Work Text:
Zoey awoke to the feel of fingertips digging into her ribs. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not necessarily, the familiar weight of an arm slung across her mid-section made her double down and press her sleep-warm cheek further into the down pillow with the slightest whimper. She didn’t know what time it was but she did know it was much too early to start the day.
It wasn’t until the hand slithered away and shook Zoey’s shoulder that she opened her eyes, lest she be jostled to the point of raging nausea. Rumi blinked back at her, eyes a beacon of golden light and looking just as exhausted as Zoey felt. She cutely rubbed her clawed hand against them to take away any lingering signs of sleep.
“We’re getting called.”
Zoey frowned, taking a minute to place the phrase. Rumi liked to clean things up in a messy world and it eased her mind to pretend what was really happening was nothing but a phone ringing in the middle of the night. Zoey let her have that one, though she much preferred the term summoned.
She could hit ignore on a phone call and curl back up. She was fairly confident she’d burst into white flame if she snoozed a summoning. “What time is it?” She said around a yawn, instead.
“Still dark out, love.” Rumi nudged her again. “Come on, get dressed.”
“Boo, I like being naked, it freaks them out.”
“I don’t like you being naked in front of a bunch of greasy frat boys who think it’s cool to dabble in the occult. A shirt at least.”
Zoey grumbled but relented, even throwing in the extra bonus of a pair of boxer-shorts that crept a little above her knee. They were Rumi’s, she was sure. No one would find her intimidating in underwear with little ducks on them but it was never her job to be intimidating. Not at first. She found more success being open and alluring, and a force that brought comfort along with Rumi’s innate looming and hard appearance.
She got an approving release of air. In the end, Rumi had thrown on a deep violet silk robe that was within reaching distance. She cinched it around her waist but it still didn’t leave much to the imagination. It was much easier to pretend that she was red from sleeping face down and not the pale stretch of skin marred in patterns that Rumi displayed.
“Where is it?” Zoey looped her arm into Rumi’s crooked one.
“Missouri, I think.”
“Gross, Missouri is unbearably hot.”
“We live in hell, Zoe.”
“Yeah, but Hell doesn’t have humidity, you know what place does? Fucking Missouri.”
All of her words were grumbled, bordering on a low growl that gave away just how inhuman she was. But fatigue still clung strong. One of the things she missed the most about having a soul was the uninterrupted sleep. That, and the turtles. It was small and inconsequential, but the only animals that bordered the burning lake were snapping turtles, and death didn’t cure their pension for being dicks.
Zoey clenched her eyes shut and listened to the call of the summon. It was low and constant, like a ringing in her ear, but more of a shout that couldn’t quite clear the throat. She took a deep breath, let her shoulders relax. She knew it was much more technical than simply willing herself into existence. The chant, whatever it was, had opened a door for them. It was simply her job to cross the threshold.
Rumi’s hand slid into her own out of habit and nerves. The touch was grounding enough to see Zoey the rest of the way through. She suddenly felt like she was drowning in heat. In a type of air that reminded her exactly what it was like being submerged in a swimming pool, but filling her lungs with water.
Fucking Missouri.
Rumi made an improper choking sound next to her and retracted her touch, like anything warm other than the air surrounding them so fully was a natural repellant. Zoey took in the cacophony of sounds; the crickets, the cicadas, the bullfrogs that balanced out the shrill squeal with their natural baritone. Not only was it the south, but it was the wetlands.
Rumi’s eyes lit up like lightening bugs, an unnatural glow that reminded Zoey of home. All the same, she drew in a breath and made herself look bigger. Meaner. The field around them was a seat of grass that came up to Zoey’s knees. The soil under her toes cooled her off a tad.
“Perfect place to have a ritual.” Rumi sniffed the air. “Bog water and… bong water. Nice.”
“Come on, sooner we scare the hell out of them the sooner we can go back to bed.”
Zoey didn’t reach to take Rumi’s palm in her own again. It would take away from the entity factor she was striving for. Two demons ascending on you was much less threatening when they had their hands linked. (Zoey did know a set of twins that frequented hotel hallways that made it work, but it wasn’t in the cards for her.)
She figured there must have been some type of residential community nestled within nature that steadily tried to reclaim itself. They had been beckoned to a park. Nothing spectacular that Zoey remembers from being a child. Perhaps she was just small enough to find the mysticism in the endless bars winding like snakes in primary colors.
