by Megan Derr
His hair…he had obviously worn it down, but at some point had grown impatient with it and pulled it sloppily up in one of those giant hair clips Ted was always stealing from Cathy at the bakery. It was cute. He could see Merry had forgotten about it.
Merry looked at him, eyes wide for a moment before he got his expression under control. "Kirby. Uh—"
"Howdy," Kirby said again, then didn't know what else to say.
The spider girl giggled. "Oh, my god. It's so cute how you say that. Say it again."
"What—"
"Kimmy," Merry growled. "Go finish up for me in the back. Now."
"Fine, fine," Kimmy said with a pout. "Give me back my hairclip."
"Wha—" Realization dawned and Merry tore the clip out of his hair, throwing it at her.
Giggling again, Kimmy caught the clip and darted off, vanishing into the back.
Merry looked at Kirby again, clearly at a loss. Kirby's heart sank. What had he expected? For Merry to be pleased? He'd probably hoped never to see or hear from Kirby and Midsummer again. "I've got Kerry's things," he finally said. "Went by your place, but your neighbor said you'd be here."
"The majority of my clientele is paranormal, or normals who wish they were. I do a lot of work at weird hours," Merry said, almost smiling. "But you said it's pretty much the same for you."
"Yeah. If you'll tell me where to put the boxes, I'll get out of your hair."
Merry hesitated, then said, "Give me a moment to take care of things here and we can take them to my house. You didn't have to bring them so quickly."
Kirby shrugged. "I've got the weekend off. A road trip seemed a nice break."
"Are you headed back tonight?"
Kirby studied him, looking for some clue, some indication…but like before, reading Merry was frustratingly impossible. "I hadn't planned anything, really."
"Then the least I can do is offer you a place to crash, since you helped me."
"Does that mean I should copy you and sneak off while you're sleeping?" Kirby asked quietly.
Merry flinched. "I shouldn't have done that."
"Why did you?"
"Because Kerry being dead was harder than I thought it would be, and you shouldn't have had to put up with that."
Kirby studied him again, startled by the honest answer. Finally he nodded, and replaced his hat. "Fair enough. I'll take that offer. Should I wait for you outside?"
"Nah, wait right here," Merry replied. "It'll take me about fifteen minutes, then we can go."
Kirby nodded, but Merry was already gone. Shrugging, he turned and moseyed around the store, poking and prodding at the clothes and other things Merry had on display, for sale, trying not to picture Merry in all of it and failing miserably.
He was staring at a display of lacy things and thinking of Merry in just lace and black lipstick, when he heard someone come up behind him a split second before Merry asked, "See something you like, Sheriff? I didn't see you as a lace man."
Kirby coughed and barely bit his tongue in time against reply that it depended entirely upon who was wearing the lace. "Not as such, no. It doesn't suit me."
Merry looked at him in amusement and, was that wishful thinking, or had that been a spark of—
Wishful thinking. Had to be. He didn't know how he'd cope if he raised his hopes on wishful thinking and lust, only to have them come crashing down beneath the weight of reality.
"No, you look more like leather than lace," Merry finally replied.
Kirby snorted. "Your little clerk thought the same thing. She told me the leather stuff was across the street."
"I see," Merry said, voice turning cool. "Well, let me know if you decide to go, I can get you a discount there."
"Nah," Kirby said, confused. "End of the day, I’m just a Joe Blow. All set?"
"Yes. This way. You can follow me, though you might already know the way?"
"More or less. You have a nice home."
"It serves its purpose," Merry replied, and pushed the shop door open, leading the way outside.
Kirby really hadn't missed big cities. He'd gotten used to them, while he was away at school and then just starting to learn the ropes of police work, but he hadn't been sorry to see the last of them. Even Trenton had been too big. He liked his small, everyone-knows-everyone town. He wouldn't trade a single part of it for anything in the world, not even Mrs. Holly.
Someone like Merry probably wanted nothing to do with such a one-horse town, even pretending for a moment all the other issues resolved themselves.
