CHAPTER 75: 75: THE STRANGER RETURNS XVII

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"Oh no," Fizz said, eyes huge with theatrical innocence. "What could I possibly think? Two lips attempting a tongue shake... Two mouths playing chicken. The air calling for a referee."

Sera found the shred of steel that had survived the blush. "Fizz."

He spun, fork lifted again as if it could serve as a baton. "Please schedule your scandal after I finish my pie. I can only handle one intense experience per room."

"Stop," John said. He reached out, caught the small creature with one hand, and pressed his fingers across Fizz’s mouth. "Enough man."

Fizz’s words compressed into muffled syllables that still somehow managed to carry sarcasm. "Mmmf. Mmm. Mff. Umma."

John looked at Sera, and the apology came easily because it was the only thing that could stand upright in the room. "I am sorry. I did not mean to put you in a position that could harm your reputation. I do not want gossip to put its hands on you. Forgive me."

Sera, cheeks still bright, pressed her lips together and then made herself breathe out. "It was a moment. That is all. It will not grow teeth unless we feed it." She stood and smoothed the robe with a quick practical stroke that looked like courage wearing domestic clothing. "I will go to the side room and dry my hair before the air decides to make me cold."

"Thank you," John said, which did not make sense as a reply, yet somehow did.

She left with her head up and her steps steady. The curtain swayed once and settled.

John released Fizz’s mouth and stepped into the front ward, closing the office door behind them with more care than the moment deserved. He stood beneath the forge’s sign ’Fizz Holdings’ and let the night air cool his face.

Fizz floated in front of him, rubbing his cheeks with both paws as if anyone had been rough. Then he darted forward and bit John’s hand just hard enough to register protest.

"Ow," John said mildly. "It hurts, Fizz, stop biting my hand." He let go of his grip from Fizz’s mouth.

Fizz launched upward to the rafters, well out of arm’s reach, and began to sing in a scandalized falsetto the village had never heard before.

"Oh romance on a bench so neat. Oh almost an incomplete kiss. Oh babies scheduled late next spring. Oh my master who forgot his wings (here wings meant Fizz himself)."

"Stop," John said.

Fizz went louder, because of course he did. "He is a man he thinks of lips. He lets his tiny fur eclipse. He does not think of loyal paws. He does not think of friendship laws."

"Fizz," John said, trying not to smile because the night did not need new sins.

Fizz swung on an imaginary chandelier. "Betrayal by master. Abandonment with pastry. I come with pie and find a tragedy. Tongue is trying a handshake that means coming off a baby."

"Fizz," John tried again, softer now and more amused than a dignified person should be. "I will let you make the forge flag like you want."

Fizz froze mid melody, ears perked, pupils huge. "With my face on it."

"Yes, we will do what you want," John said.

Fizz hung there another second, considering whether to be bought by art or not, then gave in with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I accept this bribe in the name of culture and worshipping opportunity."

He drifted back down and collapsed onto John’s lap like a warm, sulky scarf ball. He wriggled until he found an angle he liked and then settled, the glow around him dimming to a kind, sleepy halo.

"Listen," he muttered, already half gone to dreams and half refusing to admit it. "You like girls. This is obvious now. I will protect you from girls. I will save you from their hair and their eyes and their excellent smells. You are my master. You need me. If the world sends you admirers, I will become a very confusing decoy. I can wear a hat. I can learn a twirl. I can insist you are engaged to me and chase them to run."

John put a hand gently on Fizz’s back. "No one is running."

"They will when they see my looks," Fizz mumbled. "I will save you from distractions until you are strong enough to be distracted. This is my vow. Do not argue. I am an expert."

"I would not dare," John said.

Fizz yawned, long and squeaky, and tucked his face into the crook of John’s arm. "If a thief comes, wake me. I will bite his ankle and then sing a ballad about his mistakes. If no thief comes, I will dream of flags with my cute face on it."

"Okay, I will wake you, until then sleep well." John said, and some hard corner of him that expected the worst softened for a moment at the sight of a small friend asleep in his lap.

Inside the office, Sera sat alone on the bench they had nearly turned into a trouble. She pressed her hands to her face and spoke into her palms in a voice only the wood could hear.

"Fool. Fool. How could you..."

She let her hands fall and stared at the ledger, at the patient lines and numbers, at the shape of a life being built one measured mark at a time. She closed her eyes and could still feel the heat where their hands had touched. She scowled at the feeling because it refused to be sensible. She scolded herself because scolding was a skill she had been hired to bring into rooms that needed it. She also smiled despite herself because the truth of desire is that it does not apologize to jobs.

"You are a priestess," she told the empty air quietly. "You cannot touch a man." She paused and amended with honesty. "You should not. You almost forgot that. Do not forget it again." She touched her hair and found it nearly dry. "Do not forget that either."

She gathered herself, stood, and adjusted the robe. She blew out the lamp halfway and left the door to the side room ajar so she could hear if the latch at the front moved. She walked to the curtain and checked the tub, touched the surface like a blessing, and then turned away before she thought of foreheads touching. She let the night cool her skin and decided to forgive herself in the morning when her head had sharper edges again.

Outside, the street held the same long quiet. No thief tested the latch. No spy crept under the fence. The dust settled in the lane. A moth bumped the shutter once and thought better of it. Far off, a dog barked and then remembered who it belonged to and stopped.

John leaned back against the doorframe with Fizz snoring in miniature against his ribs, and watched the empty street as if the emptiness itself were a thing he could inventory. His mind went to the servant, who will they pay for finding out the truth. It went to the road ahead where Sera’s cloaked protector would wait for orders and twist them into leashes. It went to the white house on the hill where his name had never been spoken and where it would be spoken someday in a narrow, frightened voice.

He let the anger that wanted to be a bonfire reduce to a coal. Coals last. They wait. They do not waste their heat on the wrong night.

Gael opened the side door a crack and peered into the ward. "We saved you a slice," he said in a whisper that could have convinced an ox to sleep. "If Lord Fizz does not eat it in his dreams."

"I will eat it later," John said.

"Mind is full," Gael observed, like a man noting weather. "Good. Minds that are empty at midnight are a worry."

"How is the back," John asked.

"Quiet," Gael said. "Too quiet is a thing only men who have fought behind walls say. For the rest of us, quiet is quiet. I am grateful for it."

"Me too," John said.

Gael nodded once and eased the door shut. The click sounded like a promise.

Fizz shifted and mumbled in his sleep. "Do not trust onions with faces. They cry lies." Then he settled again, heavier now, his trust absolute, his ridiculous songs folded into dreams where they could do no harm.

Time walked the last long stretch toward dawn. The forge cooled another degree and then decided not to move further. The night air turned a clean edge. The stars arranged themselves into meanings only sailors and fools could read. John stayed where he was, not because the door needed him, but because his life did.

When color at the shutters thinned to the palest gray, he looked down at the small weight dozing on him and spoke just loud enough for the sleeping to hear.

"New day," he said.

Fizz did not wake. He made a sound that might one day be a cheer. The village took the first breath of morning. Soon a new arc will start.

(Volume one ends.)

(End of Chapter Five.)