This park was scarce. It had once been filled with fresh mulch by the city, but years of use had reduced it to a muddy lot with the occasional woodchip. There was a swing set, but the chains for both seats had been tossed over the main bar, making them too high up to reliably use. There was a solid metal slide that had its own uses in Hell.
But the thing that caught Zoey’s attention most was the merry-go-round. A flat base that was painted in a garish green and red, alternating like a horrible Christmas pattern. Yellow bars for children to hang onto rounded out the sides. It was meant to spin, but right now it was stagnant. Right now, Zoey could smell fear.
She narrowed her eyes, purposefully slow. Slits of yellow in the otherwise darkened lot. The moon gave her some visibility of the group of middle-aged men. There were four, but against one, it was enough. She noticed the blood first. It clung to their clothes and dried like egg yolk at the corners of their mouths. The one in the middle held a gaudy chalice that could have come from a halloween store.
Zoey could tell from the rigidity in Rumi’s stare that she had noticed what Zoey had. A girl, in and out of consciousness, cuffed to the merry-go-round. Her lead lolled side to side as if she couldn’t catch her thoughts or her sightline. Zoey wasn’t surprised with the amount of blood that was coming from somewhere.
It wasn’t often that people who sought them out were stupid enough to do something like this. Once before, had Zoey been summoned in the 1980’s, the rise of satanic panic was fresh on everyone's tongues. A high school drama club had snuffed out the life of the stage director in a calculated plot. They’d dipped their fingers into her cooling blood and drew pentagrams against their foreheads in the muzzy red liquid.
Zoey didn’t care much for mortals, but the sight made her stomach clench then, just as it was now. The men in front of them, they had a choice. They were the ones to seek out a trade, or a deal, or whatever the hell they were after for a moment of bliss. But the stage manager hadn’t known. This girl hadn’t known.
Oh, were they about to be so disappointed.
Suddenly, feeling very awake, Zoey took a step forward. A hard one that caught all of their attention. Rumi tucked her hands behind her back, resolute and silent in her sheer size and power. She never talked much, didn’t have to. Her sharpened claws dripped like shed blood, and her lip was pulled back just enough to expose the pinpricks of her teeth. Her tail curled around her lower leg like a large snake, the pointed tip swiping back and forth. She often reminded Zoey of an amused housecat when she lilted her head the way she was.
“Holy shit, Garrett, It worked.”
“They’re kinda…”
“No, I’d hit it.”
The man holding the gauntlet, their esteemed leader Garrett, cleared his throat aggressively, but Zoey could see the tremble in his fingers, the paleness of his skin. She was certain his beard had crumbs in it and it would create a mess if she were to flip him upside down and shake. “Oh, foul demon, for I have summoned you!”
Was this guy serious? He was pitching his voice down and trying to make himself seem big. Zoey and Rumi shared an unimpressed look. Her lover curled her fingers into her palm to stave off anger, more than likely drawing blood. Zoey hadn’t realized she was growling until the rumble banged around her chest.
“I command thee-”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Zoey held up her own clawed hand. “You don’t command us to do anything.”
“But… but I followed the steps in the book!”
He might as well have been following the instructions on the back of a cereal box. They were all useless. It was the intent, the desperation, that called to them. Of course, they were desperate, they’d nearly slaughtered a girl to get what they wanted. While Gwi-Ma was always desperate for new demons to do his bidding, Zoey was leaning towards simply collecting the souls instead. Making the deals. Ending their lives with her own teeth and claws and audacity.
A groan of pain ripped through the air as the girl started to gain more lucidity. One of the men moved an inch towards her, but Zoey was quicker. She materialized in a cloud of pink smoke between him and the girl. She could smell his sweat, the tobacco on his tongue.
“Uh-uh uh. Don’t touch her.” At this, the chains rattled, the girl straining to see. Zoey tsked, cooed at the man. “Is he bothering you, sweetheart?”
The affirmative noise she got in return was enough for Zoey. Her hand wrapped around the man’s throat, shoving him back in a scrambled purchase for balance until his back collided with Rumi’s front. They operated on the same level always. Her own sharpened nails sliced across the length of his jugular. She cut deep and fast, splattering the metal plated slide with the mans blood before dropping him on the ground in a heap of himself.
“Fuck!” Another guy yelled, stumbling back.
Zoey had to trust that this did the trick. Who they had just slaughtered had only one way to go and that was down. No one here was escaping a solid damnation to hell. She felt the buzz of it on her skin like a hit of drugs when he passed through the fire-filled gates. Gwi-Ma knew how to keep them incentivized. Knew how to keep them cultivating.
