Chapter 13

13

A fter a perfunctory trip to a local grocer and another quick teleport back to the small condo for actual blankets for the too large bed, Ambra gets Gurlien to help her drag the bed into the center of the room.

“Why?” he asks, after they already did all the effort. She could’ve done it with magic, but she’d have to reset more of the wards then the effort would have saved her.

“I’m gonna build that as the most secure spot,” she says, pointing. “Redo some of the wards, put alarms in the mix, concurrent circles, that sort of thing.”

He nods absentmindedly, and there’s a trace of dust on his pristine shirt, but otherwise unbothered by the physical activity.

“Feel free to read, this’ll be boring for you,” she instructs, and he raises an eyebrow.

He’s still on edge, the jittery sort of energy when someone’s jaw is too tight or their hands are a bit too active, like he hasn’t fully unwound from the conversation earlier.

She doesn’t know how to stop the tension .

“And lose a chance to see a demon put up security?” He challenges back, then bounces on his toes, too much energy. “A topic of scholarship and discussion and debate that’s been going on for centuries?”

She squints at him. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Yes, it is,” he replies immediately.

“All you’ll be able to see is me walking around in circles,” she informs him, and gets a twitch of a smile in return. “I have to concentrate to do them so I can’t narrate them, and this,” she gestures to the body, “is full of distractions on every turn.”

“Hmm,” he says, and she scowls at the vague answer. “So what I’m understanding is demons don’t have as many nerve endings to deal with on a daily basis.”

“Yes,” she says cautiously.

Sitting on the bed, he rummages through the bags from the shopping trip, until he pulls out one of the smaller packages from the phone store.

“Put this in your ear, they’ll block up to 22 decimals of sound,” he instructs, and she turns the package over in her hand. “It won’t be everything, but it’ll help.”

She peels the pack open, then sits on the bed next to him, fiddling with them.

“Like how the glasses mute some of the light, these mute some of the sound,” he continues, taking them out of her hand. “You put them on like this.” He demonstrates on his own ear, then at her blank expression holds back the hair on the side of Ambra’s head, pressing it against her ear.

Ambra freezes, like the touch itself is a compelling order, even though none has been given.

But his hands are gentle, businesslike and efficient, before he offers her the other one .

Still rather feeling like a deer caught in the lights, she gingerly takes it from his palm, fixing it to her other ear.

All the small sounds of the apartment fall away. The crackle of electricity through the lights, the hum of the pipes, the creak of the wind on the building, all small annoyances she hadn’t even recognized were weighing on her, all gone.

“This way you can still function, some people get these attached to earrings, so they can use them when needed,” Gurlien says, and his voice is still audible, if muted. More like he’s speaking to her through a layer of foam, instead of sitting so close to her on the bed.

“Huh,” Ambra says, and her own words are tinny, echoing strangely through her mind. “Never seen a human use one of these.”

“They’re not…common common,” he says, leaning back. “Musicians use them to make sure they don’t damage their hearing but still able to stay on tune, kids who have trouble focusing use them to help, that sort of thing.”

She touches the small loop on the outside of her ear and it shifts, but doesn’t break the seal.

It’s a kindness from Gurlien, one akin to the tinted glasses, even after she had made him upset earlier. Not something necessary for their mission, it’s not going to enable her to kill Nalissa and Boltiex easier, it won’t get him back to his friends faster, but just…

Something to make her existence a little less cruel. A little less grating against her very self.

It’s not an exchange for something, it’s not a bargain or a deal where she’s expected to produce something in return. It’s not a manipulation, it’s not a plea for help.

It’s just nice.

“Thank you,” she says, after too long of a silence, where he had gone back to poking on his phone.

“Not a problem,” Gurlien replies casually, eyes still reading something flash fast on the tiny screen. “You’re the one who stole the money to buy them.”

So instead, she climbs to her feet, somewhat unsteady, and toes off her shoes so she can pace across the hardwood barefoot. So she can tie the power directly through the skin she inhabits, without another barrier between them.

“Does it matter if I stay in one place?” he asks, now typing something in return. “Or can I cross at will.”

“Cross at will,” she replies, testing the floor. It’s chilled but not horrifically so. There’s another apartment beneath her, and another one after that, so she has just a barrier of a few feet to tie it into without disrupting more of the property.

His phone lights up, which means it beeped as well, but so soft the earplugs block it out.

