She prized one of his hands
off his clutched head and turned it over, then swiftly drew the
blade across his palm, laying it open to the muscle.
She hadn't been sure that she'd be capable of doing that, but it
was easier than she'd thought. She had nothing to worry
about. She was capable of that and more.
#
They climbed into bed together at the same time for the first time since
they'd come home, like a domesticated couple, and Mimi dug under her
pillow and set something down with a tin *tink* on the bedstand, a sound
too tinny to be the hunting knife. Alan squinted. It was the robot, the
one he'd given her, the pretty thing with the Dutch Master craquelure up
its tuna-can skirts.
"He's beautiful," she said. "Like you." She wrapped her wings around him
tightly, soft fur softer than any down comforter, and pressed her
dimpled knees into the hollows of his legs, snuggling in.
He cried like a baby once the pain in his hand set in. She
pointed the knifepoint at his face, close enough to stab him if
need be. "I won't kill you if you don't scream," she said. "But
I will be taking one joint of one toe and one joint of one
finger tonight. Just so you know."
He tried not to fall asleep, tried to stay awake and savor that feeling
of her pressed against him, of her breath on the nape of his neck, of
the enfolded engulfment of her wings, but he couldn't keep his eyes
open.
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