Ch6.59 Trust

Feeling utterly defeated and hating himself for all he has said and thought, Dion slowly walks to his room. As Alma’s words echo in his mind, he activates the magical door that leads into his sanctum and enters.

Where were you? Where were you when I was calling for you in my sickbed?

He stands unseeing for a moment. She was ill, then. Must still be. She did not look at all in good health. But she didn’t tell him, not a word about what is going on with her. He made her angry, hurt her feelings and now he must pay for it with the torment of worry and ignorance.

If you knew the first thing about me, you’d know that the last thing I want is a harem!

If you knew the first thing about me…

Did he get her so wrong? Was he so wrong to think that when she proposed their arrangement, when she offered him the possibility of being with others? Her ease with her children’s views of love, physical and otherwise, the way she believes that all things must die, eventually. Even love. Even pain…

He leans slightly back. Feeling the door behind him, the portal now deactivated, he slides down until he is sitting on the floor, knees bent, mind rushing in circles and standing completely still at once. He cannot even feel pain at the moment. He feels nothing, a void of emotion that not even copious amounts of drink would be able to reproduce. The gods know he has tried that before. But even that void feels terribly wrong. Cold. He feels so cold inside himself. Like a part of him has just left with her, out that barroom door.

…I care about you more.

Gods… What has he done?!

From the general direction of his bed, comes a sigh. A familiar voice mutters, “Dion, Dion, Dion, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Dion raises his head just enough to make out the sphinx-like form of Geryon lying on his bed, then lowers it again, shaking it. He cannot will himself to say anything. Every word he has spoken so far has turned out to be the wrong one.

“Cherry told me what happened,” Geryon goes on, lowering his head until his beak perches at the edge of the bed. “I was waiting for you but I guess I should have known you would be stupid enough to go straight to her instead of dropping by here first.”

…I did nothing wrong…

“What in Hell is wrong with me?” Dion mumbles. “I just…”

“You just…” Geryon echoes. He stretches lazily and snorts. “You just.” In his smaller form, he manages not to make the bed creak as he rolls over to lie belly up, looking upside down at Dion. “You just fought with your girlfriend out of jealousy, didn’t you? Of all things, Dion, I never expected you to be the jealous type, considering what you’ve done to so many happily-engaged couples. But then Tulip tells you she saw a kiss and you just go off like the world’s about to explode.”

You want the truth? I care about him.

“But she does want him! She admits it!” Dion cries, bringing his fists down on his knees with force. Even the pain of that blow is nothing compared with the turmoil rising within him. He puts his hands over his ears, trying to silence the memories of her anger, the echoes of her voice. It doesn’t work. “I know… She wasn’t with him. I don’t even know what she was doing, but she wasn’t with him.”

Geryon rolls to lie on his side, face to the opposite wall, tail slowly flicking up and down. “That would have been a neat trick, having a third sphere awaken in her and still make it to a date.” He turns his head to look at Dion. “That’s what happened, by the way. She collapsed and her family did not allow her to leave any earlier. Came back well into the evening, in her creepy brother’s arms, I’ve been told.” He exhales deeply, his eyes softening with sympathy. “You’ve really done it this time, my friend.”

Dion looks down, away from Geryon’s empathy. He does not deserve it. He does not deserve anything. Not after what he did to someone so precious to him. He wanted her so much, all to himself. Every touch, every kiss, every night spent holding her against him, matching his breathing to her lazy heartbeat. All he can feel now is how much he desperately misses her, how much he wants her back. But she will not come back, not if she has a drop of intelligence in her.

“I’ve ruined it. Destroyed it.” He breathes a shuddering sigh. “She’s not going to want to see me again. And I don’t blame her.”

“She’s angry,” Geryon says, standing up on the bed, beak pointed at Dion like a dog pointing out a grouse. “As she should be! Demons, Dion, I was there, looking down from my new room’s window! I watched the whole thing. I would have told you. I would have warned you if your sweet little death goddess happened to be making a mockery out of you.” He turns to jump off the foot of the bed. “But, nooo, all she cared about was hurting your feelings, not that that gained her any sympathy. You were all too quick to suspect her, weren’t you? Tell me, what is so different between what she did and what you do whenever some shorter skirt catches your eye?”

The words make Dion jerk his head up to attention. “Wait…you watched… You mean you watched Alma and Somrak? And you didn’t tell me?!”

“And what would you have done, had I told you, pray tell?” Geryon says, walking toward the god, his smooth tones cutting like a blade through Dion’s momentary anger. “Yes, I saw him kiss her and I saw her try to end it once and twice and then stop him finally, right after the door closed behind Tulip. Well, behind someone, I couldn’t see it from the angle of my balcony but I guess it must have been Tulip.” His beak hovers close to Dion’s face as he adds the rest of his words to the god’s torment. “I watched your girlfriend tell him about you and how wonderful it was to allow you, of all people, closer to her than anyone since the Bunnies were created. How much she did not want to hurt you. Would you have listened to that, had I told you about the kiss?”

No… Dion admits only to himself. I wouldn’t.

“She tried to end it?” He holds on to that detail as if it mattered. “Was he…forcing her to kiss him?”

Geryon snorts and turns, whipping Dion’s knees with his tails. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says as he turns again and sits on his hind limbs to groom the feathers on one wing. “Anyone trying that would find themselves waking up in the spectral realms. Like you said, she is attracted to him. They seem to connect at some level. They both sounded miserable.” He shrugs, looking at the god. “How should I know? All I know is that she said ‘no’, that you would not be able to accept something like that, and he left.”

Dion sighs and hangs his head. “Well he has her now. He will. Or Sky. They’ll probably treat her better than I have.”

Geryon throws his head back in a show of irritation. “Oh, quit the act, Dion! She’s yours. Probably already praying you’ll come crawling back so she can stop crying.” He narrows his eyes at Dion. “And you will. Face it, you are in love with her. You love her so much that you cannot stand the thought of her walking away so you tried to push her away instead. And now you are miserable because you just found out it hurts just as much. It is only a matter of time before you are sprawled at her feet and begging for her forgiveness.”

Dion doesn’t even raise his head. He would be at her feet now if he could, if the things he said and thought and did could be somehow taken back and forgotten. But… they can’t. “I don’t…deserve forgiveness.”

“No, you don’t,” Geryon concedes, voice dry of emotion. “You’re a miserable little wretch who just tossed the best thing he’s ever had out the window because deep down inside you are just an insecure adolescent who does not know how to handle love. Is that what you want me to say?” He rises again to swipe a heavy paw against Dion’s head. “Is that what you want to think for the rest of your stay here until you run back to your Uncle’s estate like the scared little child you are?” He places his paw on the god’s chest and leans in to hiss his words at Dion’s face. “You don’t deserve her forgiveness but fortunately for you she loves you. And love makes people blind and stupid. Doesn’t it?”

“I can’t rely on that,” Dion weakly argues. “But…I can’t stay away either. Maybe I can find a way to make it up to her.”

Geryon looks into Dion’s eyes in silence for a long time. He sighs. “Well, that’s a start, I guess,” the gryphon pats the god’s knee. “Now, let me out. I’m tired of watching you feel sorry for yourself.”

Dion grimaces, for the moment forgetting that he is blocking the door with his body. “Since when do I need to let you out? Are you a housecat?” He sighs and reaches out to touch Geryon’s head. “Thank you, my friend. I don’t deserve you, either. But I am glad you are here.”

“Sure, sure,” Geryon mutters, allowing the touch but shaking it off after a breath. “Now, move away from the door, before I have to walk over you to leave.”

Finally realizing what Geryon means, the god scooches away just enough to allow the gryphon through. As the portal that leads into the bar reopens, however, Geryon stops and looks back to Dion.

“Remember, every moment you spend too busy wallowing in self-pity is motivation for her to find comfort elsewhere. Pride is seldom a good friend in these things.” He shakes his head. “I truly had hopes for this one, my friend. She makes you smile.”

And with that, he leaves.

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Ch6.58 Trust

The midmorning streets are populated by mortals going about their business, opening those shops that are not already opened, carts pulled by donkeys or more often men, delivering goods which the sharper housewives and restaurateurs are picking over before the vegetables, fish, or fruits can even be unloaded.

Behind her, Sky can see how every line of Alma’s body speaks of fury as she walks swiftly toward Little Falls Ward, and he finds himself in the unusual position of having to lengthen his stride to keep up with her.

“Alma…Alma, please slow down!”

She ignores him, if anything speeding up. “Where is he? Just tell me where I have to go.”

Pulling up beside her, he says, “They said he has set up a temple in an old house. Maybe murdered the owner. Alma, you’re straining yourself. Melinor–”

She cuts him off without pausing. “I am fine. I’ll deal with Melinor if he comes back asking questions. And I’ll tell him I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sky falls silent at that for a good many steps. He notes the glances, even outright stares they are attracting. Two Guardia Dei, two gods, proceeding through the streets as if marching on the way to war. Finally, pitching his voice as soft as he can while moving so fast, he speaks. “What Dion said…he regrets it. I could see the misery on his face.”

“Still didn’t stop him, did it?” she snaps. “It didn’t make him trust me any more for it. He accused me of…of… He thought I had lied to him to go be with Somrak instead! That I want a harem? If there is one thing I never understood about my father’s wives it’s how they all accept living in one!”

Shaking his head, Sky says, “He deserves whatever punishment you care to inflict on him. But don’t harm yourself in your anger, no matter how justified it is.”

Alma stops dead in her tracks, but does not turn to face him. Her shoulders are bunched, back slightly bent forward. Her voice is almost quivering with control. “Don’t tell me to stop being angry, Sky. I need to be angry because when I stop being angry I don’t know what I’ll be. And then I’ll definitely be useless. He – I can’t even believe this is happening! Why would he go and do this?”

“I don’t understand it, either.” Sky’s frustration with Gwydion’s foolishness makes him sound tired. “But I’ve seen people do it many times. Come on, you can be angry, just…” He moves into her field of vision and holds his hands out imploringly. “You’re adjusting to a new sphere! Let’s go sit down. This rogue god will wait a day or two.”

Alma raises her eyes to his, her jaw set. “Not if he’s responsible for what happened to my cousin Nasheena. We can’t find her anywhere. Father would kill me if I left a misbehaving clan member on the loose. Come on. At least being angry at him will be useful.”

Sky looks at her, on the edge of ordering her to stand down, wondering if she’d even obey. They have become more friends than Inspector in command and subordinate Sergeant, and as much as he treasures that friendship, this is one of those times that it can be a problem. But her words deter him. This is a member – a distant member but still a member – of her clan that is missing. And this could very well be connected to the necromancer who murdered Stathos and his family. Sky mutters, “I hope I’m not making a terrible mistake by agreeing. Fine. But keep that anger cold. And if I decide we need to retreat, no argument, Sergeant.”

Alma nods grimly, and they resume their trek. Soon enough they hit the edge of Three Rats. Though there are no “Welcome to Little Falls” signs, the change is obvious. Three Rats’ architectural style, a mishmash of two cultures from a world on which Sky used to live, those of Brazil and India, has leaked over the border into Little Falls, but Little Falls’ own style, which has leaked back into Three Rats as well, was never so terribly different as far as the design of ordinary buildings goes: low with plenty of windows, laid out for decent airflow, demonstrating their shared origins in warm, humid lands.

The vibrant façades, too, are different but in ways too subtle for outsiders to notice easily. Brilliant colors bring the avenues alive, with paintings of teenagers kicking a football, mermaids playing in the waves, angelic spirits extending their blessings to starving children, appeals for peace in these violent times. On the Three Rats side, however, the gods are more often sporting strongly colored skin of blue or red or midnight black, with multiple arms and faces, whereas on the Little Falls side, the gods are shown more as hiding their divinity behind the exterior of an average-seeming resident of Little Falls, who on average have skin of an even deeper shade of brown than most of the people of Three Rats.

It is the streets, though, that show the most obvious change. The Insula grows slowly by attracting parts of other worlds to it in a way that confuses the wisest minds at the Academy of Magic. Three Rats was made of two such pieces that merged on their way to this world, and as a result its streets are an insane tangle. Little Falls is laid out in a pattern that isn’t exactly the result of meticulous urban planning, but at least it makes sense, and one has to work much harder to get lost. Straight streets that meet at right angles? It is obvious that one has left Three Rats.

Also obvious, to the gods at least, is the subtle change in the flow of mana, that force which permeates all of the Insula Caelestis, without which a titanic mountain floating in a bubble of Reality amid a sea of Chaos could not exist at all. There is nowhere on the Insula that is bereft of mana, but there are places where its flow is impeded, or where it flows in unusual ways.

Here in Little Falls, it flows slightly more sluggishly than in Three Rats. Not enough to make being a god in Little Falls any harder. Maintaining one’s immortality, healing oneself – these are things any god can do, even on another world where magic is entirely absent. But affecting things outside oneself requires more effort in a low-magic ward. Little Falls and Three Rats both fall into the middle range, however, and the difference between the two, while noticeable to a god, does not have much practical effect.

