“You’re not Christian,” I said, not bothering to lift my nose from the book I was attempting to read. “You’re a heathen.”
“Dude, that’s harsh.”
“You’re right,” I apologized. That was so politically incorrect it was pathetic. “What I meant to say was you’re polytheistic.” This only caused his nose to wrinkle.
“You read too much.”
True, but I had to believe it would pay off in the end.
“Put the book down and come celebrate with us.”
“You don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“We celebrate Saturnalia and I hate to tell ya, it’s been around way longer than Christmas. Your people plagiarized our holidays and called ‘em your own, and I know, because my grandparents were around to witness it all.”
“Go away.”
“Nope. I think I’ll just sit here and read with you. Out loud. I need the practice. Lots and lots of practice. You don’t mind do you?” Randomly grabbing one of the papers scattered across my bed, he began reading aloud. “Lupus is an autoimmune disease that can affect various parts of the body, including the skin, joints, heart, lungs, blood, kidneys, and brain…”
“Crispin…!” I growled in warning, grabbing for the thesis. He rolled, taking the paper with him as he continued to read. I was going to strangle him, the little twerp.
“Normally, the body's immune system makes proteins called antibodies to protect…”
“Come on!”
“…the body against viruses, bacteria, and other foreign materials. These foreign materials are called antigens.” Dropping the paper to his side, he looked at me inquisitively. “Lupus, huh? Is there a reason you’re studying lupus? Do you think it’s related to us? It can’t be purely coincidental. Lupus…Canis Lupus?”
“The only coincidence is that you chose today of all days to bug the shit out of me, while I’m reading that specific paper. Now give it back.” Tearing the paper from his hand, I smoothed it out where he crinkled it in his grasp.
“Why are you reading about diseases? Do you want to be a doctor?”
“Of sorts.”
“What do you mean? A doctor’s a doctor, right?”
“No. There’re all different kinds of doctors. I want to be a virologist.”
“What’s that—someone who studies virility?”
I choked on my own spit and had to pound my own chest. “No,” I coughed. “Viruses, dumbhead. Virility is the state of masculinity. I know all I want about male sexual potency.”
“Oh,” Crispin muttered, reddening profusely. “What are you trying to…” The sound of Icarus’s car coasting up the driveway sent him running to the window, subject forgotten. “They’re here! Come on Thale, come down! Please please please please pleeeeeaaaassseee!”
“You’re not gonna leave me alone until I do, are you?” The point was moot. He was already tugging me toward the stairs by my arm with short little jerks, in tandem with his frenetic skipping. He reminded me of Tiny Tim with Scrooge when he was well enough to walk at the end. How satirically appropriate that it was Christmas. (As an afterthought, I realized that would make me Scrooge.)
“No, so just shut it and come down!” Abandoning my arm, he ran down the stairs, his footfalls zooming down the steps like a jackhammer in his haste to greet our company.
Perhaps with the distraction, he’d forget about me altogether.
Smiling roguishly, Bacchus appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “You don’t want to miss this. Come on. Come meet Crispin’s girlfriend.” I didn’t miss the inflection he placed on ‘girlfriend’, as in girlfriend and not girl friend. The kissing kind.
“Girlfriend?” My eyebrows rose in question. Crispin never mentioned a girl. Howbeit, I haven’t exactly been available for conversation lately. Admittedly, I’d been downright unsociable.
“I think you turned him onto the goth kind with your pink streaks and that liner stuff you smudge around your eyes.”
“It was a costume.” I tried not to grimace over his mention of that particular night, but it must have shown, because Bacchus’s smile abruptly faded.
“I just meant that you set the bar for expectations.”
“I’m not sure I should be setting the bar for anyone’s expectations, especially Crispin’s. I’ll have ruined his sex life before it started. Not that Crispin should be thinking about that yet. God, I hope he’s not thinking about that already.”
“Hell, he’s fourteen. Who are you kidding?”
“I. Am. Not. A. Kid!”
