Thirty-five – 02

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,” a man’s voice said softly, smoothly, a low rumble like waves against the shore. “Besides, I’d not be so surprised if I were you, my dear. After all, Thordin Odinson was once dead and now he’s somehow come back to life—however long that lasts, in any case.   May I come in?”

It seemed to Matt like the man wasn’t given Hecate much choice as the door’s hinges squeaked with the sound of it swinging wider, followed by Hecate’s murmured voice. “Of course. Come in.”

The man must have been wearing sandals based on how his footsteps sounded against the wooden floor. The couch creaked as he seated himself even as Matt heard the door click shut. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

The voice was familiar—Matt knew he’d heard it before. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment and fought to control his breathing, forced himself to stay silent. Stay calm and think. Keep our head. She can handle this. She’s kept herself a live this long without you—trust her now.

Even as he started to settle down by inches and fractions, he still couldn’t shake that bad feeling growing in his gut.

“I’m just surprised,” Hecate said. Her voice hadn’t come closer, so Matt assumed she’d lingered near the door. “Like I said, I thought you were dead. Yaweh’s power and all that.”

“Like so many of our brothers and sisters,” the man said without a trace of irony. “It heartens me to see you well, though, dear sister.”

“I’m not your sister,” Hecate said. “Don’t you forget that for a second.”

“Near enough to, but if you insist. Cousin, then?”

“Yam, cut your shit,” she snapped. “What the hell do you want? Why are you here?”

“What and why indeed,” he said softly.

It was Leviathan out there, the same man who’d shown up on their doorstep back on campus with his army of drowned souls, the one who tried to sound neutral and threatening all at once. Matt was half certain he’d angered the man when he’d suggested sending part of that army to its rest and the fact that he was here now

Don’t let paranoia get the better of you, Astoris. Take a deep breath.

“I had simply hoped to see you well,” Leviathan said, his tone light. “I’d heard some nasty rumors of late and I’d begun to grow worried is all.”

“Really,” she said softly, sounding like she suspected he was full of shit. “Pray, tell me all about who’s telling tales about the witch-bitch of Olympium. Please, enlighten me.”

The mask was back in place, Matt could hear it in her voice. He nearly groaned aloud, thinking of the work it would take to bring her back again once this encounter was over. He could have strangled Leviathan with his bare hands.

If that’s not a sign I care, nothing is. Knowing I can’t leave her like that because it’s not the real her…

A raw ache opened inside of him, guilt that wasn’t his, guilt that was nearly as old as time—Cíar’s guilt, the one he never quite got over.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut again as his hands tightened into fists. Why the hell had fate done this to them?

There’s always some kind of reason, even if we’re not privy to it.

In the other room, Leviathan laughed.

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One Response to Thirty-five – 02

  1. shadocat says:

    Really good.

    I really like Matt’s reaction about her “mask.” It seems that she needs it to survive in the company she keeps. No matter how damaging it is to her.

    One minor typo: “She’s kept herself a live”

    a live / alive

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