It is not long before they are at the entrance to a cul-de-sac at the end of which looms – for ‘loom’ is the only word for it – an old, apparently abandoned home that is barely large enough to be considered a mansion. It is that house that seems to be required in certain neighborhoods, the house that goes unoccupied for some reason or another, and which all the children and no small portion of the adults agree must be haunted. And this being the Insula, it may very well be haunted. Not all Death gods are as fastidious as Alma, collecting the souls under their care immediately upon death. And Little Falls is known for its ghosts, many of whom are resistant to moving on.

A naked soul, shorn of its flesh, is a self-contained bundle of mana, and though it will slowly lose its power, the belief of the living can feed it, just as prayers feed gods. The ghost merely needs attention, and thus any ghost that desires to remain in this world, free of the Wheel and rebirth, must make its presence known. Prayer is unnecessary – only a fool prays to a ghost. But emotions will do nicely. And the easiest emotion for a ghost to provoke is fear.

This mansion is clearly doing its best to provoke some fear.

The gardens surrounding it are overgrown, with Spanish moss hanging down like looped nooses. The windows are broken in a way that suggests eyes and teeth. The door hangs open invitingly to any child who might be dared to dash inside and steal some tiny prize from off a table or desktop. The ghost or ghosts of this house might simply terrorize that child before allowing escape, as that would all the better spread fear, but some ghosts are not so restrained, feasting on terror, growing more powerful from it, to the point that they can affect the world, to slash and smash and strangle.

Sky has little fear of ghosts, however. It is a very rare ghost that can do any harm to a god. But if the information is right, there is a god in there, one who might know what has befallen Alma’s cousin, perhaps even know something about the necromancer. The thought that they have not stopped in at Little Falls Guardia Station to see the local inspector and gain permission for an arrest only gives him brief pause. His previous career as an ‘off-blue’, an off-the-books agent of the Commander tasked with the dirtiest grey-zone jobs, has made him rather cavalier about protocol, and though he tried, truly tried to be a proper station commander when he was sent to Three Rats, it wasn’t so long before desperate events had him breaking rules right and left simply to keep his ward from being drowned beneath a flood of violence. Breaking another now does not bother him overmuch.

And besides, Little Falls Station has a definite whiff of corruption about it. During the reign of the Dukaines, its inspector was clearly bowing to the powerful gang. Sky had been unable to do anything about that then, and he is unsure whether the Shards, the warring remains of the Dukaines, still control the Guardia here. Best to ask for forgiveness later than permission now.

“This is the place,” he says, needlessly.

“He is in there,” Alma replies. “I can sense the power coming from inside. Bodiless souls…and others.”

“Do you want to call for Clan backup?”

Alma looks at him darkly. “Do you want them to come and take me back to the Second Ring, where they can bind me to a bed?” She shakes her head. “No. I’d rather check for myself first. I don’t recognize his soul. We won’t attack unless we have to.”

“And I can barely detect his resonance at all here.” Sky sighs. “But there must be a lot of it for me to feel it from outside. Right. I go first. If he hits me, you can provide the counterpunch.”

Alma looks worried. “He’s a death god, Sky. I–”

“And if you are taken out, I may well be helpless against him. You know how to handle death gods. I’ve only gone up against one. Other than you.” He smiles.

“You and I have never actually fought,” she grumbles back at him.

“We’ve come close, though.”

Alma looks as though she’s about to argue about who goes in first, but then folds. “Fine… But I will be right on your heel should something happen.”

Together they approach the house, entering the garden and taking note of the sinister, body-length mounds of dirt on which mushrooms grow in profusion. Though it is still morning on a partly cloudy day, it feels like night is about to fall. Sky walks to the front door. He glances at Alma. “Does he know we’re here?”

“Almost certainly,” she says. “Unless he’s not at all cautious.”

With a sour look, Sky pushes the door, which barely hangs on a single hinge, open, and walks in, senses both mortal and divine sharp. The floor creaks, just like a good haunted house should, as they walk into the foyer. A broken crystal, from the fallen chandelier that occupies the center of the room, crunches under Sky’s boot. He walks around it, its lopsided stance clashing with the opposite tilt of the sagging catwalk above, inaccessible as the curved staircase has collapsed halfway up. The room grows darker as the door slowly swings shut behind them. Sky looks back to see Alma behind him, nowhere near the door. She rolls her eyes at the house’s theatrics.

Proceeding further into the house, Sky passes through a doorway into a parlor, its once-gayly colored wallpaper now moldy and peeling. In the center of the room is a round table with eight evenly-spaced chairs. Each is occupied by a corpse, all holding hands, dessicated and well on the way to mummification in the recent hot, dry days, their heads leaning back or lolling to the side, mouths slack as if screaming. Before one of them is a ball of crystal, blackened as if filled with soot.

“Tap, tap, tap. I hear a rat sneaking under the floorboards. Come to visit the Baron, have you?”

The voice comes from all around, as if from the wallpaper. It is deep and rich, unctuous, sardonic, with a musically lilting Little Falls accent.

Sky stops, tense, and whispers, “Oh no…”

Behind him, Alma asks, “What is it? I don’t recognize the voice.”

“I have gone up against one death god before,” Sky murmurs, “but not here on the Insula.”

Alma steps to stand beside Sky, any pretense of stealth gone now that they have clearly been noticed. “Are you suggesting this is an outsider, then?”

“Oh, how rude of you to refer to me like that,” the voice admonishes. “Why, that’s no way to treat family. Or even a dear friend. Is it, Tommo?”

Sky calls out, his voice harsh, “What happened, Sam? The real Baron Samedi figure out you were poaching his worshippers and you had to run and hide here? It was a good con while it lasted, eh?”

Out of a doorway across the room, a tall, slender god strolls into view, nonchalantly inspecting his nails. He wears a swallowtail jacket and a pair of ragged pants from a tuxedo, with no shirt, the nearly black skin of his emaciated chest and belly painted with white rib bones, his grinning face painted with a skull. His shaven head is topped by a slightly crushed top hat, and his feet are shod in a pair of beautifully elaborate cowboy boots, works of art by a master cordwainer. As he moves through shadows and light, his body shifts and the painted bones become real, the real flesh becoming a smoky illusion, and then it shifts back again.

“What can I say? Some people just don’t know how to share. And what are you doing here? So well accompanied, if I may add.” His grin broadens at Alma as she looks him up and down, her brow rising in displeasure.

“Release them,” Alma demands. Her voice is colder than any grave. “You should not be harvesting here nor should you keep souls to yourself. Give them back.”

“They should not have been playing with those trinkets…summoning me by my name,” The god replies. He spreads his hands. “And I cannot give them back. You see, I felt…peckish after being pulled into this place.” He walks closer to Alma. “And who is this daring young lady, Tommo?” He strokes her hair aside and makes a show of smelling her neck while looking at Sky. “Ah… A death goddess if ever I smelled one.”

The fresh, dangerous smell of a storm-tossed ocean fills the sepulchral air. Sky’s eyes turn a grey-blue color as black tattoos spread across his face, and he snarls, “Do not touch her, you traitor.”

Alma, conversely, remains still, apparently relaxed, extremely calm and not looking at Sky. “Inspector, there is no need for that. We would not want to hurt family.” She smiles at Sam, a pleasant, innocent little smile. And not a heartbeat later, her eyes are flaring with lethal power, a shockwave of spectral energy that slams the cadaverous god against the far wall, knocking aside the table and scattering the empty bodies. “Unless we have to.”

Sam, as Sky calls him, does not seem the least surprised by the attack. If anything, he looks immensely pleased as he slides down the wall to a sitting position on the floor, unhurt and grinning. “Ah… one of Azreh’s own blood, I see.” He stands, dusting himself off. “Tell me, has he finally succeeded in becoming the head of the Clan?”

“He has been so for centuries,” Alma replies as Sky moves into a more advantageous position, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “But our laws have not changed for even longer and they give me the right to punish you in our cousin’s name. You are trespassing on her territory.”

Sam looks taken aback by this. “Trespassing? And where is this cousin of ours, pray tell?” He grins. “I would love to have her over for dinner.”

“I could ask you the same question,” Alma counters calm as death. “Since she has recently gone missing. You wouldn’t happen to have…misplaced her. Would you?”

“How would I? I have never even met the poor thing.” Sam insists, batting his eyelids, grin growing into a mischievous smile. “Oh, but you sound just like our dear leader. Of course, I haven’t seen him in centuries. I was busy elsewhere. With Tommo, in fact.” He flashes his brilliant white smile at Sky. “Those were some pretty good days, weren’t they?”

“Very fine days, Sam,” Sky says, “until you betrayed your friends.”

Sam touches his bare chest with long, splayed fingers. “Betray? Me? I’m appalled that you would think so ill of my humble self.” Suddenly, with no transition, he is back across the room and mere inches from Alma. “Do not listen to him.” He takes her hand and kisses it. “I am the Baron, but you may call me Sam, your loyal cousin many times removed. Too many times, if this is what death is looking like these days.”

Alma does not look impressed. “Sam?”

“You don’t like it? Feel free to call me whatever you like.” He releases her hand and, without any sense of movement, he is behind Sky, his hands on Sky’s shoulders. “For instance, my friend here likes to call me ‘traitor’.” He stretches slightly and kisses Sky’s cheek.

Without moving, Sky asks, “What else do you call someone who switches sides four times in a slave uprising, in order to create the maximum number of deaths?”

“Goal oriented?” The Baron releases Sky and walks around the flipped table. “Our dear Alma – oh, excuse me, Sergeant Alma will know that a death god’s power depends on how many souls he can collect. And I do like my three meals a day.”

“You will not be getting them here,” Alma tells him with certainty.

The Baron sniffs, continuing to circle around, passing by Alma. “Pity. And here I thought we could become good friends, you and I. But I’ll tell you what: If you help me, I will just…return to where I came from and leave you alone for a few more centuries. All I need are some souls.” He moves behind Alma to throw an arm around Sky’s shoulders.

Alma smiles that pleasant, dangerous smile again. “No.”

There is a snapping sound, and Sam looks to see a Guardia shackle around his wrist. “Tsk tsk. I suppose this means I will be finding my own way out.”

Sky twists to try to slap the other shackle onto Sam’s free wrist, but the Baron slips under his arm, giving him a slight shove that sends him stumbling into Alma. A wave of divine power fills the air, a sound of drums and chanting, a smell of rum and blood.

“Nah nah nah nah nah naaaah! Such a bad boy, Tommo. That is no way to treat the host in his own house. Now I will have to punish you for that.” The voice echoes and fades, and Sky finds himself lying on top of Alma, on the street, in a familiar-feeling cul-de-sac, not quite sure what they are doing there.

Ch6.57 Trust

Dion walks slowly through the streets of Three Rats. He has been walking for hours, hardly noticing the portals, all the way from the First Ring, where Niruí’s lunar barge left him, early in the morning, at his request. He would have returned sooner, had the moon goddess not insisted on setting sail and showing him the wonders of the Insula as seen from above. He had not enjoyed it. None of it.

What a dreadful night… What a waste. Not by Niruí’s fault, quite the contrary. She had proven to be just as charming and welcoming as Dion remembered, showering him in her undivided attention, sharing with him food and drink made to please the most demanding of palates. He had not tasted anything like it since abandoning the First Ring. The lavishness, the exquisite attention to detail, the comfort of Niruí’s barge. Not having to worry about pleasing a larger crowd’s eyes, she had appeared before him dressed just enough to look naked, offering him a night of excess and physical pleasure. She had even put her gorgeous high priestesses at his disposal, inviting them to join in the gathering. She told him she knew of his fame and skill and put him to the test, forcing every little trick, every failproof movement out of him. And he had risen to the challenge, filled the night sky with her moans her pleasure, her cries of ecstasy, her endless pleas for more. He had entertained her and her priestesses, whose sighs and gasps had filled Niruí with wild, animalistic excitement.

They praised him and fed him and filled his cup with Ambrosia, bathed him and with him in moonlight.

But the food had a bitter taste to his lips. The drink left his mouth dry. And he felt soiled rather than clean at the bath, at the way they stroke his body and rubbed against it to tempt him into renewed passion. None of it felt pleasurable. No, all of it had been mechanical, detached, the product of habit and skill, fueled by anger and vengeance. Against love, against women, against…her. Alma had been in his thoughts the whole night, every memory of her, every moment, every word, every touch now sparking regret, now triggering anger, now flooding him with longing, an impulsive desire to go back and be with her.

By the end of the night, he had asked Niruí to dock in the First Ring and let him out there. She had demanded one last thrill for it, whispered an invitation for him to return again next year as her body seized with the first stages of climax. He had waited for her to fall back in bliss and then told her no.

He opens the door to the bar, feeling hollow, feeling guilty. The night spent engaging in seduction, in an empty dance with someone who matters little to him, something he’d once enjoyed but now…now it seems so pointless, was to him more of a torment than a relief. Has he ever even enjoyed, truly enjoyed these single-night affairs? Or were they just a distraction, a mindless pastime to give purpose to his empty hours?

What has he accomplished with going off with Niruí? Nothing. What had felt like revenge when he first grabbed that invitation has not brought him any satisfaction. The whole night, he wanted to be elsewhere, back here, clearing things up with Alma, finding out why she had been delayed. He’d started worrying about her at some point, once the anger subsided. His assumption that she was out with Somrak seems silly now, rushed. Perhaps something has happened. Perhaps he has her all wrong. Can he be sure that what Tulip saw wasn’t a misunderstanding?

