Page 72 of Shades of Silver City

“She was.” I clear my throat. “She tried her best to be the ma we never really had. Raised me to be polite. Well-mannered. Decent. Scolded Godric and me anytime we cursed. It stuck for one of us.” I chuckle, shaking my head. Godric was always a handful growing up. He spent most nights at our house, seeking refuge from his own unstable family. “I try to be a decent man, in her honor.”

Tasia narrows her eyes as if trying to make sense of something. She hums to herself, then stands, mumbling.

I’m not sure what exactly she says, because I finally register what she’s wearing. I’m wholly encapsulated by the sight of her in my shirt. It swallows her whole, the bottom of it falling mid-thigh. Colored ink sprawls across her left thigh. This piques my interest. I’m studying the design—a watercolor butterfly with its wings wrapping around her leg—when she yawns, stretching her arms up overhead.

Heat builds at the base of my spine as her shirt rises and…

“Are those my boxers?” I narrow my eyes accusingly.

She glances down at herself, her cheeks reddening.

“I didn’t go through your shit,” she quickly says.

Fighting the primal instinct to stare at her—to do much more than just stare—I pry my eyes away and spin toward the dresser.

Her going through my stuff is the absolute least of my worries.

“I’ll wash your clothing,” I tell her, my voice rough.

After all, that was my intention initially. Not to snoop, not to find dreamdust—which we still need to have a conversation about—and not to embark deep into the bowels of our emotional turmoil.

I stuff the baggie of dreamdust into my pocket before tugging open one of my dresser drawers. Without looking, I pull out a pair of sweatpants and toss them onto the bed, battling the urge to sneak another look at Tasia.

My throat bobs as I swallow thickly. Scooping up her dirty clothes from the bathroom, I navigate out of the room without looking back.

“Archer?” Tasia calls, sounding unsure.

“Yes?” I say, pausing.

“Thanks for the…food and the tea. I feel a lot better.”

I don’t turn to face her. I don’t want her to see the stupid grin forming on my lips. “Glad to hear it,” I say, working to keep my voice steady.

With that, I make my way out of the room. Downstairs, Scathe stretches out on my new Yvonné, eyeing me judgmentally.

Told you so, he says.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I grumble.

Leveling him with a pointed look, I pass by, heading into the laundry room. I put Tasia’s clothes in the wash, set the cycle, and turn my attention to my phone. I locate Godric’s number and press the call button.

He answers with a grunt after the first ring.

“Hit your limit?” he asks.

“You were right.” I pause, licking my lips and steeling myself for the words I’m about to say, knowing they’ll affect Godric as deeply as they do me: “The dust is back on the streets.”

Silence, then he roars into the phone, “Fucking knew it, man!”

“And it’s worse than before.”

"…mRNA magic can be transmitted to individuals through delivery methods beyond injection, such as ingestion, water distribution systems, and other channels. I’m dubious as to the ethics of such methods…”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

CHAPTER 17

FANTASIA

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