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“I appreciate it.”
I smile. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t think I’m faking…
Chapter 12
~~~~~~~~~~~~
If this is what constitutes a cult these days, sign me up.
Willow’s house is a perfect, lush cottage in the woods. It’s surrounded by raised garden beds on one side, and the burble of a stream on the other. A stepping stone path leads up to a front door, and I can see past a window seat to the lit interior already.
Beside me, Pollux is holding Andromeda, who was clinging to his leg until he scooped her up.
They’ve been tense ever since I picked them both up earlier and parked in a small clearing beside a bright pink car and another one a distance from the cottage. Apparently, Willow has a thing about cars since they stole her right to a carriage-drawn society. Apparently, she rambles her distaste for many aspects of the modern world when accidentally given narcotics.
I did not ask who accidentally gave her narcotics.
I just smiled, checked my fluffy poodle skirt pocket discreetly for my pepper spray, and watched Andromeda fiddle with the hem of her pink polo in the backseat.
Pausing at the first stone in the path leading up to Willow’s cottage, I face my companions.
And my heart squeezes.
They’ve stopped time. Eyes closed, their foreheads are pressed together. He’s holding her tight, secure, like she’s the most precious thing in his life. Bathed in moonlight, they look like the subjects of a painting.
“We don’t have to do this,” he murmurs, so softly.
“It’s okay,” she whispers.
“Language,” he grunts.
Her little arms wrap around his neck. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
For very fragile moments, I am entirely convinced I have everything wrong. For frightening seconds, I can almost believe that if fae is the answer that makes everything else make sense, fae must be it.
Andromeda pulls back far enough to look deeply into Pollux’s eyes, imploring silently, and he says, “Yes. More than that.” His large free hand cups her cheek and hides her expression from my view. “Fear of my fear, if it doesn’t include your joy, I have survived long enough without it, and I do not need it now.”
Andromeda sniffs, then she crashes against his chest, her tiny arms strangling him.
My heart jerks, and I reach for her. “Meda, are you okay, sweetie?”
Pollux rubs her back and kisses her forehead. “She will be well. Let her have a moment.”
Closing my fingers and tucking them back against my poodle skirt, I do.
Once Andromeda has sniffled herself out, she turns her attention toward Willow’s front door and declares, “I’m ready.”
Pollux nods once then looks at me.
“I’m ready,” I say. Ready to throw down with whoever or whatever has made my Meda cry. But anyway.
We head up the walk, and, without knocking, Pollux invites himself into the main room…which is decorated. Balloons fill the spaces beyond what I could see through the front window. Streamers run from the light fixtures toward the corners.
A vaguely familiar man with sandy brown hair and tan-and-white vitiligo blows a noisemaker while the rest of the room cheers.
Pollux’s jaw clenches, and he turns right around on his heel.
