As he watched her go through the books on the shelf, he relaxed into his chair, lit a cigarette, and shut his eyes, listening to her move around the room in the careful way he expected from her. He wasn't sleeping but the sound of her pulse in this quiet dead place was lulling to him.
"My father isn't perfect but he taught me one thing at least, and that's that only weak men hurt women."
Shit. Fuck. Goddamnit. His eyes popped open and he sat up flicking the ash off his cigarette into the small ashtray on the desk. His feet falling to the floor as he sat upright so he could see her properly across the room.
"Lydia…" he sighed and flopped back into his chair. After a moment, he stubbed out the cigarette then moved around the desk to squat down before her, not touching but close enough that she could hopefully see him.
"I… I don't know what… fuck." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I know I don't deserve ya. An' I know that yer mad at me… an ya should be."
He wavered as the memory of her face when she was under him on the bed flashed through his mind.
"You're an idiot," she responded flatly once he was done talking, placated by his gentle appeasements but still ruffled and pissed and all kinds of cranky, "‒ and a bunch of other words it wouldn't be very nice to call you out loud but I'm thinking them very hard."
She hugged the book she had chosen to take to bed with her close to her chest, tucking her chin over the edge.
"My first date and you throw a hissy fit because you expected it to end with a wedding. What kind of insane bullshit‒"
Her nostrils flared, temper rising long enough for her to muster the strength to take her book and bonk him on the head. Not even that hard. It was a pretty heavy book.
"Stupid. Moron."
Two more bonks accompanied each insult.
"I was going to marry you, you jerk." She was done assaulting him for now, her delicate face twisted into what she probably thought was an ugly, nasty sneer. She looked like a heckled bunny rabbit. "You couldn't give me a week?"
There was one more bonk left in her.
"Dumb."
The first time she tapped him with the book he was surprised and ended up on his ass on the floor. He deserved the names she called him. Hell, he deserved far worse. He expected far worse, far more rage and punishment from her. He would gladly take a beating from his little wife with his own book from his own library‒ if it meant she was willing to get close enough to him to do it. He was also grateful she didn't press for reasons tonight. Neither of them had it in them for him to explain to her about his death and the events leading up to it, or his time in Hell.
No, he would gladly take being pummeled with a book to that. He was thankful again her sight was as bad as it was because when she said "bullshit" in that oh-so-serious way, he couldn't help grinning. Very glad she had limited sight. He schooled his voice once she was done with her disciplinary task.
"Alright, Bunny… " It was the first time since the wedding he used a nickname for her, "if yer done with that, I have the bed ready for ya, n' right now ya look deader than me."
He pulled the book from her grasp, not willing to touch her first. He stood and set the book on the desk as he moved for the door.
"I ain't lived here for some time," he snorted to himself, it had been decades, "an' I know the furniture is wherever I dropped it. If ya need it moved to make gettin' around easier just say somethin'."
Betelgeuse moved down the hall to the bedroom door pushing it open to wait for her.
Unfairly, she felt cold as he continued to go without guiding her, letting her find her own way the way she always had. She understood why he did‒ why he had to… but she still yearned to reach out, grab his hand and hold on as he walked away from her. Instead, she stayed behind, scurried back to the desk to grab back the book she had been using to beat him, and then made to follow after.
He didn't get to say whether or not she could read before bed.
The bedroom was large. He lingered while Lydia walked the perimeter, stopping midway to savor the warmth of the fireplace. His presence was close, a few feet behind her. She set the book down on the mantle for later and hugged her blanket closer. When she fell back into place, she was just that much closer to him. For a moment, their eyes met though he couldn't be sure if she was seeing him, and her lips parted as though she had something significant to say…
But then she returned attention to the fire, then finishing mapping out the edges of the room.
"Where's the bed?"
After she placed the book on the mantle, he tapped the cover, adding braille to the against the edge of the fire, he watched her, hands in his pockets. He couldn't wait to see her face when she realized what the bed actually was. He waited for her to map out the room. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of watching her float around new spaces. Especially by firelight.
