Текст книги "Berries and Greed"
Автор книги: Lily Mayne
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
I felt so stupid. Like a little kid. Why was I sweating? The barista had only asked what freaking drink size I wanted, for god’s sake. It felt like I was playing pretend. Like I’d smeared on my mother’s lipstick and waddled out of the house in her high heels thinking it made me an adult.
I finally spotted the various sizes on offer, then got distracted as Greid rattled off his drink order and about six different food items, including something called a blood tart, which made me side-eye him. After telling the barista what size I wanted, Greid held his phone to the little machine in front of the register before I realised what he was doing.
I gave his arm a gentle thump as we moved to the side to wait. “I wanted to pay for that!”
“Oh. Sorry.” Greid shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Well, you only ordered a tiny coffee and I got a load of food, so it wouldn’t have been fair anyway.”
I huffed and went to argue, but got distracted when a barista leaned over the counter to hand Greid a big paper bag with the Deep Brew logo on the front. He immediately pulled a pastry out and bit into it, and—yep. The little square tart was definitely filled with something thick, jellified and very dark red.
Stomach roiling a little, I asked, “Is that really a… Is that really blood?”
“Uh-huh,” Greid answered through a mouthful.
“What kind of blood?”
He swallowed and looked down at me, yellow eyes solemn. “Do you really want to know?”
“What?” My stomach jolted, and I cast the half-eaten tart a fearful look. “It’s not… Is it..?”
When he snickered, I huffed and punched his arm again. “Dork.”
He grinned at me before stuffing the rest in his mouth. “Just pig’s blood,” he told me, spraying a few crumbs onto the front of his suit. I absently reached up to brush them away.
He froze, and his gulp was audible as he swallowed the rest. Eyes darting nervously, he cleared his throat and shoved his hand back into the bag, this time pulling out a croissant.
“Want one?” he blurted, before stuffing half into his mouth.
I pursed my lips to hide my smile, shaking my head. “I’m okay thanks.”
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Chapter Sixteen
Greid
By the time we made it back home, I was drained.
Usually when I went out, it was for an hour or two at the most. I’d started flagging around midday, my tolerance for people and noise and the buzzing hum of electric lights reaching its limit, but I hadn’t said anything to Beryl. She’d been so excited to be able to walk around as a “normal person”, with no one looking at her twice.
Well, except for the humans who’d cast her appreciative glances as she passed them, which had made me want to scowl at all of them.
She’d stuck close to me on the busy streets, our arms constantly brushing as we walked. After breakfast, we’d taken the subway out of the Cimmerian District and into the heart of the city. She’d never taken the subway before, saying that when she’d been able to go into the city with a few other cult members, they’d always been dropped off in the same area, a quieter one with a very low demiurgus population, and told not to go too far.
The subway was pretty gross. Dirty and always crowded and stinking of fumes. But Beryl had stared in awe at the high vaulted ceilings and gleaming black walls of the Cimmerian District’s station, which was a little nicer than others.
When we’d got off at Umbral Square, the train and platform had both been packed, people pushing to get off and fighting their way through the waiting crowds. Beryl had hurriedly tucked her small hand into mine so we didn’t lose each other, looking a little spooked as we wove our way off the platform.
My palm had immediately started sweating, but I’d clutched on tight, my dual hearts racing.
We’d wandered around Umbral Square for a while, with Beryl staring, transfixed, at the street performers and wanting to stop and look in the windows of every tourist trap store with overpriced souvenirs. She’d been amazed by the huge demiurgus-made theatre, which advertised its long-running production of Deep Earth!, a light-hearted musical about the demiurgus’ first journey to the surface centuries ago.
It wasn’t a hot day, but I’d noticed her staring at the retro ice cream place on the corner, so we’d gotten cones to eat while sitting by the big fountain in the centre of the square. She’d gotten two scoops of strawberry, but I’d seen her sneakily eyeing up my dark chocolate, so I’d let her taste it and tried very, very hard not to think about her tongue being on the same thing as mine.
After that, we’d taken the subway to the Human History Museum, because I’d figured she probably hadn’t learned all that much about her own people’s history, instead having had to learn all about mine. She’d been fascinated by the Ancient Egypt exhibition, especially when I pointed out the hieroglyphs that were now believed to be depictions of demiurgus who had ventured to the surface long before we’d made our grand arrival.
By 3 p.m., Beryl had suggested we head home. She’d still been bright-eyed and eager, but I thought she might have sensed how tense and tired I was growing, even though I’d tried my best to hide it. I couldn’t contain my sigh of relief when we finally stepped over the threshold into my house, already loosening the tie around my neck.
“That was so much fun,” Beryl said as she leaned down to take off her sandals. “Thank you so much, Greid.”
“That’s okay,” I said awkwardly, tugging off my boots. “We can do it again soon. If you want.”
