Chapter 13

13

I sip the delicious pecan flavored latte that Darcy brought me as we travel on his blood magic array. Darcy did a great job with this cup, too, and he brought it in one of those travel mugs that keep things warm for hours.

“This is perfect,” I sigh happily.

Darcy has had a look of smug satisfaction since we roused ourselves off the couch, and I love that look on him. He’s pretty when he’s grumpy, but happy Darcy is a work of art, and I put that look on his face.

“What’d you do today?” he asks.

“I scrubbed my floor, and then Sam and I played Skip Bo and shot the shit all afternoon after the gargoyles cleaned up her murder. She ate the green curry leftovers, so now there’s only golden left, and I’m not sure I’m willing to share that with you in the morning. You might have to figure out your own breakfast.”

The side of Darcy’s mouth lifts in a half smile as he shakes his head. “I’ve been feeding myself for thousands of years. I’m sure I can take care of tomorrow too.”

“Your confidence gives me hope. Someday I hope to know myself as well as you. Confidence is sexy, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” He laughs, and I feel it in my chest like the bass line at a metal concert.

“What did you do? Get all the murdering you wanted to accomplish done?” I ask curiously.

Darcy’s good humor slowly evaporates, and his jaw tightens. “I didn’t do what I expected to, no.”

I offer him my hand to comfort him, and he tentatively takes it. I thread our fingers together. “It's a wonder that you don’t know how easy it is to share the burdens we carry. Even just holding someone else’s hand can do the trick to help lighten our mental and emotional load, Darcy. Trust me. Holding my hand is nothing but good for you.” I squeeze his hand to emphasize my point.

Darcy hums skeptically, and I lift the back of his hand to my lips, kissing it.

He studies me and our linked hands for a moment before his grip on my fingers tightens. “I ended up on the other side of the universe tracking down a forgotten ex-Avatar of Neutrality. They were all but insane, having had a spell fuck with ten thousand years of their memory. I spent the day providing magical therapy to that poor being, and, in the end, they recovered their memories but refused to speak with me about their experience because they need time to recuperate from the mental and emotional abuse they've suffered. Weak.”

I squeeze Darcy’s hand hard, hearing him disparage them like that. “No. You are not calling a survivor of mental and emotional torture weak. No matter what state they are in right now, they are a survivor. That’s not weak. That’s strong, and you’re not going to dismiss that like it’s unimportant or unimpressive.”

Darcy freezes in place for a moment. “You really believe that? You think survivors aren’t left weak after their trials?”

This array ride is taking longer than usual, and my leg is starting to feel a bit sore, so I lower myself to my butt, stretching out my legs in front of me and leaning back on my hands. “I’m sure that physically they’re weak and need to recuperate, but the inner spirit is a survivor, and that takes all the strength. Don’t underestimate people’s mental fortitude. Our brains do amazing things when we’re in danger and unsafe. Our brains can create whole ass people to protect us from torture. It can remove itself from the present situation to escape the torture. Our brains give us survival mechanisms that keep us safe under extreme circumstances. We develop acute pattern recognition and sensible physical strategies to keep our minds and bodies safe.”

“You’re talking about dissociative disorders.” Darcy’s intrigue blankets that statement, and I smile that he’s on the same page as me. He’s not going to call people with mental health issues weak ever again—I can see the attitude shift happening. Fucking love a guy who isn’t afraid to change his mind.

“Yeah, sure. Our brain’s way of coping with torture is what we label as mental health disorders, but just because the coping isn’t needed in a healthy environment doesn’t mean that it’s unhealthy or unnecessary in extreme circumstances when it is needed.” I finish the last of my coffee and invite Darcy to sit with me, patting the array beside me. “I don’t know about you, but I would not want to be present for long, sustained torture. I’d much rather let a person my brain creates for the specific purpose of dealing with the abuse take the reins. I’d rather not be in my own body while it’s being beaten, and the brain is capable of out of body experiences during times of high stress. It’s useful and an overall plus to the human condition, not a negative.”

