Illa woke around noon to the sound of paper being shoved under the door. They weren't supposed to drop it here. Was New York less paranoid? He got up from where he'd tossed his covers aside--still didn't feel comfortable with how hot it was to sleep clothed--cast the morning luck spell with the pin, and headed for the door. He'd barely slept. He'd dreamt of a dream workshop, where he kept experiencing the dream of Thairn dying from that wizard in the fifties over and over, and his job was to change the dream so that Thairn didn't die, but instead, he just kept making new deaths, losing her again and again, while the corpse of Donald Rhodes watched him ceaselessly, taking her away into mortality, two lovers dead, forever, together.
The papers held new orders. Terminate the education program the Morleys were establishing. Infiltrate and build a file on the Wingless mob that Eric belonged to. The DOOR had sent a page of authorizations for what Illa and Thairn could tell Greta, though unofficially, Illa knew the list extended further and longer.
"Put in requests for better glamours." Thairn's voice.
Illa startled. Thairn was behind him, and he hadn't noticed.
Thairn continued, "We won't be able to do much with what we've got, if what Greta's said is any notion." She reached for the paper, and he felt a sudden pang of paranoia.
"Light your path," he said. Greta hadn't been able to answer it.
"Then lock up the lightning," Thairn answered, smooth as breathing.
He handed her the papers, and she took them off to the study, flipping through and muttering, then sitting to write out requisitions. "Nosebay, in case they have a werewolf or vampire around, for all Greta's intel says there won't be. And a glamour tied to adhesive breast forms, I think I'll tell them," she said. "Then I could be stripped down naked without a scrap of jewelry, and they still wouldn't be able to strip the glamour. A level four, that might do it. Sight, and well-made; touch, and well-made, all that."
"That sounds like a deep cover glamour," he said, and a pang went into his heart at that, because what that would mean...
"I'm not sure how else we're going to accomplish all this. You'll need one, too, I imagine, if you want to be introduced into the mafia."
"Greta only owes a life debt to you."
"True enough. We'll work it out, somehow. Craft a plan, once she's come back to us with what's happened today."
Mickey Morley had come to the succession announcement in far too fine of clothing for it to be this boring. Come, now, this was an event, shouldn't it feel more like a special occasion? He hadn't brought out the velvet jacket and paisley waistcoat for nothing, had he? He'd even tied his shoulder-length waves of brown hair back, a cruel and unusual expectation.
Alas, it just felt like every other mob party, but with more family and fewer outsiders around for the influencing. Couldn't influence family in the usual ways, either, so that made everything far less entertaining. Not even Luke around. Without him, Xavier got even more serious, like a proper bodyguard or something. The man was in black tie as dire as a funeral, with an expression to match. No fun at all.
Well, maybe a little fun. Lucía Morley, from the Lynwood branch, had been forced out of her usual lab-friendly sensibilities into a silk brocade dress. Her long, black hair was still as tightly wound as ever, but now subjected to jeweled pins. Worse for her, she was missing most of her usual minions, and this one spot next to her temple twitched whenever she had to try to make conversation with anyone else in the family. They didn't seem to be able to tell, mostly, but watching her have to dumb herself down while inside her head she was probably thinking out some complex plan to poison everyone in the room was hilarious. Right up until Dara Lynwood arrived to rescue her, at least. She was similarly attired, though her dark brown hair had been left to cascade artfully in thick waves. Lynwoods had to stick together, he supposed. They were the only ones immune to enough poisons to manage.
Great-Aunt Greta was here. Dressed elegantly, but she'd been run ragged lately. Her straight posture had extra stiffness to it today, as she moved around looking at things and people while pretending not to. There was a circle of the family that knew about the Holloway Sight, and then there was everyone else, and today, they'd invited everyone else. Some of Malachi's minions had been assigned drink service, and she was tipping them heavily, bills folded just right to conceal any notes slipped inside.
Godmother Magdalena had had her here since early, so Greta could keep an eye on every single thing that came in or out. Aunt Greta had to be exhausted. Almost made him glad he'd never gotten the family "inheritance". She could use something to lighten her mood.
"Careful, now," Mickey said, pulling up a chair next to the little table she was sitting at. Set his sword cane across his knees, casual. "You keep drinking that heavy, you'll catch up with me." He had a light buzz going, nothing too hard. Then again, it took a lot to get a light buzz going, these days.
