Connections

[Oriena]

Oriena's grip snapped out and caught the hand which rose to touch her cheek. The skin glowed from her mother’s slap, still stinging faintly. Pain was their province, but not right now, and the affection was equally unwelcome. Her eyes flashed a silenced temper, but not a doused one. The curt action would cut him, and it was meant to. But it only said no, not fuck off, and when he glanced at her like he was waiting for fucking permission she only rolled her eyes. He looked as chastened as a kicked puppy already, which was no sport at all. Given the abrupt nature of his arrival and the faintly pathetic edge to him now she realised something was wrong. But Oriena was not a woman whose first thoughts were comfort, and especially not when he trod so carelessly into a place held closest to the heart she so often denied she had. She said nothing, and it was near as he’d get to acceptance.

She followed them in.

“It’s just superstition,” she answered sharply in her mother’s stead. Dezhda spoke English. The domovoi didn’t. And the last thing Oriena wanted to invite was a conversation about how monsters were real to mess with her mother’s already fragile mind.

The apartment was small, consisting mostly of a living space attached to the kitchen. Dated cupboards, a dining table with four chairs. Everything was worn, but today at least it was clean. Cold winter light filtered from the windows: the snow was coming down hard, now. Dezhda grumbled to herself, still in Russian. Eccentricities aside, she seemed lucid, but Ori could already see the gears turning in her head. Rather than let her work herself up, she pressed her into a chair, murmured in her ear – assurances she’d take care of it. Then she flicked the kettle on and began sorting tea.

“American,” Dezdha observed. She didn’t sound particularly impressed. She was looking at Nox with a shrewd sort of attention, and did so for a moment longer before gesturing to one of the chairs.

“This is Nox,” Oriena said. Her jaw was tight, and she didn’t look up. It wasn’t anger anymore, just forbearance.