How can he justify to her that he wasn’t here, waiting for her to return, for her to join him in a date that he invited her to, in the first place?

He climbs down the stairs to Alma’s room and knocks on her door, not knowing exactly what to expect. Will she be angry? Will she even be in there? He does not even know if she has returned or if she is, like everyone else probably is, at the portal in Little Falls, saying her last goodbyes to Mayumi before the Bunny leaves to the Academy. No one answers his knock and so, just to make sure, he turns the knob and enters. He freezes at what he sees.

On Alma’s bed, Sky is reclining against a pillow, his back against the headboard, his shoeless feet on the mattress. He sits over the covers while Alma lies under them, her head on his lap, her arms around his knees, her eyes closed, apparently asleep. Caught in the act of stroking Alma’s snowy hair away from her face, Sky is looking toward Dion, his face clouded with concern.

Dion is lost for words. Of all the things he could have expected, this loving little scene was surely not one of them. He feels the blood drain away from his face, his stomach grow cold with an icy anger.

“Dion…” Sky whispers as he tries to gently lift Alma’s head and slide out from under it, trying to replace his thigh with a pillow.

Dion swallows and turns to leave, trying to control the rage in his voice. “Don’t bother on my account.”

“Dion wait…” Sky bids him, finally getting up and walking after the magic god. “Come on.”

“I don’t need to wait, I have seen all I needed to see,” Dion hisses even though he stops walking. He shakes his head, wondering how a part of him can still be fighting the evidence and stopping him from darting out the room. “And to think I was actually worried about her…”

“Cherry told me…something,” Sky insists. “It was rushed and confusing. Listen…”

As he reaches out to put his hand on Dion’s shoulder, the magic god turns on his heels and slaps Sky’s hand away with the full force of his anger. Cherry! Cherry has been spreading Dion’s shame around, sharing it with Sky? Oh, how they must have laughed at the turning of tables against him and his seducing ways… “No. Enough!” he cries, waiving care and respect for Alma’s sleep. What sordid act has her so tired at this time of morning, anyway? “If she wants to have a harem like her father does, that’s up to her. Guess that’s the family standard anyway. I hope you and Somrak enjoy sharing in the spoils.”

In his defense, Sky looks sincerely shocked. “Harem? Dion! No…”

But Dion is beyond the point of paying attention to such things. “I turn my back one night and here you are! Are you going to tell me that you haven’t been attracted to her from the very start? Always with your little secrets and pettings? Why, I’m even surprised you bother with May.”

Sky’s expression darkens, his fists clenching in righteous anger. And the way the first swirls of black start crawling up his neck make Dion’s muscles tense as well. “You are misunderstanding things. If you would just listen to me–”

“Sky, stop!”

Sky freezes, stiff. And so does Dion. They both turn their heads slowly to the right, toward Alma’s bed, to where she sits, glaring at them through half-shut eyes. A faint glow to them makes Dion’s heart skip a beat.

“Leave us, please,” she asks in icy tones.

Even though she does not name names, it is clear that she is speaking to Sky. The tall god looks back at her, shoulders slumping slightly, sadness in his eyes, and the way he turns those same sorrowful eyes to Dion curdles the blood in the magic god’s veins. Something is wrong, very wrong. Somehow, Dion feels, he has just lost this argument.

Sky takes a deep breath before saying, “I will be upstairs.”

He moves closer to the bed, picks up his shoes and walks past Dion, his face a sorrowful mask, and exits the room, leaving Dion still frozen in place and staring at Alma’s angry face. Her eyelids have moved slightly up and he can see her eyes better now, the way they glow and shift colors, now greener, now bluer, shimmering with iridescent tones. Her whole aura feels different now, still hers but with a new undertone, an energy he had never sensed in her before. And she looks tired, sickly. Dion feels it again, that dreadful feeling that he has just committed an irreparable error. “You…what happened?” he mumbles, rushing to her side.

“It is a bit late for that, don’t you think?” she asks slowly, voice so cold that it cuts through his skin. She pulls the covers away from her legs. Too late, Dion sees that she is fully dressed underneath them, the cut of her dress having fooled him before. His mouth falls open in helplessness and he jerks forward instinctively as Alma’s legs shake under her as she gets up from the bed, placing a hand on the wall to steady herself. She turns her face away from him to say, “Sky would have told you but you wouldn’t listen to him.”

At her refusal to look at him, Dion lets his arms fall. His mind races as he tries to retrieve the line of his thought. He was angry before but all he is now is shocked and confused. What has he done. How…how did they get to this point where he is the one at fault? “Tulip…” he mumbles, trying to return to anger. “Tulip said she saw you and Somrak in the breezeway. Kissing.”

Alma’s head turns quickly to look at him again and the glare she shoots in his direction makes him wish she hadn’t. “Is that why you weren’t here last night?” Her voice grows louder and angrier as she adds, “Is that why you came in here spewing out those ridiculous accusations? If you knew the first thing about me, Gwydion, you’d know that the last thing I want is a harem! I grew up in a harem! I know better than anyone what it is like! Why would I even want one?!”

At his momentary loss for words, she narrows her strange eyes at him, the lines on her face and the sunken darkness under her eyelids making her look even more intimidating. “Where were you, Gwydion? When I was being brought here and asking for you in my sickness, where were you?”

He closes his eyes and ponders lying but his mind is blank of inspiration for good excuses. “I was angry. And I left with someone else.”

She shakes her head. “Not even a few hours…I am delayed and you–” She looks at him, eyes wide with shock. “Did you…? You thought I was with him? Is that what you thought?”

He looks down at his feet and wishes the floor would open a hole to swallow him whole. Her outrage is sincere, he can tell.

Oh, Dion, you fool… his inner voice scolds him. Apologize. Admit you were wrong. You cannot win.

He should. He should apologize. But…he can’t. “Is it a lie?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “What Tulip said she saw?”

“No,” her cool answer makes him look up again. “It’s the truth. She saw us kiss because we kissed. I was healing him and he kissed me. We kissed. So what?!” she exclaims, throwing her arms open in frustration. “How much further than that have you gone with whatever tart you spent last night with?!” She holds a hand up to stop him from answering. Not that he was going to. “Don’t even answer that. I know the answer.”

He does not know what to say anymore. Her admission hurts him but not half as much as the dawning realization that it is not an admission of guilt. She is not guilty of anything. Somrak kissed her and even so, their agreement works both ways. It is he who cannot stand to accept that. And now…

“You want the truth, Gwydion?” Alma goes on. “I care about him. I was worried about him. He was hurt and he was suffering and all I did was add to it because I care about you more.” She points a finger at him in accusation. “I told him ‘no’ and that’s why I didn’t even think of telling you, because I thought our agreement went both ways and even though I did nothing wrong I still did not want to hurt you! But I guess that’s not how things work in your sick little head!”

She hisses the last few words and storms out of the room, leaving Dion standing there, stunned into speechlessness and motionlessness. He stares at nothing, unblinking, unseeing. And when he finally turns to follow her, when he finally rushes up the stairs, a voice in his mind shouting Go! Make it right!, it is too late.

Sky and Alma are just walking toward the door, Sky’s face concerned as he asks “…are you sure? This suspect is in Little Falls.”

“I don’t care,” Alma nearly growls. “Let’s go.”

Sky barely has time to look back at Dion with a mix of exasperation and, strangely, apology before they are out the door. Leaving him all alone with his mistakes.

Ch6.56 Trust

This is weird. Like, really weird. Well, I mean, we’ve kind of gotten used to the weirdness by now but still…talk about a story!

First, we were all sleeping. Kind of. We weren’t really sleeping, were we? We were in stasis, whatever that is, because some big grumpy bullies said we are not really living creatures. Well, isn’t that stupid? I feel pretty living! Sure, we don’t look like everyone else and we don’t quite think like anyone else but I’m starting to think that no one looks and thinks like everyone else around here. Or anyone else, for that matter. Some people just like to think they can go around deciding who’s right and who isn’t. Guess that means that everyone’s always wrong unless they agree with the big silly god…archon…thingies way up in the Curia. Anyway…

We were sleeping. I don’t remember the sleeping part. There’s a lot of things I don’t remember. But Cherry and Merri and May and Big Brother Sage all talk about their dream lives. Like how they ran a bar or were in the Guardia or worked at an asylum for kids who lost their moms and dads. I don’t remember any dreams. I asked Kori and Chime once and they don’t remember any dreams either. Maybe because we were all too young to dream? Can you be too young to dream? Do babies dream or is it all just blank when they’re not eating or crying or doing whatever babies do when they’re not eating or crying?

To us it was like… well, being asleep, really. Close your eyes, mind goes black. Until the dreams start. Ours just didn’t. And when we woke up… we didn’t really wake up, either. There’s something else I don’t remember much… Waking up after Mom was told she could let us out of stasis. Do you know when you’re sleeping and something snaps you out of it and suddenly you’re really aware that you’re not sleeping anymore but you can’t quite move yet? And your eyes are still closed so you can’t see but you can hear stuff around you but you keep phasing in and out and in and out so it’s all kind of broken and you’re not sure which bits were real and which weren’t when you finally wake up for good? Well, that’s kind of what it was like. I remember voices sometimes, sometimes coldness or warmth or wetness (guess that’s when someone was giving me a bath). I remember being scared and confused. And sometimes being really safe and comfy, like someone was taking care of me. Mom’s voice…and her scent. Her touch. The other Bunnies too. Other people, like Sky and Dion and Allie and Callie and all. But it was all really fuzzy.

I remember running. Being scared. That’s one of the things I remember most. Being really scared. Lots of noise, people screaming. Dark places. Everything smelling of blood and dead things and scared people. I remember Dion carrying me somewhere. I wasn’t scared then. But then he let go and the screaming started again. Bunny screams so high-pitched and so loud that my ears hurt. Some spooky guy with a funny voice saying mean things about us and trying to hurt Mom and Dion and Geryon.

And then the bad guy was gone. That’s when I woke up. For good. And Dion was there, making sure I was all right. Being all nice and caring and all. He’s such a prince… Sigh…. Aaaaaanyway, things weren’t fuzzy anymore, though they were really, really confusing. Because Mom was on the floor and Sky was suddenly there, hugging her and everyone looked like something bad was about to happen.

And it did. They sent us away, back to our home, but they didn’t let Mom or Dion come back with us. The big bullies again, saying Mom had been bad and Dion had helped. Shows what they know! Mom isn’t bad. She’s…she’s Mom. Sometimes she gets mad but everyone gets mad. So she gets kinda scary when she’s mad, but that’s on account of her being a goddess. Gods are weird. She’s good to us. Reads us stories, teaches us stuff, plays with us sometimes. When she can. She’s been working a lot. But she always makes sure we’re all right. And we can sleep with her whenever we want, too, and go hang out in her room and stuff. She’s our Mom!

But they still made her stay, left us by ourselves. We were very sad. And scared. Mom…she had always been around, you know? One way or another. But suddenly, she wasn’t. We couldn’t go talk to her or see her. All the scents in her room were old. She was still alive but really far away and we didn’t know what to do or when she’d be back and everyone was on edge and fighting… We just… didn’t feel safe anymore. And Mom wasn’t there to tell us it would be all right. Sky tried. He took care of us. He’s nice. We uhm… I guess we could have been nicer. Not give him so much worry. Sneaking away and all. Stupid Chime and May…

But then… Mom came back! That was awesome! Out of the blue, everything got great and perfect and everyone was happy and we could finally be one big happy family. Well, I guess May wasn’t happy. Not for real. She’s leaving, now. Gonna become Guardia again, because that’s what she was in her dream. I think that’s silly. I dreamt I was a big furry sheep jumping over fences once. It was a really nice dream. But I can’t be a sheep! I’m a Bunny! And seriously, dealing with that wool, that must be real hot in the summer and it gets all frizzy and– Sigh… Sorry. I got a bit carried away there. I do that sometimes. Cherry says it’s because I’m still a kid. Yeah, sure Cherry, because you don’t go off on tangents every hour or so… Meanie grownups saying kids are silly just because we’re kids… Who gets to decide, anyway, if you’re all grown up or not? Is there, like, a fairy or something that pops us and waves her wand and says “You are now a grown up. Go and work and do boring stuff and…stuff”?

Where was I? I was going off again, wasn’t I? Sigh… Right, back to what’s going on now. May’s leaving. She says it’s just for a few months but that’s like…forever! Can’t really remember life without May. Then again, can’t really remember life without all my teeth. I hear babies don’t have teeth when they’re born and that little kids lose their too. Must make it hard to eat your veggies, not having any teeth…

We’re all sad she’s going. Even May. I keep asking why she’s going if that makes her so sad but no one gives me a straight answer. They just say I wouldn’t understand. Doesn’t sound like they do either, if you ask me. Not that anyone asks me anything. Mom is sad too but she says we should let May go because it’s what May needs to be happy. Except May isn’t happy, she’s scared. I can smell it on her. And she’s worried too. We’re all worried. Because Mom is sick.

