by Kaplan, EM
"What did you do to me?" he wondered out loud. "I'm taller."
"I don't know," Mel said shrugging, biting into a chunk of bread. "Maybe you're just standing up straighter. You were kind of slouching when I got here. You know, hunched over." She demonstrated. Very distracting.
He held up his dirty old shirt from where he'd discarded it in a pile on the floor. "Look, the sleeves are too short."
"Maybe they shrank. From the grime. Sweat. You know, man detritus."
"And the pants, too?" he said, holding them against his body. The bottom of the legs were above his ankles.
She said through a mouthful, "They're not exactly lying smoothly."
He looked down again and saw the pants were tenting outrageously at his groin. "Definitely your fault," he said, tossing them aside, reaching for her, no longer caring about his altered appearance.
She said with a drowsy smile, "We're never leaving this room, are we?"
He looked around and noticed it was nighttime. He wondered where Rob had gone. And wondered how to broach the subject of the Mask delegation with Mel. He still got a shiver up his spine thinking about them, never mind her with them. He didn’t want them anywhere near here. He turned on his side and found she was eying him, as if reading his mind and deciding which parts of his insanity to address first.
Could she do that—read his mind?
"What it comes down to, basically," she said, apropos of nothing other than his thoughts, "is that your friend Rob wants to continue with the plans for sending a delegation of negotiators to the creatures despite what his father wants."
Ott sat up quickly. "You can do that? You can read my mind?!"
She patted his leg soothingly. "Heal myself, yes. Change my hair color, yes. Make you . . . taller, yes, apparently that, too. Read your mind, probably not for another fifteen years. It's not your mind, Ott. It's your face." She gave him a sly smile, and he thought, feeling some silliness, she loves me. Then she continued, somberly, "I think that you and I both need to go with them. With the delegation to the mine."
At that, his mind clamped down. The thought of her near the trogs nearly made him lose all the food in his stomach, though oddly, his vision remained red-free. His skin still crawled. Thoughts of the pickled head they'd brought back with them to Rob's father crossed his mind. He knew what it took to destroy just one of the beasts. They were savages. Monsters. If they got her . . .
"My mother is a healer," Mel said, once again throwing him off his train of thought. She seemed to have a knack for doing that. Or maybe his thoughts weren't as single-tracked and steadfast as he liked to believe. Then, a quake went through his mind.
"Your mother is . . . a Mask?" Somehow, he couldn't imagine it. A faceless, cloaked thing feeding a baby. Bathing it. Clothing it. Rocking it to sleep at night. Lutra on a spit. Did they even do those things?
Then, another kick in the gut. "My mother and father are here with me."
Suddenly it struck him who the three cloaked figures had been—Mel and her parents. Ott swallowed this new piece of information about as easily as gulping down his own tongue. Same effect, apparently. He sat, while his mind flipped over one hundred and one useless thoughts, unable to speak. Was he going to have to approach them with an offer of marriage for their daughter? It was the traditional thing to do among his people. Good gods, maybe they didn't even have marriage among Masks. The thought of not being with Mel, and her alone, made the red tint flood back into his vision. His heart pounded. He ran a hand across his forehead and discovered that a sweat had broken out. His breathing ramped up and his chest squeezed enough that he feared apoplexy.
She knocked on his forehead not too gently with her knuckles. "Hello in there?" And when he met her eyes, she said, "Yes. That's right. It's me. The girl in your lap. Yes? Hi? You remember me?"
"Damn," he said, trying to breathe slower and rein in the panic. "I'm going to have to meet your parents, aren't I?" He wasn't sure which was more anxiety-causing, the fact that they were Masks or that they were the parents of a woman he'd just been with. For hours. Of all the girls he'd romanced, he'd never had a situation like this: one in which he needed to charm the mother and father. A wooing situation in which he actually cared about the outcome. He didn't think he had enough charm or luck to win over a thousand faceless Masks, never mind her parents.
"Breathe, Ott," she said stroking his face with her fingertips. She gently pressed her fingertips into the spaces under his cheekbones, and suddenly the panic seeped out of him. His breathing slowed down, and the red receded again from his vision.