"Maybe you're right." Greta slid her mojito over. There wasn't any alcohol in it at all. Made sense for a cover drink, but sad, really. He pretended not to notice, for cover's sake. It didn't taste that bad, for all it was an abomination.
"I see you're having fun," he said. "Talk to Mom and Grandma yet?"
"They have Ava about as busy as they have me. I haven't seen Nora. Do you know where she is?"
Mickey grinned. "She asked Magdalena for some private time before the show starts."
Greta's grip tightened on her glass, and she gave him a disagreeable look. "You can't think she'll convince Magdalena to pick you as a potential."
"Of course I do. What else do you think I've been working on, all these years? Haven't been building influence for nothing."
"Is that what you call what you get up to."
He took another sip of her abomination. "Well, we are amongst company."
"You didn't even get all the family magic."
Ah. Pleasant. Always nice to be reminded that he hadn't bred out the way they wanted. Usually Aunt Greta didn't even bring it up. She had to be stressed about something.
"Not all the Holloway magic, no," Mickey answered. "But neither does anyone else in the running. I've got enough Morley to match up against anyone short of Malachi." He tipped the mojito to her. "And I am far more charming than Malachi."
"With that, I won't argue." She looked over at the man in question. Butch, that was the word for him. Black curls gone to waste with a short-cropped cut, square jaw. A tailored grey suit that had to be new, didn't even have bloodstains on it yet. Handsome, though not as handsome as Mickey was, if you asked Mickey.
Aunt Greta's gaze lasted longer than Mickey had expected.
"See something?" Mickey asked.
"Just looking at him makes me want to order another drink."
"Maybe you should ask the waiters for advice. They're the ones who usually have to look at him all day."
"Exactly the problem."
She was laying out the pieces for him, he knew it. Now to put them together. Something she was seeing on Malachi, and she couldn't report it to the waiters because they were Malachi's. And, knowing Malachi... probably some piece of contraband he'd skimmed off the latest shipment, something he wasn't supposed to bring here.
No use directly confronting him. That would draw Greta in too clearly. Besides, the tactics didn't play out well. Freya Morley's firstborn, that gave him too much influence. Evocation enough to turn the entire mansion into rubble, that gave him too much power. Better to do this indirectly.
Greta had come to the right nephew.
He left the mojito and his aunt both at the table, made his way over to the knot of Lynwoods, Lucía chatting something high-level with Dara. She'd managed to fend off any other attempted interlocutors. Good. Close enough to privacy that it wouldn't all be eavesdropped over.
"Lucía, darling," Mickey said. "I've heard the most interesting news."
Lucía turned, but she didn't look at Mickey. Fixed her gaze instead on his bodyguard Xavier behind him. Deliberate.
"So have I," Lucía said.
Interesting. He'd have to find out what that was, but he didn't want to learn it from her. If she was willing to tell him, that meant she'd found some way to poison the telling. She had a grudge against Xav and Luke, seeing as they hadn't taken her bribes yet. Not like Mickey's last two bodyguards had.
"Oh, that," Mickey said, as if he knew exactly what she were talking about. "I'm supposed to be pretending I'm surprised when someone finally gets around to telling me properly. Don't spoil it for me."
She didn't respond right away. There. Good. He'd caught her off-guard.
"Anyway, I've heard something better," Mickey said. "Have you done inventory on the latest shipments yet?"
"Getting ready to steal some more?"
Mickey gave an irrepressible grin. "I would, yes, but someone else got to it before me."
"What do you want?"
Ah, yes. The best way to get her to believe what he was saying was to get her to believe there was something he wanted in exchange that wouldn't annoy her too much to give. And "helping Aunt Greta" probably would. Lucía had a grudge against the Holloways. Something about the mysterious chemical fire that had killed her mother... and destroyed her mother's Sight potion research with it. Mickey wasn't actually sure who had done it, but he had to agree that blaming the Holloways--whose status in the family was cemented by the Sight's rarity--was a sensible conclusion.
"Oh," he said, "just a free potion or two."
"Which?"
"I'll tell you the ones I want when it comes down to it." He'd ask Aunt Greta. She'd been needing some potions help lately, and would need more if what he'd stolen to help her drop her tail hadn't worked. "Come now, Lucía, don't you want to hear my news?"
"Fine. What?"
"He's like a bull in a china shop, you know. I'm surprised you didn't notice the signs already. I suppose he is in charge of guarding your shipments. Maybe he got a minion to be subtle for him."
