Chapter 4
“TURN UP, BITCHES,” Cat screeched, reaching over and flipping the knob on the radio. Obnoxious, poppy music filled the air and Jean considered the benefits of jumping out of the speeding car.
Laila laughed in the backseat beside him and nudged Jean with her elbow. “They are both absolutely horrible on aux. Truly, I don’t know how I put up with it.”
“Because you looove us,” Cat sang from the front, eyes catching Laila’s in the rearview. “And Jean loves us now, too. Right, Frenchie?”
“No. You are all idiots.”
“Close enough,” Cat said cheerfully.
Both Cat and Jeremy were wriggling in the front seat, singing off tune to the music on the radio. Jean was not sure how this was his reality, right now. This Saturday marked two weeks since staying with them. Kevin had called a couple days ago and told Jean to stay put, and if Jean was good at anything, it was following orders.
So, he was in a car listening to the screeching of two adults.
The car swung into a parking lot three torturous songs later. Trees hemmed them in on all sides, and other people were moving around the parking lot armed with large water bottles and sun visors. Everyone looked so normal and Jean felt almost briefly sick with it.
I own you, dog, Riko hissed in his ear, and I have no problems reminding you what that means–
Jean shoved that voice away, to the dark corner of his mind where everything else went.
Kevin had ordered him to stay put. Jean would stay put.
Even if every day here was torture, because it was a reminder of a life Jean could never have. A family he did not belong to.
“Here, Frenchie,” Cat tossed something into his lap. “You’re too pale. Put that on but be careful around the neck. Don’t fuck up my makeup.”
Jean stared down at the bright blue bottle of sunscreen in his hands. It was strange, these people that thought of little comforts like this for Jean. They could easily close the lid to his vessel and just tote the obsidian box along, not having to deal with things like sunscreen or protein bars for him. But they didn’t.
They started on the hike, Cat and Laila setting the pace a couple feet ahead. Jean watched the easy way they moved together, the soft intimacy of it, and felt another thought form in his head that he shoved away. A wish. A want.
He looked sideways at Jeremy next to him.
“I love this,” Jeremy said, tilting his head back. Long lashes fluttered close against his cheeks. “There really is nothing better than being outside. Here.”
Jean said nothing. He couldn’t. He fixed his gaze on the ground, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
“So, Jean.”
Jeremy’s tone was full of mischief, which immediately made Jean’s hackles rise. He knew what that tone meant. Jeremy was about to try and get information out of him– horrendous things like Jean’s favorite color, as if that mattered. And for the past week, Jean had been slipping. Giving into the information Jeremy wanted.
“As a chef, I’m very curious about your opinions of food.”
Jean huffed. “I am not a chef, soleil.”
“Whatever.” Jeremy waved a hand. “Tell me– if you were turned into a dessert, what would you be?”
Jean stared at Jeremy. Jeremy stared back.
“That is… ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously good.” Jeremy beamed. “Come on. Indulge me.”
“No.”
“Cat, Laila,” Jeremy called up. “If you were a dessert, what would you be?”
“Angel food cake, obviously,” Cat said over her shoulder. “Because I’m a fucking angel.”
“Yeah, right.” Laila snorted. “I drink blood, and so I’m pleading the fifth on this question.”
Jeremy and Cat booed her, before Jeremy turned to Jean with an expectant expression.
“No.”
“Ok, fine. What is your favorite dessert, then?” Jeremy raised a finger, expression about as threatening as a kitten. “You have to answer one or the other, Jean. Pick your poison.”
Jean rolled his eyes. They were all ridiculous, obnoxious fools.
And yet… Jean closed his eyes briefly, memories pressing against him like ghosts. Flour against his skin. Waves lapping against the shore. Heat from the oven. Citrus and sugar exploding against his tongue.
“Calisson,” he said, forcing his eyes back open.
“Calisson,” Jeremy repeated, the French dessert sounding clunky in his mouth. “I’ve never had that.”
Jean was not the type of person to offer I can make it for you. Even as his hands twitched at his sides, muscle memory kicking in.
No– Jean was not a person at all.
“I, personally, am a whore for ice cream,” Jeremy said. His words flowed over Jean– coffee with chocolate chips is my favorite, for obvious reasons– and Jean felt the ghosts around him ease. He wasn’t sure how Jeremy was so adept at that. It was unnerving.
Jean knew very well that good things could always be taken away.
It was at some point during Jeremy’s tirade about an assignment in his magical law class that Cat looked over her shoulder, hand entwined with Laila’s, and grinned.
“Someone is happy.”
Jean looked down at himself, confused, before he realized her stare was on Jeremy. Who was now glancing over his own shoulder, the tips of his ears red. Jean followed his gaze, stilling completely when he saw the carpet of flowers that trailed like a path everywhere Jeremy had stepped.
“Oops,” Jeremy said.
“I wonder what made you all–”
“Shut up, Cat,” Jeremy snapped, tone tighter than Jean had ever heard.
Jean ignored it all, crouching down and running a gentle finger over a flower. They were so delicate. If someone commanded him to, Jean could raze all of them with a single flare of his magic.
Riko would.
“Uh– Jean?” Jeremy asked, standing beside him.
