Twenty-four

“How, Sibbi?” Farrin leaned on the door frame. “I’ve never heard him talk about his family, our family, and to hear him chatting like he’s always been this open… How did you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything. He just decided to share.” Genevieve took in his dubious expression and smiled. “Or he reflects like I do.”

“Reflects?” 

“You don’t pick up people’s moods? Find yourself returning their energy and mannerisms without realizing it?”

“One of the first things he taught me was how to avoid doing that.”

“How? Other people have to point out to me I’m doing it.”

“I’m sure father will be glad to start teaching you in the morning.” Farrin rubbed his face. “I haven’t been sleeping well in the chairs at the hospital, sleeping in my own bed is going to be heaven.”

Genevieve glanced around the guest room, it looked almost like a very expensive hotel suite. An enormous bed with heaps of decorative pillows, artfully arranged knick knacks on dressers and tables. The neutral tones of the subtle fleur di lis carpet, drapes, and bedspread matched each other and the darker browns and slate blues in the room as if it had been planned carefully. A tray of toiletries with french labels and names she was certain she would mispronounce if she attempted them was laid on a dresser. Sleeping here wouldn’t be unpleasant, but it wouldn’t be comfortable either.

“You’d be more comfortable on a ratty sofa?” His tone was reproachful, but his look was amused.

“It would be more familiar at least. I did have an actual bed in my house. Just a mattress and box spring on a frame, nothing like this, but I did have two pillows.” She gave him an impish grin. “What does your room look like? Truthfully, I’m expecting ribbons and ruffles.”

“Just for that I don’t want to show you.” Farrin narrowed his eyes and stepped back out of the doorway.

“Awww!” Genevieve followed on his heels still grinning. “You don’t want to prove me right?”

“Provoking people for our own amusement is a family trait. But you might rethink provoking me.” He was annoyed, but he was also enjoying it just a little, she could feel it.

“I picked up a bad habit of playfully picking back and forth with my foster brother. He absolutely hated the way I lived.” She hooked her arm around his and bumped him. “Brandon was always telling me I was supposed to rise above my trash roots, not embrace them.”

“We don’t have trash roots.” Farrin gave her a sharp look.

“You may not, but the way I grew up…” Genevieve shrugged. “Brandon has ambitions, he’s always thought I should have them too, but I can be content almost anywhere and I don’t see the point.”

“You were content with clothes that should have been thrown out years ago and… living out of laundry baskets? I could see it for a moment.”

“It didn’t bother me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exciting to have money to spend at the thrift shop on my dishes.”

“Father is going to have his work cut out for him. You are so … odd.” He finally paused in front of a heavy door. “That said, please don’t tease me about my collection.” 

It meant a great deal to him. She could feel it, and he was nervous about bringing her into his rooms. “I won’t tease you. I stop when you stop enjoying it.”

“I’ve been enjoying it?” His lips twisted.

“Yep.” She squeezed his arm and watched him smile.

His nervousness eased just a little and he pushed the door open. The light came on automatically and he disentangled his arm to close the door behind them. The walls were black with intricate gold and bronze art deco patterns. There was such a lot of black, she marveled to herself stepping further in and taking in the drapes and furnishings. Elegantly art deco and carefully furnished not to be gaudy, but unrelentingly black, gold, and bronze. It was beautiful but felt so sharp edged she was afraid to touch anything.

“Come with me.” He murmured putting an arm around her waist. The next room looked more like a museum showcase than a room in a private home. Carefully lit artifacts with bronze plaques. Plain black walls and dark hardwood floors. “My collection.”

“What are they?” The carvings and figurines radiated faint energy, and not all of it was good.

“Gods of death. They’ve always fascinated me. Father encourages it, he helped me start my collection when I was just starting to learn about my gifts.”

