A Careful, Tender Offering

Quentin

Elochian’s cold fingers slide against my cheek, and his palm settles against my ear. The pads of his pointer and index fingers dig into my scalp, and his thumb sweeps across my temple once. His eyelashes are so long, thicker than any I’ve ever seen, and the tips of them turn gold under the rare sun. I find myself enraptured by them, by him.

He whispers, “I—I’d like to kiss you. Now. Would that be alright?”

I inhale sharply, and those watchful eyes darken in response. Can he hear my heart beating out of rhythm? With all my strength, I whisper back, “Y—yes, that would be alright.”

Elochian nods slowly once, and he stares at me like I’m a chess board or something. He studies my eyes, my lips, and farther down to my throat before coming back again. My fingers twitch, and I take his free hand. His fingers tremble, and I steady them in mine, bringing them between us. His hair lifts on a stray breeze, and a curtain of it falls forward, blanketing our joined hands. I remain as still as I can, afraid that this moment is a dream I’ll wake up from at any moment.

He leans closer, and his wings spread wide behind him. I’m distracted by them for a moment, they seem to grow not only in size, but color. Flashing through all the colors of the iridescent rainbow. The ink along his lower wings changes from black to gold in places, but I can’t pay attention because he’s right there.

I keep my eyes open as our noses brush, and Elochian does too. The aureate lines in his cheeks slash through the cold, alighting the small space between our faces. The light complexion on his face doesn't glow, but I don't care. His eyes are endless dark pools which beckon me into their syrupy depths. He exhales a shaky breath onto my lips, and for a moment we remain that way.

Breathing in the other.

His nose is cold against mine, and I find myself entering a meditative state, at peace with his face ever so close to mine. If nothing else, this moment would be enough to sustain me for the rest of my short life.

Elochian closes the distance, firmly pressing his lips against mine.  For a few seconds that’s all there is, mouths pressed together, lungs and hearts demanding more. 

More.

Ever so slowly, I tilt my head and deepen the kiss, slotting my lips between his. Elochian releases a small sound of content, a whisper of a moan that is nearly lost to the trembling of his wings.  He steals the air from my chest, and I go weak in the knees. He pulls me closer, keeping me grounded. His hand tightens around mine, whilst the other one curls into my hair. He does not offer me his tongue, and I do not seek it.

This is not a kiss of reckless abandon. It is not a kiss of desperation, or lust.

It is a kiss of promise. Of tentative hope, and the start of something new.

It is a careful, tender offering.

Elochian’s lips leave mine, and his forehead rests against my own.

He says, “Oh.”

I nod, chuckling breathlessly. “That was one hell of a kiss, sunshine.”

He smiles, and there’s a rare, wry curl to it. He leans back, rubbing my cheek. “Be ready at seven.”

I blink, disoriented by the feeling of his fingers slipping from my hair and his boldness. “Tonight?”

Elochian’s hand finally falls from my face, and my heart lurches in response. He says, “Yes, you made a very good point regarding our situation, and I must resolve it immediately. Unless you have plans …?” His wings droop, and I have to fight a laugh, struck with the idea of a pouting cat.

“No, I don’t have any plans. I’ll be ready with bells on.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Good.”

I stay on the island until Archeon arrives, and even then I don’t want to leave. It’s not that I don’t want to go home, or that I don’t want to see Elochian tonight. But it’s the first time I’ve felt protected since all this bullshit with River started, completely safe. I know I can’t hide forever, but it’s tempting. The gifts from Arlo are a comfort, at least.

A ring that can form a twenty-four hour shield which works against physical and magickal attacks.

A notebook that when activated, will dictate the events going on in the surrounding vicinity. It also has a code word that causes the thing to detonate. Because of course it does.

A pen charged with five offensive spells, charmed to work like a wand. It is my understanding that the attacks are similar to magick missiles, which increase in ferocity with each cast.

