Page 82 of Found in Obscurity

So far they’d managed to make it to three hours solid before the shift came. Lorin was eager to keep pushing it. His magic had its limits, however, and that became obvious very quickly. After being ignored for so long, like a muscle, it was weak, and the excess stress had it struggling to recover as fast as Lorin would have liked it to.

His own limitations frustrated him, until human Kit gently reminded him he could draw on his familiar power to recharge. And when Lorin said gently, he meant Kit smiled that beautiful smile of his at Lorin and then called him stupid in the same breath. Told him they were bonded for a reason and that the bond went both ways. Kit was getting Lorin’s magic as a drive to gain his shift back, but Lorin was supposed to be using the familiar bond to recharge faster, focus his magic better, use it more efficiently.

Once that sank in, Lorin had no choice but to listen to Kit. He allowed the familiar bond to do its job, power flowing to him and replenishing him faster than he was used to. He used spells for whatever he could think of after that. Stirring tea. Folding blankets. Dusting.

The whole house was alive with it.

Kit seemed delighted in both forms, chasing the mop around the floors or poking at a hovering cushion until he got bored or exhausted.

Currently he was in his human form, lounging on his stomach in front of the small fireplace that was lit and crackling. He was dressed for once—a hard sell to the shifter, but a necessity for Lorin’s sanity.

He’d snuggled into Lorin’s fluffiest cream jumper, the length bunching the fabric at his hips and giving him sweater paws. He looked adorably round, and not unlike he was wearing his fox fur. The pants had been a harder compromise, with Kit refusing to wear anything but Lorin’s tartan pajamas and slipper socks with cartoon dogs all over them. They were cocked up into the air currently and swinging lazily. An open fiction book with a blush-inducing cover was in front of him, as well as a steaming cup of Glenn’s tea.

It appeared to be helping. Kit wasn’t wincing as much, and he’d been able to vocalize a little more. Still no talking though. He was on strict vocal rest for a few more days before Lorin felt they should attempt it since they were unable to take Kit to a doctor for fear of being found out.

Kit seemed exasperated by this stipulation, calculations going on behind his eyes that promised he was up to no good even as he nodded his acceptance.

He was a fox, after all.

A fox who had demanded kisses and attention and looked so pretty Lorin couldn’t concentrate.

He hadn’t realized just how small this cabin was until there was another human occupying it regularly. Arms and hands brushed. Bodies connected, squeezing past one another. Everywhere Lorin looked, there Kit was, looking so indescribably happy and beautiful even when he was getting into things he shouldn’t have been.

The stars only knew why he had to empty the silverware drawer onto the floor to rifle through.

There was no escaping the building feeling in his chest. It was easy to ignore when Kit was a fox. Easy to concentrate on the problem. But human Kit was devastating. Lorin felt like collapsing in defeat a minimum of three times per hour. Becausethey were in such close quarters though, it brought to mind the very real logistic problems they might soon be facing.

Like food for two people.

His grandma hadn’t packed for two humans, and Lorin didn’t think Kit wanted to eat the raw fish she’d packed for him with a human tongue and teeth. At least, he didn’t seem that interested in it, stealing out of the cupboards and filling his cheeks with various foodstuffs without shame.

Lorin couldn’t blame him. Five years without chocolate had to be a hellish existence.

Sleeping arrangements were also becoming a very apparent problem. They only had one sofa, and sleeping on the floor wasn’t a long-term solution.

Lorin was stuck pondering these problems as his gaze moved toward his parents’ room from where he was standing in the kitchen. It was still closed up tight, despite the house’s best efforts to coax him in there.

It would crack the door occasionally, but Lorin would slam it shut every time. Even Kit knew instinctively not to trespass in there, but maybe…maybe it was time.

The idea terrified him, having no clue what lay beyond the door. But he’d been slowly immersing himself in this space. It was starting to feel like the home it was supposed to be for him instead of a shrine.

All that was missing was this last piece.

He moved before he could second-guess himself, padding across the floor and pausing in front of the door. His hand hovered over the handle, and the house, for once, didn’t push. It allowed him to grasp the metal and push down and in.

It swung open smoothly, stirring up a few dust motes.

It was dark, the navy curtains drawn across the windows, but Lorin could still make out the shape of a heavy wardrobe and a bookcase filled with all sorts of trinkets on the far wall.The double bed with beautifully carved posts, and head and footboards in the flowing shapes of waves was the focal point in the middle of the room. A footrest lay at the end over a rug.

Lorin shuddered out a breath, feeling pressure behind his eyes and nose to go along with the lump in his throat. He refused to break down and cry like he’d done before though.

He stepped into the space slowly, reverently as he made his way to the window instead of flicking the light switch. He drew the slightly musty curtains, revealing the beautiful set of floor-to-ceiling windows Lorin had glimpsed from the outside.

Light flooded the space, the stark whiteness of the snow illuminating it further. Lorin stared out at the view, feeling like he understood his parents exactly in that moment.

The beauty of the forest was spread out before him. It was like being outside.

He turned around to take in the room in the light and spotted Kit’s head poking around the corner, his amber eyes looking concerned.