‘Auntie Elle’?
’Auntie Elle’?
“‘Auntie Elle’?” Summer said aloud.
But the two women who could answer her question were rather busy hugging, exchanging cheek kisses, and exclaiming over each other.
“Auntie Elle, it’s been ages!”
“Goodness, Chase—look how you’ve grown!”
“Well, you look great. I mean, wow—are you an immortal vampire, or is your skincare routine just that good?”
“And a charmer, too!”
Then the old woman she had been talking to cleared her throat, and Elle seemed to remember herself. “Ah! My apologies, Maggie. Chase here is my godchild—we haven’t seen each other in…my, has it been a decade?”
“Nearly nine years,” Persephone said. “But it feels like longer.”
Godchild? Summer thought, her head spinning. Elle bloody Lambert was Persephone’s missing godmother? Why? How? And most importantly, why couldn’t it be literally anyone else?
“Family is important,” the old woman said with an odd expression on her face. “Even more so when you’ve lost some. Until next time, Elle?”
“Certainly, Maggie. I look forward to it.” And then the old woman left them, and Elle turned her attention fully to Persephone.
“I missed you,” Persephone said.
“I missed you too,” Elle replied with a smile. “Heavens, dear, it’s so good to see your face.” Then, finally, her eyes fell on Persephone’s date. “Summer!” she said. “What a lovely surprise! And I’m pleased to see the dress still suits you.”
Summer pushed down the sudden surge of embarrassment before it could show on her face. It was Elle who had given her this dress. On New Year’s Eve in 2014, actually. It hadn’t gone well. “Ms. Lambert,” Summer said coolly.
“Ah. Of course, Miss Nesbitt.”
Persephone looked between them, picking up the strained vibe. Elle, meanwhile, looked around.
“Perhaps we should find somewhere a little more discreet,” she suggested. She hooked an arm through Persephone’s.
“Sure,” Persephone said, and she turned to Summer and held out her other hand. With a glance at Elle that was only a teeny bit poisonous, Summer snatched it up.
The three of them soon found an isolated alcove on the outskirts of the party and stepped into it, backs to the wall, with Persephone in the middle.
“First of all,” Elle said, her tone low enough to not be overheard, “I’d like to congratulate you, Persephone.”
“W-what? You know too?” She glanced towards where they’d last seen Albert, but he was long gone. “Does—“
Elle touched her shoulder soothingly. “Relax, my girl,” Elle said. “I have my sources. And far better ones than old Cainewood, never fear.”
Sources like the reports Summer had been filing in Dorleybase, where Elle could access them at her leisure. Summer gritted her teeth.
“Besides, your transition was hardly a surprise.”
“Really?”
“Persephone,” Elle said with a smile unlike any other Summer had seen on her, “to anyone who knew anything about it, it could not have been more obvious that you were a little girl.”
Persephone was looking at Elle with a grin like she was getting ten Christmases at once.
“Dylan thought we should leave you space to experiment and discover it for yourself, and he was the expert, so Ford and I deferred to his judgment.” Ford, Summer recalled, was Persephone’s stay-at-home father. “But all of us expected this; we were just waiting for you to stop denying yourself. It’s why their will requested you be given to me—they knew I wouldn’t hold you back.”
“But then Uncle Albert won the custody battle,” Persephone said, “and I went to him instead.” She swallowed, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. “It was—God, Auntie Elle, it was hard.”
“I know, my dear,” Elle said, an oddly gentle note in her voice. “But you have me from now on. I promise.” They hugged again. “Now, tell me about your name. It’s beautiful, of course, but what little I remember of Greek myth didn’t make Persephone seem like a figure to emulate. So what did you know that I don’t?”
Summer could see the lever at work; she had used it herself once, after all. Had she written up that conversation? She couldn’t remember.
Persephone’s explanation was nearly identical to the one she’d given two months before, so Summer found herself instead thinking through this situation with Elle. Because her involvement changed everything.
Persephone, she’d been told, had been a candidate for the intake, and Elle was intimately involved in intake selection. Had Elle known she was being considered? Had she nominated her? Had she pushed for Summer to be asked to help her? Was this some sort of ploy to insert herself into Summer’s life, or did it have more to do with Persephone?
