Page 37 of Florescentia

“Oh, you figured out how to ask contemplative questions now, have you?”

There was that smirk again. Slight, subtle, and possibly out of annoyance.

“Do not mistake my careful composure for dullness.” He leaned in; I arched back. “I am no stranger to you, your language, or your habits,” he said, his steps shaky, “though adjustments are expected when shrinking into such puny, simple organisms.”

“I hope you catch on and adjust fast, then, or you may be left behind.” My backside bumped into the vanity as he continued to impose on my personal space.

His body cast a shadow, his figure looming, even in his human form. His eyes still a faint glow through the darkness, the mark on his forehead resembling a star. Just like the one on my chest.

He lowered his face, as if inspecting a bug on the pavement. His canine caught his bottom lip. When he tilted his head to the side, his lips were at my ear. There was a hiss, cold air licking my face.

I stilled, each breath struggling to fill my lungs. As if I was competing to be as calm and composed as he was.

“Are you making threats?” A spiteful whisper, placing extra emphasis on his next words. “Are you sure you want to test your luck?”

I could hear my own breathing in my ears, stars closing in on my peripheral vision.

Breathe. In, out.

“Maybe I will.” A shallow breath as I tilted my face toward his in the claustrophobic distance. “You seem to know all about testing the odds, don’t you?”

Behind my back, I gripped one of many bottles of perfume. Thank goodness for a well-made crystal.

“Here I was coming to reward you, nippy little thing.” His voice dropped, a hungry rumble in his throat.

I whipped my arm around to bludgeon him, the crystal coming into contact with his face.

The bottle shattered in my hand, but I was still gripping the shards.

He stood straight, black liquid coming from the cuts on his face, filling up one of his eyes. Apart from the physical appearance, he didn’t seem in pain. His muscles tensed, as if to hold himself back from lunging at me in the first place.

“You are the reason the rituals didn’t work.”

“Have you considered that the ritual worked too well?” he asked.

My weight shifted from one leg to the other, every muscle fiber strung taut and ready to run again. “My luck has run out, my favor is gone. If it worked, all would be the same. You interrupted the process, and now I cannot stop losing.”

“Well, your enchantment wasn’t for luck, was it?” he prompted, the cuts on his face closing up, the skin stitching itself back together before it looked brand new, not even a mark left over. “You wanted to summon the unknown, is that not what you got?”

“I didn’t ask for you,” I said firmly. “I needed a consort for harvest.”

“Is that what you call it?” His voice was warm and smooth, deceivingly coy.

“Call what?”

“The way you gain your favor.” He placed his hands down on the vanity on either side of me, his thumb brushing up against my hip as he did so.

“They grant me favor, not withhold it from me.” My voice cracked. “You stopped them from coming, scared my Peculiars.”

“Then it is them you must blame, not me.” His eyes began to wander, taking in the floor to the walls, then to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “I suppose you’ll have to find a way to make do with me for harvest then, if your pets won’t service you.”

What?

“You?” I seethed. “I wouldn’t consort with you.”

He laughed, mean-spirited and melodic. He tipped his head to the side. “No, dear, I have no interest in doing that.”

The heat rose in my cheeks.