He sighed, contentment flooding into the space left by what she had taken away. "I think you may be good for me."
"You think so?" Her words were serious, but her smile was sweet. "And anyway," she went on as if his attack had never happened, "You need to meet my mother and father if you'll be going with us. My parents already know what is transpiring between you and me. They know I'm here with you now."
He sat up again, this time taking her with him. "How do they know? They're not . . . witnessing any of this . . . in any way, are they?" He waved his fingers vaguely at his temple, miming some kind of mental ability that he didn't know what to name.
She shook her head. "No. I told them I was coming to you."
"They didn't mind?" He looked at her closely. Something crossed her face. Regret? Sadness? Then she gave him a smile that knocked him flat.
"It wasn't their choice to make," she said simply. And as she leaned in to kiss him, she added, "And for me, there was no choice at all."
Chapter 39
Across the fields, Rob woke up before the dawn wondering what his choices were. He fought the urge to pace, certain the floors of the battered old house would squeak, and he didn't want to wake Jenny. She lay curled on her side next to him in the blankets while he sat next to her propped against the headboard. In the dark, he listened to the soft sounds of her breathing and wondered at the abrupt change of fortune that had brought him here. He resisted also the urge to stroke the dark curls of her hair, touch her skin, and wake her. Just to make sure this was real and not another one of his thousands of dreams.
Colubrid, snake god of his father, though never merciful, be merciful now. Make this be not a dream.
Though, he had never seen the inside of Jenny's bedroom before, so surely it was not a dream. She seemed to like purple, he noted, almost excessively. His Jenny. The rush of sensation those two simple words together brought him was almost overwhelming, so intense that he had to push the thought away and approach it slowly, taking it out little by little. It took his breath away every time. He didn't trust it to be real. Yet, here he was with her now.
Her hand shot out and stroked his side. "Hold me, you lout. Before we both wake up," her voice, luxurious with sleep and desire, commanded. A hoarse chuckle escaped him as he moved toward her and took her in his arms.
The night before, he'd hardly finished meeting with the Masks at the house before he had thrown on his coat and boots, climbed the snow-covered hill, and gone across the field toward her house. The sun had been up and her boys still awake when he'd arrived. Whatever they thought of his presence still in their sitting room when they'd finally settled down and gone to sleep, they didn't say anything about it. Maybe they figured that because Ott wasn't there, he was looking after them. Whatever the case, he would never forget the feeling of banking the fire in the sitting room and then being led by Jenny in the darkness to sleep beside her in her room. Her room. How many times had he wondered what it would be like?
She kissed him with a soft gasp.
What seemed like a few minutes later, though he must have fallen back asleep, Rob heard heavy footsteps pound up the front steps. The front door was thrown open, and the footsteps came into the sitting room. He jumped out of bed with a curse and punched his legs into his outer, long pants, not bothering to tie them up tightly at the waist before he threw open the door to Jenny's bedroom and flew into the sitting room. He hea
rd Jenny stir, get out of bed. He wanted to keep her behind him, keep her safe, but the door had swung wide open behind him, so he did the best he could by blocking her with his body.
The sun was up now, and whoever it was now standing just inside the house had left the door open behind him. All Rob could see was the outline of a huge male with the light behind him. The man wore boots just like Rob owned. A blast of chilly air followed him in from outside, and then another person came in—a smaller figure, a female who was more tentative.
Rob tensed and crouched low, ready to defend. He scanned the room for a weapon but found only the metal poker by the fireplace. It would have to do. He could reach it in a couple quick steps. Jenny stepped out of the bedroom around him, and he moved to block her, but she was faster. And she was armed with a homemade pipe gun. Squinting into the sunlight at the intruder, she planted herself next to him on the side that was closer to the boys' room, just as their door open to reveal a sleepy-eyed Jamie. Her youngest boy took one look at Rob, then the intruders, and squealed with delight, pitching himself at the huge figure . . . who caught the boy up and swung him around.