“Sorry to say, boys, but you didn’t summon us.” Rumi spoke around her teeth, a low snarl. “She did.”
“Her?” Garrett laughed out of fear and anger. It came out broken and deranged. “She’s just some chick from the bus station. Not worth a damn fu-”
Zoey didn’t let him finish. Her hand was buried deep within his chest cavity. A wet warmth enveloped her fist. The squelch of his heart trying to beat within her fingers filled the air. Zoey never particularly enjoyed her job, but she felt a rush of power from Gwi-Ma when she held the life of a man in her hand. One puncture of a sharp claw, one jerk would be all it took.
Zoey pulled backwards and took the vital organ with her. Widened eyes were suddenly cloudy. He fell to the mud and the mulch much like his occult buddy. The demon stared at the mass of muscle in her hand, watched as the sticky blood dripped its way to her elbow. When she dropped the heart, it sounded like a sodden sponge. Zoey’s chromatic eyes shifted to the remaining two that were so eager to please and follow their downed leader.
“If you value your pathetic lives, I suggest you run.”
Her voice was layered, deep and nothing but an animalistic growl. It took no time at all for them to snap to their senses and dash into the fields. Zoey took in a breath of metal and the stink of swamplands. She could feel the warmth of Rumi sidle up next to her, a pout on her face. “Damn, can’t believe you let them go. Are you losing your edge, aegiya?”
“No,” She drew out the word with a delighted giggle “I just know you like the chase.”
“Fuck, I love you.”
Rumi placed a chaste kiss to the corner of Zoey’s mouth before she sprinted off in the direction of the two men. It wouldn’t take her long to find them. Zoey bet that she’d hear the sounds of their demise from where she stood. Though, her attention was quickly averted from the long, pale, blades of grass that shifted in struggle.
A whimper cut through the air like a butter knife. The girl, she was miraculously still breathing, albeit with shallow gulps. Her wrists were rubbed raw from her struggle against the trap of playground equipment, and she flailed in the metal cuffs, long legs struggling to find purchase in the wet mud.
For a mortal, she was admittedly captivating.
Her complexion was pallid under the moonlight, though, Zoey figured the bloodloss had something to do with it. Her features were sharp and cutting, a silver hoop punched into the side of her nose. Matted pink hair that looked recently dyed was slicked to her forehead, her shoulders, with moisture. There were large damp spots that darkened the color. Zoey assume that too, was blood.
“Stay the fuck back, I mean it.”
Her voice was shaking from overuse, but guttural all the same. It had an alluring cadence to it that lit up Zoey’s stomach with a rolling feeling she was only accustomed to with one other being. But, that was ridiculous. This was a damsel that was certainly in distress.
“Okay, okay” Zoey had her hands up. No longer clawed. She had subconsciously pushed the inhuman parts of her away to put this girl, this stranger, at ease. There were certain things that would always give her away as a creature. The occasional flash of gold in her eyes, the patterns, the slightest bit of fangs, but she tried her hardest to blend in sometimes. “Can I?”
The stranger darted her eyes to the cuffs still holding her and back to Zoey before weighing her options and giving a stiff nod. Zoey’s hands were still coated in a viscous gore, but they cradled her the same as anyone else who offered to free her. Zoey ripped through the metal as if it were tinfoil. It gave a soft clink before she was free.
Zoey watched as she tried to stand up, and hissed when her knees hit wet ground and mulch. She struggled again, a sharp sob escaping her throat before she dropped back on her haunches and sniffed to combat the cold and the tears. “What are you waiting for? I can’t run. So just do it.”
“One, that looked like it hurt. And Two, I’m not going to do anything. Fuck, I’m not a monster. Those guys, the ones who did this to you, they deserved it.”
“And I don’t?” She used her palms to wipe away streaks on her face, ended up spreading more mud to her perfect features. “They were right, I was at a bus station alone. I thought… shit, I don’t know what I thought. That I could just leave home and all of the horrible people in my life.”
Zoey let out a sad scoff “You believed that there was still some good in the world. No one can fault you for that. Nine times out of ten, beautiful women do not end up stumbling into some freaky cult dudes. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The girl swallowed hard, watched Zoey carefully, but some of the fear seemed to be ebbing away. There was a defiance in her eyes that had gotten her this far. The taste was thick in the air. Her eyes were heavy, slow-blinking, the type of resigned fright that was brought on by giving up and not feeling the pain at all anymore.
