Keir groans, collecting him in his arms to brace him for his answer. Fen is surprised not to feel the warmth he expected and quickly files this away for future processing—his brain is intent on biting the bottom lip presented to him and, if things remain amenable, sliding his tongue into the waiting mouth. They both reach for each other’s cheek in time for a cacophony of unsettling, indiscernible, but ominous sounds to echo through the halls into the courtyard around them, impossible to trace.
“What the hell is going on?” bellows the principal from entirely too close to the door they’d just left. “This building!” he continues to rant, his footsteps retreating toward the sounds of… screeching winds over an unkempt field of rusty blades of grass? A metal pipe scraping the floor? Something pulsing underground. A clanking in the distance. Keir can’t place it.
They blink at each other, Fen’s orange freckles glowing in Keir’s shadow. He tsks in annoyance and leaps off of him. “Good on Nort for lookin’ out.” The rain intensifies, and the darkened sky goes white with lightning.
“Nort?”
“First time hearing a nachtbeule’s song?”
“It sounded like… I don’t know what it sounded like. That was really him?”
“Yup, his are different from his cousin’s. She’s a freshman. Her song is like … if water was in pain.”
Keir makes a horrified face. “Dun’ think I wanna hear that.”
Fen nods. “Wear headphones if you go into the wilds at night, then. They really got some reverb. You never know where the sound is coming from. Eerie little tricksters.”
As they continue inside the old building, Keir looks down at Fen. Thunder booms directly over Melitown High. Fen ducks his head and flips his hair over to the shaved side between them. “C’mon, we’re late. We must’ve missed the bell while he saved us from a lecture.”
“That was dope, thanks man,” Keir hears Fen saying from his locker around the corner.
“No worries. Glad it was me who saw you first, or you’d still be getting a talkin’ to, and we’d never get to practice.”
“Ah, yeah, um. About practice…. I think I’m gonna be late.”
“Will whatever you’re doing clear up the rain?”
“Why does everyone think this is me?”
“Oh, hey, Keir. How’d the rest of your second day go?” Nort asks over Fen’s head.
Keir smiles, “So far, so good. Mind if I borrow Fen? Or do you guys have plans?” The thunder rumbles. Nort raises a thin black brow and smirks.
“I think it’s in the town’s best interest if we reschedule. I’ll tell the guys.”
“Tell us what?” Gaff asks, looping an arm around Nort’s shoulders.
“I’m too tired for practice. Sorta wore myself out earlier,” Nort says, yawning and scrubbing his hand over his dark-circled eyes for added effect.
“Yeah, what was that earlier? I mean, it was cool, but what the hell, man?” asks Gaff.
Nort shrugs, “What? You never talk in your sleep?”
“Hmm.” Gaff’s forehead wrinkles. “I was gonna say you should do that part that was like a rollercoaster on glass rails at practice, and lemme do a bass line over it.”
“Is that what you heard?” Fen grins. “Last time you said it was like ‘outraged bees throwing themselves at a metallic piano that wronged them’—or something similarly adorable.”
“Anyway,” Nort says, “I’m fading, man. I need to go home, and once I hit the sack, I’m not getting up until at least two AM.”
“I’ll walk you,” Gaff says without hesitation.
“No need,” he answers just as fast.
“Aww, take my brother for walkies, man. Look how excited he is!” Giff says, joining them.
“Shut up,” Gaff nearly growls, then returns to his usual chipper self. “I just want to hang out since we’re not practicing.”
Giff cocks his head. “No? That was some show earlier. What was that all about?”
Nort sighs and shoves his shoulder into Gaff as he turns. “C’mon then. Let’s go. I’m too tired for this.”
“Too tired to stop at Goat’s for something sweet?” The Veil lovingly shields his wagging tail from sight.
Nort’s shoulders droop. “You’re buying. And leave the toad alone. She doesn’t like you.”
Giff turns to Fen and Keir and motions to the two leaving, “Is he ok? He looks kinda out of it.”
“He’s got his number one fan with him, and he’s not too far gone to hit up Goat’s. He’s fine.”
“Hmm. Ok, well, if we’re not practicing… I guess I will see you tomorrow? Can you, uh, do something about this?” Giff waves at the windows. “Should I start carrying an umbrella?”
Fen scowls. “I can’t control it.”
“Not with that attitude!” Giff laughs. “It was nice meeting you, Keir. Hope you like things damp and gloomy.”
“It’s kind of my whole deal,” Keir smiles.
Giff’s eyebrow shoots up, and Fen takes a sudden interest in examining his boots and then his nails, and then something off in the distance, blocked by a row of lockers. Taking pity on his friend, Giff says, “Later then,” and leaves them alone in the hallway.
