by Amanda Milo
Immediately, they obey.
Fuuuck, that feels good. A grin stretches my still slightly fear-stiff face. “Ahh, THE POWER. I love it.”
I needed it. “Thanks guys.”
Panic dissipated, I pick out a familiar face. “Jonohkada, hey! Hi! I need help.”
Boots clomp, shoulders and wings nudge each other as they start to crowd forward and my anxiety ramps up until I snarl, “Last time I warn you—back off!”
They slink back, except for Jonohkada. “Do you sew?”
“Yes...” he says with a little confusion, and a lot of hope.
I take a step towards him, and the crowd steps swiftly out of my way, and all's right with the world—I love this. I might start showing up here to cow these guys every day I feel like I need a power boost. “Can you teach me? Please?”
“I…”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting.
His clamped wings snap high behind his shoulders. “I would love to try.”
I point to him. “That’s the answer. Good man. When can we start?”
He glances to his compatriots, who look just as thrown. “Is now a good time?”
“You bet your arse it is. You’re giving all the right answers today. You get a Hob Snack.”
A hopeful heat lights his eyes, and I can tell he’s trying to imagine all the kinds of rewards that could be called hob snacks. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s totally innocent, like the Earthen fictional treat that Scooby earns.”
“Skoobeee?”
“I like the way you say your new nickname. Let’s go, boy.”
Alien sewing machines are fantastic. I could sew silk Tulle to armadillo hide—not that I have any reason or need—or the armadillo, as it happens (which is fine: who wants to risk leprosy anyway?)—but the equipment works on both delicate and rugged fabrics and overlock stitches?
Done deal. It’s sweet. So much better than the machines I worked with in school. No snags, no malfunction, no struggle. Just hit a button and the machine pounds out utter perfection.
Which is how I end up whipping together my first entirely-self-created piece and subsequently needing to find a sewing form victim.
I spare the hobs only because this won’t fit them.
Not entirely true… I also spared them because I’m afraid I’ll get nervous touching them, and that’s not how I want to roll. I have no such concerns about my friends. “Hold still or I’ll stab you in the boob with this pin,” I warn Angie for the second time.
Arokh growls softly from the corner.
“Doesn’t he have alien things to attend to?” I ask conversationally.
“He doesn’t trust you with me,” Angie says as if I’m daft. “Imagine that, right?”
I yank on the side cinches to… well, cinch them down. “You look way cooler in this than I thought you would.”
She laughs. “You are such a—”
“Allow me to rephrase,” I say as I stuff a cookie into her mouth. That was how I got her: I have a stash of chocolate chip cookies. “You look way cooler in this than I even thought you would.”
She narrows one eye at me, as if she’s not sure I’m being sincere. I release an aggrieved sigh. “I wouldn’t have searched you out—”
“Hunfed meef dow yoo meen,” she says around cookie.
“If I hadn’t known you’d rock my outfit.”
She pauses her chewing before narrowing both eyes and swallowing in one gulp. “You mean that.”
I gesture to what she’s rocking. “Yeah. I make cool shit. Now. You ready?”
“For what?”
I cinch down the other side’s straps and when she gasps, she creates enough space I’m able to tighten them even more. “Nice!” I tell her. “Great job.” I snap my fingers so my hob helper will hold up the mirror.
Angie stops struggling when she sees herself. She really does look awesome.
I ask, “How’s it feel?”
“Tight,” she squeaks.
“Perfect.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be. And it looks cool.”
She nods once then turns a little purple. “Gracie, I can’t breathe,” she gasps.
“Bitching is unbecoming of a lady,” I pretend to inform her primly—but I’m already unhitching her from this harness of ribcage hell.
Plus, Arokh is headed our way and I can tell from the thundercloud expression that he’s about to stop all my fun and take away my only very slightly unwilling dress up doll. Now I’m going to have to go to the trouble of hunting down another one and my supply of cookies as bait has dwindled significantly. At this rate, I’ll be out of said bait before my outfit is completely fitted.
