Love for the Cold-Blooded (35 page)

Nick stayed, and in the morning, Pat made scrambled eggs with onions, tomatoes and rosemary. It was the fanciest dish he could do, and Nick gave him top marks for it before kissing him up against the kitchenette cupboard.

All in the wrist, baby.

Chapter Fourteen

Home is where the serpents are.

T
he front door was not locked, the entire house airy and light, curtains thrown open to let in the bright winter sun. It was still a bit dusty, with most of Pat’s steps scaring up fluffy little balls of dust, but then Dad had only just arrived back home, and had a lot to do.

The enticing scent of charcoal and grilling food lured Pat to the living room, where Zen and Cea were lounging with beers in hand, watching Dad and Hell wrestle with the ancient, rusty grill out on the patio.

“Sucks being the oldest, huh,” Pat commented. A moment later, Dad had looked up and spotted him, and then he barreled inside to sweep Pat up in a bear hug that made him laugh, even as it squeezed all the air out of his lungs.

“Patpat!” Dad tried to pick him up and whirl him around as though he were still a little boy, but gave up with a pained-sounding ooff before ever getting Pat off the ground. “Kiddo, you’re really heavy these days. I’m so glad to see you.”

“You too, Dad. It’s been ages.”

Dad was tanned an even, deep brown that looked odd and unfamiliar on him, although it wasn’t a bad look. It did go well with his pale eyes, and even brought out the gray at his temples. When he grinned, his teeth flashed more, too. “Now that you’re all here, I might as well come out with my big announcement. It’s not like you haven’t been waiting for this for long enough.”

Dad slung an arm around Pat’s shoulder and reeled in Hell (who’d followed Dad inside at a more dignified pace) with his free arm, squeezing her close in a hearty way that she would never have tolerated from anyone else. Except maybe Pat… and Cea and Zen, of course.

Cea and Zen sat up straight on the couch as Dad beamed at all of them in turn. “Your mother has assumed her new skin and woken from her slumber renewed and glorious. Her powers have redoubled, as have her majesty and cunning. My children, Serpentissima rises in terrible strength and glory! Soon, she will assume her rightful place, and the world will tremble before her in awe and terror.”

The grill hissed and popped into the breathless dramatic pause after this announcement. Dad cut the portentous silence short in favor of making sure the tofu burgers didn’t burn.

Yeah… pretty much exactly what Pat had expected. His sisters were equally unsurprised, but considerably more enthusiastic, and Pat soon wandered away from their discussion and over to the serpent statue in the middle of the living room. He’d thought he’d glimpsed a living snake curled up on the pedestal earlier, and he’d been right — there it was, slender body gleaming like emeralds and gold.

When Pat bent down and held out a hand, the snake lifted its head lazily and slid closer, flickering its tongue against his fingertips affectionately. The touch was too light and quick to be felt as even the tiniest of tickles.

By the time they sat down to dinner, Pat had succeeded in coaxing the snake to curl around his neck, head and tail tucked cozily into his shirt. He petted it absently with one hand as he spooned some of Hell’s famous pasta salad on his plate, feeling honored at its trust. He’d always liked snakes, obviously, and they’d always liked him. He’d never been allowed to play with them before, though. He’d been too young, and his mother had worried that he’d be careless and hurt them unintentionally.

When he looked up from gently stroking the snake’s back, Cea was smiling at him. He wasn’t sure what that was about but smiled back on general principles, and took a piece of bread before passing on the basket.

“When will Mom’s ship arrive?” Hell sounded a little worried. “You know that Sir Toby is still in the middle of his bid for dominion over the city, right, Dad? We were delayed by uncontrollable circumstances, but while we have fallen behind schedule, we remain unbowed and undefeated. As Sir Toby’s right hand, I cannot in good conscience take part in Mom’s campaign in any capacity.”

“Don’t worry, my Hellion, your mom isn’t going to start while Sir Toby’s still active. We’re going to stagger our efforts for maximum effect. It wouldn’t do to split media or public attention — or the superhero response, for that matter.”

“Striking while the heroes are distracted because of someone else’s bid for dominion would be neither fair nor fun,”
Pat’s mother had always said, sharp fangs glinting poisonously in the dark edges of her grin.
“We want them all to be there so we can defeat them with no question of who is truly superior, don’t we.”