"Where's the bed?"
"Middle of the room." He was grinning and took a step closer to where the large coffin stood. "It's got hard edges so be careful."
He leaned against the foot of the coffin made up like a bed. It was funny to him, considering how long he'd had this in his house and how long he owned the house itself, he had never actually slept in it. He couldn't think of a time he'd slept in this house but he'd slept more since he crawled into Lydia's bed than in his entire afterlife. He couldn't wait for her to realize what she would be resting in, and to see her in his coffin. It was again surreal. He was so pleased to have another being in, what up until now, had been solely his.
Nervous to step away from the wall but trusting enough, she took her careful steps away from a painting with the crisscrossing metal frame. Counting each one, she went into the unknown space with her arms floating out in front of her to catch the bed. It was cool and smooth to the touch, the top of it hard and arched over. Her brows furrowed in confusion. That didn't feel like it would be comfortable to sleep on at all.
"I don't get it… This can't be right… No, there's a trick to it…"
Determined to figure it out without asking, Lydia felt all over the strange, large object, searching for a latch of a hook or‒ there it was. On one end of a side and congruent on the opposite, she found twin buttons that when pushed simultaneously released the hood of the…
"This is a coffin!"
At first, she was thrilled by the novelty of it, pushing the heavy lid open with his help to run her hands indulgently all along the luxurious crushed velvet interior. However, the implications of sleeping in such a place were troubling. Worried, she felt first for her pulse, then heartbeat to double-check, and to make wholly certain she took several deep and tangible breaths.
"Beej?" Seemed safest to ask him just to make completely sure. "Am I dead?"
The look on her face was better than he hoped for. Even though she was tired and worn from the long evening, her face lit up. Then her face fell while she was leaning over the edge exploring the crushed velvet.
Betelgeuse watched her in confused silence as she checked for her vital signs. He moved closer trying to figure out why the sour scent of panic was coming from her suddenly.
"Beej? Am I dead?"
He almost laughed, but caught himself when he realized she was completely serious. Shit. He reached out hesitantly and cupped her cheek in his hand. His cool thumb caressed her warm pink cheek.
"Not at all, baby-girl."
He offered her a hand up into the coffin. Then carefully tucked her into the plush interior with several heavy blankets. He leaned over her all cozy inside the coffin.
"It's just a coffin. My coffin, but I love ya so Ima share it with ya." He moved back to the fire place to collect the book she'd insisted on bringing with her and placed it in the bedding next to her.
He strained up, hands in pockets. She did look good in his coffin.
He said he loved her again. She bit her lip on returning it, not quite ready to say it again so soon. Her heart was still raw, and besides, he knew she did. His coffin wasn't as large as her bed, but it was just as soft‒ softer even. Somehow, the plush interior lining enveloped her more, let her sink in deeper than her designer mattress.
Most people would probably feel claustrophobic to sleep in a coffin but Lydia had always been comforted by small, cramped spaces‒ closets and bathrooms and hallways, places where she knew where everything was‒ and this one wasn't even that cramped. It was roomy enough that if she was in a mood to let him, Betelgeuse could slip in beside her and they could snuggle up comfortably.
The request she had was strange, and she was embarrassed to ask but not that much. He was in a gratiating position with her right now and unlikely to make fun.
"Beej? Would you close the lid? Just please don't lock me in here…"
He frowned down at her for her request but reached across her for the lid. As he brought it down halfway and cautiously took her hand, and placed her fingers where the internal release for the lid was.
"Ya feel that? It's the release. When I bring the lid the rest o' the way down it's gonna click. That's the latch, I ain't gonna lock ya in."
First, she asks if she's dead, then she asks to be closed into the coffin. Morbid little thing. She wants to get a feel for it, apparently. He didn't have the heart or energy to tell her that besides sleeping she wasn't going to ever have a need for a coffin of her own. She was going to stay young and fresh and lush for eternity‒ and he'd done that to her.
"If you can't get the lid back up by yourself, shout. I'll be listenin'." He licked his lips and brought the lid of the coffin down with a resounding click.
