Next❧
Index
aiting for the train from the airport that night was tall and beautiful man with long snow-white hair in curls and braids. He was dressed in a suit of fine linen that was a delicate lilac that matched his eyes, which were hidden behind his tinted spectacles, beneath the brim of his white fedora. Many people thought he was a model, but none approached him, not even the foreign tourists who did not recognise him.
Romania had no royal family, nor nobility. That wasn’t what Romania was like anymore; but even so, everyone knew this man as a prince, though not a one knew his name. Albinism was rare among humanity, and even though those with it were of late becoming more visible to the public and international eye, were surviving longer and no longer hidden away, being one was still very noticeable—particularly if you had very long hair, and dressed so finely. He had lived in Romania a long time, long enough and having done enough that he was affectionately known among the locals as The Angel. Nobody remembered when he had come to Bucharest, but that he came from the mountains, and never aged, and only appeared for two reasons:
This time, it was a large party, American, with a tiny clown and two people in fine wheelchairs.
The clown’s squeaking steps halted as she saw him, and he also regarded her with hidden shock; but her tail swished back and forth a few times, and then she turned away to look at another person in the crowd, another clown, and waved, beeping, as clowns always did when they spotted one another. The tall and spindling Småtrolde waved back, but did not honk back, as his breed was not capable of doing so.
Most of the party, Claudiu recognised—all but three: the one the Council had been called to see, all in a fine black suit that nonetheless covered all of him, and a bird-like plague doctor’s mask in black leather; and the youngest two, a pretty boy with long red hair and a werecat’s scent, and the other in the chair a little less grand than D-na Blackstone’s, an equally pretty but softer boy with a black hat covering his hair, and whimsically asymmetrical glasses covering the half of his face that didn’t have a mask on. He was all in black, but it was a more comfortable and casual black than Claudiu was used to.
‘Bună seara,’ Aix said, carefully. ‘Eu sunt Aix.’
His accent was wobbly, more unsure than incorrect. Claudiu reassured him with a smile. ‘Bună seara, Aix.’ He spread his arms a little. ‘Bine ați venit în România. Welcome.’
Aix looked around while everyone was greeting one another, enchanted with new spaces, a bit giddy at the idea that he was in Europe, he was so far away from everywhere he’d ever been. The architecture was new, but as Claudiu led them through the station toward the exit, the architecture got older, and Aix got more excited, pushing himself as far as he could, wanting to strengthen his stamina, but asking to be pushed after that. This time, Dmitri got there first, as Michaela was pushing her best friend.
Aix was too busy looking around and keeping track of Pippin (she wasn’t on his lap, she wasn’t on Victoria’s lap, she was wandering around and there was no leash and don’t panic don’t panic—) to pay attention to the conversation, though he wanted to, and was relieved when they finally got to the—bus?
It was a rebuilt bus, because of course it was—that was the only way two wheelchairs were going to fit on one vehicle, especially since Victoria’s was very throne-like. Aix’s was still bigger than any of the fancy ones he’d seen, but he liked it that way. It made people respect your space by force, which was needed. And he and Victoria were both people that, by their nature in many ways, took up a lot of space. It was something Aix was still learning to accept, but that had always been true—regardless of how many people tried to punish him for it, or convince him to take up less.
Once in the vehicle though, Aix could tune back into the conversation a bit more, especially when someone pressed water into his hands.
‘Do you want to stay in the hotel or at the castle, Aix, dear?’ Victoria asked him, and Aix paused.
‘There’s a hotel?’
‘I usually stay there and everyone uses it as the internet café,’ Michaela explained. ‘It also gets used as a sort of touchpoint for daytrips.’
Aix thought about it. They’d told him that there was no internet, unreliable cell signal, and barely electricity or phone line, up at the castle. All the wiring was confined to the lowest ground level, leaving the upper levels free of such noise. Aix could fully understand that, and had been looking forward to the profound quiet one usually only enjoyed during a city-wide blackout.
On the other hand, radio silence. No friends outside this little group, for the month they’d be here. That was frightening, but considering the group it was also a bit exciting.
Aix had never liked his reliance on the internet.
The only other time he’d been that isolated he’d been in asylums, with nothing to do and few people to talk to; but this would be different. This would be with company.
‘No, I was looking forward to the quiet up at the castle,’ he said. ‘I can write to my friends, and I told them I’d be gone.’ He’d already prepared by writing phone numbers down, and buying lots of sheet music and stationery. ‘I’m sort of excited about the quiet, to be honest. And the trees. And didn’t you say there were going to be other clowns there? Pippin hasn’t had a lot of chance to hang out with other joeys.’