A small, wicked boot knife. There is no magick to it, but Arlo seemed to think having a blade on me would be a good idea. It only made me sick, but I didn’t complain, considering he’s right. There’s a partner to the blade, one that can strap to a small holster on my thigh. Why I would need one there is beyond me.

And lastly, a bottle of enchanted ink, should I decide to take him up on his offer.

I stand in the hallway and watch the Rook family gathered inside the den, having done my part by making introductions. I don’t know if it was because I expected Arlo and Archeon to go at it like feral cats or what, but the whole thing was kind of anti-climatic. They exchanged brooding hellos, and Arlo thanked the Teleth for coming.

Archeon had glanced at me and said, “Thank him, not me.”

Now, he and Felix sit together on the big couch, while Silas and Arlo watch them from the smaller one. Archeon, or Mr. Mochizuki as Felix says, reaches into his vest pocket and retrieves a small, glass jar. He opens it, overturning its contents onto the coffee table. Seashells. Marbles. Coins. Silver beads. Wooden buttons. Tiny scraps of fabric and odd bits of thread. Teeth. Bone fragments.

Archeon wrinkles his nose, chewing his gum with renewed conviction. The other witches lean forward, curious, especially Arlo. He didn’t have this when he was Felix’s age, a teacher. Then again … did he ever?

Archeon shifts his gaze to Felix, who snaps to attention. Archeon tilts his head, considering the boy. He says, “Tell me about yourself.”

Felix blinks. He glances over at Arlo, who says nothing, only nods. He clears his throat, looking between Archeon and the bits on the table. “I—I can feel what other people are feeling. I can hear them, sometimes. Lately I—I’ve been moving stuff. Not when I mean to, though. If I try, it’s—it doesn’t work.”

Archeon nods. “Right, but what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes. Who are you? Who is Felix Rook?”

Felix sighs, releasing a breath bigger than he is. He’s grown these past few months, both in height and meat on his bones, but he’s still a kid. Quietly, he says, “I am a human. A boy. A witch. A—a son. A friend. I like plants, and video games. I’m not as brave as I’d like to be.”

He reaches out to the table, then freezes, surprised at himself. Archeon gestures for him to go ahead, and he does. Felix picks up an old, worn disc that I belatedly recognize as a coin. He stares down at it, flipping it over in his fingers. “I’m powerful. I can feel it, trying to get out of my skin. It hurts sometimes, and it scares me.”

I straighten from the archway I’ve been leaning against, stomach dropping. I haven’t heard him talk like this before. Arlo takes Silas’ hand, which tells me maybe he hasn’t either, or he didn’t expect Felix to talk about it.

Archeon picks up a tooth, studying it in the same fashion Felix does with his coin. After a moment, he asks, “Because of the pain?”

Felix looks up from his coin, enclosing it in his hand.  “Pain? Pain doesn’t last. Power? People with great power aren’t—” His face twists, and he shakes his head. “I don’t want it. I’m afraid it’ll … ruin me.”

“It might.” Archeon hums. “Or, it could save you. Power doesn’t make you good or bad, it simply is. Given to someone with a heart like yours? I’d wager in this case it was a gift to the world, not a curse. You are the master of your magick, of your fear, of your life, Felix.”

Felix wipes at his eyes, sniffing. He nods, but says nothing.

Archeon sets the tooth down with far more care than necessary. “I will speak no more on this for today, besides this. It is my belief the core of your problems lie in the fact your head and heart are of two different minds, and only when the fear is cleared from between them can you take hold of your magick, bend to your will. I can teach you how to manifest and direct your power, I can teach you how to shield yourself from the world and all its input, but what I cannot do is change what is in your heart.”

He gestures to Felix’s hand. “Do you know what you hold there?”

Felix shakes his head, uncurling his fingers to reveal the coin in his palm.

“Close your eyes, and listen to it.”

Felix nervously glances at Arlo and Silas, which prompts Archeon to not quite startle, but it’s close. Almost like he forgot we were all there. Archeon waves dismissively at Arlo, and me. “Go on. Let us work. Silas, you can stay.”

