by Zoe Parker
“You need food,” he says, nuzzling my face before pulling away. With a sigh, I trudge back towards the truck. It takes me awhile but I refuse to let him carry me. He’s not in any better shape than I am—well, he probably is, but I can see he’s tired too. He just looks prettier. A smile sneaks out and I shake my head. I would think shit like that at a time like this.
Climbing up into the truck I slump into the seat in exhaustion. Leaning my head against the window I try to stay awake and fail. Naps don’t hurt anyone.
13
The hotel bar is lively for midnight on a Thursday. Stirring the watered down, fruity drink the bartender gave me when I said ‘surprise me,’ I make a face at it. I won’t drink it, it smells like mouthwash and as much as I appreciate that invention, I don’t want to drink it. This is stopping me from completing the mission I came here on. One I’m not going to fail. Signaling the bartender I wait for him to make his way to me.
“Do you not like your drink?” he asks. I shake my head and push it towards him.
“What’s the most potent alcohol you have in this place?” Wiping the glass in his hand, he sits it down and turns to look at the alcohol bottles on the mirrored shelf behind him. With a sound of exclamation he grabs a bottle that’s hiding in the back. Facing me he grabs a shot glass and fills it to the rim.
“Try that.”
Grabbing it, I down it in one swallow; my lips goes numb and for a solid second and my stomach feels warm. Yeah, this will do. “Give me that entire bottle—no, every bottle of it that you have in the place. That is, unless you have several pans of edible brownies stashed back there too, those worked well too.”
“Ma’am if you drink an entire bottle of that, it’ll kill you,” he cautions, attempting to take the bottle. I grab it and put two, one-hundred dollar bills on the counter.
“That’s yours, now—the bottles please?” He pockets the money and goes off in search of more—I look at the label: absinthe. Screwing the cap off, I tilt it back and chug well over half the bottle. Taking a deep breath I enjoy the heat of it in my stomach. I lick my numb lips and smile at the guy three seats down that’s staring at me like I have three heads. The small buzz is gone as soon as it starts, so I chug the rest of the bottle. When the bartender comes back he looks at the empty bottle then his face grows concerned. I almost roll my eyes. Almost.
“Did you find more?” I ask, sitting a few more hundreds on the bar.
“Yes, two—but I’m not sure you should drink anymore,” he says doubtfully. Little does he know I could drink every bottle in here and still walk. Alcohol burns out of my system quickly but since there aren’t any special brownies, it’s all I got.
Seeing him still staring at me, I shrug and add another hundred to the pile. Shaking his head he sits the bottles down and grabs the money. I know that they aren’t a hundred dollars apiece so I’d say he’s getting tipped well. Money is a good motivator in most circumstances.
“I’ve never seen someone chug alcohol like that before,” the male’s voice ruins the second small buzz I manage to get. I saw him slinking towards me, but was hoping he’d move on to other things. Of course, I don’t respond. I’m not here to talk. I came here to try and relax, not that it’s working.
Phobe was in the shower when I got the grand idea to come down here—it seems to be the common time for me to wander off and get in trouble with something. My bright idea was the bar. I saw the signs for it as we were checking in. Turning the opposite direction of the guy trying to talk to me, I watch the couples dancing on the small checker tiled area designated for it. There’s a disco ball light on the ceiling that’s attempting to make it a more hip place than it is.
Everyone in here is at least thirty and more than a few are sporting wedding rings. I’d bet all the money in my pocket that most of them aren’t schmoozing with their spouses. Exhaling as my skin tingles, I realize my fun might be over. The people in the bar react to his entrance. Every single woman—and most of the men—in the room turns to watch him, some even stand and head towards him.
Good luck with that ladies.
Sliding the spinning barstool to my right I lock eyes with him. Two women have already reached him and are trying everything they can to touch him or get close to him. This makes me smile. I’m not jealous; I don’t need to be, not with him. I’m amused because he isn’t giving them a glance. Those kind of women don’t interest a man like him. Something that’s proven when he steps to the side and lets the woman who’s trying to lean against him fall against a table.
