Box Seats

Levity knew she shouldn't be—couldn't be—Murph's only connection to the In-between. Oh, her instincts were begging her to carry him off and stash him in a secret den, keeping him all to herself, but this was better.

"The whole story's based on an Amaranthine fable?" Murph's excitement was palpable.

"More of a famous story, really," said Canarian. "Possibly exaggerated, which does give it a fairy tale quality. But all the clans know about Lord Beckonthrall's windswept courtship. He tells his story to any who'll listen, inspiring sympathy and tears and most especially laughter."

"So the seasons that bring four brides …?"

"Oh, yes. That's a direct reference to the dragon lord's experience. Except they weren't seasons. I changed that bit around. His brides are the embodiments of winds. Literal winds."

On and on they went. Levity couldn't follow Murph's more specific questions about Canarian's plays, but she was enjoying herself. She'd never seen Murph more excited than he was tonight.

He'd dredge up some small point in one of Canarian's scripts. Discussion ensued. Or more often, Ambrose would slip into character, and the scene would unfold. It was difficult to say who was having more fun.

The only thing that shut them up was Shakespeare. Well, sort of. Murph spent most of the production making certain that Torloo was following along. She could have done that herself, and without having to speak aloud. But this was Murph's milieu. From the French. Literally translated, "in the middle place." Which was its own kind of In-between. And Murph definitely looked like he belonged.

"Can you stay?" Catalan inquired as the theater below emptied. "I invited some old friends to drop by."

"You can do that?" asked Murph.

Ambrose said, "He can do as he pleases. He owns this place."

" Part owner," Canarian quickly corrected. "Which does have certain benefits. Catalan's been gathering reinforcements."

"Catalan?" Murph sat up straighter. "Your brother?"

Canarian laughed softly. "Cat is going to love you."

And so their evening at the theater passed into the realm of afterglow. Actors, many of them performers whose names Murph clearly knew from old playbills, performed little vignettes from favorite plays.

Murph was in ecstasies.

Levity decided to be pleased, even though her plans meant that she and Murph had barely spoken.

Hours later, Torloo's voice slipped into her thoughts. "Murph would have thanked you if he had not fallen asleep."

"I know," she assured, answering in kind.

"He spoke of his love for you."

"In that context, he was expressing gratitude. It's a human expression. So you see? He did thank me. Right from the start."

Murph had gradually listed to the side, finally falling asleep against Ambrose's shoulder.

"He loves you," Torloo insisted.

Levity answered, "I know."

Canarian signaled to Catalan on the stage below, calling an end to the impromptu performances. He spread his suit coat over Murph and shook his head. "We never did get around to explaining why persons of mixed heritage are important to both of us."

"Next time," said Ambrose.

Levity liked that there was no question that there would be a next time.

Ambrose added, "We should bring Reinier and Cirric."

"Yes, I think we should," said Canarian. And to Levity, "We're both raising crossers."

"My bondmate is human." Ambrose indicated Murph with a flutter of long fingers. "May I ask about your relationship?"

"Officially, we're coworkers. More recently, friends." Levity tousled Torloo's hair, grumbling, "Yes, yes, you're right. Courting gifts have been accepted on either side."

And because she felt these two would understand, Levity called for their attention with a handsign.

"Murph told me that one of the reasons he loves your plays is that they always have a happy ending. I think that's become my share in the balance Murph and I are finding. I want to be his happy ending."