Her big spooky brother brought her home last night and said we need to be real quiet and let her sleep so she’ll get better quick. Well, he didn’t say that to me but that’s what May said he said. Sky’s been taking care of Mom. And May, May’s been helping. But now it’s time for May to go and Mom woke up so Mom wants to walk May to the portal too so she can say goodbye to her, even though we can all tell Mom is still not feeling good.

Mom is a terrible patient, by the way.

“I’m fine, Mayumi,” she says. She is sitting at the edge of her bed and trying to get up but May keeps getting in her way. “I will accompany you to the portal in Little Falls.”

She still looks really tired. Her head is hanging a bit and her eyes aren’t open all the way and her voice is a bit mumbly but she doesn’t sound like she’s too weak to go with us to the portal. She’d probably be all right, I guess. But May is having none of it.

“Mother…I want you there,” May says, kneeling and holding both of Mom’s hands to stop her from getting up. “But I cannot ask you to trudge all the way to the Little Falls portal and then all the way back, when you are, um, doing something with a sphere.”

“It’s shapin’ up to be a real broiler of a day, too!” Merri pipes in, over May’s shoulder.

Merri is standing just behind May. Sky’s standing at the foot of the bed looking all worried and I’m… Well… I should be upstairs with Cherry and Sage and Kor and Chi but I sort of snuck in here when no one was watching and I’ve been hiding behind the hanging screen of pretty flowers that hides the door from the rest of the bedroom. It’s a great hiding spot against Bunny noses, you know. But I’m having trouble avoiding a sneeze.

“I promised your brother I would take care of you,” May insists, glancing at Sky. “Well, Sky promised, but I was there.”

They’re so cute, May and Sky. All trying to be all sneaky and dis-creet and “Oh, we’re too serious to be romantic around people because he’s sort of kind of my boss.” Silly May. Bosses can kiss too. I mean, bosses gotta have kids somehow, right?

Sky looks back at May and nods. That makes Mom frown a bit.

“Melinor worries too much,” Mom says. “I feel much better than yesterday.” She strokes May’s cheek and looks a bit sad. “I won’t be seeing you for the best part of six months. The least you could let me do is walk you to the portal.”

May’s ears droop down and she bites her lip, looking at Mom like someone’s making her pick between carrots and sprouts. “If you go with me, I am going to be terribly worried about you collapsing on your way back. I saw you last night, unconscious, and it was frightening.” She throws her arms around Mom’s waist all of a sudden, and hugs her real tight. “Please, I just want to know you’re well. Please stay and let Sky take care of you until you’ve fully adjusted to…this.”

I can’t really see her face now, because it’s buried in Mom’s dress. Mom holds her back and strokes her hair, smooths the black fur on her ears. Then she sighs. “Very well… Tulip?”

Eeeeep! She’s looking right at me now, through the screen and everything! Everyone looks super surprised to see me get out from behind the flowers and Merri is even giggling a bit about it but Mom is just looking like she knew all along and doesn’t mind.

“Yes, Mom?” I ask.

Her eyes look soooo pretty now. Well, they were pretty before and it kind of stinks that they’re a different color from mine now but the new ones?…super neat. Blues and greens moving about and mixing and twirling like someone dropped two colors of nail polish in a saucer and keeps mixing them with a toothpick. And they glow real soft too, like there’s a teeny tiny lamp inside Mom’s eyes. I wonder if it hurts, getting them like that.

“In the first drawer of my desk, there is a small package,” she says, smiling at me like everything’s fine. “Could you get it for me?”

Mom has kind of a workbench-desk thing to the left of the door… no, to the right of the door… Well, I’m facing the door and it’s to my right now, all right? It has three drawers in it and the bottom one is always locked. The second one is boring and the one at the top has all sort of stuff in it like scissors and tape and paperclips and all that. Cherry is always yelling at me for taking stuff out of it and not putting it back. But uhm…Wanna know a secret? Sometimes I do it just to watch Mom run around thinking she’s losing her mind a bit. Ihihihihih. Shhhh…

There’s a package in the drawer now, that I hadn’t seen there before. It’s wrapped in a pretty velvety dark-red paper stamped with some serious-looking symbol in gold ink. It looks like some sort of Year’s End present. “This one?” I ask Mom when I hand it over to her.

“Yes, thank you,” she says to me and I sit down and lean against her as she gives May the present. “Inside there is a wad of portal tickets. Always save one for emergencies but use the rest as you will. I will send or bring more later if you need them. Remember to visit your father as well, yes?”

May lets go of Mom to take the present in both hands. Her ears are drawn back and her chin is starting to shake a bit but she’s holding the package to her chest like it’s the best present she ever got. “Oh Mother… thank you.” She nods quickly. “I will. But I will visit here as well. I promise. When they allow me to, of course.” She rubs an eye to stop from crying. Aawww…poor May. “You know…”

May shakes her head and hugs Mom again. Mom holds her back with a sad little smile.

“I know,” Mom whispers, leaning down to kiss May’s head. “You will do wonderfully, I’m sure. You know all of this already. Just remember to stay focused and don’t let them walk over you. You are my daughter and you will show them just what you are made of.”

May nods, her face against Alma’s shoulder. It’s weird seeing May like that. She’s always so uptight. When she’s not all serious then she’s all mad. But she looks very tiny now. Scared. Just nestled in Mom’s arms like she was having a bad dream and is afraid to sleep alone now.

Behind May, Merri strokes our sister’s hair and looks a little smile at Mom. They look like they’re talking without words, which is actually pretty common between the two of them. After Mom, Merri is oldest in our little family. Maybe that’s why Mom and her seem to understand each other so well.

“I’ll make sure they have a well-armed guard there and back,” Sky chimes in softly.

Mom nods at him, then looks worried. “Isn’t Gwydion in yet? He could accompany them.”

Oh! I know the answer to this one! “He’s probably still out being m–”

But Merri cuts me off with a quick, “Och, he’s still out doin’ something or other. Must’ve gotten caught up in it.”

Weird…Why is Merri lying to Mom? Doesn’t Mom know the Dion is mad at her for kissing Uncle Som? Not that that’s a reason for being mad at anyone. Aren’t we supposed to kiss the people we like? Hmm… Maybe Dion wanted to kiss Som too? Or maybe… Dion wants Mom all to himself? No… He wouldn’t be that selfish. Would he?

Mom looks a bit suspicious. “Strange. We were supposed to…” She sighs.

“I am sure the Bunnies will be well with our best Popula accompanying them,” Sky says.

May lifts her head and rubs her nose with the back side of her wrist. “Maybe the other Bunnies should stay here too–”

“May!” Merri cries out, tapping her foot on the floor. Uh oh… It’s not a good idea, getting Mer mad. “Don’t you be silly, of course we’re comin’ along! This is our ward, an’ we’ll have Aliyah an’ Cala an’ more with us. We’ll be fine!”

Mom nods and sways a bit forward and back. Her eyes close a little like she’s trying to stay awake. “Most of the more troubling gangs have been dealt with. Sky will go with you to make sure.”

“But Sky has promised Melinor to watch over you,” May argues.

“We’ve been goin’ out with Popula protection for weeks now, and nothin’ bad’s happened since that berk Froggy Whatsisname got skewered!” Merri insists too. “This is no different.”

Sky doesn’t look like he’s very sure what to do. “I would feel better if…” He goes quiet because is looking at him and then at Mom in some special way. “But it’s true. The Popula have been doing an excellent job keeping the Bunnies safe.”

“There, it’s settled!” Merri chimes, putting her hands together in victory. “I’ll go gather Cherry and the others.”

She gives May a kiss on the cheek and dashes off upstairs. And suddenly, things go really quiet and awkward. Reeeeally awkward.

Mom puts an arm around me and leans a bit against me. It’s nice when she does that. I give her a hug and she gives me a kiss to the cheek.

“Maybe you should go get ready too, little one,” she whispers softly. “All right?”

I’d rather stay. But Mom is asking nicely. “All right, Mom.”

I give her another tight hug and then I leave. I think I’ll come back later, after we get back from the portal and go cuddle with Mom for a bit. Maybe she’ll feel better then. I knew that gods could get hurt – I mean, Mom and Sky and Dion get hurt all the time, fighting bad guys. Mostly small stuff, nothing like losing arms and having to grow new ones and all – but I didn’t know gods could get sick. It’s scary to think that they can. It’s scary to think that Mom could… Gulp. Die…

Upstairs, everyone is getting ready. Kor and Chi are all groomed and they even have shirts on today. They look bored out of their minds and Kor keeps pawing at his hair and muttering about how Cher used too much cream and how he looks like he got licked by a really big tongue now. I’m not saying he’s right about that but he could definitely be wronger. Chi’s been tying his hair in a ponytail lately. Says it makes him look cool. Yeah…right… like you can be cool in calf-length pants and suspenders.

Merri must have gone out and Big Brother Sage isn’t around either. Cherry is talking with Geryon, by the kitchen. She’s been looking really sad lately, Cher. I think it has to do with Saira going away and taking Lexie with her. And Mom being sick. And that fight with Dion yesterday didn’t help either. I…guess that was a bit my fault. But I didn’t do it on purpose! It’s just…tough to understand non-Bunny people sometimes and know what you can say and what you can’t. To us Bunnies, love is love. The more you give, the more you get. Friends love one another, and families love each other and some people pair up because they love each other too but you can always love more people, right? You don’t stop being able to love other people just because you already love someone. What kind of love is that?

I hope Dion isn’t too mad at me. I love Dion. I wish he wouldn’t be so uptight sometimes but I really, really love him. And I like how he loves Mom and all of us. Gosh, I hope he’s not that mad anymore.

Geryon is whispering something about Dion’s room. I arrived too late to know what exactly they’re going on about.

So I ask them. “What’s up?”

Cherry looks at me like she was sleeping and just woke up. “We ready to head out yet? We don’t want May bein’ late.”

Liar. She doesn’t sound anything like she wants May to be on time to leave.

“Yeah, we’re ready.” I pretend I can’t tell when she’s lying. “May’s just saying bye to Mom and all. What were you talking about?”

Geryon looks uncomfortable at the question and glances a question at Cher. Hmm… Mystery…

“Just makin’ sure Dion’ll have a friend to talk to when he gets back,” Cherry says quickly. Too quickly. “Now go get your hat, sweetie. You know how you burn when the sun’s strong.”

She tries to shoosh me upstairs but something’s fishy here. “I can stay and talk to Dion. Why’s he need a friend?”

“Because friends, my darling Tulip, are a good thing to have,” Ger replies, pushing me gently away with one of his furry paws. He’s in his smaller shape right now but I could still ride him like a pony if I wanted to. “Now, you go be a good Bunny and get your hat.”

Aw man, really? Geryon too? Why does everyone keep hiding stuff from me and being all sneaky like I’m too dumb to notice. Like I ‘wouldn’t understand’. Grr…I’m a kid but I’m not blind! I’m not deaf! I’m not stupid. I notice things. Why do people always assume I wouldn’t understand? They never try to explain in the first place!

“Fine…” I walk away, muttering and dragging my feet. “Don’t tell me… Always treating me like a kid…”

Two strong arms hug me from behind all of a sudden. “Oh sweetie, we’re so happy you are a kid,” Cher says against my ear. She sounds like she’s about to cry. “Won’t you let us have you as a kid for a little while longer? What with May g-goin’…”

She stops talking but hugs me tighter. Real tight. I think I’m going blue in the face. Help!

“Cher… I can’t…breathe…”

Oof! She lets go a bit. “Oops, sorry…” I can feel her hand petting my hair just as I see May coming up the stairs. “Oh, here comes May. Right…” Cher takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Let’s get this parade on the road. Where’s Sage?”

“He’s gettin’ Aliyah and Cala, darlin’,” Merri says from the door.

“Ah! My hat! Be right back!”

My hat! I almost forgot my hat! Can’t go out in the sun without it. I get my scalp all burnt up if I stay out in a strong sun too long. And it hurts! A lot! May says it’s because I’m so pale and my hair is all white, like Mom’s. But Mom never burns in the sun. She doesn’t tan either. Must be great being a goddess, sometimes… Big Brother Sage made me my hat. It’s really pretty and colorful, with flowers and leaves and a wide brim to keep my face in shade too. He even put a blue ribbon, the same color as Mom’s clothes. Dion says it matches my eyes.

By the time I get back downstairs with my hat already on, Sage is peeking in through the door that leads outside. “Our escort is ready. All set to go?”

Cher and May are standing by the bar counter, looking at each other like one of them is never coming back. Of course, that’s not true… Right?

Finally, they hug it out, and Cher breathes deep, takes May’s hand in hers and just real quietly says, “Ready…”

Ch6.55 Trust

Night has fallen over this side of the Insula. The streets will be swelling with all the people who regard this final day of the Year’s End as the true day of celebration, and who plan to party all the way until midnight to close the ending year, and then past it to welcome the new one.

Alma breathes deeply. She has never worked through this particular night due to her family’s special dispensations, but what retellings she has heard of it make the Inner Rings sound like Three Rats for one night each year. Pavia will certainly be dealing with some of that silliness. The death goddess makes a mental note to write and explain to her old partner the reasons of her delay, since Death will most certainly have dismissed Pavia as escort without much in the way of explanation.