Yeah, totally don’t need to be jealous.
Grabbing a second bottle of absinthe, I open it and toss the cap on the bar. Downing another half, I put it on the bar and slide off the barstool. Watching him walk is like watching sex on legs. He oozes it out of every pore, this dark delicious mystery that makes all the ladies bits wake up and pay attention. Compared to most of the other men in the bar he’s underdressed but casual clothes look better on him than any ‘power’ suit.
His t-shirt is one I picked out for him, it says, ‘If people make you sick, maybe you should cook them longer.’ I thought it was hilarious when I saw it and in my mind it fits him better than anything I’ve seen him wear. Personality wise. The light colored jeans with holes in the knees adds to the whole persona. And of course, he’s barefoot.
Then again, so am I.
My boots are covered in gore and I wanted to be clean, not walking around dripping bits of dried guts all over the place. I considered socks but I didn’t feel like digging through my bag for them. Ultimately, I opted for bare feet. It’s working for me so far.
Phobe stops on the dance floor and about keels me over when he holds his hand out towards me.
‘Humans know how to do one thing well that I didn’t understand until now. When it feels like the world is falling down around them, they seize any opportunity they can to get lost in the maelstrom of another. Finding that unique bubble of comfort is a small, stolen celebration to them, even during conflict.” His eyes beseech me as he says, “Come to me, Iza. Get lost in me for a little while.’ No one in existence could say no to a request like that.
Feeling like I’m walking on a cloud, I cross to him and take his hand. With a gentle tug he pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. Burying my face in his chest I fall into rhythm with him. Slow, rocking motions lull me, pulling me closer to the creature that is Phobe. With his arms around me, something clicks into place. My heart beats loudly in my ears as my eyes burn with the hopelessness of it all. With the pain of losing him once and the risk of losing myself. Losing everyone.
I let go.
His arms tighten and his lips press against my cheek. Trailing slowly down my neck, they rest on the cusp of my shoulder. The smell of his shampoo fills my nose, the warmth of his skin soothes my heart and once again—for this man, I’m lost. His big hands move up my back and then back down to cup my ass and remain there. The only movement is his thumbs as they caress my skin through the thin leggings.
Here, I’m safe. In his arms I’m only a woman being held by the handsome man that she loves. I don’t have to be anyone’s hero, just myself. Turning my head I capture his seeking lips and let the feel of him take me away from here. Flying through the darkness with the music singing to my soul, I fall into the kiss. His hands burrow into my hair, holding my head hostage as the words to the song play out in real life.
Phobe ends the kiss with a small nip and then smiles down at me. Sliding his hands under my arms he pulls them around his neck and then he does something I’d never imagined from him. He starts to sing to me.
“Cos I wanna touch you baby… I wanna feel you too… I wanna see the sunrise on your sins, just me and you.” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper and yet it still has my skin feeling like he’s touching me everywhere. “Light it up… on the run… let’s make love tonight. Make it up… fall in love, fly.” A small kiss and then he continues his beautiful assault of words, in a voice that would
make sirens weep for joy. “But you’ll never be alone… I’ll be with you from dusk to dawn...baby, I’m right here.” We spin around and I’m so stunned I’m limp in his arms. He’s holding me off the ground, my feet dangling inches above it.
Lifting my legs, I wrap them around his waist. There are no moments to compare this one to. Logic has no place in this moment. I can’t make my brain understand why my heart is beating in rhythm to the words leaving his mouth. All I can do is experience it and… let go.
Grabbing his face I kiss him, taking control of it. He is mine. No one will ever take him from me again. Ever. Tasting him, touching him is worth every thing. Is everything.
With a growl he takes it from me and with a small smile, I let him. With a growl he separates his hungry mouth from mine and sits me on my feet. Breathing heavily, he gives me a smile of pure mischief. Shocking me yet again, he drops to one knee and holds out a simple silver ring with an opal flashing in the light of the disco ball.