Lucía paused a moment. Cocked her head, nodded to herself. And then her sharp, assessing gaze flicked down Mickey. Across the room, but not to Malachi. To Greta. Ah, should have mingled more before coming over here.
"No bargain," Lucía said, "but I'll handle it."
"No bargain?" Mickey asked.
"You're bringing this to me because you're too scared to take care of it yourself. That's not valuable. That's annoying."
"Fair enough. But you'll handle it?"
"It's probably glowcloud. I may not feel like benefiting you, but I also don't feel like waiting around while he puts us in danger."
"Got a plan?"
"Of course I have a plan. You're only afraid of Malachi because you don't know what he's addicted to."
"I knew you were the perfect enemy for this."
She didn't seem to take it as the stunning compliment it was. "In a few minutes, Malachi will leave. You, wait another 15 minutes, then go to the doctor's room. I'm sure you've recovered from enough hangovers there to know where it is. He should be out of it enough for you to pick his pocket."
Mickey bowed with a twirl of his hand, earned a sneer from her. "Pleasure doing business."
"Not really." She didn't bother with anything to end the conversation, just left, Dara in tow.
Mickey didn't follow the plan she gave him to the letter, of course. There was sure to be a trap in it. He left early. Early enough to bump into the family doctor along the way. A slip of his fingers into the doctor's dangling coat pocket, and he could practically feel the thrum of power in what he'd grabbed.
Had the doctor stolen the item off Malachi on his own, or had Lucía ordered him to do it? Given her whole "wait 15 minutes" nonsense, probably the latter. Timing it just right for Mickey to go into the doctor's office and find a Malachi shaking off whatever drug the doctor had given him. All to set Mickey up as the scapegoat for the pickpocketing. Cute.
So, Mickey never entered the doctor's office at all, nor took anything directly from Malachi. Just found the patio where Great-Aunt Greta was taking a smoke break, showed her what he'd taken off the doctor, and got the nod. Passed it off to Luke to secure somewhere safer, and got back to the ballroom in time for the main event. He wasn't surprised to find Lucía glaring daggers his way for coming back safe and sound.
Malachi returned, eventually, a sleepy pleasantness to his expression. Pupils dilated. Shirt sleeve rumpled. Mickey made mental notes, scratched a few more items off his list of what Lucía might have him on.
Fun for the whole family.
Mom came back after a while. That was the first sign that Godmother Magdalena would be here soon. Mom gave both Mickey and Greta an effusive greeting, complete with hugs. Meaning her talk with Magdalena had gone well. Grandma Ava even had an air of smug satisfaction about her. Great-Aunt Greta managed to puncture the mood with more skepticism about Mickey's chances, for all he'd just done a fantastic job of helping her out with the Malachi situation. Greta and Ava had a not-quite-argument, where they never said anything direct, but every word was barbed with some old sore spot between them. Ahh, sisters.
The first sign was the clack of a cane upon a wooden floor, conversations going silent in ripples. The whole room turning to face a single point.
Godmother Magdalena.
She had mottled skin and thinning white hair. Seen in a picture, she looked like she'd break a bone as soon as move. In person, one saw instead that iron grip on her raven-skull cane, that inexhaustible, steady gait, and the way those around her could not bring themselves to meet her eyes.
In other words, power.
Her gaze swept the room, landed brief enough on Greta to get Greta's affirming nod that all was well. When it passed over Mickey, he twirled his cane and showed off his best cocky confidence. Soon, he'd be the one up there, terrifying everyone into doing whatever he wanted. It would be fantastic.
Magdalena tapped the skull of her cane to her throat, cast the spell to make her voice louder. "You know why I've gathered you all here." There was a creak to that voice, these days, where once it had been clarion. She sat heavily in her snow-white chair, cane arrayed across her legs, and stared out at them all with unconcealed contempt. "I'm getting old. I haven't long left. I must choose a successor to lead us on a new path. Though, I have to say," she laughed, hoarse, "the old path's worked well for us so far."
"Hear, hear," Malachi said. He was doing terribly at concealing the giddiness in his voice. Was it just the drugs? Or did he really think he'd get this?
"But," Magdalena continued, "we have traditions. There will be a contest, to prove who's worthy. Just don't kill each other or any of our own for it. We've had enough death in the family." Which really meant, Don't get caught killing each other. "I'll name to each candidate what I want you to accomplish, and if you impress me... well, you'll have impressed this family, and you'll be the one leading us next."
