Page 46 of By the Fae

“Otherwise, what’s the point of having a choice between the characters? No one is going to deliberately choose a pants character. One that will die too quickly.”

“Hmm,” I said. “I’ll think about it.” And I would. Just not right then when my mind was too muddled with GG&P pyjamas and violet-raspberry perfume.

She nodded her head once, a smile ticking the corner of her mouth, and I knew she thought she was winning.

“I got killed by a moose,” she said. “Twice.”

“Ah, you met Rusty.” And we both relented into laughter. I retrieved Sugar Paste’s abandoned controller, thankful she was no longer smashing the crap out of my game, and pressed the start button to bring my split-screen back.

Holly made an “Mm-mm” noise, took my controller, and passed me hers. “You can be the human.”

After twenty minutes of wandering around, I realised she was right. The human needed different strengths. She died too quickly, was too clunky, her events, movements, too jerky. I wasn’t about to admit that to Holly though, so I tried to contain my frustration with the character and pretend as though everything was working out exactly as planned.

“Have you decided what the purpose of the game is yet?” she asked. “Like in Magic Thief, you have to steal magic obviously, so, what’s the goal going to be here?”

I shrugged, not having thought that far ahead. My specialty was aesthetics. Terrain and asset design mostly. The concept of the original Magic Thief was a fluke. It came to me when I was interning at FaeGames thirty years ago. The underground train had broken down on my way into work and I was stuck next a particularly argumentative human who had insisted that all fae were cold-hearted, ruthless warmongers. Naturally, I countered with the only reasonable response I knew. That humans only ever cared about two things: making everything about love and stealing all other species’ magic.

When I finally got into work three hours later, my boss at the time, a male fae named Moddy, was about to yell at me. I pitched the idea there and then. He laughed so hard, slapped me on the back, congratulated my ingenuity, and told me if I could build a prototype, he’d offer me a full-time job.

Since then, I’d made my hatred for humans the driving force for my career. Sometimes, I think about the guy on the Underground, pot-bellied, bald, yellow-toothed. He was in his sixties back then. He was likely dead now.

Maybe I needed Holly’s help there, too. But I wasn’t prepared to admit that yet. Especially if all she could suggest was love love love.

Bloody humans.

We played silently for a while. Occasionally, Holly would point out assets she particularly liked. There were almost no negative crits.

“Are . . . Are you wearing that to dinner later?” she asked, motioning to my sweatpants with her head, but refusing to look at them.

I pulled my lips between my teeth to stop the ensuing laughter. “Why? Do you find it distracting?”

She paused. “Not in the slightest.”

Damn, I envied her ability to lie.

Chapter 16.

Goldie

Holly wore her dungaree-dress and a hideous, almost fluorescent pink, baggy t-shirt. Good. It was better she was in ugly clothing. That way, there was no chance I’d accidentally find her cute.

I donned my Rockets jersey, and since she couldn’t keep her eyes off my dick outline in my grey sweatpants, I kept them on. To remind her why we were here. To work on my game and fuck — fix her confidence problems, whatever — and nothing else.

Taur cooked. He made everyone squash, coconut, and chickpea curry, served with rice and flatbreads. Most people expected minotaurs to be carnivorous, but Taur was vegan. A great cook too. Not as good as me, but definitely better than Mal, and infinitely better than Dima, who always ordered takeaway. Especially after what happened that one time the vampire tested whether the pasta was cooked by eating a single farfalle. He’d then promptly annihilated the kitchen. There had even been barf inside the smoke detector.

Sugar Paste laid the table with mismatched crockery, and I moved to my usual spot on Mal’s right. The incubus sat at the head of the table. It started as a joke, since he was the unofficial head of the household, but now he accepted this arrangement without fuss.

Holly walked behind me into the kitchen and stilled. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met Mal’s. In her defence, we made an intimidating bunch. The five flatmates of apartment 15A. Taur, the seven-foot minotaur, with his horns and surplus muscles. Sugar Paste, the voluptuous, motor-mouthed, flame-haired human. Dima the vampire with his paper-white skin, fangs, and blood-red eyes.

And Mal, the incubus, with his six-five frame, onyx skin, and enormous, leathery bat-like wings. He’d hefted them over the back of his chair but kept them tucked in close to his body.

“Mal, this is my colleague, Holly. Holly, Mal, my . . . landlord,” I said.

She gulped, and Mal gave a polite nod. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his words stiff and over-enunciated, as though at a business meeting. I narrowed my eyes and in the corner of my peripherals, I clocked Sugar Paste and Taur exchanging a perplexed look. It was unlike Mal not to welcome every single person he ever met into his home. Something was off.

“You too,” she squeaked, no longer meeting his gaze.

“Holly!” Sugar Paste said, rushing over and wrapping her in a hug. Holly’s arms hung awkwardly by her sides. “Right, you sit here, between Goldie and me. Babe, you sit here.” She motioned to the seat that was usually unoccupied.

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