The drive to Merry's house was a relatively short one, and he parked his mustang on the street while Merry pulled into the driveway. Popping the trunk, he waited for Merry to join him. "I'm sorry to bring all this to your doorstep. I'm sure you'd like to be left in peace."
Merry shook his head. "It's fine. We can put them in the living room." So saying, he hefted one of the boxes and led the way up the walk. Magic rolled off his tongue as they drew close to the house, and the door swung open for them.
Kirby felt the brush of wards as he stepped into the house, and acknowledged sourly that breaking them would easily take him twelve hours. Not that he'd concede it aloud. He followed Merry into what proved to be the living room.
As wow as Merry tended to be, he had almost expected the house to be equally so, but it was simple and rather colorful. The carpet was thick, soft, and a deep, smoky gray in color. The couch took up most of the space, a massive wrap around thing in black suede. All the tables and stands were black-stained wood and glass. But it was the random splashes of color that really drew the eye – red, blue, and violet throw pillows, deep red drapes, a painting over the mantel of a merry-go-round, and one whole wall dedicated to carnivale masks.
"You can set the boxes here," Merry said, setting his own down beside a bookcase. "I'll go through them…" He shrugged and motioned vaguely. "Later."
Kirby nodded. "I'll just go fetch my bag and lock up my car."
"I'm going to change into non work clothes," Merry said. "If you want to unwind yourself, your room is the down the hall, last door on the right."
"Thanks," Kirby said, and bit back an urge to protest. Work clothes? Did Merry not usually prefer his goth look? But it's what he'd worn when he'd come to Midsummer—
Turning around, Kirby strode back outside before he said or did something he shouldn't, or simply stood around sulking and pouting. Outside, he fetched his duffel, then locked and warded his car before trudging back to the house and down the hall to his room for the night.
It was a tidy little room, mostly green and brown, serviceable furniture, and the bed looked comfy. He very pointedly did not think about how Merry's room might look, or how comfortable his bed might be.
Sighing at himself, he stripped off the sweater he'd been wearing for nine hours straight, put on a fresh undershirt, then pulled on a dark green, long-sleeved t-shirt that Nancy had said he was never allowed to wear into the station again, if he expected people to get work done.
With nothing else to do to stall, he wandered back down the hall to the living room. He walked aimlessly around, looking at the masks, the cheerful painting, and finally the bookcase. Spell books, he realized eagerly, and some of them the kind nearly impossible to come by, price-wise, especially in a small town like Midsummer.
Unable to help himself, he pulled one off the shelf and thumbed carefully through it. He had all of five spell books to his name, and borrowed where he could from others in town. There were easily thirty of the things sitting on Merry's shelves.
"Somehow, I knew you'd go for the books."
Kirby jerked guiltily, and glanced up—and nearly swallowed his tongue. Christ, the man needed to come with a warning or something.
If there was a difference between 'work' and 'normal' he couldn't spot it. Instead of the spider web ensemble, Merry wore black jeans that hugged him just fine up top, and got baggier toward the bottom. The shirt was just as tight as the last one, but deep, deep violet—a
nd the long sleeves were something else again. They were open straight down the outside, kept together by a trail of little black and violet ribbons, strung through gold eyelets before being tied. The jeans were held on Merry's hips by a studded leather belt, and the plain leather collar from before had been replaced by one to match the belt. His earrings, Kirby noted, were miniature handcuffs. The black eye shadow remained, but now both his lips were painted black.
"Something wrong?" Merry asked, looking faintly amused.
Great, Kirby thought morosely, he was going yokel sheriff again. "Uh—work and play don't seem to be much different."
Merry smiled. "Cost. The outfit I had on before was about eight hundred dollars in fabric, design, and detailing. The beadwork for those damned spider webs was a bitch, let me tell you. This outfit barely costs a hundred. I don't care what happens to these clothes."
