Chapter Thirty-Four: The Blood on Their Hands (3)Mature

After a late breakfast, Seymour was feeling well enough to get up and walk around, so the five of them made their way downstairs and out onto the courtyard.  The air was brisk, but the sun was warm, and the temperature was perfectly comfortable for sitting on the low walls of the planters.

            “So,” Simon asked of Seoc.  “What is this busy day we have ahead of us?”

            “Vampire Lady visited me this morning.”  Seoc unconsciously touched the fang marks that she had left on his neck the previous evening.

            “Moriba?”  Seymour’s voice was still a bit raspy.  “And you were alright with that?”

            “I nearly shat myself frae fear.  Anyway, though, she crept in while I was the only one awake an’ told me that we need ta mak’ a talisman for Henry.”

            “A talisman?”

            “Somethin’ that’ll keep the Worm oot o’ his head, y’ ken.  She said somethin’ aboot a scripted shield, or somethin’ o’ the sort.  A written protective charm.”

            “We could ask Alasdair about it,” Seymour suggested.  “I’m sure he’ll know.”

            “I’m sure he’ll know,” Fiona agreed.  “But I doubt he’ll tell us.”

            “I think he’ll tell me.  For whatever reason, he seems to have taken a liking to me, but I don’t know why.”

            Simon smiled grimly.  “It’s because you’re so damned charismatic.”

            “Am I?”  Seymour furrowed his brows.  “You’re the second person to tell me that, but I don’t understand how I am.”

            “Why do you think everyone loves you?”

            “Not everyone loves me.”  He nodded toward Fiona.  “I’m fairly certain that she doesn’t.”

            She glanced over at him.  “You set off my psychopath detectors, merman.”

            “Rezyn,” Seoc exclaimed.  “He is no’ a psychopath, Fiona!”

            “What proof ha’ you, Seocan?”

            “He has emotions, right?”

            “He could be a good actor.”

            “Hold on a moment, bitch.”  Seymour folded his arms and glared at her.  “Was I the one waving around a knife and threatening to kill your little brother?  No.  That was your stupid, precious little crush.”

            “He is no’ my—!”

            “Oh?  Wherefore then, milady, dost thou blush at every mention of his fucking name?!”

            “It is no’ his fault that he snapped, merman!  You betrayed him!”

            “I did not.”

            “You cheated on him!”

            “But I didn’t.” Seymour winced and clutched his stomach with one hand, covering his mouth with the other.  He breathed deeply for a moment before resuming his earlier posture.  “It can’t count as cheating if there was no relationship to begin with.  And even if it does, then he is as guilty as I am, am I wrong?”

            Seoc placed a concerned hand upon Seymour’s shoulder, shooting a look of exasperation at his sister.  “Fiona, it’s really enough trouble nursing him back ta health as it is.  I dinna need you ta get him so worked up that he makes himself sick again.”

            “Seocan, jus’ listen ta yerself!  How can you know if you can trust him?”

            “He has no’ given me any reason no’ ta trust him.”

            “Weel, Seocan, you dinna ha’ a very good record o’ knowin’ who’s trustworthy, do you?”

            “I would no’ put it that way.”

            Simon scuffed his bare foot pointedly in the brown grass.  “What were you saying a minute ago, Seymour?” he asked loudly.  “I think you were on to something.”

            Seymour grimaced.  “Er…I’ve forgotten.”

            “Asking Alasdair about the shield thingy.”

            “Oh, right.  What about it?”

            “I have a better idea.”

            “And what would that be?”

            Simon smiled.  “Don’t ask Alasdair.  Ask Henry.”

The End

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