“This would be why we’re creepy. Some of these feel almost pleasant but some are… some feel like you really shouldn’t have them in a house much less near where you sleep.” She realized she was moving through the room as she spoke, stopping before a statuette of a god with a terrifying rictus and bloated body. “Some of these you do not want to draw near you.” 

“That was father’s. He gave it to me when I first told him that I felt like I was missing something, a part of me I could almost feel. Like an unremembered word at the tip of my tongue. That was the first time I learned about you. He’d never told me.” Farrin stood close behind her almost whispering the words. 

“And suddenly I’m a great deal more concerned about his plans.” As she shivered Farrin wrapped his arms around her comfortingly.

“You were going to ask to sleep on my sofa if I had one, but now you want to beg me to help you clear and protect your room and stay there with you. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Sibbi.”

Schism began to pour from her mouth and she shuddered letting the glass come down, helplessly repeating herself. I know the pieces fit. I know the pieces fit. It was safe, even if it was dark. Pressing her hands against the glass she waited until she could feel a lightening on the other side before she relaxed and let the Sibyl lift it.

Genevieve was in her room and Farrin was coming back from the bathroom with a damp cloth. “I’m sorry. It was just-just too much. The glass came down.”

“It’s alright, Sibbi. I’ve cleared and closed the room as much as I can. Father was gleeful when he came to ask what had happened. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“His plans are not something we want any part of Farrin. And your collection, while beautiful, is dangerous. So dangerous, Farrin.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him as he bent down to kiss her forehead. “Send for salt. I can back up what you’ve done so we can sleep without worrying.” Breathing deeply she steadied herself as he had a large bag of salt fetched.

“From the Dead Sea, it’s meant for soaking and relaxing but…”

“It’s good. Thank you.” She ran her hand through the salt for a moment before she began. Hot water and salt to set Farrin’s protections and seal the room and a line of salt at the threshold to keep out those with ill intent. The room was safe.

After her insistent murmuring and laying out of salt she looked back to Farrin who was watching with bemusement. “That shouldn’t work, but it does. I can feel it.”

“I’d still like to wash everything in here, including us, with smoke but salt is good. We should have a wash in salt water before bed.”

Finally getting to crawl into bed felt better than she expected. Farrin had his side and she had hers, dreamless sleep pulled her down quickly.

She was startled awake in the morning by Farrin yawning loudly. Sunlight was streaming in through the sheer inner curtains and it took a moment to remember where she was.

“Wake up, Sibbi. Father will want us at the table for breakfast.” He was already planning to go back to his rooms to dress.

“I want to go with you, and if you’re willing we should pack up your collection and clear that room.” Eating didn’t sound appealing while those things were still sitting and waiting.

“I don’t want to get rid of my collection, Sibbi.” Farrin rose from the bed in his designer boxer briefs. “They’ve never caused me harm.”

“What do you want done with them when you die? It’s coming soon. You could make the arrangements and send away the most dangerous ones the rest could stay until-”

“And if I don’t want to die?” With his back toward her as he pulled on the undershirt he’d worn the day before, he asked the question almost angrily. “Father says it can be avoided.”

The feeling of abandonment sliced through her and Farrin spun on his heel in surprise. 

“If you choose to serve the Beautiful I cannot stop you. The Sibyl will not serve. We were born together, we will die together. Even if you abandon me it does not change. The Sibyl has learned to stand alone.”

“I’m not going to abandon you. I just… you won’t even consider what he has to say?” He looked a little sick and nervous.

“No. The Sibyl will not serve.” Family wasn’t something she was meant to have. 

“Don’t be that way, Sybil. Let him explain.” He hadn’t been afraid until Dara had said there was a chance they could live. He wanted to live.

“No trust, no mercy. Thank you for the protections in the room.” Genevieve stripped off the night shirt that had been left for her and ran a hot shower. She envisioned the heat and flow of the water loosening anything that clung to her and rubbed her scalp and skin with salt before rinsing with cold water, sealing herself off. Her choker she’d laid out and lightly covered with salt the night before now she rinsed it in cold water before charging it and putting it back on.

