dancer. The directors don’t ignore you because you’re too fat. You’re just not good enough.” He digs a banknote from his pocket and hands it to her, a yellow fifty. “Keep the change.”
She gulps, and snatches it.
But Kane’s lost interest. His nails gouge the table’s edge, his knuckles popping sparks. Because there’s his pretty Jade across the street, walking out of Valentino’s in her lovely red dress, black makeup chalked like tears on her cheeks. Bleeding, that hot steely smell he loves, but beneath it her real smell, delicate and fresh like flowers. He inhales deeper, compelled, and his nails glimmer blue with longing.
He forces himself to relax, and swallows a lime-flavored mouthful, his throat aching. All he need do is whisper her name, and she’ll come to him, talk to him, maybe even smile for him. That seems important. Kane isn’t sure why. Such a brittle thing, a smile. Such a lie.
He smiles himself, just to prove it, and green froth bubbles over his hand, the sour smell of turned milk stinging his nose. At the next table, a woman wrinkles her nose and puts down her latte, licking at the inside of her mouth in distaste.
His blood-splashed Jade stalks between restaurant tables and scuttling waiters, her jaw clamped so tight that little wrinkles line her pretty chin. Kane stares, golden flames darting between his fingers, and his clotted heart warms, demon blood flowing. So fragile. So broken. Only he can fix her. No one understands her like he does. She should come to him.
Her name burns on the tip of his tongue like an ember, flickering. But an idea shocks frost into his hair, and on the table his soured green drink crackles and freezes solid, the straw crushing upright. What if . . .
He frowns, his lashes crusted with ice. What if instead, he went to her? Surprise, Jade, don’t cry. Maybe then she’d smile, and he’d feel better.
He hops up, but pauses, a splash of nervous magenta bleeding into his nails. What if she doesn’t see him? Sometimes he’s invisible to her. He isn’t sure why, but sometimes she doesn’t notice the things he says to her. Usually it’s when he feels like this, itchy and uncomfortable and pink, and he stammers out something crazy and gentle and she goes quiet and stops seeing him for a while.
He watches her walk around the corner, out of sight, and slowly he sits, snow melting to trail icy water on his scalp. He doesn’t want to be invisible. Better if he leaves her alone.
“You cold, sweetie?”
Kane blinks, his mouth tingling with ashen sorrow. The curdled latte woman is gone, and a slender white fae girl smiles at him, scarlet flame licking in spirals through her long pale hair. A sultry, grasping smile. Not like Jade’s. His claws spring, flushing an angry sea green. “Not that kind of cold, child.”
The fire sprite twists her spine, her flimsy dress slipping up on her thighs, glassy wings fluttering as she squirms her chair closer. Sparks jump from her lips, fresh and fragrant with carbon. Her body heat twinkles the air, inviting, but sour desperation taints her zeal. “You got somewhere to go? I can warm you up.”
Ice flakes from his lashes like snow, and his skin twitches, tempted. But they never really want it, not when he’s in this kind of mood. They just think they do. “You wouldn’t like me warm.”
“Think I would. Think I really, really would. Taste?” She stretches a golden-veined white arm, flames ribboning, and reaches out with her index finger to touch her claw to his frozen drink. It melts, hissing off a puff of green steam.
The fairy winces and snatches her hand back, yellow eyes brightening with pain. “Bee, bee! Nasty green bee.”
Kane sniffs the steam, curious. Nothing, just rotten cream and water. “Did that hurt?”
She stuffs her wounded finger in her mouth, sparks gushing, and her nail cracks off like glass, splinters sticking to her lips. Fear glazes her eyes. “Nope. Nope, nope. Gotta go.” She
She gulps, and snatches it.
But Kane’s lost interest. His nails gouge the table’s edge, his knuckles popping sparks. Because there’s his pretty Jade across the street, walking out of Valentino’s in her lovely red dress, black makeup chalked like tears on her cheeks. Bleeding, that hot steely smell he loves, but beneath it her real smell, delicate and fresh like flowers. He inhales deeper, compelled, and his nails glimmer blue with longing.
He forces himself to relax, and swallows a lime-flavored mouthful, his throat aching. All he need do is whisper her name, and she’ll come to him, talk to him, maybe even smile for him. That seems important. Kane isn’t sure why. Such a brittle thing, a smile. Such a lie.
He smiles himself, just to prove it, and green froth bubbles over his hand, the sour smell of turned milk stinging his nose. At the next table, a woman wrinkles her nose and puts down her latte, licking at the inside of her mouth in distaste.
His blood-splashed Jade stalks between restaurant tables and scuttling waiters, her jaw clamped so tight that little wrinkles line her pretty chin. Kane stares, golden flames darting between his fingers, and his clotted heart warms, demon blood flowing. So fragile. So broken. Only he can fix her. No one understands her like he does. She should come to him.
Her name burns on the tip of his tongue like an ember, flickering. But an idea shocks frost into his hair, and on the table his soured green drink crackles and freezes solid, the straw crushing upright. What if . . .
He frowns, his lashes crusted with ice. What if instead, he went to her? Surprise, Jade, don’t cry. Maybe then she’d smile, and he’d feel better.
He hops up, but pauses, a splash of nervous magenta bleeding into his nails. What if she doesn’t see him? Sometimes he’s invisible to her. He isn’t sure why, but sometimes she doesn’t notice the things he says to her. Usually it’s when he feels like this, itchy and uncomfortable and pink, and he stammers out something crazy and gentle and she goes quiet and stops seeing him for a while.
He watches her walk around the corner, out of sight, and slowly he sits, snow melting to trail icy water on his scalp. He doesn’t want to be invisible. Better if he leaves her alone.
“You cold, sweetie?”
Kane blinks, his mouth tingling with ashen sorrow. The curdled latte woman is gone, and a slender white fae girl smiles at him, scarlet flame licking in spirals through her long pale hair. A sultry, grasping smile. Not like Jade’s. His claws spring, flushing an angry sea green. “Not that kind of cold, child.”
The fire sprite twists her spine, her flimsy dress slipping up on her thighs, glassy wings fluttering as she squirms her chair closer. Sparks jump from her lips, fresh and fragrant with carbon. Her body heat twinkles the air, inviting, but sour desperation taints her zeal. “You got somewhere to go? I can warm you up.”
Ice flakes from his lashes like snow, and his skin twitches, tempted. But they never really want it, not when he’s in this kind of mood. They just think they do. “You wouldn’t like me warm.”
“Think I would. Think I really, really would. Taste?” She stretches a golden-veined white arm, flames ribboning, and reaches out with her index finger to touch her claw to his frozen drink. It melts, hissing off a puff of green steam.
The fairy winces and snatches her hand back, yellow eyes brightening with pain. “Bee, bee! Nasty green bee.”
Kane sniffs the steam, curious. Nothing, just rotten cream and water. “Did that hurt?”
She stuffs her wounded finger in her mouth, sparks gushing, and her nail cracks off like glass, splinters sticking to her lips. Fear glazes her eyes. “Nope. Nope, nope. Gotta go.” She
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