Page 66 of By the Fae

“You disappeared my bruises? Just like that?”

“No, not entirely.”

“Huh?”

I unbuttoned my jeans and dropped them to the rug. Holly fell to her knees in front of me to examine the exact bruises in the exact place hers had been. “I transferred them to me,” I said.

She poked one, and pain radiated up my leg.

“Ow, you ding bat! Why are you poking my bruises that were just on your legs? You know how painful they are.”

She had the gall to smile. “Why would you do that? Why take my pain? . . . I don’t get it.”

I kicked away my jeans and sat on the edge of the bed. Holly sat next to me.

“Because I was the one that hurt you. And because I”—damn my stupid fae mouth—“don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“But now you’re hurting,” she said, in a way that suggested the feeling was mutual.

“I’m fae. I’ll heal quickly. You can literally watch me heal.”

Holly put her face level with the bruises. I could have butted her in the head with my dick.

“Okay, but it’s not that quick. I mean, it is if I do the injury to myself, but if I transfer it, it takes much longer. A couple of hours at least, I think, so I don’t know, maybe you wanna grab some popcorn? Actually, I’ve got a better idea. Whilst you’re down there . . .”

She jabbed a finger into one of the bruises, hard. I deserved it.

I pulled my shirt over my head and propped myself up on the headboard. She sat next to me, half snuggling me, tucking her bare legs and socked feet alongside mine.

“Did you want to do any sexy stuff tonight? Or are your ouchies to ouchy?”

Ouchies, damn her.

“Maybe,” I said, reaching an arm out and dragging Holly to my chest. “Or maybe you could tell me a few more stories about you being a detestable human being.”

Chapter 22.

Goldie

Over the next few weeks, we settled into a routine. Weekdays were spent either sitting at my drawing board (if Holly was in training or being harangued by one of the other designers) or else on my office couch, batting about the same handful of ideas. Holly still banging on about the treasure hunt concept.

“I think it could be really sweet if both the characters are working separately to find the same thing,” she would say.

I hadn’t changed the character stats yet. I’d have to deal with it soon, but we, I, was having too much fun inventing stupid scenarios for the game. Ideas for side quests that had us both clutching our ribs from laughter. I’d never wanted to inject silliness into my games before. But dammit if it wasn’t the most enjoyable way to spend the day.

“Come on, a whole paddock of Rusties? That’s . . . Even the fae is going down there,” Holly told me, wiping away the tears.

When I’d used my glamour too much, Holly would lay me down on the couch with my head on her legs, her fingers in my hair, while she told me regrettable stories from her youth.

“I always wanted to wipe these memories clean from my mind. Forget I ever did these things. Never thought they’d come in useful. But here we are. Okay, so one time I was at my friend Craig’s barn dance thing, I needed to pee so badly . . .”

The stories did the opposite of their purpose, I realised. But typically, not until week four or five. Sure, they were often revolting. Sure, Holly once picked her nose and wiped it on the man in front of her in the queue at the post office, but they weren’t making me hate her. If anything, I started to think of Holly as a friend. And maybe the man from the post office deserved to have a bogey on his back.

I started going to Holly first for things, before August, before Sugar Paste, before Dima. When I had a new idea for the game, yeah, but also when something amusing happened and I just needed to tell someone. When I saw a baby cerberus in the park at lunchtime, and I knew she’d think it was cute. It was. When something went wrong, and I needed to vent. And okay, I liked it when Holly finger-combed my hair.

At some point, she started coming to me, too. “Goldie, I met the cerberus. His name is Igor. Igor!” “Goldie, do you think forty-five silvers for vintage dungarees is a good deal?” “Goldie, my sister’s band is playing on the weekend. Do you want to come and see them with me? It’s not, like, a date. But if you don’t want to, that’s cool.”

And then, heaven help me, she started sending me memes. Specifically, tapir memes. And made me take selfies of us on my phone.

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