Arlo’s knuckles pale as he holds onto Silas’ hand, but the younger witch doesn’t seem bothered. Glancing between Silas and Felix, he asks, “Alright then?”

Silas shrugs, and Felix nods. Excellent communicators, these two.

We leave them be, and Arlo slides the massive doors on rails closed, providing the big den with privacy. He paces down the main hall, and I follow him. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That … was not how I expected that to go.”

I push my glasses farther up my nose. “Do you agree with what he said?”

He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “I don’t think he’s wrong, and I wonder if it’s my fault.”

I take his hand, squeezing gently. “You’re scared of someone else, not yourself.”

He gives me a small, self-deprecating smile. “Who’s to say I’m not?”

The cafe is the same as I left it, right down to the fear tainting the atmosphere. To say I’m disappointed is an understatement. I couldn’t have this one thing to myself, could I? One small part of Levena that River hasn’t poisoned.

For late afternoon it’s busier than usual, and Helena stops me in a hurry before I can take off upstairs. She glances around before handing me a sheet of red paper covered in bold, black lettering. She says, “Some inspector came by this morning and left this on Arlo’s case, I think he was hoping to seize the inventory, but it’s been empty.”

“Oh,” I manage.

‘Due to a recent polinya outbreak, you must cease and desist all sale and manufacture of uninspected magickal items, including, but not limited to, transportation stones, potions, enchanted objects, elixirs, balms, and ink. Any and all items produced without inspection will be seized, and each one incurs a $150 fine.’

I look up at her. “What the hell is polinya?”

Helena’s lips push thin. “Apparently a plant, the raw pollen is poisonous to magickal creatures, and conveniently, the pollen is being found in witch establishments. It’s all over the news today.”

“Who brought this by?”

“A nasty older fellow. A human …” The vampire frowns. “Bernard, that was it. Bernard Key. He wasn’t too happy to find nothing to seize, and that Arlo wasn’t here. You can tell he was sniffing for trouble, for a fight. I tried calling Arlo after I managed to get the old cat out of here, but no answer.”

“Ah, he probably won’t be in today. But I’ll let him know. If anyone else bothers you, tell them to leave a card. You can always call me if you need to as well, but like you said,” I nod to the empty case, “it’s already empty.”

“I’d rather tell them to stick it where the sun doesn't shine.” Helena scoffs.

I smile in pained sympathy, then hesitantly say, “Be careful, okay?”

“Oh, Quentin.” Helena pulls me into a hug, squishing me to her bosom as she plants a big kiss on my forehead. “You too.”

Only when I retreat upstairs and close the apartment door behind me do I feel like I can breathe properly. I quickly research polinya, finding that it is a real thing, and many of the symptoms of poisoning are similar to celestial sickness. Well, that’s not suspicious at all. I create a group message explaining the unwanted visitor and polinya outbreak, and send it to Arlo, Tobias, Elochian, and reluctantly, Finnegan.

After that, I do my best to push thoughts of River, shitty people, and all my other worries aside. Just for a few hours, then I can fret on my own time. I’m going on a date with Elochian, something I’ve dreamed about, but never actually entertained. I spend the afternoon cleaning up my abandoned apartment, and myself. I even remember to drink water, and I pat myself on the back.

The thing is, I have no idea where he’s taking me, which makes getting ready a minor problem. For one, I can’t anticipate the chances of River finding us, and for two, I have no idea what the night calls for. I eventually video call Lindsey for advice when I have a pile of outfits pared down to three.

She answers on the second ring, snuggled up on her couch with strands of Kitt’s hair partially covering her cheek. Blue light dances across her tired face from the quietly chattering television. She whistles upon seeing my wet hair and bare chest, the towel wrapped around my hips. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, if I liked dick yours would be the first one I’d jump on.”

“Wow, just wow. Hello to you too.”

Kitt’s head tilts into view, temporarily blocking Lindsey’s face. “Ooh, where you going all sexy like?”