“I would’ve done better at the mall with these,” she says, and gets an amused nod from Gurlien. “And the alarms at the base, and the stasis chambers, and at the bar—”

“If the College ever gave a thought about basic accommodations, they would be in a much more successful place in general,” he says dryly. “It’s not like Magicians are a well-adjusted normal group of people in any stretch of the imagination.”

She shrugs, one shoulder, then twists the magic into her hand, filling up the body until crackles down into her bare feet.

And with the glasses and the earplugs, it’s almost like she’s back as her own self. Like she’s a full demon, unbound by all the restrictions and annoyances, full of power and the ability to wreck as much havoc as she wants.

But instead, she begins to pace, feeding the power into her steps, laying them down into the very matter of the wood. Sparks swirl with every motion, a beautiful little light show, nestling among her skin and the grains of the floor.

Even without glancing up, she knows Gurlien is watching her. He can’t see the beauty of her actions, can’t tell how precise she’s being with each step, but still.

If he had thought to grab the notebook she has full faith he would be taking notes.

So she keeps that smile to herself, and focuses on stepping protections into place.

The sun sets before Ambra’s done, and by the time she emerges from the trance-like tying of the magic, her hands shake and Gurlien is putting something into the oven.

She blinks over at him, as he putters around the kitchen area like he knows it like the back of his hand.

A few of her books are on the bed now, where he obviously did some research, and his notebook is splayed open, a few new pages full.

So he did go grab it.

Ambra opens her mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a halfhearted croak.

“Yeah, humans have to take breaks,” Gurlien says, already in motion and filling up a glass with water from the tap.

She makes a face at the dryness of her mouth, then pads over to the kitchen island, leaning against the counter. Her ears are sweaty, a somewhat novel and unpleasant experience, so she gingerly pops out the earplugs.

“I thought about making you stop after hour six, but nobody has any research on if it has to be completed in one go. I checked.” He points to the books on the bed. “Maison didn’t know either and Axel’s contact didn’t know if it would be different in a human vs demon body.”

Her fingertips tremble as she downs the water in one long motion, and it’s almost as good as the spicy food was that morning. Gurlien takes the glass from her again and refills it, before setting another bottle from the fridge in front of her.

It’s a brand that Nalissa always drank, so Ambra eyes it.

“Protein drink,” he says, when she makes no move to touch it. “I’m making an actual meal, but this will help.”

It doesn’t smell good when she cracks it open, but she sips it, before scrunching up her nose at the taste.

“Understandable,” he mutters, but she drinks it anyway. “Anyways, if I’m keeping count, I just disproved about eight theories of demons just by watching you.”

“Just eight?” she responds, chasing the protein drink with another glug of water.

She gets another crinkly eyed smile in return.

“It may not be that much more secure, but I’ll have more warning now,” she continues, then leans across the counter towards him to hide her legs trembling. “Distance practice?”

“Uh, no,” he says, eyebrows drawing together. “You need food and rest.” Still, his lips quirk together. “Demons aren’t good at resting, are you?”

She rolls her eyes. “I could practice, it’s not terribly difficult,” she says, and to completely undermine her point, her hands shake against the glass.

“Well, I won’t. Not till tomorrow.” He idly starts to clean up the kitchen area, the motions natural, existing in the space as if he belongs. “I don’t want to get somewhere and then have you faint and leave me stranded in the Alaskan wilderness or something. ”

It’s mildly annoying.

“Besides,” he continues casually, and the hair on the back of her neck raises. “Here. The contacts ‘T’ and ‘Mel’ are your experts.”

He pulls the extra phone from his pocket, tossing it at her.

She tugs one of the stools over to her with nary a thought, poking at it apprehensively.

“Chloe’s in there as well, so is Maison, they have opinions.”

He watches her, so she scowls at him.

“I don’t want to talk to your Half Demon,” she says, but unlocks the phone anyways. “Why would they want to talk to me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?” Gurlien asks, like he’s actually curious, not like he’s mocking her. At her nod, he shrugs. “They feel sorry for you.”

“He’s the one who can’t self-heal,” she points out.

Her pride smarts, just a bit, but she’d pity any other demon forced into her position. Wouldn’t volunteer to help them, wouldn’t put herself in harm’s way, but pity…yes.

She’s seen enough humans operate phones, knows where the apps are, where to send text messages to, but it’s still clumsy in her hands. The body texted obsessively, to the point where Ambra had teased her and made her laugh, but the motions feel foreign with just Ambra operating her fingers.

Still, she pokes her way over to the messages, and sips from the water, musing what to send first.

