Page 73 of Spring's Arcana
Nat suppressed an uneasy flinch, wanting to correct him but not quite daring to speak. Apparently everyone knew what her very existence meant. Maybe Mom had thought she could raise Nat and not have this happen?
The simplest answer was probably the right one: Nat had done something terrible inadvertently, and—true to form—triggered her mother’s illness. Which didn’t explain why Mom stole the Heart in the first place, unless she’d suspected her child would fuck everything up and make her sick?
Nat’s gorge rose. A sick, feverish flush passed through her, with a chill as deep as Baba Yaga’s snow in its wake.
“Not too soon, you ask me.” Dima’s shrug was smaller than usual, and he was, Nat realized, carefully keeping himself between her and the other divinity. Probably for a reason.
“So. You gonna get on her next incarnation’s good side?” The Biker’s eyebrows rose, not quite a caricature of surprise but close. “You two were pretty tight, back in the day.”
“She had things she wanted.” The gangster couldn’t sound more dismissive if he tried. “So did I.”
It wasn’t exactly a surprise—after all, Mom had to know Dmitri to know about his heart, and both “worked” for de Winter in some way. It only made sense. But the way the other divinity saidpretty tight,with a lascivious curl to sculpted lips, was sick-making.
“And this charming young lady?” The Biker’s grin stretched. “Does she have things she wants too?”
Not sure you’re in a position to give them. Nat had to suppress another guilty movement as the bartender, with a mutinous glare in Dmitri’s direction, poured another generous measure of vodka into her glass. She folded her hands in her lap, wishing she wasn’t perched on a tottering seat, and squeezed her fingers together until they hurt.
Everyone assumed Mom was dead and she was the replacement. But if Mama wanted to trade the Heart so Baba made her better, why did she wait until she got sick? It just didn’t add up. Nat was no champion in the brain department, or so Mom always said, but she’d been doing all right so far.
Hadn’t she?
“Don’t they always?” Dmitri’s laugh was just as bitter and caustic as ever. “Baba likes her.You take care of my granddaughter, Dima.” The impression of de Winter was impressive, right down to theolder woman’s dry, ironic tone. “She be very upset if her little girl gets any grief.”
The Biker’s expression hardened. “Old bitch choosing sides, huh?”
“Something like that.” Dmitri reached without looking, his left hand snagging Nat’s full glass. His cigarette was still fuming; ice bloomed on the glass and that faint singing sound as the temperature shifted again, a tiny crystalline scream. He downed it, but didn’t tip his chin up; Nat realized he was holding the Biker’s gaze while he drank.
It was like seeing two lethal prehistoric beasts engaged in a pissing match, and Nat nervously calculated how far it was to the door.
“You’ve given your warning, and I should probably thank you for it.” The Biker stretched his beefy neck, head tipping to one side, then another. Tiny cracking sounds were loud in the stillness. “But maybe we should find out what the girl thinks.”
“Her?” Dmitri lowered the glass and made a small scoffing noise. “Bitches don’tthink,Barry. I keep her nice and safe, don’t you worry. When she get home you can bring a nice bouquet to her door, though, see if she give you time of day.”
You misogynistic fuckwads. Don’t make me part of this. “I’ll just wait outside,” Nat managed faintly, and slid off her seat. Neither man appeared to notice.
“You come here to give a warning, or lookin’ for a fight?” Barry the Biker—and oh, goodLord,what a name for a divinity—smiled, a ferocious grin just as wide and unsettling as any of Dmitri’s.
“If any of you corncob motherfuckers worth fighting, I’d do it.” The gangster dropped his cigarette into Nat’s glass and set it carefully on the bar. “But the girl wanted a drink, so I thought I’d play nice. Maybe she like to see me beat your ass, though.”
You’d think gods would act a little more mature. Nat performed an almost military half-turn, fixed her gaze on the door, and set out on trembling legs. Divine boys were just like human ones, and why should that surprise her? The toxic masculinity went all the way to the top. Of-fucking-course it did.
“That’s right,” Barry said quietly. “Walk away. Some big brother you are.”
“You keep saying,don’t want to be outlaw no more, just want to ride. Some day I even let you,moj malenkiy brat.” Dmitri laughed again, but this time, it didn’t sound pained. No, he sounded genuinely amused instead, and Nat sped up, the door almost swelling as she focused entirely on it.
Do whatever you’re going to, guys. I’m out.
“Asshole.” Glass shattered.
Nat’s shoulders hunched, and she was almost certain the door wouldn’t open. The guy who had let them in, a pair of aviator sunglasses tucked high up on his forehead, eyed her as nervously as a fellow at least a foot taller and plenty of muscled pounds heavier could.
“You forget who taught you how to ride,Barry.” A harsh thump, meat striking meat, and Nat tried a smile on the doorman.
“Excuse me,” she managed, and watched his pupils swell. “I’ll just be going now.” The locks looked complicated, but there were tiny metallic sounds as they shifted under some invisible pressure. Maybe she was doing it, maybe Dmitri was.
Is it really just that easy?
The doorman slid off his own rickety stool, standing almost to attention, and she wondered if the seats were all crappy so they’d break easier during fights. You could hurt someone more with a solid piece of furniture, she supposed.