“So what’s Goat’s, and why is a toad upset with Gaff?” Keir asks.
“Ah, the good coffee place with really amazing cakes and stuff. There’s a toad who’s like… friends with the owner or something? She’s always in there. Has her own table. Is not fond of being sniffed.”
Keir shakes his head, imagining with surprising precision how this knowledge was obtained. “Wanna go sometime?”
Fen looks up at the one grey-green eye peeking at him through the temptingly touchable dark waves. “Yeah? Are you into sweets?”
“I’m into coffee. I’m into you,” he rumbles, “Though if you aren’t interested, we could just make it like showing the new guy around?”
“Oh, I’m into you. Wanna split?”
“Very much so. Where to?”
“Hmm. I live by the river. It’s a bit of a walk, and it’s still raining. Where do you live? Don’t want to make you have to cross town.” Fen checks to make sure he’s spun the combination on his locker and starts toward the exit.
Keir walks beside him. “We’re near the river too, last dock before you get to the Wilds.”
“Oh, no way!” Fen beams. “We’re the green houseboat two docks up. And most of the folks along the river are relatives. It’s a very amphibian neighborhood if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, that and the river were the biggest draw for my parents.”
They’ve reached the sidewalk under the trees where they spoke yesterday. Fen looks over at him, “Is one of them aquatic?”
“I’m a water bull.” He stops when Fen stops.
“Amazing. I didn’t… I didn’t think water bulls were real.”
“Do me a favor and just let anyone who asks think I’m a minotaur? I look like an aurochs on land anyhow so that’s always the assumption.”
Fen nods, eyes wide. “But you’re telling me?”
“Considering we’re neighbors, you’ll probably see me swim sometime.”
“I want to swim with you.”
“Just swim with me?”
“Absolutely not. Back up though, why a minotaur instead of the truth?”
“People think we’re dangerous. And if they think I’m a sun ox there’s the whole fertility cult thing. They’re a little intense…” They begin walking again, and Fen steers them down a side street to avoid Melitown Square.
“Ah. Yeah, I have to watch out for some psychos myself. Well, they should be watching out for me since I’m literally toxic.”
“Who is after you? That little human?” Keir looks around, eyes dark until he notices Fen waving his hand to dismiss the idea.
“No, no. Him? He’s just a dumb jock that I’m trying not to accidentally kill. I love that you can call him ‘that little human,’ by the way. Please never stop. I’m not even going to tell you his name, so you won’t.”
“Easy enough. Done. Who is after you, Fen?”
Fen snickers. “You know, first, there’s anyone lookin’ for ‘eye of newt’ thanks to that fucking asshole keeping the poetics alive.”
“But… Shakespeare was Obvious. Why would anyone—”
Fen holds up his hand. “Oh, you know…. Where’s there’s smoke and all.” They’ve turned down a more residential street where a trio of Colony cats lounge on the top of a stone wall along a garden, exchanging blinks with a Hellcat woman and her kitten shyly wrapped around her leg, still too young to control her glamour but appearing mostly like a large, long-haired domestic cat. “Hallo, Ms. Silverstalk! Hiya, Miss Tallulah!” he says with a wave and then a nod to the cats on the wall. “Gentlecats. Good afternoon.” The cats blink and shift their eyes upward to Keir, and they share polite nods.
“Hello Fenley. You doing good, honey? If you need anything, you pick up the phone.”
“Everything’s good; thanks for asking. This is, uh, my new neighbor, Keir. Moved into the old Wicket place with his family.”
“Kier Douglas. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he says, nodding to the small woman with big golden eyes and long grey hair.
“Aren’t you a handsome one!” Ms. Silverstalk says, craning her neck to take him in and then looking down at her daughter, who has puffed up, hissing at him. “Oh, no. We don’t hiss at our neighbors. What if you scare him away and you miss out on another nice big brother like Gaff?”
“He is friends with Gaff?” a little voice mews from behind her.
Fen smiles, “He sure is. But him being my friend isn’t good enough, Tallulah? My poor feelings!” He wails dramatically and throws his wrist up to his forehead.
They see her fluffy gray tail wiggle, and her mother smiles at them.
“Sorry to interrupt your conversation,” Fen says, glancing between her and the cats on the wall. “Have a good evening.” A brown tabby nods, and the rest blink. Fenley wiggles his fingers at the young Hellcat, and she lifts a paw and spreads her pink toes in their direction, claws retracted.
“She likes Gaff, huh?” Keir laughs, passing well beyond the advanced hearing of the little one.
“Almost everyone likes him. He’s even got friends in the Scurry. You’d have to be a real miserable jerk to not like Gaff.”