As he spread garlic butter on his slice of baguette, Pat reflected that this thing he had with Nick now would probably end up being super awkward, what with his mom making her big comeback and all. Not that this changed Pat’s mind about pursuing it (and Nick) just as hard as he could, for as long as Nick would let him.

Well, no sense in counting your chicks before they’re devoured. Okay, that didn’t really fit, but whatever. Pat would have to wait and see, was the point. Not much he could do at this stage.

“Of course, all of you will now be part of Serpentissima’s campaign. Last time she ascended, you were still too young, but things are entirely different now.” Dad didn’t have fangs like Mom, but he gave the snake grin a good shot, anyway. “Helena, Boadicea and Zenobia — you will be Serpentissima’s trusted lieutenants. We think a trio of right hands, so to speak, will be an invaluable asset. You’ve all more than shown your mettle these recent years, and there is no doubt whatsoever in our minds that you will master whatever challenge is thrown your way and strike terror into the hearts of our enemies.”

Pat’s sisters beamed, lit up with happiness and pride. Pat had to suppress the urge to applaud. Then he stopped doing that and did applaud, even throwing in a little whoop and fist pump combo.

Dad looked a little worried when he turned to Pat, catching Pat’s gaze earnestly the way he did when he wanted you to know he was completely sincere. “Patrick, you and I will provide the vital aesthetic that Serpentissima’s campaign requires. I cannot stress enough how important this role is. We can both be proud to fill it. It’s a basic and integral — nay, essential — element of Serpentissima’s branding, and has been from the beginning.”

“Sure, Dad. It’s cool.” Hey, Pat had known this was coming, and he really didn’t mind. “I have no problems being a Serpent Slut.”

Serpentissima had always been one of those challengers who kept scantily clad members of the appropriate gender by her side. It made for a properly impressive visual tableau, and boosted media coverage besides. Plus, Pat wasn’t qualified to be a right hand, his recent rise through the ranks of Sir Toby’s campaign notwithstanding. He was still firmly at minion level, and would only have slowed his sisters down while they were, say, disabling and reprogramming security networks, hacking into the hoagie communication system, or leading minions into conflict in a strategically and tactically sound manner. Hell, Cea and Zen did that kind of stuff practically in their sleep, while Pat was hopeless at it even wide awake.

Whatever. None of his sisters could rebuild an aqueduct or plan a park. There was nothing wrong with being a Serpent Slut — Dad had been one too. That was how he’d met Pat’s mother in the first place.

Pat wasn’t worried about being a Serpent Slut, it was time that was the issue. He had exams coming up, and if this ascendancy lasted as long as the last one, Pat had no idea when he’d be able to get back to studying. There was no point to voicing these concerns to anyone but Mom, though. Dad couldn’t change the plan, and his sisters would just tell him to suck it up and lose a semester or six. Hell would, anyway, and even Cea and Zen would probably agree, now that it was Mom who was making a bid for power rather than just any challenger.

Dad ruffled Pat’s hair fondly. “You’ve always been such a sweet and good-natured boy, Patpat. Alright, kids, who wants to try a home-made veggie sausage spiced with the secret herbs of the jungle’s dark and vengeful heart? I can throw some on the grill with the next round of tofu burgers.”

Needless to say, everyone wanted to try the jungle’s dark and vengeful heart. It tasted amazing, just like everything else. Pat stuffed himself until he could hardly move, and didn’t wonder how Nick would like Dad’s cooking more than once or twice.

For dessert, Pat brought out the hazelnut and white chocolate cake he’d made because Dad and Cea loved hazelnuts and Zen and Hell had a thing for white chocolate. In all truth, he was a little nervous; his baking skills were still evolving. It worked out well, though. Zen contemplated the lopsided cake briefly before cutting herself one thin slice from the fluffy end and one from the compact one, declaring it a cunning composition of consistencies. Good marketing made all the difference. Turned out the cake tasted pretty great, too. Sir Toby had the best recipes.

“I’ll go first, shall I?” Dad paused to take another bite of cunningly composed cake. “This is really interesting, Patpat. You’ll have to tell me how you get the cake to rise diagonally. But as for the interesting thing I have done this week: Most of my time was spent traveling through the jungle, of course, and then there was the flight here. But I did air out the old lair by the river, set up some heating lamps, and bring in the contractors to make the necessary alterations. Tomorrow I’m going to mow the lawn and prune the trees, and after that I’ll cook some stews and casseroles to put in the freezer. We’ll be glad of them when we’re busy gaining dominion over the world, and can’t find time to cook.”