“Yes, please. Maybe not for a little while, though.” She straightened and gave me a smile. “It was great, but I haven’t ever been around that many people for so long before. I think I need a few days to recharge.”
I didn’t know if that was actually true or if she was saying it because she’d sensed how much it drained me to be out for so long. I gave her a tiny, grateful smile and nodded. “Whenever you want.”
Beryl rubbed her arms. “It’s so nice and warm in here.”
My eyes immediately dropped to her bare feet. They looked so small. Cute. But they were a little pink, and I realised she’d been wearing sandals all day. It wasn’t necessarily cold, but definitely not summer-warm.
And she didn’t even have a jacket. Just a thin shirt. Berating myself, I made a secret decision that she might not like and said, “I’m gonna go change.”
“Okay. Do you mind if I go sit in the living room to read that book?”
“Of course not.” My ears twitched. “You live here too now, Beryl. You don’t have to ask.”
She beamed up at me, then sidled past to make her way to the living room. I followed, stopping outside my bedroom door.
“Um, so I’m just gonna change then I need to go email my clients letting them know their orders have been shipped,” I told her.
She stopped in the doorway. “Okay. Then shall we watch Our Neighbours the Humans?”
I couldn’t contain my grin, insides already twisting with excitement for a repeat of yesterday evening. “Yeah, of course.”
She disappeared into the living room and I hurried into my bedroom to get changed. After stripping off the suit and donning a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, I hesitated before grabbing my onesie. Fuck it. She’d already seen it.
After tugging on my slippers, I opened the bedroom door and snuck past the living room to the front door, feeling like a bit of a creep as I picked up one of Beryl’s sandals to find out the size. Then I raced up the stairs to my workshop. The old leather desk chair creaked as I sat down in front of my PC, and I quickly fired off the emails to my clients before opening up an online human clothing store.
Chewing my lip, I anxiously browsed the never-ending selection of shoes. What kind would Beryl like? She’d need warm ones for the winter. Spotting a pair of boots in deep burgundy, I clicked on them. For some reason, I thought she’d like those ones, but if she didn’t, at least she’d have something until she found some she really wanted.
Adding them to the cart, I then typed in coats and groaned at another endless list. At least I could immediately rule out any in beige or tan, knowing she’d hate them. After a few minutes of scrolling, I found a grey wool coat with burgundy fur trim and stared at the screen in despair when it asked me to select a size. I had no fucking idea about human sizing.
At least there were pictures of models actually wearing the different sizes. Beryl seemed tiny to me, but the human woman wearing size Small looked positively miniscule. The model wearing a Medium looked closer to Beryl, so I selected that and checked out.
As I loaded up my cell provider’s website and started the process of ordering a second SIM under my plan, I worried that Beryl would think I was trying to, I don’t know, control her life or something. I wasn’t. I just wanted her to be warm when she went out, and I wanted her to be able to contact her aunt in case she was missing her. If Beryl got angry when this stuff arrived, I’d return it all and apologise. I was only doing it in secret because I knew she’d refuse if I asked her. She’d refused my multiple offers to buy her stuff while we’d been out.
Once that was done, I left my workshop and stopped on the third floor. After glancing nervously at the stairs, I crept toward the closed door and snuck into my Room of Shame, sifting through the mountain of boxes until I found what I wanted.
Clutching the mound of soft fabric, I made my way downstairs. The house was quiet, but I could hear the rustle of a page being turned in the living room. After casting a nervous glance down at myself, I took a deep breath and walked into the living room.
Beryl looked up from her book with a smile. It widened when she saw me in the onesie, but before she could say anything I lifted my chin in defiance and said, “You’ve already seen me in it now, so… you know. I want to be comfortable.”
“Don’t blame you.” She set down the book. “Your slippers look nice and warm as well.”
My ears fluttered wildly, but I cleared my throat and lifted the pile in my hands. “I thought, um, you said earlier you wanted… I have spares so I didn’t know if…”
Her gaze dropped to my hands. She sat up, green eyes sparking with excitement. “Is that a tent for me?”
I huffed, crossing the room to hand it to her. “Yeah. I ordered the wrong size at first. It’ll probably still be way too big for you, but…” Once she’d taken it, I cleared my throat and held up the fluffy slippers I’d also grabbed. “And these. If you want them. They’ll definitely be too big, but um…”
“Oh my god.” She stood up and immediately slipped the onesie over her head. I snorted as it fell all the way to the floor, her small hands completely swallowed up by the long sleeves. “It’s so soft.”
“Yeah.”
I watched as she tugged on the slippers, which were at least twice as big as her feet, but she beamed up at me with so much happiness that my throat closed up. I wanted to burrow under that onesie with her and wrap myself around her small frame like a second blanket.
She’d been here a day and a half, and I was already fucked.