Knowing she would be resting in his coffin was one thing. The sight of her being closed into his coffin as if for eternal rest was something completely else. He turned and leaned a hip against the side careful to not obstruct the lid and waited.
She appreciated that he didn't question her curious whims, and that he took the time to walk her through the latch and release system. Following his direction, she twisted the tiny hidden knob and an internal mechanism sprung, cracking the lid open an inch or two to where a sliver of firelight leaked in.
She didn't open it the rest of the way, instead slipping her hand out the opening in his general direction, palm open in offering.
"Thank you." She felt his take hers, shifting onto her side so that more of her arm could be pulled through the opening. For his efforts, she could concede an arm in lieu of a goodnight kiss or hug or‒ or what they should have been doing on their wedding night.
"Goodnight. We can figure things out tomorrow…"
He was lost in thought watching the fire when her little hand startled him. Funny that‒ morbid little mortal spooks Ghost with the Most.
Reflexively he took her hand, squeezing gently. She thanked him and he was glad she was tucked away in the coffin and couldn't tell how that affected him. Before, all he knew was he loved her and that he didn't want to get exorcised, or to be put back into his personal Hell. Now, he was aware of everything. She was thanking him… for what? For taking away her mortality? For abusing her? For not finishing raping her? Fuck.
Surprisingly the room didn't explode. Didn't even wiggle. He felt like he was suffocating, and his guts were writhing. But the house stayed quiet.
"Goodnight. We can figure things out tomorrow…"
"Night, babe," he leaned down to press a soft kiss to her knuckles, "love ya, sweets."
He made his way quietly and quickly from the bedroom. He made a stop in the library for the book Lydia had been trying in vain to read, and headed for the living room and his oversized chair.
Many hours later, while the girl was peacefully entombed in his crypt and the ghoul was slouched in a zombified state by the hearth, the entire home shuddered. Not much, just as if it had caught a sudden chill. The girl turned in the coffin, disturbed. The specter's eyes cracked open to find an intruder there but not a stranger.
This was not a social call for Juno. Like Lydia's closing of the lid, this was the scratching of a morbid itch that the caseworker simply could not resist.
"Told you so."
The smug statement hung in the air while Juno lit a Virginia slim and got comfortable "admiring" his decor.
"It's a good thing she's blind," she grimaced, taking in a vulgar renaissance painting on the wall. Someone somewhere probably thought it belonged in a museum but Juno knew better.
"Had to come see for myself. You get it."
Him. Married. Juno, right again. The whole setup was delicious. She couldn't have asked for more.
"I've gotta say, I'm impressed. Didn't think she would make it this long. Thought for sure the rush of getting all your powers back would fry your fucked up head completely and you'd just vaporize her. Guess that speck of her soul you get to hold on to gave you back enough humanity to not just... "
Her fingers splayed wide animatedly and she whisper-mimed an explosion before falling back into cackles.
"God, you're a piece o' shit. Raped her, right? Poor little blind girl? Loved you enough to give you blood willingly and kept saying your name no matter how fucked up you were to her? You've done some foul shit, Betel, really, but wow. I'm awed, truly. When they put you down in the hole this time, it'll be the last. Can't fuckin' wai‒"
"I'm not blind." Unbeknownst to them both, Lydia lingered in the shadow of an archway, watching the display contemptuously. "I'm ultra photosensitive."
After spending hours trying to get the information he required from that damned book, he put the fucking thing away. He forgot it was the type of book that only showed the reader specific things at specific times. You could read a page, turn to the next, go back for clarification and have the previous page be different, or blank. When he put Lydia to bed he was tired, and now he was exhausted, centuries of shit he pulled piling up on a renewed spark of conscience.
He was slumped low in his chair, ashtray full on the table next to him along with a half-empty bottle of some Netherworld gut rot he apparently had stashed in the kitchen. Tired of watching the flames, he was dozing off listening to his little wife's heartbeat down the hall.
"Told you so."
