Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

B ryn waited on the bed while Gil stood in the hot shower for almost half an hour. As far as he was concerned, Gil had done the right thing getting rid of Grady, but humans struggled with death and killing. Would he be haunted by regret? By guilt? Bryn didn't understand those concepts, so he didn't know how he'd help Gil. But he would try. He wasn't going anywhere.

Gil emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of cedar-scented steam, his skin scrubbed pink and a towel wrapped around his hips. Bryn stood and stretched his front legs out, backside in the air. Then he rolled onto his back and tucked his paws up under his chin as he watched Gil remove the towel and rub his wet hair. For the first time, Bryn took in the sight of his body in full light, and he thought it would be a very long time until next Friday.

After slipping into a T-shirt and pair of flannel pajama pants, Gil stretched out on the bed and Bryn settled on his chest. Gil stroked his back and pulled the quilt over both of them. It soon became delightfully toasty under the blankets. Bryn butted his head under Gil's chin and purred as he groomed Gil's beard with his tongue. It was coming in thick and bright red, and Bryn liked it a lot.

Chuckling, Gil said, "I assume you can understand me even if you can't answer."

In response, Bryn rubbed his head along the line of Gil's jaw.

"I still don't know if you might do better, but I'm going to try. I'm going to be someone you can be proud of… someone who protects people. Someone dependable. I'm not sure yet how that's going to look, and it won't happen overnight.

"And… I really hope you'll stay. You were the one who made me think I might be worth something. You saw me in a way nobody else ever did. It made me realize that I want to be that person, that maybe I even can. And I don't care that you're stuck as a cat. Though we should probably talk about what happened to that guy in the woods. Actually… maybe not.

"Anyway, I just want you to know that I love you, Mr. Brimstone… Bryn." Gil turned off the lamp on the bedside table, casting the room in darkness. He continued to stroke Bryn's back as his breathing grew slow and heavy.

It was quiet, and Bryn wasn't sure why his chest hurt as he listened to Gil breathe. It hurt that he couldn't tell Gil how he felt, and it hurt to think that in the short time they'd have together, they'd lose so much of it to the curse.

In spite of it all, he was happy. His determination to make sure Gil had every opportunity to live the life he deserved renewed, and Bryn waited to see if he'd be troubled by nightmares. If anything unpleasant tried to trouble Gil, it would end up in Bryn's claw and then in his pouch, bound for Hell with the rest of the filth that had no business coming anywhere near this wonderful man.

But before long, Gil snored softly, nightmares no match for his physical exhaustion. Bryn slid from beneath the quilt and went to the window that Gil always left open a few inches—just enough for him to slip out into the night.

It was very, very late, closer to morning than evening, and as quiet as the grave. No wind rustled the dry leaves on the ground or those few that clung to the branches. Even the sea must be calm, because Bryn couldn't hear the rhythm of the tide as he crossed the frosted, crunchy grass, moving beyond the twisted clumps of dead tomato plants and the drooping heads of sunflowers toward the woods.

The Blackthorn Lord met him at the edge of the trees, his bone-white body draped in tattered black gauze, the gnarled branches of his crown stretching out far behind him and dotted with small, glowing moths whose light accentuated the angles of his face and made it especially skull-like.

Bryn stood on his hind legs and used a front paw to pluck the pouch from around his neck. He held it out to the faerie lord with as smug a look as a cat could manage. Old Blackie bounced it on his palm and said "A little light, but better than nothing. The old ways are fading quickly, and achieving feats like this are not as easy as they once were."

"The old ways are still with us." Bryn thought of the bonfire they'd made of Grady's house, the bones of their enemies used as kindling, as sacrifice… the blaze bright on the hill above the sea, heralding in the dark half of the year as it always had. "You just have to look a little harder."

"Perhaps," Blackthorn said. "All things move in cycles, after all. I thank you for this service, cait-sith. I will see you next year at Summer's End."

The luminous moths flew into the darkness, and the Lord of Half Twilight was gone.

Bryn was not surprised to see Brother Wilfred hovering near the potting shed a few minutes later.

"Ye gave in ta yer baser nature," the monk admonished. "I wish I could say I was surprised."

"Come on now, brother. I did it for another's benefit, and only to an evil soul destined for Hell either way! And it was only one ."

Brother Wilfred wagged his finger. "Nevertheless, you have violated the terms of our agreement."

"Don't I get the ‘selfless act' exception?" Bryn wheedled.

"This is not a fairy tale, wee one."

Bryn looked back at the house and the open window and thought of Gil nestled beneath his quilt, his full lips parted as he slept. He thought of creeping back inside and wriggling between his strong arms, sleeping against the softness of his chest and belly, waking up next to him. "It's a bit of a fairy tale after all."

"Evil deeds cannot go unpunished, so I have no choice but to add another year to yer curse," Brother Wilfred said, surprising Bryn. A year was hardly anything, and he'd expected much worse. "And because I am not a monster, I'll suspend your punishment the night after tomorrow, so that you can celebrate the end of the summer with your young man."

Bryn's mind raced with the possibilities—not just the naughty things he absolutely intended to do with Gil, but with the idea of walking down the street holding his hand while brown leaves swirled around their feet, pumpkin faces glowed from porches and windows, and children ran past dressed as devils. Thinking about it made the world feel young and new. Even Bryn felt young, and he was very, very old.

He stood on his hind legs, pressed a paw to the white star on his chest, and bowed. "That's very kind. A Merry Samhain to ye, brother."

"And to you, little cait." Brother Wilfred tipped his head. "Happy Halloween."