I wasn’t sure if I’d expected the cat to shift into its pixie-like, androgynous alter ego right here in the open, but if so, I was disappointed. Instead, it rose to its feet with a sumptuous stretch, and twined around my ankles a couple of times. Then, it sauntered behind the tree, and a flash of orange light marked the appearance and disappearance of a portal.
I blinked at the afterimage and turned to Rans. “I want to go home now, please. Can we just... go home?”
His arm circled my shoulder. “Of course we can, love.”
We’d come from the funeral parlor to the cemetery in a limo as part of the procession including the hearse, but I couldn’t face dealing with other people at the moment. So we flew. Guthrie came with us, and even though letting my stupidly rich grandfather see the less than impressive place where I lived should have been awkward... somehow, it wasn’t.
It was strange how reliant humans were on the little rituals surrounding death. I wanted to offer the others drinks and snacks as a way to fill the empty spaces around my grief. But in the absence of a stash of O-negative blood bags in the fridge, there was no point in it.
Instead, I sank down on the ratty couch. It hadn’t been in great shape even before Fae-controlled police had ransacked my house. Now, it sported several rips in the upholstery, and released an alarming creak of protesting wood anytime someone tried to sit too close to the left armrest.
Perhaps sensing that I needed a bit of space—or else hoping to avoid an ignominious bout of Total Couch Failure—Rans leaned against the protruding edge of the kitchen counter that acted as a demarcation between the kitchen and the living room. Guthrie took the one armchair I’d managed to salvage from the chaos.
“What about you, though?” I asked him, hoping for distraction from my circling thoughts. “What will you do now, Guthrie?”
Rans looked on with interest. Guthrie didn’t answer right away, giving the question several moments’ thought first.
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” he said eventually. “I’m thinking of staying right here in St. Louis, to be honest.”
“It’s a good city,” I replied absently. Then I paused. “Well... I mean, if you can get past the stagnant wages, high crime rate, and collapsing tax base.”
Guthrie let out a breath that might have been amusement. “Right.” He resettled himself in the chair. “Anyway, I’m not sure this really counts as a ‘normal life,’ what with the blood-drinking and glowing eyes, but it may be the closest I’m likely to get at this point. No more singing for my supper, generating an endless supply of money for other people and waiting for Myrial to drop the ax on my head. Not for a good long while, at least.”
Rans raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Will I need to look elsewhere for an investment manager, then?”
Guthrie waved him off. “Nah. I can offload your account onto Gina. She does most of the legwork already. She might as well pocket the management fee that goes with it, rather than pulling a salary. Really, she should’ve left to do her own thing years ago.”
“But what about you, though?” I pressed. “Any specific plans in mind?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe. I used to daydream about opening up a jazz club in Harlem, way back in the day. The way I see it, Harlem already had its renaissance, but St. Louis could kind of use one right about now. So... maybe I’ll do that for a decade or two.” He looked down, tugging a crease from the sleeve of his dark jacket. “I dunno. It’s still a plan in progress.”
I smiled, the heaviness pressing down on me growing incrementally lighter for a moment. “It’s a good plan. I like that plan.”
* * *
Five days later, I stood in the kitchen of the eighty-year-old bungalow where I’d lived all of my life. The furniture was still here—such as it was—but everything else had been cleaned out. Most of it, I’d gotten rid of. Some of it was in storage. The rest was in a pair of suitcases somewhat more spacious than the carryon bag I’d been living out of for weeks now.
Len stood on the other side of the breakfast counter, looking at me like he was trying to peel back the layers of my skull to understand what was going on inside.
“Are you sure about this, Z?” he asked. “No offense, but it’s kind of a crazy offer.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Crazy? You do remember who you’re talking to, right?”
He snorted.
“Fair point, there—but even so.”
I glanced around at the familiar rooms, made somewhat unfamiliar by the unaccustomed lack of clutter. Then I pushed the key ring toward him.
“I want you to use it, Len. It’s paid off now, and it’s got too much sentimental value for me to think of selling it. But at the same time, it’s also got too many ghosts for me to want to actually live here.”
“And so the logical reaction is to let some guy you barely know live here rent-free, instead of—I don’t know—leasing it out for hundreds of bucks a month?” he asked pointedly.
I shrugged. “I know you well enough, after what we’ve been through. Besides—rich vampire boyfriend, remember? I don’t need the money. And yes, that does feel as strange for me to say as it probably sounds for you to hear me say. But like I said, I want you to use the place.” I paused and swallowed. “The idea makes me happy, and ‘happy’ has kind of been in short supply the last few months.”
A