“Will you spend eternity being my monster, Iza?” he asks breathlessly. His eyes are alight with the same emotions that are alive within me. “I promise to dedicate myself only to you, forever. My heart, as it is, belongs to you. Spend eternity with me.” I swallow back tears, stupid things keep wanting to come out. I’ll ignore the fact that a few sneak out anyway.
I dreamed of marrying him, a foolish leftover fantasy of that tortured child leaking through. Before he died—he left me a ring that I still have on a chain around my neck. I wore it for months before one day I decided to take it off. Now I know why: to make room for another to take its place. There doesn’t need to be any words, he knows my answer. I hold my shaking hand out. With a smile of triumph he slides the ring on my finger and then swoops me up before I can say anything at all.
Sitting with several plates of chicken wings in front of me, I happily watch Phobe get us drinks. I gave up on the alcohol but honestly, I don’t need it anymore. Nothing can touch the buzz of Phobe—fucking proposing! I’m so happy I could lay golden eggs. Everyone in the bar cheered after he put the ring on and we made out a little more. The bartender offered me free food to celebrate. I liked the wings so much I got plenty.
I realize how silly this might be to most people, even the Feyrie, but this is us grabbing our small celebration of life. Me admitting I want it, and have all along. Life is short and mine is shorter still. This is something I dreamed of and now… it’ll happen.
It’s fucking amazing and no one can take this from me. I’ll rip their godsdamn arms off if they try.
Grabbing another wing, I let my eyes wander away from Phobe—before I decide to have the honeymoon early—because I feel dad coming, and I watch the empty chair beside me. As predicted he pops into it and immediately snags a chicken wing. He tears into it with a flash of white teeth. There are circles under his eyes and what looks like a healing wound on his cheek. He looks exhausted.
“Anything I can help with?” I ask, feeling the happy high I’m riding on dim as guilt takes up residence in my stomach.
He shakes his head and says, “You have your own shit to deal with. Stop feeling guilty.” He takes a bite out of the wing. “Hm, these are quite good.” His eyes stray to the ring on my finger. “I see he actually got this one on your finger this time. Congratulations, Iza. I expect to be invited to the wedding.”
A monster wedding, that’ll be fun. If we make it that far.
“Oh, I’m going to make sure it happens. Tonight.” With one hand he grabs another wing and with the other he does something on his phone. It’s always strange seeing him with one but with as much time as he spends in this world it makes sense for him to have one. He dials a number and holds the phone up to his ear. “What’s the name of this hotel?” he asks me mid-chew.
“Faraway,” I answer, already knowing what the sneaky man is doing. He has his own version of Harvard.
“Miller, yes—hello, I need you to purchase the Faraway hotel in Mayfield, Kansas. Also, send a preacher, a few hundred black roses, and a marriage certificate. Right. My daughter is the one getting married. Thank you.” That fast his conversation is over and he focuses on the food.
My mouth is hanging open and I force it closed. What the fuck just happened?
“You might not have your dream wedding but I’m making sure you get to have one. I hope you don’t mind the simplicity of it.” He smiles with sauce all over his face. Diving across the table at him, I take him down to the floor with a hug.
Laughing, he pats my back. “I love you. I know I haven’t been there for your life but I never want to pass up any chance to be part of it.” He says into my hair. After a few sniffs, I refuse to cry again, I climb off him and pull him to his feet. Both of us are now covered in sauce and the shells of the peanuts I was snacking on.
“I love you, Dad. Thank you for something so… incredible.”
“Anything for you.”
My mood dips into somber. “When I die again… take care of him for me. You and I both know he won’t die again, but he might forget. Help him remember me.” I’ve been wanting to talk to him about it for a while and I’ve never been good at timing, but that’s something we don’t have a lot of anymore.
