“Augustine,” Joanna tries to smile, but her lips tremble. Her attempts to cover the bitter taste of her have me pulling a clean handkerchief from my inner jacket pocket to hand to her. She does not need to hide her emotions from me; I will handle all of them and be what she needs me to be as she experiences them. Today, I will be her shoulder to cry on.
“Mon abeille, are you ready for our lunch?” I phrase it as if I am not surprising her at work. I want to make it clear to both Lance and Andrea, who linger at a desk near the entrance, that my mate has a new priority, and it is not this job. I feel her hesitation in the back of my mind and see her deliberating to decide if she can leave for her allotted lunch break.
“Yeah,” she sniffles, her fingers gripping the piece of fabric I just handed her. “Let me grab my purse.”
“Am I being unreasonable? Is this what humans are actually like now?” I stare at the group after explaining the scene I walked in on this afternoon.
“She was cryin’?” Arlo fidgets with his shirt sleeve and looks just over my shoulder at me. An improvement I should make a note of.
“Practically inconsolable,” I groan, slouching into my chair. Slouching! Me. Truly that shows the state I am after spending most of the afternoon reassuring my mate that she did not deserve that sort of treatment. “I thought it would be a nice surprise, except when I was buzzed into her office, some Andrea woman rushed me.”
“Rushed you?” Deg’Doriel sounds more bored than I have ever heard him when it comes to another suffering.
“Rushed me,” I repeat. “The whole place reeked of stress and burnt coffee. Truly hellish, you would have loved it, Deg. I imagine more than one person there would have traded their soul for a moment of peace. All that was missing was the screams of the damned. God, the lighting and decor made my skin crawl. There was plastic everywhere and cheap laminate flooring-”
“Augustine, focus. This is about your human, not your delicate sensibilities.” Nora snorts and throws a huge, muscular arm around me. “Tell Auntie Nora her name again? Abby?”
“My mate,” I lift her appendage off of my person with my sands, “was crying because her boss returned from Spain yesterday and has been causing havoc. Something about incorrect accounts.”
“Ya need me to rough him up?” Ramón asks. “I can break some kneecaps or chomp his fingers?”
“No, no, when I get my hands on that scoundrel, he will feel terror like he has never known, before I suck his soul clear from his body.” I take my glasses off and rub my eyes. That decision came only after Patrick made Joanna’s guilt skyrocket after she called in to take the rest of the afternoon off sick. “Lance, however, you may eat.”
“Lance? What kinda fucking name is that?” Deg’Doriel sneers. “Does he have a brother called Spear?”
“He is her co-worker. She practically worships the ground he walks on.”
“So you’re jealous?”
“I most certainly am not. That human is gangly, and he is far too nosey. You cannot trust a man who willingly searches out the works of Milson Bushwhipper, that idiotic druid, really should have known when to leave better off alone.”
“Is she alright now?” Arlo asks, turning the subject away from that horrid druid. I am going to remove that book from the collection of viewable antiques.
“Yes,” I lie. “She is at home now. I was able to convince her to at least take some time for her mental health after that whole debacle.”
Honestly, I do not know if Joanna is alright. All I could tell of her emotions before leaving was a deep sense of guilt. I could not drag much else out of her, spending the afternoon with her head on my lap as I read aloud some nonsensical poetry about transcendentalism. She swirled her fingers around the sand that slipped through gaps in my shirt, but that was it. She did not wish to speak of the finer details.
It sickens me to think that she is not well. That she is putting herself through this horrendous job simply because that is what humans do. I know my telling her to quit would not solve anything. It would just cause her more stress. I have seen her desire for success. She craves the feeling of accomplishment that has been bred into humans since the industrial revolution. Like worker bees, they have made work their whole lives.
Butmon abeilleis not a worker or a drone or anything so plebeian. My Joanna is a queen, a goddess among mortals. They should be stabbing their own eyes out for fear that even looking at her beauty would bring shame upon them. I have told her I will provide whatever she needs, whether physical, emotional, or financial. I just do not know how to make her see that she does not need to be causing herself harm in this way.
18
Augustine
28 days
Idecide not to work at the library this evening. After wrapping up the meeting, I find myself practically sprinting to get home. My mate needs me. We are too far apart for me to feel her through our bond, but even as I left this evening, her anxiety was creeping in again. I move through the dimly lit street with ease until I get to the library.
It is hard to believe this building is considered historic. I remember drawing up the plans for it in London with Deg’Doriel. It was the only way he was ever going to get me on that laughable ship of his to come to the new world, to settle in the new world for good. He had some sort of master plan and he sought me out personally to be a serious contender to add weight to the investment.
I stare at the golden placard and recall the sense of peace it gave me in those early decades. There is still peace here now, but it is dull. I need excitement and life. I suppose that is why the fates brought me Joanna. My life has been a whirlwind since she arrived.
Behind me, there is a loud clatter, louder in the dark, near-empty street than it would have been during the day. I look over my shoulder at the scaffolding-covered armoury. No light is coming from the building, nor does it appear the security alarms have been tripped. There is the sound of boots hitting the ground in the alley between the buildings, it echoes off the stone walls like they want to be caught.
It really should not concern me for a moment what anyone, human or monster, is doing back there, but I know this is Joanna’s big project. Her proof to Patrick that she is capable and competent. If my check-in on the exterior of the site means she has one less thing to stress about, then I shall do it for my mate.
I cross the street quickly, blending into the shadows created by the scaffolding and hoarding. Three men huddle next to the labourer’s side entrance that I have seen trucks back into during the day. I am close enough to smell their apprehension in the air and my sands begin to thrum under my skin. Being surrounded by Joanna’s emotions normally invigorates me, satiates the hungry beast inside of me. Still, after this afternoon, all I feel is a greater ache to alleviate her feeling, to feed and make others feel the way she does. I want to be a nightmare once again if only to make my mate feel anything else.
