Berries and Greed

He huffed a little laugh, yellow eyes darting over to me before returning to the road. “You don’t actually have to do that. We can just…” He shrugged again shyly. “Hang out sometimes.”

“We will,” I declared, looking out the window as the city loomed closer, high-rise buildings gleaming black and silver in the sun. Some were human-made—uniform, with straight edges and neat windows—while others had been built by the demiurgus, their lines more fluid and organic. Like gigantic termite nests made from volcanic rock.

“What’s your house like?” I asked, looking back at Greid.

He hunched over a little further, ears fluttering. “Uh, maybe you should just wait and see.” Glancing over at me, he rushed to add, “It’s not dirty, it’s… I just have a lot of stuff.”

I grinned, thinking of my fairly spartan room at the compound. A big space with very little in it—just a wardrobe, bed, vanity, chest of drawers and a single armchair. No decorations or ornaments. No interesting pieces of furniture. Just blocks of blond wood.

“I don’t mind stuff,” I told Greid. “I bet you have a lot of interesting stuff.”

“That reminds me, where’s the rest of your stuff?” Greid jerked his chin toward the back of the car. “Did you want to come back for it another day?”

I chuckled. “Nope, that’s it. It all fit in two suitcases.”

He shot me an alarmed look. “Really?”

“Yep.”

After a moment of silence, he huffed and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “We can”—a slight shudder wracked his lanky frame—“go shopping if you want. Or you could look online and order some stuff.”

“I will.” I smiled at him. “When I have a job.”

I could tell he wanted to protest, but when he glanced over at me and ultimately stayed quiet, I knew he could sense how important it was to me. To become truly independent. To no longer take the easy route.

I already suspected that Greid would give me whatever I wanted if I asked, but I didn’t want to use him for that. I’d already be living in his home and eating his food. Maybe I could find other ways to pay him back before I got a job. I could learn to cook, or I could… I don’t know, be his jewellery-making assistant. Although something told me he was very particular about his work and would be horrified to have me pawing at it with my clumsy human hands.

I furtively glanced at his hands as he drove. They were nice hands. Masculine and elegant, his fingers much longer than a human’s, and with delicate veins winding under his black skin. His little claws were cute.

When his hand slid off the steering wheel to rest casually in his lap, I quickly looked away, my mind immediately conjuring memories of him telling me that the people at the cult had very, very wrong ideas about demiurgus anatomy.

He hadn’t explained, and it wasn’t like it would even matter, but… he was wearing grey sweats. I couldn’t risk looking in that general area for too long unless I wanted to learn more about him than he was willing to offer. Instead, I looked back out the window as the city drew closer and closer. The car was warm, but a faint breeze snuck in through Greid’s open window. It pushed his oddly comforting and slightly sweet scent toward me, and I found myself relaxing into my seat.

When I glanced back through the rear window, The Order’s hill was far, far behind us.

I smiled.

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Chapter Ten

Beryl

I’d been in the city several times over my years with the cult, but we were driving toward a part of it I’d never gone near before.

The Cimmerian District was a mid-to-upper-scale part of the city inhabited almost exclusively by demiurgus, specifically by demiurgus who were pretty well-off. Well-off enough to own a house in a city, but not so eye-wateringly rich that they lived in the dark, gloomy mansions that edged the nicest part of the park, nor the expensive nesthouses on the lower floors of the giant termite-nest buildings. Humans equated wealth with being at the top of buildings in penthouses, above everyone else. Demiurgus liked being close to the ground, so their nesthouses were always located on the lowest, widest floors of their big structures.

I stared in fascination, my nose practically pressed to the glass, as the tall redbrick buildings suddenly turned to dark stone. Big, airy windows were replaced by tiny, haphazardly placed ones made of brightly coloured stained glass with wrought iron frames. Stoops were lined with unusual potted flowers and plants—dinner plate-sized blooms with velvety cobalt petals and bright pink stamens, and clusters of tiny, anaemic white flowers with delicate orange stems and leaves. Thick, hairy vines that looked almost like tentacles crept between porch railings and up the fronts of houses. Hanging baskets spilled over with plants that looked like strings of pearls, iridescent in the afternoon sun.