"Don't you know how ta fuckin' knock? I'm sure there's a form for it." He gripped the neck of the bottle next to him and spun it with loose fingers. There wasn't any real bite to his words like there normally would have been. He just couldn't muster the energy required.
"It's a good thing she's blind…"
"Juno, could ya keep yer fuckin' voice down?" He was rubbing his temples. "Goddamn nails on a fuckin' chalkboard."
"God, you're a piece o' shit. Raped her, right? Poor little blind girl that loved you enough to give you blood willingly and kept saying your name no matter how fucked up you were to her? You've done some foul shit, Betel, really, but wow. I'm awed, truly. When they put you down in the hole this time, it'll be the last. Can't fuckin' wai‒"
He stiffened and then sat up fully and turned to look at the old hag. She wasn't wrong. She hadn't been wrong when she called him to her office, and she wasn't technically wrong now. He pulled his own lit cigarette from nowhere and glared at the other ghost.
"I'd like to see them try and put me back down there," his voice was low and dangerous, eery electric energy charging the room.
"I'm not blind… I'm ultra photosensitive."
As soon as he heard her voice he was on his feet as if pulled by strings. How long had she been standing there? What had she heard Juno say? He deserved the dressing down Juno was giving him. He hated that the old hag was right, and she was right a lot. He didn't move towards her but he did clear his throat.
"The coffin lid didn't give ya trouble then, Bunny?" The look on Juno's face at the nickname made him want to hang himself again. "Did'ya sleep okay?"
He itched to go over to her but he wasn't sure she would welcome his touch, and he wasn't going to let that happen in front of Juno.
The sound of another woman was enough to pull Lydia cautiously quiet from the coffin, light as air steps carrying her down the hall to better eavesdrop.
She really detested when people brushed her off as "blind" the way this woman was doing like they even knew what they were talking about. Even worse was the way she talked about her like she knew her when Lydia was certain she had never before crossed paths with a cunt of this magnitude. Worse even than that was the way she spoke to Betelgeuse.
Fully slighted now, cranky that this was what had woken her from such a comfy, dark nest of sleep, Lydia floated through the room with all the grace of a spirit that had haunted the domain just as long, if not longer, than Betelgeuse. When the rotten edges of the strange woman's aura brushed hers, she gracefully side-stepped out of the way until she reached her destination. The entire walk, her chin was held high, shoulders straight and back, and it was easy to forget that she was the shortest person in the room by a landslide.
Upon reaching her husband, the girl made a show of sliding right into his lap, relaxing easily when his arms came to curl around her, her head tucked under his chin. This wasn't the plan. Lydia had not intended on returning to his embrace this quickly‒ but it was so nice, and that woman could not be allowed to talk to him like that and get away with it.
"Did'ya sleep okay?"
"Mm-hmm," she nuzzled up under his throat, savoring the embrace while she could. It was bittersweet. Ready to up the ante, Lydia pulled a daring move just then and pressed an openly intimate kiss to his jawbone. Then, tugging him down a few inches by his tie, she hushed purposely loud enough for their company to hear; "... but I missed you."
Unmistakable heat colored her voice.
"You really wore me out... but I think I'm up for a second round…"
There. That should be sufficient. The diva in her continued to steal the show as she "suddenly remembered" Juno's presence, sharply angling her face in the woman's general direction without even giving her the respect of a full-on acknowledgment.
"I don't know who you are, or what you're doing here… but my husband and I are attempting to enjoy our honeymoon and that would be much easier to accomplish without unwanted company, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave my house."
Lydia could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth, but they flowed so smoothly and coherently, she almost had herself convinced. A pregnant pause filled the air. Her brow arched, lips pursing, and she squeezed her husband closer, nonverbally displaying her ownership of him.
"I won't ask again."
The message was clear; get the fuck out or I sic my husband and all of his great, terrible power on you.
He was in a pleasant state of shock that she just climbed into his lap and snuggled in against him as if the last twenty-four hours hadn't happened. His arms trembled just enough for her to feel it as he wrapped them around her. There was another brief mental flash of her tear streaked face in that bed. His eyes fluttered shut at the brush of her lips along his jaw, pulling him back from that dark thought.
