Chapter 25

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Are the odds ever truly in our favor?

I did not message Willow.

I am still processing the events of yesterday morning's breakfast.

And, yet, here I sit with a little kitty in my lap, staring blearily at my phone after my message tone awakened me from my late afternoon nap.

My bad.

Did I say message tone, implying it was singular?

How silly of me.

Willow: Bookstore.

Willow: Sorry. Context.

Willow: Pollux says you're one of us, one of us now, soI found your phone number online after a little digging. I also know your parents' names and your home address.

Willow: Still living with your parents is totally okay, but have we not noticed the pretty spooky manor that could be your home?

Willow: Food for thought.

Willow: Out of curiosity, do you have an Uncle Moses who lives a couple hours from here? Your father's parents really said Bible theme with their two boys, huh?

Willow: That's cute. I like it.

Willow: Cool book, too.

Willow: I especially love the part where that girl drives that stake through that guy's head.

Willow: Anyway. Bookstore. Page Turner. Downtown. Two co-authors I like just released a sequel to their first mythology retelling.

Willow: Alana and I are heading there to sniff pages.

Willow: You in?

I am still fighting the hit by a truck, how dare you think a nap was a good idea feeling while I contemplate actually going out and getting hit by a truck.

Scrubbing my face, I go to my contacts, select Pollux, and call.

A moment passes before a gruff, "Yes?" comes through the line.

"I require verbal confirmation that Willow isn't a serial killer. I'd ask if you gave her my number, but I think it's safe to assume she found it herself if she has the name of my uncle." As well as, apparently, his current address.

Another moment passes before Pollux, reassuringly, says, "Willow is not a serial killer, to my knowledge."

"To your knowledge?"

"To my knowledge."

I attempt to bring moisture back into my mouth after what seems to have been a blackout two-and-a-half hour coma. "Like, what percentage of confidence in that knowledge are we talking here?"

Moments pass. "Eighty-seven."

"Really? Eighty-seven. You can't even give me a ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine Germ-X level of confidence?"

"The woman snaps rooster necks with her bare hands whenever she breeds her chickens and too many males are born. Also, not once, not twice, but three separate times she has informed me which plants in this area are endangered in case I need to hide a body under something that is illegal to dig up. Also, if I do need to bury a body, she's told me I should bury it vertically. It takes more effort, but I suppose it isn't the shape law enforcement officials are looking for when they search for victims of murder. Also, I should bury an animal nearby and at a shallower depth, because then the search dogs will alert to that. Eighty-seven percent is a decent odd."

Eighty-seven percent is a beautiful odd.

"I am assuming Willow contacted you?" he murmurs.

"She told me she knows where me, my parents, and my uncle live. Then she invited me to the bookstore."

The deepest sigh I have ever heard rumbles into my ear. "Because of course she did." He mutters a swear followed by Willow's name. "Do you want to go to the bookstore?"

"I do like bookstores. I don't like being murdered and buried vertically under endangered plants."

Pollux exhales a laugh. "My concern for that is zero percent. I respect Willow."

Yeah, I mean, how could you not?

"You will be safe with her," he says.

"Promise?" I ask.

"I shouldn't make promises so loosely in such an unpredictable world."

My phone buzzes against my ear.

Willow: Alana is bringing snacks. Can I bribe you with snacks?

"She's trying to bribe me with snacks now."

Pollux sighs again. "Because of course she is. Would you prefer if I went with you?"

"No," I state, too quickly. "I'm an adult. I can eat snacks and look at books without a chaperone." I might even go into the smut section and become even more of a skank. He doesn't know me.

"Pity," he murmurs. "I miss you."

I didn't dream last night. Probably because I subconsciously wasn't ready to see him again. But I still saw him yesterday morning. "It's only been one day," I mutter.

"After a lifetime without you, one day is too long."

My heart flips. I wet my lips and rub my chest with my free hand. "Dinner…?" I say, stupidly.

"Dinner?"

I close my eyes. "Would you like to go out to dinner. With me. Sometime soon. After I spend some time with Willow and Alana and eighty-seven percent don't get murdered?"

"One hundred percent don't get murdered. Thirteen percent spend time with a serial killer."

"Thank you for the clarification."

