Page 95 of Scythe & Sparrow
“What’s so funny …? The bottle said it’s water-soluble,” I say, and she wheezes, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she parrots my words back to me through strained vocal cords.
“Did you test it?” she manages to get out, though only barely.
“No …” I flip my visor down and open the cover on the mirror. My face paint concoction has definitely stayed put. Which is maybe a bit concerning now that I think about it. It’s been on there forhours. Maybe too many hours. I swipe my thumb across my tongue and rub at a spot on my cheek next to the scales. While the top layer smears, the skin underneath is definitely still green. “Ahh …shite. There’s gotta be a way to get this off, right? Blackbird? You like makeup. And painting. So you know how to get this shit off, yeah? It’ll come off …right?”
Sloane cackles through my questions, her eyes still watering as she keys the engine and reverses onto Magnolia Street. “Somehow, I don’t think a homemade apricot-turpentine scrub is the best option. But don’t worry,” she says as she reaches over to pat my hand, “I still think you’re pretty, even if you’re permanently green.”
“Permanently …?”
By the time we reach the cabin, I’m sure Sloane regrets letting the wordpermanenttumble from her grinning lips. I pepper her with questions for the remaining thirty-minute drive, about skin and dye andjust how bad would it really be if I tested out this apricot-turpentine scrub idea?That one earns me a much-deserved smack to the shoulder. I guess she’s right. Testing out new things on my face has apparently not gone so well for me today, so ramping it up to another level is probably not the best idea either.
In fact, the whole costume was definitely not my best idea, though it seemed like a good one at the time. I guess I didn’t anticipate a barn dance detour that would cost us a precious hour and a half of time. I was hoping to arrive early so I could chase my wife through the woods and make her laugh as I fucked her on the forest floor. At least I’m extremely successful in thelaughter part. Too bad it’s not just my wife who’s delighted by my costume.
“You feckin’ dumb bellend. What in the Christ Jesus are you wearing?” Lachlan says from the porch as we exit the vehicle. Sloane’s grin is maniacal as she stands off to the side to watch our exchange with unrestrained glee.
“What the fuck does it look like I’m wearing, asshat?”
Lachlan makes a show of taking off his glasses and polishing the lenses with the bottom of his shirt before he slides them back on. “Looks like an idiot suit. Is that the right answer?”
Sloane bellows a laugh as Lark pushes open the screen door, drying her hands on a tea towel as she exits the rustic cottage. She lurches to a halt as soon as her eyes land on me. “Oh holy hell.” Her giggle is devious, a bright contrast to Lachlan’s derisive snort. “Is that suit clean?”
“Unfortunately,” I grumble.
“Oh,Rowan—”
“Don’t give him any sympathy, Lark. Pity makes him even more insufferable, the feckin’ twat.”
“But look at him. He’s all sad and horny.”
“Literally,” Sloane interjects, whacking one of my yellow horns as she heads toward the porch to give Lark a hug. “Also permanently green.”
“We need to talk more about ‘permanent,’ Sloane,” I say as I grab our bags and the moonshine and then follow after her, my dragon tail swishing across the gravel behind me. When Lachlan groans and runs a hand down his face, I exaggerate the sway of my hips just to annoy him.
“We’ve talked about it plenty.” Though Sloane doesn’t turn my way, I can almost hear her eyes roll. “Talk about it with your brother.”
“Eyeball Spider Lady,” Lachlan says as he wraps Sloane in a hug, “how do you tolerate that pain in the arse?”
“He usually makes up for it in other ways.” With a kiss on Lachlan’s cheek, she lets him go and joins Lark’s side. The two link arms to share a flurry of whispers, probably about whatever it was Sloane actually discovered at the barn. They head inside as I climb the porch steps to stop in front of my older brother.
“Give us a kiss, asshat.” Before he can get away, I wrap Lachlan in a bear hug and plant a smear of a green kiss against his cheek, one of my scales falling off in the process.
“Gobshite.”
“Bellend.”
When I let him go, Lachlan still can’t help himself. He lays his hand on either side of my head and presses his forehead to mine. “You’re still a reckless little shit,” Lachlan says, and though he tries to look serious, the glimmer in his eyes gives away his amusement. “But I still love you.”
“Love you too.”
With a clap to the side of my head, Lachlan grins and lets me go to pick up one of my bags and the bottle of moonshine, examining it with a furrowed brow. “What the fuck is this?”
“Homemade whiskey, apparently.”
“Christ Jesus.”
“Sloane found it at a barn dance in Linsmore. And judging by the way those two are conspiring, that’s not the only thing shefound.” When I nod toward the two women whispering in the kitchen as they open a bottle of red wine, Lachlan follows my gaze and groans. “I think she’s got a jump on us for the game.”
“Well, I might have an idea or two myself.”