“I’m assuming one of the experts would have told you already if they suddenly found a way to untie the leash, right?”

“Absolutely,” he confirms, leaning against the other side of the counter, and the stark white bandage of his arm catches her eyes.

He obviously re-wrapped it while she warded.

AMbrA (7:41 PM): Sorry, he got injured.

CHLOE A (7:42 PM): That’s your first text?

“Already did something wrong,” Ambra says, flipping the phone around so Gurlien can see it.

“That’s not wrong, she’s just being sarcastic,” Gurlien murmurs.

AMbrA (7:43 PM): Seems applicable.

Then, before she can stop herself, she flips over to the other contacts, filling a text with both the experts.

Gurlien’s eyebrows raise, but she ignores that.

AMbrA (7:45 PM): Why does Gurlien think you can help me?

Three dots appear, then disappear, a few times.

“I am,” Gurlien starts, “so glad I don’t have to play translator for you right now. Though…” he trails off, the scholarly expression filtering over his eyes once more. “Who knows, maybe this will be good. Similar conversation styles and all.”

She squints at him, before her phone buzzes.

MEL (7:47 PM): Shared life experiences.

“They’re being intentionally vague, aren’t they?” Ambra puzzles aloud, and Gurlien nods. “There’s only been one other of the Terese experiment and she’s dead, so it’s not that.” She stares down at the words. “It’d be a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry about the College yanking the information out of me.”

“Which is why we’re not confirming anything for you,” Gurlien says, clinical, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “You can have your own conclusions, but they’d be unsubstantiated. ”

“And there’s nothing they hate more than untested theories,” Ambra finishes, and gets a half smile in return. “So I don’t have to know anything solidly, and they’ll discount it.”

“Exactly.” The oven beeps, and Gurlien checks it, but ultimately leaves it alone.

“So shared life experiences, some sort of demon or demon-like, now existing in a solid, relatively alive body, whether they’re trapped or not.”

His brows flash up.

“You’re not the only scholar,” she points over to the bookshelves crammed with books. “If the experts have shared life experiences, if you take their words as gold, there’s not terribly many other conclusions to come to.”

T (7:51 PM): And a shared desire to never fall into the College’s hands.

AMbrA (7:52 PM): Good enough for me. Research the perversion of soul bonds split towards control.

MEL (7:55 PM): Are you serious. They did that?

It’s a little validating.

MEL (7:55 PM): How are you sane?

AMbrA (7:56 PM): That’s up in the air.

“Of course Maison likes him,” Gurlien mutters, obviously reading over her shoulder, before the oven beeps again. “Why does that not surprise me in the least.”

T (7:57 PM): This isn’t going to be an easy thing to untangle. Other than death of one party, those last forever.

Like she didn’t know.

AMbrA (7:58 PM): Hence why I want to kill Nalissa and Boltiex. They killed my human, I get to kill them.

MEL (8:00 PM): Good.

Gurlien’s phone beeps, but he’s pulling the food out of the oven and it, quite frankly, smells far too good to be human food .

MEL (8:01 PM): I have been informed to tell you to not kill Gurlien at the end of this, but I’m neutral on that.

“Seriously, does nobody like you?” Ambra asks, and he sighs. “What did you do to these people?”

He doesn’t answer, pulling the baking dish out and setting it on the stovetop.

“What is that?” she asks, when he doesn’t speak. She hadn’t paid too much attention to what he bought while shopping for the groceries, instead tracking the ley line through the store wall and twitching at every other sound.

“It’s a basic casserole,” he replies. “Chloe’s from the Midwest, so when we connected again, she taught me how to cook everything she knows. Which is only very complicated Thai food and weird casseroles.” His brown eyes flicker to hers, before away. He’s avoiding the other conversation. “Chloe actually lived outside of the College until she was twelve, she has other life skills that I never got a chance to learn.”

Still holding onto the dish with the oven mitt, he scoops out some onto the plates that came with the apartment, before sliding it across the counter to where she sits.

“Chicken, tater tots, a weird amount of cream cheese, and buffalo sauce,” he lists off. “It’s not fancy, but…” he shrugs.

As if he’s self-conscious.

“I don’t think I have any skill at cooking at all,” Ambra offers him. “I tuned out when the body did it, and she usually just put a salad into a bowl with some sauce on top.”

There’s a glimmer of something, maybe relief, that she’s following him away from the other subject, and she burns with curiosity, but instead pokes at the luridly colored food in front of her.

And puzzles at him more.