He makes a low sound. "Words, dearest. Even over the phone, I can taste the way they cause your soul to touch mine."

I wince. "Sorry. That was an accident."

"Just be careful."

The way I want to Kay, Dad him is powerful, but I refrain as I hang up, force myself to stand—much to Chai's protest—and message Willow back.

Kass: Sounds like fun! What time should I meet you there?

?

I have never been to Page Turner before, and the moment I step inside the shop, I do not know why. It's lovely. It's the kind of place I'd be happy to come to by myself. Whenever Zahra and I go to Barnes and Noble, she heads straight to the manga section, taps every series she's read online, relays a mini review on each, then says she's hungry and needs a snack at the cafe.

Where, inevitably, she'll come away knowing the barista's backstory and about twenty different points of local gossip.

After letting the still atmosphere of Page Turner ease something deeply wound up inside me, I find Alana and Willow hovering around a display table boasting an elegant stack of the same fantasy book. New Release and New York Times Bestseller signs hover above the gorgeous arrangement.

"It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen right at this exact moment," Alana whispers, reverent.

"I agree fully."

"Are you also experiencing the feminine urge to purchase every copy and create a display table in your home?" Alana asks.

Willow looks up, meeting her eyes. "I am indeed also experiencing that feminine urge. I wonder. Should we act on it?"

"That depends. Do you have my brother's bank card in your purse?"

"I most definitely do have Ollie's bank card in my purse."

Their eyes spark—united mischief—before Willow notices me. "Oh." The frenzied plotting glint tames into something absently casual. "Kass. Greetings. Come make bad decisions with us."

Grinning brilliantly, Alana holds out a granola bar. "Snack."

"Alana remembered too late that Faerie food takes time to be perceptible to humans, so her ability to bring promised snacks was limited." After the explanation, Willow disregards me in favor of picking up the fantasy book and flipping through the pages.

Alana hums, twirling the granola bar like a wand. "Also, apparently, the residue of magic can cause diarrhea and nausea before it effectively dissipates if your system isn't prepared to handle it. Luckily—" She offers the bar again. "—I had this in my car from my Human Era. It might be out of date. If that bothers you. Sell-bys are, however, a suggestion, and I can't lie, so you know that's the truth."

Or what she believes is the truth, according to my fae folder.

"That's okay." I force a slight laugh. "I wasn't bribed with snacks. I was interested in seeing you both again. Movie night was fun." And weird. "Do you really have one every week?"

"Yep. Even had one last week. On the food holiday." Willow inhales against the pages of the book she's holding and lets the breath out as a happy sigh before promptly putting it in her basket. On top of two others. That are exactly like it.

My word.

She's picking them like fruit at a grocery store.

"We killed a rooster," Alana informs me.

I jerk my attention off Willow and stammer, "Oh. Um. Wow. To…eat?"

"No. For decoration," Willow says.

Willow, according to my fae folder, can lie. Being a thrall means her existence is paused in her human skin, and retaining humanity means she cannot be trusted. Or at the very least, given this context, I hope she's being sarcastic.

"We didn't have as easy access to a turkey without going to the store or on a hunt in Faerie," Alana mentions. "And who wants to do that?"

Willow snaps another book closed, tucks it into her basket, and looks at me. "Also, I like turkeys. They bumble about magnificently. Roosters deserve a slower death than the one I give them."

I am fully understanding the eighty-seven percent. In fact, personally, she's pushing eighty-six.

A moment of silence weighs in the air while I attempt—desperately—to gather my thoughts and personality in front of basic strangers. Mimicking Willow, I pick up one of the books, flip through a few chapters, and freeze as very apparent situations appear before me. In bold, bold language.

My aptitude for skank could never. Oh my word. He's doing what with his huh now? My entire face blisters as I can't drag my attention off the display painting itself in horribly vivid hues before me. The images in my head are a blinding reminder why I don't read fiction more often. I see every word. Hear every sound. Vibrantly. My emotions get tangled up as though I have slipped right into the main character's skin.

And.

Yeah.

Their feelings are mine.

It's hot in here, and I can't breathe.

Willow snaps her fingers in front of the pages, and I jolt.