"Those ribbons don't look like they'd be fun to tie," Kirby said. Though he'd be more than happy to tie them if it meant he first got to untie them.
"They weren't," Merry said with a laugh, reaching up absently to touch them. "But after I did it, I made certain they wouldn't come undone."
"Ah," Kirby said, and shoved his stupid disappointment firmly down.
Merry walked across the room to join him at the bookcase. "I just knew you'd hone in on the books."
Kirby smiled sheepishly and put away the one he'd been holding. "I admit I'm jealous. I'm lucky I own five, and you've got dozens."
"When you sell two hundred dollar jeans to high school kids, and obscenely expensive custom work to fellow lifers, you wind up with extra cash," Merry said wryly. "But, some of them I inherited from my dad; he was hobgoblin."
"My mother had the magic in my family."
Smirking, Merry said, "That would explain your unusual energies."
"Yeah, yeah," Kirby groused, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
Merry laughed. "I'm the one wearing lipstick, so I've hardly got room to talk."
"I bet no one ever said 'oh, I thought a girl cast that spell'," Kirby muttered.
"No, but I am often asked why I wear my sister's clothes. Though, to be fair, I deserved that back in the day when I was wearing skirts and stuff."
Kirby drew a sharp, sudden breath that went down the wrong tube and set him to a nasty coughing fit. Merry. In an outfit more like Kimmy's. He was going to die of over-stimulation to the brain. Or cock. "Yeah," he finally managed, voice hoarse from coughing and an excess of imagination, "I can see where you were asking for it, then."
"Mm," Merry agreed, eying him uncertainly. "Are you all right?"
"Just fine. What do you do for food around here?"
"Eat out or order in, mostly. I can sew a hell of a seam, but I can't make so much as a bowl of cereal without something tragic happening."
Kirby laughed. "I'm not much better, but people like to give the Sheriff food, and I can generally manage sandwiches and cereal."
"Then you're miles above me," Merry replied. "I wasn't kidding when I said even a bowl of cereal is too difficult. Would you like to go out, or should I order in?"
"In," Kirby said after a moment's consideration.
"Do you like steak?"
"Was that a rhetorical question?"
Merry smiled, slow and bright. "How do you like it then, witch?"
Kirby almost had to literally bite his tongue on that one, but at last managed to say, "Medium rare."
Nodding, Merry turned away and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punching in numbers and then placing an order.
Despite himself, Kirby could not resist watching his ass for a moment, before finally forcing himself to turn back to bookshelf in search of distraction. He pulled one out at random and flipped it open to be what proved to be a series of gardening spells. He'd never really gotten to play much with that sort of magic. It was time consuming, and complicated, what with all the variables involved when working with nature.
Such spells would take more time than he had. He closed the book and put it away, not eager to torture himself with things he'd never have the time to enjoy. He got to play with his house wards, that was enough. He reached up absently to touch his necklace.
"It's a beautiful amulet," Merry said, snapping his phone shut and shoving it away as he rejoined Kirby. "May I?"
"Sure," Kirby said, and unclasped the pendant, then dropped it into Merry's palm. "My mother gave it to me." He wouldn't normally just hand it over to another, but…well, he was already painfully aware that Merry was different.
"Exquisite work, and generations of power soaked into it. I know people who would consider the considerable monetary value of this far more important than the sentimental value. The price of this necklace, you could live like a king."
Kirby shook his head. "The sentiment matters more, and anyone who thinks the money matters is a fool."
"I agree," Merry said, and startled Kirby by reaching up and reaffixing the necklace around his neck. Kirby jerked with the urge to reach out, wrap his arms around Merry, keep him close—and he was utterly disappointed when Merry stepped back, and left him feeling a bit colder. "Would you like something to drink? I've got water, juice, tea, beer, and wine."
"A beer would be nice."
Merry motioned with a nod for him to follow, and led the way into the kitchen. It was a handsome kitchen, done in dark blue and green, but devoid of those things that marked a well-used kitchen. Merry opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, popping the caps with a church key on the fridge. He handed one to Kirby.