"...but I missed you."
He let out a pained sigh into her hair. His fingers slid up to comb through the sleep-induced tangles. He truly enjoyed the look on Juno's face at his little wife's words. He wasn't sure he had ever seen the hag this perplexed and angry at the same time and oh, how he had tried. He also wasn't sure when the last time anyone had spoken to the woman in such a way was.
"I won't ask again."
"Well, June-bug, ya heard the Missus." He grinned nastily and pressed a kiss into Lydia's hair, "Thanks fer stoppin' by an' lettin' me know m'wards have cracks."
His hand slid down to toy with the bottom hem of Lydia's nightgown as he nuzzled his lips against her hair, eyes locked on to his ex boss'. Juno looked like she was on the verge of a coronary and he was going to enjoy holding his little love while he could.
A long, tense silence filled the atmosphere while Betelgeuse and Juno stared each other down, the mortal girl flippant and dismissive between them. It ended with a feminine growl and a barely audible "fuck you, Betel" before she disappeared in a hiss of smoke. When Lydia could no longer feel that dingy gray aura tainting the space, she sighed, tension releasing.
The show was over. No more reason to keep pretending everything was fine other than their own weak dependency on one another. She allowed for just a few more beats of him holding her before shattering the illusion, scooting back and off of his lap until she was in her own seat next to him on the couch. Scowling, she pulled the blanket she'd dragged with her from the coffin closer around her shoulders.
"You should introduce her to Delia. They would be best friends."
Their problems were their problems. Such cruel interference from a stranger that early in the morning had left Lydia in a foul mood. Betelgeuse probably wasn't much better off. Thinking of him and his feelings, her scowl softened, a little hand crawling over to rest on his knee. He'd had a rough night, too.
"She's mean," Lydia offered simply to soften the blow of the opinions of this woman he obviously knew and had a history with. The details of their relationship were not something Lydia was curious to ask after. If she had it her way, this woman and her husband would never be in the same room ever again.
"... and she doesn't know what she's talking about. And it's none of her business anyway."
Suddenly exhausted again, Lydia deflated, letting go of his knee to curl back into her corner of the loveseat.
"You don't have any coffee around here, do you?"
Betelguese felt her absence from his lap like a punch. He knew it wasn't going to last but he'd been hopeful. Once she removed herself from his lap, he slumped down and stretched his legs out in front, watching her move to the other side of the couch and flicking ash from his cigarette.
"You should introduce her to Delia. They would be best friends."
A rattling laugh came from him roughly as he choked on the smoke in his lungs. He couldn't imagine those two in the same room. He did not look forward to when that happened but to see the look on Juno's face might just make it worth it. They both had voices that drove him up a wall and he knew that Juno would be irritated as fuck with the redheaded harpy.
"Red would give ole June-bug a run for her money." His joyful wheezy chuckle filling the high ceiling of the living room. "I can't wait 'til Red comes through. Juney'll have a fuckin' fit."
"... and she doesn't know what she's talking about, and it's none of her business anyway."
He was still chucking to himself imagining the chaos that Delia would bring with her to Juno's offices. Sobering up fairly quickly when her warm hand landed on his knee, and she was talking about Juno's dressing down.
"Ya know…" he scrubbed his face with his hands and relaxed back into the couch, "she isn't wrong. Shitty thing about June-bug is she's rarely completely wrong about anythin'. I do appreciate ya putin' her in her place though… I don't think I've ever seen that look on her face before." His voice held a trace of laughter with memory of Juno's face.
He flicked his cigarette butt into the fireplace, and allowed the flames to pull his attention again, glancing over at her when she asked about coffee. He waved a hand and a small table appeared in front of the couch set with full coffee service. Along with a tray laid out with fruits, cheeses, hardboiled eggs and biscuits with all the fixings.
"I got whatever ya want, Sweetheart." He leaned over and tapped on the table top to direct Lydia's attention to it.
