Fantasyland 03 Fantastical (27 page)

“Yeah, sure, totally,” Dave told me. “We
have an ad in the paper but we’ve been getting temps and they,
like, totally suck so, abso-freaking-lutely. Can’t wait to have you
back but you get healthy first, hear?”

My boss rocked.

“Thanks, Dave.”

“Good to hear your voice, Cora. Sucks you
had an accident but glad you’re gonna be okay.”

“Thanks.”

“Later, Cora.”

“Bye, Dave.”

I hit the off button.

Then I stared at the phone.

Then I started giggling, this, I knew, was
definitely hysteria.

Then I did more laundry, folded clothes,
tidied them away and put clean sheets on the bed.

Then I did another round of phone calls to
my friends, none of whom, again, picked up.

After that, I started freaking out.

And after that, I started pacing, waiting
for Tor to return and trying not to panic.

And now, it was after eight, he left just
after nine thirty, it was raining and he wasn’t home.

He was probably in an emergency room, every
bone in his beautiful body broken, having been hit by a bus.

Sure he was a dick and an asshole who ripped
my heart out and stomped on it, but when I was new to his world, he
took care of me. Yes, there was a curse that started and the small
fact he thought I was his wife that made him take care of me, but
he did.

He killed rabbits for me.

And I let him go out and be hit by a
bus.

Shit!

The door opened and he walked through, hair
wet, clothes drenched and plastered to him, looking hot.

Not thinking, I ran to him, grabbed his
shirt in my fists, pressed to his wet body and tipped my head back
to look at him as his arms slid around me.

“Thank
God
you’re home,” I
breathed.

Tor stared into my face.

Then he smiled.

Only You

After Tor smiled at me, his eyes moved over
my face then over my head then they scanned my living room. Then
his smile faded, his expression went decidedly ominous, his gaze
dropped back to me and he growled, “What are you doing out of
bed?”

I didn’t have time for Tor’s ominous look.
There was a shitload of money in my TV cabinet, none of my friends
were talking to me, Cora had hooked up with my world’s Noctorno and
we had a date to have dinner with my freaking parents tomorrow
night. I had to stay on target.

“Where have you been?” I asked, my voice
pitched high, my fingers still curled into his wet shirt.

“Out in your world,” he answered and before
I could say more, he did. “You were right, love, it’s
colorless.”

“I know, but –”

“Gray. So bloody wet. And it’s loud.”

“I know, listen –”

“And grimy,” he cut me off again, “so much
filth, even the air doesn’t taste good.”

“Tor,
I know
, but –”

“And so many bloody people, all in a hurry,
all impatient, gods, hideous.”

“Tor!” I shouted.

“What?” he asked.

“We need to talk, we have problems,” I
informed him and his brows drew slightly together as his arms
curled me protectively closer.

“What problems?”

I opened my mouth to speak and didn’t know
where to start. So I asked, “Have you eaten?”

“No,” he replied.

I pulled away, ordering, “Change out of
those wet clothes, I’ll make you a bologna sandwich and we’ll
talk.”

“A what?”

That’s when I lost it.

“Just change out of your clothes!” I
cried.

The instant I finished my last word, his
hand cupped my jaw and he bent to put his face in mine. “I’ll
change, Cora, calm down. Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out. Right?”
he said softly.

I looked in his eyes, sucked in breath and
nodded, hating that his quiet, powerful strength could calm me but
having to admit that it could.

His hand dropped away and he sauntered into
my bedroom.

I dashed into the kitchen.

I was toasting bread and frying bologna when
he walked in wearing another, more faded pair of jeans (that were,
incidentally, even hotter on him than the others) and a white, long
sleeved tee that was tighter than the other one and seeing as I’d
never seen him in anything but black or, this morning, navy blue,
its brightness against his tanned, olive-toned skin looked so good,
it struck me momentarily speechless.

I pulled it together when his eyes dropped
to the frying pan and he asked, “What, by the gods, is
that?
”

“Bologna,” I answered, he looked at me, I
knew my answer meant nothing to him so I explained, “It’s a kind of
meat.”

“It’s round,” he observed with barely
concealed distaste.

