Page 18 of Geoffrey the Very Strange
Aspic gave him a nod. "Lots of demon spawn face worse. Anyway, he used my mother's magic too hard, kept her on the human plane too long, and she died when I was, oh, ten, probably."
"What happened to the mage bastard?" Cecil had stopped eating, too.
"He died a few days after my mother. They were too closely bound by then. His own fault, from what I understand. I stayed in his house until his sister came to claim it, then lived wherever I could for a few months, until the first purge started there."
"Was it terrible?" Geoffrey asked softly.
"It was. Oh, it was. Every day, more people hanged or burned. Witches, mages, librarians who knew too much. Gnomes, fauns, brownies, goblins. Any magical person or nonhuman being they could find and anyone suspected of demon blood. I hid as best I could, and when I had a chance to sneak into a rug shipment at the edge of town, I took it and ran."
"And then you came here," Cecil offered.
Aspic laughed. "I'm a bit older than ten. It took a few years. A few more cities where I did my best to hide what I am, to be friendly and nonthreatening, but it never worked for long. Sometimes I even had employment for a bit, but laws would change, and people's minds would change, and I'd be told to leave—or I'd need to run. The last city was Burburytree. It seemed like such a nice place. I even let my hair grow."
Sundrop tugged at his hair with acheepbefore flying off to look at the shell containers.
Geoffrey had moved closer, and Aspic wondered if he was aware of it. "What happened?"
"A coughing sickness began last fall, one the doctors hadn't seen before. It killed the very young and the very old first. Then it started decimating the rest of the city. The city burghers blamed demons, egged on by some of the priests. They tossed me outside the city gates with nothing but the clothes I was wearing. I wandered up into the hills. The weather grew worse. At one point, I hadn't seen so much as a farmhouse to beg at for three days. Starving, filthy, despairing, I curled up on a big rock that the sun had warmed just enough, and that's where Mrs. Pickle found me."
"Foundlings."
For a moment, Aspic thought Geoffrey had spoken the wrong word again. But then he got it. "Oh. Well. Yes. Mrs. Pickle does often take people in. Me. Sundrop. I think Timms was one, too." At some point in the narrative, Cecil had abandoned them, too, and Aspic hadn't noticed. Not that a shadow imp made a lot of noise moving about. "She took me home. Fed me. Got me some warm clothes. Said I could help around the house until I was strong enough to find a job. Then sent me into town to ask the shops if anyone needed a clerk. I'd never seen so many magical people in one place. So I stayed."
Geoffrey had moved close enough that their knees touched. "People… like you here."
It sounded halfway between a question and a statement, and Aspic's heart was thumping rabbit warnings in his chest because of Geoffrey's nearness, that he struggled to make sense of the perfectly understandable words. "Yes. I… some people do. Enough."
"Enough is good."
Geoffrey leaned in, his long-lashed eyes suddenly too close, and Aspic almost had time to panic before Geoffrey's lips touched down on his, soft and insistent. Aspic made a desperate, pitiful sound as he grabbed a handful of Geoffrey's robes and hauled him close, his mouth desperate to taste, to feel, to erase any remaining distance between them. Sugar and pastry lingered on Geoffrey's mouth, and Aspic licked off every crumb before he pushed his tongue between the seam of Geoffrey's lips. Both Geoffrey's hands slid into his hair as Geoffrey gasped and gave himself to the kiss with more enthusiasm than Aspic had expected.
He put a hand down to stop them toppling onto the cave floor and broke the kiss off, panting. "Geoffrey… why in the world did you…?"
The little necromancer pulled away, his expression shuttered. "Demon-spawn kiss. I was curious."
Cold spider feet climbed down Aspic's spine, and he scrambled up, shivering despite the warm night. He took a step back. Then another. Geoffrey still hadn't moved or said anything else.
"Of course," Aspic whispered. "Of course. Thank you for sharing the pastries. The basket belongs to your aunt."
He would've preferred to leave with dignity, but his heart felt like a bag full of hatpins, and he was sure he would bleed out on the laboratory floor if he stayed a moment longer. Abandoning dignity, he turned and fled, managing to keep the tears from falling until he'd reached the bottom of the hill.
Vision blurred, chest heaving, he had a bad moment when he thought he had forgotten Sundrop. He was gathering the courage to go back up the hill—maybe Cecil would send her out—when she cheeped from her nest in his hair. Aspic sagged against a standing rock, still wet from the day's rain. At least he would be saved one humiliation.
He knew better. Heshouldhave known better. Merseton had lulled all of his instincts into a pleasant slumber, fooling him into believing himself accepted. Safer, yes. Better off than he had ever been, that, too. But humans, magical or not, would always see a demon, wouldn't they? Always see him as somethingother. He shouldn't have been shocked.
While he told himself these things, he forced himself to recall that he hadn't turned into stone on the hillside. Swiping at his eyes, breaths still shuddering in his chest, he turned his feet toward home and tried to convince himself that it had all been nothing, and a human rejection couldn't hurt him that much.
6
The White Stag
"Where'd you go last night?" Cecil stood on Geoffrey's desk, tapping his foot. "You looked all cozy with Aspic. I went out to give you some space, and when I came back, you were gone."
Geoffrey reached over him for the charts, trying again to ignore the heavy aching in his chest. "I slept at home last night."
"I figuredthatout, Geoffy. But what happened? He was clearly interested."
"This isclearlynot part of your job."
