(no subject)
Fenn snarled in frustration as he tried to yank off the heavy gold collar that was wrapped around his throat. The night around him was quiet, but there was just enough noise to keep him from worrying overly about being caught. If Ferdial found him, he’d be in a world of hurt, but Fenn was confident that he’d finally managed to outsmart and escape the man.
Hezekiah, one of the groundskeepers, had left the door to his cage unlocked, more the idiot him. Fenn had taken full advantage of it. And this time, he’d run in the opposite direction of any magical smells or signatures that he could sense. Ferdial knew to look for him where there was magic, so Fenn was determined this time to not be where he would look. Besides that, wizards were a bitchy lot. Fenn was as sick of them as he was of Ferdial. He was not an expensive trinket to be bought and sold and shown about as a symbol of one’s status and wealth.
Growling again to himself, Fenn scraped his nails against his throat, getting frustrated when the efforts proved useless against the collar. Fenn’s first wizard had been a fairly decent chick. A little on the eccentric side, but she’d honestly cared for and about Fenn and his mother and his father. But she’d let him strike out on his own, and from there he’d stumbled blindly into one patch of bad luck after another.
That and his cravings for magical energy had attracted him to more than a few members of society’s less than respectable types.
His problem right now, however, seemed to be a less than subtle collar that proclaimed him property of Ferdial’s Magical Menagerie and the fact that he was only days away from rebirth. Oh, and the huge crimson colored wings sprouting out of his back. Couldn’t forget those. Heavens only knew no one else seemed to be able to. The collar and his flashy silk clothing could easily be hidden by transforming into his full fledged phoenix form, but transforming meant speeding along the rebirth process, making him extremely vulnerable to recapture or worse.
The woods he’d managed to lose himself in, though, were at least blissfully normal. He could feel the threads of magic ahead, pulling him closer in spite of himself, and he knew that given his current state, he wouldn’t be able to resist it for long. But since the trees were lush and healthy and there was ample evidence of normal woodland creatures carrying on in normal ways, he doubted that the source of the magic was malevolent.
If he could just grab three safe, secluded days, he’d be able to regroup enough to figure out how to get the blasted collar off. Or at the very least, how to coerce someone else into getting the blasted collar off of him. He didn’t have to introduce himself to the wizard. Hell, he didn’t even have to let his presence be known. Just a little bit of basking and then he could slink off and make his own way in the world sans stuffed shirt arrogant assholes.
Reaching a small clearing, Fenn took the opportunity to sit down and peel off the ridiculous purple halter top that Ferdial had insisted he wear. He looked like the world’s first and only transvestite hooker phoenix. As if being stared at day after day by hordes of people wasn’t enough, he’d been dressed up like a glorified doll and asked to perform tricks like some damned monkey.
He knew Ferdial thought that the rebirth would slow him down. And Fenn had to admit, the rebirth would leave him defenseless. But damned if he was going to sit around like some helpless baby chick waiting for his next captor to pluck him up and chain him down. If that meant worrying about some bear eating him? So be it.
Dropping the flimsy silk top on a bush, he grimly pushed on.
~*~
“Dammit, Geltry, I almost took out your eye with that. Pay attention, man,” Ysela, Geltry’s sister, told him sharply before smacking his bicep with the flat of her sword.
“Look, I told you I wasn’t in the mood to do this right now,” he groused, towering over her. For someone so small and delicate looking, she was a great deal more bloodthirsty and hearty than people gave her credit for being. Most princes had sweet little amiable princess sisters who were content to sew tapestries and flirt. Some cruel god, however, had gifted him with Ysela. “Didn’t Uncle Nix make you a perfectly respectable dummy that you can beat the hell out of when you’re in these moods?”
“The dummy can’t fight back, and you’ve always been my sparing partner.” She scowled up at him. Her pixie nose was getting a smattering of freckles from the sun and her blond hair was just getting blonder. She looked like everything the average princess should aspire to. “Uncle Nix said that if I could prove to him that I could wield this sword perfectly, he’d order a broad sword to be made for me the next time he goes to talk with the blacksmith.”