Darcy squats, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Not all of us are as human as you are. Some of us aren’t human at all, we just look like we are.”

I shoot him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure complex brains of all sorts have ways of coping with trauma.”

“How do you know any of this? Are you a psych major now?” he questions curiously.

“Nah. That’s just a YouTube rabbit hole I’ve been down a couple of times. I like to keep up on the research coming out of the human psychology and neuroscience sectors. I did consider becoming a psych major, though. I took a couple of counseling classes. Did you know that I’m a certified marriage counselor? Which is hilarious because I’ve never had a relationship push past boyfriend status. Stalker Steve wanted to move in together, but there’s no way I was going to do that when he didn’t want to fuck me if I took my pants off.” It’s probably a good idea to warn Darcy about my amputation if he’s really going to fuck me into the mattress tonight and stick around for breakfast in the morning.

Disgust curls Darcy’s lips. “What in the smooth brain, koala starving in a holler full of eucalyptus? No, don’t answer that,” he orders, shaking his head. “There ain’t no accounting for some people.”

“You never did answer me why you chose that accent.” He said he invented it. (I believe it, but why?)

He blows out a breath, smiling as he watches the blurry scenery pass by. “I didn’t choose it. The translation spell that allows people with magic to hear their native language when a person with similar mental patterns speaks to them gave me this accent before it existed as a regional accent. I enjoy the cadence of it and spent a few hundred years using my magic to saturate the land of the Ozarks with it. It was tricky getting it from me to the humans in the area, but their connection to the mountains eventually won. It helped that I toured as a tutor for the young’uns.”

“That’s an incredible legacy. Where are you originally from?” Seven thousand years of history is probably pretty interesting, especially for someone who isn’t a native to Earth.

Darcy’s entire face shutters, and he stands, looking away. “Humans are immune to and can’t perceive magic. That’s why the universal spell doesn’t work on them to translate French into Italian or English into Chinese. Humans have to learn language the hard way.”

Damn. I hit a sensitive issue for him. I don’t like that I did, but without any warnings about what’s off limits for the old man, it’s probably inevitable. Seven thousand years of life isn’t happening without at least a little trauma.

“I’ve never met anyone who didn’t speak English, except the aliens I met yesterday.”

Darcy’s eyebrows rise skeptically. “That’s probably not true.”

The array stops going so fast and the Eiffel Tower comes into startling focus as we descend toward the streets of Paris. “You got a favorite cafe here?” I ask, staring at the Eiffel Tower. “I get to check this off the bucket list. We should have a look at the Great Wall of China next.”

The shadows that darkened Darcy’s countenance before lift with the reemergence of his smile. “Sure. We can take the long way home and stop by the Great Wall on the way back.”

“Fuck yeah,” I hoot, gratified to get to check two things off the bucket list tonight. “Having my own Princess Jasmine magic carpet ride.”

Darcy mean mugs me, but I don’t think it’s serious. “This ain’t a date, Peach.”

I acknowledge that with a nod as the array stops in front of a restaurant with fairy lights and outdoor seating and we hop off. There are people milling around on the street, but they don’t pay us any attention. That probably goes with the can't-perceive-magic thing. Darcy stops by the welcome podium and gets us a table for two on the balcony. The host leads us up and hands us menus, speaking perfectly understandable English…

As soon as he leaves us, I lean in to Darcy, whispering, “That guy was speaking French?”

Darcy smirks. “And you responded in English to his French.”

“I thought I was human,” I admit, a little impressed.

Darcy snorts. “You perceive magic. You’re mostly human, but you got some interesting ancestry.”

“I wonder how I can find out about that,” I ponder, perusing the menu. It’s in French, so I set it aside. “Can you order for me? I can’t read any language but English.”

“Sure thing, Peach. I gotchu.”

Thankfully, he does. He orders for us both when the server comes over. We get a bottle of wine to share, and after tasting it, Darcy cuts me some bread and smoothes some creamy cheese over it. He puts it on a little plate for me before serving himself.

It’s a little datey of him to do, but I’m not telling him that. I like seeing him smile, and I’m not going to steal his joy just because he doesn’t really understand how platonic dinners work.

