. You talk to yourself—a lot.” We helped Boggie stumble down the hall toward his room.
“Glad to see my reputation precedes me.”
“Oh, it does,” she said with a playful wink that I’m pre
tty sure was what distracted the Titanic just before it hit that iceberg. “Here we are.”
“Where?” I asked. Arrgh—me Titanic, my question the conversational iceberg!
She giggled. “Boggie’s room.”
“Ahh, yes. Of course. Do you have a key, or—”
“I’m HOME!” screamed Boggie. “I’m home, home, home!” He tried to do a little celebratory dance but wound up on his ass.
“Hey,” someone yelled. A head popped out of the room four doors down. “Can we keep it down?”
“Sorry Harold,” Cassy said.
“Sure you are,” Harold said, slamming his door and making just as much noise as Boggie.
A couple more heads popped out, and one of them approached us. A large boy with black nail polish and long, blond hair. He also wore a dog’s collar, which made him look like he belonged in some S&M club instead of a dorm. “Hey Cassy,” he said, “need help?”
I could feel Cassy’s body tighten as the goth kid approached. When he put a hand on her shoulder, she recoiled. She clearly did not like this kid.
“Thanks,” I said, stepping between them, “but we’ve got it. We just need to fish through his, ahh, costume and find his keys.”
The goth kid ran his painted fingernails through his hair while shaking his head. “Nah, I can get you in,” he said. He fished out a quarter from his pocket and started jimmying the screw just above the keyhole. A couple of twists and he opened the door.
So much for dorm security.
“Voila.” He made a little bow and smiled as he held the door open for us.
↔
Once inside, Cassy offered a curt “Thank you,” and closed the door.
“Boy oh boy, you really don’t like him,” I whispered, just in case he was listening at the door.
“He’s going to …” Cassy started, but whatever she said after that was lost under the sound of Boggie diving gleefully onto his bed.
Cassy looked at me as if waiting for me to react to—what? Boggie’s dive? I wasn’t sure, but when I clearly didn’t give her the reaction she was looking for, she sighed.
More than sighed. She looked as if I had hurt her feelings or offended her in some way. Way too sensitive, if you asked me. I thought about the goth kid outside and figured she was probably largely at fault for whatever reason she had for not liking him.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence as Underdawg fell asleep, light drunken snores issuing from behind his mask, “we should probably roll him on his side just in case he pukes in the night. Maybe get a garbage pail, too.”
Covering her gray eye, Cassy looked at Boggie through her ocean blue eye for a couple seconds before shaking her head. “No need. I’ll be here.” She went over to Boggie’s desk and turned on his laptop. “I have some Netflix to catch up on, anyway.”
Then she went very cold, giving me the unmistakable hint that it was time for me to leave.
Even when she was ignoring me, it was hard to stop staring at Cassy. There’s something about her… I thought.
I shook my head to clear it—this was how impossibly beautiful people rendered the rest of us dumb and speechless—and, before things got awkward, I walked out into the now empty hall and down to my room in the basement.
A Quick Discussion and a Quicker Offer Denied
Downstairs, Justin stood outside my room nervously biting his fingernails.
“What’s going on?”
Justin turned beet red. “Look, I’ve only got eyes for you, but that girl was gorgeous, and Deirdre is now naked in your room. There’s only so much my libido can take …”
Arrgh—changeling roommate naked again.
“Deirdre,” I said through the door, “what did we say about getting naked in front of people?”
“Not to do it, milady,” a voice called from within my room.
“And about getting naked in front of my boyfriend?”
“Especially not to do it, milady,” Deirdre called out.
“So why are you naked?”
“I’m not,” she said as she opened our door and stepped into the hall. She wore creeper vines that cascaded down her neck. They covered her … ahh … pretty parts, but only from certain angles. A giggle or a quick turn would expose them in all their glory—which for a changeling was quite a bit of glory. “Is this not enough?”
“Not by a long shot,” I said, grabbing her arm and taking her inside the room.
↔
As punishment for the little vine outfit, I made her put on my cotton bathrobe, which given our size difference stretched tight on her and did little to de-beautify her. Still, it would have to do. I called for Justin to come in, which he did, crawling into my bed and sighing deeply and loudly.
“I think we’d best try and get some sleep,” I said.
