Текст книги "Berries and Greed"

Автор книги: Lily Mayne

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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

“Hi there, ladies.” He leaned down, placing a hand on the table, and shot us a wide, cocky grin. “Sounds like you’re having a very interesting conversation. Why don’t you two sweet things join me and my friends for a—”

“We’re fine here.” Corva shot him a cool smile before shifting in her seat to face me better, effectively blocking him out. “As I was saying, Beryl, in our private conversation, if fucking a cocksleeve didn’t feel good, they wouldn’t be so popular.”

My eyes darted to the guy still standing behind her. He looked desperate to stick around for the discussion, but his friends were already guffawing at Corva’s instant dismissal of him. After a few more seconds, he pouted and slunk back to his table.

Once he was gone, Corva rolled her eyes. “‘Sweet things’,” she muttered. “What a tool.”

That set me off again just as I was taking a sip of my drink, and I almost snorted champagne out of my nose. The bubbles wreaked havoc on my sinuses, making my eyes water. Corva chuckled, leaning back in her seat and taking an elegant sip of champagne, whereas I was pink in the face and giggling like a teenager. But weirdly, I didn’t feel self-conscious. Corva may have been nothing like me in every way, but I knew without a doubt that she didn’t care about that. She didn’t care that I wasn’t all refined and fancy, with a high-powered job and an amazing wardrobe and the innate ability to be cool and calm and elegant in public.

Maybe she wouldn’t care about my past.

I sobered up as soon as I thought it, fear clenching my belly. I immediately dismissed the idea of telling her. I didn’t know her that well. Nowhere near well enough. And I’d had a lifetime of keeping my cards close to my chest, so I wasn’t entirely sure why I was feeling this weird urge to share with her. To tell her about the cult. To get it all off my chest to someone other than Greid.

Maybe it was a desperate desire to convince myself that my past wouldn’t always be a millstone around my neck. That I’d be able to be honest when people I met asked about my childhood or where I went to school or what I did in my twenties.

Because I knew, realistically, that it wasn’t something I could just pretend didn’t exist forever. Not with every single person in my life other than Greid. What if I met more of his family? What if we stayed together for… a long time? I didn’t like the thought of Greid having to lie to his mother and siblings forever. Not at all. That wasn’t fair, even though I knew he’d tell me it was fine and that he didn’t mind. I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—ask him to do that.

“So. Greid the jeweller.” Corva gave me a mischievous grin. “Tell me more about him.”

“Oh, well, I mean… He’s just the best.” I flushed. “He’s really sweet. And kind. He—” I could go on forever about Greid, so I forced myself to stop. “You have seen him, actually. That first morning we met at Deep Brew, when you were on the phone to your ex, he was with me.”

“Was he?” Corva’s brow rose with interest.

“Yeah, you—” I coughed awkwardly. “You kind of checked him out.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Well, I check out a lot of people, darling. Especially now I’m free to act on any attractions.”

“Have you been seeing anyone since it officially ended with Gorig?”

Corva had filled me in on the finalisation of her matehood’s dissolution when we’d bumped into each other at Deep Brew a while back.

“A couple of one-night stands, but nothing serious.” Her eyes gleamed, and she leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, speaking of interspecies relationships, there was actually a human I was wildly attracted to a while back.”

“Oh really?” I perked up. “Who?”

“A woman who worked for a rival event planner. I’m bisexual, by the way, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

The guy at the next table over was still clearly eavesdropping on our conversation, because he scrubbed a hand over his face with an agonised expression.

“We met at an awards ceremony,” Corva continued. “But I was still mated at the time, so…”

“Why don’t you ask her out now?” I asked eagerly. “Now you’re single.”

Corva’s mouth quirked into a dry smile. “Because I poached her and now she works for me. It wasn’t hard—her old boss is a complete jackass. But there is no way in hell I’d get involved with one of my employees. Too messy. Too much of a power imbalance.”

“Ah. Yeah.” I sipped my champagne, relaxing back into my chair. “I understand.”

“There weren’t ever any deep feelings there, anyway. It was just”—Corva sighed—“pure carnal attraction. She’s gorgeous. And feisty. And bi as well.”

The guy at the next table loosened his tie and downed his drink in one swallow. I shot him a scathing look that made his ears flutter, but he doubled down and waggled his eyebrows at me with a leering expression. Perv.

Corva laughed, lifting her glass. “Well, cheers to hot people. Whoever they are, whatever species or gender. Excluding the tool at the next table over.”