“You’ve never answered me honestly, Peach. What is your real major?” he asks, looking at me with his full attention.

I try to remember what I told him before. PT, right? Maybe it was entrepreneurship? “Did you know that you can get a bachelor’s in packaging? I heard about that when I was looking into careers with low unemployment rates.”

Darcy arches a brow. “Are you getting a bachelor’s in packaging?”

“Oh no, that’s not even offered at my school.” I think the only place to get that bachelor’s is in Michigan or Illinois or somewhere in the Great Lakes area. Hmm. Might be in Toronto.

“Peach.” Is that a note of warning I detect in that rumbling, deep, commanding tone?

Sigh. If my ass wasn’t still recovering from our last encounter, I would suggest a trip to the toilettes . “NOAA has some pretty steep requirements for their meteorologists, but I finished all those requirements in my first year. It was a lot of fun.”

Darcy narrows his eyes, studying me. “Did you also finish all the requirements for getting certified to do physical therapy?”

I nod. “I did that during my second year. It’s nice that they line up all the core classes so they’re easy to schedule in.”

“That’s a lot of credit hours,” he says, apropos of nothing.

“It’s not like I don’t have all day,” I point out.

“What did you do during your third year?”

I smile broadly, remembering that year fondly. “Business entrepreneurship. It was enlightening. I think I’ll really be able to help my family’s farm with that one.”

“How old are you?” he asks curiously.

“Twenty five, why?”

“Just wondering,” he replies as the server brings us our salad course.

It’s a spring mix with some thin sliced vegetables and a light vinaigrette.

“So how many majors do you actually qualify to graduate with?” he asks, levelly.

I finish the bite in my mouth before answering. “Just six. I thought about going another year, but I’m becoming a non-traditional student and I never really meant to spend this long getting my bachelor’s.”

Darcy finishes off his glass of wine and pours himself another. “Do you plan to work on the family farm?”

“I’m working on the coursework for a degree in pedology so I’m useful on the farm. We grow marijuana now along with our original crops, plus we have a big orchard, and I think being able to take care of the soil and the business will be helpful. I know about weather patterns now too, so I can start planning for droughts or seasons with too much rain. Farming’s hard work, so I learned about physical therapy to help when one of us gets injured. My dad’s been nursing his shoulder for years, and I finally got him doing exercises. He says he hasn’t felt this good since he was forty.”

“Why the forensic criminology?” he questions, refilling my wine glass too.

“It was fun, and for a hot minute I thought I might not want to go back to the farm.” I have no regrets about it either. It’s been more helpful than I would have guessed since meeting Sam and now Darcy.

“Have you ever considered becoming a professional student?” he asks as the server whisks away our salad plates.

“That would be fun, but my MawMaw isn’t going to pay for that. She’s fine with what I’ve done, but I promised to graduate, so I’m not going to take further advantage of her goodness by begging to keep going. I can learn other things from other places, you know?”

Darcy peers at me over the lip of his wine glass. “What if you didn’t have to pay for your education?”

I laugh at the thought. “Well, of course I’d be down for that. I’d probably spend the next decade learning if I didn’t have to pay for it. Fuck, I’d go ahead and get a few masters degrees and maybe a PhD or two. Can you imagine me as Doctor Elijah Penn?” The thought tickles me, and I laugh again.

“I can see it. You’d make your parents proud, and if you wanted to pursue teaching, you’d probably be a good professor too. You’re interesting enough that I’m here instead of murdering people for fun. That says something.”

I tip the rest of my wine back and laugh again. “Do you really go out murdering people for fun?” Somehow I doubt it.

Darcy shakes his head. “I have fun when I murder people, but I don’t go looking to do it, not usually. Sometimes I do. I took part in the murder of the last queen of Hell and her consort because she threatened Romily’s adopted son.” He doesn’t look like he regrets that at all.

“Were they going to kill his kid?” That’s an appalling thought.