‘Roseblade has brought his two clowns, and there are our two, of course,’ Claudiu said.
‘Wait, y’all have clowns?’ Aix hadn’t been told this.
‘We do, yes. Roseblade gave my father a drag queen and a white clown to look after me.’ Claudiu laughed softly. ‘The fruit trees we began to grow because of them.’
It was traditional to have clowns in pairs, one from the white group and one from the red group ideally, though many, many American clowns ended up alone because of how American culture was set up. Or you were like Simon and had twelve (well, eleven now). Like cats, clowns did best in even numbers. Pippin being a fifth wheel would be offset by her having a cat companion, though.
‘That’s a whole troupe, goodness,’ Victoria commented.
‘Roseblade shall be pleased to have a chibi pierrot for his Young Master Ban,’ Dmitri said. ‘He has been broody.’
‘…Did you just use the word “chibi” in a sentence?’ Aix asked, startled. ‘No, um, no judgement, I just—haven’t heard it in a long time.’ Or from a grown-up, Aix brain finished, because he never felt adult ever.
‘A young tenant explained it to me years ago,’ Dmitri said. ‘It is a useful word, I think.’
‘It is,’ Aix agreed.
‘Cheebee,’ Pippin said quietly to herself. ‘Cheebee. Cheebee.’
Aix got the distinct impression she had never encountered this word before. He showed her what it meant, and her Flash lit up bright and excited red-yellow-blue as she suddenly understood, Mask bright and happy.
‘Cheebee bees!’ she beeped, so loudly that the kitten mewed back from his carrier.
‘That’s right, you are chibi.’ Aix felt her delight, her euphoria, at finally having a word for herself, for what she was, and hugged her. ‘Ohh, Pippin, I know that feeling…’ he said, misty-eyed as she kissed his face and practically vibrated with joy. ‘She didn’t have a word for herself,’ Aix said, as he snuggled Pippin. ‘It’s important.’
The drive, after they got to the foothills, was long and switchback, but Aix had taken medicine before landing, and tried to just go unconscious to avoid the nausea. That meant he was waking up as the van was stopping, and apparently Pippin had decided to sleep with him, bc she was a warm and comforting weight on him, her tail curled up around her, little hands holding onto it for comfort, the puff at the end covering her face. It was how she usually slept, and it never stopped being adorable.
Claudiu opened the back of the van. ‘We have paved the path since you visited last, Doamna Blackstone,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It is asphalt now.’
‘Goody,’ Victoria said, as Dmitri controlled the speed that she wheeled down the ramp with vampiric strength. Aix followed, but with René’s help. The ramp wasn’t exactly shallow or wide enough to be entirely safe to navigate if you were a beginner, it looked like a cargo ramp, mostly. But once on the brand-new paved path, Aix grabbed his wheels again, and wheeled himself a bit.
‘Oooooh,’ he said, ‘this is low-rider smooth…’
‘What is “low-rider”?’ Claudiu asked curiously.
‘Like, you know when guys lower their car so it hugs the ground? That’s a low-rider. You need a really smooth road to drive one.’
‘Ah—you like cars?’
‘I’m from a very car culture part of America, yeah,’ Aix said, ‘I like vintage cars as pieces of art.’
‘That’s the politics tone of voice,’ Cameron said, following René down the ramp. ‘Cars are very politically charged for our generation.’
‘They dismantled the Pacific-Electric Railroad,’ Aix growled. ‘Do you know how comprehensive that was! Three counties!’
‘My witch is passionate about infrastructure,’ René said to Claudiu, with pride that completely disarmed Aix; which was good, but bewildering.
‘Ooooh, the dark flower is heeeeeere!’ sang a voice, and Aix startled with a cold drop of terror how did someone know that about him—and then he realised it was Garnet, this time in an outfit much more suited to a courtier or perhaps a prince, traipsing toward them from an unclear direction.
‘Don’t call me that,’ Aix said. ‘It’s Aix now.’
‘Okaaaay,’ Garnet said, keeping pace even though he managed to also give off the impression of skipping. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, everyone’s going to love you! I’ve been telling them all about you and your stories!’
He missed the utter terror and general consternation this caused in Aix, but René—and the others—did not.