I burst out laughing, clinking our glasses together. “Cheers to that.”

“Do you want us to walk you home?” I asked Corva as we struggled into our coats. Well, I was struggling. My vision was a little blurry, and I kept listing to one side.

“No, darling, I’ll be fine. I ordered a cab. I’m only a couple of streets over, but fuck walking in these heels any more than I have to.”

Her voice was slurred, but mine was too. My face was numb from laughing and smiling so much. We’d ended up sitting at our table for hours, talking about everything. Our jobs, food, places in the city—that had mainly been Corva suggesting places for me to visit—and more about her fraught matehood with Gorig. The first time a question about my past came up, I’d just told her that I’d had a strange childhood and she’d dropped it, sensing I didn’t want to talk about it. That was it. It had been that easy, and I’d been able to relax completely.

Now I was a little tipsy—okay, more than tipsy. I was drunk. And I was desperate to see Greid.

I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket and peered down at the screen, trying to focus my wavering vision, to see if he’d responded to my text. I made a face when I realised it hadn’t been as coherent as I’d thought.

don now!!1 wil u cpm meet me??? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For some reason I’d sent a second text that was just another row of x’s that filled half the screen. He’d responded, and I felt my already warm face flush even hotter when I read it.

lmao. yeah no prob. on my way.

“Oh god, do I look really drunk?” I peered up at Corva—no, two Corvas—and saw her blinking slowly back down at me.

“No way,” she told me emphatically, but as she said it I had to reach out and grab her arm to stop her swaying too far to the side. “Totally sober.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her, because she looked as drunk as I felt. She tried to tuck her arm through mine, but seeing as she was at least a foot taller than me it ended up in my armpit.

“My cab’s here.” She leaned heavily into my side. “Is Greid outside?”

“Um…” I blinked hard and tried to peer out the bar windows, but my phone vibrated in my hand and dragged my attention down to see another text from Greid pop up.

I’m here and I see you. DRUNK BERRY!!!

“Yeah, he’s here,” I told Corva, trying to aim us in the general direction of the door as we started weaving between tables.

The cold air made my flushed cheeks tingle when we stepped outside, Corva tottering unsteadily in her heels beside me. I looked around, taking a deep breath of cool air to try and sober up a little, before spotting Greid as he tucked his phone in his coat pocket and made his way over with a grin on his face.

“Hi.” I fumbled for his hand as soon as he was in reach. What I really wanted was to burrow under his coat with him, but I didn’t want to risk letting go of Corva. “Oh, this is Corva. Corva, this is Greid.”

He gave her a hesitant smile. “Hi.”

“Greid, darling.” Corva lurched forward, steadying herself with his shoulders, and air-kissed both cheeks. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, right.” He chuckled warily, clutching my hand tighter. “You… Um, nice to meet you.”

“We’ve had so much fun, haven’t we, Beryl?”

I nodded emphatically, which made my head swim as I lost my balance. Just a little. Barely. Greid quickly let go of my hand to slip his arm around my waist and keep me steady. I beamed up at him, but my vision went blurry and it felt like my eyes were pointing in two different directions.

He snorted, giving my side a gentle squeeze. “You’re so drunk.”

“No I’m not!” I tried to glare at him, but I had no idea what expression I actually made.

“Ah, there it is.” Corva gestured at a cab idling by the sidewalk. “Beryl, text me in the week. We’ll meet for coffee before work.”

“Okay.” I dutifully lifted my chin for her air kisses. “Thank you for tonight.”

“And you, darling.” She tottered toward her waiting cab, and I felt Greid tense against me as he prepared to lunge and save her if she fell. “Bye, Greid!”

He cleared his throat. “Bye.”

We waited until she was safely in the cab and it had pulled away from the kerb. Then Greid lifted the side of his coat so I could tuck myself underneath, wrapping my arm around his waist.

“So,” he began as we started walking home, amusement clear in his voice, “did you actually have fun?”

“Yes!” I squeezed him tighter. “It was so fun. She’s great.”

“Good.” He grinned down at me and gave my head a brief scritch with his claws. “What did you end up drinking? Did you figure out your drink?”

“Champagne. So I think my drink is champagne. We had a lot of champagne.”

He laughed. “No shit. Well, that’s a good choice.”

“And Corva said you don’t get a hangover with champagne.” I was pretty sure she’d said that, anyway.

“Mmmkay. I guess we’ll find that out in the morning.”

“Yeah. Plus it’s made me really horny.”

He coughed. “Has it?”