And who had known about Elle’s relationship to Persephone? Aunt Bea must have; in the scant hours Dylan Chase had spent with Summer, he’d mentioned that she’d done him a favor once. Did any of the sponsors know? That Stephanie girl who’d made the arrangements? Had Tabby known?
When Tabby had suggested that Summer start filing reports, had she been acting on Elle’s instructions? Summer didn’t think her best friend would deceive her willingly, but if Elle and Bea leaned on her the right way, who knows?
“That was remarkably informative,” Elle said once Persephone finished.
Persephone blushed a little. “I’ve had a long time to think about it,” she said.
“Even so, it was a better classics lecture than any I heard at college. Perhaps you should teach.”
“I’ve thought about trying for a doctorate,” Persephone said. “But Uncle Albert wouldn’t allow it and I can hardly afford it without him.”
“Can’t you?” Elle said. But before she could apply her next lever, Summer cut in.
“Ms. Lambert,” Summer said, her words politely formal but her tone demanding, “would you do me the honor of a dance?” She held out her hand.
Elle’s gaze snapped to hers, momentarily surprised by the offer; then her lips curled into the slightest smirk. Summer’s eyes narrowed fractionally. Persephone, for her part, looked between the two women in confusion.
“Very well, Miss Nesbitt.” She took Summer’s hand. “Persephone, we’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Then together, they crossed to the dance floor.
* * *
There was a reason why Summer didn’t like Elle Lambert, but it wasn’t her looks. No, she was flawless as always—her makeup crisp and competent, her bronze-colored satin dress showing off her narrow shoulders and delicate collarbones, her heels lifting her to around Persephone’s height. Nor was it her personality. Her paradoxical combination of reserved manners and bold actions was endlessly fascinating. And her ruthlessness? Summer could hardly claim to be much better.
No, Elle Lambert had but one fatal flaw: She was a chaser. And that was something that Summer was constitutionally incapable of tolerating.
Chasers preyed on trans women. Lied to them, exploited them, and discarded them when they were done. And Summer knew that Elle had done that. Had done it to her Sisters, even—taken advantage of her power over them, used them as outlets for her little kink. That was utterly disqualifying. Elle Lambert didn’t even deserve to see a Dorley girl, let alone sleep with one.
But the worst part of it was, Summer’s stupid, horny hindbrain didn’t care what the rest of her thought of Elle. It wanted her anyway, and it would not fucking shut up about it.
They stepped onto the dance floor just as a waltz was starting. Without communication or thought, their hands found the appropriate places and they matched the rhythm, with Summer leading both the dance and the conversation. “I want to know what the hell you’re doing with my girl.”
“‘Your girl?’” Elle said with an elegantly arched brow. “Possessive, are we?”
“My responsibility,” Summer said. “A responsibility I’m beginning to suspect you told them to give me.”
“As a matter of fact, I did not,” Elle said. “I asked Beatrice to add her to the intake; she chose to turn to you instead.”
“You told them to put her in the ba—”
Swiftly, Elle lifted her hand to Summer’s lips, crossing them with a finger. “Hush,” she whispered.
Summer missed a step and, when Elle’s finger left her lips, her hand settled not back on her shoulder, but down on Summer’s waist. With a subtle tug, Elle pulled her closer, then rested her head on Summer’s shoulder, angled up to speak towards her ear. Still reeling, trying to silence the part of her that was cheering this on, she allowed Elle to take the lead.
“Pretend that we are having a moment,” Elle said, her voice low. “I need to speak without the constraints of best behavior.”
It was not exactly a difficult deception; her lips were still tingling where Elle had touched them, and she was trying to ignore the older woman’s slightly smoky perfume.
“Dorley Hall is many things,” Elle murmured, “but when you strip away the reform program and the coercion needed to achieve it, what’s left is the finest private gender clinic in the world—and the only one that emphasizes not only resocialization, but a ground-up healing of the psyche. That is why I wanted her in the program. After nearly a decade in the custody of a transphobic sadist, Persephone needs that, Miss Nesbitt. Persephone deserves it.”