He had this. He'd win this.
"Lucía, first, come here." Magdalena crooked a finger. Of course Lucía would be in the running. Charming she wasn't, but sharp, and maybe Magdalena thought Lucía's experience managing a laboratory full of backstabbing poisoners was good preparation for managing a mafia full of them. Made more sense than Malachi.
What Magdalena said instead was, "Always had a liking for the idea of having a woman succeed. Líns and the Woods, too, good bloodlines. Wouldn't be good enough if you weren't also a Morley, but here you are, bit of both."
Lucía approached, bowed. She said nothing in the face of Magdalena's near-insult. Smart woman.
"Lucía Qíngzhào Morley, of the Lynwoods." Magdalena lifted her raven-skull cane, tapped the beak to the center of Lucía's breastbone. "I give you the Test of the Raven."
Lucía took in and let out a shaky breath, then nodded. "I accept this test." Deepened her bow, then left back to the crowd.
"Malachi Justinian Morley," Magdalena called next. Seriously? "Solid blood, all Morley. And you've power, too. Come here."
Malachi swaggered forward, just barely pulling it in before he reached the old woman. High off his ass or no, he bowed exactly as far as protocol demanded, and no further.
Magdalena struck his breastbone with the foot of her cane, which was shaped like a hoof. "Test of the Bull for you, my boy."
Malachi grinned. "Gladly."
"There's a good lad." Magdalena smiled at him, a rare beneficence. Don't say she favored him for it. He'd be a mess.
But Malachi pulled himself upright without any sign of trouble and retreated to the crowd, to the congratulatory back-claps of his minions. Searched his pocket--Was he really trying to bring the glowcloud out now? Good thing Mickey'd had it stolen--and looked confused.
But no one was paying attention to Malachi any longer. For the next summoning, Magdalena's eyes flickered over to Mickey. Any moment now. He gave what passed for a relaxed nod. She met his eyes, gaze lingering long enough to make Aunt Greta next to him tense.
But then she passed on, to another family member, one Mickey hadn't thought was in the running.
"Xavier."
Lucía had known.
Xavier kept his face still, but Mickey could read the slowness of his response, the slight widening of his eyes. Either he was genuinely surprised, or he was better at acting than Mickey had given him credit for.
"Don't think I haven't noticed you, Xavier," Magdalena said, when he didn't come forward. "You're a bastard, but you've blood from our family. You've served loyal all your life, thinking you wouldn't get a thing from us, haven't you?"
The kindness in her voice did not suit her. This was a play, and if Xavier wasn't in on it, that meant it wasn't one meant to keep him alive and healthy. Or Mickey, either way, since it was his bodyguard being turned into a chess piece. Was Lucía behind this? Was that why she'd known?
Xavier's gaze slid from Lucía, to Malachi, to Mickey, and back to Magdalena. But, at the crook of Magdalena's finger, Xavier stepped forward. Bowed, lower than the others had. She tapped the cane to his shoulder, as if she were knighting him with tentacles that curled between raven's skull and bull's hoof. The tips of those tentacles uncurled just enough from the cane to caress his cheek. He stayed perfectly still. Not even a shiver.
"Test of the Kraken you've got, our bastard."
He rose just enough to bow again, then backed away. His face carefully blank. Mickey would have to figure Xavier out later, whether he was still an ally, or if he'd turned like everyone else Lucía bribed.
For now, Mickey returned his attention to Magdalena. Met her eyes in wordless speech. Even as the crowd began to mutter and mingle once more, since three was the usual number for the succession challenge.
The old woman crooked a finger. "Malcolm Godfrey Morley, of the Holloways."
There.
Mickey came up jaunty, tapping his cane along the ground. Stood before Magdalena and flourished a bow.
"We've never had a Holloway in the succession, have we?" Magdalena asked.
Mickey shook his head, knowing he wasn't to speak yet.
"But you're a Morley tried and true, aren't you?" Magdalena pressed. "You've earned it, to be a Morley, not a Holloway."
Did she have shit to imply about everyone's family that wasn't Malachi's? But Mickey simply dipped his head to acknowledge.
She stood, moving slow as if it pained her. "I'll give you a test, then, Morley."
Aunt Greta had been wrong. She was going to choose him. Saved the best for last.