Snickering conspiratorially, Bacchus and I descended the main stairs into the kitchen. Lucius was busy at the stove, looking slightly flustered, yet determined, having accepted the challenge of preparing the Saturnalia feast. (I still had my doubts of this being a real holiday; I’d have to Google it later.) With his hand at the small of my back, Bacchus guided me to the living room where the guests were gathering, out of the kitchen and ultimately out of Lucius’s way.
“You’re going to love her. She’s adorable.”
I shushed him with my elbow, reluctant to embarrass Crispin more than he already was. He’d probably suffered enough torment at their hands already, which was why he probably spent the morning in my room, evading their attention.
She was goth, raven haired and lanky. A little on the boyish side in figure. She wore a black and purple lace tutu with a baby doll tee, and black leather Doc’s that laced up to her knees. She stood taller than Crispin, about two inches, but most of that could’ve been hair. I couldn’t tell was whether she was cute or not because she had her back to me.
What I hadn’t expected when she turned around was the square jaw and the masculine features. She wasn’t adorable at all. She smiled, fiddling nervously with her lip ring.
I knew I failed heinously at hiding my initial reaction because all the boys snickered, including Icarus, but mortification quickly altered to amusement as I traversed her face again.
“You are seriously one of the ugliest girls I’ve ever met.”
Bennie smiled dryly and raised his hand. “Hey Sis.”
ΑΒΩ
“It was ingenious, really,” Bennie proclaimed, speaking of Dad’s plotting to deliver him covertly to our doorstep. “Jessica Whitaker picked me up to go skating. After we got to the rink, she snuck me into the girl’s room so I could change into this getup. I walked out with all her friends when we left. What’s one more girl in the group, right? And then Icarus was parked next to her mom’s van, so when I got in, her van blocked the view and nobody could see what car I actually got into.”
He still shouldn’t have done it. As happy as I was to see him, he was in danger being here. If Alec did follow him, he must’ve been furious when he realized he’d lost his mark.
“Frank is going to pick me up at the mall next week and take me home. If anyone was watching, they’ll just think I spent the week with him. The rink was really busy. Anyone could’ve slipped out in the crowd. No one will be the wiser.”
“You’re dad’s totally sly,” Crispin added. “He knows his spy shit.”
“Crispin,” Icarus chided. “Language.”
“Stuff. He knows his stuff.”
He reads spy novels, I disagreed. I hardly thought that made him infallible. But Crispin and Bennie couldn’t be expected to see the danger in the situation. It was all cloak and dagger to them. Fun. Fictitious. I, on the other hand, knew it was all too real.
“Whatever it’s worth,” Bennie said, “Jessica Whitaker now thinks I’m hot.”
Snorting, I tossed a crumb of bread at him. “That was a horrible segue, and if she didn’t already find your art amazing, then she’s blind and doesn’t deserve your attention.”
“You do have some mad skills,” Crispin agreed. “The girls must go crazy over that.”
“I’d like to see your drawings,” Hailey chimed in. I nearly choked on my mashed potatoes. She’d been overly polite all night. At first, I suspected that Icarus threatened her, but se
eing her staring at my brother now, I was beginning to suspect another reason for her amenable behavior entirely. Crispin wasn’t the only one showing Bennie a little hero worship.
Catching Icarus’s eyes across the table, I threw a warning his way. If she came within a yard of my brother, I’d rip her deceptive little pigtails right from her demented little head.
“I don’t have anything with me to show you,” Bennie said politely. “I just got a new sketchbook and it’s empty right now. But if I do anything this week, I’ll show you before I go.”
Hailey beamed brightly. I’d have to warn Bennie about her.
“Are you planning on attending art school?” Icarus inquired, making conversation. “I’ve seen a few of your pieces. Thaleia’s right, you definitely have the talent.”
Bennie’s eyes dropped to his plate, shrugging his shoulders. He pushed his food around with his fork, forlorn over my desertion. I had accepted the fact our plans to travel Europe were null and void, but clearly he hadn’t given it much thought until now.
“Bennie is going to study art abroad,” I spoke up. “In Europe.”
“Actually, I’ve been looking into PCA&D,” Bennie said into his plate. “They have a good graphic arts program, and it’s right in Lancaster.”
“But…you do canvas.” I said this like any other media was a sacrilege.