‘Garnet, you don’t know me anymore. I’m not nineteen anymore, I’m thirty-four and I’m a very, very different person, and I do not want people to know who I was when I was A) a child and B) being actively abused by several people.’ Even though he felt everything about himself shaking, chest tight and voice tense, Aix tried to stay calm and just do what he always did: say exactly what he meant. It had never worked before, but it was all he could do. ‘What, exactly, have you told them,’ he asked, not actually wanting to go down this road but also needing to know, so he could do damage control.
Garnet paused for several moments. ‘About your stories,’ he said again. ‘Oh, and your singing voice. And your bunny rabbit! How is she?’
‘Dead,’ Aix said, voice going even further deadpan, ‘someone killed her.’
‘Oh!’ Garnet actually shed a few tears, and stopped to hug Aix. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Pippin growled at him, and he drew away, shocked—Pippin had a black Mask over the top half of her face, and had turned her eyes and her Flash red, fluffing. She hissed at Garnet, the white stripes on her tongue bright green in warning.
Demon, sitting up on the back of Aix’s chair, also fluffed up and hissed.
Cameron looked like he was about to fluff up and hiss, himself.
René touched Aix’s shoulder, mindful of the kitten.
Aix felt a lot better, suddenly, and he even felt Cthulhu’s presence in his periphery—but they’d talked, and Aix had told Cthulhu if he needed help he would say so, but that Cthulhu simply showing he was standing by, ready, was enough.
‘Garnet,’ Aix began, carefully, ‘I like you, I want to be friends again; but we need to establish some boundaries, okay? Just… I really appreciate that you defined me by what I create, but you knew a child version of me. I’m a grown-up now and we need to get to know each other all over again, away from that person I divorced in 2019. I haven’t even seen you in over ten years.’
There was a tense silence after this—everyone present knew how quick to temper sidhe were, even if they were Garnet, who was fairly relaxed (even if it was at the cost of him being a bit of a god-help-us). But then Garnet straightened up and, sweeping his froth of dark red curls over one shoulder, bowed to Aix in the manner of the Faerie court.
‘Merry and well met, stranger,’ he said, in a more formal voice, and something in Aix uncoiled a bit. Aix gave a little bow of his head.
‘Well and merry met,’ Aix returned, feeling that was just the right response.
‘Uu?’ Pippin said, confused. Aix petted her.
It’s okay. He made a mistake but he wasn’t trying to be mean. We’re starting over.
Forgive?
No, baby. Forgive is a Christian idea, and Duckie isn’t Christian.
‘You handled that well,’ Victoria said softly, as Garnet skipped ahead, chatting enthusiastically with Hext, Michaela, Scarpa, and Claudiu about everything and nothing.
‘Je suis très fier de toi, chou-chou,’ René added, gently moving Demon down to Aix’s lap so he could caress the back of Aix’s neck, toy with the soft curls poking out from under his hat. Aix started petting the kitten alongside Pippin, both purring.
‘Being tactless isn’t a crime,’ Aix said, ‘And he’s the only person from my past that made any effort to say hi to me again, that matters to me.’
A large bird landed in the middle of the path, behind Dmitri and Victoria, silent, and Aix looked up to see it was an actual lammergeier. ‘Stopstop,’ he said in a hushed voice to René.
Oh, the bird I saw. Are we near where I was? Cthulhu asked, stopping as well to marvel at it. It is so big.
One of the biggest birds there is, Aix replied, enchanted, but pulling a blanket over Pippin and Demon. Shh, stay hidden, stay safe. Predator.
René knew who this was, who it must be; Milady could change into many animal forms, but she favoured vultures for flying. He’d never seen her turn into this kind—she usually favoured the white Egyptian vulture—but it was unmistakeably a vulture. He bowed his head in regard, but remained silent; she would speak if she wished to be known.
‘Hi, baby,’ Aix said softly. ‘Look at you, you’re gorgeous.’
The lammergeier suddenly rose up without rising up at all, turning into black shadows, and then into a woman all in rich black fabrics embroidered with gold, her face entirely veiled behind layers and layers of burqa in fine black silk. In the orange light of the lamps along the edges of the path, only the gold really showed, making her seem half-there.
‘Oh!’ Aix said, wondering who this was—and what she was. ‘Um, Asalaam alaikyum,’ he said, his anxiety quite sure he was mangling the pronunciation, because nobody had ever sat with him and let him practise.
She said something he didn’t quite catch, let alone understand—he presumed the proper reply—and then, in English: ‘They said you would be veiled. Have you left Islam?’
‘It… wasn’t really working for me,’ Aix said, guiltily. But why should he feel guilty, it was true? Was he required to try it for a set period? No. It was just being honest. I’m allowed to change. I’m allowed to try things.