“Um, no. I’m done for the day.” He neatly shoved his sword into the scabbard he’d devised for it on his back. “I promised my ladies I’d groom them.”
“Horses, Geltry. They’re horses.”
“Fine,” he sighed, “I’m going to be grooming my horses. You like your swords, I like my horses. Besides, there’s Feo.” He pointed out a little gleefully as Feo rounded the corner and walked into the garden. As far as griffins went, he was pretty raggedy, Geltry had to admit. However, that in no way made him less impressive. In fact, in full fledged griffin mode, Feo could be rather intimidating. Not that Geltry would ever tell him so.
“Feo!” Ysela squealed happily. She thought all of his scars, his badly healed wing, and his stump of a tail were all examples of a seasoned warrior and the perfect teacher.
“No,” Feo told her flatly before arching a brow at Geltry.
“But,” Ysela started only to have Feo cut her off again.
“No. Way. Besides, didn’t Nix make a dummy for you to beat up on when you’re in these moods?” Feo frowned down at her. Ysela’s entire face turned red, and Geltry had to swallow a chuckle at the sight.
“Fine.” She glared at them both before huffing off. She did get the last word though, swatting Feo on the ass with the flat of her sword before running like mad for the lists.
“How on earth did Nix deal with her? She’s a menace.”
“I thought you had some experience with temperamental princesses,” Geltry teased as Feo glared up at him. His stump of a tail was twitching irritably, but Geltry knew it was mostly for show. “You never had one or two that wanted to spar with you?”
“Spar, yes. Try to skewer me into oblivion for kicks, no. Most of the time, they just wanted to whine incessantly about how the springs desperately could use a makeover or how I could use a makeover or how if I would just let them cut my hair and smear crap on my face, I’d look so suave and handsome.” Feo snorted before stretching. “I much prefer guarding Nix over any of the times I spent looking after them.”
“Well sure.” Geltry grinned mischievously, bending forward slightly so that he could get down to Feo’s level. “Uncle Nix puts out.”
“Geltry!” Feo screeched as he turned bright red and backed farther away from him. Geltry had to admit, Kelson was right. Teasing Feo was a hell of a lot of fun. Which was probably why the three of them did it so often. It was part of the whole initiation to the family. Anyone who ended up with their Uncle Nix had to be able to put up with them as well. “You’re a brat. You’re all brats,” Feo muttered darkly as he started walking for the stables.
“Aw, see, that’s how we know we’re appreciated,” Geltry said lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he trailed after Feo. The stables were on the edge of the garden that Uncle Nix had put together for Feo, and it had quickly become everyone’s favorite place to be. Of course, the reason for that was because Feo had managed to imbue it with magic and it was both sunny and warm year round. “Plus, we like you, Feo.”
“I’m sure.” Feo rolled his eyes, taking the well trodden footpath that led to the stable door.
“No really. There was this diplomat that had his eyes on Uncle Nix, and we didn’t like him one bit. Ysela set him on fire.”
“See? Menace.”
“I helped her and Kelson tied him to a horse and sent him packing.” Geltry grinned. “You? We like.”
“Highly doubtful.”
“No really, we do. Besides that, you got Mom and Dad together.” Geltry shrugged awkwardly. “Kinda seems like you should be family, then.”
Feo looked at him hard for a moment before sighing. “I suppose I can live with that.” At that, Geltry lightly punched Feo’s bare arm. Unfortunately, given Geltry’s size, it sent Feo stumbling slightly.
“Sorry,” he muttered, now embarrassed. Ysela was a cute little thing. Kelson was thin and wiry. And him? He was a huge hulking beast. His feet and hands were too big and he clumsily tromped where everyone else seemed to glide by gracefully.
“I’ve felt worse.” Feo quirked an eyebrow up at him sardonically.
