Page 55 of After Life
He nodded. “Sleep is precious.” He paused, eyeing the bed warily. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I just remembered I need to brush my teeth.”
I let out a harsh breath as Jeremiah hurried to the bathroom in the hall and I grabbed the folded piece of paper with my sigil on it. A twisted design of letter distilled from This is Oscar Fellowes’ body and you do not belong here.
This would be a two-fold approach, I decided. If I used the right kind of pen, I could make the sigil almost like a stamp by drawing it on paper then pressing it to his skin. And if he came to bed in his clothes, I’d slip it into his pocket, I thought. If he was in his underpants, I’d slip it into his shoe while he slept, so it would be under his foot all day tomorrow.
It wasn’t a perfect plan but it was all I had.
Jeremiah came back a few minutes later and hesitantly stretched out beside me, stiff and quiet.
So the big man is having a bit of a freak out from sleeping next to lil’ ol’ me? Good. Suffer.
“Goodnight, Oscar,” I murmured, tugging the blankets up to my chin.
“Night,” he grunted.
Neither of us slept for a very long while. Finally, his breathing slowed and deepened. I shifted to my side and waited. He remained still as I slipped my hand closer, thanking the powers that be that he wore trousers and not sleep pants or Oscar’s underwear. I slipped the sigil into the pocket and... What next? Would it be instant? Did I need to say words? Was Jesse full of shit? How could it be this simple?
I hesitated and, grabbing the maker I used from the nightstand, carefully, slowly drew the same sigil on the curve of Oscar’s ass showing where the trousers had slipped down a bit. He’d never see it there, I thought, and if the paper didn’t work, maybe that would.
Jeremiah didn’t stir. There was no flash of light, no sudden waking where Oscar looked up at me from his own eyes.
Just the snores of a man I didn’t know in my lover’s body.
“Oscar,” I whispered softly. “Oscar, please be okay. I love you. Be okay.”
I don’t know how long I laid awake but when I opened my eyes, the sky was a wet dove gray and the bed beside me was empty, save for the paper with my sigil on it spread out and torn into pieces and a dark smear where the ink from his skin had rubbed onto the sheets.
Chapter 13 — Oscar
“Mind your tea, Oscar. That shirt is French linen and will absolutely stain.”
“Yes, Grandmere.” I set my teacup down gently on the saucer. Not gently enough, though—Grandmere shot me a reproving look as the China rattled together. Heinrich made a soft, quelling sound in his throat and she sighed, turning her attention to him instead.
“I’ve heard from Michel’s cousin,” she said, picking up a thread of conversation that happened before I arrived. “She wishes to visit.”
Heinrich cut his eyes to me and pursed his lips. “Does she now?”
“Don’t give me that tone, Henry,” Grandmere sighed, exasperated. “You know my feelings on the matter.”
“I know what you said but the fact you’re mentioning her wish to visit tells me that you’re not as settled on your decision as you like to pretend.”
“Tch.”
I was only half-listening, intent instead of slipping another biscuit from the plate before Grandmere noticed. Heinrich, bless him, nudged it just a bit in my direction when he reached for his own cup.
If Grandmere noticed, she didn’t comment. I smirked, plucking one of the bourbon creams from the plate and hiding it under the edge of the second-best saucer I’d been given (Grandmere was not about to risk her China on a ten-year-old’s clumsy fingers) as Grandmere adjusted the position of her gilt-handled teacup atop its matching saucer. “Charlotte has been a thorn in my side since before I even accepted Michel’s proposal,” Grandmere said coolly. “I don’t wish to cast my lot in with her, no matter what she thinks her family is owed.”
Oh, this was getting good. I slipped the biscuit from its hiding spot and palmed it, intending to engage in some forbidden dunking while Grandmere was distracted. Heinrich snagged a shortbread from the plate and dunked with a laissez-faire attitude I could only dream of emulating—he was impervious to Grandmere’s cool stare and curled upper lip, popping the soggy shortbread in his mouth with a pleased smack of his lips. “You’re being a bit of a bitch, you know.”
Ohmygod!
Grandmere merely rolled her eyes, fidgeting with her cup again before tucking her hands into her lap with a grimace. “Michel knew how I felt about the entire situation.” This time she was the one who cut her eyes at me.
I froze, bourbon cream halfway to my tea.
What happens next?
I don’t remember.