In the mirror, she looked at the piece of Roman glass and touched it lightly. Glass wasn’t supposed to have protective or healing properties. Glass was a void. She embraced it, surrounding herself with the void. Layers of protection.

Someone knocked on the door as if requesting entry and she stepped away from the mirror to put on yesterday’s clothes. “One moment.”

The muffled voice on the other side volunteered, “I was sent with fresh clothes, Ms. Mesny.”

“That’s not my name, and they’re not necessary. Thank you.” Genevieve tugged the low boots on and marched to the door. The woman was still standing as if confused, holding neatly hung clothes that looked expensive and brand new, in shades much like the furnishings of the bedroom.

“But, Ms. Mesny-”

“Ms. Geary. If you’ve been told to call me Ms. Mesny you can just stick with miss or ma’am, whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

“Yes ma’am. The elder Mr. Mesny wanted you to wear this and join him for breakfast.”

“I’ll join him for breakfast but I don’t wear that kind of thing.” She gave the woman a half smile as she took in the distressed jeans and stylishly worn out shirt peeking out from the asymmetric, ragged looking sweater. “Could you show me where breakfast will be?”

The woman blinked and tried to swallow her apprehension, “Of course.”

Genevieve was ushered to what looked like a cross between a glassed in gazebo and a greenhouse with doors that opened into a garden. Inside, a table had been laid for three. Dara was already seated in a chair sipping from a delicate cup and glancing over a paper.

“Good morning, Dara.” Eyeing the seats, she took the farthest from him.

“I sent fresh clothes for you, Sybil.” His tone was cool.

“You did, and as I mentioned yesterday, if I don’t like them I won’t wear them. I’m not a doll to be dressed as anyone else sees fit.” She gave him a tight smile. “I’ve done that before and learned my lesson.”

“What lesson was that?” He made a gesture and a young man appeared as if from nowhere to fill her cup with coffee.

“If you don’t hold onto who you are, people try to take it from you. Clothes are expression.”

“Very true.” Dara’s sharp smile almost seemed proud. “I’ll allow Farrin to purchase your clothing.”

“I’d prefer to do it myself. If you don’t object.”

“And if I do?” He sipped from his cup with a smile.

“Then I’ll leave, find a job, and buy my own. It would extend my life somewhat.” She took a sip from her cup and frowned, it tasted like nothing.

“The coffee isn’t to your taste?” He arched an eyebrow.

“The coffee has no taste. I don’t mean to offend you, I’m sure it’s perfectly lovely, but for me it’s like drinking hot water.”

“You’re accustomed to drinking it bitter? Coffee has much more to offer to a refined palate, my dear Sybil.”

“If I had a sense of smell and a properly functioning sense of taste I’m certain you’d be right.” Genevieve sighed and shook her head, she’d been spoiled by Remiel and Farrin trying to make sure she could taste things. “I’ll do without.”

Dara studied her with disappointment. “How long have you been without a sense of smell?”

“Probably close to two years now. It’s not an anniversary I try to keep track of.” The piece of Roman glass got markedly colder against her skin. “You shouldn’t pry. You can ask.”

“You weren’t able to keep me out yesterday.”

“I wasn’t trying to yesterday.” She could feel the edges of something, a pit opening in front of her. “This isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, but we can have it now and get it out of the way, if you’d like.” Doing it now would make things go faster.

“No. I’d like the chance to change this first. Tell me, how did you lose your sense of smell?”

“Traumatic brain injury. I was beaten within an inch of my life by someone I was dating.” She tried to dismiss it with a shrug.

His eyes hardened. “His name, Sybil.”

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear. I don’t say his name.” She caught movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head to see Farrin approaching the table.

“Your father is more than capable of making certain he won’t bother anyone, ever again, Sybil.” The offer to harm anyone who had ever harmed her was open, Dara leaned forward, “I may still be recovering from my slumber, but I am not to be underestimated.”