The mention of Persephone helped Summer focus, helped her get her mind back on what was important. “Persephone doesn’t deserve what the program does to people,” Summer whispered back. “For the boys, it’s better than leaving them to do harm, but for an innocent girl, it’s needless trauma.”
“The results would be worth the pain.”
“They couldn’t possibly.”
Elle shook her head, and when she replied, she spoke in a throatier timbre. “I know you, Miss Nesbitt,” she told her. “I know your heart. I know the fire within it—the fire that you share with your Sisters.”
It was aggravating how Elle’s gross chaser bullshit was the precise flavor she’d expected from her. Especially because when she said it in that voice, it was almost hot.
“And I also know your mind,” Elle murmured. “I know you can see the beautiful woman Persephone is already starting to become. Now imagine kindling that fire within her.” Her voice was becoming a little breathy, her gaze intense. “Imagine seeing it in her eyes. Imagine hearing it in her voice. Imagine her with the confidence and certainty that make you and your Sisters such marvels. Wouldn’t she be a wonder?”
Did Elle’s weird Dorley girl fetish actually extend to her own godchild? Summer fervently hoped it didn’t, but the way the woman was talking, she was beginning to wonder.
”That is why I wanted her in the intake, Miss Nesbitt. Persephone deserves to become the best woman she can be, and the best women I have ever seen are Dorley girls.”
There would be a sick sort of logic to it, though, wouldn’t there? After all, where else was Elle supposed to find a sapphic trans woman who belonged in her own social circles? Summer didn’t want to believe it, but she couldn’t convince herself she was wrong.
“Now,” Elle continued, unaware of Summer’s suspicions, “Beatrice firmly believes that one skilled sponsor, alone out in the world, is enough to achieve the results I require. And she believes that you are not only an exceptional sponsor, but one whose unique experience with transgender women makes you the best woman she could hope to assign to the task. I have tentatively accepted this logic until I can see if you get results.”
Summer had to stop her. But she couldn’t exactly walk up to Persephone and go ‘Sweetheart, your long-lost auntie has an uncontrollable ladyboner for girls like us’, could she? No. Summer would have to stay close to Persephone, remain in her trust, and keep her away from Elle and the Hall. But how to get Elle to back off?
What levers do I have on Elle? Well, she respected Aunt Bea and was proud of the work done at Dorley Hall. She wanted Persephone to be the woman she was hoping for. She thought Summer, like many of her Sisters, was impossibly attractive.
And there was one other lever that Summer remembered from their abortive date. Elle Lambert took control out of habit and necessity—but Summer had been certain that she didn’t want it.
Fine. She could work with that.
Summer waited for the right beat, then slid one hand behind Elle’s back, the other to her hip, and suddenly dipped her. They locked eyes, Elle’s surprised, Summer’s confident. Summer righted Elle, opened enough distance so she could think straight again, and took back the lead.
Summer could see the heat in the other woman’s eyes. Six-foot trans lesbian vs. thirsty sapphic chaser? Elle Lambert never stood a chance.
“Look,” Summer said, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea of the situation. You may have known Persephone as a child, but before tonight, you hadn’t spoken to her in years.” She was speaking in a normal volume, so she began choosing her words carefully. “I have, and I was trained to do this by the best in the business, so believe me when I tell you: I’ve never seen a girl this far along this early.”
“Really?” Elle said.
“Really. She is extraordinarily self-possessed. Her learned reflex to hesitate is fragile and already crumbling. She never used her masculine interpretation layers more than absolutely necessary, and she’s eager to cast them off for good. I’m really proud of her.”
Elle smiled fondly, and Summer carefully hid her revulsion. Elle seemed to genuinely care for Persephone, and yet she still was planning to exploit her? Twisted bitch.
“She would probably get to where you want her on her own,” Summer continued, “and she’ll definitely get there with my help—as long as we make sure she has opportunities to actualize. And protect her from traumatic experiences, like she would experience if we made any…drastic changes to her situation.”