After completing my soothing evening ritual of going around the house and lighting all the candles, we put on Our Neighbours the Humans and ordered dinner. Beryl chose Chinese food this time, and I might have gone a little overboard adding stuff to our order because I wanted her to try everything. And I was hungry as fuck.
She opted out of trying shade tonight, but didn’t seem to mind when I lit up a joint and relaxed back into the couch, three blankets already piled on top of me and one on top of her. Even before the shade hit me, I felt drowsy and content in a different way than usual. As much as I hated being out in public, it had been a good day. It had been amazing getting to show Beryl new things and give her new experiences, especially because she was so enthusiastic about it all. I felt like a grumpy old man most days, particularly when forced to be around other people, but it had actually been… kind of pleasant wandering around the city with her.
This was better, I decided, burrowing deeper into my blankets. Just the two of us, inside in the warm, with the TV on and food on the way and the room lit only by soft candlelight.
This was the best.
I was way sleepier than I usually was at this time, having got up so early, so the shade hit me harder than normal. I found myself snorting with uncontrollable laughter at all the unfunny shit going on in the show, which made Beryl start laughing even though she wasn’t high.
We calmed down when the food arrived. I grabbed us both forks from the kitchen, because I was terrible at using chopsticks—something else Agma had found embarrassing—and explained all the different foods to Beryl. We ate in contented silence, sharing dishes and watching TV. Once Beryl was finished, I smoked another joint and went back for seconds, which made her laugh.
Once I was finally full, I cleared up our mess and put the leftovers in the fridge, but only because Beryl went to do it herself. I almost tripped launching myself off the couch before she could, my legs getting tangled in the blankets and the shade making me uncoordinated. She’d looked so cosy and comfortable that I hadn’t wanted her to move.
“Are you sure?” she’d asked uncertainly.
After telling her I needed a drink anyway, I went into the kitchen and returned with water for both of us. Curling back up under the blankets, I hit play and we carried on watching in peaceful silence until, after a couple more episodes, a soft weight hit the side of my arm.
Going still, I glanced over. And my twin hearts practically fucking exploded. Beryl had fallen asleep, scrunched up into a little ball, half turned toward me, her temple resting on my arm.
I swallowed thickly, resisting the overwhelming urge to gently tuck the strand of hair hanging over her face behind her ear. No. Do not. You can’t touch her when she’s asleep.
But I didn’t move an inch, breathing as slowly as my racing hearts would allow so I didn’t disturb her. Inching my fingers out from under the blanket to grab the remote, I closed DemiTV. I didn’t want to keep watching the show without her, but I also didn’t want to move. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to disturb her. Because she must be so tired after such a long, busy day that she wasn’t used to.
I switched over to late-night infomercials, wishing I could reach my smoking tin so I could have another joint to try and relax. But after a few minutes, with the TV turned down low and Beryl’s soft, steady exhalations beside me, I found myself sinking deeper into the couch, my eyes getting heavy.
When I blinked them open, I could tell time had passed. I felt a little disoriented and the shade had worn off, leaving me unspeakably thirsty. I eyed my half-full glass of water on the coffee table with longing, but before I could move, I became aware of a slight pressure on my lap.
Looking down, I stared wide-eyed at Beryl’s head on my thigh. She’d moved in her sleep, shifting down and curling up under the blanket. Her delicate fingertips peeked out from the sleeve of her onesie, just an inch from my leg.
My hearts started pounding, chest squeezing impossibly tight. Before I even knew what I was doing, I reached down and lightly touched her hair, my fingertips tingling as my claws sifted through soft, tangled curls. Just a tiny touch. That was okay, right? I was barely touching her.
She was so pretty.
I could only see the side of her face—the sweep of her long lashes over the top of her freckled cheek, a slightly darker red than the hair on her head, like her fine eyebrows. Her lips were parted around her soft breaths, and I stared at them for way too long.
I realised what I was doing just as she stirred, her brow furrowing a little and lips smacking together. I yanked my hand back, but one of my claws got caught in a curl and gave it a sharp tug. Beryl’s head jerked up.
“Shit, sorry.” I cringed so hard I thought I’d turn inside out and become a black hole. “Sorry, I was—My sleeve—”
“Did I fall asleep?” She propped herself up on an arm and looked around blearily, then blinked a few times as she realised. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Did I fall asleep on you?”
“S’okay,” I mumbled. “It was only for—I fell asleep too.”
She rubbed her eye and looked at the TV. “What’re you watching?”
“Nothin’,” I said immediately, fumbling with the remote to turn off the TV. If I told her I liked watching terrible late-night infomercials, she might ask if I’d ever bought any of the gimmicky stuff they sold. And then I might blurt out my embarrassing secret and tell her about my Room of Shame.
Shifting upright, Beryl wiped her face and started untangling herself from the blankets. “I better go to bed.”