“Heh.” Geltry rubbed the back of his neck self consciously. The stable was within sight, and Geltry figured that Feo might stick around long enough to give Tinkerbell a pat and half a carrot. Feo was nice enough to him, but there was still something about the way he pulled back and the way he was with Kelson and Ysela that made Geltry hesitate.
Feo didn’t like him. Maybe it wasn’t to the level of hate, but Feo did not harbor warm fuzzy familial affection for Geltry.
Feo was Uncle Nix’s lover, his lifemate and Feo had already accepted Kelson and Ysela as part of his family.
Geltry, on the other hand, was not family. He’d never actually been family. Maybe Uncle Nix had already told him about how Geltry wasn’t really Ysela’s twin and how he really wasn’t any kind of royalty at all. Funny that it had taken a new member into the family to illuminate the obvious for him.
“Look, Nix and Kelson should be finishing up with the foreign delegations. I think I’m going to head over and see what they’re up to. Just wanted to make sure that Ysela hadn’t flattened you.” Feo grinned and then saluted before sauntering away. Geltry wasn’t fooled though. More like Feo had come to make sure that he hadn’t flattened Ysela with his ham-fisted ways or taken things to far with his monstrous bulk.
Geltry turned to walk into the stables, but something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was bright red and stood out plainly against the dead brown pine needles not from the stable doors. Bending down to get a closer look, Geltry almost fell on his rump at the loud hissing squawk. Limping along in the brush next to the trees was the ugliest, most sickly looking bird Geltry had ever seen in his life.
“Well, you’re not looking so hot.” He reached out, easily palming the small bird and bringing it closer. Predictably, the bird squawked twice as loudly, pecked him and lost a handful of feathers in the process as Geltry gently brought it up to his chest and tried to quiet it.
The bird, in turn, pecked hard enough to draw blood.
Geltry swore, even as he gently carried the bird into the stable and shut the door behind him.
~*~
Fenn was burning up. He felt hot, achy and sticky all over. There was hay poking through the ridiculously flimsy material of the short pink hot pants Ferdial had him wear, and Fenn was pretty sure that it was giving him a rash.
When he sat up though, he smacked his head on a low wooden beam which quickly reminded him that he was no longer in the forest. In fact, he had no recollection whatsoever of how he’d gotten into the building. There were horses below him. One mare was snorting into her oats while a gelding in the far corner was trying to chew on the wood railing of his box stall. The horse directly below him was monstrous, though. Its huge head was craning upwards to snort curiously in Fenn’s face. Despite the fact that it was gigantic in comparison to the small ponies on either side of it, the horse was still pretty. Its short tail was flicking at a few flies and its ears were twitching inquisitively as Fenn leaned over the edge of the hayloft that he surmised he was sitting in to get a better look.
Fenn wanted to touch the horse’s tan coat to see if it was as soft as it looked, so he reached out just as the horse raised its head to sniff as well. Its nose was surprisingly soft, and its lips jiggled as Fenn’s palm brushed against it.
“Careful. She thinks you have a carrot and she’s liable to bite you by accident,” a deep voice warned him. Startled, Fenn almost fell out of the hay loft completely as he whipped around. Pulling up a hay bale with relative ease was the biggest man he had ever seen in his life.
“Who’re you?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.
“Geltry,” the giant man told him calmly as he put the bale down and inched slightly closer to Fenn. “Would it be safe to assume that you’re the puny looking bird I brought up here earlier?”
“No,” Fenn flat out lied. Of course, they both knew it was a lie. How could they not when he was wearing incredibly short silk pants, a gaudy gold collar and he had huge crimson wings sprouting out of his back? Still, Fenn had no obligation to be either tractable or obedient to anyone. He’d been that once, and he’d spent five years in a cage because of it. So, bratty and obnoxious it was. “What the hell do you care?”
“You’re still not feeling well, are you? You look feverish. Come on, I’ll take you down to the kitchens and the cook can get you some fluids and keep you hydrated.” Geltry extended a hand to him slowly and gently. Fenn was not in the mood to be placated though, and he swatted at it irritably. His skin itched horribly. If he was in full phoenix form, he’d be molting like mad.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” he snapped. “And I’m not going back to the menagerie.”