“Yeah. Hey.” I glanced around, then sneakily slipped a hand under the hem of his sweater to stroke his stomach. “How tired are you?”

Greid chuckled warily. “Not tired.”

“That’s good.” I aimed for a seductive tone as I said, “Because I really want to sit on your face again.”

He let out a slow breath. “As amazing as that sounds—and trust me, it sounds extremely amazing—you’re drunk. So, not happening.”

“Ugh.” My head suddenly felt really heavy, so I let it loll against his chest. “But I want you to eat my pussy. You’re so good at it.”

He exhaled. “That is fantastic news.”

“I could tie you up,” I purred, kind of. It was a little slurred. “Tie your wrists to the headboard and leave you like that until I’m done with you.”

Greid made a strangled sound, fingers clutching me tighter until he stopped us and turned to face me.

“Beryl.” He cupped my face in his big hands and gazed down at me with solemn eyes. “I swear, the moment you wake up in the morning, once you’re sober, I will eat your pussy like my life depends on it.”

A scandalised gasp drew our attention to the side, where an older demiurgus couple were stepping out of the late-night convenience store we’d happened to stop outside. They looked like they were on their way home from some fancy event, dressed in formal wear, and the woman had a bottle of nightberry wine clutched in her hand.

Greid’s ears went wild. He cleared his throat and grabbed my hand, tugging me away from the store as I snickered. Once we were well away from the outraged couple and I was tucked snugly back under his coat, he cleared his throat again.

“You should definitely tie me up, though.”

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Forty-Three

Beryl

“How are you more awake than me?” Greid slunk down deeper into his seat on the subway, an adorably disgruntled look on his tired face. “And actually perky. You were wasted last night. It’s bullshit.”

I laughed, tracking my gaze over all the blurred faces waiting on the platform as we pulled into the next station. “Guess Corva was right,” I said smugly. “Plus, I had a very invigorating wake-up call.”

Greid had followed through on his promise from the night before, eagerly kissing his way down my front once we’d woken up to eat my pussy with a shocking amount of enthusiasm given the early hour. He’d jerked himself off while doing it, moaning hoarsely as he followed my orders to slow down, or stop completely, when I could sense he was getting close. After we’d both come, he’d promptly fallen back to sleep while I got up and took a shower.

I had been a little shaky at first, but after my shower and a big glass of water, I’d felt bright and wide awake and excited for our date. I’d let Greid sleep for as long as I could, but had eventually dragged him out of bed so we could get going.

“What’s our stop again?” I asked, watching as a few more people trudged onto the carriage.

“Dropclay.” Greid yawned, his jaw cracking open wide.

I squinted at the subway map above the seats opposite, but it was too far away, so instead, I unfolded the little map I’d picked up at the subway station while Greid was buying our tickets and smoothed it out on my lap.

He huffed, slinging his arm over the back of my chair to lean in close. “You know that makes us look like filthy tourists.”

“I don’t care.” I studied the map carefully, following the line we were on until I found Dropclay. “Two more stops.”

Then, trying to be discreet, I searched for the station called Upper Birch. While Greid had been in the shower, curiosity had gotten the better of me and I’d opened the link Corva texted me last night. The one for the demiurgus sex shop.

I wasn’t interested in finding something that would allow Greid to penetrate me, but I was interested in other things. So in the week, I was planning on crossing three things off my list: getting the subway alone, visiting a new part of the city and buying a strap-on.

I was equal parts nervous and excited.

Carefully folding up my map, I tucked it into my backpack and looked over at Greid to give him a smile. Sweet, oblivious Greid who had no idea that by the end of the week, I was planning on fucking the hell out of him. He gave me a tired smile back, long fingers fiddling with the phone in his lap as he slumped in his seat. Luckily, the subway seemed to have been designed with demiurgus in mind, because the seats were pretty wide, which meant his long legs didn’t get in the way of people standing between them.

When the train finally slowed to a stop in Dropclay Station, I grabbed Greid’s hand and eagerly tugged him up. “Come on.”

“Can we get coffee first?” He clung to my hand as I led him off the train and along the platform.

“Yeah. And breakfast.” I threaded our fingers together and squeezed. “I’m so excited. I want to see the whole market.”

He chuckled. “We will.”

It was somewhat early on a Sunday morning, so the station wasn’t too busy as we made our way through the turnstiles and out onto the street. I shivered in the cold morning air, tugging on the gloves I’d bought on our way to the station earlier. It was getting really cold now, and some stores were starting to advertise for Christmas.

