TOULOUSE FRANCE, 2022
If Thea knew I was involved with the actions of Fany Deveraux, she never said anything. If I had come up with a way to tell her earlier, that wouldn’t have betrayed my promise to Philipe; then maybe the deal wouldn’t have rebounded on her. Fany wouldn’t have killed Maeva, and Thea wouldn’t have ended up swearing a vendetta against Fany. I was somewhat warmed by that. You can’t swear a vendetta for just anyone. It meant she cared about Maeva, to some degree. Maybe Thea felt responsible for Maeva after bringing her back to life. I didn’t know.
Now Thea owed Philipe according to the Law of Three. He hadn’t gloated about it. Being owed doesn’t protect you from the normal dangers of dealing with sorcerers. It was a feather in his cap to own the debt of a named sorcerer.
While my experience with Fulvia vexed me, that vexation turned to remorse. I would vacillate between irritation and adoration.
“Young boy indeed,” I said to no one in particular as I sat outside Le Royal Kebab, just off Place Wilson. The squat Moroccan owner of the restaurant was named Kamal, a sole proprietor who made everything by hand, save the flat and thick bread his wife baked. It was near dark when I finished and decided to take Thea up on her offer to see the rooms.
I stole down the sidewalk of the Boulevard de Strausbourg, weaving through construction barricades past le Place Jean D'Arc, and deviated onto the Rue Pouzonville.
Fourteen Pouzonville was squenched between an Indian restaurant with a hand-painted sign that read Castel Indien and a twenty-four-hour gym. The smell of Korma and Rogan Josh curled its saucy fingers under my nose. My already full stomach insistently gurgled lest I upset its current labours.
I drove my shoulder against the creaking planks and gained entry into a small courtyard. The exterior walls were the classic pink bricks of Toulouse. They took their colour from the region's clay and had once been assaulted with Stucco, a crime against architecture. The Stucco had been scraped away. Now the bricks were worn and chipped.
I took the mottled bronze knocker, pounded it down three times, and slid back on my hooves. The evening chill snaked through the courtyard on a gentle breeze, and I rubbed my hands together to warm them. It smelled of clay and wet grass with faint undertones of motor oil.
The door creaked open as if it were automatic. I twisted into the foyer. Sconces flickered to life and bathed me in diffuse light. The black and white tile on the floor was filthy with debris strewn about. There was a smell of chalk and malt with subtle hints of vagrancy. Torn posters advertising dental prostheses littered the walls. This had been a cabinet dentaire.
I swiped a finger across a side-turned table and twiddled the dust. I guess Thea wasn’t attached to cleaning. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t gotten around to it. A winding staircase twisted its way up the centre of the building; every step creaked and shifted beneath my hooves which clacked on the wood.
I passed the first floor and ascended further to the second, where I found a hallway with a half-opened door from which poured thick light.
It was a large sitting room. The wallpaper was a pale green with bubbles. In some places, the wallpaper peeled away, exposing the wood beneath. There were two sconces in the style of Louis XVI of bronze high on each wall, except the one with a window. They had electric bulbs in them, made to emulate a flame.
A large fireplace was lit and crackling. Across the room from the entrance was a massive window. And before it sat an immense wingback chair. Off the chair’s greasy arm hung a spindle leg with a Converse hightop. The shoe bobbed to the rhythm of silent music.
It stopped bobbing. It withdrew behind the broad back of the chair, and a small grey-eyed head poked around it. Thea peeled her headphones off. Their music pierced my ears before she shut them off.
She searched my face for a moment. “Nikolai?” She slid over the arm of the chair and bounced forward. She wore a tight black t-shirt with red lettering that spelt something of a tormented autopsy and advertised numerous rituals for the darkest souls of hell.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she said.
“I wasn’t sure I would either, after the Green Lion and all. I’m terribly sorry about how it turned out. I feel responsible for my friend Philipe’s behaviour, and how it led to you having a fall-out with your stepsister, Fany.”
“Nah, was my fault, really. I should’ve seen that one coming. And I probably shouldn’t have given Fany the idea of kitchen knives. Please don’t remind me that she’s my stepsister, or whatever she is. I loved Charles-Francois; he was very kind to me. But he wasn’t my father. And she’s definitely not my sister.”
“Yes, I apologise for the implication. Well still, I beg pardon for my association’s ill manners. And my own.”
“Why? It was good fun. I’ve always wanted an excuse to raise the dead. Necromancy is fascinating.”
“Well, I meant what I did, helping him to violate that pour Drow so extensively.”
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“That was fascinating, though I was hoping you’d ask me to — ya know — so I could see if it worked on me. Or Philipe, that would have been a riot.”
Had I insulted her? I also felt a bit insulted. While I am certainly libertine, I was proud of my restraint and didn’t like it if people assumed that because I’m a Satyr, I automatically wanted to get entangled. It must have shown on my face.
“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I mean — ”
“I understand. You were curious if it worked on you, and I suppose there was no way to know unless I asked.”
“I mean, it’s not a great test; I’m not a prude. Wow, this is getting uncomfortable.” Thea gripped her elbow and tried to pull herself together with a shiver. I straightened my waistcoat, feeling much the same.
“Quite,” I said, “but I understand — truly. I was just surprised by the way you said it. I don’t want you to think I’m here for that sort of business.”
“You think I’m ugly? It’s okay; everyone does.” Thea had a flat look on her face. There wasn’t the slightest hint of emotion.
“Fulvia is more my type,” I said, nodding.