I need to find a woman who doesn’t have a super overprotective alien.
As Angie is rescued from my clutches, I squeeze my tacky ball to help me think.
Then I grin. “Hey, have you seen Mandi around anywhere?”
***
Decked out in my new outfit, I lead Angie, Callie, Laura, Beth, all their males, and Mandi, who’s sporting a few pinholes—as well as a belly full of the last of my cookies, because I deliver as promised—to what looks like the edge of a cliff.
It’s really the rock wall of a crater.
Purple rock gradiates to a buttery yellow, sandstonesque-colored layer before it burns to a bold blood red. The basin of the crater is this scarlet color, but it’s coated with a fine dusting of mauve—the effect of purple dust and yellow dust mixing, if I had to take a guess.
“So this is where they get all the pretty stones,” Beth muses.
One of her Na’rith husbands is scoping out the area like he really, really likes the product he sees.
She tugs him down to her reach and covers his eyes.
“Yep, you’re right. Observing is fun,” I admit to Dohrein.
“I left my observatory to spend time with you,” he declares as we start down the very wide steps that will take us to the basin—and this is a declaration. He gets four steps past me when he turns back to see why I stopped. I reach out and reel his face in so I can kiss him.
Falling into step with him again, I take the opportunity to ask something that’s been nagging at me. “Everybody goes all deeply and solemnly respectful whenever they refer to this quarry boss. What do we call him? Besides The Quarry Master—which, admittedly, is a cool job title, but what's his name?”
“Bubashuu.”
I laugh. “Man, this is too good.”
Dohrein gives me a perplexed look, so I turn to Crispin and Laura, who are walking right beside us. “Does his name sound like boob issue to you too?”
Laura winces. “Oh no, you didn’t just put that in my head.”
I shrug. “Look, I’m not the one that did that to a kid, geez.”
“Well to be fair, they didn’t know about our language.”
“Oh, I know. Still going to give him shit about it. It’ll bond us.”
Dohrein skids to a halt, veins of normally dormant red color snaking across his wings.
I grab his collar and tug him to me—this time so I can peck a kiss on his ear before I blow into it. “Not that kind of bond. Chill.”
I freeze when a voice from below me says, “It’s Bubashuu, actually.”
I send a wide-eyed look up at Dohrein, who, come on, had to have heard, smelled or even seen—he’s a hob, he’s got raptor-sharp eyesight—this big arse Rakhii waiting down here for us. “Don’t shake your head at me! Shame on you.”
His eyes bug. “On me?”
“Yeah!” I turn to Bubashuu and inform him: “This one’s supposed to be keeping a leash on me. We have to cut him some slack. I’m his first psycho girlfriend-mate.”
“My only.” Dohrein sounds totally firm on this.
I make other things firm by squeezing his dick through his well fitted pants. “Damn straight.”
Bubashuu picks up a red rock that could stunt double in the next JP movie as the biggest dino egg ever foun
d, and hurls it to the side.
I experience a rare moment where my mouth has no more smartarse things to say and shuts itself.
Both of his arms have more muscle wrapped around them than I am thick and I find it a powerful motivator to pay close attention. To his words, I mean. Not his arms. He just threatened me by throwing The Stone of Scone’s weight equivalent—
Fine. Maybe a little of my attention is spent on his muscles. In my defense, they have me captivated because I’m only daft, not dead.
He jerks his chin at the canyon. “You want your hand in what will be built?”
I purse my lips. “The way you worded that leaves it open to disturbing interpretation.”
His tail flicks.
He doesn’t smile.
Behind my back, I open my hand. Dohrein presses his wing talon into it.
Because he’s the fucking best.
Bash points to the red rock he threw down. “The rocks you collect go there until the wagon arrives.”
We promptly nod like bobbleheads.
Seeming satisfied, he opens his claws at me, waiting for my sketchbook. “Show me what you want my crew to build.”
I hand over said sketchbook with all its town square and building diagrams, and I point to the back pages. “All that and I want a castle. A real castle.”