“Yeah, me too.” I fought my way out of my nest and stood. “Um, I should probably do some work tomorrow…”
“Of course. I’ll be totally fine. I’m good at keeping myself entertained.”
“Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully. “Maybe I could finish early and—”
“Seriously, Greid, I’ll be fine.” She hesitated. “I should probably start looking for a job. Um… do you get a paper delivered here? So I can look at the listings?”
“No, but…” I almost offered her my laptop, but I pretty much exclusively used it to watch porn, so it felt way too risky. “You can use the computer in my workshop if you want.”
“Won’t that disturb you while you’re working?” Beryl was drooping a little, clearly too tired to have this conversation now. I waved my hand.
“Nah.” Yes. Her being in my workshop with me would absolutely distract me. “But we can work it out in the morning.”
“Okay. Thank you for dinner, again. Do you want me to help blow out all the candles?”
“No, it’s fine.” I gave her a tiny smile. “You go to bed.”
“I’ll blow out all the ones on the stairs.” She hesitated, then gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Night, Greid.”
“Goodnight, Beryl.”
I watched her pad out of the living room in her too-big slippers and giant onesie, every cell in my body screaming for her to come back. Once I could hear her shuffling up the stairs, I went around the living room extinguishing all the candles, then went into the hallway to do the same.
You’re too needy, I thought as I shut my bedroom door and started stripping off. She’s been here a couple of days and you’re already craving her company all the time.
My room felt kind of sad and lonely as I shifted into my true form and stretched out my back. I crawled into my unmade bed and immediately picked up the TV remote. I could still feel the gentle weight of Beryl’s head on my lap. The softness of her curls slipping through my claws.
My insides went all weird, so I turned on the TV to ignore it. Flicking straight over to late-night infomercials, I settled back and tried to keep my mind blank. But my interest was piqued when an ad for a new product came on.
“Do you wish there was an easier way to clean your front porch steps?” an overly animated voice asked as black-and-white footage played of an elderly human lady scrubbing her front steps and huffing with exertion, wiping her brow with the back of a rubber gloved-hand.
I cocked my head. I mean, I didn’t actually clean my front steps. Didn’t the rain just do that?
“Are you embarrassed when your guests arrive and have to walk up discoloured, moss-covered steps to get to your front door?”
Well, I never had guests. And did people really notice shit like that? The couple on the TV certainly seemed to, shooting unimpressed looks at the porch steps as they walked up them and shook their heads with abject disappointment.
Suddenly, the image changed to a familiar demiurgus with giant, jewel-crusted earrings and teeth so white they made me wince.
“Well now you don’t have to be!” he said enthusiastically, flashing the camera a gigantic, stretched grin. “Hi, I’m Lixi Gablar here with the ScrubShoes, a revolutionary new product that will change your cleaning habits forever!”
He held up a pair of hideous plastic shoes with actual scrubbing brushes for soles. I pursed my lips as I eyed them. Should I start cleaning my porch steps? I never even looked at them, so they were probably pretty gross. Probably the worst ones on the street.
“These sturdy, attractive shoes will complement any outfit! Simply pop them on and clean your porch steps on your way out. No mess! No fuss! No hours of scrubbing on your hands and knees. These couldn’t be easier to use. Here, let me demonstrate…”
I fiddled with my phone as Lixi put the ScrubShoes on and shuffled his way over some demo porch steps, which were coated in a thick layer of grime. They did cut through the dirt pretty easily. He looked a little silly, like he was skiing in place.
“And these don’t just clean the outside of your house!” he said enthusiastically. “The intuitive soles have brand-new technology that automatically detects the surface they’re on, making the bristles softer for indoor flooring!”
What? I snorted. Could bristles really do that?
Could they?
“Cut through kitchen grease with ease! Pick up pet dander and hair without having to lug out that unwieldy vacuum!”
I mean, I didn’t have any pets, and who let their kitchen floors get all thick with grease anyway?
“Once you own a pair of ScrubShoes, you won’t need any other cleaning products for your flooring, indoor or out! And right now, I’m offering these at an absolute steal! While these babies would usually cost you seventy-nine-ninety-nine, I can give them to you for not seventy-five-ninety-nine, not sixty-nine-ninety-nine, not even fifty-nine-ninety-nine! Call now, and you can own your very own ScrubShoes for just thirty-nine-ninety-nine! That’s right, just thirty-nine-ninety-nine to revolutionise your cleaning routine and grab yourself a stylish new pair of shoes in the process!”
I was already dialling the number before he’d finished speaking. That did seem like a pretty good deal. And maybe Tim would use them. Maybe my floors got dirtier than I realised.
Or maybe they’d just sit in my Room of Shame with the rest of the useless stuff I’d ordered in an attempt to fill the lonely void. Meh. Whatever.
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