I roll my eyes. “Shut up. I need help picking out an outfit. A date appropriate outfit.”

Lindsey abruptly sits up, and Kitt releases a strained ‘what the fuck,’ as she’s thrown aside. “Holy Typhine, is it happening?”

I glare at her, but it’s rendered useless by a small, treacherous smile. “It’s happening.” Lindsey squeals, and Kitt hollers her approval as she leaves the room, presumably for snacks. I laugh. “I’m glad my love life is so amusing.”

“Months. Months of pain, Q.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The pining!”

I shake my head. “I’m going to hang up on you.”

“No you won’t, you need me too much.”

“Fine. Which one do you like the best?” I turn my camera around, showing her the options. Kitt’s face pokes into view, licorice between her lips. She makes a face, and Lindsey blinks. I groan. “What?”

“I thought you said you were going on a date, not a royal fucking wedding,” Kitt says, and Lindsey busts out laughing. My heart aches, and I realize how much I’ve missed the sound of it. When was the last time we hung out, just us?

“Very funny. He’s an archdemon! I’m sure we’ll be going somewhere fancy and formal.” I give the outfits another look, and grimace. “They are pretty over the top.”

“You’re thinking about this too hard. Has Elochian ever dressed like that a day in his life? Does Elochian like to do fancy and formal things?” Lindsey asks, stealing a strand of licorice from Kitt.

“Well, I don’t know about the first one, but the second one, no. I wish he would just tell me where we’re going!”

“Nah, this is way better. We get to watch you suffer.” Kitt teases, and I smile despite myself. “You know, on Lind’s birthday he was practically drooling over you. Wear something like that.”

“Ohh, yes. The come hither outfit,” Lindsey adds. I open my mouth, and she gives me a look. “Go with the come hither outfit. And you can’t deny that’s what it was.”

I drop the phone on my bed, giving them a good view of the ceiling. I stalk over to my closet, searching. “I’ll have you know, there will be no hithering.”

“Okay big man, when was the last time you had sex? Better yet, did you trim things up down there?” Kitt asks.

“It was that dancer, wasn’t it? Oh, what was his name … Elwin!” Lindsey exclaims before I can respond. “Yeah, that was before the Arlo era. Yikes.”

“Yikes? Good one, old lady. And I did not have an ‘Arlo era.’ Besides, it’s not going to be like that. We’re taking things slow.”

“He definitely did some grooming,” Kitt mutters, and Lindsey laughs.

“I hate both of you.”

I get dressed, using the time to build courage. As I fasten buttons, I clear my throat and say, “I’m thinking about telling him the truth. About what’s been going on with me. About … River.”

Lindsey and Kitt fall quiet, and they stay that way until I pick up the phone. Lindsey smiles at me, but it’s not as full as before. “I think you should. But tonight? Is that how you want to remember your first date with him?”

“No, I don’t … but I feel like I’m damaged goods, Linds. Shouldn’t he know?”

Kitt says, “You are not damaged goods,” at the same time Lindsey shouts, “Quentin!”

“It’s true! I literally have a stalker, and if Arlo is to be believed, he’s possessed by the actual worst person ever. What if—what if—” I can’t bring myself to finish that sentence, because what if River finds us tonight?

“Hey!” Lindsey calls, snapping me out of it. “You are not damaged goods because someone else is a fucking evil asshole. We all have problems, Quentin. Elochian has problems! Tonight isn’t about that, though. Tonight is about you two, the start of something new. Michael will be with you guys, right? They will keep you safe, and tomorrow, you can tell him.”

“Okay.” I sniff, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Words fall out of me in a rush, in fear they won’t make it out at all. “You’re right. I don’t know what I would do without you two. I miss you so much. Maybe … can we plan a movie night together? I miss that.”

Kitt smiles, and Lindsey curses me out while she wipes away her own tears. She says, “Tomorrow night. Popcorn and sprinkle chips, and all the details. Deal?”