"Spicy, spicy. You want it? I'll get it for you." Willow lifts her chin. "In fact, I'll get you two. Buddy read with Pollux. Please. Not that I'm begging or anything. In unrelated news, would you like a camera that can capture the fae? It's only about as large as a dime. To be planted in a most precarious place once you discover where Pollux most often reads books."

I swallow, hard. "Oh. No. That's all right." I would. Really. It's just that I think I would die immediately if Pollux opened this book in my presence? "It's not quite the genre I normally read. I tend to stick to classics…history…middle grade." The occasional thesaurus and dictionary page… Textbooks. Man, can I sound any more like an elementary school teacher?

How in the world am I supposed to mesh with a faerie princess and someone who pokes creatures made of fear for fun?

If the universe is sanctioning this friendship, it has to have made a mistake.

I'm so uncomfortable, my clothes are starting to feel like sandpaper. And the reason I make my own clothes is largely so they won't do that.

"Is Howl's Moving Castle appropriate for middle grade?" Alana asks. "The male lead turns into goo at one point. It's great."

"Oh. Yes. I've seen that one here." Willow turns on her platform heel.

In a few seconds, I am holding a book with a steampunk looking structure on the cover.

"We can watch the movie based on it this Thursday," Willow says. "It's appropriate for Meda."

Alana agrees before she begins humming softly and perusing whatever genre is closest.

I take note of their actions, then follow their lead.

We stay at the bookstore for a perfectly reasonable few hours, all while I attempt to figure out what's going on. Mentions of Faerie appear in such brief snatches, it's as though they're hardly important. Existing with magic at their fingertips isn't some massive revelation. It's their normal life.

Discussion of the latest royal court comes on the coattails of trying a sushi train in the town over, which devolves into whether we should go by flying carriage or car.

And.

I.

I just.

I cannot hope to compare myself to the insanity.

Willow's bluntness has me reeling almost every time she opens her mouth, and Alana? Alana has barely stopped singing to herself the entire time I've been around her. The tunes ebb and flow with purpose, and they're beautiful, unlike anything I've ever heard.

In contrast to the vibrant way these women live, I'm nodding along to plans of a sushi train as though I've not been vegetarian my entire life and the inevitable cross-contamination would give me the worst food poisoning ever.

The hints of magic in the air have me completely forgetting I drove to the bookstore until I'm halfway down the forest path leading to Willow's cottage. Blinking out of the trance, I discover my face hurts. It's been frozen in a smile for the past few hours.

I'm exhausted.

I don't know why.

I want to cry, just a little bit, but all I can do is grip Howl's Moving Castle a little tighter and attempt to find the correct spot to interrupt the conversation with the smallest ha ha, I left my car at the bookstore. Crazy, I totally forgot I was having so much fun. We'll have to do this again sometime. Bye.

Alana is relaying, in detail, the events of an anime I have never heard of. She is going three thousand miles per hour.

There are no openings.

Despite the absence of openings, Willow interjects, "Sandwiches." Tilting forward, she looks past Alana at me. "We're having sandwiches for dinner. Leftover rooster."

My muscles tighten. Because I don't know how to reply to that any more than I know how to reply to what Alana is still saying about magical boys and pink wombats. The surreal feeling snaps, and I remember how one interacts with people. My script is the same as it has been since middle school. How silly of me to forget. "I have to get back home soon. My parents are probably expecting me."

Willow arches a brow. "So what you're saying is you could have sandwiches with us if you lived with Pollux."

My heart hits my ribs.

Alana pauses her rendition of whatever episode she's on now to add, "Pollux has a whole bedroom ready for you."

Dry humor washes across Willow's face. "And you two are already married."

Alana's eyes bulge. "Wait, what? This is not information I received during my last session. I didn't know you could get married before you were claimed." Her attention whips to me. "Congratulations."

I open my mouth, remember I shouldn't thank her, and bite my tongue before I blurt how it was an absolute accident. Until this moment, I was not aware it was a semi-public one. But of course it is. Why wouldn't Pollux share news of his marriage with his friends? As far as I can tell, he's been waiting on his soulmate for a long, long time with very limited access to people who could stand being around him.

I'm a game changer for him on so many levels. My presence alone allows him to exist around people who would, without whatever it is I am interfering, be terrified of him.