Chapter 40
Rob froze in confusion, but Jenny lowered her gun and shouted, "You stupid mutt, I could have killed you!" She tucked the gun back inside her room by the door, and then tightened the belt of the robe around her. Rob frowned. The female behind Ott came in, closing the door behind her. Sudden relief from the angled sunlight brought them into focus. Ott. And, gods, his girl from the Keep. Not dead after all, apparently, Rob thought with some surprise. And where the hell had she come from in this weather? Surely not the mines. Then, staring at her, he realized she was the Mask girl, the one with the uncovered head. Ott locked fingers with the girl and brought her next to him, balancing his little nephew in the crook of his other arm. He didn't seem likely to let the girl's hand go any time soon, especially the way he kept throwing his gaze toward her. Rob knew the feeling.
"Great goddess apart," Jenny said on an exhalation. "You're lovely." She was staring at her brother's girl, mouth slightly agape. Ott did the introductions, dusting off manners they hadn't seen in a while.
"Glad to see you’re alive and well," Rob told Mel with a little bite to his voice. The girl blanched and gave what seemed to be an apologetic shrug. Rob should have brushed it off, but he knew how much his friend had suffered and, in fact, how much he had suffered along with Ott. It was hard to let go of the bitterness so suddenly, despite how well Ott was looking. Apparently, the two of them must have done a little healing together, he thought with an inward snort.
But Jenny took Mel aside to the kitchen, where she was starting breakfast for her clamoring boys, the two older of whom had by now tumbled out of their beds and joined their little brother. The two women's heads were together in a way that made Rob a little nervous. Ridiculous, he thought, still feeling hesitant about his new . . . understanding with Jenny. Gods, he hoped it was more than temporary for her. It would kill him if she grew tired of him. He couldn't bear to think about it, and pushed it out of his mind, as he was so good at doing when things made him uncomfortable. But he was glad Jenny didn't seem to feel any jealousy, and in fact, seemed to welcome her brother's chosen . . . Chosen? Rob suddenly wondered why that word had popped into his head. It was an old fashioned term. No longer used since official marriages—and more common divorces—had come into fashion. But, whatever the case, dealing with trivialities was a comfort, but it meant he was skirting the issues at hand.
Ott took him aside, but Rob spoke first. "You have some explaining to do?" Rob asked him, gesturing at the clothes Ott had commandeered from his closet. He didn't remember his clothes ever fitting Ott in the past, but they seemed to fit him fine now that Ott was finally standing up straight, finally eye-to-eye with Rob as he should have been their whole lives. His friend looked . . . whole.
Ott shrugged. "Yesterday, you told me to bathe. My clothes were pretty much done for." But he gestured at Jenny's bedroom door. "What about yourself? Got some explaining to do of your own? She's my sister, Rob."
Rob shrugged uncomfortably for a minute, looking at his own bare feet. But when he looked up, he saw Ott was wearing a big dirt-eating grin.
"About time," Ott said, adding in a curse for flavor. A silence passed between them for a minute while they digested their new, expanded connection with each other, throat clearing and toe scuffling. It was good to have the old Ott back again. When they were both more comfortable, Ott changed tactics. "How are we going to do this thing with the trogs? What do you know? What have you heard?"
Rob knew he was talking about the delegation. He pulled out the thoughts he'd been mulling over when he'd first woken up that morning. "First, we need to move Jenny and the boys to the house. We need to get them in closer. It's not safe out here."
Ott nodded, and then cast a furtive glance at his sister. He told Rob, "She’s been holding this house together by willpower alone. You're the one who gets to tell her.”
Now it was Rob who cursed, though without any real venom. Then he smiled, thinking how he'd like to have her in his bed at the house. And how he would convince her that she would like it, too.
"I don't want to know what that expression on your face means," Ott said with a shudder. "But if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, please stop right now."
"Your mouth. Shut it," Rob muttered, but knew he was unable to hide his smile and wouldn't have been able to under any circumstance. Then he grew serious again. "I need to stay back on this one. I can't go with you to the mine," he said returning to the trogs. "The old man is against any kind of communication with them, but we have to get the Masks out there to the mine entrance and see if . . . gods, I don't know."