“Ah so, though I wonder if you’d still be all hot and bothered if you saw what she really looked like.”
“I’m aware she’s over one hundred years old; I suppose she uses a lot of glamour to hide her wrinkles. I don’t think I’d mind. I hope I’m not that shallow a person.”
“Ah so.” Thea pursed her lips and turned her head to the side, as if thinking what I had said over, perhaps giving it more attention than it deserved.
“I don’t think it matters; she didn’t seem to like me all that much.”
“Fulvia? Really?” Thea jerked her head in disbelief.
“Yes, my advances and flirting didn’t seem to go over well.” I shrugged the words off even as I spoke them. My experience with Fulvia was complicated. I simply wasn’t sure what she thought of me. The less I understood about her, the more she weighed on my mind. Fulvia was a particularly seductive puzzle.
“Wow, you must have been horrible. Are you sure you’re a Satyr?”
I laughed again. “Well, after last night’s showing, I have my doubts.”
“That makes two of us; I made a mess of the whole Devil’s Pact. I’m good with knowing about stuff, just not so great yet with the real-life execution.” She made a chopping motion with her hand to emphasise the point. “Until Charles-Francois died, I was a bit of a shut-in.”
“A shut-in?”
Thea’s chair rotated around behind her, and she sat down. One of the wingback chairs against the wall crept up behind me and scooped me into it.
“Yeah. I don’t get humans most of the time.” Thea tucked her feet under her knees and sat Indian style. I eyed her dusty shoes warily and was conscious of my own hooves. They must have collected all manner of filth on walking around this place.
“Neither do I, now that you mention it.”
“Well, I’m human, I guess.” She thumbed one of her ears; they were not that different. A bit sharp and upturned, maybe.
“So is this the part where you say you’re not like other girls, and that’s the way you like it?” I asked.
Thea thought for a moment, her thumb and forefinger pinching her chin. A pensieve gesture played up for effect. “No, I think I’m like other girls, or I wish I was. Being unique is tedious.”
“I can imagine. It takes an awful lot of effort to be original all the time. You do seem a bit on the heavy metal side, though, as the mundanes are want to say.”
Thea pulled her shirt out and looked down at it.
“Honestly, it’s a Serpentine thing. If I didn’t wear this, they’d expect a lot of leather and piercings. I’m really just trying to fit in without having to get too many body modifications or tattoos.” Thea was conspicuously unpierced an untattooed for a Serpentine. Aside from her grey skin and sharp features, she looked very normal.
“Why did you join, if I may be so bold to ask?”
“You wanna know the truth?”
“Yes, certainly.” I nodded. I was in fact immensely curious about her, and the Serpentines in general. A sort of morose interest in them if I am to be honest. I doubted most of the rumours, but I was sure some of them must be true. Being shocked and disgusted is a particularly pleasurable experience.
“You can’t tell anyone; it’s kind of an informal secret anyway. I’ll deny telling you.”
“I will endeavour to be discreet.” I held up my hand to emphasise my honest intentions not to be indiscreet on the matter.
“I can’t speak bird.”
“Bird?”
Thea nodded. I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Thea placed her hand on her heart. “Seriously. You can’t become a Peregrine unless you know the language of the birds.”
I didn’t mention it at the time, but I had heard that before. From an old friend, long gone.
“Also, pain and torture are a bit more my style. I don’t feel much, so it has to be really intense.” Thea picked a piece of lint from her shirt and dropped it over the arm of her wingback chair. My eyes followed it to the floor with some discomfort. I slipped out of my chair, picked it up and tossed it into the fireplace before resuming my seat. “I see, do much torturing then?”
“Eh. I’m more of a selfish masochist type. It’s better to receive than to give.”
“I can’t say I’ve much experience in that department. Sadomasochism is a bit too sophisticated for my tastes. Having to strap someone to a rack tends to necessitate a rack, and a rack necessitates a dungeon. You start out wanting some quick sex, and you end up with a small fiefdom just to get anything started. It’s not very spontaneous.”
“Yeah, I don’t go in for the formal stuff. I’m more of a belts and berating type, anyway. Ya know, a humble masochist. I don’t need all them whips and chains and leather and dark castles to have a good time.”
“I see, sort of like the burger and fries girl of the S&M scene?”
“You could say that. I got a question for you, though.”
“By all means, mademoiselle.”
“Why do you talk funny?”
“I suppose that’s a good question. A force of habit, perhaps. At least now.”
“What forced you to make it a habit, then?”
“I suppose it’s like meditation. I focus on being controlled and polite, and it keeps me from giving in to my bestial nature.”
“Why you wanna do that? I figure you’d be more fun if you weren’t so pretentious.”
I laughed. She had a charming kind of directness.
“True. But you’d grow tired of me walking around with a prominent erection trying to mate with all of your friends very quickly.”
Thea steepled her fingers under her pointed nose. I kept silent while she thought it through.
“Eh. You’re right. It would get old pretty fast if I had friends. I can’t really seem to get on with others well. I don’t mean to be like I am.”
“How are you?” I asked.
“Unlikable. I just say what I think. And I don’t always get how people are feeling or how I’m feeling.”
“I see, so you’re the tin man then?”
“The who?”
“Ah, I mean to say you don’t have a heart.”
“Something like that.”
“I suppose I can relate. Maybe in the inverse. Sometimes I worry I feel too much or am too soft.”
“So you wanna have a look around?”
“Please,” I said and stood up.