‘Mr Asher will be pleased about that,’ she said, with an undefinable tone in her voice. She went over to Cameron, and raised a bare and ash-brown hand to touch his face gently.
He froze.
‘You can’t touch Cameron without asking him first,’ Aix said, sternly. ‘I don’t care who you are,’ he added. ‘I’m Baltimore’s witch, and Cameron lives in Baltimore, so he’s under my protection. Hands off.’
The stranger hadn’t moved, and Pippin got out from under the blanket as she felt Aix’s weight shift to get up.
Finally, the lady pulled her hand away, and Aix settled back down, still glaring at her.
‘…You are either very brave or very foolish,’ she said.
‘Assume whichever one you want, but if you want to bother someone, bother me. Leave Cameron alone.’ Aix’s voice was low and dangerous, like he always felt when he said that last phrase. Pick on someone your own size! Thumped inside his chest, acting as an incantation to kindle the rage that was always burning low but never went out.
She stepped back, feeling a ward swirl up around the werecat, and looked at René, watching her without interfering. ‘You have nothing to tell him, boy?’ she asked.
‘You expect me to have him at my beck and call? That is not what a witch is for,’ René said, with careful nonchalance.
‘You brought a werecat for me.’
‘He is not an offering, Milady. He is here to speak with you, to meet you. He is a person.’
‘Ah,’ she said, understanding the trouble. Carefully, she used her own telepathy to and showed Aix and Cameron both her intention—she had not meant harm, not truly; like all conflicts, it stemmed mostly from miscommunication, misunderstanding. She was excited, in high spirits.
‘I don’t like being touched without warning,’ Cameron said, evenly, though he was still a little shaky. ‘It’s not just you, it’s anyone. Especially my face.’ He tried to give her a smile, lighten the tension. ‘The kitten’s friendly though, if you ask I bet Aix will let you pet his face.’
‘We were told to ignore the cat, and this little one,’ she said, gesturing to Pippin, who was glowing all her Flash bright red, lighting her eerily in the low light. Still, Milady started over, slowly. ‘But if I may pet the kitten, I would like to.’
‘Let’s get inside first, he’s a little startled,’ Aix said, cradling him and Pippin close. It’s okay, babies, I gotchu babies.
‘Once we get inside, there will be squawking and clamour,’ she said, but not without a smile in her voice, as she kept pace beside René pushing Aix’s chair.
There was a whistle—Michaela’s whistle, Aix recognised it—from where the other half of the party had ended up ahead of them. Cameron glanced at René, who nodded, and Aix was sad that he didn’t get a good look at Cameron first turning into his beast-form in front of Aix, before Cameron had bounded ahead of them.
‘Squawking?’ Aix asked, as they started to catch up slowly.
‘From the fops,’ René said. ‘Milady thinks of them as being like unto a flock of parrots.’
‘They have brought all of themselves,’ Milady said, ‘and so far, all but the poison vine have arrived early, and all talk is about you,’ she said, to Aix. ‘You killed the Heeren, you found something Elder than even our universe.’
‘That would be me,’ Cthulhu said. ‘But I am not a god. I refuse to be. I am a person, as are my colleagues.’
It was still, Aix thought silently to himself, such a shiver-inducing treat, to hear Cthulhu actually speak. He was still shy of it, and Aix had told Victoria to stop being so pushy about it, knowing what it was to be unused to talking in a new language, and feeling self-conscious.
Michaela was waiting by the door when they got up to it. ‘Evenin’, Milady.’
‘Hunter,’ she said, much less cordially.
They went inside, and Aix was glad to have a moment to gather himself, and look around the inside of the castle. It was a proper castle, but the inside had been retrofitted with insulation, and all other sorts of things. The closest Aix had ever been to the inside of a castle was the Armory on Park, which wasn’t nearly so grand or well-funded.
The floor and walls in the entry were the signature intricacy that Aix associated with Orthodox Christianity, all the gold and the gothic arches and the every inch being carved—except instead of saints and angels, it was all bat-winged grotesques and demons, and just plain old bats. A chandelier of sculpted bats hung from the ceiling, sparkling with light, and the sconces were all in the shapes of bats. There was an old and well-maintained radiator right near the door of shining brass, the largest Aix had ever seen, which Pippin immediately went to stand near, holding out her little hands.
Demon climbed carefully up onto Aix’s shoulder, looking around. ‘Prrp?’
‘I know, it’s exciting!’ Aix said, laughing.
‘May I?’ Milady asked, and Aix nodded.
