Holidays are Hell(115)

"Darling," he said, his endearment for her returned. His voice was raspy, pure male, and honed.

But his embrace wasn't as cold as she remembered, his breath not as septic sour, and though Zoe knew it was only because her senses were blunted with mortality, it made it easier to ignore the rot she knew lay ready to engulf her if not for the fragile membrane of his skin. Before she'd been able to scent out festering venom and bacteria, and at the end she'd even begun to expect infection, like she too was contaminated, even though she was super. But now she could anticipate nothing about him, including this unexpected welcome.

Realigning her thoughts—and Zoe was a pro at that—she let go of the knowledge that he could kill her with a swift snap of those gentle fingers, or crack her like a walnut between the lever of his strong arm and body, and turned into him instead. The sigh that flew from her body was one of relief, not fear. Her arms clung to him with gratitude, not entreaty, and she lifted her lips to his icy ones as she'd done countless times all those years past to utter her heartfelt lie.

"I knew you'd allow me to return."

He pulled away to study her face, taking in the changes since he'd last seen her—few, as she'd aged well—though he studied her eyes in particular.

No, not her eyes, she realized. His reflection in her glasses. Her thoughts as they materialized on his face. So she let memories wash over her, easy now that she was seeing and scenting and touching him again, and his features sharpened further. His brow grew in smooth, the whorls of his earlobes became delicate and defined. She thought she saw his eyes flash dark, but his expression brightened as the room did, degree by degree, until they were standing face to face in a room of reflected angles and light.

Have fun, Lindy had said, and now Zoe knew why. This was the one room in the house that had undergone a complete renovation, and it was why he hadn't needed to move. Here—in the place that'd once been the Tulpa's bedroom, where Zoe had lied time after time, and betrayed him the night she'd gone to kill his creator—he'd built a funhouse, full-sized mirrors to reflect a true picture of the inhabitant's intent. Reflect it upon, and for, him.

It explained why no one had accompanied her inside. It was harder for the Tulpa to solidify when multiple people projected their expectations upon him, and it was uncomfortable for him to exist under the weight of too many people's expectations at once—he'd actually feel himself mutating and changing under their conflicting emotions. So only the person he was most interested in reading could initially face him directly. Now that he had fully solidified the others could come in, pick up on it without risking influencing the image, or causing any embarrassing mutation. But she hoped they wouldn't. She had a better chance of convincing him to spare her life if they remained alone.

So they stood as a couple, reflected back on themselves in dozens of shapes, sizes and angles so that not an inch was omitted or hidden from his sight.

"You are the most clever man," she said, letting her realization play out on her face as she caught his eye through one of the mirrors and smiled seductively. "In addition to being the most handsome, of course." She whirled back toward him, intending to draw him closer again. "God, how I've missed you."

He caught her arms, stopping her short—again, gently—and held her in place. It was something Zoe had forgotten. He didn't move from one position to another. He glided. And that wasn't something she had to imagine. He had the ability all on his own. "Oh, I've missed you as well, Zoe," he said, smiling back.

She shut her eyes and held her breath as panic threatened to thread through her veins. She let him sense her uncertainty. It was only natural for her to question whether it'd been a good idea to come here, so she let him feel that hesitancy as well. When she opened her eyes again, he was staring over her shoulder at his mirrored self, waiting to see what emerged. But there was only the Tulpa as she'd always seen him, and she suddenly felt like she'd never been gone, or escaped him, at all. "Please, baby. You have to let me explain."

"Explain why you betrayed me?" he murmured, now that she'd spoken of it only.

"Explain how I managed not to," she replied, and willed him to believe her with eyes, voice. Her mind. He must have felt it because after a moment he appeared to soften.

"And is this a peace offering?" he asked, eyes flicking down to the cornucopia she still held.

A small smile lifted one corner of her mouth. "Merely a centerpiece for your holiday celebration. I remember how you enjoyed Thanksgiving."

He had. It was his favorite holy day.

"Then you plan on staying for dinner?"