I laugh. “Deal.”

I wait outside the locked up cafe, watching the world go by. It’s that time of night when the sun has retreated, but the moons haven’t made an appearance yet. The vehicular section of Garren Road boasts headlights upon headlights, people moving to and from their lives in a hurry, while the pedestrians move in a slower, more intentional manner. The trolley car goes by, all string lights and gentle music from a busking musician. 

It all makes for a romantic ambiance of the lamplit town, highlighting couples walking hand in hand, families making their way home together, stories of the day rolling off their tongues. Winter still has a chokehold on Levena, but there’s a shift in the air, an anticipation of new growth and the desire to be outside again.

Despite all of this, my heart won’t stop pounding out of my chest.

I hold on tight to the stone in my pocket, rubbing my thumb over its slightly rough surface. Ready to disappear at a moment’s notice, because what if?

What if Elochian finds me boring?

What if he changes his mind?

What if he realizes I’m only a human, nearly a tenth of his age, and I don’t belong in his world of age old, noble demons?

What if everything goes well, and River destroys everything?

I’m kicked out of my cyclical, acidic thoughts by the sight of Elochian striding towards me, seemingly out of nowhere. He’s alone, dressed in an outfit that renders me without a heartbeat. A black, double-layered overcoat brushes against his calves, which are clad in knee-high black leather boots. The coat is hemmed with thick golden thread and amber beads that seem to emanate their own light. The embroidery continues on the high collar, the thick fabric upturned and cocooning Elochian’s neck. Three layers of golden chains threaded with pearls drape over his shoulders at varying lengths, their origin hidden by the collar. More chains and pearls are hinted at beneath the overcoat, layered around his throat like necklaces, and around his waist like a loose belt.

He’s done something to his hair, it falls around his shoulders and elbows in big, loose curls that shine like ink beneath the lights of the city. Gold powder dusts his eyelids in a barely there fashion, and a thin line of kohl touches the corners of his eyes, ending in a fine, upwards curl. He didn’t hide the golden lines in his face, and they glow brighter as he approaches me. His wings too, they flutter and make a fuss, casting moving, luminescent rainbows on the sidewalk.

But none of this is what stops my heart.

Elochian can’t stop smiling, and he doesn’t look away from me to hide it.

Only when he stands before me and bows at the waist does my heart restart, kicked into action by a nervous laugh. “What are you doing?”

Elochian straightens, reaching for my hand. I offer it to him, and he kisses my wrist through a smile. When he lowers my hand from his lips, his fingers tangle with mine. He says, “Bowing to you. It’s a show of respect.”

“Maybe I should have asked about any weird demon dating rituals before this,” I say, teasing.

He winks at me. “Too late for that now.” Despite the fact he studied me every step of the way over here, his eyes roam up and down my figure. He brings the fingers of his free hand up to my throat, capturing the black lace of my collar between them. “You’re incredibly handsome tonight, Quentin. I was hoping you’d wear this.”

I smile, cheeks aching with it. “It’s one of my favorites.”

He squeezes my hand, then glances over his shoulder towards the street. “Are you ready? The next trolley will be here soon.”

“Oh, is that how you got here? Where’s Michael?”

“Yes, it was.” He grins, leading me towards the street. “And here I am thinking you were excited to go on a date with me, not my bodyguard.”

I roll my eyes, falling into step beside him. “Tell me he’s not around here somewhere.”

Elochian shrugs, then looks up to the sky. I follow his gaze, but it takes me a moment to discern what he’s looking at. A few lamplights down from us, a pigeon is perched on the peak of an iron post. I look at Elochian quickly. “No way.”

He laughs. “It’s one of their favorite guises, believe it or not.”

“That’s awesome.” I laugh too, and it overwhelms me for a moment. I wipe my eyes with my free hand, chuckling. “I’m never letting him live it down.”

Elochian is quiet, and I look over to find him staring at me, all evidence of his good humor gone. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, or feeling. I wonder if I should bring up the polinya thing, or anything else that’s beyond this moment, back in reality.