“Do demiurgus celebrate Christmas?” I asked Greid as we walked down the street, which had a mix of human– and demiurgus-made buildings crammed in beside one another.

“Some do, yeah. Not for any religious reason. Just as a holiday.”

“Does your family?”

“Yeah. Mom fucking loves it. Still goes all out every year.” He glanced down at me with a rueful expression. “She will definitely invite you to the obligatory family dinner, but you don’t have to go, obviously. I can—”

“I’d love to, if you want me to,” I interrupted eagerly. “We didn’t celebrate Christmas at The Order because it’s not a ‘true demiurgus holiday’. Can we get a tree for the house?”

“Yeah, I have a potted one that I bring in every year.” He ducked his head, ears fluttering. “And, um, yeah, I want you to come. If you want to. If you’re sure you want to spend an afternoon with all my siblings. And my aunt and uncle.”

“I really do.” I grinned up at him, excited at the thought of being surrounded by a big family. “Where does your mom live? In the city?”

“No, suburbs. Still in the same house we all grew up in. Kiti still lives at home because she prefers spending her money on vacations, not rent, and Mom is too soft to tell her to grow up. And my brother Sorin recently moved back in ’cause he broke up with his boyfriend and had to move out of the place they had together.”

“Oh, that sucks. Do you see them often? Your siblings, I mean.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Not too often. We all just kind of do our own thing, but we text fairly regularly and all meet up when Mom forces us to.”

“I really liked your mom when she came to visit. And Kiti. But especially your mom.”

Greid’s mouth quirked. “Yeah, she’s awesome. In a mom way.”

I chuckled. “What’s a mom way?”

“You know, like… overbearing and nosy, but out of love. Wants the best for her kids so takes it upon herself to make what she thinks is best happen for them. That kind of stuff. And she’s a great cook.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” I squeezed his hand. “Mani and Ron have invited us for dinner sometime.”

His fingers twitched against mine. “Oh. Okay. Um, yeah, we can do that, if you want to—”

“We don’t have to.” I didn’t want him to feel pressured. “I only brought it up because Ron mentioned making some demiurgus dish. I can’t remember what he called it, but he said all demiurgus moms have their own versions and people get weird about eating other versions.”

Greid chuckled. “He probably means porin. And yes, he is absolutely correct. My mom’s version of porin is the only good version.”

“Of course it is,” I deadpanned. “What is it?”

“It’s just, like… a casserole thing.”

I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Descriptive.”

“I don’t know, it’s just really good. Meat and whatever. Some kind of root vegetable. It just tastes amazing and any version other than my mom’s is shit. When I first went to college I used to order it a lot from this little family-owned restaurant down the street because I—” He coughed self-consciously. “You know, missed my mom or whatever, but it just didn’t taste the same. The seasoning was wrong. The meat was too tough.”

“That’s sweet.” I tugged on his hand until he leaned down so I could kiss his cheek. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, nudging my arm with his.

I laughed. “Okay, cute but smoking hot. How about that?”

“Better.” He grinned down at me, then nodded ahead of us. “Market’s just up ahead.”

We turned a corner and it came into view, two rows of market stalls that seemed to stretch endlessly either side of a street teeming with people, both human and demiurgus. Some stalls were basic wooden or tented structures, others were carts or repurposed campervans selling food and drink.

“It’s a permanent market,” Greid told me as we made our way closer. I noticed he was leading us directly toward a fancy-looking coffee cart with a small line of waiting customers. “During the week there are different trader markets. You know, like textiles or fresh produce that small businesses come and buy from. But yeah, on Sundays it’s open to the public.”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

“I actually used to have a stall here.” He shrugged self-consciously as we got in line for the coffee cart. “When I first started my business. And I’d come here on Thursdays when there are stalls selling stuff for jewellery.”

“Oh really?” I grinned up at him, shuffling closer until he lifted the sides of his coat to wrap them around me and keep me warm. I slid my arms around his hips. “Bet you were glad when you got successful enough to stop doing that.”

“God, yes. Dealing with the public is the worst. Almost made me give up several times. Plus, Kiti would help out. I could never decide which was worse.”

I laughed. “So she’s not an asshole then. She loves you.”

He grunted. “I guess. She only did it because I let her try out hairstyles on me in exchange. She works in a salon.”

“Ooh, what kind of hairstyles?”

“All kinds.” He shuddered. “She gave me a bob once that made me look like some… demonic Victorian schoolboy. God, that was the worst.”

“Are there photos?”

