It broke Iris’s heart to see Khazmine so upset. The Augment averted her eyes in shame, staring at the floor while she dropped the camouflage of the veiled lady from the funeral. This was Khazmine as her most authentic, alien self, yet she looked so familiar to Iris in that moment.
“I would never throw you away, Khaz.” Iris comforted. “Did you really think that just because I wasn’t the one who called you here, you weren’t going to be welcome in our home?”
“Yes, I'm afraid I did.” Khazmine admitted solemnly while tugging on her ill-fitting shirt. “You would have no reason to help me, especially after I failed to save Amaranth.”
“I know it wasn’t your fault Ama got sick.” Iris consoled. “It was a coincidence, or genetics, or maybe even dumb luck, Khaz. Things just work out like that sometimes. It’s unfortunate that I have whatever it is too, but at least it isn’t contagious.”
“How long have your symptoms been bothering you?” