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saintsofwarding · 7 months

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BURIAL

Chapter 6

The storm had, at last, subsided, and Elena left House Beneviento to the pale-gold rays of early winter sunlight. She stood for a moment in the front gardens, admiring the pristine drifts of snow glittering in the light. Even the waterfall was transformed, prisms flashing through the icy spray like air spirits from some old fairy story.

She tucked her hands deep in her coat pockets and made her way down the path, away from the house, into the close, dripping cave and to the elevator. On the way down, she tried not to think. She kept her eyes focused on the descending walls, the flickering electric light, the birdcage bars of the conveyance. It released her into the clearing with the big grave, the candles all extinguished. Someone had cleared the snow off the dolls and the slab, and it seemed to drift in her vision, unmoored, floating in a sea of whiteness.

Shafts of sunlight fell through the trees, the air down here a few degrees warmer than that on the manor grounds. Elena savored the chance to stretch her muscles. She must have been bed-bound for a while; her joints crackled as she walked, as she approached the wrought iron fence boundary of the main gardens, the trees whispering in the light wind that brushed their branches.

This place, too, had been transformed. When she'd made her first ascent to the house, it was a gloomy place, mist and shadow, ghosts behind every gate. In the sunlight, it nearly looked peaceful. The yellow flowers grew everywhere, golden light pooling over the snow around them. The falls of tangled briars would, in summer, become great profusions of flowers, the trellises blooming with tapestries of mingled color. Even the statuary no longer looked corpselike. Elena trailed her fingers over the shoulder of a nymph, the wing of an angel, the antique marble revealing intricacies of patina the darkness had obscured.

She stepped through a waist-high gate that led to a trellis archway, entering into the gardens proper.

Deeper and deeper, a labyrinth of walkways and avenues, trees and flower beds. A shed rose from the light mist, windows dark. Elena peered inside but it was empty, a little sad, a few tools in the corners, seed packets carefully stored in long wooden boxes. A coat hung on a peg, a man's, but it had clearly not been worn for years.

Cobwebs drifted in the corners, like scraps of fine gray silk.

She exited through the back door. Ahead, she spotted what looked like the center to the gardens, a little clearing fenced in by hedges and yet more trellises, by endless drifts of those glowing golden flowers. Their scent was strong here, bittersweet and complicated. She tasted it as much as she smelled it, and the moment she stepped into the clearing her hands and clothes became spackled with motes of pollen, catching and winking, tiny stars.

A woman knelt in the flowerbeds, her back to Elena, digging a hole in the black earth with an old trowel. A yellow-flowered plant with bare roots waited alongside her, ready to be given to the dirt. It was her. The woman from the riverbank. She wore the same clothes, ankle-length skirt and wasp-waisted jacket, both made with fabric of such a lightless black it seemed a trick of the eye, a hole in the world.

Now, the skirt was hemmed in mud, a long apron tied around the woman's waist, hands covered by stout gloves. Her feet were crossed under her at the ankle, clad in black high-button boots. Her hair, pulled up with a clip, was black, too, dull and unhealthy, the ends a brittle gray. The pollen swirled around her as she worked, though there was no breeze.

Elena stopped a few yards off, picking at her hands, at the stitches holding her right arm together. Her heart pounded with nerves. Why? She'd already seen her at her literal worst, and she'd still made clothes for her.

This isn't right. This can't be right.

And yet she wasn't dreaming. She felt wide awake. The ground under her feet, the sharp clean cold of the air.

She drew breath to speak. As she did, the woman stopped. She straightened, reaching out for a chair set nearby. A veil hung on it, long panels edged in intricate lace. Lifting it free, she pulled it onto her head. The bride doll was there, too, Elena saw with a lurch in her guts. She sat on the chair like she'd been observing the scene.

"She- there's something in your house," Elena said suddenly.

The woman looked round. Elena glimpsed the corner of a jaw, the edge of an ear, in the gap between the front and back panels of the veil. That was all. Her face was entirely obscured.

"I know," she said. She tugged off a glove and held out her hand. "Please, won't you come closer? I'm afraid I've only gotten a good look at you when you're unconscious."

Unconscious...? While sewing my arm together. Of course. Elena managed an awkward laugh. "Well, um. I usually don't look like that."

"Better?"

"Oh, way worse," Elena said, and smiled when the woman laughed softly. Her laugh was just as hoarse as her voice, hesitant, like it had begun to rust. Elena stepped forward onto frozen flagstones, then dipped a deep curtsy. "I'm Elena Lupu, my lady. But I think you already know that."

"Yes, I do. I am Lady Beneviento. Turn around please?"

Elena did a slow spin.

"The clothes suit you very well." She did a little clap. "Oh, I am pleased. I thought they might. Green is rather your color."

"Thank you," Elena said with feeling. "They're beautiful. So comfortable. And I love these." She slid her hands into the deep pockets on either side of the skirt. "Oh- how long was I asleep?"

"Three days."

"Three-" She swallowed her shock. "That's, uh, a long time."

Lady Beneviento nodded.

Silence fell.

Elena licked her lips. "You saved my life," she said, quietly.

"Yes."

"Why?"

A tilt of the head. "Why?"

"You didn't have to. It would have been far easier to let me die and have Mother Miranda send you a new servant. But...you did all this..." She pulled up her sleeve, exposing the stitches.

"You thought I would let you die?"

Elena let the sleeve fall. That's what we're for, isn't it? All of us in the village? Our lives in service to the Black God? she thought. In service to Miranda? It was an honor to die for the divine, a privilege. And Lady Beneviento had deprived her of that. But...Elena's throat tightened. Was that so bad? Was that...wrong, to not want to die in service of the Black God?

Instead all she did was nod. She waited, pulse ticking.

Lady Beneviento pulled off her other glove and let it drop. She got to her feet, shaking the dirt off her apron.

"I had already begun the clothes," she said, simply.

And Elena couldn't help it. A laugh burst from her, loud enough to scare a few birds from a nearby tree. She pressed her hand to her mouth, but she couldn't suppress the sound, and even Lady Beneviento joined in, black-nailed hand set lightly over her heart.

"You're funny," she said.

"Not on purpose."

"Are you a good gardener?"

"Not as good as you." She approached slowly, pollen swirling around her as she came to stand by Lady Beneviento. The bittersweet scent was strongest close to her, almost overpowering; Elena's vision swam, a pulse in the matter of the world.

My head...she must have taken a hell of a knock. She tried not to look at the bride doll. "These...these flowers..." she managed. "They're gorgeous. What are they?"

"Special," Lady Beneviento said. She gestured to the beds. "The soil here is...thin. A barren womb. But...a gentle touch can stir it to life. Sometimes. The medicines that staved off the wolf-sickness in your arm...the herbs I used to make them came from this place."

"That's what my mother always used to say," Elena said.

"Oh?"

"Sometimes you need a harsh environment to produce the most dramatic effects. Well, I mean, sometimes it makes for a lifeless wasteland, but...not always."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah, she was always good at getting the garden to grow. She made tinctures and remedies for the neighbors...uh." Elena shook her head. "I don't have her talents."

"Perhaps not. But you have others. Like your breakfasts."

"You- you ate those?"

"Only a little off the edges. But they are delicious."

"Just doing what I'm here for." Elena shook her head, bemused. "Can I help you here?"

"Put that plant to bed. I will dig a place for the next."

Elena began to kneel. "Your hands," Lady Beneviento interjected. "They're bare. Here." She gave her the gloves.

"Won't you need them?"

"No. Go on." Elena sank to the ground, pulling the thick old gloves over her hands. She glanced at the bride doll.

"Don't be afraid of her," Lady Beneviento said. "She's just an old doll my father made."

"I-" Elena swallowed, then dropped her voice into a whisper. "This is going to sound really, really strange but I think she's more than just an old doll, I think she's causing a lot of trouble in your house and-"

"Not strange. There's nothing in the house," Lady Beneviento said, a little sharply. "Nothing at all."

"But-" Elena began, wanting to burst out with the story of her imprisonment in the tower, the noises in the walls, the weeping at night, everything.

Lady Beneviento cut in before she could speak. "And her name," she said, "is Angie. Now, let's please keep working. I want to finish this bed before noon."

Elena let out her breath. She nodded. "Of course. Right away."

She took up the plant and hesitated. She'd really only planted vegetables before, hardy things; with the gloves on she felt clumsy and brutish, like she might accidentally crush the delicate blossoms. "I..." she began.

"I will show you." Lady Beneviento knelt alongside Elena. She gently took the plant from her hands, cupping its roots in one white palm, and slid it into the hole. She took a handful of thick, reddish paste from a nearby sack and crumbled it around the plant's roots, where it oozed into the soil. Next came the dirt. She pushed it into the hole, around the little plant, patting it into place. "Once for Mother," she said, sing-song, giving the dirt another pat. "Once for Father." Pat. "And once for obedient girls." Pat, pat.

"There. That's the way," she finished. "It'll grow strong and tall and healthy. Do you see?"

Elena smiled. "I do now."

Lady Beneviento seemed to brighten. "Very good. Now, Miss Lupu, please, tell me everything about the village. It's been such a long time since I've had any new stories."

They worked well into the morning. The sunlight strengthened, and what with the exertion of digging, hauling, carrying and planting, it almost became warm. Elena had to strip off her coat and hang it on the fence, though Lady Beneviento never removed a piece of clothing, not even her veil. Elena told her everything interesting that had happened recently in the village, and then everything uninteresting; Lady Beneviento seemed to want to hear it all.

When noon at last came around, Elena left the garden and went back to the house to pack a hamper- "We mustn't lose daylight," her lady insisted, not wanting to return to the dining room for lunch, to Elena's amazement. They ended up having it in the courtyard, a rug spread over the flagstones, eating with their hands like a pair of peasants.

Though of course, few peasants would be eating delicate slices of smoked fish and pickled vegetables off fine dark bread, or be using porcelain plates and embroidered linen napkins and silver knives, each worked with the Beneviento crest.

Lady Beneviento didn't take off the veil for this, and instead brought each bite under it, the veil never shifting more than a few inches, revealing nothing.

Elena chewed her bread. It wasn't her concern. Does Miranda want to know what's going on with her face? Why she's hiding it?

But Miranda was Lady Beneviento's mother. She was all the Lords' mother, just like she was the village's mother. Couldn't she just ask her daughter what she was keeping from her? And wasn't it the duty of an obedient daughter to be completely honest with her mother?

"You're different," she started. "To what I expected."

Lady Beneviento set down her bread. "What did you expect?"

"Not this."

"But it's so fun to eat with friends." Elena's heart gave a little jump at the word friends. "And it's such a nice day. Oh, do you think it's improper? Would you prefer more boundaries?"

"No- no, that's not- no, if you want it like this then it'll stay like this. I'm here for you, my lady, that's why I was sent here."

"Oh."

She sounded a little disappointed.

"Though it's very nice here," Elena said quickly.

"Oh?"

"You, really," Elena admitted. "You're much nicer than I was expecting." "Did you think I would have fangs and claws like that nasty lycan that attacked you?"

"Maybe. A little."

"They're very rude. As is my brother. He likes to show off."

Elena nodded. She picked at the stitches on her arm, her brow furrowed.

"Don't do that," Lady Beneviento said.

Elena dropped her hand. "Last week, I- was it you who took my letter down the mountain?"

"Your letter?"

"I- I saw you from the- from the window. In the middle of the night. You took my letter down to the village, in that terrible storm."

"That wasn't me." "Do you have any other servants, then? A gardener, maybe?" This place didn't look as if it had been cultivated all by one person.

"No."

"It really looked like you. Maybe you have a twin?" Elena said, trying to sound light.

"It wasn't. Me." Lady Beneviento threw down her uneaten crusts. They'd been nibbled right to the edge, Elena noted, as surgically precise as if she'd cut them with a knife. On the chair, the doll Angie rustled. "Don't you say you saw me. You didn't see anything."

"Okay," Elena said quickly. "Okay. Never mind. I must have been dreaming." "I dream things too. All the time." Lady Beneviento held up her hands. "I might dream myself some new gloves. Will you wait here? I must go find more." "I can get-"

"No. I will. I know where everything is."

"Okay," Elena said, unnecessarily; Lady Beneviento had already picked herself up and walked away, skirts whisking the snow. Soon she'd vanished amidst the flowers and trellises. The mist had begun to creep up. Elena rubbed her arms as the sunlight dimmed, a cloud passing overhead. Soon, she knew, the gloom would return.

A crow cawed from a nearby branch. It fluttered down, perching atop a fence post. Elena watched it. It stared back, clicked its beak, knocked it against the rung. Three times. A pause, then it alit and clattered off into the trees.

A shard of cold slid into Elena's mind.

Her mouth tasted bitter.

She picked herself up and followed.

***

Out here, she could almost be home again. The trees, the snow, the glimpses of sky above- she might have been stalking rabbits in the forest, or simply watching the way the light played over the landscape. Here, though, there were no rabbits. No birdsong, no drone of insects. Here, the forest was silent, the only other living thing the crow that led her deeper and deeper, until she no longer saw the garden through the trees.

She emerged into a small clearing. Snow spiraled down, drifting lazily in the light. The crow flapped into a tree and perched there, eyeing her, then launched itself into midair. As it did, it changed; it blossomed, a spray of iridescent black that twisted and re-formed, dropping to the ground in a swirl of feathered robes.

Elena dropped to a knee.

"Get up, child."

Elena did so, rising slowly, her hands clenched at her sides. Miranda stood before her in the clearing, watching her with that same focused intensity as the crow. She was smiling. Elena tried as hard as she could to find it reassuring.

"You're looking well," Miranda said. "New clothes?"

"Lady Beneviento gave them to me."

"Made them, more like. I recognize her work. So she likes you, then. Good."

"I'm...honored by her regard."

"You should be. Had she not, I doubt we'd be having this conversation."

Elena's eyes flicked up, then down again, just as fast. "She- she rescued me from a lycan, too. She...I don't know what she did. Healed me. Miraculous."

"Yes, that is the Black God's way. Gifts, to its most devoted. Like you."

Elena jerked her head up. "What?"

"Perform your task well, and you may receive one, too." Her smile softened. "And I think you will perform it well, won't you, Elena? She trusts you. I hear it in her voice. Perhaps not fully, yet, but...oh, such a lonely thing she is. By choice, you understand. She doesn't realize it, no, but it is by choice. The things she does to push people away..."

Miranda shook her head. "I fear you may fall victim to her traps."

"She doesn't seem like that to me."

"Forgive me, child, but she's my daughter. I've known her since before you were born. Known her ways, her...difficulties." Miranda tilted her head, her golden stare unblinking. "I don't mean to make you feel naive, or unobservant, but, well, don't trust everything you see."

The tower. The doll. Violeta at the door. It wasn't me. You didn't see anything. Elena felt the cold of the air, numbing her fingertips to stone.

"Believe me," she muttered. "I don't."

"I knew you were a clever one," Miranda said. "I see I chose you well. I'll return to you again, Elena, don't you worry. Is there anything else?"

"No. Not yet."

"I see. And before I forget-" She reached inside her robes and produced an envelope. A letter. She held it out. "For you. From your father. To his dutiful daughter."

Elena took the envelope. Her pa's handwriting had deteriorated with his health, and she recognized his scratchy scrawl on the back. Andrei couldn't write at all. She imagined the two of them at the table, writing the letter together, Andrei's mop of blond curls bent to her father's salt-white scrub.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Mother Miranda."

She sank into a bow again. Feathers rustled, and cold metal touched her cheek: Miranda's claws.

"Remember what I said," she told her. "Gifts for the devoted."

She was gone in a swirl of black feathers, and the single crow winged away, quickly lost amidst the trees.

***

Elena walked slowly back through the forest, retracing the line of her footsteps before the new snowfall obscured them. The courtyard was empty, the doll gone from the chair, their picnic things still strewn about. She cleaned them up and heaved the hamper over her shoulder, then went in the direction Lady Beneviento had walked off in.

She found her soon enough, kneeling beneath a tree, before a collection of graves.

It seemed the dead had come here, too, though whether thanks to plague or whether this was some offshoot of the grand Beneviento headstone further on, Elena couldn't tell. The names on these stones were as weathered as the rest, though Lady Beneviento hadn't neglected them. She arranged shoots of yellow flowers before them, pausing in her work to light candles. She used long wooden matches; each flared blue as she struck them, the smell of strange chemicals filling the air like incense. She didn't look up as Elena approached.

"Is someone you knew buried here?" Elena asked, after a few moments of silence.

"Yes."

"A friend?"

"Everyone buried here is a friend." She lit the last candle. The light made an island around them, touching the dark folds of her veil with a strange lustre. For the first time, Elena glimpsed something that might have been the glimmer of eyes through its mesh. "Someone I loved. Or thought I did."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" She sounded genuinely puzzled.

"I...I don't know, people say it."

"To you?"

"Yes." Elena paused. "Less now."

"Once?"

"Once."

"For who?"

Elena looked away. She wanted to spill it all, to tell it to this faceless creature kneeling before her, this shadow. As if it would be less real, to tell it this way, and would make what had happened to her mother less real in turn. But Miranda's voice filled her mind instead, soft and gentle. I've known her ways. Don't trust everything you see.

Or don't see. Elena shook her head.

"No one," she said.

"No one," Lady Beneviento echoed. Her doll was in her lap. Angie. She held it like a child, hugging it to her chest.

"Violeta," Elena said suddenly, staring at the doll.

Beneviento lifted her head.

"Is she buried here? She was your friend too, yes?"

"No," Lady Beneviento said. There was clear confusion in her voice. "Violeta is gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone." A pause. "Will she come back? Has she left me?"

"I...I don't know. I...saw her." Careful, now. "Or I thought I did. Right before you rescued me. Someone was chasing her."

"Maybe she got away."

"I hope so."

"She helped me. Like you do." Lady Beneviento pushed to her feet. She was a little shorter than Elena, even in her boots. "Come along. It'll get dark soon."

She was right. The sunlight was already gone, even this early in the afternoon. They made their way back up the elevator, back toward the house. One of the trellises had fallen over; Elena paused to set it upright as Beneviento went into the house, and by the time Elena joined her in the warm hall, she was gone. Wet prints traced a trail across the floor, through the side door with its rose-papered hallway, and ended at the elevator grille. Locked again. Elena heard the faint rumble of its mechanism, but it didn't come up.

She stood at the grille, peering into the darkness. Had Lady Beneviento been down there while Elena thought the house empty? What was she doing? That had been her, in the storm, Elena was damn sure. But- but she'd been unnerved, half-asleep. And the snow, the darkness...

Don't believe everything you see.

What else could she believe? She'd seen what Lady Beneviento did for her. But she'd seen Violeta too, and now where was she?

There's something in the house.

She felt it. A vibration on the edge of her senses. A weight, pulling everything down toward it, into it. Like a well. And at the bottom?

She did not know. She could not answer. She knew so little. She felt fragile, then, and helpless as a rabbit bleeding out on the snow.

The darkness persisted. No answers came. So she went to fix dinner instead. At least that made some kind of sense.

***

She woke, as she always did, in the middle of the night.

This time the weeping was louder, not a trailing end but someone in the thick of it, great wracking sobs that sounded closer than ever. Her father's letter was open on her bedside table- all sounded normal, he talked a lot about how worried she was, of course, but he sounded well, and Andrei sounded well, and Elena was content enough with that. She fumbled past it and for the matches, and lit the candle, filling the room with its thin glow.

The weeping went on. It sounded like it might never end.

"Lady Beneviento?" Elena whispered.

She eased her feet from bed and into her slippers.

The door opened onto the house. Proper, and sound. Floors, and walls. The darkness rippled away and away from her. And on the floor, at the top of the stairs, sat Angie.

She seemed to glow, a small ghost in the darkness. Her head was turned, hard, to the side, like her neck had been broken, her limbs splayed and boneless. Elena stopped dead. She stared at the doll, wide eyes and guttering candlelight and the distant sound of crying, fading.

"Why is she crying?" Elena asked.

A rustle. A shift.

"Why...why do I keep seeing things in this house? Are they real?"

A whisper-

A laugh.

It echoed from the dark, all at once, a gleeful goblin cackle edged in a rasp, as if it was played back on a broken gramophone. On and on and on, rising in pitch, shrieking in Elena's ears; she clapped her free hand on the side of her head but that didn't drown it out, didn't stop it. Another rustle, a click-clack-scree, porcelain scraping porcelain- and the doll began to move, she lifted herself up, one arm, another, balancing on the top step, and with a jerking movement her head snapped forward, and that split in her face was open, and inside-

Elena whirled to run, to go for her rifle, to throw herself under the covers, to throw herself from the window-

"But we're such good friends!" the doll shrieked, its broken cackle screeching along the walls, along Elena's nerves, like rusty nails.

It was there. Behind her. In the doorway. A rising shape, a silhouette, red and slick and ragged; she heard its wheezing breath, as if struggling to draw air, saw the weeping open wounds of its eyes; a wet hand slapped the doorframe, nails hooking and biting in, so slick with blood it slid and poured down from it, dripping in a red-black river along the floor.

"E-le-na-"

She couldn't look away. Couldn't move. It rose before her, stretching to fill the doorway, sliding its first limb through, then the next, legs wrapped in the tatters of the missing slip. A manacle was clamped around one ankle, chain grating along the floor behind it. Long slick tendrils of hair hung in front of its face, but Elena could still see the red grin of its slit throat, slopping fresh blood each time the thing moved.

"E-le-na-"

It swung its head one way, the other. Elena couldn't help it. Tears pricked her eyes. She stifled a gasp of pure, helpless misery.

Its head snapped toward her.

"Help- me- 'Lena-"

She found her legs, and she whirled, and she ran.

Past the doll. Its laughter chased her, along with the wheezing, tortured moans of the thing, limbs too long, stretching and molding and melting, pouring itself down the stairs behind her; she stumble-ran, not caring when she fell the last few steps and crashed to the floor, the pain was nothing. She scrambled to her feet and flung herself forward, a wail in her throat, panic searing through her lungs. Any direction. Didn't matter. She had to get away. Elena tore at the front doors but they didn't budge, handles sliding as if greased from under her fingers. She whirled for the door to the kitchen. The bloody woman was there, a flash of candlelight off bruised, decaying flesh, a mouth gaping wide in a howl-

Off a brass glimmer around its neck.

No no no no- get away get away- she ducked through and into the kitchen. The darkness around her stretched and warped, the floor uneven underfoot. The walls seemed slick, too, remade from great wet slabs of flesh, the windows bathed red. The air began to smell of metal and rot. She heard the thing's howls, heard the smack of its footfalls against the floor, its hands reaching for the doorframe, feeling its way by touch.

She scrabbled for a weapon, but everything she grabbed melted away, blood pouring through her hands.

No no no no no-

"This is what you get!" The doll's childlike voice pierced the haze. "Nosy nasty conniving little mouse, asking your questions! What happens to mice who show their noses? That's right! They get snapped off in a trap!"

With a yell of frustration Elena pushed away from the kitchen counters. The thing was almost into the room, one hand stretching out, long strings of bloody mucus trailing behind it. Again she saw the glimmer round its neck, and in an instant of clarity-

Oh, fuck off.

"Don't you love our little games?" the doll cackled.

"I don't want your fucking games!" Elena rasped. "I...I don't want any of this!"

"Mommy's coming. Better hurry..."

She flung herself for the other door, for the hallway with its cabbage roses. They were no longer roses, but great, tumorous boils, each pulse disgorging a slop of reddish spew. She caught sight of the grille at the far end. Brass.

Run and run and run, round and round in circles, the thing on her heels, crying her name, and what happened when it caught up to her? What happened when she stumbled and couldn't get up in time?

I don't want to, please don't make me.

But she had to.

With a whimper, she forced herself around, back through the door, back into the kitchen. It was there, gaping mouth and wails, all but a leg dragged through the door. The key hung round its neck. Elena had nothing but her hands and her candle, nearly burnt down to the end of its wick.

My candle...

She couldn't think. She could only do. She thrust the candle forward and straight into the thing's empty eye socket, as far as the flame would go.

Its shriek was worse than the doll's laughter, searing through her skull. There came the sizzle of burning flesh, and the smell of it, rank and choking as a rotten carcass thrown on a firepit. The bloody creature reared its head back, tearing the candlestick from Elena's grip, exposing its skeletal chest still clad in the remnants of her mother's slip.

The key was there. Her hand closed around it.

And then she was racing down the corridor with a heavy brass key clenched in her hand.

Her feet slapped against the wet floor. The corridor rippled around her like a throat; the creature's howls chased her. It was still coming. The grille swam up to her; she jammed the key in the lock and ripped the grille open, climbing into the elevator without hesitation. She punched the down button, one-two-three-four-five-come-ON-

The hallway filled with moans and bloody mist, with the impact of heavy footfalls-

Gears ground, and the floor dropped. She began to descend, and the last thing Elena heard before the darkness of the shaft slid up to meet her was the thing howling her name, like its heart was broken.

#resident evil village #re8 fanfiction #re8 #re8 fic #donna beneviento #mother miranda #elena lupu #donna beneviento x elena lupu #donna beneviento x oc #re8 oc #angie beneviento #claudia beneviento #karl heisenberg #resident evil #gothic romance #gothic horror #chapter 6 #body horror

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samsonet · 4 years

Text

There daily I wander as noon rises high,

This is how Raihan becomes Bede’s brother.

Title from Robert Burns’ “Afton Water”

Raihan isn’t used to watching the finals from the sidelines.

He tries to relax in his league-assigned seat, still feeling like any moment now someone will come to ask why he’s not on the pitch.

With every word the commentator says, the sense of wrongness only grows stronger. It should be him out there. It should be him planting his feet into the grass, summoning sandstorms and roaring at his opponent. For the past eight seasons, it has been him in that position, him on the pitch, him and Leon —

“Let's give a round of applause for Galar’s beloved champion, Gloria!”

The earth orbits around a new sun now.

“And on the other side of the pitch, the elite gym leader, the champion’s rival himself—”

Raihan—

“— Bede!”

Raihan sighs, not entirely sure what he’s feeling.

“A bit of sadness,” a voice says, “mixed with some excitement at seeing what these young ones can do. And some pride, too, perhaps.”

Raihan blinks, but he’s had enough experience with Opal to not jump at her sudden appearances.

“Why are you here? I thought you retired.”

“I did!” Opal hums happily. “Now I’m getting to enjoy my retirement — and what grandparent wouldn’t want the chance to see their grandchild battling the champion?”

Bede’s been training under her for what, three months? She jumped into the fairy godmother role pretty quick, didn’t she.

Opal says, “Perhaps it was a bit reckless of me to declare him my successor so quickly… But sometimes you can look at a person and know that you were meant to help them.”

On the pitch, Bede’s Rapidash lands a critical hit. Bede grins. Gloria grins. Raihan is abruptly reminded of his sixth battle against Leon, the first time he’d tried using a weather team. Leon won, of course, but instead of the usual sportsmanlike handshake, he’d given Raihan a full-bodied hug. After all, being the champion’s rival meant he was the champion’s friend, too.

Opal says, “Still, I do worry about whether I can properly care for him. I’m willing to listen to any troubles he has, of course, but he is a young boy, after all. He may not feel comfortable sharing everything with an old woman like me. If he had an older brother, perhaps...”

She looks at him meaningfully.

Raihan knows better than to offer his help; if the fairy queen wants a favor from him, she has to be direct about it.

But Opal doesn’t ask. She seems to feel like she’s said everything that needs to be said, and she merely sits back and watches the match.

The battle ends.

Gloria does not hug Bede.

Raihan pays more attention to Bede after that.

He would watch Bede’s matches anyway, because it’s only a matter of time before they’d have to face each other in a ranking tournament, but now Raihan’s observing the kid himself instead of just his battle style.

Bede’s history is no secret. During his challenge, the league milked the scrappy-orphan angle for all it was worth. A kid who came from nothing, fighting to earn a place in the world… It tugs at the heartstrings. Theoretically, anyway. While the PR people tried to spin Bede’s proud demeanor as a defense mechanism, a lot of the fans found challenger Bede unbearably smug.

Raihan grew up in a loving upper-class family with both parents and two sisters, so he doesn’t have family issues as an excuse. As a challenger, he’d been smug because he really thought he was all that. Well. He still is kinda cocky, and he still sorta is all that. Because the fans like it, because there’s nothing quite so satisfying as seeing a cocky bastard get taken down a peg or two.

The fans won’t get to see Raihan taken down a peg anymore. Sure, he’ll still be losing, to Gloria and Melony and who knows, maybe Bede too -- but that mixture of pride and humiliation is reserved for Leon and Leon only.

But Leon isn't the champion anymore.

Gloria seems to like battling Bede. Bede seems to like battling her. Their inexperience is obvious, though. Their battles seem to be fun and challenging for both of them, which is the important thing, but they haven’t quite gotten the hang of the performance part yet.

If he had an older brother, perhaps…

Is it an insult, that Opal would be so transparent in what she wants from Raihan? Or is it a show of respect, a way of saying that she’s not going to try to manipulate him? But even transparent manipulation is manipulation all the same…

Raihan leans back, putting a hand over his mouth in thought. He’s not the champion’s rival anymore. That was his place in Galar, his place in the league. He may still be the strongest gym leader, but the role feels empty now that Leon and Piers are gone.

Would the role be just as fulfilling if he became the big brother to the younger gym leaders?

He can try.

The next time Raihan sees Bede, it’s at one of the champion’s invite-only tournaments.

The champion has invited all her rivals, and between the battles the four of them stick together in the same corner. Raihan’s curious what they’re talking about, of course, but he gives them space. None of them are his little siblings, after all.

When the tournament finishes (with the champion victorious, naturally), Raihan walks out with the other participants.

Leon and Piers are waiting in the lobby. Raihan gives them a wave and they wave back, but it’s obvious they’re not there for him.

“Lee!”

Hop gives a running jump into his brother’s arms. Marnie has a more dignified motion as she walks toward Piers, but Raihan sees the way her mouth curls up at the corners. The little champion gives a wave goodbye to her rivals; she probably has some business to attend to in another city.

That leaves Bede as the list of the four, looking vaguely upset but not saying anything about it.

So Raihan does. “Hey, Leon, Piers. Whaddya say we take our little sibs to get something to eat? They fought hard, they deserve it. My treat.”

Piers raised his visible eyebrow, but he nods.

It’s Leon, always perceptive, that asks: “Our siblings?”

“Yep!” Raihan looks to Bede, reaching out a hand in invitation. “Bede, can you do me a favor and be my little bro for the afternoon? Leon’s not in the league anymore, but I still have to beat him in something.”

Bede gives him a look of offended confusion. Then he looks toward Leon and Hop.

Raihan sees Hop’s face, how he wears the same expression Leon does when the sponsors force him to drink chia juice.

Raihan sees Bede’s expression change, how his frown slowly turns into a knife cat smile.

Bede nods, reaching out and holding Raihan by the wrist. “I would love to.”

They go to McDucklett’s, one of the few places where people don’t look twice at a bunch of regional celebrities sitting down to eat.

Raihan’s the only one who orders a full meal. Leon and Piers get salads, the tossers. Hop and Marnie both want kids meals, with the potential tiny plush toy of a gym leader’s signature Pokémon. And Bede…

Bede’s staring at the menu, seemingly overwhelmed by all the choices. Has he really never been in a McDucklett’s before?

Oh. No, he probably hasn’t. Between the orphanage and Rose, fast food is probably the last kind of food he’s ever had the chance to try.

“Why don’t I get you some nuggets?” Raihan suggests.

Bede nods vigorously.

Raihan orders him a kids meal as well, and quietly asks the employee for a set of utensils to go with it.

While the grownups are eating their meals, the kids start by opening their toys. Hop has a tiny version of Milo’s Appletun, while Marnie gets Melony’s Lapras. By some coincidence or luck or fairy magic, Bede’s toy is an Alcremie.

He picks it up with something like reverence, lightly tracing its frosting swirls with one finger. He looks around the table, probably trying to find someplace to set it down, then puts it in his lap.

With the toys out of the way, Bede pulls out his box of nuggets. He stares at them as though unsure how they’re supposed to be eaten.

Raihan is torn between laughing at the kid’s hesitation and feeling sorry for him. Eventually, the latter wins out.

He swallows the bite of his burger and says, “There should be a knife and fork in there if you need ‘em. I know they’ve got a weird texture, but they’re pretty good.”

Bede follows his directions, spearing a nugget and taking a delicate bite.

Hop snorts. Raihan glares at him and is gratified to see Leon is giving an identical look. Big brother instincts.

The rest of the meal passes with minimal drama. Bede seems satisfied with nuggets and apple slices. That’s good. Raihan doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if Opal found out he’d sent Bede home hungry.

After the other pairs say their goodbyes and head out, Bede turns to Raihan and asks, “Can you watch Alcremie while I wash my hands?”

“Sure.”

Bede sets the doll on a dry spot on the table. “I know your hands are greasy, so don’t touch her. Just make sure nobody else takes her.”

“I got it, don’t worry.”

Bede heads to the restroom. Raihan examines the toy Alcremie, leaning in close to look in its sewn-on eyes.

“Is this what you wanted, Opal?” he asks. “Am I doing well?”

The Alcremie only stares back. It has a knowing smile on its face.

When Bede comes back, he insists that Raihan wash his hands, too. Raihan thought it was a euphemism, but no, apparently the kid really doesn’t like the idea of greasy fingers.

After that, he’s ready to go home. Raihan offers to at least walk him back to the station. Bede accepts without protest.

It’s when they’re halfway there that he says, with forced aloofness, “I know you’re only doing all of this because Opal told you to.”

“What?”

“Don’t lie to me. She told you I needed a big brother, right? She told me the same thing. Well, I don’t need anybody. I’m a gym leader now. I’ll be fine even when Opal… even when she d…”

And, oh shit, that is not something Raihan even thought of when wondering why Opal would ask him for this. He’s stunned speechless for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he tries to say something reassuring but not patronizing.

At last he says, “I mean… even if she did ask me, I asked you along ‘cause I wanted to. You’re going to be around for a while, right? It’s just smart to try to get on your good side.”

Bede doesn’t say anything to that.

Raihan continues: “And if I may — I gotta say, I see a lot of myself in you. The elite gym leader who rivals the champion? That’s been my life since I was sixteen. If there’s anyone who’ll beat Gloria, it’ll be you.”

He knows the counter the moment he says it, already imagining Bede saying the way you beat Leon? with a sneer on his face.

But to his surprise, Bede does not say that. He only tilts his head, his expression somewhere between flattered and confused.

Then he says, “If you want to stay on my ‘good side,’ you should take me to McDucklett’s again sometime.”

When they reach Ballonlea, Opal is waiting. She greets them with a smile, one long-nailed finger beckoning them in.

#ICYDNMSF #raihan pokemon #bede pokemon #opal pokemon

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making-a-ru · 5 years

Text

Making a Fairy Garden

Been called to work with the Fae.

Yeah, I know.

Their first assignment for me is to clean my back alleyway of trash and to make an offering to the Alley Cats, because the message said Alley Cats are City Fairies.

Last night, though, I turned my old Aphrodite altar into a Fairy Garden.

The only new stuff I bought was the bag of white rocks, a bag of moss, 2 plastic plants, the nest, and bells. Everything else I already had.

Humble beginnings: used rocks and hot glue to prop up this IKEA grass, used tumbled stones and geodes from my personal to add some texture and landscaping.

Glued down white stones to lay down the river bed and waterfall. And made a beach!

I laid down Nyx blue body glitter over the river bed and laid down a layer of glue. Then put down teal Nyx glitter and repeat. Then iridescent Nyx glitter and repeat, but laying down the top layer of glue in long strands to give the "flow down the stream" effect.

The nest idea came from my childhood fantasy of sleeping in a nest. How cute would it be to be a fairy sleeping in a little nest right by a waterfall for some nice sleepy white noise? Used geode shards to add more magic to the nest area.

The little fairy acorns were so simple to make! Just bells glued to acorn tops! I collected the acorns from an oak tree in front of my work during the fall.

Added tiny polished stones left over from my rock tumbler, making it look explorable!

This peg doll/future fairy gives you an idea of how serenely relaxing this fairy garden is becoming 😊

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lichlover · 6 years

Text

a continuation of this delightful concept, featuring double entendres galore, a dark and stormy night, and yet another goddamn ouija board.

“Okay, Krav!” says Taako. “Here’s the dealio!”

The avant-garde clock hanging from their wall displays 12:32—that’s his best guess, anyway, as it consists entirely of two nearly translucent spindles and twelve brightly colored circles. One of the spindles stands nearly upright, and the other is inching tentatively past blue, so 12:32 it is. Its quiet ticking is the only sound that occupies the space, apart from Taako’s own voice. Lup and Barry are still out, wherever they are, which means that for now Taako has their apartment to himself. If they burst in while he’s attempting to summon the manifestation of Death himself, well, it won’t be the strangest thing they’ve walked in on him doing.

Admittedly, their cramped family room isn’t nearly as atmospheric, unless fairy lights and the kitchen’s dim glow count as mood lighting. The storm rages persistently outside, soaking their shallow balcony and lashing against the sliding doors, and he supposes that’ll have to do for now. He’s propped a broom between the door and the wall, bracing it closed, just to be safe. That’s about as much preparation as he’d done before he had set his sopping wet bag on the sofa, unzipped it with a flourish, and retrieved his prize.

Obtaining this particular ouija board had taken some actual effort on his part. He’d ventured into the thrift shop’s back room with a very reluctant cashier, shoving aside dust-covered boxes and bins full of sequined bodysuits, holding up his Stone of Farspeech to shed light over towering shelves. The one they’d found hadn’t even come in a box. It was draped in spiderwebs and sitting next to a DVD copy of an interpretive jazz workout, which he’d pushed aside with one acrylic to get to the board and its planchette. The cashier had recoiled, surveying it with a wrinkled nose and slightly watery eyes. “Are you—” He’d sneezed and nearly sent his glasses flying. “Are you sure? I mean, if you’re all hung up on this spirit-summoning thing, I’m sure we’ve got some haunted dolls or somethin’ around here that would do the trick—”

“Hey,” Taako had interrupted, brandishing the planchette at him. “Who’s the paying customer here? Yes. Correct. I know what I’m about, son. Ring me up.”

The ouija board now sits indolently on the coffee table behind him, looking for all the world like someone’s pathetic idea of a Scrabble game. For all the fanfare surrounding its existence, it isn’t terribly relevant right now. Taako jabs a thumb in its general direction as he taps his foot impatiently, staring down the far wall.

“Been a hot minute, hasn’t it?” he says, smirking at the cracked plaster. “I don’t usually call so soon after a first date, but wouldja just look at that—” This time, he swivels around for dramatic effect and gestures widely to the board. If possible, it’s even more depressing than the last one, with a lengthy crack across one side and dismal, fading letters. “As luck would have it, I found another one ’a these just lyin’ around, gathering dust. Sure looks like it’s lived, a, uh… a full life, but I’d bet it’s got a couple more summons in it.”

Taako turns his gaze back on the wall and reaches out, crooking a finger invitingly. “So, what d’you say, reaper man?” He grins, wide and full of anticipation. “Come ’n get it.”

He waits, propping himself on a heel, for a good several seconds. The rain beats against the windows, and a rush of wind thoroughly rattles the trees below their apartment, but it’s muffled from where he stands at the center of the family room. Otherwise, everything is quiet. If he strains his ears, he can just barely hear the clock ticking.

12:34 by now, surely.

A low, barely-perceptible breeze passes through the room and ruffles the hem of Taako’s skirt. Like a gaping wound in reality itself, the air splits in two, parted by a blade that trails black, gauzy smoke. The space crackles with arcane energy and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. However much of a sucker Death really is, he thinks, there’s some seriously powerful magic at work here.

That is kind of his jam, though.

It takes a moment for the main event to make his appearance, but when he does, Taako isn’t disappointed. If anything, a vaguely irritated Kravitz is even more gorgeous. His gaze snaps to Taako almost straightaway, which to be fair is what most people tend to do in his vicinity, and a tiny frown creases his brow. His smooth, perfect brow. Taako notes with amusement that Kravitz’s cravat is just slightly off-center, and as soon as his lips twitch in a tiny smirk, Kravitz catches his heel on the rift and nearly stumbles. He rights himself as Taako snickers behind one splayed hand.

“Well,” he says. “Didn’t mean to trip you up, handsome, but I gotta say I’m glad I did.”

To his credit, Kravitz covers his surprise with a smooth and extremely impressive eye roll. If that isn’t an attractive quality in a guy, Taako doesn’t know what is. “How long has it been, exactly? An hour? Two?”

“Already counting the hours we’re apart?” Taako clicks his tongue, only half-trying to stifle a grin at his own quip. “I mean, that’s a little whack, my dude, but—but if that’s how you roll.”

“You know that isn’t what I—you know what? Nevermind.” From where it sits in his hand, Kravitz’s scythe dissolves, and the rift phases out of existence behind him. Someone on the outside could have mistaken them for two normal people standing in a living room, having a normal conversation. To be fair, that’s what Taako intends to do, although he isn’t feeling particularly attached to the normal bit. He notes the gold embellishments on Kravitz’s vest as the reaper continues, still looking altogether extremely vexed. “Look, I’ve already made one too many house calls tonight. If you don’t mind, I’ll need that ouija board so I can be on my way.”

As he says so, Kravitz steps forward as if to make for the coffee table, but Taako slides easily between them. “Oh, not so fast, fella,” he says. “You and I have got some business to conduct.”

He’s rather proud of how easily his interference forces an Emissary of Actual, Literal Death to stop in his tracks. Kravitz sighs. “Business regarding what, exactly?”

“No need to be so formal,” Taako drawls, and lowers himself to perch on the table’s edge. He crosses ankle over ankle and looks up at Kravitz through dark, heavy lashes. “It was kinda… uh, kinda rude of you, wasn’t it? Just dropping in, scarin’ the shit outta everybody, and swingin’ right back out with no explanation?”

Kravitz arches an eyebrow. The undersides are highlighted faintly with gold, which would have made Taako weak in the knees had he been standing. “You don’t seem terribly intimidated.”

“I,” says Taako, “am an excellent thespian. Now, c’mon.” He shifts and tips his head toward the ottoman adjacent, and Kravitz follows his gaze uneasily. “Y—You said it yourself, right? Tough workday? I’ve got some questions, you got all the answers. Sit down, take a load off, and I promise I’ll go easy.”

He can’t resist a smirk, then, because it’s far too easy to get double entendre with this guy. That’s got to be a good sign of some sort.

Still, rather impressively, Kravitz lets that one roll right off him. He shuffles awkwardly to the ottoman and sits, fluffing his mantle out behind him, and Taako watches the feathers ripple and shudder in response. Now that they have less than a foot of space between them—gods bless this apartment’s tiny floor plan—he can make out their iridescent shine, among other things. Kravitz’s subtly pointed ears, for instance, and the golden cuffs that cling to their tapered edges. Or the way his coat sits a little too snugly around his shoulders, as if it isn’t quite well-tailored enough to contain perfection. Or how briefly but noticeably his eyes flick to the curve of Taako’s lip, then dart away without any indication that he’d been looking to begin with.

Sometimes, Taako decides, actions really do speak louder than words.

“Alright,” Kravitz says, and Taako forces his attention back in line. “You said you had… uh, questions?”

“Well, yeah, no fucking kidding. You’re Death. I—I mean, I think we all confronted our mortality tonight, literally. You can’t expect me to, uh, to just take that in stride.”

But Kravitz is already shaking his head. “Emissary,” he says. “That’s different. There’s no such thing as Death as an entity. It’s more like… like a law of the universe that we, uh, enforce.”

“Law enforcement, huh?” Taako purrs. “Never woulda pegged you for the officer type, but I could see it.” He imagines Kravitz in the polished uniform of the Neverwinter militia, brass buttons and jaunty cap and all, and has to bite down on his lip. “Yeah, I could deffo see it.”

He’s getting off track, but hell if Kravitz doesn’t make it easy. “Anyway. Emissary. Seems a tad too important for making house calls, hm? Don’t—don’t tell me we were something special.”

Kravitz’s mouth twitches. “The only thing you’re special for is using a ouija board. Do you know how outdated those things are? I think they were popular when I was alive.”

Well. That’s new information. “Okay,” says Taako, and lets his gaze dip to Kravitz’s chest, trying to ignore the flattering fit of his vest as he scrutinizes it for a rise and fall. Sure enough, he can’t make anything out. “So that makes you—”

“Immortal,” says Kravitz, at the same time Taako says, “Dead.”

He tips his head. “Well, yeah. That too.”

It says a lot about Taako that he immediately wishes he had paid more attention to Lup and Barry’s Thursday morning is-it-really-necrophilia-if debate. He can’t even recall the consensus, which had been reached with a few contentious glances from nearby professors. Once again, it’s up to him. “Okay, then,” is all he says. “That explains it.”

Kravitz blinks. “Explains what?”

Maybe it’s a little brazen—okay, scratch that, it’s incredibly brazen, but it’s also after midnight and Lup’s residual impulsiveness is starting to rub off on him. Taako shifts forward, and it’s not like there was much space between them to begin with, but now their knees nudge together when he leans in. He swears he hears Kravitz’s breath catch in his throat (which makes this even better, because the dead don’t need air, do they?) as he reaches up and thumbs over Kravitz’s cheek, and sure enough, a chill rockets up his arm and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“This,” he murmurs, and they’re close enough now that Taako can make out thin, feathery eyelashes and the hint of a shimmer across Kravitz’s upper lip. “You… you’re Arctic, my man.”

“Really?” says Kravitz, faintly. “I—I hadn’t noticed.”

Taako can make out his own heartbeat in his ears, thrumming with want and begging him just to edge a little closer, to kiss the life back into this beautiful man. He swallows, reins it in, and sits back with a brisk pat to Kravitz’s thigh. “Well! Mys—uh, mystery solved, I guess. Def—” He’s never hated his stutter more than he does right now. “Definitely dead as a doornail in there. But that means—I mean, if you die, you don’t just… automatically become an emissary, huh? What is there, some kinda lottery? An internship program? Application process?”

Kravitz stiffens. Taako can tell when he’s touched a nerve, and not the good kind, either. “Ah… no. I was a special case. Still am, I guess.”

“Seems kinda fucked up that someone would just decide that for you.”

He shrugs a little helplessly. “It might be, but I’m grateful. I get to spend eternity doing work that matters. Barring having to go after the occasional idiots who decide to mess around with a ouija board.”

His tone is so pointed that Taako can’t help but snicker, although he chokes back his amusement before it morphs into full-on laughter. “Yeah, okay, you got me there. That one’s on Taako, ’kay? Totally wasn’t tryin’ to break up your… whatever it is you even do in the astral plane. They got wine and cheese over there? You strike me as a wine and cheese sesh kinda guy.”

A wry smile breaks across Kravitz’s face. “I prefer brandy, actually.”

“Brandy! You’re chock-full of surprises, huh? See, I’m a cocktail man myself, but I’m also—I’m open to experimentation, if you catch my drift.” He grins, and the way Kravitz’s eye twitches suggests that he does, indeed, catch Taako’s drift.

“Anyway,” he says, looking very much like he’s trying to keep another smile at bay, “we’ve gotten off track. I have some questions for you, too.”

“Who, moi?”

“Yes, toi,” says Kravitz drily. “I don’t care what you told me, ghost summoning isn’t just a fun Saturday night time-waster. There’s got to be a bigger reason you went to the trouble of digging up a ouija board from gods know where.”

Taako bats his eyelashes. “Can’t a guy summon Death without having any ulterior motives whatsoever?”

With what is apparently a fair bit of effort, Kravitz fixes him with a deadpan—ha—stare. “Honest answer? No. Never. And I already told you, I’m not Death.”

“Yeah, but it rolls so well off the tongue.” He leans back on the heels of his hands, returning the stare in full. “So you seriously wouldn’t believe me if I told you that it was all for shits ’n giggles? Like, it’s gotta be for some nefarious—I mean, c’mon. My dude. Do I look like a necromancer to you?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, evidently with the intent to respond, and stops short as his eyes snag on the folds of Taako’s off-the-shoulder blouse. Entirely impractical for the weather, of course, but all of a sudden Taako is extremely glad he’d worn it. He pulls his shoulder inward and lets one sleeve slip just so, and it must have the desired effect, because Kravitz suddenly purses his lips like they’ve gotten very, very dry. “Well?”

“You—no,” he says, and gives himself a tiny shake. The feathers covering his mantle perk up and cockle as he does so, and weird factor aside, it’s actually one of the most endearing things Taako has ever seen. “No, I’ll admit you don’t. But appearances can be deceiving.”

Taako thinks of his sister’s absolute maniac of a boyfriend, and says, “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.”

That earns him a suspicious glare from Kravitz, and he sighs. “Y’know, I’d give you my word, but we both—we know that means jack shit. So I guess you just gotta be willing to trust ch’boy on this one.”

The speed with which Kravitz’s expression drops is almost hilarious. “I really do, don’t I?”

“If it makes you feel any better, handsome, I give you full disclosure to keep an eye on me.”

Kravitz starts to reply, trips over the beginning of whatever he’s trying to say, and releases a long sigh instead. “You think you’re very charismatic, don’t you?”

“Just above average,” says Taako. “Wink.”

He chuckles in the way people chuckle at gods-awful jokes, which is to say, more than a little guiltily. Manifestations of Death have no business being this inadvertently charming. “I believe it’s your turn for a question.”

Taako scoffs. “When did we start taking turns? Last I checked, th—that isn’t the way an interrogation works.”

Kravitz regards him with lingering amusement in his eyes. There’s a warm but unmistakably sharp glint to them, and he’s reminded of Lup, ready and raring to burn spell slots just to prove somebody wrong. “If anyone should be doing the interrogating here, it’s me. You’re the one with the contraband.”

The universe can’t possibly pin this one on him. Everything about their situation—the setup, the exchange, Kravitz—it’s too good to be true. It’s precisely why Taako can’t bite back a smirk as he says, “Oh, so you prefer to take control, huh?”