“I know. I appreciate the sentiment.” Looking into his brown eyes was almost hypnotic and she touched the glass on her choker. “I prefer to shield not to attack. You want to know if I’m capable of it, and unfortunately I can tell you that I am.”

He leaned back in his seat again as Farrin joined them. “You could have been so impressive had I been able to find you when you were young.” Dara shifted his gaze to Farrin. “Have you forgotten when breakfast is served?”

“I was trying to wait for Sybil.” He gave her a reproachful look. “I expected her to do the same for me.”

“You should have felt she was already here.” Another gesture and Farrin’s cup was filled. 

Farrin stiffened and inclined his head ever so slightly.

“Sybil, how cruel of you to shut your brother out and leave him to my displeasure.” Dara lifted his cup again, looking at her speculatively.

“He would prefer to serve you than to die with the Sibyl. He doesn’t understand that we die together whether he stands with me or abandons me.”

“You would live together, I think that might be his point.” The older man smiled warmly.

“I don’t fear death, Dara. I’m actually looking forward to it.” She shrugged with one shoulder and considered leaving the table to find the kitchen. 

“Ah. I need him to give you something to live for.” He glanced at Farrin. “Until I tell you otherwise, your sister gets anything she wants, within reason. Take her shopping for clothes.” Dara turned his eyes back to Genevieve, “One or two things without holes and at least one dress? Since it is your father’s money you’ll be spending.”

“I can do that, thank you.” It wouldn’t be much that she’d need. Clothes for a couple of weeks, a month at the most. 

Breakfast meats and eggs were brought out on platters and offered instead of being set on the table. Croissants, sliced and toasted fresh bread, butter, jam, and some sort of red paste were placed in the middle of the table. A boiled egg and two pieces of sausage were all she took from the platters.

“I imagine not being able to taste dulls the appetite.” Dara had taken some of everything for his own plate.

“People keep trying to feed me, I don’t need that much.” She watched him spread the red paste on a slice of bread. “What is that?”

“‘Nduja, it isn’t usually served at breakfast but I enjoy it with fresh toasted bread and a poached egg.”

“‘Nduja?”

“Try it.” He offered the piece he’d just finished covering. “The egg should be soft boiled. Dip it.”

She looked at it carefully before tasting it. It definitely had a flavor. “That’s good, I can definitely taste it. Kinda burns.” Cutting the egg open she dipped it in, it didn’t do much but moisten the bread. Still, she’d expected a hard boiled egg, having something to do with the soft egg was better than throwing it out.

“If you like that you’d have liked the curry.” Farrin sounded mildly offended.

“This isn’t green. And I can eat it with my hands without being called a barbarian.” Genevieve gave him a faint smile.

“You’re not so angry with me you won’t tease me.” His smile looked ever so slightly brittle.

“She’s not angry with you, Farrin. She’s disappointed. Our Sybil resembles my mother so greatly I can read her face without needing to touch her mind.” Dara began eating the second piece he’d prepared. “I have to admit I’m pleased we enjoy the same breakfast. Though seeing you eat more would put your father’s mind at ease.”

“You’d think people wanted to eat me as invested as they get in fattening me up.”  She offered Dara a smile as he snorted an amused laugh.

“I’ll have the kitchen make an effort to serve you food you can taste, and perhaps a more bitter roast of coffee.”

“I’m used to not being able to taste things, they don’t have to go out of their way. The coffee would be appreciated though.”

“They’re paid to go out of their way when I ask.” The glass of her choker cooled again, almost so cold it burned. “If you won’t open yourself to me, you might reconsider closing yourself to your brother; he profoundly regrets disappointing you. He knows it warms your heart when people are considerate of your needs. You may find your stay more comfortable if you let us know what you enjoy and what you need.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Genevieve exhaled slowly feeling the glass keep getting colder, painfully so, against her skin. “It bothers you that I’ve closed myself off today.” She watched the way his lip curved slightly. “But you’re enjoying the chance to test my defences.”