Rob ran a hand across his face and went on, "If we can work out some kind of agreement. I don't know what we have to barter with if they're already controlling the mine, but I don't know what they want either." He looked at Ott, then abruptly took his shoulder and turned him away from the kitchen. He lowered his voice. "I need you to go with them. I've seen what you can do. You and their man Guyse can escort them. The Masks trust him. I trust you. But I can't be there. I need to stay here if something happens. The people need to be protected." Their faces close together, Ott met his eyes and nodded.
"As for your girl," Rob continued. "I know you're not going to want her near them . . . but I think you're going to need her." Ott started to protest, but Rob cut him off. "She's one of them. She's a Mask."
"No, she's not—" Ott's first instinct was to deny it. Like it was a childhood insult flung during a fight.
Rob shot him a look. "Are you sure you're thinking with your actual head? You saw the cloak. And if she's one of them, you know she's not fragile. She's got their abilities. Whatever they are, they're built for jobs like this."
Ott kept silent, scowling. Rob knew his friend had to be feeling a natural aversion to the Masks. He knew because he felt it himself. They'd been raised with it: suspicion and fear of all outsiders, never mind the black, cloaked, soulless ones. It was hard to be in the same room as the damned things. Silent and cold. Still as death. Rob cast a look over to Mel and Jenny, heads still together in the kitchen.
It was difficult to reconcile this pretty yellow-haired girl with being a Mask, yet she was one of them. Even Ott had to admit it to himself, no matter what his body was telling him. Rob wondered whether the shine of Ott's infatuation would fade over time as it had with all the other girls, no matter that he had suffered over this one. Rob had seen the bloom fade on Ott’s romances, time and time again. He just hoped it would fade before she was killed or left him. That, Rob couldn't take. To see Ott suffer as he had . . . it had nearly killed them both.
His eyes rested on Jenny again, just as she lifted her face and beckoned them both to the kitchen table. He would see her and her boys safely packed away at his house. He pulled on a shirt as he approached her, his barefooted steps muffled and swallowed by the sound of three young boys eating.
He cleared his throat with the intent to be heard clearly, wanting to order her to follow his will, to demand and boss and hear no words of opposition. He was utterly, absolutely in charge. He would be the man here, as damned well as he knew how. He would tell her what needed to be done in the din of the breakfast sounds, so that none of the others would overhear the authority that he had over her now. She had always been a strong-minded girl and was the same even now, as a grown woman. She would resent his superiority at first, but she would get over it faster if no others witnessed it. As his chosen mate, as his woman, she would have to submit to his higher authority.
But as Rob's rotten luck would have it, at that moment, all eyes turned to him and their voices dimmed. Jenny's eyes met his, and all else dropped away. He stammered, his first words coming out in a manner that would have earned him a certain beating had he still been a boy before his father. "Uh . . . would . . . " He tried again, while she waited patiently. "Do you think you might like to come with the boys to . . . " He scratched his head, casting about for some thread of thought to follow. "There's plenty of room, of course, you know. What with the . . . extra rooms."
"Nicely done," Ott muttered, eyes bulging with disbelief at Rob's utter fumbling of the job.
"Sorry?" Jenny said, spoon in mid-air.
Rob, to his abject humiliation, felt himself reddening all the way up to his forehead. "What I mean to say is, would you and the boys . . . and you, too, as well. Of course you. All of you, actually. Together, although there's room for you to be apart. You wouldn't actually have to, you know, stay together as a group. Though you might, if you like. Though, I would hope that you and I . . . uh . . . Would you like to live at the house? My house? Well, the big house."
Jenny froze, a frown of concentration creasing her forehead. She was leaning forward as if straining to hear a faraway sound. He wondered if he had actually completed his question. Out loud. Had he managed to include all the relevant details and pertinent information in his offer? He wanted to bang something in frustration. And he would have, if he hadn't lost all feeling in his hands and feet. Damnit. Grab your balls in one hand, man, he told himself. And tried again.
