Page 13 of Changeling
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, and something tells me it won’t be the last. She knows I grow weary of the day-to-day grind. “Incubi don’t settle with just one lover, Rizpah.” No matter how much I might long to.“And it’s not like I have any to choose from either.”
“Pfft, you could have them waiting in a line waving their life’s savings if you wished it. My question is, why don’t you wish it?”
It’s not that I don’t. A life in the surrounding hillside, perhaps tending to a garden and animals, has a distinct appeal, but I can’t live alone. I’d starve. And I haven’t met anyone worth leaving The Twig for in decades. A random admirer, as Rizpah suggests, would only annoy me. I heave a sigh. “If it were only that simple.”
She rolls her eyes. “It could be. If you let it.”
I’ve learned not to argue. “Maybe someday.”
“Within my lifetime would be nice. You won’t leave me worried for you on my deathbed, will you?”
Rizpah’s human mortality isn’t a subject I want to dwell on. “It’s far too soon for that sort of talk, young lady. I won’t have it.”
“Young?” She arches her brows. “I’m six and fifty, or have you stopped counting?”
I frown.
She rises from the lounge and stands in front of me. With me still seated, we’re face-to-face. Her hands land on my shoulders and squeeze. “I don’t mean to add to your poor mood by mentioning it, but I’m tired of seeing you moping when you think no one is watching. You can’t expect the love of your life to find you accidentally. You must make the effort to find him yourself.”
“Henri found you accidentally,” I point out.
“We were lucky. But you, my friend, must make your own luck.” She plants a kiss on my forehead, then slaps my shoulder. “Up you get. Come with me to the kitchen, and let’s make a plate for this Sebastian fellow, who’s got you so worked up.”
I pout, though I doubt it will work on Rizpah. “Will you do it without me?”
“I most certainly will not.” She takes my wrist and pulls me from where I’ve sunk into the cushions. “You will not sulk in here alone when there’s work to be done. If you insist on staying to run this place, then you’ll pitch in like the rest of us.”
Thoroughly chastised, I let her drag me to the door.
We leave the solitude of my chamber and head through the hall to the stairs that lead down to the kitchen. On our way past, the pants and moans of well-pleased customers and well-fed incubi drift out of the private rooms.
What must Sebastian think of these noises? What must it be like to be plucked from a human village, thinking he was normal, then to find himself housed in a den of feeding incubi? I can’t decide if it’s funny or if I should feel sorry for him.
Probably both.
Rizpah and I raid the pantry for a meal, selecting cheeses, hard breads, and fruits from the shelves. Things he can store in his room for when hunger arises.
“Why aren’t there more choices?” I ask.
She glares at me. “It’s Friday night.”
I glower back. “You say that like it’s an answer.”
“Because the weekly shopping happens on Saturday morning and has been happening every Saturday morning for the last twenty-seven years. Have you got wool in your brain? We’ve eaten all the best food already this week.”
Oh. Right. I probably knew that. “What would I do without you?”
“Starve, apparently.” She adds a handful of dried figs to the rest on the plate I’m clutching. “That should hold him over until suppertime tomorrow.”
I glance down at the assortment. Plenty of food, yes. None of it complementary, but I don’t suppose that matters. A meal is a meal.
She puts a jug of wine in my free hand. “Go on, then. Off with you.”
“Me?” My brows rise along with my reluctance. “Won’t you take it to him?”
She gestures to the mess we’ve made. “I’ve got this to clean up. You go. It’ll do you good to keep busy.”
“I’ll clean up.”