“Iza…” He reaches for me and I pat his arm and sit down. I watch his mind shift gears; he’s letting it drop for now. “I’m glad to see you’ve allowed him back into your heart.” He says sitting down and starting to eat again.
“He was so changed… it took me a minute.”
“No one stays the same forever, not even you. Look at how much you’ve changed just in the last year. Not being the same person doesn’t make him any less than your Phobe. I don’t think there’s a force that exists that can keep him from you.”
“Not even death?” I tease, half heartedly. I’m fishing too and he knows it.
“That one’s tricky. He can’t take you again from the well… he needs to make sure you don’t end up there to begin with.”
Deciding to cut him some slack and get back in the festive mood I say, “You know that pretty blonde over there?” I point towards the blonde humans wearing a shiny, super tight, red dress. “She’s a prostitute, maybe you should go talk to her.” I tease, even though if he did it I’d totally pay for her.
He doesn’t look but still smiles. “If she’ll rub my back, I’ll consider it.”
Laughing, I watch Phobe return to the table with a knowing look on his face. Of course he has three drinks, he always knows. Looking at my face, then my dad’s he raises his eyebrows. That spotless face of his is getting to me. Leaping from my chair I land in his lap and rub my face all over his face.
“You need to have the Magikal face paint to be in the cool kids club,” I say as I rub my cheek against his, fully intending to rub sauce all over him. When I pull away to look at my handy work, I laugh. His tongue comes out and instead of licking his own face, he licks mine. Screeching with laughter, I fight to get away from him and end up on the floor laughing. Standing over me he crosses his arms and grins at me with his now orange face.
I consider this a win.
14
Everything we’re doing is silly and outrageous—and I’ve never seen her smile so much in a single night. There was a memory in the black hole of millions of them floating around inside of me, one that was brighter, tangible. Iza singing to herself when she was young. Memories of her dancing through the snow singing to herself, her hoarse voice soft in the cold night air. Unguarded moments like that were rare to see; she doesn’t show the creature hiding inside under those walls very often.
Seeing her walk towards me, down the long red rug someone rolled out for us, her dress a vivid white that contrasts with her hair and the color of her eyes in a way that makes me unable to look away. The dress looks beautiful on her. A true wedding dress with a long train that has fiends trailing in and out of it.
But the dress is unimportant to me. I would’ve married her covered in mud and blood and felt exactly like I do right now. The look on
her face is what holds me, the light dancing in her eyes and the way she’s chewing on her lip because she’s nervous, are all part of the breathtaking package that makes up my heart.
I don’t have one in my chest, because it’s walking towards me trying not to trip over her dress hem.
I hold my hand out again, nervous—a strange feeling—until she puts hers in mine. We turn to stand before the religious man who’s half drunk and keeps giving us looks of puzzlement. Then he’s reading from that old book in his hand, the words of a god I’ve never known, words that don’t matter to me. But this moment—it gives something to Iza she’s never had before. A dream come true.
We repeat the words and then the human part of the ceremony is over.
Darkness unfurls from me, encasing the room in the shadows that make me what I am. With her hands wrapped in mine I pull her inside of me and for the first time ever, I let her see me. Let her walk through the memories, the moments that make up the part of me that’s hers. The times I’ve watched her, the times I’ve sat silent so I can hear her speak. The sound of her laughter and how it makes me feel.
Then I take her deeper. Back to the man I was, to the memories of the woman she was. They’re fragmented, but all revolve around her. The way she looks asleep, curled up naked on the floor. The silent tears tracking down her eyes in her sleep as nightmares held her in their grasp. The moments she touched me with her humor, her smile.
Her ridiculousness.
Then we go even deeper. I show her what I was before the stone, before the prison. The creature that existed and felt nothing. The moment I was summoned and devoured the first creature. The rage, the hunger—the loneliness. I show her every atom of my being, everything I am. When I take her to the moment I realized how much I loved her, a fat, jeweled tear slips down her cheek and falls off her chin onto my hand.