“You should stay,” Melinor says, looming by her side, at the main entrance of the house. “Father would have you stay and spend the night.”

Alma cannot help but smile at that. On any other day, the thought of spending the night would not even have flared in her mind. Too many of her dark memories are housed in Death’s estate and her rushed departure after Cherry and Rosemary’s creation, twenty-four years prior, had generated enough malaise to make staying here a nearly unthinkable choice. This has not felt like home for too long and her presence here has often done more harm than good.

But tonight, she hesitates. She can barely remember the ceremony and even less anything that might have happened after it. Her thoughts feel hazy, as if a heavy veil of mist has fallen upon them, covering and blurring their shapes, distorting memories of sound or touch. One moment, she was hovering in the air, in indescribable ecstasy at the touch of thousands of souls moving through her; the next she was waking up in her bed, in the room that had been her own for over three quarters of a lifetime, kept clean but otherwise untouched since her departure. That had been an unexpectedly pleasant surprise. She had thought the room would have been given to someone else or reused for some other purpose. That it had been kept for her, even the plants in Starfax’s old enclosure still flowering and healthy, was like an unspoken wish for reconciliation.

And even though she feels weak and stiff, as if she has just taken a beating to her very core, she also feels strangely lighthearted and at peace, as if something in her has shifted toward balance and happiness. As if something very, very good has happened without her having any memory of it. It almost erases all the unpleasant moments spent here. And, for some reason, it makes her nurture an impulsive craving to run through the maze-like corridors in search of Death and tackle her Father in a long, tight embrace.

That might not go so well. Though the whim remains. For now, however, the darkened sky has Alma concerned for Mayumi, who will be worrying, no doubt, at her mother’s delay.

“I promised Mayumi I would pick her up before sunset, to take her home,” the goddess explains, marveling at the sharp, glittering contours of Melinor’s soul. For some reason, she cannot stop soul-scrying, even if she wills it so, but feels none of the familiar signs of exhaustion that keeping it up too long usually brings about. “And sunset has been and gone, already.”

“You are too weak to be traveling,” Melinor notes in that brusque, matter-of-fact way of his. “Is she not safe where she is?”

“She is,” Alma concedes, with a little nod that sends her head in a twirl. “But tomorrow she will be leaving for the Guardia Academy. My delay has already robbed her of precious time with her siblings.”

Melinor must notice her momentary disorientation, because he wraps an arm around her chest and pulls her to lean into the sturdy, reassuring cradle of his chest. “Very well,” he says, exhaling deeply in tamped-down exasperation. “I will take you to her and then transport the two of you to your assigned ward. I doubt you will make it there awake, anyway.”

Alma smiles, snuggling against him, reveling in that acrid, metallic scent of blood and pounded flesh that is, to her, the soothing scent of a loved one. “I love you too, brother.”

“Always the emotional one,” Melinor mutters, shaking his head. “Where is this place?”

Pulling away enough free her right hand, Alma produces her record book and gives him her annotations to read. She has drawn a simple map to Sueyoshi’s house, taking care in writing down the correct address and location of the ward in the vast Third Ring. Melinor’s teleporting does not work quite like the portals but, after a few questions, he seems satisfied with the information. He allows her to put the record book away, then holds her tightly as his powers activate, with a scent of sweat and charred bone, and sounds of battle and alarm. The world shifts around them.

The world goes black.

神兎神兎神兎神兎神兎神兎神兎

“When did you start these?” Mayumi is seated cross-legged on the floor, looking at sheet after sheet of various kinds of paper – wood-pulp or cotton-rag, smooth or highly textured, pure white to shades of cream or grey – on which are drawn dozens of images of her. Charcoal, pencil, ink-brush, even watercolor, she sees her face in different expressions, her form in different poses, often among scenes in the garden, or here in the house, sometimes in other locales. She recognizes the environs of the temple up on the hill that houses the local portal, where she and Alma arrived this morning.

“Maybe two or three years after the dreams began,” Sueyoshi replies. “I was trying to…to make sense of it? No, that’s not right.” He considers as he sits down again, setting a cup of tea for her nearby but away from the pictures. “I think I was trying to bring you here. To make you real.”

She looks up from the drawings. The older ones, near the bottom, are cruder, stiffer, more self-conscious, and the materials and techniques more experimental. The more recent ones more consistently use the same paper, heavy and handmade, slightly off-white, painted in ink with free-flowing minimalistic strokes that capture emotion more than realism, and which all seem to convey a sorrowful longing.

“I have always been real,” she tells him. “But I understand. I feared, for a time, that you did not exist in this waking world.”

“Even those of us who cannot use magic try to find ways to exert our will over the things we cannot control,” he says. “And yet, here you are. If I were superstitious, I would think it worked.”

Mayumi grins, then feels the smile disappear. She looks at him gravely. “Of course it did. You raised me with love, and these are an expression of love. That love, in dreams and in waking, ensured that I would find my way to you here.” She keeps her eyes locked on his for a long moment, then breaks it off, looking down at the pictures. “I feel strange to call images of myself ‘beautiful,’ but they are beautiful. I can’t…I can’t describe how much this, not just this, everything today, how much it has moved–”

She breaks off. Something has changed. Although the temperature is no different, she feels a chill, accompanied by an indefinable feeling in the air itself. Being near gods nearly every minute of her time in Three Rats, she has grown used to a subtle sense of their presence. Gwydion is the most difficult to notice in this way, his aura only causing the soft hairs on her neck and forearms to rise when he is actually performing magic. Sky’s presence is also subtle, nothing more than a hint of the ocean that straddles the line between his smell and something less tangible, and sometimes he suppresses it completely. Alma’s presence is both the easiest and most difficult to notice, perhaps because she conceals it the least, perhaps because she is Mayumi’s mother. It has been an almost constant presence for her, not only since she awoke to this world, but even before, always a background note in her dream life, and as such it is difficult to describe except in its rare absence. But all the Bunnies can tell if she is nearby, if they think about it, whether she is within sight or scent, or not.

And others, like Kyri or Breowan, announce their presence more strongly and physically. There is always a hint of music in the air when Kyri is nearby, while Breowan seems surrounded by an echo of beer, the slightest feeling of tipsiness that one might get from taking a deep sniff off the head of a glass of beer.

This is stronger, more like their grandmother, Lyria, or Gwydion’s uncle, the Archon Math, or the murderous criminal, the now-deceased Nekh – a feeling of power that just fills the air. But it resonates somewhat like Alma’s, when she is channelling the powers of death, something that Mayumi has born witness to more than once when her mother fought in defense of her children. However, it is more unsettling, though she cannot understand why just yet. She just knows it is different from Alma’s, and yet there is a connection. In Alma’s normal presence, there is that feeling of melancholy, of the longing for what has been lost or is to be lost, but with it is love, and…how did Merri put it? Continuation. Renewal. No, perhaps Sage had said that first, after Tulip, barely starting to speak and separated from Alma cruelly, had first articulated that loss of Alma’s divine presence.

Within this aura is not melancholy but dread, shot through with violence and blood, fire and screams.

A heavy tread on the garden veranda, and three hard raps on the back door. Sueyoshi stands, looking at the door, then at Mayumi. From his expression, she can see that he too senses the aura of death. He goes to the next room and returns holding a jutte, a metal baton with a fork-like tine along the side, near that grip, that had once existed to catch swords but was now simply traditional, the local version of the Guardia truncheon. By the time he returns, Mayumi is already up and holding her hands to stop him.

“Father, please, let me.”

“Are you sure?” He looks deeply concerned.

“Whoever it is, is here for me. And must be connected to Mother.” At his nod of assent, she turns and, taking a breath, opens the door.

Standing before her is an imposing figure, his face turned slightly so that only the right side is easily visible. It is a face she recognizes instantly, handsome, cold, disapproving, even though this side of it is half hidden by his long, unkempt midnight-black hair. And she knows, though she can barely see it, that the left side of that face, which he keeps turned away by habit, is a blasted, torn wound. Melinor, God of Violent Death.

But her gaze is pulled from his face almost immediately, as she sees what he is holding. Or rather who, for in his arms is Alma, asleep or unconscious, her body gently supported under her shoulders and knees by her brother’s powerful arms. Mayumi is surprised at how small she looks, for the Bunny is used to looking up at her mother, who is somewhat taller than the average human. All but her pale face and snowdrift of hair disappear against him, as she is wrapped in a black blanket, no, a cloak, most likely Melinor’s, and despite his fearsome aura, his face, the way his ochre eye barely glances at her, Mayumi sees the tender way he holds his sister, and she steps aside to let him enter.

Eschewing greetings, she asks, “What happened?” She feels a slight tremor in her voice, and decides it is from worry about her mother. Any fear induced by Melinor’s aura has disappeared, at least for her, for the moment.

“She is fine.” The god’s voice is flat and harsh, but bears no animosity despite that. “Are you Mayumi?”

“I am.” She pauses. “We have seen each other before. At the Curia. What has happened to my mother?”

It seems for a moment as if Melinor will not answer, but then he speaks. “She…evolved. I have come to take you back to the Fourth Ring at her request.”

“Evolved?” She shakes her head, her ears laid back. “But why is she unconscious? Is there anything we can do?”

“No.” If he was hesitating to speak to her before, he seems to have given in. “She is adapting to a new sphere. It is her battle to fight.”

Mayumi looks to Sueyoshi, still standing a few paces away. He looks as if he is fighting the urge to fall down in worship. She remembers that very few here in Sawara Ward would have had anywhere near as much contact with gods as she has experienced. She looks back at Melinor. “Should we let her rest here? Or take her back to her home?”

His locks of hair barely shake as he moves his head in negation, his eyes on Alma. “She would not stay in her home.” This confuses Mayumi for a moment before she realizes he must be referring to the Death Clan estate. “She will recover faster in her sanctum. Are you ready to leave?”

Mayumi looks again at Sueyoshi, then back to Melinor. “Yes.” Realizing that she has failed in all norms of propriety, she quickly introduces them, continuing to use Urbia, the common language of the Insula. “Sir, this is my father, Sueyoshi Ishijima. Father, this is…” She almost calls him her uncle, but stops herself. She does not believe he would welcome that. “…my mother’s brother, the god Melinor. I am sorry, Father…I must go.”

In the face of proper greetings, Sueyoshi gathers himself and bows very formally to Melinor, who nods stiffly in reply. “You are most welcome in my home, Divine One.” He straightens, then turns to Mayumi. “I understand. Already I have been blessed with your presence more than I ever thought possible. I…”

Mayumi steps into his moment of hesitation and embraces him tightly. She can tell he is shocked. Her time in Three Rats Ward has made her impatient with many of the rules of interaction in Sawara Ward. She feels his body, ravaged by age yet still strong, relax in her arms, and he holds her in return, surely feeling embarrassed to be doing so in front of such a forbidding, foreboding god, but Mayumi can sense that Melinor is paying them as little attention as possible. “You will see me again,” she insists in Japanese, her cheek pressed against his. “I promise. Many, many times. And you will see my siblings. You’ll love them. They’ll drive you crazy, but you’ll love them.”

He whispers to her, “This is your home, always, whatever other home you may have. Do not knock on entering.”

Mayumi squeezes him almost painfully, then steps back, and looks to Melinor. “I am ready, sir. I appreciate your patience.”

His eyes still on Alma, his face still turned so that only the unwounded side is visible, he replies, “You will need to touch me to be transported. You will be safe.”

She nods, stepping off the edge of the floor to slip her feet into her shoes where they wait in the genkan, the tile floor of the entryway one step down, and turns to stand beside him. She puts a hand through Melinor’s arm, fingers on the inside of his elbow, and she looks at her father, seeing his struggle to maintain his composure in the face of so much: meeting two gods of death in a single day, meeting the child he raised alone for ten years, for the first time. Feeling her heart so open to him, she knows she will keep her promise. She begins to say so, “I–”

But “–promise” is spoken somewhere else entirely, somewhere very familiar, Alma’s room in Three Rats Station.

Mayumi experiences vertigo at the sudden change, and clings tightly to Melinor’s arm until it passes a few seconds later. The familiar room is so different from her father’s home, the colors, the temperature, the humidity, the feel of it in every way, but it has become her home as well, even if she sleeps in another room upstairs now. These two homes she has, and yet tomorrow she is leaving them both for another, a narrow bed in a tiny, shared dormitory room at the Academy.

Reoriented, she moves directly to the bed, whipping aside the blanket to reveal that a large lump under it was merely a pillow, not the curled-up form of Tulip or Chime. She pulls that out of the way just as Melinor lays his sister down, crisply, efficiently, yet with a gentleness that sparks within Mayumi an affection for the dark, dour god.

Silently, she removes Alma’s boots, setting them in their usual place on the floor of the closet, and considers whether to choose a nightgown for the goddess, but on seeing that Melinor has spread the blanket over her, Mayumi decides that can wait. She catches him tucking the blanket in just a little around Alma’s shoulders, and carefully brushing a lock of white hair away from her face.

Not looking toward Mayumi, he speaks. “There is another god nearby.”

“That should be Inspector Tsuma-Sukai,” Mayumi says. “Or Sergeant Gwydion. Shall I get one of them?”

“Yes. A god will know to handle this better than mortals.”

Mayumi nods. “I shall return shortly.”

She throws open the door and rushes up the stairs into the Burrow, the bar run by Rosemary and Cherry, both of whom are seated at a table, Cherry looking upset.

“May!” Merri calls out. “Goodness, where have ye been? Tis nearly midnight!”

“Alma is in her room,” Mayumi says by way of explanation. “But don’t go in there yet! She needs quiet. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait a minute!” Cherry’s voice is rough, as if she’s been shouting. “Is somethin’ wrong with her?”

“She’ll be fine!” Mayumi wants to stay and find out what’s wrong with Cherry, but first she must find Sky. Before she leaves, she asks one question, however. “Is Dion in?”

Cherry casts her eyes down at this, and leaves Merri to say, “He’s not answerin’. I think he’s gone out, but I’ll knock again an’ tell him Alma’s back.”

Puzzled at this reply, but with no time to discuss it for the moment, Mayumi gives a little nod and dashes out of the bar, across the narrow breezeway and into the station, to Sky’s office door. She pauses, taking note of who is present in the constables’ office area, returning a friendly nod from Patel, then knocks just before opening Sky’s door without waiting for a reply.

She is greeted with the smell of a salty sea breeze, and peers around the edge of the door to see Sky sitting on the sofa with his jacket laid across his legs, hands over it, whispering some mantra. There is a hint of blood-scent in the air, rapidly dissipating, and the god’s eyes, blue-green as he calls upon his mana to cast some spell, quickly return to their familiar brown.

He blinks. “Mayumi!” His voice is soft, but the worry in it is obvious. He begins to stand but she whips around the door and, not bothering to shut it behind her, throws her arms around him, squeezing him hard, sliding onto his lap and drawing her legs up. She just holds him, eyes shut tight, for a long moment, feeling the tension draining out of her the moment his big hands touch her back, pulling her to him.

After a dozen heartbeats, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Alma,” she says. “Something about a new sphere. Her brother brought us back. She’s asleep – unconscious, really, in her room. He says she’ll be all right, but she needs you.”

She releases him and stands, taking one of his hands in both of hers. He stands without the need of assistance, and she lets him go once he is towering over her. The thought of holding his hand as they walk through the station is tempting, but she chucks the thought aside as silly and leads the way as they move rapidly back to the bar, him taking a single long stride to every two of her quick steps.

“Are you all right?” he asks as they go.

“Oh Sky…” She would not normally address him so informally where Guardia under his command would hear, but it just slips out. “I have had one of the best days of my life. But now I’m just worried for Alma. For Mother.” As she is speaking, they retrace her steps of minutes before, through two doors and into the bar. Merri and Cherry are standing now, looking as if they have been caught in the midst of a debate which Mayumi guesses involves whether to disobey her request that they stay out of Alma’s sanctum.

Cherry, looking at Sky, half-raises a hand and says, “Um…” but then bites her lips and drops her hand. “Let him take care o’ Alma, dearest,” Merri tells her, her voice drifting after them as Mayumi quickly leads Sky down the stairs.

As she opens the door, Mayumi has to adjust again to the resonance of violence filling this normally peaceful, comforting sanctum. She feels Sky’s hand on her shoulder as, in unthinking reaction, he almost pulls her back out of the room. She looks over her shoulder at him. “It’s all right,” she says. He relaxes, though not completely, and follows her into the room.

His hand still on her shoulder, she feels him tense again at the sight of Melinor, like a huge gore-crow, looming over Alma. The death god again turns his face so that the wounded side does not show. “Sir,” Mayumi says to him, “this is Tsuma-Sukai. Inspector, this is Alma’s brother, Melinor.”

Melinor jerks his head in Alma’s direction. “How many sphere awakenings have you seen?”

“One or two,” Sky replies, looking Alma over. “In young gods. Is that what this is? A third sphere?”

“The Wheel has awakened in her during our Year’s End ceremony.” Melinor’s voice is harsh, sepulchral. “The worst is past her but she is weak, still. We would have kept her for the night.” He glances at Mayumi without resentment, but she still feels accused and indicted. Her ears go back, but she says nothing.

Sky glances between them but only asks, “What do I need to do?”

Melinor places a hand on Alma’s head and gently opens one of her eyelids, revealing a soft glow. Mayumi’s eyes widen in surprise at the shifting colors, like mother-of-pearl. “Her powers are unstable for now. Try to keep her from using them. She may be irritable or distracted. She will be weakened for awhile. Unfit for duty.” He lets her eyelid flutter back closed, but she stirs slightly.

Sky looks grim. “I understand. We will keep her safe here.”

Alma moans softly and mumbles, “Hmm…Mel? Where…May?”

Mayumi takes Alma’s hand and feels the goddess’ cool fingers wrap around hers. “I’m here, Mother. You are home. Melinor and Sky are here too.”

“I’m…sorry… So late. Mel?”

Her brother strokes her hair. “Sleep, Almy. You are tired. You need to sleep.” There is no warmth in his voice, but at the pet name Mayumi glances up at Melinor’s face, and though, in his moment of incaution, she catches a clear look at the horrifically ravaged left side of his face, she cannot help but smile. She knows, buried deep, there is a good heart that Alma somehow has been able to reach. Mayumi doubts she ever could reach him like that, but she yearns to tell him how much his love for her mother means to her. Certain that this would make him uncomfortable, she holds back, however.

With a soft exhalation, Alma falls back into full slumber. Melinor straightens, or as much as he ever does, with his head always tilted away. He would be nearly Sky’s height if he stood fully erect. “I must go,” he says to Sky. “You will keep her safe here.” It is no request, simply a statement of fact.

Sky replies, “I will. Thank you for bringing her back to us.”

“It was not my choice. Starfax will help in recovery. You should keep the room uncrowded and free of noise.”

Sky glances at Mayumi, who nods and says, “I will do so, and let you know if any emergencies arise.”

“Thank you,” Sky says to her, and then to Melinor, “If my duties pull me away, Mayumi will stay with her. She will not be left alone, and will not be disturbed.”

To this, Melinor simply says, “I will see you again.” He fades away in a moment, and along with him, his aura of death disappears, to be replaced with Alma’s far more comforting one.

Ch6.54 Trust

Dion walks briskly back to Three Rats Station. He could have used one of his portal spells to take him directly there, of course. The past few weeks of rushing to and fro all over the ward in search of gang hideouts and multiple interventions in the wake of the whole Dukaine affair have left him with enough knowledge of where most places are relative to the station that he could use such a magical shortcut with the smallest of chances of opening a portal straight into a brick wall. But the walk is good for him. It allows him a little mental distancing from a day of gang fights and bloodbaths and much too much in the way of putting himself between two groups of people keen on poking holes in each other with the various sorts of sharp implements they carry.

Of course, this is not all that has been preying on his mind for the past hours but being at the center of a gang battle tends to take up most of one’s available mental space, at least while the rusty blades are swinging. Now that the sounds of fighting and cutting and falling in a pool of blood that should equate to death on any other day are behind him, other worries rise to the spotlight of his mind. Like what condition will Alma be in when she returns from meeting her family? Dion doesn’t know Death personally, nor does he want to, but Alma’s occasional descriptions as well as Sky’s obvious animosity toward the senator leave a less than favorable idea of the head of the Death clan. As for the rest of the family itself, Dion has met only two or three of its members and, truthfully, they mostly sounded pleasant if a bit…disconcerting. Except for the Fencer, of course. The Fencer is mostly just unpleasant to be around of. And still, even she seems to share in the strange duality of the death gods he has met so far, an alien, indescribable charm paired with a very palpable sense of being in imminent danger. Probably the closest one might get to knowing what goes through the head of a mouse caught staring into the eyes of a hungry snake.

Though he feels none of that with Alma. Well, not anymore. Not after all they have been through together. But the charm is still there, he knows, wafting like an enticing scent. He has seen in it in the way others look at her, afraid but wanting, devoted but hesitant. She barely seems to notice it, though, focusing her attentions on him whenever they are not on her family. It is a wonderful thought that in spite of their mutual agreement of non-exclusiveness, she is still just his.

And now they are about to go on a date, the very first for them. Just the two of them, spending time together away from the station, unworried about being suddenly called or having Bunnies prying in and disturbing their peace with comments and opinions and the occasional nudge toward taking the relationship a step further. A night without hiding in their office or in Dion’s room to steal some moments to themselves. Just a simple, relaxing date to make a lasting, perfect little memory on the last day of an absolutely hectic year.

And even if they are long past first impressions, Dion worries about making the occasion a special one. It is their first date, after all. The first in what will hopefully be a long line of dates in delicious courtship. The thought of it leaves him feeling jittery but excited. How does one keep a lover happy for that long? Could he do it, after a life of short-lived affairs? How to keep the memories of past lovers and thoughts of potentially new ones away from the mind? Could he and Alma possibly be satisfied in being together for long?

He shakes his head to dislodge his fears. They have been happily together for weeks now. Keeping things that way should be easy, as should be a simple date. He has been on so many before, hasn’t he? Nothing wrong with one more. And even better if it is with her.

He stops at the entrance to the breezeway and looks at the sky, framed by the two adjacent buildings, bar and station. She should be back by now. The sun is already beginning to set, tinting the sky in bluish-orange.

He opens the door to find the bar pretty much empty at the end of the last day of Triumph Week holidays. Most people will be home with their families, enjoying this time of somewhat mindless celebrations to most mortals. Those who are not home, will either be hiding from the gang skirmish that has (hopefully) just ended, or happily bleeding away in Nate’s clinic as a result of it. The Popula on duty will mostly be there as well, keeping an eye on anyone fit to transfer directly to a jail cell after being patched up. Still, it is somewhat strange to find the bar so empty and quiet. Only Cherry is at the counter, currently busy at polishing the glasses with a dry rag for what is probably the twentieth time, from the bored, absent look on her face. Merri must be out running some errand with her usual bodyguard, Geryon.

Her eyes turn to look in his direction at the sound of the door closing behind him. She smiles to see him but an unhealthy dullness to her cheeks, as well as a shiny, misty film to her eyes tells him that not all is well in Bunnyland. “Well hey there, Sergeant D!” she greets him with strained cheerfulness. “How’s…” Her voice trails off as she sniffs the air in his direction. Her ears tilt back with worry. “Oh hon, you ok? I’m smellin’ blood… You ain’t been hurt, have you?”

Dion chuckles at this, moving closer to lean against the bar top. “Hello, Cherry. It’s none of my blood, I assure you. Just a random assortment of common thug.” He takes a whiff of the scent emanating from his clothing and winces at the absolute reek of sweat and carnage. “Ugh, even I can smell it. This is definitely my least favorite day of the year.”

“Now this here is somethin’, if it ever came up in our dream lives, I just can’t recall,” Cherry notes conversationally, putting away the glass, which is probably much thinner by now, from so much buffing. “People not bein’ able to die sounds real great for about five seconds, then it sounds like Hell.”

“And it is, my dearest Cherry,” Dion assures her. “Hell for Guardia, most definitely, even in the highest circles of the Isle. Some will even pray for death gods not to go on holiday. And speaking of death gods…” He tilts back and looks around the bar, toward the staircase that leads down into Alma’s room, his ears straining to hear the sounds of anyone else moving about in the building. “I trust our own lovely resident goddess has returned by now?”

Cherry makes a show of shaking her head at this, the unruly, curly locks of her black hair bouncing stiffly about at her brisk movements. She sounds annoyed when she replies, “‘Fraid not. She took May out and I got no idea when they’re s’pposed to be back.”

This makes Dion grin. Knowing how nearly impossible it is for the Bunnies to keep secrets from each other, Alma had not revealed to any of them where she was planning to take May. But she had done so to Dion and Sky, procuring their help to find the exact location of this Sawara Ward, where Mayumi’s adoptive father supposedly still lived. It was a secret they had all carefully kept, sharing in the anticipation of knowing how the usually too-controlled and proper Bunny would react. But now that the surprise is already in motion, he can reveal it to Cherry.

“She took May to meet her adoptive father,” he says. “It seems the man truly exists in this world. But they should have returned just before sunset. Hopefully they are not too terribly delayed.”

He fails to keep concern out of his voice but Cherry, her eyes absent again for a moment, barely seems to notice it. “May’s dad is for real? She told me she believed it but…wow.”

She trails off. Deciding that maybe it is best to just leave her to whatever thoughts torment the usually cheerful, dark-skinned Bunny, Dion says, “I’m sure she’ll be enjoying her gift.” He straightens to move toward the kitchen. “Well, shower time for me. I will need to at least not reek of blood for later.”

He stops just at the entrance to the pantry, where the portal to his private rooms is located, feeling mildly nervous to ask, “Did you…get what I asked for?”

That seems to bring Cherry back to the here and now. “Of course!” she exclaims brightly, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Me and Mer got it all fixed up in the kitchen, just waitin’.” She grins mischievously at him, an expression that, even on dark skin and much fuller lips, never fails to remind him of Alma. “So, this date…gonna be in your room, huh? Or hers?”

“Oh, we will be going out, of course.” It is Dion’s turn to grin. “And I will leave it at that. Not looking forward to being interrupted, after all.”

“Ooo, a picnic!” Cherry coos, playfully biting her lip before winking at him. “Well, I can put it in a basket for you while you go get non-reeky. Which I am sure Momma and all the rest of us’ll be grateful for. G’wan, scat!”

Dion chuckles as she gestures to shoo him into his room, promptly following her command. He slowly undresses, relaxing at the lazy task of removing his clothes while enjoying the gentle, solitary silence of his little personal haven. Scented oils of pine, fennel and rosewood burn in a small censer, to which the god has lately added a few drops of lilac, inviting rest and release of everyday stress.

He throws his clothes into a basket for later washing in the magical laundry unit he keeps in the bathroom, frowning at the once again torn pocket on his favorite uniform jacket. One of these days, he just might rip the damned thing off for good.

The bathroom is just at the right temperature, as usual, the water running in the shower at the perfect pressure and warmth to soothe his muscles and hit his spine where the skull meets the neck, radiating a sensation of gentle lightheadedness through his brain. He lets the tepid liquid course freely down his muscular frame, rolling smoothly over fit, well-toned muscle masses and tendon insertions to leave him feeling just as renewed as if he had spent the last few hours sleeping instead of working.

Relaxed, he washes vigorously, straining to rid himself of the clingy smell of blood and impending death. The two sylphids that usually keep this room at its comfortable temperature are already waiting for him by the time he leaves the shower, to fly and rub their incorporeal selves against him, drying him instantly with their warm, airy touch. Insubstantial fingers run through his hair to leave it dry and groomed.

He moves into the main room in search of the right suit for the occasion, enjoying the mild chill of the cooler air on his naked skin as he stops at a little dresser to pick up the bottle of his usual cologne. He hesitates for a moment, over whether he should just go au naturel this once, to please his date. But…old habits die hard. He chooses to don the usual scent, just to be on the safe side.

A few minutes later, he is fully dressed and ready for his date, jacket left behind on this pleasant night, shirt perfectly unbuttoned at the right length to give an air of casual relaxation without looking dishevelled. As he checks the whiteness of his teeth, however, a soft flashing light coming from the corner of the mirror catches his attention. Raising an eyebrow in confusion, he waves a hand to call up his personal calendar, watching intently as a grid appears projected on the mirror’s surface, with dates and annotations regarding appointments and other plans.

The flashing guides him to a note simply marked Niruí. Now where has he heard that name before? Niruí…Niruí… Ah, of course! The moon goddess.

Just a year before the whole Three Rats adventure began – a full year before this day, in fact – he had met Niruí at a Triumph Week celebration party. The moon goddess, someone had told him, lived aboard her moon barge for the whole of the Insular year, and did not visit the Insula proper at any other time than the last night of each year, when her lunar barge docked not far away from the Curia to allow the beautiful Niruí a night of fraternization with her fellow gods.

And oh, she was beautiful indeed, with her pale, blueish skin and long, smooth hair as dark as night decorated with tiny glittering stars. She appeared before the partiers wearing nothing but a very fine, translucent shawl over her thin body. Dion had immediately sought to capture the gorgeous goddess’ attention, smoothly brushing away the competition of his fellow young gods seeking Niruí’s company on this rare occasion. And he had, in fact, managed to speak to the goddess and exert his charm over her, thrilling to see her grey eyes glimmer in excitement at his soft-spoken flirtation. But Niruí had soon crushed his expectations. Apparently she had already pledged her company for the night to some other young deity, a dainty forest goddess, it seemed, or something else of the sort. But Dion, Niruí had promised, would not be left without his chance to spend a night of pleasure aboard her lunar barge. All he had to do was wait a year, for this very day, to have his date with Niruí.

And look, an invitation has just materialized by his hand, to serve as a portal into the moon goddess’s barge, should he still desire her company tonight. Such a shame that he already has plans elsewhere…

Oh well, no choice but to cancel. Or perhaps ask for another chance at a later date. Either way, attending is unthinkable. He would not trade his time with Alma tonight for ten rides on the moon barge in Niruí’s company.

Still marvelling and chuckling softly at his own change in priorities, Dion steps out into the kitchen to check if his dearest death goddess has arrived yet, to find Tulip sitting at the bar, playing with what looks like a small, white card. Cherry is with her, looking intently at the little card in Tulip’s hand but saying nothing about it for the time being.

As they do not seem to notice him, Dion clears his throat. “And I am–”

Immediately, Tulip’s arms clench around his stomach in an affectionate death grip that martial artists usually take decades to master. “Hi!” she greets him in a voice at least two octaves higher than her usual tone.

Cherry looks at her and then at Dion, snorting quietly at the god’s look of resigned helplessness against the youngest of the Bunnies. “Hey, there he is, smellin’…” She moves closer to him and makes a show of sniffing his scent, standing on tiptoes to reach his collar. “Smellin’ like Dion.”

“Oh, good. That means I managed to get rid of all unpleasant scents,” Dion replies, lips curling in pleasure to match Cherry’s smile. He absentmindedly strokes Tulip’s hair and looks down to take a closer glance at what she is holding. “Hello, little flower. What do you have there?”

“I don’t know,” the young Bunny replies, turning the card in her hands to reveal a few characters in some language unknown to him, drawn in apparently common black ink. “It’s just a blank card with some weird doodles on. Found it on Mom’s desk. I think it’s Som’s.”

“If it’s got squiggles on it, it ain’t blank, sweetie,” Cherry gently corrects her, leaning slightly to take a whiff of the card. “Yeah, that’s definitely Sommy’s. Smells kinda like a campfire,” she says, smiling wistfully at some passing thought.

“Perhaps just something he dropped when he was last here,” Dion suggests, though it sounds meek, even to his ears.

A small, white card with only two or three characters on it is most likely a name card, and if it is, in fact, Somrak’s, that would account for the strangeness of the language. And a name card is not something one just lets drop out of negligence, not in a place where everyone knows one’s name. So why would the fire god have left his card with Alma?

“Maybe it’s a secret message,” Tulip chimes in, squinting intently at the card as if that would force the paper to reveal its secrets. “Maybe… Oh!” she exclaims in sudden excitement. “Maybe it’s a super secret note to tell her to meet him. For a date!” She sighs, holding the card to her chest like it is something precious. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

The suggestion sends a chill down Dion’s spine but he says nothing in response. Cherry, on the other hand, merely laughs, failing to notice how he swallows his unease. “Sweetie, you been readin’ way too many of them romance books from that box Ewá rejected for her kiddies.” She shakes her head. “Some people donate the weirdest stuff…”

“But…but…it’s all there!” Tulip insists, hopping up and down in little irritated jumps, her fists clenched in frustration. “You can’t tell me it’s not there, ‘cuz I know! Som likes Mom! And Mom obviously likes Som…” She snorts and rolls her eyes as if this is a well known fact that people keep trying to ignore. “They even kissed and all! Why wouldn’t he wanna see her again?”

The words leave Tulip’s lips as if they meant nothing, swift and simple like the sharpest of blades. They hit Dion like a wall of knives moving against him at full speed, each of them piercing through his ears, headed straight for his heart. He feels it stop in his chest, along with his breathing.

Blood completely drained from his cheeks, he turns to Tulip. “What are you talking about, Tulip?”

Tulip looks up at him wide-eyed and worried, as if he has just spoken in tongues. “At the party. When they went outside. Mom said Som wasn’t feeling too good and I went out to check if she’d made him feel all better yet and they were kissing.” She shrugs before adding, “He looked all better.” She tilts her head at the god of magic, “Did I…say anything wrong? You don’t look so good.”

“It’s… all right, little flower,” Dion replies, feeling his mouth suddenly dry.

“Hon, I bet that wasn’t quite what it looked like…” Cherry notes, watching Dion’s face though ostensibly speaking to Tulip.

“What do you mean?!” Tulip immediately cries. “He was holding her against the wall and he had his mouth on hers and–”

“Hey now!” Cherry cuts her off. “How the heck long were you watchin’ anyhow? Couldn’t’a been more than a second and it’s not–” Her mouth freezes open and silent as she blinks. She focuses on Tulip again. “He was holdin’ her against the wall?”

“He was holding her pretty tight…” Tulip notes, nodding slowly.

Dion listens to them as if standing in a dream. Cherry’s arguing and Tulip’s comment barely register. He stopped paying attention since the words they were kissing dropped into his brain like a lead weight, searing hot and spiked like a hand from Hell crushing his thoughts. A hazy image of a pinkish mouth set against olive skin kissing Alma’s lips begins to form in his mind. He shakes his head to dislodge the repulsive thing before it can become any more solid.

“I think I had better go…elsewhere,” he mumbles, turning to walk back into his room.

He feels something hold him back. Looking down, he sees Cherry’s hand gripping his wrist. “Wait… I…I…” Her shoulders slump and she lets go of him. “I got nothing.”

“Wait, what’s wrong?” Tulip asks as Dion’s hand touches the pantry door to activate his bedroom portal.

“Well…I don’t know!” Cherry cries, throwing her hands up. “I don’t get the whole thing of bein’ mad about stuff like this anyway, but…” She speaks at Dion’s back, since he is already walking into his sanctum. “You know this could be all one big misunderstandin’.”

The portal closes behind him, to the muffled shouts and poundings of the Bunny. “Aaaaugh! Come on! You know Alma wouldn’t sneak off on you! She’s crazy about you! DION! Open the door! Let’s talk!”

No… there is nothing to talk about. He knew it. He knew it! The way Somrak looked at Alma and acted so friendly around her, showering her in compliments, defending her before the Fencer. And the way Alma played along, smiling and running fingers through the fire god’s hair, dismissing Dion’s suspicions as if they were nothing while getting closer and closer to Somrak.

And now the image of those two together, kissing, his scarred, disfigured face pressing lips against her pale skin, holding her slender body against the bar wall, blood- and tobacco-stained hands running over her body as if they had a claim to it while her delicate fingers unbind his ridiculous ponytail to dive into his straight, black hair burns against the inside of Dion’s eyelids, imagination filling in reality’s blank spots, revolting and tormenting.

He stumbles, feeling his legs weak under him, almost falling on his bed when his knees fail. But he shoots up from the covers just as quickly, turning to look at it with renewed horror. His bed, the bed he has shared with her so many times, made into their space of peace and union. Lies… all lies. They had never been alone in that bed, he sees now. Somrak, maybe even Arion had been there with them, holding her as he held her. And he, the charmer, the seducer, had fallen under her spell like so many clueless, too-easy-to-conquer goddesses had fallen under his.

Stupid, stupid, STUPID! How stupid of him to believe her! To believe for a moment in illusions, in lies. LIES! All a lie… Every moment, every secret shared, every caress. Had she lied about the risk of laying with him and creating more Bunnies as bait to keep him interested? Somrak is no less a threat there, after all. No safer a lover. Gods, had Dion not risked his neck, not stayed here, in this dump of a ward, for her?!

He grips the edge of his desk for support, breathing so quickly that he feels lightheaded. His heart lies dead still in his chest, or so it feels like. Some part of him cries out for sense, for reason. Part of him wants to give her the benefit of doubt, to believe in her still, refusing to accept that it could all have been a lie, reminding him of their agreement.

He hears its appeal but it is just too weak. The poisonous touch of betrayal and the roaring flame of anger burn through him with too much heat, too much strength to be denied. This has nothing to do with their agreement. This has nothing to do with finding a lover she can be safely intimate with for a night or two. No… She loves Somrak, is in love with him. And if she is in love with him, she can no longer love Dion.

The invitation resting innocently on his desk catches his eye and he feels something stir in his mind that is more animalistic than divine, a sudden impulse to take Niruí’s call and his revenge with him. He will show her. Yes, he will show Alma! If it is with Somrak that she wants to be, then he will move on before she even returns to Three Rats.

He takes the invitation, a maddened glee making his eyes shine as the portal opens with alluring sound. The portal starts pulling him into it as soon as it forms and he takes a step into it, saying goodbye to juvenile dreams of romance with death goddesses and accepting his solitary, seducing nature once again.

Ch6.53 Trust

The knock on his office door wakes him. Well, rouses him, to be accurate. The Evil Hamster of Pointless Thinking, as Sky had long personified his insomnia, had been running ceaselessly on its Rusty Wheel of Doom, keeping a proper sleep far away.

He sighs heavily and sits up in his bed, fine linen sheets falling away. His pocket-universe home, his sanctum, is in near-total darkness. But the knocking on the door in the next universe over is always loud enough to wake him, as he has made certain it would be. The magic on that door, and on the one to his false apartment as well, is such that he will know if someone is knocking, or trying the knob, or even speaking purposefully toward the door, no matter where he is on the Insula. Except of course for the low-magic wards.

And here comes the voice, echoing not in his ears but in his head. “Inspector?” Ah, Aliyah. “Inspector, are you in there?”

That echoing, some side effect of the spell involved, makes Aliyah’s voice sound like it is in a vast empty cavern. Sky always grimaces at what this implies about the architecture of his skull.