“You can take me now,” She whispered.
“Take you?”
“Yeah, aren’t you some sort of spirit guide? A pretty demon to lead me to hell seems fitting enough for a girl who likes girls.”
“If being gay was a sin, we’d be over capacity.” Zoey huffed, shaking her head with a deadly smile. “I think you’re losing a lot more blood than you can handle, kitten.”
“That explains the hallucinations.”
Zoey frowned and turned to look over her shoulder. Rumi was standing in the shadows, breathing in and out with the fresh evidence of her kill ruining the robe that Zoey loved so dearly. Her hair was a mess, her teeth coated in a brine of her bloodbath. She had never been more attracted to her wife than right now.
A thump pulled her attention back to the girl. She’d fallen to the side, cheek resting comfortably on the ground and limbs unclenched for the first time this whole evening. She looked almost peaceful, taking in shallow breaths. Rumi stepped into the moonlight, wiping her hand across her lips. “Was it something I said?”
Mira awoke to a swollen tongue that made it hard to speak. She had bit down on it when the first set of arms wrapped around her middle and the sharp scent of chemicals filled her nose. The mercy of it all lay in being unconscious. When wakefulness first started to find her now, she treated it as if she could ignore the prospect altogether.
When she was young and had disconnected dreams that jumped from one location to a next, she would clench her eyes shut and try to keep the euphoric feeling alive. Mira never could fall back asleep, and eventually, she stopped dreaming altogether. The darkness of nothing at all swirled into comfort as she grew and shifted as a person, becoming more closed off. Eventually, she couldn’t tell the difference between sleep and death and total nonexistence.
Attempting to fall back into the blank space between wake and sleep. Her tongue hurt. Her mouth hurt. The more she fell into herself the more she realized that everything hurt. Her lungs felt like they were contracting through cracked ribs. Her skin hissed in annoyance with each fitful movement. But was she really moving at all?
She must have been. Because she suddenly felt like she was falling an insurmountable distance, resigned to hit the ground. Instead, she met warm, calloused hands as she was hauled back onto whatever piece of furniture she tried to push herself off of. The world swam at the edges, her stomach threatened to lurch.
It did, in fact, respond to the jostling. A sick sour taste filled her mouth before she blindly leaned over and emptied the contents of her stomach onto what looked like a perfectly nice rug. She’d eaten a half sleeve of oreo’s from a vending machine at the bus station and washed it down with juice that claimed to be cherry but really just tasted like the color red.
Her vision flooded with little stars at the effort. She was at the mercy of her injuries and a small, overtly warm, hand rubbing up and down her spine in a soothing gesture. It seemed nurturing. Something her family never offered her through the closed doors of her room when a fever broke and bile started to spew.
Things were coming back in violent flashes as she hiccupped to catch her breath and blinked her eyes open, adjusting to a room that was bathed in darkness. Curtains were pulled, a fan oscillated in the corner, yet, Mira still suffered from a cold sweat. She was ripped through bits and pieces: The park, the men in the robes that had looked at her with annoyance and pity. The creatures.
Most of the blood, she remembered, was not hers. Yes, they’d made their strategic cuts, but what she had witnessed, joints numb from the awkward position on the metal equipment, was brutal. She derived an uneasy type of satisfaction watching the cruel strangers fall into their own butchery.
Of course, she could very well be dead. The last cognizant moments of her mind could have cooked up those horrible images as a way to ease her, to tell her that she would be okay once she stopped struggling against the darkness naturally found in humanity. That was preferred, really. If she could just close her eyes.
“Those were my favorite shoes.”
“Zo, I told you to step back. People always vomit after trauma.”
“Just because you watched the first six seasons of Grey’s Anatomy doesn’t mean you’re an expert..”
“It was ER, and it means I know more than you.”
There was a sandpaper groaning noise that halted the well-natured bickering. It took Mira a moment to realize the broken sound was coming from her. An assuring hand was still at the base of her spine and she leaned into it because it was the only stable thing.
When Mira blinked the remaining bleariness from her vision and swallowed the aftertaste on her tongue, albeit painfully, she found her stare meeting with another. One that was so filled with concern that Mira didn’t know what to do with herself. Having a gaze on her that was not aimed to scrutinize was foreign and strange.
The girl crouched in front of her looked gentle and worried. Her eyes were dark, soaking up what little light the room had to offer, but despite the void, there was kindness there. Her skin was smattered in freckles that Mira wanted to connect with the tip of her finger until they resembled the zodiacs. She was swimming in a sweatshirt that had the Denver Bronco’s on the front and a pair of plaid sleep pants that looked much too large.