“I can still do canvas. But there’s more work in graphics. I can freelance. Build my portfolio. Then sell my paintings on the side.”
“Oh.” I guess I was wrong. He had thought about it. Again, I realized how unavailable I had become. Even if we only texted, we had kept some sort of contact with each other, but I’d only talked to him twice since Thanksgiving, and I’d been laconic in conversation.
“Thale’s going to college,” Crispin offered. “She wants to be a doctor.”
I could’ve crawled in a hole. Bennie and Icarus looked at me as if I’d just announced I was pregnant. With twins. And I’d conceived asexually.
“That’s why she’s been holed up in her room the past few weeks. She’s been studying diseases and antidotes. She wants to be a virologist.”
I could’ve cut the tension with a knife it was so thick. Icarus’s jaw strained, the cords and muscles standing out in a display of animosity. I don’t know why he was so upset. We’d barely talked since the incident in the pantry. He’d apologized, and I’d accepted, but he never pressed me for more than that, so I never offered. Unlike Bennie, I thought the distance between us was beneficial. I’d accepted my place in the pack. As long as I didn’t cross any lines, he didn’t hassle me. We settled into a comfortable truce of agreement and respect.
“Desert anyone?” Lucius said, in a much better segue. “I made apple pie.”
“And we bought vanilla ice cream,” Crispin enthused. “I’ll go get it.” In pure Crispin fashion, he jumped from the chair and tore out of the room. I supposed he would take after Max with his unfailing appetite. When food was involved, he was always first in line.
Composing his features, Icarus unfroze from his internal struggle. “I have contacts in Italy. When you decide what you’d like to do, I could make some calls.”
“Really?” Bennie brightened. “In Italy?”
“Yes, in Rome.”
“Rome!” Bennie blurted, his eyes going starry. “Have you ever been? Is it beautiful there? Have you seen the Colosseum? Or the Foro Romano? Or the Pantheon?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Apparently recalling the obstacle of lycan territories, Bennie’s smile faded. He retreated into the morose depression of reality. It was only in the receding wake of silence that I noticed the boys staring at their alpha, their expressions ranging from perplexed to bemused.
“What?” Icarus snapped at them.
“Nothing,” Caius answered, fighting a smile.
“Don’t you all have dishes to do?”
“Not yet,” Caius replied, his smile unwavering. “We didn’t even have dessert.”
“Do we really want to chance dessert?” Max muttered. “Pie’ll probably still have seeds left in it. We’ll all die of arsenic poisoning.” I’d say he was taking his turn at rescuing the conversation, but I think he was genuinely worried about Lucius’s dubious cooking skills.
I’ll admit the turkey was dry, the stuffing was bland, and the mashed potatoes were lumpy and slightly grainy from being undercooked. The carrots were overcooked. Crispin mashed his on his plate with little effort. But, overall, the food wasn’t life-threatening.
“I heard that!” Lucius shouted from the kitchen.
“Apples don’t have arsenic in them,” I assured. “It’s cyanide. And you’d have to eat a whole lot of them to suffer any effects.”
“Ooh,” Max taunted, brushing the tip of his nose with his finger. “It’s not arsenic—it’s cyanide. Should we all call you ‘Doctor’ now?”
Reluctant to ruin Christmas with bickering, I repressed a scowl. Instead, I winked and pursed my lips. “No, but you can call me tomorrow.”
“OOOoohhhhh!” the boys howled in chorus, chortling.
“I’ll call her anything she wants if she wears one of those uniforms,” Caius smiled. You’d think he’d learn after Icarus repealed his rule on hitting the boys. Although he didn’t spank him, he tanned his arse with the flat of his leather belt. Seriously. Ouch.
“You mean scrubs?” I threw back at him. “Because they’re so sexy.”
“No, like a lab coat with nothin’ underneath.”
He’d seen me in less, but I refrained from pointing that out.
“She’s practicing pick up lines already,” Bacchus added. “Is that what you’ve really been doing up in your room all that time—it took you a month to come up with that?”
“Nah, I’ve gotta bunch of ‘em.”
“Like what?”
“Hmm, wanna step into my office and take off your clothes? Or—Has anyone looked at that? Why don’t you come back to my place and I’ll give you a full exam?”
