The common room is full of lightness, even this early in the morning after a night of festivities.
Damien has formed a semi-circle, teaching the children how to strum a guitar. The humans are eating breakfast together, as a family of sorts. Sitting across the room, Elijah has been showing Jiayi how to lure for over an hour, as promised.
I'm running on three hours of sleep and I've never felt better. I don't think I've ever smiled so much. It's only been a day. One day. I am so glad to be here. Holding a bowl of oatmeal I've half-eaten, too busy watching everyone else, I note the changes in the room, things I see different from when I arrived.
Beyond the tattered living spaces are items made by their children, bright colors painted onto their furniture. Tucked into corners, to bring life to this underground dwelling, are flowers and plants, drops of pastel throughout the room. In one corner a couple leans on each other, humming a melody in sync. In another, a teen still slumbers, despite the noise around her.
When my leg is nudged, disturbing me from my observing, I glance down.
It's the little girl that spent a night a night sleeping between Elijah and I. Jiayi told us her name is Chen. Her hair is still sticking out every which way, right out of bed. She makes it apparent she wants to be on my lap, clawing at my dress, a pink pastel dress given to me by Jia, a woman widowed at thirty. Since I have no clothes of my own, lost to the river, it's one of the few things I've been graciously given to wear, even if it is a bit bright for my liking.
I help Chen onto my lap, careful not to spill the oatmeal. I realize only when she's comfortable that her main reason for coming to me is to feast on my leftovers. I can't help but laugh as she dips her fingers into the creamy mess, scooping her food in like that. The stickiness falls onto my own clothing in her clumsiness, but I hardly care, egging her on to eat it all.
"Chen, you're getting it all over her!" Jasmine, one of the mother's, laughs, wide-eyed, loud enough to gain the attention of a few people around us. I shake my head, blushing, insisting it's okay. My eyes dart to Paris who takes a seat on a spare log, a glass of blood in one of his hands. He smiles warmly, watching she and I as Elijah did.
"Did you want children before falling for a vampire?" Paris asks once we're relatively alone, the rest scattered onto more important things.
"I can't have children. Not naturally. A, um, surgery gone wrong... when I was a teen."
"I see. It never healed?"
"No."
"You've had Elijah's blood. Perhaps it has and you don't know it."
I smile, beyond imagining it. "I'd only want his kid's so it's moot point."
"Well, this little one's an orphan. She's in need of a family."
I run my fingers through her hair, brushing the frayed strands down. "Elijah told me she has a father in Shanghai. He's been waiting for it to be safe enough to come get her."
Paris regards me cautiously. "Well, that's good news."
I avoid his eyes, wishing I hadn't gotten attached to the first child to show me something other than disgust. "We wouldn't give a human child a good life, Paris. She's better off with him."
It hits me suddenly, a brief kick to my gut—a reminder.
Elijah's a god. I'm human. He's already familiar with everlasting life. My life has expiration.
The thought has occurred to me before, back when we were still dwelling in Russia. I glance up to find Elijah across the room, and as if he can feel how my gut is sinking, his attention shifts from Jiayi. His eyes meet mine, concerned in an instant. He can feel it. He smiles hesitantly, seeking silent answers from me. I smile back at him genuinely, wanting to reassure him. This is not a problem to dwell on now.
We have to win or the future is also a moot point.
My attention returns to Chen, who is licking her fingers greedily, now finished with my bowl. Paris is chuckling just watching her.
"Was that good?" I coo excitedly. "Do you want more?"
She shakes her head, giving me a coy smile. Paris extends his arms.
"Let me take her. You go wash off."
I stand with her, handing her off to Paris carefully, noticing Elijah on his feet now, still speaking to Jiayi. His body language is distant. He wants to come to me. He's worried. I walk to the sink, grabbing a cloth dishtowel, running it under the spurting tap, watching him.
Wait. Something is wrong. He presses his fingers to his head, as if struck by a blistering headache.
I stop washing altogether when he walks away from Jiayi, heading in the opposite direction of me.
His sense of dread, followed by inner rages of anger, sends me following after him, knowing what—or rather who—is attempting to torment him. My human legs cannot keep up with him, but I know he's gone for the exit.
I take the ladder alone, now used to the way it buckles under my weight. I press my hand to the entrance, pushing it open, blinded by the natural light searing my eyes. I take a hesitant step out, glancing around for him.
I hear him before I see him.
"Your scrambled attempts of torturing her are over. Jumping to me will do you no good, Beelzebub."
Elijah stands with his back to me, distracted enough to be unaware of my presence. He is alone, in everything but spirit. His mind is very much occupied.
"You have been released. She has seen past your distractions. You cannot touch her."
I have half a mind to tear off this damn necklace to save him from enduring Samael's wrath, but know full-well Elijah would nearly kill me if I did. I glance up and all around us, searching for signs of danger. The forest is filled with a sense of calm, a harsh contrast to what we bring to it.