"You seem stressed, Kass," Willow comments. "Is matrimony not all you thought it might be?"

"It's…" My mind wanders. "…interesting."

"You get used to the biting, in my experience."

I shut my brain off in order to block out the resulting imagery.

"My, doesn't this sound fun…" A voice whispers from the trees, and my companions freeze.

As a unit, we look up to find a man twisting a dagger between his fingers. Contrasting heavily against his black robes, long white hair shines in the dying rays of sunlight. Like fingers, the light slips across a tattered strip of cloth tied around his eyes.

"Castor," Alana greets, chipper, and my breath catches.

Castor?This is Castor?

Willow echos my thoughts in her own way. "Oh. So you're Castor. Love the knife."

"Gratitude," he murmurs, flips it, and catches it by the blade as though he's not blindfolded at all. "You're welcome to look at it."

Willow laughs. "Um. Yes. Don't mind if I do."

My head spins as Willow trots up to the evil prince I've been warned about and plucks his knife from his hands. Holding the metal up to the light, she whistles at what appears to be a collection of screaming faces decorating the handle. "Super cute."

Alana goes to him next, peachy and humming as she has been this entire time. "I was hoping to see you again soon. It's been months since we last spoke."

Castor makes a low sound. "Indeed. Forgive me for not sparing a moment to congratulate you on your nuptials…"

"Sorry I didn't tell you about Cael sooner. I kind of couldn't."

Castor flinches at Cael's name and dips his chin. "I hold nothing against you, child. I know better than to think he did not have you under some manner of oath. You have been nothing but kind and open with me in all our interactions. When I burn this world, I intend to spare you."

"Aw." Alana giggles. "That makes me so happy." Pulling one of the copies of the fantasy book out of Willow's basket, she offers it to him. "Speaking of world burning, I got this for you, courtesy of my brother's credit card."

Castor straightens. "Another book recommendation?"

"I've been informed you can see, so read responsibly out of other's sight."

A shining smile falls over Castor's mouth as his head dips. "More kidnapping?"

"Duh."

What. Is. Going. On?

I thought this was an enemy?

I'm so confused.

Hedging cautiously forward, I take a place out of Castor's reach behind Alana.

No sooner have I settled in does he turn his face toward me. "Hello."

I press my lips together and practice keeping my attention off his blindfold. "Hi."

"You smell of dreams."

"I…appreciate it, if that's a compliment?"

"Trained already, are you? And yet unclaimed." In another moment, he's in front of me, tilting my chin upward, and touching his forehead to mine.

My brain tells my body to jerk out of reach, but I am utterly frozen in place.

"Interesting," he murmurs. "How suffocating it must be for you like this… How painful."

"Hey, Castor, you're behaving yourself, right?" Alana notes as wings and antennae unfurl from her back and forehead. She splays the dark wings laced in hints of pink and purple wide. "That's our new friend. She's already taken, too, so kidnapper, no kidnapping."

"Indeed." He lets me slip from his grasp, and I step back as soon as I find myself able. Castor flexes his fingers. "Is she Pollux's?"

"Maybe," Alana says.

Willow, still playing with the dagger, notes, "I prefer to think of it as Pollux is hers."

Castor's hands close into fists, and his knuckles crack. "When is it my turn?"

"Hey," Alana soothes, touching Castor's back.

He throws her hand off. "I do not need your comfort now. Centuries have brought me nothing but mindless beasts to call friends. Your kindness is grown in a softer world than the one I have known. You have the luxury of gentleness. All I have is anger."

"Hey." Alana's tone solidifies into something sharp. "I know you've had a hard time, Castor, but you've not burned this bridge yet. Don't set that spark."

"And why shouldn't I?"

"I think you know what would happen if harm came to any of us."

A broken laugh spills out of him as he snatches the book from her fingers. "Of course. How soon do I forget to remember that I am ever on the losing side? I have mere animals to fight for me where one scratch on your precious finger would send an army out in your name."

"To be fair," Willow notes, majestically chill, "once in Australia there was a war against emus, and the people lost. Multiple times."

"I am aware," Castor hisses. "Who do you believe commandeered the emus?"