At that Geltry not only looked concerned but confused as well. Maybe he was a simpleton? Fenn decided to test it out by inching his way around Geltry. If he could make it to the ladder behind the man, he could simply run down it and out back into the forest. His rebirth couldn’t be too far from happening. There was a dull throbbing roar in his ears and he was having trouble concentrating on both his plan of action and Geltry at the same time. Plus, he wanted to peel off his hot itchy skin and take a bath in ice cold water.
“If you go back out into the forest like that, I can’t help you and you’ll more than likely be snatched again by those you’d rather not be snatched by,” Geltry said softly, but Fenn resolutely ignored the hopeful expression in Geltry’s handsome features. “And if you transform into that poor pitiful bird that I brought in here earlier, something is definitely going to try to eat you. I don’t think you’re in much of a position to fight off anyone with any real success.”
Ha! Showed him what he knew! Fenn hissed, bounding past the brute towards the loft ladder only to be grabbed in mid jump by big burly hands and plunked down right in front of Geltry.
He blinked, hating that Geltry was kind of swimming in front of his eyes as the dizziness grew. And then he remembered that he was supposed to be angry. “Put me down!” he howled, swinging blindly and bucking out of Geltry’s grasp.
“Calm down.” Geltry tried to grab at him as Fenn ducked. “Once you’re feeling better, I’ll help you get to wherever it is that you’re going, but you’re not going to make it far like that,” Geltry told him sternly, gently wrapping one of his huge hands around a wrist and not even flinching when Fenn whirled around and bit him on the bicep as hard as he could. In fact, getting close enough to bite only gave Geltry the opportunity to get a better hold on him, and up over Geltry’s shoulder he went.
“Put. Me. Down. Now!” Fenn squirmed, yelled and struggled as Geltry easily navigated his way down the ladder. Moments later, he was being plunked down on a small stack of hay. The hay was just as itchy and uncomfortable as the hay in the loft had been, but he wasn’t much paying attention to it as Geltry put a hand to his forehead, pushing back his black bangs.
“You’re burning up,” Geltry told him, his voice laced with worry.
Fenn giggled.
“You smell funny,” he blurted out as Geltry reached up for a horse blanket and wrapped it around Fenn’s shivering shoulders. Geltry looked at him closely, his big dopey brown eyes looking even more worried as Fenn giggled again. He couldn’t help it really. The poor man was worried over a fever. In a phoenix. “Not a bad funny,” he babbled, his skin getting hotter by the second. He was not going to make it out of the stable before his rebirth started. “Just funny. A good funny. Like warm cinnamon buns fresh out of the oven.” Hmmm, and magical fuzzies. Geltry was the magic source that had brought him meandering to the stables.
“Here, let me get you some water. Stay put.” Geltry stood to walk away.
There was a dry whoosh of air and then Fenn felt the flames spring to life across his skin. Sighing happily in relief, he let the fire consume him.
~*~
Hunching down surreptitiously on the library steps, Chance watched the other apprentices that were hanging out in the town square. They were, on average, a year or two older than him, which they in turn never let him forget. There were half a dozen boys and a handful of girls that he’d known for at least the last five years that he’d been allowed to attend magical classes in the main hall that housed the magicians that were on hand for the king’s demands. And right smack dab in the middle of them was the new guy.
The squire turned magician’s apprentice.
This, Chance decided, completely proved his hypothesis false.
He had told himself for the last five years that the reason no one talked to him, or wanted to hang out with him, or wanted to even be near him in general was because they were intimidated by his power and his ability to wield it. But looking at the new guy, Chance could see plainly that this was not the case at all.
The other apprentices hadn’t tried to befriend him because he intimidated them. They just didn’t like him. At all.
Curling his arms around his knees, he tried to watch the group of them all dispassionately.
He could very well understand why they liked the new kid. Granger was tall and tan and outdoorsy. His perfect blond hair looked sun kissed and he laughed and joked and was easy going.
