Page 127 of Quicksilver

Existence blinked out into a blank void.

The stars tumbled from the heavens, and hell rose up to meet them.

Everything and nothing, here and gone.

It was every ecstatic moment I'd ever experienced, condensed and multiplied one millionfold. My body became a fiery torch, and there was Fisher, burning right alongside me.

He mindlessly slammed himself into me, grunting, and then he ripped his mouth away from my skin and roared like he was dying.

No. Not like he was dying.

Like he was beingreborn.

The world came back into existence little by little, like snowflakes fluttering from the ceiling. It took a long time for my body to stop trembling. Just as he had done when I woke up, Fisher lay behind me, still as the dead, not breathing. Only this time, he was holding onto me for dear life. He didn't let go.

Fresh, hot bread. Buttery. Delicious.

My stomach rumbled, my eyelids fluttering open. I found myself snuggled up to a snoring fox. Onyx lazily blinked his eyes open, and I swear to the gods, it looked as if he was smiling at me.

“You stink,” I told him, petting his head. “You need a bath. No more sleeping in the bed.”

He bared his teeth, laid his ears back, and vaulted off the bed, disappearing out of the open bedroom doorway. I guess he didn’t like the sound of a bath.

Sighing and deliciously sore, I slumped back against the rumpled sheets and stared up at the ceiling, watching the dust motes spiral through the gilded morning air. Where the hell was Fisher? I asked the question with a dose of resignation. If I knew him, he'd be back at Innìr by now, freaked out and angry. I'd be discarded here for three days as a result of his inability to manage his fucking feelings. I turned my head, and my heart slowed at the sight of the tiny droplet of dried blood staining the sheets next to me.

My blood.

Fisher had bitten me.

My mind went blank. I let that information float at the forefront of my mind. I didn't try to process it. I’d officially hit my exhaustion point when it came to trying to analyze everything that had happened since the Hall of Mirrors. This was just one more thing balancing precariously at the top of a very long and bewildering list that I would have to work through at some point. For now, all I knew was that I'd wanted it. I'd asked for it, and, sidenote, Fisher and I were now randomly capable of speaking into each other's minds.

There it was again: the smell of fresh, flaky pastry and rich butter, but this time it was blended with the subtlest hint of sugar. Andcoffee.It was the idea of coffee that had me climbing out of bed in the end. Stiff and a little dizzy, I wrapped myself in a sheet and went to find the source of the smell.

Light flooded into the apartment's living room. The dust sheets had been removed from the furniture and the paintings, revealing a comfortable space full of small treasures, books, and knick-knacks that gave the place an easy sense of home. On the mantelpiece above the fireplace, scores of glass jars sat full of stubs of charcoal and paintbrushes.

Fisher sat at a round table by the windows, long legs stretched out in front of him, the light catching at his hair and warming the black to dark brown. It gilded one side of his face, softening the hard edge of his jaw and the proud line of his nose. He stared out of the window, watching the boughs of the tree on the other side of the glass gently sway on the breeze. He seemed lost in thought. At ease, even. A part of me didn't want to make my presence known. After how troubled he'd been of late, I wanted him to savor the moment of peace. And I was a fucking coward, it turned out. There were still things that needed to be said, and I was scared of that conversation. It could only end badly, and—

Fisher closed his eyes and let the dappled sunlight play over his face. “I didn't know how you took your coffee,” he said softly.

Shit. “How long have you known I was here?”

He smiled sadly. “Ialwaysknow where you are, Little Osha.” Opening his eyes, he turned and looked at me. The smile developed a dangerous edge to it when he took me in.

“I would have gotten dressed,” I explained, “but there weren't actually any clothes in that bag you packed for me. I appreciate the sentiment, but four different throwing knives, a field dressing kit, and a bottle of whiskey might have been overkill. A clean pair of underwear and a toothbrush would have been nice.”

This coaxed a laugh out of him. “Fair point. And noted. Only two knives and a hip flask next time. Plus underwear and a toothbrush.”

I laughed softly. “Iwaswilling to put on the clothes from yesterday, but then I found them in the bed, in shreds, and that idea went out of the window, too.”

“Don't worry. I'll happily correct my lapse in my manners.” With a flick of his wrist, Fisher conjured a wave of glimmering smoke. Spreading over the rug toward me, it circled around my ankles like a friendly cat seeking to be pet. It rose up my legs, making my skin prickle with warmth, leaving luxurious black silk in its wake. The pants were wide-legged and loose. The camisole top was pretty, long enough in the body to cover my stomach—though only just—and embellished with fine lace along the low-cut neckline. Fisher's magic hadn't graced me with any underwear, it seemed; my peaked nipples were very visible through the sheer material.

I arched an eyebrow at him, then looked down at my chest. “Is this the kind of thing you imagine me wearing often?”

“When I imagine you, Little Osha, you'reveryrarely wearing clothes.”

Oh. Wow. Okay. Color rose to my cheeks, a pleasant heat warming my face. I ducked my head, looking down at my bare feet, giving myself a moment to acclimate to the idea that Fisher wasn't going to be an unbearable shit this morning. It had been surprise enough that he was still here, but this was a shock to the system that I wasn't prepared for.

“Come and sit down. Eat,” he said.