“Uh… yes.”

“Meat is not round,” he declared.

Well, he was mostly right.

“Can we not talk about bologna?” I asked, he
held my eyes for a second then he crossed his arms on his wide
chest and leaned a hip against the counter which I took as an
affirmative.

I flipped the bologna, snatched the toast
out when it popped up and started talking.

“I think Cora is in trouble. I found a big
stash of money in my TV cabinet. A
lot
of it, Tor. Too much
to earn in two months in any legal way. I found out she’s playing
poker and I think that’s how she’s getting it.”

I squirted mustard on the bread and turned
my head to look at him.

“Poker?” he asked.

“It’s a card game. Gambling.”

His brows drew together and he clarified, “A
game of chance for money?”

I nodded.

His lips thinned.

Oh boy.

“What?” I asked.

“Cora has a gift. Most would use it for
good. I could see she would not.”

That didn’t sound good.

“What gift?” I asked.

“She excels with numbers.”

Oh dear. That could mean Cora was counting
cards. Cora was playing poker and counting cards.

Shit!

“This isn’t good,” I muttered, grabbing a
slice of American cheese and unwrapping it from its plastic.

“What’s that?” Tor asked and I looked at him
to see his eyes on the cheese.

“American cheese.”

“And that clear sheet you’re removing?”

“Plastic wrap.”

His hand came out and he took the plastic
from me. I slapped the cheese on one of the pieces of bologna and
went for another slice as he rubbed the plastic between his
fingers.

“Extraordinary,” he murmured.

“It doesn’t biodegrade,” I informed him, his
eyes came to me, brows up and I slapped the second slice of cheese
on another piece of bologna and continued. “Biodegrade, meaning
break down. Return to nature. It never goes away. It’s manmade.
It’s part of the reason this world is so… colorless.”

He looked at the plastic and then set it
aside.

Acutely aware in a way I’d never been before
of the waste I was creating, I opened another slice and slapped it
on the last piece of bologna. Gathering the pieces of plastic, I
took them to the garbage thinking I was never going to buy American
cheese again and then I decided to take us back to target.

“If Cora’s gambling, and counting cards,
that wouldn’t be good if someone suspects. But we have another
problem,” I told him.

“And that would be?” he asked as I went back
to the frying pan, turned off the burner and used a spatula to
slide the pieces of bologna on the bread.

“I had a visitor today,” I told him. “The
Cora of your world somehow managed to hook up with the Noctorno of
this world. They’re together. The clothes you’re wearing are his.
He’s the one who told me about the poker. It seems while you’ve
been carrying on with me, she’s been carrying on with him.”

The air in the room suddenly changed and it
was not a good change. It was also not a bad change.

It was a
very
bad change.

I turned my head to look at his face and I
instantly realized my mistake.

He’d been in love with her. Maybe, by the
look on his face, he still was. The news that his wife was cheating
on him, regardless that he’d flagrantly cheated on her, was not
going down very well.

Still, I felt for him and whispered, “Tor
–”

“He visited today?” he asked in a soft,
dangerous voice.

“Uh… yes.”

“He was here?”

“Um… yes,” I breathed for his expression nor
tone had changed.

“With you?”

Uh-oh.

“Uh…”

“With you, Cora?” he pushed.

“Yes, of course, we… talked.”

“And you know they, as you put it… hooked
up?”

“Uh…”

“How do you know this?”

Oh boy.

“Tor –”

“How do you know this?”

I wasn’t going to get out of it. So I
answered, “He kind of… hugged me and, uh… kissed me.” I watched
Tor’s face turn to stone and finished lamely, “Twice.”

The air in the room changed again, it got
heavier. So heavy, it was hard to breathe.

“He touched you?” he whispered.

“He surprised me,” I said quickly. “I had
to, uh –”

“Put his mouth on you?”

“Tor –”

His eyes narrowed. “
Twice?
”

“Um –”

Suddenly I was across the kitchen, my back
to the wall and Tor was in my space, his hands on my neck, his
thumbs in my jaw forcing it up so his eyes could lock on mine.

“He does not touch you again,” Tor
growled.