He sighed in defeat. “Yeah.”

Biting my lip to suppress a smile, I turned to look at the coffee cart’s menu. “Then I am definitely coming to your family’s Christmas dinner.”

“Hey, there’s a shop here I want us to go in.”

Greid had perked up considerably after getting coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and we’d already spent an hour wandering slowly along the stalls, stopping at most of them at my insistence just so I could have a look at the kind of things demiurgus traders were selling.

There were stalls with extortionately priced tapestries, strange-looking instruments, stuffed toys aimed at demiurgus children, clothes in bright colours studded with beads, adornments for tails and lots of the little glass ornaments that were everywhere in our house.

We passed a stall that only sold items with depictions of Mother Mila on them: candles, paintings, wood carvings and crockery. Another had rows of fat cloth sacks on display, filled with different spices and herbs used in demiurgus cooking.

Greid dumped our empty coffee cups in the trash and grabbed my hand to lead me toward a store tucked behind two stalls. The sign read Dropclay Flea Market, and as we stepped inside I took in the shelves stuffed with second-hand knickknacks, the haphazardly stacked and slightly dinged-up furniture, the walls lined with artwork for sale in ornate, old-fashioned frames.

“Oh wow, this is cool,” I said in a hushed voice as Greid led me deeper into the store, because it wasn’t overly busy in here.

“Yeah, I used to love coming in here to look around.” Greid seemed to be taking us to a specific part of the store, so I clung onto his hand and let him lead me.

“Look,” I whispered, pointing at a surprisingly vast display of eerie vintage clown memorabilia. “Clowns.”

“It’s probably all possessed by the spirits of evil dead clowns,” Greid whispered back. “Don’t go near it.”

I laughed, trying to take everything in as we kept moving deeper into the store and up a rickety staircase to the second floor.

“Ooh, look!” I tugged Greid to a stop when I spotted the shelves stuffed with books, even more stacked on the floor beside them. There were hastily scrawled signs pinned to each shelf, including one that said ‘Cookery Books’. “Cookery books. Do you think they’re demiurgus ones?”

“Most likely.” Greid let go of my hand and kissed the top of my head. “I’m just gonna go look for something real quick. Be right back.”

“Okay.” I was already heading for the bookshelves, taking in the mix of brightly coloured and cracked leather spines. Some of these looked pretty old, and as I stopped in front of them I realised there was a mix of human and demiurgus recipe books for sale.

The first one I pulled out was a book from the seventies, with an unappetising photo of a whole fish suspended in pale green jelly on the front. Wrinkling my nose, I put it back and carefully took out a thick, leatherbound book with The Traditional Demiurgus Home embossed on the cover in gold cursive lettering.

The yellowing pages felt thin and fragile as I flicked through it. There weren’t any pictures, just a few illustrations of strange-looking dishes. Like the thing that looked almost like a roast chicken, except it had four legs. And something that might have been a cake, but it was sunken in the middle and piled high with fat, dark fruits with their stems and leaves still attached.

I turned to the next page and saw it was a recipe for porin, so I eagerly read the lengthy block of text above the list of ingredients.

A staple dish in every demiurgus home, porin is the epitome of family comfort food, and a must in the demiurgus cook’s repertoire. Every cook has their own version that will never be the same as another’s. The recipe below is merely a guide, a gentle prompt to get you started. Adapt it to your tastes, and the tastes of your loved ones. There is no wrong way to make a porin.

Share your version with your children, but know this—they will always yearn for yours, and the promise and intoxicating aroma of your porin over the hearth is the quickest way to coax your family back to the dinner table.

I was glad Greid had wandered off, because a tiny lump formed in my throat as I read it. I couldn’t imagine what that was like—having a mother or father who would lovingly cook a meal for their children. Having a mother or father who actually wanted their children with them. Even just knowing, as a child, that there would be a cooked meal on the table every evening. Not having to scavenge in the cabinets or fridge and resign yourself to scooping peanut butter out of a jar with your finger or crunching into a block of uncooked ramen. I hadn’t known what that was like either until I’d been taken in by Violet and the cult.

Maybe that was why I’d stayed for so long. Security. Comfort, in its own way. Knowing I’d always have food and a clean bed and other people around.

“Hey.”

I jumped when Greid reappeared, bending his knees to wrap his arms around my middle from behind and kiss the side of my neck. I blinked fast and fixed a smile on my face. “Hey. Look, I found a recipe for porin.”