“You’re better at it than your brother, with so much less training. If you understood that you don’t require the stones you could do so much more.”

“I’ll have to see if Farrin can explain to me how that works.” As he narrowed his eyes she added, “You’d take the opportunity to poke around if I decided to try it.”

His head tilted slightly as he smiled, “True. But I would dearly love to be the one to teach you, and you would learn more from a master than an apprentice.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Farrin changed the subject after a moment’s silence, “Sibbi, where do you want to go shopping?”

“Um, well, where did you get these? I usually hit the Salvation Army or Goodwill, but I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say those aren’t on the list of places you’re willing to go.”

He bit his top lip and gave her an annoyed look. “Diesel. There’s a mall in Charlotte that has a few decent places.”

She tried to suppress a shudder. “I hate malls.”

“You hate anywhere large numbers of people gather.” Dara smiled like a predator about to pounce.

“That is very true. When I can afford it, online shopping is nice. But I’m almost certain that if I ask to have these washed and I don’t have anything else on hand-”

“You’d be wearing the clothes I sent for you to wear this morning, yes.” Dara laughed his quiet, hair raising laugh and put a croissant on her plate. “Have one, Sybil. After that the two of you can go do your shopping and your poor father will sit here alone at home.”

“I’m almost certain you don’t need an invitation to come with us if you want to.”

“I need my rest, my dear. I want you to enjoy the day with your brother, but still think of me once or twice.”

“Mrs. Boyd, my foster mom, used to ask for us to pick her up something when she felt that way.”

“Us?” Dara picked at the food on his plate.

“Brandon and I. We’d go out anytime we could manage it and catch a ride into the city, about forty-five minutes away. His friends hung out at this place next to a tiny goth boutique. He’d go socialize, I’d come in for a few until I was done with people, and then I’d duck next door. We’d pick his mom up a milkshake or some cookies on the way home.”

“Rum cake would be nice. If you can find it.” He smiled faintly. It looked like he was getting tired of sitting in the chair.

Turning to Farrin she pushed the plate toward him slightly, “Would you help me eat this? I’m pretty full and we’ll be here all day if I have to eat it on my own.”

Farrin reached over and tore it in uneven halves taking the larger part, “Father doesn’t tolerate substandard pastries. You’ll like it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when we’re looking for the cake.”

“What did you like in the ‘goth boutique’?” Dara made a gesture and his plate was taken away.

“You would both laugh at me.” Genevieve felt herself blushing and tried to eat the piece of croissant quickly.

“You’re embarrassed. Now I desperately want to know.” His eyes were lit with interest.

Swallowing, she took a sip of the tasteless coffee to wash down the croissant. “The dresses. I am not a girl who wears dresses. But they just looked so pretty, so decadent.” Her cheeks were getting redder as Dara’s face split in a delighted grin. “I wouldn’t have had anywhere to wear them even if I’d scraped up the money.”

“Farrin, find a place to get your sister something like that. It would warm my heart to see you giddy over a dress, Sybil.” He was teasing, she could feel it clearly and it felt nice. It felt like family.

“I’d be delighted, Father. But we may need to go a bit farther afield.” Farrin sounded relieved, but cautious.

“Wherever you need to go.” Dara sat back in his chair and gestured for their plates to be taken.

“Thank you.” Genevieve inclined her head slightly and watched him smile. “I do appreciate it.”

“A kiss for your father?” Dara looked mischievous as he opened his eyes a little wider and tilted his chin down.

It took a lot not to laugh at the expression. Boyishly charming, mischievous and somehow sweet. She rose from her seat and came around the table, “You are terrible at puppy dog eyes,” she hesitated slightly but decided to use the word, “Father.”