He shrugs like that’s a given with princesses. “That’s what rock is for. Where do you want your castle built?”
“The highcliffs. And the village not far from there. Maybe three kilometers.” We’ll be within easy enough walking or flying distance, but still have our privacy and quiet even if the town gets bustling and loud.
“How many miles is that again?” Angie asks.
Bubashuu looks between us. “Kill-what? Miles?” he snorts fire. “Tevek that. We do this my way.”
I snort… just air. “Typical Rakhii.”
Bubashuu picks up another rock and hurls it. Slowly, his ears swivel forward before he pins me with a look.
I hold up my hands. “Did it sound like I was talking? I was not. That was a mistake.”
His spines flick.
I don’t know him well enough to know if this is a good or bad thing but his voice might sound cheerful or at least less deadly when he says, “I’m glad you’re aware of that, princess. Rocks are over there. Get started.”
I send Dohrein wide eyes. “Let’s do what the alien says.”
Rein’s wing presses into my lower back, guiding me well away from Bubashuu to get started. “A sound plan.”
CHAPTER 27
GRACIE
Outfitted in smocks and thick alien-leather gloves, us humans collect and carry the biggest rocks we can manage—Bubashuu refers to this size as pebbles—meanswhile the rest of the aliens around us make it look like they’re reenacting the building of the pyramids with the slabs of earth they’re able to pick up and haul off with. By themselves. With their bare hands.
Gobstoppers, you do not want to make these aliens mad. I know this. It’s just that although my hands are busy, my mind is bored.
Boredom: a dangerous state where I make questionable decisions and say even more questionable things. “Hey, Z! Got anything under your sleeves today?”
Of course he’s wearing Callie’s thongs. Angie snickers as Callie raises her eyes to the sky.
I pat the air near her shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with a man who likes to wear women’s underwear, right? We don’t judge here.”
Callie groans into her hands. “I’m sorry I ever told you.”
“Nah. It’s given me so much material to work with. Of course, it’d be more fun if your creature felt even a lick of shame over it, but he has no idea it’s abnormal. What’s more? He wouldn’t care if he did.”
“I’d have thought you of all people would admire that.”
“Oh, I do!” I nod. “Still gonna give him shite about it—you know, if I could. I’m not a quitter, I have to try.”
“You really don’t,” she mumbles as Zadeon rolls his sleeve down carefully, making sure he doesn’t snag his claws on the lacy confection he’s proudly sporting.
“You have the prettiest knickers, Z.”
Reading my lips easily, and knowing I’m a bit of a shit-stirrer but liking me enough to play along anyway, Zadeon’s tail gives a tiny, puckish wave as he dead-pans, “Thank you. My mate gifts me with the prettiest panties.”
He enjoys teasing Callie as much as I do. Callie groans again and buries her face into his arm—not the one with her undies, it’s like she’s unconsciously avoiding them or something—and Zadeon wraps her in a hug, with Baskian silently enjoying the hug as he’s squeezed between them.
Callie’s got him fitted with a light mesh netting that attaches to the baby harness she’s wearing. It keeps dust and dirt out so that she can do some light pebble-picking duty in this project.
Beth does not have this, so her baby girl is spending the day with some of her dads elsewhere from this action. The Na’riths sure have enjoyed their all-day passes to this planet. There’s a lot of product here that you apparently can’t find just any old place, and they’ve now got exclusive access—and they’re charging customers for the privilege.
It’s ironic that their union to an average little human got them a golden ticket to alien royalty. They’ve got to be thanking their lucky stars.
Laura drops a nice sized rock down on a pile of other rocks. “You could call the rock guy Boo for short.”
I reel back. “Boo? This bloke cuts through stone for a living. STONE. Even I wouldn’t dare call him Boo.”
“Wise,” he says from beside us.
I turn a glare on Laura. “This one bears watching. He needs antler bells. Otherwise, I'm not going to survive this project.”