‘Sure, if he wants you to. Don’t grab him, though.’
‘I was a pharaoh of Egypt, young one, I know what cats are like.’
‘A-ah,’ Aix replied, eloquently, just taking that in stride as she pet the cat, trying not to be disappointed that she was Muslim. People changed, it wasn’t his business. At least she wasn’t Christian.
‘Not Hatshepsut,’ she added.
‘Of course not,’ Aix said, but did not actually know of any other female pharaohs. But of course, not Hatshepsut, because Milady was here and alive, that meant nobody could have found her tomb… ‘It’s been a long time since I studied anything about Egypt.’
‘Have you seen Stargate?’ she asked, in a sort of sudden, blunt way that Aix was starting to realise was just how she was going to be.
‘The—the show, or the film?’ Aix stammered.
‘Either. I find it very funny.’
‘It is definitely funny,’ Aix agreed, feeling like this conversation was getting entirely surreal. ‘Um, Pippin, you wanna come sit back in my lap, honey?’
‘Ye,’ she said, coming away from the radiator and climbing back into his lap, pulling the blanket over herself. Aix helped her.
‘We should get ready for dinner, yes?’ René said, looking to Michaela. ‘Is Aix set near all of you?’
‘Yeah, c’mon.’
‘I shall see you at dinner, nedjem,’ Milady murmured softly, though she mostly spoke to the cat, and departed.
‘You go on ahead Mike, if René knows the way I’ll just stay with him.’
Michaela hesitated, but she sensed what Aix was trying to do—he didn’t want to be hovered over, and Michaela had to admit she needed to learn to not hover over him. ‘Okay, sugar,’ she said. ‘Holler if you need anything.’
‘Thanks, Mike,’ Aix said. ‘I will.’
‘Come,’ René said, feeling Aix’s tension subsist after Michaela left them alone, but now far more free to touch his shoulders, lean down and kiss his hair. ‘I shall go with you to the mortal wing, it is full of comforts, and I shall paint your pretty face.’
‘Thank you, Domine,’ Aix said, as he started for what was obviously an elevator, beautiful and Nouveau, grander than the one Dmitri’s building had, but still in the same place, brass leaves and faux-organic curves crouched amidst the branches of the stairwell. It was unsettling and beautiful, and probably knocker-made.
Aix sighed as René closed the elevator and pulled the lever to start it ascending. Mechanical, not electric, which was kind of exciting—and weird, to a person who had grown up in the electric age.
‘So,’ Aix said, to fill the silence, needing to say something, ‘Milady is ancient Egyptian.’
‘She is the eldest vampire known,’ René said. ‘Her emoting has a learning curve. She was not angry at any time, she is simply abrasive at first, before you understand her humour.’
‘Millenia of language and cultural barrier will do that,’ Aix said, understanding instantly. René started petting Demon, who was still on Aix’s shoulders, and Aix felt the kitten start to climb up on René.
‘Non, petit,’ René said, gently peeling him away (Aix had clipped his claws before they’d left, so it wasn’t too difficult) and putting him in Aix’s lap, with Pippin, who lifted the blanket.
I tell him it time for nap now. He fuss fuss. Tyohed.
‘Oh, yeah, I was going to let him have some time by himself to explore my room,’ Aix said to Pippin, petting the kitten gently. ‘Get his things set up if they aren’t and then let him have a bit of time away from people. I need you to come with me to dinner though, bean.’
‘Ye!’ I wan come with Duckie.
Again was that sense of something she needed to do, to see. Aix didn’t push, respecting she didn’t want to tell him. She was old, maybe she knew some people here. Mr Asher or something.
‘Who is Mr Asher, and why would he be pleased I’m not Muslim?’ Aix asked.
‘He says he is what is called both a demon and a djinn. Also,’ René said, ‘she was joking, in her way.’
The elevator arrived on the third floor, and Aix reached for his wheels. René put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Let me lead you, the elevator must be locked.’
Aix waited patiently while René did something with the levers on the control panel, then went out to wait in the corridor, which had a wooden floor and a red runner carpet, over the stone. There were radiator pipes, Aix noted, and wondered. There wasn’t electricity up here, but there was plumbing. Interesting.
Cthulhu had been awfully quiet; but he’d told Aix, in the couple of weeks before now, that he was sort of known for being The Quiet One, and observing more than interacting. Given his people did not have high social needs, Aix had worked out with him a promise that Cthulhu would reach out and ‘poke’ him if he needed social interaction, not rely on Aix to pick up cues that Aix could not pick up.