I don’t. Instead, I ask, “What?”

He shakes his head, and the corner of his lip curls upwards. “Nothing. Just … this is easier than I thought it would be. It’s easy to be with you.”

I flush at his words, and we come upon the trolley stop where a small group of people wait. I glance sideways at him. “I think it’s easy to be with you, too.”

After a few minutes of small talk, the trolley arrives. We go all the way to the back, sidling up close in a booth. Its an open air one, meaning the sides of the trolley are open, allowing passengers to get on and off easily, but a few of the more accessible booths have protective bars that prevent anyone from tumbling out.

Elochian sits on the outside, taking the brunt of the chill air as our journey begins, hand still firmly in mine. He says, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on one of these. I forgot how much I liked it.”

“They’re pretty handy. I like the ones that have—” A treant duo take up the small stage area in the front of the trolley, one has a guitar and the other an accordion. I grin wide at Elochian as they begin to play. “I like the ones that have buskers. They make the ride go by faster, and usually if I’m by myself, I’ll be taking notes or something, and I like to imagine it as a soundtrack. You can find inspiration everywhere on one of these things.”

“What do you mean?” Elochian asks, and I find inspiration right there in his eyes, wide and eternal as they swallow the warm string lights of the trolley.

But I don’t tell him that. I say, “Well, look out there.”

 I reach past him, pointing to Levena as it goes by, slow and easy. We’ve crossed into New Town, shaded by the illuminated canopy of Etz Hayim, surrounded by its saplings which are still twice the size of the great willows and pines at Arlo’s place. The saplings have been modernized by man, the same as Etz Hayim, acting as apartments complexes or office buildings. A few seconds pass before Elochian turns, as if he can’t bear to look away from me. Or that might just be the romantic atmosphere getting to my head.

When he finally does look, I point to the people on the rolling streets, then the cars as they pass the trolley. “All of those people have a story. They talk differently, walk differently, laugh differently. Some of them are alone, some of them have families the size of a small army. Some were born with everything, and some were born with nothing.

“And that’s only the people, not to mention where they live, where they shop, where they eat. There may be layers of overlap in how people live, shades of gray that connect them, but in the end, no one experience of the world is the same. You can only take so much from books and your memory when it comes to writing, for me, anyways. You have to look out there. Be in the world, if you can.”

He turns, staring at me with something like quiet awe. I shift in my seat, glancing at the musicians as they play a more whimsical tune. “What?”

Elochian says, “Nothing.”

I push my glasses up my nose, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

He turns away, but not before I catch a glimpse of something … something sad?

We don’t say anything for a little while after that, the air’s changed. It’s still comfortable, but all the things we haven’t said take up the small space between us. I think about what Lindsey said, and she’s probably right, but I feel like more than ever I need to come clean. When we go past the museum and hook a right past Full Moon Fields, I open my mouth.

But Elochian blurts out, “I think Thatch set us up.”

I rub at my collarbone, blinking at him. “W—what?”

He takes a deep breath, then fully turns in his seat and takes both my hands in his. He says, “After Thatch left, I … I remembered the first time that I saw him. It was—” He clears his throat, squeezing my hands. “It was the first anniversary of Bartholomew’s death. He was my shomer, the one I was matched with at birth. My painting, ‘Survivor’s Guilt,’ it’s about him. I—I wasn’t in a good place, it was the first time I had left the Manor since it happened.”

I absorb every emotion and sentiment he has to offer me, grateful to have earned his trust. When he falls quiet, his thumb rubs over the back of my hand, and he stares down at it. I allow him to have a moment before gently asking, “Where were you going?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but there. It had settled into my bones, that place. I didn’t realize how much until I was outside its walls. I went from drowning in a sea of people, to wandering the streets, lost and alone, the first time I had been so in a year. Looking back on it now, it’s a miracle I wasn’t taken out immediately. It was before I had Michael, and maybe if he was there I would’ve been paying attention to where I was going, but I wasn’t. I crashed into someone and fell on the stone. I scraped both my elbows, barely missed hitting my head. For so long, everything after that was hazy, all I was left with was a flash of red and a book. But then, I remembered.