Dara laughed as she kissed his cheek with a hand on his shoulder and the other arm curling around his neck. “It always worked with my mother, and you gave me the same indulgent smile, my dear Sybil.” He squeezed her arm and turned his head to kiss her cheek. “You are a delight.”

Farrin escorted her from the table down to the garage with an unreadable expression. He picked up a fob and opened the doors of a silver Porsche, not speaking until they both were sitting with seatbelts fastened. “Never once has he been that way with me.”

“He’s getting to know me, looking for a way to convince me to do what he’s going to ask without having to put the screws to me. I’m trying to hold that firmly in mind, but he’s damned charming when he wants to be.” Genevieve sighed and rubbed at the space between her jaw and her ear. “I didn’t mean to hang you out to dry, by the way. I thought you could protect yourself.”

“No. Against anyone else, maybe, but not against him.” Farrin reached over tentatively to touch the choker. “You did it with that? How?”

“People say glass has nothing to offer, it’s a void. Instead of ignoring it, I let it work for me.”

He smiled faintly. “You can defend yourself with costume jewelry.”

“I actually got the idea from you, the two of you. You keep saying the stones shouldn’t work the way they do. I thought why not see if I can push it a little.” She gave him a one shoulder shrug. “Knowing you’re going to burn to death is kind of freeing. If I try something and fail, it’s not like the consequences will be worse.”

“Sibbi, that’s… you can’t.” Farrin’s amazed frustration as he started the car and pulled it out of its place made her shake her head.

“I can, because I did. You have a lot of advantages, Farrin. You know things I don’t, but that’s a double edged sword. I learn by the method of try it and see what it gets you. If you don’t know the rules you can’t limit yourself with them.” After she stopped speaking she realized what she’d said. “The double edged sword. That’s what it meant.”

“What? What are you talking about, Sibbi?” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“The dream. It was before we met. I was forced to approach you, you as the Page of Swords. You stood still and I took your sword. It gave me something I needed.” Remembering the way the shadow of the wolf had run to her made her heart ache. And then it made her angry with herself. Her mate was suffering, her pack had been attacked and she was going shopping and letting the pain reduce itself to a quiet ache in her soul.

Gently, Farrin prodded her out of her thoughts. “Tell me about the song. All the songs. I don’t think I asked when the Sibyl decided to start singing.”

“It was Tool. I, um, I mean the song last night and the reason the Sibyl started to sing. There was an album and a song, Lateralus. It…”  Quietly as if it were a prayer she recited:

“I embrace my desire to feel the rhythm, to feel connected

Enough to step aside and weep like a widow

To feel inspired, to fathom the power,

To witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain,

To swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human.”

(Tool. “Lateralus” Lateralus, Volcano Entertainment, 2001, track 9.)

“That’s almost an invocation.” Farrin sounded like their father, coolly speculative.

“Listen to the song sometime. She won’t sing it right now, there are too many things too close, she doesn’t want to call them down.” Genevieve shifted in her seat. “What do we do by the way, if we can’t find rum cake? You know him better.”

Farrin shivered, “I think he’d just be happy to know you were thinking of him. You haven't been home for an entire day and you’re his favorite.” His lips twisted ruefully.

“That won’t last long. I’ve been told I’m infuriating, you just have to be around me long enough.”

He laughed and exhaled. “You knew he was listening.”

“You were sounding like him. It took a minute to see it, I kept thinking about him when I looked at you and I’ve never been good at math.” She reached over to pat his thigh and he pulled his hand from the wheel to hold it there.

“I need you, even if you don’t need me Sibbi.” 

“Where are we going?” If she could go back to the jewelry store… 

“The airport. New York seems like a better place to find the boutiques Father wants me to take you to, and there are a few places I’d like to take you.” He squeezed her hand and let it go.

“Wait, you’re telling me we’re going to fly to another state to go shopping?” Genevieve stared as he started to laugh.

“You are so easy to impress, Sibbi.”