Grown-up us.
Cursed us.
We come at the same time. He pulls my hair when I bite his shoulder, hugging each other tight, like we never want this moment to end. And then I collapse against his chest and we slowly lean over and curl up together on the soft mound of cool grass under a canopy of gold leaves, surrounded by white trunks.
We sleep.
When I wake, the moths are back. They walk across my face, and my shoulders, and my legs. Some of them flutter above me, like they are waiting for orders.
I look over at Pell so see if he’s watching, but he’s still asleep.
He’s not small though. And neither am I. We’re ourselves again. Well, he’s himself and I’m the new wood nymph chimera me.
I don’t know what that means. The dream—if that’s what it was—is still very fresh in my mind. I can see that forest of trees. I can see through the eyes of the moths as they traveled through the woods. I can see the temple—that was one hundred percent our sanctuary, even though it seems very out of place in time and architectural style. And I can see the god. What did I call him?
Saturn.
And the women? Ostanes. The alchemist. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. And Juno, of course.
Wait. How do I know that?
But in the same moment that I’m thinking those words, my palm is opening and then all the moths begin to flutter their way into the center of it. One by one by one they tap their little feet to my skin and then disappear. Like they’re falling into a hole.
Did I know that would happen?
Yes.
Do I know why it’s happening?
No fucking clue.
Moths. I make a face. I mean, they really are pretty. They’re not called the beautiful wood nymph because they’re ugly. But they are still moths. I’m just not sure how to feel about playing host to a bazillion insects and being able to send them out like a swarm of drones to spy on ancient gods and their alchemists. Even if none of this is real, just the product of a magic hallway, it’s disconcerting to control moths.
“What the fuck is that?”
I turn and see Pell looking at my hand. The moths are still piling into my open palm. Disappearing one, by one, by one.
Out of instinct I close my palm and all the moths just disappear. Even the ones who hadn’t made it back inside me yet. I spend a brief moment wondering if that will affect me in some way. But when I open my palm back up, they don’t reappear. “Oh, well… that’s just my little magic moths coming home from a recon mission.” I laugh and look over at Pell.
He’s not laughing. “What?” And his one word comes out with so much annoyance, I kinda lean back a little to put distance between us.
“Wow. For a guy who just got fucked into unconsciousness, you’re in a bad mood.”
His eyes narrow down and the yellow sunshine turns into a hellfire. “What the hell were you doing with those moths?”
I look at my palm again. “Putting them away, I think.”
“Explain that.”
I sit up and scoot back from him. I’m still in my wood nymph chimera body, and I’m nothing like the little girl who was running through the woods. I’m not used to these long, gangly limbs, so my hoof kicks against Pell’s leg. He winces and pulls away. And now we are twice as far apart as we were when we woke up from the hot sex.
“Sorry,” I say, pulling my too-long legs up to my body and tucking them underneath my hindquarters. Wow. I have to pause on those words in my thoughts. I have hindquarters.
“What. The fuck. Were you doing with those moths, Pie?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“I want to know what that was.”
“I don’t know. I’m not in charge here. I was in a dream. You were there. And we were kids. Kids like this.” I pan my hand down my body. “And we were running—”
“The moths, Pie! I want to know about the fucking moths!” He gets to his feet so he’s towering over me. Pointing at me.
I scramble to my own feet, because I’m not getting stuck in that submissive position while he goes on a rampage over some fucking bugs. I smack his hand away. “Don’t point at me. It’s rude. And I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but you’re not allowed to talk to me that way.”
“What way?” He sneers the words.
“All rude and shit. Like you’re my boss.”
“I am literally your boss.” He lets out a long breath and rubs his hand over his head, scrubbing at the stubble on there. He had longer hair as a kid. It was rippled and blond and it fell over his shoulders in tangled waves. “Pie?” His voice is softer now. Sweeter. But it’s fake.