Granger laughed at something Jules’ said, and Chance gritted his teeth together as he scowled at them all. Granger had probably never had a friendless moment in his entire life. Looking at him, Chance figured it was obvious. He was like a big overgrown puppy. Pick of the litter, even.
Chance wanted to turn him into a toad.
If just because he knew it wouldn’t be long before the new guy clued in to the fact that Chance was the perfect person to steal stuff from and pick at and cheat from on tests. Then, he’d get the same kind of attention from Granger that he got from everyone else. And while it sucked when the kids who had known him for the last five years pummeled him, it would suck even more to get beat on by the new guy. It was one thing to have people who knew him to not like him. When complete strangers could tell straight off that he wasn’t worth the time?
He was pathetic.
Being brilliant at magic and having the all the teachers claim him as the prodigy of the century was fine and dandy. It just didn’t lend one to having friends, or allies, or a place to belong.
But, well, so what? Screw ‘em all. Chance scowled at the group as they laughed at some hilarious joke that was privy only to their own ears. If they just applied themselves a little more, they’d be just as good as he was. He knew for a fact that there were a couple of them that had more latent magic in their pinkies than he had in his entire body. It was just that their next meal and place to sleep didn’t depend on their ability to wield it.
They all had sponsors and they didn’t have to depend on the charity of the kingdom or the goodwill of the magician’s guild.
Standing up, Chance dusted off the butt of his robes and bent down to pick up his stack of books. He knew it was bad to dawdle into thoughts like that. There were much worse things in the world than not being able to make friends with his peers. After all, he’d caught glimpses of what a life outside of the magician’s hall might have held for him. Best that he be grateful and thankful that they’d at least given him a chance to make his life better than to dwell on the fact that it hadn’t come as easily to him as it might have to the others.
“Hey! Aren’t you an apprentice too?”
Jerking his head, Chance found himself face to face with the new kid. And of course, the new kid couldn’t have approached him alone. The whole horde of apprentices was behind him, and judging from the looks on a few of their faces, he was obviously going to be the butt of a joke.
Surprise, surprise.
Sighing inwardly, he pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. An action that merited a handful of barely suppressed snorts of laughter and giggles. Talking would only make it worse as his voice sometimes cracked when he was nervous and he had no idea what to say, so inevitably, he’d end up rambling like a priggish moron. Neither of which he particularly wanted to come across as, but usually did anyway. He nodded to the new kid, catching Jules’s eye roll and Mary Anne’s snort of derision.
“Well, then aren’t you going to come with us to watch the jousts this afternoon?”
Blinking, Chance looked at the new kid with confusion. “No, the jousts aren’t until tomorrow. They’re merely doing the preliminary qualifying rounds tonight, and there’s not much of a point in watching that unless you think the knight you’re rooting for is under qualified and might not make the cut,” he blurted out, wincing slightly at his own tone of voice. Could he sound anymore condescending? Still, it wasn’t like he was just going to sit there and pretend like this conversation was going to be fun or that it was meant in friendly banter.
“I told you he didn’t know,” Jules hooted.
“Everyone knows that apprentices appear in between matches to entertain the crowds while they set up for the next joust at the prelims,” Mary Anne added with a snicker. “We started the tradition when we first became apprentices. People don’t go to see the knights. They go to see us.”
In spite of himself, Chance could feel his face heat up in mortified embarrassment. Of course they’d started it and not let him in on it. Made sense. It was fun, so who would want stuck up Chance around? Plus, it was a display of skill, so who would want the teacher’s pet there to show them all up?
“So, are you coming?” The new kid looked at him, a half smile pleasantly plastered on his face.
Chance really, really wanted to turn him into a toad.
“No,” he muttered, knowing that he’d barely be heard anyway, as he quickly gathered himself up and practically fled up the steps to the library door.
“I suppose you’re right, Jules. He does think he’s too good to hang out with the likes of us,” the new kid sighed.
