Page 62 of Odder Still
I don’t flinch at the comment, and between the soft smell of him and the ease of lying here, I realize it’s because his gentle observation didn’t hurt in the way of other accusations. Despite my soundless steps and my liminal existence and even despite the aurora weaving through my body, he still holds to me like I’m substantial. Like I’m a kind of universe all of my own. I smile. “Maybe thereissomething unexplainable afoot.”
I close my eyes and live in the weight of his fingers through my hair, their tips brushing against my chest as he reaches the end of the braid. My parasite curls through the sensation, basking in it as much as I do. I can’t tell it no, not with the warmth it’s adding to my heart. We love this.
“What does it feel like,” I ask, “to have a different body? Is it weird?”
“Never.” He says it with such ferocity that his malty breath curls against my chin. He lets my hair go to tug at his collar where his brooch should sit. “I think we’re made for it. Not having that—that other part of me at my fingertips, that’s what’s weird.” A snicker leaves him, crooked and unkempt. “Though the communication of seals doesn’t have near the specificity of this form’s vocals. As wonderful as a good dip in the sea is, there’s a reason we conduct business inside a glass casing of air.”
I watch the rain fall, but in my mind, I hear the squeal of the cart as Sheona directs us to the only possible ocean escape route from the lower. I try to estimate the number of bodies inside the lower’s walls compared to the few seals I’ve seen swimming through its ornamented and manicured waterways. “When there aren’t contamination warnings in place, are the selkies from the lower allowed outside Maraheem?”
“Aye, absolutely! There’s still regulations, of course—we can’t have everyone going for a swim at once—and heavy restrictions on what they can take with them to lower potential water pollutant levels, and appropriate fees to cover the maintenance costs, and—” His enthusiasm fades. “Oh. Oh, I see what you mean.” He whispers it, as though he can change the realization if no one else hears it. “I suppose, then, not exactly. Or, perhaps, yes, actually: allowed. Allowed by the good graces of the upper, given permission to, occasionally, do what should be their continuous right.” He presses a hand to his mouth, breathing out against it, a shudder beneath the exhale. “I lived my whole life there, and I never looked at it like that before. What does that say about me?”
“I don’t know, Tav.”
In the quiet and the rain, my thoughts press in, dark and taunting, all the harm I’ve let slide by me now creeping up at my back. All the pain I could have stopped had I cared enough. My parasite—my stupid, controlling, cruel parasite—draws up memory after memory in response: rescued pets, small children grinning at my parlor tricks, my efforts to protect the Murk even when they refused to protect me. It nudges them toward the darker, calloused parts of my past, twisting itself beneath the layers of my apathy.
‘I get odder the more you know of me.’This time it turns the words as velvety as its black hide, tender as the wind still brushing over my skin.
Oh, fuck off.But I feel better, whether from the recollections or the warmth of the damn creature clutching my soul. I turn toward Tavish, letting our breaths mingle. “I don’t know what it means, but I know that you’re a good person, here and now. That’s what matters most, isn’t it?”
Tavish’s mouth tugs out of his grimace, but it falls again just as quickly, his brows descending. “A good person who has shite to show for it.”
I draw myself onto one elbow. “You still helped the people of Maraheem where you could. And…” I should stop there, but the words slip through the crack the alcohol wedged open, “You came here with me.”
“Of course I did.” He lifts himself, ending up with his lips hovering so close to mine that I swear I can taste the freckles that coat them.
My whole body warms, the sensation shooting between my hips. I should pull away. Or I should lean in. But I can’t find the courage for either.
He shifts his legs, and his foot hits the top of my boot. His nose wrinkles as he jerks away. “You’re still dressed! You heathenish fiend! Trenches, man, off with those shoes.”
The exclamation releases me from his thrall, and I cackle softly, rolling away from him. “Do selkies even follow a religion?” I tease, tossing my boots toward the pile of Tavish’s clothes. I heave my vest after it, then my shirt, returning to the bed in only my tattered fishnet gloves and my Murk pants, their thin fabric doing a terrible job at hiding the full extent of my want from anyone who isn’t blind. “How can I be a heathen to a godless people?”
“We did worship a pantheon once,” Tavish points out, drawing back the top layer of furs. “Now, we are our own gods, in a way.”
I climb in beside him. “Should I be calling you my almighty instead of my princeling?”
“I’m not a prince, remember,” he grumbles, but a coy smile creeps into the protest. He rolls into me, pinning my arm once more. “Would your gods be offended if you did?”
“Probably.” I try to sound a little less breathless than I feel. “But I’m not sure they can see me this far north.”
“Do you miss the South? The rivers and the swamps and jungles?” As he lifts his hand, his fingers brush my bare chest. He stutters, but instead of retracting, he delicately weaves his leg between mine, hooking his foot beneath my ankle like he’s afraid someone might try to pull him away.
I inhale, and suddenly I can’t think straight enough to decide whether he’s doing this on purpose. “I miss them constantly,” I whisper, as not to further taunt whatever northern deities might currently be looking down on us. Tavish’s wild curls tickle my cheek. Slowly, driven by courage and fear and nothing else, I sweep back his hair from his unfocused eyes. My netted fingertips graze across his forehead, the dark strands worn and fuzzed now from wear.
He hums, lips turning upward. “Why the fishnets?”
“Why not fishnets? There was a pair in a market I snuck into as a teenager, and I’ve made a point to wear them ever since. Leggings, too, back at my house.” I tuck the stray curls behind his ear. “Are they obnoxious?”
“Aye.” Tavish grins. “And perfect. So is this.” He turns his head, nuzzling against my palm.
My heart launches into my throat, leaving my mouth only one option.
I nudge his face back toward mine and kiss him. His lips part in a moan, and I’ve barely moved before his tongue steals into my mouth, his head twisting to deepen the kiss. It makes every ache worth it. I press my fingers through his hair, feeling nothing but him, the soft sea scent of his skin and the pressure of his chest on mine.
When he pulls back, a diamond laugh spills out of him. His shirt hangs lopsided, revealing the scar beneath one of his nipples, and his tousled curls drift in the wind. “Good fuck, I’ve been waiting for you to do that since last night.”
“Waiting for me?” I bark, half humor and half shock.
Tavish only laughs again. “You think I’m willing to risk accidentally missing your lips on the first kiss? I could never have lived with myself.” As though to prove his point, he leans forward, his mouth brushing first my nose, then my cheek, before he finally catches my upper lip, tugging it gently between his own.
