Pure Requiem - Aja James Page 0,56

one woman.”

“She’s the Great White Beast. Haven’t you noticed her appetite?”

Yes, I noticed. She always eats every last crumb whenever we share a meal together, and there’s always a variety of meats, enough to feed half a football team.

“Where does it all go?” I wonder.

Benjamin stops to consider this as well.

“I think she just metabolizes everything she takes in right away,” he hypothesizes.

“Your vocabulary never ceases to amaze me,” I note.

“It helps that I spend time with you,” he says with a beaming grin, almost blinding me with its incandescent brightness. “You often use big, multi-syllable words. National Geographic and the History channels help as well. So does reading the Encyclopedia.”

I regard him in silence for a good long while, a knot of…something…throbbing in my chest. I don’t want to leave him.

Gods! I don’t want to leave my boy!

“You amaze me, little man,” I murmur sincerely, my voice a raspy croak of unfathomable emotion.

“You amaze me too, Uncle Ere,” he returns immediately, without any hesitation. “Uncle Tal is my hero. Daddy is, well, daddy. And he’s a butt-kicking warrior besides. You’re my best friend. Sometimes, I feel like you’re a boy just like me, even though you’re old.”

I cough a laugh to keep from crying.

“Do go on, everyone wants to hear about how ancient they are.”

“Very, very old,” the imp adds with a serious face and mischievous eyes. “But you’re young at heart, I think, even if you’re an old soul—Sophie’s words, not mine. I wish you can stay here with us forever. We’d have so much fun.”

The way he says it, it’s as if he somehow knows I plan to leave soon. His big blue angelic eyes gaze at me with such searing insight, as if he can see my every thought.

This boy scares me shitless.

I clear my throat and make a show of surveying the second wagon-load of food.

“Think we have enough now? It’s just an afternoon picnic.”

He nods.

“You carry that up, while I find the others. Tal, Mama Bear, Liv, Sophia,” he checks each person’s name off with a finger.

“May I invite Mom and Dad too?”

I don’t really want to share Benjamin’s attention with Inanna and Gabriel, but what am I supposed to say? That I want to hoard my son all to myself for a couple of hours before I might never see him again? I don’t want to share Ishtar and Tal’s attention with my…sister…either. When I’m not sitting next to the golden Light Bringer, I feel less like a shit-brown cuckoo in comparison.

“Of course,” I murmur and forcibly curl my lips into a fake smile.

He looks at me with those penetrating eyes again and cocks his head in consideration.

“They’re probably out doing reconnaissance, anyway. I’ll invite them next time.”

Fuck. This boy sees too much. He shakes me to the core.

Jerkily, I nod, not trusting myself to say anything.

And then, we go our separate ways, him to round up our “friends,” and me to carry up the second wagon of food and drinks.

The only way to get to the private rooftop is to go through Tal and Ishtar’s apartment. They left the door unlocked for the purpose of this impromptu picnic, the trusting fools.

I set the wagon down on the dining table and snoop around their space. I have a few minutes before the rest of the group comes.

The apartment is permeated with the sweet scent of baked goods, but underneath that comforting aroma is the scent of Tal and Ishtar—something fundamentally male, earthy and clean mixed with spicy, feminine, animal heat.

I snort up the smells of the apartment like drugs. It’s so comforting, like a warm embrace, like everything I imagined in a home.

I glance my fingertips along each item on a wall of shelves. Either these carvings are newly made by Tal, or Ishtar brought them from Dark Dreams.

I think they’re new. They look different somehow. The sculptures of the leopards that Tal loves to make are more playful, more joyful than the somber carvings in Dark Dreams.

There are kitten versions mid-pounce, curled up in a ball of fur sleeping, making purring faces of delight, as if someone is scratching them behind their ears. There are grown versions sitting regal and proud, but their carved eyes have a mischievous, hungry slant to them. Or they lie on their belly with their tails curled in a taunt, their muzzle tilted in a feline smile.

With a casual swipe, I filch the smallest leopard kitten and tuck it into my trouser pocket.

“You can have whatever you