Chance bit his lip. Hard. Because it was the only thing he could think of to do to distract himself from the liquid suddenly pooling in his eyes, and he swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had found itself in his throat as he slammed the door to the library behind him.
~*~
It was Torick who had gotten Granger interested in magic. Sir Kit had just made it seem that much more appealing as he was usually the brunt of curse after curse. And after four wonderful and eventful years of serving as Sir Kit’s squire, Granger had finally seen the light.
A life of knightly concerns and slaying dragons just was not for him.
Magic was his true calling. Particularly after Torick had determined that the reason trouble followed him so easily was dependent on the magical energy he emitted.
So, here he was, sitting in a cramped corner of the tiny library that stood plainly beside the bakery in the town square, pouring over smelly and slightly molding books, trying to decipher what the hell it was that he seemed to be doing wrong. Now, normally, this was not his favorite way of passing time. The cramped little attic that had been set aside for students to study in barely had enough room for Granger to stretch out his long legs in or for him sit up straight and alleviate the nagging ache in his back that he’d gotten from hunching over books with impossibly small type.
Heating was also nonexistent. Even with two coats, a scarf and the warmest boots (that he’d borrowed from Sir Kit) he could find; he was freezing his ass off. The fingerless gloves on his hands kept his palms somewhat warm, but the tips of his fingers were ice cold.
Plus, he was pretty sure that someone had killed something up here and left it to rot.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have accused Sir Kit of attempting to get even with him for the incident with the Old Fart Magician and the manticore. There was also the time that he’d accidentally gotten Sir Kit turned into a water fountain, a monkey, and on one memorable occasion, a twenty foot kiwi.
But hells bells, that’s what he’d found Torick for in the first place. He’d have thought that Sir Kit could have shown a little gratitude. It wasn’t everyday someone stumbled upon a de-magician, and it had all ended well, given the number of times Granger had stumbled on the two locked in less than kid-friendly embraces.
But Sir Kit wasn’t responsible for the deplorable conditions of the library.
No, this was just a taste of the torture in store for those looking to be magicians. This certainly went a long ways in explaining why every magic user that Granger had stumbled on in his four years with Kit had been crotchety, cranky, and down right disagreeable. Anyone would be after being subjected to this.
“Oh!”
Blinking, Granger had to rub his eyes to make sure that it wasn’t a trick of the light or an illusion produced by mind reading imps. Several rubs and still, standing there fidgeting and looking supremely uncomfortable, was Chance.
“I thought you were too smart to have to study,” Granger blurted out before he could think better of it. After all, Chance was the little darling of all their teachers. He’d even seen one or two of them go to Chance for advice or confirmation on some of the more advanced applications of curses and charms. He did seem to be a bit overly sensitive about the whole thing though. Which was a pity since Granger was a fairly blunt person. When he was little, the tendency had bothered him. But after an entire lifetime of pissing off people who were too sensitive for their own good, he’d come to terms with his bluntness. He never meant any harm, and those worth talking to, would stick around long enough to figure that out.
“I didn’t think anyone would be up here,” Chance muttered softly, blinking owlishly. He was short and pale. Probably because he hadn’t had Granger’s advantage of walking around the entire kingdom on foot and he didn’t have Granger’s bulk because he hadn’t spent so much time and energy running away from or fighting off an inexplicably furious Sir Kit. In short, he resembled the other magicians here in that he looked as if he were allergic to spending time outside. His glasses though, made his brown eyes look huge and unlike the rest of their sharply dressed and groomed class, his hair was a messy mouse brown that seemed to continually fall in his face and his clothes all seemed to be second hand given the number of patches and mends. “Usually the library is empty.”
“I know. It smells like something crawled up someone’s butt and died.”
“There’s a relatively simple spell for that,” Chance offered after blinking bewilderedly. Granger kicked out a chair across from him and moved some of the rotten, moldy books out of the way. Hesitantly, Chance shot him an uncertain look before gingerly sat down, placing a stack of about ten thick volumes in a neat pile on the available space. “At your level, you should be able to easily manage it.”