The tentacles of Magdalena's cane uncurled to reveal a hitherto-hidden symbol, stretched long and forming the body of the cane. It squirmed in her hand. Struck Mickey in the chest, fangs puncturing to the left and right of his breastbone. Ow.
"To you, Malcolm Godfrey Morley, I give the Test of the Serpent."
He allowed the cane to unhook itself from his chest, giving it an absent stroke as if it were a pet instead of a deadly weapon. It was far less intimidating if you thought of it as cute.
He bowed. "I accept this honor." Looked up, dared meet Magdalena's eyes again. "You won't be disappointed."
Greta was always the last to leave, for her watch for magic did not end until every caster was gone. It was in that way she contrived a moment alone with Magdalena, to speak without witness.
"You promised no Holloway would succeed you," Greta said.
The old woman laughed, and it echoed eerie around the room, now that it was empty of family, all the marble left un-muffled. "He's a Morley, Greta. He acknowledged it himself."
"He has Holloway blood."
"He's only a quarter Holloway. The Holloways have married into so much of our line. You can't expect me to boot out every child with a drop from consideration. Think of the Holloways, what that would tell the others about your power. Ava's daughter Noraline talked to me about this herself. As did our young Malcolm."
"But they don't know--"
"And you're not going to tell them," Magdalena said. "Are you?"
Greta's mouth snapped shut as she felt the bonds of the oath she'd sworn to Magdalena strain around her. Not a word of the truth to those who couldn't already See it. Not a word, not a hint, not even leading a conversation in the right direction... She'd let herself be bound far too tight, and had not bound Magdalena near tight enough in turn. Perhaps Greta's brother Dorian had been the smart one, in refusing to take the oath. But then, his corpse had shown up not long after that refusal.
One in four. Those were the odds that Mickey won the succession.
That Mickey died.
Very well. Thairn and Illa wanted an introduction into this family, to wreak their havoc? Fine. She'd help, and not just to sate her life debt. No, she'd add yet another chain to her soul.
Thairn and Illa were going to keep Mickey from winning his own demise.
"It's you to whom I owe the debt," Greta said to Thea. They were seated in the back corner of a loud and busy bistro, the chatting customers and clatter of pots and pans from the open kitchen obscuring all conversation. No one could listen in--even the neighboring table would have trouble, because they'd found a partition to duck behind. "So, I'll pay it. I'll introduce you into the Morleys, not say a word about what you really are, try to hide you. I won't help you do whatever it is you're planning, but I won't try to stop you. That's worth my life, because if the family finds out the truth, they'll pin me up the same as they will if they find you."
"And if we wanted something in addition?" Thairn asked. "Say, an in on the Wingless?"
"Then I've a request to make," Greta answered, "and I'll do it in exchange."
"This should be interesting." Thairn propped her chin on her hand. "What is it, Greta, dear?" She twirled a straw in the water she wasn't drinking. Neither sip nor sup, not around Greta, even though the fae had been the one to pick the restaurant, even though the waiter had brought the water himself. Thairn had prodded around the meal with a fork enough to make it look eaten, and that was it.
"It's my grandnephew."
Thairn closed her eyes, seem to run it a minute through her head. "Malcolm Morley? Goes by 'Mickey'?"
Greta let out a tired laugh. "Got a file on all of us, I suppose."
"It is my job. So, what about Mickey?"
"That meeting today, it was Magdalena announcing her potential successors. And Mickey, he's on the list."
"Congratulations."
"None taken." Greta clenched her hand around her own untouched glass, let the cool calm her. "I want him to lose."
"Don't care for him?"
Greta shook her head. Did not answer, No, faerie. It's that I care for him far too much.
"Fair enough," Thairn said. "If I agree to help him to an early defeat, you'll get Ian into the Wingless."
"I will." Greta thought a moment, tensed. "Don't kill Mickey, or hurt him. I want him alive and whole and as well as he can be at the end of this."
"Then why don't you want him to win, I wonder?"
"Too dangerous."
Thairn caught the half-truth too readily. "Why is that?"
Greta tried a new tack. "You've seen my file, how little there is on it. It's why you were tracking me. We Holloways, we get by and stay alive by not making much of a splash, hanging in the background. Mickey gets the succession, he'll have a target painted on his back. He's already got one for entering the race. And so will the rest of the Holloways. We're a minority in the family. We get power, the whole structure might fall apart."
