Page 70 of Cherish

“A shrine?” Jaxon repeats, his voice high-pitched in a way I’ve never heard from him before. “Where?”

Flint points across the room with a look of horrified fascination on his face. But I’ve already spotted what he’s talking about. And while “shrine” may be a bit of an overstatement, there’s definitely something strange going on here.

“Tiola insisted.” Maroly smiles indulgently as I walk over to get a closer look. “Hudson is something of a hero around these parts, and she felt it was only right to commemorate his stay with us.”

“Something of a hero?” Flint chokes out. “If this is what you do for Hudson, what do you do for a real hero?”

“Apparently, Iama real hero,” Hudson comments placidly. “I don’t see anyone building shrines to you.”

But he’s too busy cuddling Baby Smokey back to sleep to cross the room to investigate the maybe-not-quite-a-shrine-but-definitely-a-serious-display that’s set up—I realize with dawning amusement—right where Hudson’s favorite chair used to be.

I start to say something to Flint and Jaxon about it, but then I figure Maroly will wonder how I know where he used to sit.

But I am absolutely riveted. It’s about time someone besides me realized just how fabulous Hudson really is. And, judging by the looks of the small purple table Maroly has set up to honor Hudson, someone definitely has.

In the center of the table stands a huge photograph of a smiling Hudson sitting on the front porch. Around that picture are other, smaller photos—him with Arnst and Maroly in the gardens, him having a tea party with Tiola, him playing with Smokey. There’s even one of him alone, standing by the lake, and I have to squint at it for a bit because I’m pretty sure I used to be in that photo with him.

And can I just say, this whole being-erased-from-the-timeline thing is wild. What kind of universal magic is it that not only has people forgetting I exist but also works to erase me from photos and who knows what else?

I guess it’s the butterfly effect—you change one thing and everything changes. The timeline is different now, and if I never existed, all these things happened without me, so nothing would have actually needed to be erased.

Except I did exist—I still exist—and standing here in this room, with these people I remember but who don’t know me at all, feels beyond strange.

Not, however, as strange as the small marble statue of Hudson that’s standing next to the picture of him at the lake. Or the teacup he used that’s next to the photo of him and Tiola. Or the scrap of fabric that I’m pretty sure came from something of his, though I can’t quite place it.

Jaxon, apparently, has no such trouble. Then again, he’s a much bigger fan of Italian designers than I am. “Holy shit,” he mutters as he bends down to get a closer look. “Is that Armani?”

I crack up then, because it is. Oh my God, it is. It’s from the pants he was wearing the day we fled the lair. He left them here when we evacuated to the mountains because the Shadow Queen was after us, and it took weeks before he stopped whining about the inferior craftsmanship of the pants he was stuck with.

Never in either of our wildest dreams did it occur to us that a piece of them would end up on a table for the entire world to see.

All of a sudden, the front door opens and Maroly calls out, “Oh, Arnst! Guess who’s come to visit!”

As she rushes toward the front of the house, Flint turns on Hudson and me. “Okay, I don’t care how upside down this whole freaking world is—it’s not normal to put someone’s pants in the middle of some weird-ass shrine to them!”

“You’ve got to admit, that’s some CSI shit,” Macy agrees. “You know, like, serial killer–type shit.”

“To be fair, it’s just a piece of a leg. Not the whole pair of pants,” I say.

“Like that makes it better?” Jaxon half whispers, half hisses. “Who the fuck are these people?”

“Our friends,” Hudson answers in a tone that brooks no argument. “Our very kind, very helpful friends, who I’m spending the night with here, in comfort, before we end up having to traverse half the fooking Shadow Realm looking for Lorelei’s dear old mom. You, however, are more than welcome to get the hell out.”

“I’m not saying that, man. I’m just saying…” Jaxon looks around like he can’t believe he, Flint, and Macy are the only ones freaking out. “Aren’t you a little bit worried that they’re going to try to make a pair of pants out of your skin or something?”

It’s such a bizarre image that it breaks the underlying what-the-fuck tension in the room, and we all burst out laughing. Not just because the idea of the very sweet Tiola and Maroly skinning Hudson for any reason is an absolutely absurd one but because with his strength, it would take an army of wraiths to bring him down. He may not have his powers in the Shadow Realm, but he’s still a vampire. And two farmers and their daughter don’t stand a chance against him, let alone all of us together.

We’re still laughing when Arnst walks into the room. “Hudson! You’ve returned to us!”

My mate has just enough time to thrust Smokey onto my lap before Arnst wraps his arms around him in a huge bear hug and lifts him several inches off the ground. “It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Hudson tells him. “I’m sorry to crash in on you like this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Arnst waves away his apology. “Two times makes it a tradition. So now we’ll always look for you, never knowing when you’ll drop by again.”

He turns to smile at the rest of us. “And I see you’ve brought a lot of friends with you this go-around. By the time we finish dinner, it’ll be late. I hope everyone’s planning on staying the night.”

“We would love to,” I tell him. “If you’ll have us.”

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