Across town in Goat’s, standing in line waiting for his turn at the counter, Gaff vibrates with gleeful energy as his attention flits between the colorful cakes and pastries in the display case. Nort, relaxed in the safety of the blue devil’s establishment is resting his head on the silky oil-slick blue-black feathers of his freed wings. He loves seeing all three of Nort’s forms but when they’re the same height and he’s showing his feathers is his favorite. Gaff’s long ears and tail, the color of the ganache-covered puffs labeled “calebasses” in the case. His ears blend in with the glossy brunette waves sweeping his shoulders and would easily be missed, but while he’s not at risk of knocking anything over with large sweeping wagging, he is painfully aware the smaller rapid involuntary movement of his tail is just as noticeable. It cannot be helped: he is on a date with Nort. He is gonna have a treat with Nort. He’s going to walk home with Nort. Nort!
“Gaff, my friend, I see you are in high spirits,” says Mr. Akereggi, the owner. Some folks find him intimidating, but Gaff has always liked him a great deal. He smells nice and never treats him like the bigger, dumb Craven brother, even if he’s never objected to the popular opinion himself.
“Yep! It’s a good day. Nort’s here,” he beams, and Mr. Akereggi leans back as if he has been hit with the full force of Gaff’s joy.
“That is exciting. So you want the usual?” the devil says, stepping toward the case filled with cakes.
“Yes, please.”
“Go have a seat before you vibrate the cups off the shelf. I’ll bring it over.” René Akereggi closes his eyes. It doesn’t take a deep inhalation to taste the mood of his teenage guests. He sets the plate he’d grabbed back on its mates and takes up a box. A few moments later, he’s plopping it, tied with black and white striped string, and two to-go cups on the table between the boys. “My treat, kids, but I’m sending you out. Go share this somewhere more comfortable.”
Nort’s feathers ruffle, but he hardly lifts his head to protest. “I’m sorry. I’ll sit up.”
“Your sister mentioned she’d see me today,” René says, clasping his hands together. “You’d prefer I didn’t mention I’d seen you, yes?”
The gangly pile of feathers shivers and erupts once more into his pale, bag-eyed glamour, the only hint of his beautiful plumage being the contrast between his skin and his long pin-straight blue-black hair that occasionally seems to bristle in ways human hair does not. “Yes! Thank you for the heads up. We’llbeonourwaynow,Mr.Akereggi,sir,” Nort says, scrambling out of the booth, cup in hand, reaching to grab Gaff’s arm.
“And thank you for this!” Gaff says, scooping up the bag as Nort pulls him toward the exit, urging him forward. The laelaps would follow him anywhere but is thrilled with the contact, not even sparing a look toward the toad eyeing him suspiciously from her small table atop a bookcase as he is hauled out and away from the devil’s café.
“Where to then?” he asks once they’ve ducked into the alley.
Nort leans against him, breathing heavily, his limbs feeling heavier than his hollow bones should allow. The nachtbeule considers the options—Giff would be unavoidable if they went to the Craven’s house. His own family would have a lot of questions on top of their fascination with Gaff if he brought him there. He’d never get to rest. He’d take him to one of his decoy nests. “C’mon, I know a place.”
“So this is it,” Fen says, stopping at the opening in a hedgerow where the sidewalk transitions to wooden slats that become a small pier extending over the river. The mailbox post is nestled amongst cattails, and copper-hammered letters read STORME along its black metal housing. He grabs the few pieces of mail and heads toward the green houseboat, past a tire swing dangling from a willow and two halves of a wine barrel split vertically and turned on their sides full of marigolds and poppies. A pair of wooden clogs covered in painted waterlilies sit on the deck. “No one’s home—my folks are visiting the elders.”
Keir grins. “So I don’t have to be on my best behavior?”
“If you’d like, we can make awkward small talk, and I can ask nosy parent questions while simultaneously embarrassing myself and trying to get us out of the conversation.”
“Should I prepare my list of intentions with you?”
“I have some intentions, but by all means, you first. Thanks for volunteering,” Fen smiles sweetly and begins a well-practiced stretching routine, releasing some of his glamour. “Oh, um, mind if I relax? It’s such a habit when I get home. And like—please feel free to as well if, uh, there’s enough room?” Fen’s skin shifts to his bright orange coloring, his light orange freckles deepening to black.
“I don’t mind at all, and do you think I’m going to go full Alice in Wonderland and fill up your house?”
“I don’t know!” Fen flaps his hands in his direction. “I’ve never met a water bull. You’re already probably putting this old barge over capacity.”
Keir laughs. “I can only partially unveil on land anyway.”
