Skyglass: Chapter 11

PHOENIX

The guests started trickling in while we chose the two goats Yunayuna would roast for dinner. Most of the invitees were elves, from the Gut-based community Devin had grown up in. The rest of the people were a couple of purists and even a few poppers Devin had decided could keep the party secret–thus far, his judgment had been surprisingly correct, and no extra bodies had wheedled in through the trees. To Moss’ relief, no doubt.

Devin began sobbing the moment Yunayuna led two goats out of the pen–his favorites, apparently. One was a spotty jumper he’d name Freckle, the other a jet-black, red-eyed creature called Helsong. A wild-haired elf boy slipped out of the crowd, kissed Devin on the cheek, and led him into the forest with a gentle hand around his waist.

I felt something cool as a puff of air against my neck–Zinn’s hand, just about the only chilliness I could tolerate. He stood against me, his chest aligned with my spine. He was shorter than me, which meant he could rest his chin on my shoulder–and, to my great pleasure, he did just that.

“How badly do you want to watch the slaughter?” he asked.

“Hm,” I mused. “I was hoping for a bloody appetizer before murdering my father, but I might be willing to skip a couple of dead goats depending on the offer you’re about make me.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Did you want to fuck or not?”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” I said, then added, “Yes, please.”

“Is now good for you?”

I just about screamed out a gout of flame-relief. Instead, I said, “Perfect.”

As we slunk away from the parade of partygoers following Yunayuna and her two goats, I halted. Moss was walking beside Marko, near the front of the line; his hat and hood were askew, revealing flighty eyes and a drawn brow.

“How much blood is in a goat?” I murmured to Zinn.

“Dunno,” he said, and followed the line of my gaze. “But if you’re wondering whether Moss will be okay with all the bleeding–I don’t know. I overheard Marko asking him whether he wanted to go inside, but Moss wanted to watch. I think maybe he needs to see a little death.” Zinn shrugged. “Then again, I’ve seen a lot of blood in my day. I’m not sure my assessment of such matters counts.”

I gave Moss another look, then severed my gaze. At some point, he had to face his bloodstained piss and move on. I towed the bassist to the Pixilikker’s stardeck; once there, he did a little needling, securing the door to keep out any curious poppers looking for an orgy–for once, I wanted to be selfish in my sexual exploits.

While Zinn did his sewing, I wandered to the center of the room, where Sable kept an excessive archive of 3D star maps. I chose one at random and activated it; the room’s air tremored, then sparked with mercurial flickering, like the scales of a quicksilver trout had burst across the darkness.

I turned and caught Zinn just as he was approaching, blue nebulae snagged and shining in his hair. He’d undone his shirt; it hung open to reveal his chest, soft and colorless as milk, lean and graceful like the belly of a snow-skinned god. I blew him a kiss with a smirking mouth, and beckoned to him. “Undress me.”

He said nothing, but did as I asked. The faintest haze of pink colored his high cheeks, but his face was still composed, his eyes not yet wild–but I’d break all that soon enough. He ran his long, long fingers along my chest, then tugged down my pants. There was nothing beneath them, which he seemed to…approve of.

“Your turn,” I said, and set his clothing alight with a dry crackling fire that was hot enough to blush his skin, but quick enough that he didn’t blister. I scraped my nails down his sternum, all the way down the long dip of muscle.

“Phoenix,” he said. There was an edge to his voice.

“Zinn,” I seethed back. I raised my hand to his face, thumb along his jaw, and wrapped my fingers around his neck. My fingertips were red-rimmed with the underglow of lava. His skin shadowed and shivered beneath their grip. “I’m going to break you,” I promised as I bit his neck.

He nodded and pressed toward my mouth. “I hear screaming,” he gasped, throat open and stretched as he tensed and arched against my tongue.

“Do you care right now?” I muttered. I could hear the screams, too–goats, human? Couldn’t tell. Didn’t matter.

“No. No. I don’t. I really, really–uhnnn–”

I shoved him to the floor.

“Very good,” I said, as I pressed hard against him, our bellies sliding together, sweaty and searing-slick. Everything was perfect and hot and right: the screaming had stopped, Zinn was begging beneath me, and I had fire inside–wild and bright at my fingertips.

Continued in Chapter 12.

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