At his mental command, a diffuse, indirect light begins to glow from around the edge where the curved, tapa-cloth-lined wall meets the koa-wood ceiling. Here, in this miniature world tailored to his specifications, matched to his mind, the light reveals a circular room, simply appointed, the bed taking up almost all of it, its point of intersection with the larger oval of the main room a doorless opening.

The temperature lowers slightly as he rises and dresses. Lifetimes of soldiering have led him always to leave his clothes at hand, ready to be donned, and he dresses mechanically, without hurry but with swift efficiency, then steps into the main room, a larger oval with shelves and a curved sofa along one side, small kitchen nook on the other, the bedroom doorway at one end of the oval, the door to the bath at the other.

It is quite simple and spare as such dwellings go, but this is suited to Sky’s nature. Books, a few paintings and photographs, wallpaper made from pounded bark and dyed in runic patterns of the island people whose god he had once been, a comfortable bed and bath – it is a retreat from the world, an externalization of himself.

He moves to a spot on the wall which, on laying his palm against it, glows golden, a doorway through which he steps and feels the familiar touch of disorientation as he leaves a sort of womb under his complete control for the much larger pocket universe that is the Insula Caelestis, the Island of Heaven. Here, Reality is adjusted to favor gods, but not any specific one, and certainly not himself, a creature who stretches the definition of “god” to the breaking point. And thus this Reality feels much more real to him than the comfort of his sanctum. That retreat is sometimes welcome and even needed, but he truly prefers to spend most of his time grappling against the difficulties of a world not made to suit him.

His long legs only need three steps to stride diagonally across his office to reach the door and open it, to find the worried face of Constable Aliyah, Guardia Popula. She is looking up at him, for he is one of only two people taller than her at this station. Her brown, freckled face brightens slightly at seeing him, taking on a hint of that normally cheerful disposition she radiates.

“Oh thank the – well, you know…you!” she blurts. “I figured you might be sleepin’ in there. I know it ain’t your shift quite yet, but Sergeant Gwydion sent me back to get you.”

Sky moves to his locker and pulls out his New Year present from Alma and Gwydion, the sleek Ballion-mesh-lined jacket, and slips it on, enjoying the perfectly tailored feel of it on his limbs and shoulders. “What’s happened, Aliyah? Death’s Day Off?”

“You know it!” she confirms bitterly. “Big fight over at Rio Novo.”

Sky sighs as he straps on his truncheon and other weapons. “How bad are we talking?”

“Mostly cleanup now,” she says. “A little fighting left, maybe, but they’ve really done a number on each other.”

He decides to leave the crossbow. Obvious ranged weapons can escalate a situation like this, and only mortals are likely to try to take advantage of this day to engage in Death-defying behavior. Gods, even the stupider ones, tend to know better. Mortals unafraid of being turned into a pincushion may still be impressed by a good shaking from an angry deity roaring in their faces.

“You can fill me in on which gangs are involved on our way there. Let’s go, Constable.”

神兎神兎神兎神兎神兎

Sky suppresses a sigh. He feels the cooling liquid running down his gift from Alma and Dion and dripping onto his Guardia trousers, soaking in. Well, it is inevitable. An armored jacket is fated to become bloodstained. Particularly if it is his.

He moves slowly, balancing the two rival gangsters on his shoulders. They are young and big and strong. One of them is moaning softly for someone named Lisa. The other is worryingly silent. The blood is coming from multiple stab wounds they’d delivered to each other’s torsos. Sky had found them slumped across from each other, muttering threats, lightheaded from blood loss. He’d done his best to stop the flow, using the simple battlefield-healing magic he knows along with mundane first aid, then lifted them and headed for the clinic that is commonly known as “Doc Nate’s.”

Seeing all the beds of the clinic full, he slowly kneels and then lowers them to the floor, Constable Silva moving quickly to help. The moaning gangster continues moaning for Lisa, while the other remains unconscious.

“Sorry about this, Doc,” Sky says as Nataniel approaches to give them a cursory examination.

Nataniel sighs, looking deeply tired. “No hay problema. Just leave them there. I will take care of them when I can.”

“I’ve done what little healing magic I can, stopping bleeding and such. Some of them, it’s just too late. But…today…”

The doctor waves dismissively. “Sí, sí…I know. Nobody dies. Maybe I can save some still. If more don’t pile up. This keeps up like this, I’ll need reinforcements.”

A shadow falls across them as someone stands between them and the fluttering gas wall-lamp. Sky looks up to see Gwydion, and straightens. “Is the fighting as over as it seemed down by the river?”

Dion looks sympathetically at the blood beading on Sky’s jacket. He is, himself, bearing the marks of a sudden arterial spray across his chest and face. Although he has wiped the latter away as well as he could, a missed smear of blood remains on the side of his nose. “I’d think there’s no one left to be fighting at all by now. Both gangs should be missing at least half of their people.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I hate Death’s Day Off. Every year, the same thing. Five calls on all sorts of violence in a single shift.”

Sky nods. “They think it means they can’t be killed. All it means is they can’t be killed today. But when all the blood has run out of your body, there’s no putting it back in. Or unpuncturing all your vitals.”

“What I could do with a proper hospital,” Nataniel mutters. “One genius over there sold both his kidneys to the black market. Thought they would grow back, he said.”

Dion looks across the clinic room, at every bed full, along with most of the floor space, with healthy young men who could have led productive lives. “Maybe we should make explanatory pamphlets or something…” he says in a dry voice.

“We could attach them to the knives they favor,” Sky replies, sighing. “Well, some of them will survive. Doctor, do you need any magical assistance? Though those who have passed the point of death cannot be saved, in my experience.”

Nataniel shakes his head. “Preserve your, eh, magical fuel, Inspector. The Sergeant here has done as much as he can, saving some of these lives. Pero I have to go back to work if any are to survive past tonight.” He mutters, “I swear death gods do this so we’ll pray to them…”

Dion chuckles. “Better than going on strike… Well, I’ll go check to see if any more bodies are dropping.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sky says grimly. “We need to make sure this has stopped.” Together they walk out, the glare of the setting sun making them squint as they trudge back toward the Rio Novo neighborhood.

“Think they really do it for the publicity?” Dion’s voice is low and thoughtful.

“The Death Clan?” Sky shrugs. “Who knows how it started? Now it’s such tradition, I don’t know if they could change it. A billion souls all dreading this day – that’s a lot of belief to overcome.” Not for the first time, he thanks Fate that he has no worshippers. Or very few. Though he does not encourage worship – which would be illegal for him, as Guardia, to do – he does receive prayers now and again. It is a strange feeling, to hear those voices, often too weak to make out, and to feel mana flowing into him from a mortal. And sometimes he thinks there is even a prayer to him from that island where, so very long ago, he was first worshipped as a god. Where he acquired this tall, dark form he has worn ever since.

That had been, as he discovered, a beautiful trap. A god, worshipped by even no more than the inhabitants of a single small valley, can find himself transformed by the worshippers’ expectations and desires. It is how he took on the characteristics of a god, how he became ocean-aspected. His other aspect, that of rebellion, had been much stronger then, not yet crushed beneath the heel of revolutions failed and successful, the successes often more disappointing than the failures. But then, his nature would not allow him to stay with them. He believed the best thing for them was to live on their own, with no gods.

And thus he was not there for them when the foreign ship came, their diseases welcomed with open arms, and soon after, their bullets. It was an error that fills him with guilt even now, nearly two centuries later. He took vengeance on the plunderers, but the damage had been done. The few survivors had, with Sky’s negotiation, been adopted into a village in a neighboring valley.

Dion’s words shake him from his self-recrimination. “Yes. Though, what it is they do that takes all of them coming together for a whole day…” He looks at Sky. “You’ve seen some of the more interesting family members. Even the ones who sound cordial can look a bit… unpleasant. Fodder for the imagination.”

“They are as they are shaped by those who pray to them, or pray to be ignored by them. Fear of death is so powerful, and so they take on frightful forms.” Sky glances at Dion with a smile. “Though not all are frightening.”

Dion snorts. “Even those who are beautiful can be a terror when their tempers are roused.”

“Don’t I know it,” Sky responds dryly, though with affection for the object of their discussion, Sergeant Alma.

“Sky…” Dion’s hesitation prompts Sky to look at him, eyebrows raised. “You worked with the Commander. Did you ever encounter Senator Death?”

Asking after Alma’s father? Sky thinks with surprise that turns to warmth. He really is serious about her. Well, that or very worried. “Only once,” he says aloud. “Decades ago. I was there to escort the Commander, and so I stayed in the background, silent. Death did not deign to notice my presence.”

“What do you think of him?”

Grimly, Sky says, “He’s a Senator. No one reaches those heights without a ruthless nature. He never even visited Alma during her arrest.” He shakes his head as he adds bitterly, “It wouldn’t have been good politics.”

“My uncle is of even higher rank,” Dion points out.

Sky looks at him, his eyes soft. “There are always exceptions,” he says. “Archon Math was instrumental in protecting you, Alma, and her children from an unjust punishment. I will always feel gratitude to him for that.” He does not say, however, that he still believes Math to be as coldly ruthless as Death, probably more so. In Sky’s opinion, Alma was saved because it was useful to Math to do so. But there is no point in telling that to the Archon’s nephew, practically his son. To change the subject, Sky says, “Have you met Alma’s mother?”

“I have.” Dion smiles. “Once, while we were at my uncle’s estate. She came to visit Alma. She was a bit…overwhelming.”

Sky laughs. “Yes, well… She smiled at me, that time, so long ago, when I was in Death’s presence. And then I’ve met her a few times since, here.”

“Here!” Dion sounds shocked. “Oh, she must have come to visit Alma, of course. And I can tell from the warmth in your voice that you like her.”

Sky smiles. “I do. She loves her daughter and her grandchildren – yes, she calls the Bunnies that without reservation. She loves them quite sincerely, and they very much love her in return. And she has shown me great kindness. But…” His voice becomes sad. “I really do think her skills of manipulation may make Death look like an amateur.”

“Really…” Dion mutters. “Why am I not surprised?”

“They are an ancient and ambitious family,” Sky says. “You must know far more about such things than I do.”

Dion nods, silent for the moment.

“Speaking of Alma, instead of her family,” Sky says, “don’t the two of you have an arrangement to meet?”

Again, the god of magic nods. “We do. Which leads me to ask: are you sure you want to switch shifts? Alma told me you were planning on spending Mayumi’s last night here with her.” He looks abashed. “I did not remember it when I asked you for the switch. Forgive me.”

Sky can sense behind the words the question, Why didn’t you mention it? And indeed, why hadn’t he? Is it because he is still confused how to handle this relationship with Mayumi? Because he is holding back, not simply to keep things slow, not simply because of the extreme power imbalance involved in a god/mortal pairing as well as a workplace romance between a chief-of-station and a, for the moment, office worker, not even because Mayumi is his best friend’s daughter? Though all of that is reason enough for holding back, and then some.

No, there is also that fact that so much of what Mayumi – and Alma, and Dion, and everyone – knows of him is a lie. He is no god. Or if he is, he certainly did not begin as one. He is a vile abomination, a product of cruelty and hate, something that no one in their right mind would ever trust. And yet they trust him. They are kind to him. They show him their love.

And it makes him feel ashamed. Whether he is worthy of that trust is less important than the fact that he is lying to them by omission, constantly. He must tell them. And he is terrified to do so.

Certainly he could never dive fully into a relationship with Mayumi without coming clean about what he is. But no matter how much he wishes to, how could her burden her with such a revelation just before she leaves for the Academy? That would be even more unfair than keeping the secret for now, or at least he has convinced himself of that. Can he trust his own judgement there, self-serving as it is? He calls himself a coward every time he thinks of it.

But no. Telling her now would be wrong. She does not need such distractions, and she seems happy to go along with his slow approach, though it is a frustrated sort of happiness. Strange as it may seem, the first person he knows he must tell is Alma. If any of them is capable of forgiving him for what he is, it is her, first and foremost. And with her help, perhaps Gwydion will. Mayumi…that will be for after she graduates.

He brings himself back to the present moment. “Nothing to forgive. Mayumi and I are rather looking forward to just being together tonight, on the job. It’s a busy night, anyway, though things should calm down after midnight. We can just, you know, talk. Relax.”

Dion looks at him and Sky can tell he doesn’t fully buy it, but says, “Very well, then. I will accompany you and make sure this particular crisis is over. And then I’ll head back to the station. Alma and May should be back by now.”

Sky shakes his head. “You should head back now. I think I can handle whomever might still be standing. Neither of these gangs has divine recruits, after all.”

With a chuckle bereft of humor, Dion agrees, “No… They just won’t die. Take care, Sky.”

For just a moment, Sky is tempted to tease Dion, say something silly like, You two be careful now. He quashes the temptation. Dion has lowered his formidable defenses to Sky only recently and, to be sure, very cautiously, ready to slam that door closed in an instant. Jovial teasing on the subject of Alma would be an idiotic move, and truly, it’s not Sky’s style anyway. Instead, he puts a heavy hand on Dion’s shoulder, and says with real warmth, “Have a good night.”

Dion smiles back, then turns to take another street, back toward the station, walking with eager and swift anticipation.