She smelled the food and coffee before he even said anything, the tip of her nose twitching, attention already piqued in the proper direction. Pulling herself delicately to the edge of the couch, and with a plethora of candles to help her, she leaned in close to take in the bounty of food, all hot and steamy and fresh like it had just been carted out from another fancy French kitchen.
She started herself off with a cup of coffee, creamy and sweet just as she liked, then tore open a flaky, buttery biscuit to spread fresh raspberry preserves over. Polite to a fault, she made sure to give proper thanks prior to taking any sips or bites. After a few minutes of comfortable silence passed and the delicious warmth of sustenance hit her belly, Lydia finally addressed what he said before about their morning visitor.
"She is wrong."
Despite how cool and calm she was playing, the events of the previous night were heavy on her mind. How could they not be? Admittedly, Lydia didn't really know what she was talking about either when it came down to the logistics of how this all was supposed to work. She didn't know hardly any concrete facts about her husband or who he was as a person‒ but she knew his soul.
It was dark. It was ugly. It was evil‒ but. That was only part of him. A big, glaring, significant part, but it wasn't everything he was. He was also romantic, and thoughtful, and generous. Lydia didn't care if she was the only one who ever saw those traits. She was the only one who needed to.
This "Junebug" woman, whatever that was supposed to mean, had an ugly soul too. Where did she get off passing judgment? She was only there to be cruel and vindictive. Lydia didn't care to learn of any of her redeeming qualities. She already knew they didn't hold a candle to her husband's.
"Even if she's right…" Lydia conceded begrudgingly, still not completely over the way she was attacked the previous night and so able to acknowledge the merit in parts of what that woman had to say. "She's wrong. She is. I'm the only one here who gets to say so."
When she dug into the breakfast stuff he let his head rest all the way back, eyes closing as he listened to the small sounds of her eating. He liked this. He liked not being worried about being pulled away at any second. He liked being near her doing normal things. It was relaxing and calming. Before the wedding, things like this made him feel like he was going to crawl out of his own skin but now? It was comfortable and nice.
"She is wrong."
"Unfortunately, baby-cakes, she ain't. Not by half." He conjured another smoke up and had it perched between his lips, letting the smoke drift up and out his nostrils.
"Even if she's right…She's wrong. She is. I'm the only one here who gets to say so."
He sighed and opened his eyes looking down the length of the couch to her. Where she sat with a china cup clutched delicately in her small hands. He pulled himself upright and leaned towards her.
"About which part, Lydia? Hmmmmm? The part where I tricked ya into givin' me blood? Or the part where I tormented ya inta sayin' my name repeatedly? Or the part where…" He was just up from his spot on the couch and pacing the length of the living room, "I forced ya t'marry me? How about when…"
He went still again, his eyes clenched shut. The house vibrated slightly, the china on the table in front of her clinking together. Clenching his fists, the house stilled again.
"How about what almost happened in your parent's bed? Please, I'd love to know what part she was wrong about." He spat the last sentence out. He was angry again, and he sat down hard in his chair again, his face in his hands.
As he worked himself up, Lydia stilled, pained by the anguish he was clearly having a hard time dealing with.
"Please, I'd love to know what part Juno was wrong about."
Once more, but with more affection than frustration this time, Lydia was struck by what an idiot he was.
"Everything!"
They both gave her so little credit. It was true that Betelgeuse was much older and more manipulative than her but she wasn't some weak victim that things just happened to. She was there. She was here. She was an active participant.
"First of all, I'm not blind. I'm not dead, murdered, or raped, and I don't think I'm going to be anytime soon, thank you very much. I'll remind you again, dummy, that I was going to marry you anyway! I was just holding out for a couple more dates. You didn't have to force me, you're just stupid."
She didn't truly think he was all that dumb, but God he had made some incredibly poor decisions lately.
"You're not going anywhere, are you? You told her you weren't. I would be pretty pissed if you took off and left me here. You didn't 'trick me' into giving you blood, I gave it of my own free will because I didn't want anyone to call you away while we were on our date. Just because you're a jerk and you didn't tell me I wouldn't be able to put you away anymore doesn't make it a trick. It makes you smart."
