Page 107 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

Xios

Rubbing Ash’s back while he sleeps against my chest in his wrap, I watch Castor sweep through Zahra’s kitchen—with a literal broom. He finished washing the counters a few moments ago, and before that he tidied up the few dishes I had left after bringing Zahra breakfast upstairs.

She’s asleep right now.

Oblivious to how deeply last night haunts me.

Please, Dad. Don’t.

It has taken everything in me to subdue the rage since I discovered what happened to my soulmate when she was a child. The slim hope her offender had rested in his anonymity. Now, that anonymity is gone.

It washer father. Her ownblood.

The desire to hunt him like a wild animal then maim him over and over simmers like oil in the pit of my gut, scalding every last one of my overachieving organs.

When I came into life, I thought I held a general hatred for many things—like the mandatory nature ofbreathing. As it turns out, I have never hated anything before. I have known paltry distaste for nothing of true consequence.

Now, I know real hatred.

All morning, I’ve been contemplating how to cause pain that comes just short of killing a mortal. I’ve considered the possibility that Zahra’s fae pieces are fromhim, and I’ve considered stealing his humanity and leaving him as a friendless, helpless,uselessasteriai, if only so I’ll have longerto strip the flesh from his bones, watch it grow back, anddo it again.

“Noroleplay session!” Castor declares, for the umpteenth time. I forgot to mention that he’s been complaining ever since he showed up, saw me cleaning, and tied back his long sleeves to help. “What a joke,” he snaps. “She cannot be allowed to take my merriment away. I get one fun day a month to play with my friends. And now she’sill? So my brilliant suggestion of relocating LARP day tothisFriday goes unanswered? There are insufficient tiny moving pictures to express myself with.”

Tiny moving pictures.

He’s talking about the gifs he’s been periodically sending me since Zahra told him she was too sick to deal with his hissy fit texts. He didn’t listen until she threatened to block his number.

I sigh. “Castor.”

He stops pissily sweeping to toss a pout my way. “Yes?”

“I can’t help you with LARP day, but perhaps you could help me with something?”

“A request?” he murmurs. “A blatant one, no less. Why, I could ask a favor in return for such a thing.”

“Assuming thefavordoesn’t harm anyone I love, I would give it to you for this help.”

He pauses. Then he sighs. Resting the stick of the broom against the counter, he slips around the island, pulls out the stool next to me, and takes a seat. “I suppose I can’t ignore it forever. You’ve been stewing in incomprehensible loathing since I showed up. Do speak to me.”

Forcing a breath to stretch the tightness out of my lungs, I say, “I would like to locate and torture someone until by pure accident my rage kills them, because I know it will. Even though my interests lie in providing them with perpetual agony, I don’t believe myself capable of restraint.”

“You want my help in seeing that you become a murderer?”

“I do not yet have the knowledge on how to track someone down. It’s a human, so I have considered talking to Willow, since she knows how to find humans with limited information, but making her an accomplice to this…even if she never has to know…feels unkind.”

Castor’s tone deepens as he murmurs, “And you perceive I have no inhibitions where it concerns assisting you?”

“Do you?”

He rests back against the counter. “Quite.”

“Would you change your mind if I listed this man’s crimes?” Anger vibrates in my voice before I can hold it at bay.

“Xios,” Castor begins, low and soothing, “whatever his crimes, they are not worth soiling your soul.”

“I couldn’t care less about keeping my soulclean. I am already not blameless, so it matters little what sorts of other sins might taint me.”

“Intentional torture and murder leave a trail, Xios. Creatures like us do rank our faults, and there is a difference in the way some actions hold onto us. When you’ve taken a life, it does not go away. Even if it happens so regularly you wonder why you have not gone numb to the sensation. So long as you grieve the loss of life, the pain does not dim.”

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