“Same. I would like to free my tail if that’s cool. I just gotta,” he motions to a small stairwell that Keir would stop like a cork if he attempted, “get changed. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll just update my list of intentions while you’re gone,” Keir answers, already cracking his neck and setting his bag down. After Fen taps down the metal stairs, he closes his eyes and thanks the Veil for his good fortune in having clothes made by a loomewe as he switches into his landform, adjusting his black horns to a more reasonable indoor size. His jeans have morphed to accommodate his tail; the tuft of black hair at the end of it matches the long, shaggy hair, almost hiding his silky ears.
“Oh wow, you’ve got a pellicula. I’ve been saving up for one. I really want to have enough for a night market before graduation,” Fen says. “Does it really respond to whatever you imagine?”
Keir turns, surprised he hadn’t heard him return. “Yeah, it makes it so much easier to travel by river without causing a bunch of Obvious cryptid sightings. Oh,” he stops, immediately forgetting what they are talking about.
Fenley stands still, holding the end of his long orange tail in front of himself. Only his eyes are moving, flitting from Keir’s horns to the expanse of his shoulders and down to his tail tuft. He makes a quick pass down to his feet and wrinkles his brow before returning back to his shoulders.
“Cute,” Keir rumbles.
Fen drops his tail and turns toward the galley, “Want a soda? Iced tea?” The half shirt he’s wearing shows two rows of circular black rosettes filled with spots of a brighter, almost neon orange running down his back and converging into a single line of smaller spots, ending partially down his tail, visible through an opening in the high-waisted carefully handmade shorts designed to accommodate it. Not giving him a chance to answer, he spins back around to face him. “You know what? I don’t care about hospitality right now. I’d rather be rude as hell and get back to where we left off. Yeah?”
In the flash of lightning illuminating the boat, Keir’s deep “Yes” could’ve been mistaken for the impending thunder. By the time it crashes, he’s been pushed—voluntarily stepped backward guided by two hands the color of persimmons and danger—onto the sofa. Fen is in his lap and at his throat, fingers sunk into his hair, one trailing the edge of his ear before his thumb begins to instinctively pet its soft velvet. He’s not even aware he’s doing it, completely absorbed in tracing Keir’s lower lip with his tongue, slowly, sparing only a small fraction of thought to his next moves.
Keir saves him the trouble, reaching under his shirt to run his hands along his spots, lightly at his waist up his sides, matching the pace of Fen’s painstaking exploration of his lips. Would he twitch, ticklish along this path? That would be adorable. Instead, he huffed and gripped the sides of Keir’s face and kissed him deeply. Ah, this is good too.
The storm bends branches and rustles leaves furiously outside the deep niche in the rocky outcrop halfway between the wild’s edge and Badger’s Comb. Nort had made Gaff promise he wouldn’t tell anyone about his nest on the way, but this was one of several he’d hidden through the forest, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he blabbed. The nice stag Wildling of this forest had even recommended this one when he’d crossed him one night after finding his favorite had been overtaken by a clutch of newly formed Glooms, and he’d nearly been overwhelmed by sadness.
They eat their free cakes—a chocolate affair for Gaff and Nort’s a honeyed torte with a seed and nut graham crust, and watched the rain from the safety of their tiny cave in front of a pile of straw he’d gathered and fluffed into the perfect bed that he did not want crumbs on. Setting his plastic fork back in the bag, he holds it out for Gaff’s and then ties it before stowing it into his backpack. He scoots up onto the bed, watched intently by dark amber eyes. Gaff’s tail tentatively taps the stone floor, and one ear is slightly up, lifting some of his hair out of place.
“Coming?” Nort says, patting the space next to him, and Gaff launches himself to his side. He is so tired that even the sugar hasn’t extended his capacity to stay awake. “Please settle,” he manages to get out while arranging the laelaps arms to harbor him.
Gaff pulls Nort to his chest and turns them both to the side together, tucking him neatly half-underneath him. He stills, breathing evenly. This is his favorite way to be, the calmest he ever feels. Nort burrows into him, face pressed against him. He nestles his own face into the feathered softness and inhales the best scent he’s ever smelled. There are little pockets of it scattered all throughout the wilds that he’s stumbled on during his daytime walks. He hadn’t realized at first that he’d been subconsciously following the lingering scent of his favorite person, letting it guide him into quiet and beautiful places to sit and think alone, and he was glad he’d kept his mouth shut after figuring out that Nort thought his hiding spots were secret. Nachtbeulen don’t have a laelaps level of scent reading abilities, so he can enjoy them during the day when Nort is asleep elsewhere.
Usually, when they napped together, it was at one of their houses, so this was officially the best day he’s had.
“You’re so warm and comfortable,” Nort mumbles into him.
“You too. I love this,” Gaff answers softly near his ear.
“I love you too,” Nort says, drifting off. The storm intensifies.