Flynt was mostly quiet on the way up to the penthouse. He
did hum and bob a bit in the elevator, dancing to some music in his head that
always seemed to be there, but Holly was so used to this particular antic by
now that it was simply white noise to her, and did not intrude on her
brooding. It took a little more energy
than she was willing to admit, to keep the presence of Ivy from the others.
Which, she supposed, was why she has succumbed to her anxiety at the gathering.
She had wanted to lose herself in her everday tasks, which included sitting in
on some of the local bible studies and discussion groups. She was determined to
understand the Human Condition, as her betters described it; their wanton need
for conflict and hypocrisy. Christianity seemed to be a good place to begin, as
even their fellow humans pointed them out as one of the most hypocriful groups
that there were. But apparently, the
energy that she had lost to the battle of keeping Ivy hidden has cost her, and
when faced with that hypocrisy, full on, she had buckled, feeling trapped,
attacked, and persecuted. Not to mention unwelcome, by a flock whom had
professed their want to get more new faces, younger faces, in the church, and
keep them there. When Ivy had hear this statement, she had simply scoffed and
declared, “Ya. Right. Good luck with that!” and fallen silent again.
Her status as a councillor to local Big Brothers and Sisters
groups had been her shoe in. No one in the mundane world knew her for a Fey,
nor, for that matter, as Fey Royalty, now several steps less removed from the
throne. It was refreshing, but she also knew it couldn’t last forever. Fey
courts were Out enough these days that the media was bound to find out sooner
or later. Not that she expected any Fey to go running to the Mortal Press Core.
However, there were enough mundane, or those with muddied lineage, that the
breach in etiquette was bound to happen, eventually.
However, she was adored by enough of those same people, that
her good favour may be enough to keep them from trying to curry favour with the
Press.
The doors opened, and Holly obediently waited for Flynt to
give the all clear before stepping into her penthouse apartment. She had grown
up watching the Guard clear rooms for her relatives, but she had never had to
get used to that, herself, and it was taking some time to get used to. At first,
it had rankled. She shouldn’t have to wait for permission to enter her own
damned apartment! However, Flynt had a way of disarming her temper, assuring
her that it was not a power trip on his part, but instead, a deadly honour. His
would be the first nose out of the door, his body the first target for any
possible threat. When he put it that way, it was difficult to resent him for
it.
She watched him, poised with the alert tension of a feline,
ready to slam the emergency door close button at the first hint of danger, but
looking completely relaxed to an untrained observer. Flynt came back into
sight, nodding tersely, and as she stepped out of the compartment, she watched
him visibly relax. The most difficult part of his job was done for the day.
Now, it was just glorified babysitting. She had always thought that it must be
those guards which had earned punishment of some sort who earned the Body Guard
details, but she was slowly beginning to understand that it was in fact one of
the greatest honours bestowed upon the Guard. They took their jobs seriously,
and many of the best guards had lost their lives the day of the massacre.
“I’m gonna shower, then soak in the tub for a while. Feel
free to put on the game or whatever,” she offered as she toed out of her boots,
and hung her jacket in the closet. She still felt taut as a piano wire, and
badly wanted the solitude of her clawfoot tub. Flynt nodded and flipped the TV
on, punching in the number for his favourite sports channel, and heading for
the kitchen, rifling in the cupboards and fridge. She paid him no heed, headed
for the master bedroom for her bathrobe, a book, and then on to the on suite.
She left the door between the bathroom and the hallway open a crack, Flynt’s
compromise to not sticking his head in every few minutes to check on her. She
still checked the locks on the large windows, out of habit, knowing he would
have done the same. She also reinforced the runes on the panes of glass, using
a small ceremonial knife that she kept for the occasion to pierce her skin,
pressing her own blood to the glass as she murmured the words of the ward.
Blood was a precious commodity in magic, and very powerful. Some would think
the blood of a royal too precious for suck a spell, but they hadn’t been in the
room to see half of their blood kin fall to the slaughter of a coup d’état.
She sucked the wound until it closed, another gift of her
Fey heritage, and then stripped out of her clothes, dumping them in the hamper
and stepping into the shower. She moaned aloud as the hot water sluiced over
her skin, the tension slowly melting from her tense muscles and taut sinew. She huddled into herself as the water flowed
over her, taking with it much of the stress of the day, as well as the stench
of humanity. She would never get over the smells. The noxious fumes, the chemicals
in everything, in the body products, the clothes, the food, the drinks, the
air…. She luxuriated in her UV treated, naturally softened water. She reached
for her hand made bath products and stripped her hair of the layer of Human
Grime with citrus and herb scented shampoos and conditioners, her skin, with a
rejuvenating sugar scrub, tinged with black pepper and mandarin. When she
finally felt pure again, she turned off the water, and crossed to the sunken
tub. While she was in the shower, Flynt had been busy. On a tray next to the
tub were a large glass of red wine, and a selection of nibbles from her
kitchen. He had even gone so far as to light her meditation candles and turn on
her CD player. There was a time that she would have rankled at the intrusion,
but she was too bone weary to care today, and besides, as he kept reminding
her, if she would simply allow a body servant, or even and hand maiden, then he
wouldn’t have to faun over her. His words.
As things stood, she simply said a silent prayer of thanksgiving and
stepped into the tub, turning on the faucet, and laying back to enjoy the feel
of the water slowly immersing her it it’s kind embrace. She could hear the
faint sound of the game wafting down the hall through the open door, and she
had to admit that it was comforting to have another body in the apartment. Even
with Ivy occasionally making herself known in the recesses of her mind, it was
lonely without her sibling.