“I remembered him running away, and I called after him. He stopped long enough to look over his shoulder, smiling. Not a big one, but a sly one that said, ‘I know something you don’t.’ And then he took off. I picked myself up, soaked in snow and mud, but because I’m curious, I started looking through the book, right there in the street. It was the filthiest thing I had ever read, and I couldn’t believe this man would just carry around a book like that!”

“Oh,” I say, cheeks heating. “Oh no.”

He laughs. “Yes, it was one of yours. The first spice trader book, a signed edition, at that. I was—I don’t know what I was going to do with it, certainly not keep it, but when I was finally found and dragged back home, the book had ended in my overcoat’s pocket, and eventually, on my shelf, where the rest of your books ended up as well.”

“Elochian, that’s—I don’t know what to say.” I pause, waiting for a memory of my own to resurface, because a signed edition? But nothing comes, no hidden traces of Thatch make themselves known. Hesitantly, I ask, “Does Arlo know?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the only person I’ve told.”

“Why … can I ask why you like them so much? My books? You’re not—I mean, it doesn’t seem like you’d be in it for the, uh. For the sex.”

Elochian laughs, quiet but seemingly never ending. Embarrassment has no place in my heart, because that laugh. I want to bottle it in a jar, keep it forever. I want to keep him forever, or what’s left of mine, that is.

“I can appreciate those parts, seeing how well-written they are,” he winks, shooting an arrow through my heart, “but you’re right. That’s not what hooked me. It was the characters. The … connection, despite everything. Despite their circumstances, despite who they were, despite what they had been through, these people were able to find love. I couldn’t envision myself loving anyone else, not like I loved him, but … what if? What if the end of my story wasn’t the end? And I think Thatch knew that, he knew you were my beginning. Maybe not, but … my life changed the day I found you.”

I sniff, blinking back tears. “That was beautiful.”

“And so are you,” he says, releasing one of my hands in favor of cupping my cheek. He wipes away warm tears from my cheek. “So are you.”

“Elochian, I—”

The intercom buzzes to life, announcing, “We have arrived at Absolute Corners, next stop; Brass Quarter.” I nearly ignore it and continue with my confession, as we’ve stopped a few times now to let off passengers, but Elochian stands and pulls me with him.

“This is our stop.”

“Here?” I ask, surprised. I’m more familiar with Absolute Corners than I care to admit, and the idea that Elochian might be too is … worrisome.

“Yes.” He steps down onto the cobblestone, helping me down beside him. I’m grateful for it, as my knee is pretty pissed off today. Besides, I’m happy to never get my hand back. My wariness must show, because Elochian starts to lead me down the street and says, “Trust me.”

“I do.”

His step falters for a moment, and he gives me a nervous smile. “You’re going to like this place. I promise.”

I chuckle, unwillingly disarmed. “I believe you.”

We make our way into the outskirts of the North End, which to the naked eye is ingenious and bizarre, to say the least. Shanties line the streetsides, multi-level and architecturally impossible, all rusted metal and worn tin. Pipes snake in one building and out another, and steam engines huff great clouds into the night. When the solar revolution came, the End opted to stick with what they knew, which is why you won’t find any panels or turbines here.

Droids and people spill out of dance halls, bars, and establishments that appear to the world as pretty inns, but I know better. The brothels on this side of town have dignity at least, and they treat their workers better than all the rest. I never minded this part of the End, it’s the far side that haunts me.

Across from an old time theater that I always wanted to visit but never did, is a great neon sign, a purple gash across the night. It declares the steel building beneath it, untouched by the usual age-old rust, as Primo’s. I stare at the place wistfully, but when we don’t walk past it, instead coming to a stop before two wide glass doors, I can’t help but smile wide at Elochian.

