Page 85 of Chaos

“Well, you could start by looking at recipe books,” Shasta says acerbically, and his posture hardens. “Butternut and marinara was a bad idea. Not to mention the mustard.”

“How can you tell?”

“I still have a nose,” she tosses back. “And I didn’t lose my memory or sense.”

He tips his head back. “You can tell that just by smell?”

“Among other things.”

He eyes her for a long minute, and then his rigid shoulders soften. “Trial period starts today. You can plan dinner. We’ll see how it goes.”

“She needs to help at least through White Winter,” I say. “At a minimum.”

Next, I need to find Tani and get her to work decorating Thornewood, and figure out how to put an end to the tromping of mud through the lobby.

20 |Your not-wife

YORKE

IT’S 5PM, THE SUN HAS JUST SET, and Frankie and I are aloneon the ramparts of a newly completed section of wall about to ruin our appetite for dinner.

She said it’s to ‘celebrate my belated birthday’.

We packed a picnic bag like movie people, spread a blanket out on a completed section, and came out for some time alone, something that’s impossible lately.

I need to tell her that as soon as we finish the raid on the Butcher’s bullets, I’m leaving. I keep trying, but Auden’s there in the mornings, and all day long we’re busy with our separateprojects, and then in the evenings Auden’s there again, and after he goes to bed, somehow we end up naked.

I try to keep it gentle, hold us back, make it soft, but she pushes until I find myself on top of her, driving myself deep inside of her, harder than it feels like I should, like a part of her can’t handle slow and gentle, and craves hard and fast.

And now, she seems so happy, easier than she’s been since she got back from the cellar, like Sunshine Frankie for a second, talking about the White Winter celebration she’s planning, and how Tani is helping her clean up Thornewood and decorate, and how Shasta’s going to help in the kitchens.

As I listen, I’m stuck in my head, going over it in my mind, the words I’ll say, the inflection.

I’ll come back.

I just need to know what she wants.

Trust me.

“You’re quiet.” She digs around in her bag and comes out with a pair of cupcakes in a tin and holds them up like a trophy.

“So are you.”

The smell of sugar-and-vanilla fills the air, then a whir of smoke as she lights a candle, and singsHappy Birthdayin that low-pitched voice of hers.

It’s a good visual, the spindle-thin phantom blue crescent of the moon behind her, the sky full of stars, air so cold it tangs inside my nose, her pretty face in the candle’s hot light. I tuck it away to remember when I’m gone.

“Blow it out,” she says when she’s done, holding a cupcake in front of my face.

I do.

Smoke snakes in the air, and she slaps at it. “Did you make a wish?”

“You can have it.”

“I’m not going to steal your wish.”

“You are my wish.”

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