‘Drastic changes’ like putting her in the basement. Elle nodded; she understood what Summer wasn’t saying.
“So if that’s your goal,” Summer said, “the best thing you can do is to stop running roughshod over my work. Let me do my fucking job, Ms. Lambert, and you’ll be satisfied with the results.”
Elle paused for a moment, giving Summer a considering look. “Very well, Miss Nesbitt. But know this: When it comes to Persephone, I will settle for nothing less than the best. So do your job and do it right. Because if you cannot, then you know what plan B will be.”
Agreement with a threat? Probably the best she was going to get. “Now, Ms. Lambert, since we’re on the same side here…were you planning to drop any other bombshells on Persephone tonight?”
“Just one,” she admitted. “Persephone is not without resources—her parents left a considerable estate. I am the trustee, but Persephone is the beneficiary. The trust has already been paying for the expenses you’ve reported, and I will authorize whatever else she needs.”
“I…oh, wow,” Summer said. “That could change everything for her.” If Persephone had known that, she wouldn’t have needed any help at all—not from her, not from Elle, not from Dorley. Was that intentional? “Why doesn’t she already know about this?”
“Cainewood,” Elle said simply. “Ford and Dylan wanted to keep the assets out of his hands. I needed to be sure Persephone wasn’t under his control before I told her, and by the time she was an adult…she was playing the part of his heir well enough that I couldn’t be sure of her feelings until I read your reports.”
Summer thought it over for a moment. “Let me decide when to tell her. It’ll be soon, but perhaps not tonight—she has enough on her mind already.”
“Oh?” Elle asked.
“Yes. It’s why I’m here tonight—so she can introduce me to him.”
“I see.” Elle absently traced the tattoo work on Summer’s tricep as she thought; Summer’s breath quickened a little at her touch, and Elle gave her a sly smile. She had appreciated the tattoo even when it’d been a half-sleeve—she must like it even more now. “Cainewood is a dangerous man. Please be careful.”
Well, that much was obvious from Persephone’s injury two weeks before. “I will,” she said.
The song came to an end, and before Summer knew it, Elle had leaned up and briefly kissed her.
“Thank you, Miss Nesbitt, for your assistance in this matter,” Elle said with a playful quirk to her lips, and then she strode off the dance floor.
The kiss had been over almost before it began, but the feel of Elle’s lips lingered on Summer’s.
God, she really couldn’t fucking stand Elle Lambert.
* * *
Persephone was already confused when Summer and Elle left for the dance floor, and what she saw after didn’t clarify things in the slightest. In the space of a few minutes, the two women had somehow gone from stiff last-name-only formality to kissing in public. And Persephone had no idea how to feel about that.
Well, she had a little idea how to feel about it. Persephone was used to the women she was interested in having other partners, and she’d always been happy for them when they did. She knew, on an intellectual level, that many people felt jealous in such situations, but she’d never really been able to understand it. If you love someone, how could you not be pleased that they were happy? Why would someone else’s involvement change that?
The only trouble with Summer and Elle was, she wasn’t sure if Summer was happy to see Elle. She hadn’t acted like it when the three of them were talking. But then a few minutes later and this. What in the world was going on?
Also, the idea that she and her godmother might have similar taste in women was a little…off-putting. It was like one of her parents was hitting on her girlfriend. Not that Summer was actually her girlfriend, but…well, they had paused something that would turn Summer’s partners into Persephone’s metamours, and the idea of Auntie Elle as a metamour felt a mite incestuous.
Well, Elle was approaching the alcove now, with Summer trailing a bit behind her; perhaps she’d have some answers.
“Summer and I have been discussing your situation,” Elle said.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Persephone said cheekily.
Elle laughed. “Before that,” she said. “She explained how she’s been helping you; I’m glad you haven’t been alone.”
“Me too,” Persephone said, shooting a soft smile in Summer’s direction. “I don’t know what I would have done without her.” But that just reminded her—why had she been forced to do without Elle?
By the time she thought to ask, though, Elle was already speaking. “I should go before Cainewood notices we’ve spoken.”
“Too late for that, bitch,” said the coarse voice of Uncle Albert.