Willow cackles. "Are you serious? You're my new favorite person. Want to come to movie night? We'll pick something that has accessibility audio."

Moments of chilling silence string themselves between Castor and Willow.

Finally, she asks, "Do you like popcorn?"

"I don't believe you're aware that you're behaving inappropriately given the situation."

Willow cocks a hip and points the dagger at him. "I don't believe you're aware what plot armor is."

Some tension eases from his shoulders before he chuckles. "You have a marvelous friend, moth princess."

Alana's wings flit as she smiles. "I know."

He turns toward her. "How are you faring?"

She shrugs. "The drugs seem to be working well enough. Pollux makes them for me and has me check in with him each week for assessments."

Castor exhales a sigh. "How incredibly…him."

"I really appreciate your help, Castor," she says. "I never would have gotten this far without it."

Stillness consumes him for several beats, then he dips his head. "It was the least I could do for the first person to treat me like a person in centuries."

Clearly, there's history here.

Big history.

Big history that I wasn't a part of.

After what I've heard, I'm not sure what to think. Castor could turn us all into stone with a single look. I felt the way just his touch hardened my limbs moments ago. It's dangerous to humor staying in his presence. And, yet, the moth faerie princess who literally has wings spilling from her back right now, seems entirely calm. The thrall of a vampire knight is playing with the basilisk's knife, touching it to the tip of her finger as though it wouldn't at all bother her to be cut.

If they were like me, I'd assume they were manufacturing all this hubris, but they aren't like me at all.

They know who they are, and they aren't hesitant to show it.

Relaxing, Castor lifts his free hand to his chest in a bow toward me. "Sincerest apologies, child. Do I unsettle you? Perhaps you'd be more comfortable if I removed my blind?" He lifts a hand to the cloth wrapped around his head, but I don't see him touch it before Alana's standing between us, wings covering me.

"Well, and here I thought we were friends, moth princess," Castor murmurs.

"It's not nice to make those kinds of jokes around new friends."

Extending his hand toward Willow, Castor states, "My knife."

"Are you sure I can't keep it? Just imagine what my husband will think if I come home with a knife that smells like you. Ten out of ten good prank," Willow protests.

"A tempting thought. However, my plans don't include losing my favorite dagger." Past Alana's wings, I see Castor slip his knife free from Willow's fingers, bend, and touch a kiss to her cheek. "This will suffice in your efforts of mischief."

"Ha ha," she says. "You're in danger."

A hiss that shifts into a roar pours from Willow's shadow before a monster feline half the size of a car wraps her close in his claws and tucks her away from Castor. Voice garbled due to the teeth pouring from his partially human, partially cat face, the creature says, "Leave."

"No one has a sense of humor anymore," Castor mutters.

My entire world spins before a chill goes up my spine. My stomach turns over when I realize Castor has me in his grasp.

The tiniest flick of Castor's damp tongue tastes the tip of my ear.

"Oh, for the love of marshmallows, Castor!" Alana snaps. "What did I just say about inappropriate jokes around new friends?"

His eerie laughter drifts into my skull before—all at once—he's gone.

My skin crawls as I clamp a hand to my ear, scrubbing the sensation of him off.

Alana lets her wings settle as she huffs and rolls her eyes, muttering, "I respect the villainy, really I do, but poor Pollux. He'll smell Castor on you and have a panic response if you don't wash up before you see him again."

The monstrous feline creature melts into Zylus, the man I at least mostly remember from movie night. Silken dark hair. Two-color eyes. Simple black clothes.

The pointed ears are new.

As was the cat beast thing.

And my coming face-to-face with a person responsible for at least two large-scale historical events. That I know of. So far.

Willow cringes as Zylus immediately begins nuzzling her cheek, planting kisses, licks, and nips. "Zy. I'm fine. Calm down."

He persists, clutching her. "Has it occurred to you that, perhaps, I am not fine, starlight?"

To that, Willow sags back against him and mutters, "No. Because empathy is stupid."

I…

Am out of my depth.

My forced smile falls as the weight of everything still standing in front of me becomes apparent.

Wings. Fangs. Eerie laughter echoing in the trees or in the cavern of my skull… Perhaps both.

This… All of this is my life now.

And I haven't had decades to study the correct way to navigate any of it.