"You have lost her. She will defeat you. I will help her do it."
I don't know how Elijah's voice can be so steady, so unwavering when threatening someone with so much power... until I remember he possesses the same power.
Elijah's tone lowers to utter a menacing warning. "You may try."
He presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose, and within seconds, his shoulders slacken completely. All tension leaves him. It's mesmerizing... how quickly he can shut darkness out.
"Che cazzo!" he growls to himself in Italian. "Fotitti!"
I can tell by the way he says the words that they are, most definitely, explicit.
As Samael's interference wears off, his inhuman senses reemerge. He turns on his heel, his stiff features falling when he finds me there.
"It's all right," he says immediately, before I've even said anything. My face probably says it all.
He strides to me, grabbing my face, making me look at him.
"It's all right," he repeats with greater emphasis. "Let go of the necklace."
My fingers are still clamped down on the jewel, primed in case I needed to tear it off. He rubs the curve of my chin, smiling softly.
"I told you to never take that off."
My voice arises finally, full of distress. "What the fuck was he saying?"
"He's lost his ability to speak with you. He's furious."
Part of me is relieved to know this item actually works. The other part is scared of what Samael will do to Elijah for it.
"He holds no power over me, Cassandra. I can cast him out. Do not worry yourself over nothing."
"Satan was in your goddamn head, Elijah!"
He kisses me, hard. It speaks volumes.
Stop.
Don't do this.
Don't give him this power.
I open my eyes as he pulls back from my lips, trying to listen.
"He thrives on fear," I say aloud, for the both of us. Elijah nods, only once.
"Yes."
Nothing more needs to be said. He releases me to grab my hand, leading me back to safety.
***
Elijah's firm body lies between my legs, casually naked in the middle of the afternoon.
I wonder what the others must think. Damien and Paris must know by now that bedroom activities have recently resumed due to me and Elijah's inability to keep our hands from each other.
It's been... ages since we've had a day without a task.
In reality, we should be scouring the world for the puzzle piece Jehovah so desperately wants us to destroy, but this feels too good... too right. Just being with him, like this.
He draws circles on the surface of my belly with his index finger, mid-way into a story about his first visit to China, centuries ago. Getting him to admit fragments of his life is like prying teeth from a jaw. Nearly impossible. Going on about hiking through the Beijing, about rowing through West Lake, seeing the Imperial Palace—from afar, of course—he explains as a natural storyteller would, reminding me of how he normally deprives me of the details of his traveled life.
He cuts himself off, mid-sentence. "I'm sure this has to be boring you."
Dazed, just pleased to be looking at him, my head shakes side-to-side. "It isn't."
His gaze lingers, one of his eyes sinking down in warning. "Keep looking at me like that. See what happens."
"Is that a threat?"
He lays a kiss to my stomach, nipping me with his teeth. A shiver courses through my spine.
I'm practically immobile.
"I lost feeling in my body an hour ago," I tell him, proudly.
His weight shifts. "I can get off of you."
"Don't you dare." My legs circle round him, imprisoning him. "I lost feeling because I've been properly fucked by the man I love. My body is blissfully happy, thank you very much."
"Well, I enjoy ravishing you, even if you have a foul mouth."
My teeth sink down on my lip as his mouth lingers on my skin, his hand grazing the underside of one of my breasts. The intrusion earlier is far back in my mind, only resurfacing when the silence grows and Elijah sees to it that it doesn't.
"We're going to have to go back to Italy, aren't we?" I ask with dread, glancing down at him. His eyes flicker to mine as I disrupt our playing. He nods, unsurely.
"I don't see how we could wait here for another two months. You've been back for weeks. Maybe this necklace was all we needed to find here."
I lift the citrine, rolling the smooth jewel between my fingers. The orange light dances upon the small space of wall above the mirrors, a reflection created by the candlelight beside the bed.
"I'll be glad to see Erika, for sure," I say. "I've missed her—"
"Wait." I glance down at the urgency in his voice. Elijah's eyes are not on me, nor his attention. He's eying the wall, entranced by something. "Keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Turning the citrine."
Frowning, I do what he says, trying to see whatever he's seeing. I just see an odd shape.
"What is it? What do you see?"
I know it's serious when he shifts off of me, standing up onto his feet. The mirrors erase his nude existence as he approaches them, staring intently at the design he's trying to interpret.
"Maybe I've gone mad, but I recognize this shape." I continue to move it and he turns his face towards me sharply. "And look! It's the same, every time. I swear, I've seen it. I've seen it somewhere."
"Here?" I sit up fast, gathering quickly what he's insinuating. "Recently?"
"No, not recently."
Suddenly, his wide-set shoulders go lax. He lets out an amazed scoff, glancing over to me, and in his gaze, I'm sure he's pieced something together. He knows where he's seen it. "This symbol is in The Book of Omens... It's in Italy."