She took an exasperated breath, then spared herself another sip of coffee.
"Give me a cigarette." As expected, he did, and she shook her head as she lit the cherry. "Ridiculous."
Why did she feel like she was sixteen going on sixty?
"Lastly," she punctuated and pointed across the room to the painting that Juno had derided. She knew which one it had to be. It took Lydia's breath away when she first pressed her face near enough to see the details, a meticulous account of a decrepit, sickly thin old man that looked like he had been dragged in off the street sucking the teat of a beautiful, young plump thing draped in sheer scarlet.
"That," she paused to suck deeply of the cigarette she really shouldn't have been allowed to have, "is a masterpiece and that woman wouldn't know art if it slapped her in the face. Best friends, I tell you."
He flinched when she went on the long list of things Juno was indeed wrong about.
"Ya can have all the dates ya want." He was sprawled in his chair now, "An' I didn't have the time to wait, Juno could have called me back at any time, 'specially after I killed the teacher. I ain't goin' back to where that would land me, babe."
He knew there was a list of things he needed to tell her. He was at a loss with where to start. He didn't figure the fact that he spent one-hundred-and-twenty-five years in what amounted to Hell was a good place to start. That would just lead him to having to explain why he was sent there in the first place. Nope, not happening. He wasn't sure how to bring up the parameters of their marriage to her either. Hadn't even bothered to tell her anything about the kind of ritual the wedding was or what it meant for her going forward. He was still trying to get the rules straight but the fucking book… that was going to take some time.
"You're not going anywhere, are you? You told her you weren't. I would be pretty pissed if you took off and left me here."
"No, Bunny. I ain't going nowhere."
That made him smile darkly. He would love to see them try and make him leave now. Because this beautiful creature had agreed to be his wife, he could never be summoned like that again. They would have to come and force him. He had amassed so much power over the centuries and they kept finding ways to bind it all away. But now all those bindings were gone. Including the blood spell he performed with Lydia. He couldn't feel her in his chest anymore, it was deeper than that.
When she requested a cigarette, he made a small pearlescent smoke box monogrammed with a stylized 'L' and matching antique lighter appear on the table. He marveled at how easily she manipulated the clasp on the box and smoothly operated the lighter. Another round wheezing chuckle was released when she pointed at the painting on the far wall.
"I'm glad ya like it, babe. We can start ya a collection." He sat up and rolled his shoulders. "Red'll make it here eventually n' I bet'ya Juney ends up bein' her caseworker. I should see if the Beauty Queen'll give me a call when Red does make it over, we can go watch."
Lydia puzzled at her husband's reference to someone else as a "beauty queen" but tried not to give it further thought. Just her luck, he might have been a lecher on top of everything else. This was the most they had spoken without falling into each other's arms since… ever. It was kind of nice. Still hurt though.
The cigarette case was lovely. Lydia traced the monogram with care, from the top loop of the "L" to the bottom. The way the light from the lantern caught on the luminescent surface kept her entranced until the cigarette burned out.
"I shouldn't smoke. You shouldn't encourage me... Thank you."
She sipped her coffee, and an awkward sort of silence fell. It was like they were back to square one and hadn't even kissed yet, nervous to touch each other by accident, unsure of the rules. He hadn't quite apologized with his words yet, but he had with his actions several times over. He was practically groveling. This was the nicest Lydia had ever seen him, aside from their date... and look how well that ended. Still, even then he had an impatient air about him that was lacking now. If anything, he looked like he just wanted to take a nap.
Lydia could relate. She sipped more coffee, then broke the silence again.
"I want you to know that..." What was the best way to put it? "I don't... I'm not mad at you. And I don't want you to beat yourself up. I know you are."
She was angry last night, and a little still this morning, but listening to that mean woman berate him had taken it all out of her. As an olive branch, offering him an opening to keep trying to repair what he had tarnished, she asked;
"Would you mind taking me on a tour of the rest of the house? I can do it by myself… but it's easier with a guide."