Page 27 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

Flick wasn’t thinking about that day. The Flick who had whispered to scribes and poets, feeding them words and drinking in their talent, was not the Flick who had eaten Charon’s book on Lukos. This Flick was used to being held like a baby in the morning while Hektor sat in the garden to watch the sun rise. This Flick spent the night curled up in Hektor’s mind or sprawled over Rose, who called him handsome and fed him flowers she picked on the way home. This Flick romped in the blossoms grown by the Mother of the Old Ones, the great goddess who was thought to be dead but was only changed, like Flick, with her own boy to care for.

This Flick was betrayed.

HOW COULD YOU. Flick lay on his back with all four paws in the air. His tail swished over the desk as Hektor wrote carefully in Charon’s empty book. HOW COULD YOU, MY BOY, MY BEST BOY, DO THIS TO ME PERSONALLY.

“You can’t eat books without permission, Flick,” Hektor said.

MONSTER, Flick said. His paws twitched.

“I’m going to need chapter two,” Hektor said, with the unfeeling tone of a man with a heart of ice.

Flick flung the knowledge at him, and Hektor blinked a few times, hand still on the page.

“Thanks.”

YOU ARE WORSE THAN A POET.

Flick whimpered and flopped on his side, panting softly.

Outside, just past the door to the kitchen, the House of Onyx was having a feast.

There were sugar birds and caramel horses, candy on sticks and chocolate eggs with gold leaf and cookies full of peanut butter. There were orange blossom cakes and glazed pecans. There was even fish on a silver tray. And everyone else was eating them while Flick was forced to stay in Hektor’s room, supplying him with facts about some big lump of ice and snow in the north.

I HATE LUKOS, Flick sobbed, as Rose ate a sugar bird with every sign of enjoyment.

“If you hadn’t eaten the book without permission, maybe you would be eating with them right now,” Hektor said. “I’ll need that illustration, too. It’s difficult.”

Flick just sighed.

“Oh,” said Yves. His voice rang out clearly through the partly open door. “Look, this bird looks like it’s wounded.”

I LOVE HUNTING THOSE PARTICULARLY.

“You should eat the head first,” said Rose.

NO. THAT’S HOW I EAT THEM. BOY, TELL THEM.

“If only Flick were here and not helping Hektor write the book he ate, he could finish the rest of this fish.” That was Charon, the one who held so many secrets that were not his own, who had treated Hektor so gently during his first few weeks at the House.

I’M SORRY, Flick howled.

Hektor set down his pen. “And why are you sorry?”

BECAUSE I WANT TO EAT THE FISH AND THEY WILL NOT LET ME.

Hektor sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and picked up the pen again.

Eventually, Hektor had written enough that he had to stop to rest his hand, and Flick stared up at Hektor mournfully when he leaned down to scratch Flick’s nose.

I LOVE YOU, Flick said.

“That sounded accusatory.” Hektor kissed the spot between Flick’s ears. “But you were good tonight. You didn’t stop helping me even though you could have if you really wanted to.”

IF THAT IS RESTRAINT, I WANT NONE OF IT.

Hektor picked up Flick. Flick could have been sulky and slipped away, but he liked being held, so he allowed it. He also allowed Hektor to hum to him and walk in the bobbing dance that made Flick sleepy and content. Hektor twisted to grab a book off the shelf, and Flick’s ears perked up as Hektor set it down on his bed.

“That’s for you,” Hektor said, “because you were so good.”

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