‘You can take your mask off now, Monsieur,’ René said to Cthulhu affectionately.
I wish to dramatically take it off when introduced to the Council.
Aix let out a low and throaty laugh that startled René with how villainous—and delicious—it was. ‘Excellent. I support you, Joe.’
René gestured to the door to the right, which had keys hanging from the lock, and a paper sign pasted to it that had, in Claudiu’s big script,
Aix of Baltimore
‘Ohhh I love his handwriting,’ Aix said, wheeling over and standing up to admire the script more closely.
Am I staying in this room also?
‘Well, I’d certainly like if you stayed in this room with me, yes,’ Aix said, unlocking the door and putting the keys in his pocket, opening the brass lever of the door, relieved to find the door wasn’t too heavy, swinging open silently. The air inside the room was warm enough that Pippin and Demon squirmed and leapt off him, both making a beeline for the radiator beneath the window.
Aix stayed standing, and pushed his chair in, parking it beside the door and hanging his purse over one arm and admiring the room. It had wall-to-wall carpet in a dark green floral pattern that Aix immediately clocked as being from the 1990s, and wood panelling on the walls that gave it a homey feel even with all the grand high fanciness of the carvings, which seemed a mix of Victorian Neo-Gothic and… actual Gothic. There were fornications in the ceiling as the panelling gave way to the original stone, and no lights overhead, just increasing darkness. The sconces were that same glowing stuff, Aix realised, that bioluminescence—encased in little globes of glass or maybe crystal, the light had not seemed strange because it was the same colour as electric light, or firelight, but only now did Aix realise that didn’t fit with the fact that there was no electricity on this floor.
Besides the bedroom set of carved wooden furniture—canopy bed with heavy green drapes of velvet, grand armoire, curved low dresser, mirrored vanity and two night-tables—there was also a desk by a window, several bookshelves, and what Aix realised were photographs, blown up as big as old-fashioned paintings and put into the same ornate frames. They depicted landscapes of forests and mountains, grandiose and comfortingly familiar to Aix, who was from a place where Nature adorned herself with quite grand-scale vistas, indeed.
Did Claudiu do photography? That seemed like one of those odd things someone with albinism might have taken up, because of being so focussed, by having the disability, on light and how the eye worked. Aix was certainly fascinated with people and their ways because of being so terrible at participating in society, he could definitely understand.
He found his trunk sitting at the foot of his bed. The keys were in his purse, so there was no way anyone could have opened it to unpack it. However, the litter box was already set up, and from the positioning, the person who had done that was familiar with cats. Aix spotted the water dish on a wooden, marble-topped washstand, and walked over to open the cube-shaped trunk he’d packed the cat things in, finding that the person had indeed locked the food back up inside it.
‘May I come in, chou-chou?’
Aix turned to look at René, carefully staying across the threshold. ‘Yes, René,’ he said, and only then did René come through the doorway, shutting the door behind him gently and locking it.
Aix had brought all of their makeup, which was barely used, and René put it on for him again, borrowing a little of the special edition highlighter and lip gloss with Aix’s permission, the blue-purple shimmer making his monochrome look amazing. He found the pink flat-back pearls Aix had bought for Halloween and paused.
‘They were for a costume. I showed you that spider right? He has the little pink eyes under his main ones on his cheeks, and I used the pearls and some spirit gum…’
‘Clever boy,’ René said, and Aix felt all glowy and ducked his head, smiling.
‘Got the idea from classic fop makeup,’ he said shyly.
After makeup, Aix got up and, with help from the others (and Demon, who ‘helped’ in the manner cats always did), unpacked the rest of his trunk into the dresser and armoire near the bed. Pippin insisted on helping, though she was very quiet, uncharacteristically subdued. Aix figured she was just having Thoughts and a little tired from the journey. He was a bit subdued and quiet, himself. Not tired, exactly—he’d slept well—but it was a lot of change, to travel anywhere, and it helped to put everything away just so and get some of his signs of home on shelves and put his plush on the bed. He made sure the kitten had food and water and his scrap of scratching carpet on its little folding stand was set up properly, then kissed Demon’s little head.
‘You be a good boy while Mommy is at work, okay?’ he said.We’re going hunting. Was the best translation of where Aix was going. We will come back before morning. ‘I love you.’
Pippin kissed her little brother too, and they left, Aix locking the door behind him.
① This always became more frequent during times of war or strife; since the coming of Ukrainian refugees, he had been visiting twice a week, and his donations had increased.
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