"Thanks."
"Food should be here soon. So how does a Sheriff get an entire weekend off?"
Kirby grinned. "When my secretary tells me—or anyone else—what to do, we snap to it. I might be Sheriff, but Nancy runs the place."
"I see," Merry said, smiling—but it was a weak smile, and he seemed annoyed again.
At a lost as to what he did, Kirby continued awkwardly, "Her brother was on the police force 'til he died of a heart attack three years back, and her husband works for the mayor. She's used to being in charge, and she's kind of looked out for me since my folks died."
"I see," Merry said again, and this time his smile was brighter. "So how were you planning to spend your weekend, before you got stuck bringing Kerry's old junk to me?"
"I didn't really have plans. If anything, I would have mucked around with my wards and all. I don't get to play with magic much; even on the job it's just the same handful of spells."
Merry nodded in understanding. "Tell me about it. I'm booked with clothes to make clear through the next three months. By the time I get home, I'm too tired to do anything I want to do."
"Yeah, that' about the size of it," Kirby said, not bothering to add that as sick as he was of doing nothing but working and sleeping, it was still better than finding himself with free time that would drive him crazy because he just wasn't good at being alone—even if that was all he'd been for too many years.
But…there was something Merry's eyes, that seemed to say he understood perfectly what Kirby had left unsaid. Kirby shifted, and the silence seemed suddenly weighted. Merry set his beer down on the table and moved forward a step. "Kirby—"
"Yeah?" Kirby asked softly.
Merry hesitated another moment, seeming to deliberate, then finally said in an equally quiet voice, "Stay here the weekend."
"I'd like that," Kirby replied, heart threatening to thud right out of his chest. He wished he could think of something else to say, but the silence and the smiling seemed enough for the moment, really.
A knock at the door finally broke the spell, and Merry seemed to move reluctantly away to answer the door.
Kirby finished his beer and grabbed another from the fridge. His stomach growled as Merry returned and the smell of food struck him. Steak, potatoes, veggies. Oh, yes.
Merry smiled a slow, hot little smirk just rich with private amusement, but he didn't say a word as he set the food out. "A friend of mine owns a steakhouse about t
wo miles from here. He's willing to hook me up occasionally for the clothes I make him, and the custom uniforms I make for his wait staff."
"That's a good friend to have," Kirby replied, stomach growling again as he sat down. "Thanks."
Nodding, Merry dug into his own food, and conversation lapsed as they settled to demolishing food and knocking back beer.
"Best meal I've had in an age," Kirby said when he simply could not eat another bite. "Thanks again."
"Sure," Merry said. "Was there anything—" He broke off as his phone started ringing, and sighed as he looked at the number. "This will be fun," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he hit the accept. "Hey, Jen. No—calm—you did what—that's imported silk, do you know what it cost, I told you—goddamn it." He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a long sigh. "Take it off, leave it the fuck alone. I'll be there to fix it." He ended the call then, and threw his phone down in disgust. "Why do people always do what I explicitly tell them not to do?"
"Because they think you only say that sort of thing for your health and happiness," Kirby said, sympathizing. "It's like talking to a wall, except sometimes I think the walls listen better."
Merry laughed. "Pretty much. I’m afraid I'll have to bail on you, there's a diva suffering a crisis of clothing. But, make yourself at home. Maybe we can do something tomorrow?"
"Sure," Kirby said. "Uh—good luck? I have no idea what a crisis of clothing entails."
"The end of the world, apparently," Merry said. "Enjoy the rest of your night." With a wave, he scooped up his phone and was gone.
Kirby sat alone in the kitchen and finished the last of his beer, tamping down on his disappointment. Merry had said they'd do something tomorrow, he could be patient that long. He was certainly more than a little happy that there seemed to be something between them.
Even if it just turned out to be friendship, he'd take it. He was lucky even that was a possibility; it was hard for anyone in Midsummer to be a real friend to the Sheriff.