“I think they would have tried, but they were never going to succeed. They would have died trying, and instead of letting them inconvenience us, we took the fight they were going to lose to them. They’re dead now, and I’m not sleeping any worse for it. I probably should have killed them centuries ago.”

“It was their time.”

Darcy smirks. “Everyone dies, why not sooner rather than later?”

“It only works if it’s their time. People are basically immortal until they’re dead.” I believe that. I don’t think it’s possible to end a life prematurely. It might be my own bullshit, but no one can prove me wrong, and I like the idea that I’m meant to be alive until I'm done with this life.

“That’s a dire way of looking at things. I’m thousands of years old and I would never think that. It…” He stops and a look of vulnerability crosses his face.

I reach out to take his hand and he lets me, twining our fingers together.

“It’s too hurtful to think that Fate cuts the strings of children short on purpose.”

Oof. Damn. That’s hard to respond to. It would make fate cruel, and that’s not a world anyone wants to live in. Randomness and chaos is easier to cope with than intentional cruelty.

“I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right. What I said was insensitive. Are you ok?”

Darcy scowls at the wall for a few seconds, taking a moment to gather himself. It’s too bad he won’t let himself feel those emotions when they crop up. “It’s ok to be sad, man. It’s ok to not be ok even if you’re in the middle of an awesome hangout sesh and you’re guaranteed to get laid later.”

Darcy huffs a laugh and then smiles, really smiles at me. It’s not the smirk that lives on his face to mask his real self. It’s a gorgeous mark of joy, and I’m living for seeing it light him up. “I’m ok. I’m thousands of years old, Elijah. I’ve had a few kids along the way. Sometimes it’s hard to be a parent. Sometimes it’s impossible.”

Oooh, yeah. Being thousands of years old, it’s probably inevitable that you have a kid or two along the way. “I’m guessing your kids aren’t nearly as long lived as you?” It's a hard thing to say, but I don’t want to trip over this kind of grief and loss again if I don’t have to.

Darcy released a tight breath. “I only ever sired children from mortals, thus my children were also mortal. My last descendants are still alive and prospering, but they don’t know me, and I just keep tabs on the family line for my own sake. They’re practically human at this point. Most of them can’t perceive magic at all.”

The server returns, carrying a lamb entree with some pretty green beans and a side of pesto pasta.

I release Darcy’s hand. “Is that why you’re not into relationships? You already found the love of your life thousands of years ago, and you don't want to experience that kind of heartache ever again?”

Darcy narrows his kohl lined eyes, studies me for a moment, and the expression morphs into genuine surprise. “If anyone else had asked that, I’d think they were making fun of me.”

“If someone asks that to make fun of you, you need a change of company. Heartache is a wholeass thing, and no one needs anyone in their lives who doesn’t understand it.” How cruel does someone have to be to make fun of a guy who lost his heart?

“I loved Mila, but the ache of that loss is gone now. I don’t do relationships because they’re too fleeting.”

The lamb is delicious, so I don’t hurry to clear my bite, and it gives us both some time to let the conversation lull. “I think it would be hard to be in a relationship for twenty five years. My parents love each other, and they’re friends, but they’re not the kind of been-together-twenty-five-years that’s couple goals, you know? They barely talk to each other because they’ve run out of things to say. They love each other—and me—and they’re not on the verge of divorce or anything, but they’re not the kind of relationship that people romanticize. I’m not sure the romanticized version is even possible.”

Darcy snorts, shaking his head. “I’m going to have to introduce you to the Patervulpises. They’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive and they are the kind of romantic relationship goals that people want. I think their secret is they genuinely like each other, they obsess about the same thing, and their bed is open to anyone they want to fuck. Dakota will bang anything with three legs, and the rest of them enjoy watching him do it. That man is a true monster-fucker.”

I can’t help the smile that cracks my lips. “Three legs specifically? Or are there exceptions?”

Darcy chuckles. “There are always exceptions, but he does prefer cock to cunt.”

“Maybe you should introduce us sooner rather than later,” I suggest with a leer.

Darcy leers back. “As soon as I’ve gotten my fill of you, Peach. How’s that?”

“Sounds good to me.”