“Ah, you think so?” Because Granger was no where near that confident in his abilities to do anything magical. In fact, the only thing about magic that he had supreme confidence in was his ability to do it wrong. Things that Torick had assured him repeatedly were idiot proof, he’d managed to botch. With style.
“You summoned live humans, in front of the king no less, without injuring anyone. That indicates a high receptiveness to the manipulations of magical energies. Dispelling an odor ought to be simple for someone of your capabilities,” Chance told him solemnly.
“I was trying to summon prawns,” Granger mumbled, feeling his face turning red. It had been his intention to summon the king’s favorite food in order to prove his capacity for magics. Instead, he’d summoned two people in the middle of getting down and dirty. Not one of his greater moments. The only reason he hadn’t died of embarrassment was that Sir Kit had been standing there beside him, and Sir Kit had been through much more embarrassing situations without dying from something as innocuous as embarrassment.
“Hmm.” Chance reached across the table, neatly stacking some of Granger’s books before pulling out one in particular and flipping it open to a page. “Here, try reading that out loud and then slowly adding your magic to the words. That ought to do the trick.”
Granger looked down at the pages in front of him. And much like any time he sat down to look at books, the words jumped all around, blurred and were in general completely indecipherable. Putting his finger down, he drew a deep breath and tried to read the spell out loud.
Instead of dispelling the odor, he made a bird appear. Wonderful.
Chance, however, just sat and gaped.
Quentin snarled angrily as he slammed the door shut to his sparse studio apartment and slid down to the ground. What a perfect ending to a fucking perfect week. He simply couldn’t believe his luck. All he needed now was a call from his mother, and he’d cheerfully slit his own throat.
As if on cue, the phone rang. He debated whether or not to pick it up for about five rings, and then at the sixth, figured that whoever was calling was at least persistent and sighing, he picked the phone off the hook, gingerly placing it to an ear. “Hello?”
“Quentin? Quentin! What kind of a way is that to answer the phone?”
Unfortunately, his knife drawer was just out of reach of the cord for the phone. Quentin scowled at it balefully as his mother’s nasal voice screeched at him. “Mother. To what do I owe this lovely phone call?” He finally managed to interject after she spent five minutes berating him for not answering the phone as someone of his stature and background should. He didn’t see what the big deal was. It wasn’t as if anyone who might actually care about those things or be likely to tattle on him would call him, much less call him here.
“Your lazy prick of a father just called me about what happened at your dinner. I couldn’t believe my ears! You stole his bit of fluff out from under him? My god, Quentin. I didn’t think you had it in you!” She sounded positively delighted, which left him wishing even more that she hadn’t called.
“I didn’t steal her out from under him. I’m gay, remember?” he ground out.
“Yes, well, it’s never too late to change, you know,” she blithely dismissed. “So you didn’t French the little tart right in front of him?”
“She frenched me.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to release some of the tension there as his mother cackled, positively delighted at the news. Of course, why wouldn’t she be? His father was the one who’d asked for the divorce, who had attempted to drag his mother’s name through the mud. Not that it was exactly hard to, mind, but it had been a nasty affair from which neither supposed adult had recovered from.
“That’s what he gets, chasing after teenagers at his age. I hope she gave him syphilis.” She was like a kid at Christmas. Why the hell had his father called her to tell her this of all things?
“Mother, I must be going,” he tried to get her off the phone.
“Oh no, but if she frenched you, than you’re still gay right? And you’re dating who again? Julio?”
“David, you mean? No, we broke up.” When Quentin had discovered him in bed. With a woman. His half sister to be exact. But that had been almost a year ago. Then again, his mother wasn’t terribly concerned with keeping in touch, or update with the details of his life. She never had been. He was a tool to be exacted in revenge against his lying cheating bastard of a father, and for the rest of the time, he was an afterthought.
“Well, who are you with now, darling?” Right, because he was just like her. In constant need of having a sycophant companion to leech him out of house and home. Not likely.
“No one, Mother. I needed some space to myself.”