“C'est beau,” Jean murmured, before shaking off the strange feeling building in his chest and standing up. Jeremy was looking at him, sheepish.
“I normally have better control.”
“Let’s go, lovebirds,” Laila called back. “We’re almost to the clearing.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were still pink. Jean resumed walking and tried not to think about what Laila had called them. Lovebirds. Impossible.
Property did not love.
Property was not loved.
It was used and used and used–
I am Jean Moreau, he reminded himself, a bit desperately. I will endure.
They entered a clearing and Jean felt the darkness inside of him roil again. It was all too beautiful. The sun was too bright. The grass was soft and lush and wildflowers dotted the expanse of it. Cat and Laila and Jeremy were smiles smiles smiles and Jean did not belong here.
His was a world of blood and darkness, and standing there in that clearing Jean had the sudden feeling that his body was not his own. That none of this was real, and soon, he would be opening his eyes and greeted by Riko’s leering face. An optimistic idiot like always, dog. Don’t you know your place–
“Frenchie?” Cat asked, and Jean blinked back into the clearing.
They sat on a blanket Laila had carried with her, and Cat pulled sandwiches and snacks out of her bag and scattered them across the blanket. Cat, Jeremy, and Laila talked for a bit, their voices swirling around Jean, but they never pushed him into a conversation. It was pitiful, that they had been able to notice something was wrong. Jean used to be better at this.
Lately, he had felt like he was flayed wide open.
The conversation turned to something just between Cat and Laila, and Jean watched as Jeremy’s palm trailed lightly over the grass. He plucked a couple of flowers with nimble fingers, doing something with them that Jean did not understand.
“Dandelions,” Jeremy said, “they mean strength. And transformation.”
Jean was entranced by the gentleness of Jeremy’s hands. The way that the yellow flowers seemed to brighten and bloom beneath his fingertips. It was stupid– Jean knew better than anyone that all hands could bruise, hurt.
And yet, he could not imagine that with Jeremy’s.
“--totally does. Jer. Jeremy,” Cat called, forcing both of their attention to the girls. “Remind me of that guy? The one with floppy hair and a big dick?”
“Cat,” Jeremy hissed.
Cat rolled her eyes. “It was Jeffery, wasn’t it? I’m pretty sure he’s in our class but Laila is saying I’m wrong.”
“I hate you,” Jeremy said. “But yes. It was Jeffery.”
“Knew it,” Cat crowed. She stuck her tongue out at Laila, who flicked her arm.
“He was cute. Too bad you’re a love ‘em and leave ‘em, type.”
Jeremy’s eyes flickered to Jean’s and then away.
“He also said the word females, so.”
“Gross,” Laila and Cat said at once. Cat shifted toward Jean. “Tell us, Frenchie. Are you part of the rainbow army?”
Jean blinked. “I do not know that phrase.”
“You know… the alphabet army. The queer coalition. The kings, queens, and everything-in-betweens.”
“Oh my god.” Laila slapped her forehead. “She’s asking if you like guys, Jean.”
“I–” Jean swallowed. “Both.”
“Bi baby, hell yeah!” Cat reached out her fist but eventually dropped it when all Jean did was stare at it. He did not understand that strange gesture.
“Tell us,” Cat waggled her eyebrows. “Was there time for any fun in that crazy cult–”
I’m going to have so much fun with you, princess. Teeth sinking into his neck. Hands against his skin. I will endure I will endure I will endure–
“--I mean, even crazy evil people have to blow off steam every once in a while–”
I’m loaning you out, dog. Behave. Ropes around his wrists. Tattoos flaring with magic, binding him to orders. Teeth. Teeth teeth teeth. Fifteen and afraid. Sixteen and afraid. I will endure. Long showers. Sleepless nights. Standing in front of a door, commands forcing him to raise his fist and knock–
“Cat.” Jeremy’s voice was like a whip. “Drop it.”
Cat’s mouth snapped shut and she looked at Jean with wide eyes. “I’m not– I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Jean wasn’t sure what was on his face, but he forced all those memories far, far away. He could still feel phantom hands on his skin, but Jean forced his expression to be impassive. He wished for the sweet oblivion of his vessel, but knew it was back at the house.
He wished for a more permanent oblivion.
“Jean,” Jeremy started.
“Don’t.”
Jeremy studied his face before lifting a shoulder, returning to the flowers in his hands. Jean focused on those, too. Stilted conversation started back up between Laila and Cat, but Jean ignored it. He breathed in. He breathed out.
He would endure.
Jean didn’t know how long it was before Jeremy glanced back up. He shifted forward slightly, a circle of flowers in his hands. His eyes were bluer than the sky above them, faint freckles dotting his cheeks.
“Can I?” Jeremy asked. Jeremy always asked.
Jean dipped his head in a nod, unsure what he was agreeing to. Jeremy shifted forward even more and Jean had a moment of Jeremy, only inches away from his face. Close enough to make out each individual eyelash and his slightly chapped lips, before he was pulling away and Jean felt a gentle weight settle on top of his head.
He reached up and felt the flowers beneath his fingertips.
“Strength and transformation,” Jeremy said.
Jean felt some of the darkness recede. It wouldn’t last. It never did. But Jean had… no one had ever made him something, before. It would break him, when this all ended. Jean could only hope that his next master commanded him to forget.