"Interesting take on it." Thairn tapped her straw. "I guess you'd know the family politics better than I. Very well. I agree. I will make good-faith efforts to protect your grandnephew Mickey from the dangers of succession--"
"--without killing or hurting him--"
"--without attempting to slay him or bring him grievous physical harm. In exchange, you will make good-faith efforts to aid Ian in infiltrating the Wingless in such a way that he can accomplish his goals therein."
"Agreed. I'll help Ian in, and I'll keep his secret."
"And check in on him."
"Fine."
"And get him out, if he needs."
"That's too much."
"Look, Greta. You want your grandnephew safe, and I want Ian safe. I'll go a lot further to keep yours in one piece if you'll do the same for mine."
It was a fairer bargain than Magdalena had wrought her. And even if it hadn't been, what could Greta do? Leave the boy to die?
"Very well. But I won't do Ian's job for him. If they find out I've betrayed them, they'll kill me, but they won't even do me the kindness of leaving me to rot in peace like a Morley would. They'll bring me back and lay another debt on my corpse. I won't have it."
"Accepted. Our bargain is made." Thairn was smiling like she'd won. Was there something in the bargain Greta had missed? Where had she gone awry?
At the end of all this, how much of her would belong to the fae?
At their next meeting, Thairn and Illa both took notes (coded, of course) and prodded Greta for as much information as possible so they could find their best route in. For Thairn, what seemed best was to infiltrate the Morleys pretending to be someone related to the school. A teacher, perhaps, or even a student. She could pass herself off fairly well for a teenager when needed. For Illa, it was less clear. The Wingless mostly recruited through "loans", new leases on life granted to those found dead. As Illa had no particular desire to die, and fae could not be raised as zombies, he'd need another way in.
There was a hint of a useful route in the file they'd built on the boss of the gang, Gabriel. He had tastes similar to Illa's, on the delivery end, and the dance club hid a secret dungeon that only took new members by introduction. With Greta's aid, he should be able to get an introduction and start from there. But it involved a headspace he wasn't sure it was wise to be in, not for an undercover mission when he'd need all his wits about him. He hadn't dared broach the idea to Thairn yet. They'd investigate the possibilities, decide on something.
Thairn put in the order for the glamours she wanted, got Greta a burner phone and set up another meeting to discuss further the identity Thairn had decided on. Then, it was to the higher-ups for documents. She had more to worry about than the glamour. It was clear that to get anywhere with the Morleys, one had to pretend to be a wizard. She had to be able to cast magic that looked like it wasn't fae and have a good excuse for anything she couldn't fake. An enchanted wand preloaded with some spell look-alikes at minimum. Not impossible, but difficult.
The one thing clear from all of this, which needed no further discussion to determine, was that their assignment to live together was over. It had barely been a few months, living in this place as Thea and Ian, pretending to be married, sleeping in the same bed. Only just starting to feel the radiance of joy at leaning against Thairn's thigh at breakfast, of taking her caresses at odd moments, of welcome pain and healing both. They'd begun to build something he'd never expected to find with her and had hoped to have for a couple of years until this assignment was over. And now, it was already over, and them to be parted.
Silly. They were betrothed. A brief reassignment wouldn't change that, wouldn't stop him from being stuck with her whether he wanted or not. But it felt too raw and new to separate. And she was being distant with him, perhaps because of that separation, perhaps because there was too much still unsaid from the Sleepless Dream. She let him lean against her knee at the desk, though, once he'd given up on the files for the night.
He took her hand where it lay absently stroking his cheek, placed it in his hair, where he didn't usually let her touch because he feared it would remind him too well of Shandra. And that wasn't a fear he'd lost, he'd had it in the waking nightmare, seeing Shandra's face in place of Thairn's. But it felt right to have her pet him, and he didn't care that it mixed him up inside, ran goosebumps down his skin, held him halfway between tension and relaxation.
Eventually, she left the chair, and kissed the top of his head, and then from there came down, draping herself over him in half an embrace. Hand still in his hair, her face pressed against his. He held up her weight, felt the moisture from her eyes and, with uncertain awkwardness, put his arms around her.
"Mine," she said, and it whispered warm into his ear, coiled around his neck like the collar he still ached for.
"Yours," he said, though he said it too soft for even himself to hear, and part of him panged in an unpleasant way at the word, remembering her in wedding makeup and marriage robes, nightmare made manifest. He supposed he should want it now, but what he really wanted was time away from everything they had to do until they could figure out what it was either of them wanted to be.
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