“Good idea,” Justin said, his voice lacking confidence in both my idea and his ability to ever fall asleep again.
“Yes, milady,” Deirdre said, but instead of getting into bed, she stared at me. “One thought, though.”
“Deirdre, can it wait until morning?” I asked. The trouble with changelings and “one thoughts” … they usually involved going for an outdoor frolic.
Deirdre didn’t move, but instead started blinking rapidly. I’d seen this behavior before—it was the fae’s way of begging, which meant she was beseeching me to hear her one thought. This could go on for a while.
“OK,” I said, “but I’m not leaving this room.”
She groaned. “Very well, milady. Then one question.”
“Fine. One question, but only one. Promise?”
Deirdre nodded. “The silver-haired goddess …”
“Cassy?”
“Yes. Is she human?”
I narrowed my eyes. She looked human to me. An unreasonably beautiful human, but human nonetheless. But looks can be deceiving, and many Others’ appearances only bore minor differences from humans. Deirdre was case and point: cover her pointy ears and you’d think she was a large, athletic, very pretty human.
Still, there were other things that made humans human and Others Other. For one thing, mannerisms. Deirdre’s rapid blinking would be a good example. No human does that.
Cassy was a bit off-putting, but in a very human way. Nothing about what she said or did spoke differently.
“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”
Justin shrugged. “Yeah, I agree. She definitely gave me a human vibe. Same vibe I’d get from Keira Knightley, or—”
“Hey, what happened to ‘eyes only for me?’ ”
“Katrina Darling,” he said. “Same vibe I get from Katrina Darling.”
“Better.”
Deirdre, who was clearly unimpressed by our cute banter, shook her head. “I am fae. We are a people accustomed to beauty. And yet I would have given my left nipple to be with her.”
Ahh, I knew she didn’t say thumb.
“Thumb?” Justin said.
Deirdre laughed. “Oh milady, you are very funny indeed.” Then she turned to Justin. “In Elvish, nipple and thumb sound alike—”
“Deirdre, focus,” I said.
“Of course, milady,” she said, immediately cutting off her own thought. “It is just that we as a people do not succumb to beauty unless we are compelled to.”
“And Cassy compelled you?”
The changeling shrugged. “It is possible.”
“So what kind of Other could she be?”
“There is no Other who looks like her, no legend of silver hair that I know of, no myth involving undeniable beauty—save one.”
“Sirens,” I said, thinking back to what I knew about the creatures.
Deirdre nodded. “But the sirens drowned when the gods left, unable to leave their stone for safety.”
I thought of the myth. Originally, sirens had been both male and female (although male historians tended to leave out the guys) who had wings or fish-like bodies. They would sit on rocks and draw in hapless sailors with their song, marooning them
and ultimately killing them. But there were only eight known sirens, and when the gods left, none of the eight ever surfaced.
It was said that a fortnight after the gods left, the eight sirens got together and sang their songs to the heavens in an effort to lure the gods back. But the sirens were fated to die should their song not be heeded, so when the gods did not return, they flung themselves into the sea and drowned.
But that was the legend. There were no bodies found, no witnesses who’d seen the sirens actually die. For all we knew, they simply disbanded and were somewhere in the GoneGod World, trying to make their way as mortals.
And now my changeling roommate thought one of them was living in Gardner Hall, attending McGill University.
May the wonders never cease, I thought (in my head).
“OK,” I said, “I’ll do some research and see if any of the sirens names were Cassy or if any of them were known for their silver hair. OK?”
Deirdre nodded, still standing. “One more thought.”
“I said only one.”
“Indeed, milady, but my original thought had an outdoor component to it. My revised thought is the same one in essence, but I have simply removed the need to go outside.”
I sighed. “OK, what is it?”
“I disturbed your ‘sock on the door.’ ”
“You did,” I said. I didn’t like where this was going.
“This Cassy has stirred old memories of when the fae would celebrate in the UnSeelie Court.”
“And … ?” I really, really didn’t like where this was going. Justin sat up.
“Such celebrations were not only the duty of a changeling warrior, but also their pleasure. Perhaps I can make amends for disturbing you by helping to facilitate your love-making. I am proficient in ninety-three—”
“No,” I said.
“No,” Justin groaned.
“Very well, milady. But should you change your mind, you need only but ask.” She removed my robe, revealing what Justin and I would be missing, before getting into her own bed.