“Boooooo!” Bacchus chucked a biscuit my way. Max tossed his napkin. Terrible as Lucius’s cooking was, he wasn’t squandering it. “Lame,” Bennie jeered. “That was so lame.”
“It’d work,” Caius said. If Max loved food, he loved flirting.
Noting Icarus sitting back in his chair, watching the antics of his cousins, I realized he was letting it slide, enjoying the bantering and laughter. I smiled and lifted my glass.
“Yo Saturnalia,” said Bacchus, lifting his own glass.
“What?”
“It’s a toast.”
“Oh, yo Saturnalia.” Lifting my glass, I touched my rim to his. I guess I was wrong. It really was a holiday.
Laughing, Bacchus stared at me, making me feel self-conscious. “It’s not yo like ‘Yo bro, look at that chick,’ it’s e-o, spelled io, like ‘Hooray,’” Bacchus explained. “‘Io Saturnalia,’ we’re celebrating Saturn. For us, it’s kind of like Thanksgiving and Christmas rolled into one.”
“That’s what I said. ‘ Io Saturnalia.’ It’s just my Philly accent.”
“You said ‘yo’ not ‘io,’” Max scoffed. “And you’re about as Philadelphian as we are.”
“Apple pie,” Lucius said, placing the object of perfection in the center of the table. It was huge. Like half a dozen blackbirds huge. The crust bowed upwards like they might burst through the moment you pierced it with a knife.
“I think you’re supposed to cut the apples up,” Bacchus pointed out, “before you bake the pie.”
Abandoning the fruits of his labor, he cut a hard glare at his cousin. “I did, dickhead. Don’t knock my pie. It looks beautiful.”
“It does look beautiful,” I agreed. “Cut it. Let’s have some.”
“Who wants ice cream on theirs?” Crispin asked. “His trigger finger ratcheting the ice cream scooper.” Bennie held up a hand.
“Me.”
“Just ice cream,” Caius qualified. He refused to eat all things fruit or vegetable in orig
in. In my own opinion, apple pie was a far fetch from fruit. The crust alone probably had enough butter to expand the circumference of my backside by a good two inches.
Lucius picked up a butter knife and sank into the pie. The crust fell in a flaccid heap, collapsing into a pile of sugary crumbs onto the bed of gooey apple filling.
“Dude,” said Crispin, condolingly. Snickers sprawled across the table.
“The apples cooked down,” I explained. “I’m sure it tastes—”
“Shut up,” Lucius growled. Digging his fingers into the stoneware dish, he scooped a handful of filling and flung it at Bacchus. “Here’s a whole fuckin’ apple for you!” At Max. “Eat your freakin’ heart out! I hope you do get arsenic poisoning!” At Caius. You’d think these people would learn to duck. “Here’s you damn dessert. Now you can do the dishes!” At Icarus, who ducked. The second throw hit home. “Next time, we order out!” At me. “Thanks for the help! It was Christmas for God’s sake! This is the first year we didn’t have to eat Chinese food! I’m fuckin’ sick of Chinese food! But you go ahead and sulk in your room because nothing bad’s ever happened to anyone else! Well, I promise you I’m done! I’m never settin’ another foot in that Godforsaken kitchen again if it’s to save my damn life!”
Tearing the apron from around his neck, he tossed it on the table and stormed from the room. The back door slammed shut with a bang that shook the house.
Shrugging, Caius reached and scooped the pie filling from where it was sliding into my cleavage and licked it from his finger. “Actually, it’s not bad.”
Wide eyed, Bennie gawked at the mess, ducking as Icarus dove for Caius, jarring the table a few feet to the left. Bowls and glasses overturned, spilling across the tablecloth and onto the floor. Crispin began shouting at them to stop, but the two sparring males ignored his protests, in favor of pounding one another’s brains from their too-big heads. I looked to Bacchus for help.
“Aren’t you going to stop them?” I pleaded. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
“Someone needs to get hurt. Maybe Icarus will pound some sense into him.”
With a disgusted scowl, I took matters into my own hands and reached to break up the mêlée of testosterone and fists.
Feral Page 27