Greid peered down at the page, the side of his face brushing mine. He grunted. “I don’t even know what my mom puts in hers, but that sounds wrong.”

I burst out laughing. “How?”

“It just does. Rutabaga? Nah, my mom doesn’t put rutabaga in hers, because if she did, I would’ve picked it all out every time I ate it.”

“Maybe she mashes it up so you don’t even know it’s in there. I bet she had to get creative to get you to eat vegetables.”

Greid straightened. I glanced up to find him staring down at me.

“Do you think she actually does that?”

I laughed, closing the book and carefully sliding it back onto the shelf. “How would I know?”

“I’m gonna ask her.” Greid was pulling out his phone. “If she’s been sneaking rutabaga into my food this whole time, that is not cool.”

“Yes, how dare she want her children to be healthy,” I deadpanned. “So did you find what you were looking for?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Greid finished typing and pocketed his phone, then grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.” He led me between shelves to the back of the store, which was completely empty. “We got lucky. Someone must’ve dropped off a load of them recently, because there are so many.”

“So many what?”

He didn’t answer until he’d brought us to a stop in front of a shelf. Grinning at me, he gestured with a flourish. “Sporefruit sculptures.”

I gasped in delight as I took in the delicate glass mushrooms clustered together between a collection of vases and a stack of empty picture frames. There were at least a dozen, all of them different, with tiny handwritten price tags that said what each one was: Octopus Stinkhorn. Devil’s Tooth. Mycena Manipularis. Doll’s Eyes. Veiled Lady. Dead Man’s Fingers. Violet Coral.

I reached for one. “Oh my god, they’re all so pretty. How am I supposed to choose which one to get?”

“Um, hell no, we’re getting all of them.” Greid looked around and grabbed an old woven basket for sale. “Come on, start loading up before someone else comes along and takes one.”

I glanced around. “I don’t think anyone’s going to—”

“There’s a little old lady up here,” he hissed, already loading the sculptures into the basket. “You know she’ll be all over these if she spots them. Don’t make me fight her for them, berry.”

Gurgling with laughter, I picked up a sculpture and put it in the basket. “Are you saying my interests are the same as little old ladies’?”

“Yes. But it’s fine, because I love—”

He choked on a breath and went perfectly still for a second, then grabbed another sporefruit as my heart gave a mighty thud.

“Little old ladies,” he finished in a strangled voice. “Love ’em.”

My mouth had gone dry. Licking my lips, I managed to get out, “You love little old ladies, huh?”

“Yeah. Yep. I think they’re great. Awesome at telling long-winded stories and always having gross hard candy in their purses.”

I laughed, but my heart was still pounding. Had he really been about to say…

“I think my mom’s texted me back.” Greid seemed grateful for the distraction as he fumbled with his phone in his coat pocket. I stepped closer, peering down at the screen as he opened his messages and spotting the text he’d sent her.

Mom, do you put rutabaga in your porin?

Beneath it was her reply. Rutabaga? I’m not a lunatic, Greid.

Then another one. How’s Beryl?

And another. When are you both coming for dinner?

And another. Your Aunt Indi was here yesterday showing me her new glasses and it reminded me, when was the last time you got your eyes checked? You know I worry about how much you strain your eyes for work, kushka. Which also reminds me, Kiti saw one of your pieces in a magazine at work. She tore the page out for me. Why didn’t you tell me??? Must I find out about my son’s success through a bloody gossip magazine, Greid??

“Fuck, I opened the floodgates,” Greid muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. He quickly typed out a reply.

sorry mom love you!!!xxxx

I huffed. “You didn’t even answer her questions!”

“She’ll call me later.” He stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “If I answer any of them now, she’ll send five more.”

I laughed and nudged his arm. “Well, at least you were a good son and told her you love her.”

I cringed the moment I said it. Nice going, Beryl, way to make it awkward again. Greid coughed and ducked his head.

“We should see if there are any other sporefruits in here.” He was suddenly in a hurry to get moving, his ears fluttering madly as he speedwalked away and almost knocked over a display of stained-glass lamps. “Fuck.”

I trailed after him, pulse jumping in my throat. “Greid…”

“Shit.” He stopped so suddenly I bumped into his back. “Look,” he hissed as I shuffled around to stand beside him. “There’s one right there. The little old lady found it.”

I followed his gaze to see an elderly demiurgus lady in a thick puffer coat peering at a big fruit bowl hand-painted with nightberries. Beside it on the shelf was another sporefruit sculpture—a single white mushroom, its cap domed and dripping with delicate black droplets.