God, she was cute.
She was also familiar in a peculiar way. All Mira could gather were flashes of claws and fangs and blood and she looked like the harbinger of none of that. Mira’s mind went blank when the girl reached up and gently cupped her cheek. Mira would do anything to feel more against her.
“Hey, there you are.”
The sound of her voice shot lightning hot straight to Mira’s core. But she was much too exhausted and battered to fully acknowledge this. Instead, she focused on the diffused hand that rested in the center of her spine, and fuck. Mira was absolutely convinced that she hadn’t made it off that playground alive. She was witnessing a god with her very own eyes.
No, no, that can’t be right. God’s don’t wear t-shirts with Tony the Tiger on them. This one was much too small, strained by her sheer power. No one could blame Mira for noticing the steeple of kinked hair that dipped just below the belt of a pair of running shorts. Not when each breath the other woman exhaled was splayed against Mira’s collarbone. She was so close in proximity that Mira could pick up on the subtle frown that pinched at strong, unyielding, features.
Mira felt surrounded on all sides, but not suffocated. There was an enveloped warmth that seemed to soak into her bones, a balm of heat that made them ache just a little less. The hand on her back came to a halt when Mira’s watery eyes met with ones so brown they were almost chromatic.
“How are you feeling?” the deep timbre of the woman to her side cut through the silence.
“Like I just threw up vending machine snacks on your carpet.”
“There are worse stains in the garage.” The other girl shrugged, then quickly withered under the pointed glare of her counterpart. “I mean, no worries. You’ve been through a lot. I’m Zoey, and that’s Rumi. You should drink this.”
She was handed a glass of water. It was cold and smooth against the palm of her hand, but the contents shook with her own nerves and weakness. Rumi, with all the care in the world, nudged the bottom of the glass up, tipping it back just enough for Mira to steadily swallow the water and soothe her burning throat.
“Mira,”
She eventually croaked out. It still hurt to speak, the buzzing in her chest hurt even more. There was a singing pinch there, more flashes of a blade just at the center of her sternum. The cold shock of it outweighed the pain at the time. She figures if she was here, breathing and functioning, they hadn’t cut deep enough to kill, just enough to draw the blood they needed.
“Mira,” Zoey rolled the name in her mouth like it was something to savour. She shifted until she was sitting on the coffee table, elbows on her knees. “Something told us you wouldn’t want law enforcement involved.”
“You uh, you killed those men.”
Rumi and Zoey shared a dynamic look. They weren’t wondering how much she had seen. They knew it was too much to walk back on. Instead, they wanted to know how much she believed. Rumi had a worry in her gaze that gave her away. The last thing she wanted was for Mira to fear her.
By all accounts, she should.
But here they were, touching her just lightly enough to provide comfort. Mira felt much more comfortable with these two vicious beings than she did with four men who had hunger in their eyes. Her shoulders relaxed, but then tensed back up when the action pulled uncomfortably against her injuries.
Rumi proceeded with great care. “They wanted something that they couldn’t have, so they took it to bargain for something far worse.”
“Okay,” Mira sounded the word out. The edge of Rumi’s mouth lifted into somewhat of a smirk. “So, not only did I get kidnapped, but those men did it so they could” She paused, swallowed “What does that make you? If they were calling, why did you answer?”
The two girls remained silent. It wasn’t hard for Mira to put the scattered pieces together. She had all the context clues she needed. She supposed that if people were willing to kill her for this, then she has all the proof she needs. She had the proof when blood that wasn’t hers splattered hotly against her face. When she saw Zoey taking pride in being the one who caused it. When Rumi loomed at the edges of that playground trying to turn her growled breathing into something that resembled human.
“You showed up in boxers with little ducks on them and a robe.” Mira quickly remedies “a nice robe.”
Zoey shrugged, but relief was evident on her face. “It was the middle of the night. No one ever summons a demon at a reasonable hour.”
This seemed to pull a laugh from Mira. It was genuine at first, and then turned into something shaky and unstable. It hurt every inch of her body, the way that she trembled as the joy bled haplessly into fear. Most of the fight left her body and she realized too late that she had leaned into Rumi. She fisted that stupid blue t-shirt and breathed in the tinny scent of the larger demon. When arms wrapped around her out of instinct as she sobbed, she couldn’t help but feel the safest she’d been in a long time. Even before she waited for a greyhound in the toxic green light of a bus station.