“Tor, he doesn’t know what’s going on. I had
to –”

His fingers tensed and his face came to
within an inch of mine. “He does not touch you again.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Repeat it,” he commanded harshly.

“He does not touch me again.” I kept
whispering.

“I will deal with him.”

What?

“What?” I asked. “How?”

“I don’t know but I will.
You
do not
deal with this man. This man does not touch you. He does not see
you –”

I wrapped my fingers around his wrists and
interrupted, “Tor, he can’t see
you
either. You both look
exactly alike!”

“Precisely,” he clipped. “You’re in love
with
me
and I’ll not give this…
other
bloody
me
an opportunity to muddle your head.”

There it was. He wasn’t jealous and hurt
about Cora cheating on him. He didn’t care about that at all.

He was thinking about me.

God, I hated it that he could still be
sweet, protective and possessive, all of which I liked when I was
trying to convince myself I hated him.

“Tor!” I cried. “He’s not going to –”

“Cora, we’re not discussing this.”

“This is insane! If he sees you, he’ll
freak! You can’t –”

“Leave him to me,” he ordered.

“Tor, seriously –”

His fingers tensed again and he growled low,
“Cora, I said, leave him to me.”

I glared at him, my mind conjuring the
vision of a Noctorno to Noctorno faceoff and just how freaking
weird that would be.

Then I snapped, “Oh, all right!”

He relaxed but his hands brought my face up
the inch it needed so he could brush his lips against mine.

My lips tingled.

God, I liked it when he did that.

“Stop kissing me,” I whispered, staring into
his eyes.

“No chance of that, love,” he whispered back
then let go and walked to his plate. “Is this finished?” he asked,
pointing to his sandwich.

I stood where he left me, glaring at him.
Then I stomped to the bag of Cheetos.

“Not yet,” I stated, shook out some Cheetos
on the plate next to the sandwich, dropped the bag on the counter,
rounded him and got him a can of Coke from the fridge. Then I
picked up the plate and offered it and the Coke to him. “Now it’s
done.”

He was staring at the plate and before he
had to ask, I answered.

“Cheetos, they’re kind of, cheese flavored
snacks.”

He took the plate and can and his eyes came
to me. “The only thing I recognize is the bread. The rest is
clearly not natural.”

He was right about that.

“We’ll go to a grocery store tomorrow. Now
you’re eating processed food because the selection isn’t all that
hot at the corner store.”

“You went to the market?”

“Yes.”

His face turned slightly ominous again.
“Cora, I told you to rest.”

“I know you did Tor!” I snapped impatiently.
“But I couldn’t. My house was a mess. My bathroom a pit. My sheets
dirty. And I had to figure out what Cora had done with two months
of my life. I couldn’t lie in bed and rest. I tried. My mind
wouldn’t let me. I had to get things sorted so I sorted them. I
survived. I’m breathing. So now, will you do me a favor and just
bloody
eat?”

He stared at me. Then he grinned.

Then he noted, “My wife likes order.”

“I’m not your wife,” I shot back.

His grin turned to a smile as he turned to
the door and muttered, “You will be.”

I looked at the ceiling.

Bloody hell.

Then I followed him to see he was moving to
the round, four-seater dining room table I had in the corner.

“What are you doing?” I asked, he stopped
and turned to me.

“Preparing to eat,” he answered.

“I don’t eat at the table,” I informed him.
“No one in America eats at the table unless it’s Thanksgiving,
Christmas, a birthday or they’re weird.”

He looked at the table in a way that
nonverbally said he felt it was strange I owned a set of furniture
that I would use only three days of the year (this, a look from a
man who had
three
entire dining
rooms
) then he looked
at me. “Where do you eat?”

“On the sofa in front of the TV,” I replied,
walked to the sofa and, no other way to put it, collapsed mainly
because I needed to. I was exhausted and my body was beginning to
ache again.

He followed, sat next to me, looked about
him and then lifted his bare feet up to the coffee table and put
his plate on his lap. I took the can from him, he watched as I
popped the tab, his brows going up at the hiss then his lips
twitched. He took it back, sipped at it, swallowed, shook his head,
set it on my side table and commenced eating.