Page 45 of Marked by the Demigod

He hesitates, then reaches a hand out and grips her shoulder. "I'll see you before too long," he says, soft, then...disappears.

Just gone.

The air is still, as if he was never there, the dust mites not even moving. She jerks back, like she’s been punched right in the throat.

* * *

The hotelcontinental breakfast is a surreal mess of stale pastries and sleepy librarians and too bright lights. She gets herself the biggest styrofoam cup of coffee and something that vaguely resembles a chocolate croissant and tucks herself in a plastic chair in the corner, her briefcase on her lap like a battering shield.

Her skin even feels prickly, like the last evening didn't happen but was some instead elaborate drunk dream.

Her presentations pass in a whirl, the sort of whirl where she knows she said everything and answered all the questions and gave out Russ's proper contact info, but in the same way that it feels that it's someone else saying the words.

On her flight, she curls up with her knees to her chest and sleeps the sleep of someone feeling deeply sorry for herself.

* * *

She'scertain she looks like a zombie as she climbs into Trixie's car back at the Burbank airport. Trixie just raises an eyebrow at her before starting up the car.

It's dark in California, but dark in the way that the glow of the city lights leaves everything lit, and it's about as far away as the glow of the moon and the stars and the snow that it tugs at the back of her throat once more.

About two thirds of the way back to her apartment, Trixie makes a sound in the back of her throat, the sound of someone who wants to say something, but doesn't want to start the conversation. It's a judgy sound, and Aimes lets her head loll around to look at her.

"What."

"You have a hickey." She points at her own neck in the place. "But you don't seem happy."

She lets her head thud against the car seat back. "Yeah."

Trixie remains quiet until they reach Aimes's apartment complex. "If you need anything, you know, let me know," she says, soft. "I'm here for you."

Aimes nods, not moving to unbuckle her seatbelt. "Yeah. Just...rough convention." And the words seem hollow and obviously fake, even to her. "Tiki bar tomorrow?"

"How about brunch instead? Get you back into the LA scheme of things. I don't have anything until 2." And she smiles, and it's far kinder than Aimes feels like she deserves. "Help you kick whatever the hell jetlag you're gonna get from this trip."

"Sure."

* * *

Trixie even hasa large Irish coffee and a plate of bacon waiting for her when she shows up to Dupars. "Soooooo how was Maine?"

The restaurant is chilly, but it's almost as if her little foray into part of the Arctic Circle means she's not nearly as cold as she should be. Dupars, as a restaurant, is hilariously old fashioned with tall leather booths, waiters who wear suits, and eighteen different pies on sale in a display.

"Quant. You wouldn't believe the quilts in this place." And it feels safe, safe to talk about that, without anything actual being brought up. "I talked to a librarian who doesn't even have internet where he is, just writes everything by hand. Didn't sell him any of our computer stuff."

"Damn." Trixie takes a large gulp of her water. "So Kristopher was okay with our talk," she blurts out. "He even said that he gets scared with fights. Who says that?"

Aimes flicks through the menu. "You do."

"Yeah, exactly." Trixie grins at her.

They fall into a lull, sipping coffee and crunching on bacon, as the waiter takes their order.

"Hey Trixie," Aimes begins, mouth feeling thick, "How far away from Maine is the Arctic Circle?"

Trixie blinks at her, eyebrows raising. "I have no fucking clue." Her voice makes it clear that she thinks Aimes is losing it. "That cold up there?"

The waiter delivers their food, and Aimes digs into her cinnamon French toast. "It was a bit shocking, that's all." Cause she has no clue how far away she was taken, and for some reason the idea that he took her far far away sits poorly in her chest.

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