“No,” says Kravitz, a little too quickly. To his credit, he doesn’t give much reaction other than that, although Taako notes that his dark complexion makes it near-impossible to discern a blush. Lucky bastard.

“Thought not,” he says. “I’m never wrong about that stuff. Okay, so… you—uh, you mentioned someone decided to make you an emissary. Who was the someone?”

Kravitz’s mantle fluffs around his neck. “Her Majesty the Raven Queen,” he recites. “She who presides over the passage of life and death and all governed by it. She’s my… well, employer, I guess, if you’re putting it in modern terms. And a goddess, of course, but you—I’m sure you already knew that.”

“She give you that?” Taako levels a finger at the mantle.

He glances back at it as if he’s just noticed it on his shoulders. “Oh. Yes, she did. It’s meant to be protective, but it’s also a… a mood detector, of sorts? Evidently it can react to what I’m thinking, but obviously I wouldn’t know… ah, sorry if it’s been distracting you.”

Taako wants to say You’re plenty distracting on your own, but he’s not that far gone. Not yet, anyway. Instead he says, “It’s cute, bird boy. Chill. Your turn.”

He sits back, because he doesn’t want to let on exactly how compromised he’s been by Kravitz and his ridiculous feathered cape. There are a thousand more jokes to be made in that vein—something about quoth the raven, among other possibilities—but all he’d been able to manage is It’s cute, bird boy, and the strangest thing is that he means it. This isn’t an off-the-cuff affection like the ones he’s so quick to dole out. No, Taako thinks, with a growing horror in the pit of his stomach, Kravitz is cute. He’s also snarky and dorky and very, very attracted to Taako, if he hasn’t been hallucinating all the cursory glances and small intakes of breath.

And the worst part is that if the flush of heat across Taako’s neck is any indication, he’s very, very attracted to Kravitz, too.

He can just imagine the look on Lup’s face when he tells her. So, he’ll say. Last night the boner squad and I summoned Death, and then I summoned him again to try and seduce him just for the hell of it, and, well, fuck, he’s actually amazing and now I wanna do it for real. How was your night? Knowing her, she’ll probably top his story with some outrageous tale of attempted resurrection and a car chase or two (with a ridiculously sappy rant about how much she loves her boyfriend thrown in for good measure), but not before she loses her entire shit at his expense. Taako’s blush flares hotter at the very thought.

Go big or go home, as the saying goes. He’s already home, which means there’s only one thing left to do.

“Okay,” says Kravitz, startling Taako out of his reverie. “Are you going to give me that ouija board?”

By the grace of whatever god is feeling particularly benevolent towards him tonight, Taako is able to make a seamless recovery. He pushes himself to his feet and puts a hand on his hip, looking imperiously down at Kravitz on the ottoman. “Depends,” he lilts. “You willing to work for it?”

To his surprise, Kravitz follows suit, standing up and immediately regaining the height advantage. Taako is halfway tempted to climb up onto the coffee table again, but there’s barely enough room for him to turn around—in fact, the cramped space between the table’s edge and the ottoman has them sandwiched right up against each other. Sure enough, a chill radiates through the fabric of Kravitz’s shirt. The resulting shudder that grips Taako’s body isn’t entirely unpleasant.

As a matter of fact, he realizes, it’s not unpleasant at all.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to the necrophilia debate.

“Make me work for it,” Kravitz hums, and his voice and their godsforsaken closeness sets Taako shivering all over again. “And how would you do that, exactly?”

Taako forces himself to muster every iota of his usual bravado. It’s not much at the moment, but right now he needs every bit he can get. “I dunno if—if you’ve noticed, my man,” he says, and pointedly ignores the break in his voice, “but I’m a pretty smart cookie.”

“Mm. I, uh… I don’t doubt it.” He’s looking about as distracted as Taako feels, all attempts at intimidation forgotten, as some innate gravity coaxes them closer. Taako’s hands meet with Kravitz’s chest, sliding over the fine material and numbing quickly against the cold. He can’t possibly care less.

They’re inches away, and Taako just knows that any minute now, Lup and Barry are going to come stumbling out of the entryway and tell him to keep a lookout for the police. Or it’ll be Magnus and Merle, a little sloshed or a little high or both, begging him to reconsider his incredibly stupid plan. It really is stupid, Taako thinks. The plan, that is. But the plan also has him pressed up against an unfairly gorgeous man who seems just a tad punch-drunk on the moment, and he would be lying to himself if he said he doesn’t feel the same.

Taako is waiting for fate to kick down the door and flip him off when their lips meet. He’s not sure who initiates it and he honestly doesn’t care. All he has the capacity to care about is how incredible the icy thrill of Kravitz’s lips feel against his own, and the way they rock forward into each other in perfect synchronicity. He bares his teeth and tugs lightly because he’s earned it, and everything in him soars and burns with the gasp he gets from Kravitz in return. The moment is dizzying and so absolutely beyond anything he could have asked from a Saturday night—or a Sunday morning, he realizes, because midnight is a distant memory.

Everything seems a little distant, actually, when they part. Kravitz is staring at him, half-lidded and disbelieving, and Taako is sure he’s staring right back. He’s too lightheaded to do anything else.

Eventually he says, “Well, that’s, uh… that’s how we do.”

“I—you’re unbelievable,” says Kravitz, and he clearly doesn’t mean it to come out as breathy and dumbstruck as it does.

“Damn right,” Taako shoots back, and sidles out from between an Emissary of Death and the coffee table. “But I dunno if that was worth one whole ouija board.”

Kravitz’s eyes flare, bright and unnatural under the dim lighting. “You can’t be—oh, for Her sake.”

He cuts himself off and holds out a hand, and from his peripheral Taako catches the ouija board and its planchette disappearing in a plume of black smoke. They appear seconds later in Kravitz’s hand, and he folds them up and tucks them away with a huff.

Taako’s mouth falls open. “You could just—are you telling me—you could just teleport that shit the whole time and you didn’t—you didn’t just do it?”

“I don’t like to just magic my problems away,” says Kravitz, sounding wholeheartedly offended. “I wasn’t about to just—stop smirking, Taako, please.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Taako says, even though he’s never been less sorry in his life. He watches as Kravitz materializes his scythe, mantle tousled hotly around his neck, and only speaks up again as it starts to cut through the air. “H—Hey, hey, one more question?”

“Mm?”

“Just wondering,” Taako chirps, and winds his braid around a finger. “If I were, to, y’know, want to get ahold of some more astral plane contraband—”

“Do you want my frequency?” Kravitz interrupts.

Is he really that transparent? Taako gives a noncommittal shrug, like they haven’t just done something completely worthy of trading frequencies. “Sure, sure. If you’re down.”

Kravitz gives him an awkward smile and ambles over to attune his Stone to Taako’s. Their hands brush, because of course they do, and electricity shoots up Taako’s arm, making his skin tingle. He sucks in a breath and does his best to stay unperturbed. This is not the time to lose his cool. Not now.

No, he’ll save that for his sister’s return, when he tells Lup about how he not only flirted with Death and lived to tell the tale, but got away with Death’s digits and a Sunday morning to remember.

#the ouija board sequel is reborn! or reposted rather #sorry for the technical difficulties darlings #the adventure zone #taz balance #taakitz #fic #mine

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