“You could if you’d just behave.”
“I’m not going to survive this project,” I reiterate.
Mandi contributes to our rock pile, adding another decent-sizer. “So,” she puffs and sits down on a special rock: her silent kittycat dropped this one not a moment ago and sent her a significant look before he prowled away. Mandi’s been on her best behavior since the beat-down, so she’s not bad to be around. Plus, she gets pink-cheeked and nervous whenever her cat gets close, and I eat up every interaction I catch.
I do wonder why her alien cat doesn’t get closer to her. It makes me curious. I want to know more. I want to stare at them every time they get into each other’s gravitational field.
I get it Dohrein. People-alien-watching is FUN.
“What does a marine biologist do?”
I dust my arms off. “Agonize over student loan interest rates.”
“No really. What the heck did you do?”
Dived. Reveled in an entirely different place…
At the time, I called it a beautiful alien world. Now I know better. Oceans are alien, and I’ve had my fill of them—fucking literally. “I worked for an aquaculture facility.”
“Your what hurts?”
“Ha ha, smartarse. We raised fish and coral, and there was also a team of divers employed by the company to hand collect rare ocean specimens. That was my job.”
It had taken forever to get to that point. For a long time, I regretted busting my arse and racking up a mountain of debt with nothing to show for it, because it took a whole lot of Ramen-years before I clawed my way up to a position that actually dealt directly with aquaria.
“I also raised little captive bred beauties on the side. Clownfish, pipefish, you name it. I loved it.”
Laura hesitantly interjects, “It was your haddock and sole?”
I stare at her.
I burst out laughing. “That’s fucking funny!”
Beth looks between us. “What am I missing?”
“They’re fish. It’s punny,” Laura says with a soft, geeky grin.
Mandi’s watching me closely. “Do you miss it?”
I miss enjoying it. It feels like a lifetime ago.
It feels like another life. S
omeone else’s life. Now, even the thought of being surrounded by water makes me sweat… “Not a fucking bit. Let’s build shit with rocks and ruffles from now on, okay?”
For hours, we lift our pebble-boulders right beside Rakhii, hobs, Na’riths, and assorted other aliens.
It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen us. Stimulation. The humans have been as bored as Hotahn’s kids all cooped up inside the compound with no purpose.
Speaking of the Rakhii: Hotahn and Doc show up with Levi and Cricket, and Cricket wants to help so they set her up fetching water, which she does like a little boss. “You’re doing frickin’ great,” I tell her.
When she gives me the You said a bad word expression, I throw up my hands. “Can’t I say frickin’?”
Cricket puts on a thoughtful face.
I ruffle her hair. “Kid, if you have to think about it, just give it to me.”
When we break for lunch, we wolf down food with a silent, single-minded focus, but afterward we find out that we needn’t have rushed: it’s customary to wait out the worst of the heat before returning to work.
So we settle back and get chatty as we loll in the shade and digest. Girl talk inevitably starts up, and Hotahn saves tender ears by hustling the kids off to view the massive crater that is the quarry from one of the high walls’ vantage points.
“Is hob spunk sparkly?” Beth asks, and I’m not sure if she’s addressing me, or Laura, but when Laura gives everyone a look like a deer caught in oncoming headlights, I answer the question. “Yes, boys and girls, like everything Gryfala are obsessed with: hob cocksnot is glittery.”
Mandi’s lips part. “Cock… snot…” she chirps a shocked giggle, stumbling a little she’s starting to laugh so hard.
“But flavored like s’mores?” Callie teases.
“Nope, tastes like Key lime.”
It was the first thing that popped into my head, and I wish to fuck it wasn’t, but now I’m committed to seeing this out.
Angie stares in shock. “Not cool.”
Laura looks adorably confused. Enough that she speaks up. “Why?”
Angie looks around at us as we stare at her. “I mean, what if you don’t like Key lime?”
Arokh’s posture relaxes a fraction and I whoop, realizing that for a second there, he was worried about his sweets-craving mate.