Great, so they were still doing the ‘one interesting thing I did this week’ thing, and Dad was still an abject failure at it. That wasn’t one interesting thing but about a dozen, plus some plans for the future thrown in for extra credit.

“I helped Sir Toby find a new power source to replace the Crystal of Power, which was stolen by Bitterfly,” Hell said, unprompted. “I located —”

“Butterfly!”

Hell broke off to stare at him. Everyone else was staring at him, too. Pat made a ‘what?’ grimace at his sisters, making sure to cross his eyes for emphasis. “She’s called Butterfly, dudes. Like, I talked to her the other day, and she’s cool. Kick-ass wings, and she’s a total drag-down dirty brawler, which you gotta admit is a neat contrast with that floaty ethereal image she’s got going on. Anyway, the whole Bitterfly thing? That was a mix-up. Which isn’t that surprising when you think about it. Who’d want to be called Bitterfly?”

Pat had told Sir Toby about his adventure at the Nymph, of course, although he’d glossed over some bits slightly — he didn’t think a dignified older gentleman like Sir Toby really needed to hear about the groping. Plus, that whole thing where Pat was careless and got zapped just got in the way of the tale’s message, which was that Silver Paladin had taken Butterfly into custody and gained possession of the Crystal. But Pat had definitely mentioned that Butterfly had never wanted to be called Bitterfly, so there was no excuse for Hell to keep using the wrong name.

“I found a new power source for Sir Toby,” Hell amended, giving Pat the utterly unimpressed look that only older sisters could ever master. “It’s called the Battery of Bounty, and we’ve nearly completed the necessary adjustments to the MCR that it necessitates.”

It was Cea’s turn, but she only shrugged, breaking off a bit of cake. “I’ve been coding a database for the challenger network. Nothing too exciting, really.”

“I set up some spare false identities, bank accounts and shadow companies for all of us, just in case,” Zen reported, and winked at Pat. “You never know when that kind of thing will come in handy.”

Now it was Pat’s turn, and he still didn’t know what to say. As was his usual modus operandi when in doubt, he opened his mouth and blurted out the first thing that occurred to him. “I’m working on a paper on socio-spatial changes which is super cool. But even more interesting is that I went to the opera the other night and got back together with my… boyfriend.”

Pat hesitated over the word ‘boyfriend’, because really, he wasn’t certain that it fit. But what else was he going to call Nick? Ex-employer and accidental hook-up? That sounded all wrong, for all that it was technically accurate. Friend? Well, yeah, that worked except for the part where Pat wanted to sex him up, and do totally sappy shit with him besides, like making him tell him about the things he thought were awesome about Pat and listen to all of Nick’s favorite albums (except for freaking Ghost Matter), and go on dates to frat parties and the opera and a bunch of other places. Have a bunch of silly anniversaries. That kind of thing.

Lover? Well. Maybe someday — someday soon. But not just yet.

The snake around Pat’s neck wriggled restively and tried to slide down one sleeve of his shirt. He caught it carefully and set it on the table, where it picked a curious, winding way in between the dishes and silverware. Everyone was staring at Pat again when he looked back up.

“What?” he said.

“Your boyfriend?” said Dad, carefully.

Oh. Right. Pat probably should have led into that a bit, shouldn’t he.

Dad’s face was carefully blank in studied parental neutrality. Pat couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.

He looked a plea for assistance at Hell, Cea and Zen, but none of them seemed about to jump in. Zen did widen her eyes at him meaningfully, but that wasn’t much help, considering that Pat had no clue what she was trying to tell him.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Pat said at last. “I probably shouldn’t call him my boyfriend yet. I mean, we haven’t talked about it. We’ll definitely be getting to the boyfriend stage at some point, though. What kind of measuring criteria are there for boyfriendhood anyway? I figure, a lot of heavy shit went down and he’s still around, and he asked me out on an opera date and got all stressed about whether I like fancy restaurants in the right way or something freaky like that —”

“Pat.” Dad might have been the only person in Pat’s life who could unerringly head off a swell of babbling before it was too late. “This is the person you mentioned on the phone, the one you weren’t sure about yet?”