Rumi awoke to a comfortable warmth on her chest. She thinks at one point, she had a housecat. There were snippets of familiarity that begged to surface but couldn’t quite pass through the haze of her immortality. She remembers long fur that was a muddy type of brown, and blue eyes that seemed to stare into her soul. Rumi thinks she recalls just this type of affection when she was a girl and would curl up to read the same novels her father brought home from his trips until the spine gave out.
Her body seemed to work on autopilot, reaching up and carding through hair that had the tart scent of strawberry. The cat, no, not a cat, shifted its weight on top of her, picking its head up and staring. Rumi could feel the heaviness of a shocked stare trace over her features and tried not to break the moment. She continued breathing in her soft, sleepy, way that relaxed Zoey.
Still, something must have given her away, because the ghost of fingers against the purple markings that graced her collarbone and face were being outlined by a featherlight touch. Rumi opened her eyes. Did so slowly as if not to startle the girl who had fallen asleep on her.
The sofa wasn’t nearly long enough to harbor either of them, but Rumi wouldn’t have asked for anything different in this moment. Mira was slotted on top of her, their legs tangled. The girls head had been on her chest. Rumi didn’t know when she drifted off, but judging by the slight radiating ache in her chest and the scent of something cooking, she figured it was nearly dinner.
Rumi had just meant to comfort the girl. Most people, most humans, don’t find solace in cuddling a demon after they watch them tear through tendons and crunch through bones. Who had hurt Mira to the point where she found solace in the creature that couldn’t quite sheathe her claws or clean her lips of blood?
A slightly unjust anger lit Rumi’s chest up. She didn’t know the girl, hadn’t cared this much for a thing since she’d met Zoey. That still burned bright and hot, but someone that sparked in Rumi that made her want to protect the girl in her arms. Stranger or not. She was broken and so was Rumi.
Mira didn’t shy away from staring at her, though, her fingers stilled against the curve of Rumi’s cheek. The touch was cordial. A dusting of pink heated the tips of Mira’s ears. Rumi was getting a better gage of whatever Zoey was trying to cook. It smelled like garlic with a tinge of marinara.
“Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” Mira tried to sound nonchalant, but it wasn’t quite right.
“She’s safe.”
Mira let out an undignified squawk. Zoey was suddenly behind the couch. She was light on her feet when she wanted to be. Rumi had been on the wrong side of not being vigilant enough to track her lurking form in their home like a disjointed shadow. Rumi raised an amused eyebrow, but her hands instinctively went to Mira’s hips to prevent her from dropping onto the floor and injuring herself further.
Zoey chuckled, “I made dinner. Okay, I tried to make dinner. Don’t blame me if the pasta is too both undercooked and overcooked.”
“How did I get here?”
Mira’s words were groaned into the small of Rumi’s neck. Her breath was hot as it splayed across skin, making the demon fight off a shiver as it crept down her spine. There was disbelief in her voice, Rumi frowned. “I could say car, if it eased your mind.”
“I mean, I’m laying on one demon and the other just made dinner when not even twenty-four hours ago, I was being used as a sacrifice. And really” Mira laughed again, this time calmer than before. Rumi wasn’t worried she’d dissolve into hysteria. “That’s what makes the most sense to me right now. Because rationally, I shouldn’t be okay with this. Right? I shouldn’t be at ease. I watched you slit a man's throat in front of me, but you’re comfortable.”
“You uh, you summoned us.” Zoey worked to fill the silence. “Not you specifically. But when your blood was spilled, it was like a beacon that was screaming for us to protect you.”
“Realistically, we should have given those men their vapid desires and turned the other way. But none of them wanted anything that called out the way your desire for security did.”
Mira huffed into Rumi’s throat, but didn’t make a move to unstick herself. “Well, that’s sad.”
“I wasn’t going to say it, but yeah. A little sad.” Zoey dragged her fingers feather-light against Mira’s spine. The girl shivered, burrowed deeper into Rumi and her protective hold. “That’s okay though! Really. We’re sad too!”
“Zo, not helping.”
“It’s helping a little.”
“Oh, fuck.” Rumi groaned dramatically “there are two of them now.”
Rumi sniffed the air, got a heady mix of shampoo, and something else that had a sharper, smokier edge to it. It wasn’t long before a high pitched beep hissed through the house. Zoey shot up straight, a shocked look on her face. “Shit! My pasta!”