“This is where we’re going?”

He nods, staring at the storefront. “It looks busy … ” he murmurs.

I follow his gaze through big windows to where a crowd of people are gathered on the right side of the store. I’ve never known Elochian to care for a crowd, or be within a hundred feet of one. He meets my eyes again and puts on a brave smile.

“You got me, right?”

I squeeze his hand. “Always, sunshine.”

That makes him laugh, and his wings calm down. “Thanks, Dot.” He looks down to our hands, then back up to my face. “I seem to have a problem with letting you go.”

I shrug. “I don’t mind.”

He takes a step towards the store, then halts and looks at me askance. “Are we—shall I introduce you as my … boyfriend?”

I’ve perished. Right there, absolutely done. My heart swells, and I lick my lips in an attempt to hide my smile. Gods my face hurts, have I even stopped?

“I’d like that. W–would you?”

“Yes.” Elochian nods, then leads me inside without another word, oblivious to the fact I’m overrun with happiness and excitement.

When he opens the door, beautiful music and happy conversation spills over the threshold. His wings tense, but he doesn’t hesitate, making a beeline for the cashier’s counter at the back of the store. But I’m slow and distracted, so Elochian stops in a narrow aisle between two display cases full of vinyls, ready for perusal.

He looks around, slowly taking it in like I do. After a moment, he whispers, “It is pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

“Amazing is an understatement.”

To the left is a reading area, furnished with mismatched couches and chairs, accompanied by bookshelves, magazine racks, and a coffee bar. Rows upon rows of records dominate the center of the store, and the right side of the room is—oh, it’s wonderful.

A small stage is nestled into the front corner, complete with a keyboard, an upright piano, a cello, a bass, and several guitars. Behind them all, an old drum set keeps watch over the small crowd at the other end of the space, some sit while others stand on the fringes. Half the instruments have companions, while the other half cry for a musician to bring forth their song, including the drum set.

And the walls, the ceiling. Algae bulb chandeliers hang in the open space, and between them a number of instruments dangle in various states of distress. Some are brand new, while others are no more than a loose collection of strings and wood. The less battle-weary pieces rest on the walls, and beside them are framed articles or photographs of the musicians who once played them. It’s one of those places that you could visit a hundred times, and still not see everything.

“I never want to leave,” I say to Elochian, and his smile widens.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

I follow him more willingly this time, but am disappointed when Elochian’s hand finally leaves mine. A tall, thickset shedim with silver skin and the eyes to match beams upon seeing Elochian, and he comes round the counter to pull him into a hug. “Ai, Elochian!”

Elochian freezes for a moment, then hugs him back. It goes on for a good thirty seconds before the man pulls back, smiling wide at a now blushing Elochian. “And who’s this?” He reaches for me, but when our hands connect I find it’s not a handshake he was after, and I receive the biggest hug I’ve ever had. My back cracks from my hips to my neck, and I fight a groan of relief.

I find myself smiling after my feet touch the ground, cheeks warm.

Elochian chuckles, gesturing between us. “Primo, this is my boyfriend, Quentin Matsdotter. Quentin, this is Primo.”

“Oh, dear Elochian.” Primo claps his hands once, his smile broad. “This is good news, how long have you two been an item?”

I share an awkward look with Elochian, who curls a lock of hair around his finger like it’s his job. I say, “Tonight’s our first date, actually, but we’ve been friends for a few months now.”

Primo stares down fondly at Elochian, and something unsaid passes between them. “Well isn’t that sweet.” His gaze slides to me, glinting like steel. “Tell me Quentin, do you play anything?”

I shrug. “I’ve been known to beat the skins a time or two.”

Elochian’s face screws up, but Primo laughs. He says, “Is that so? Well, come on then. Let’s go make some music.” He slings an arm around my shoulder, ruffling my hair a little like we’re old friends. I glance over my shoulder at Elochian, who hides a wide smile behind his hand.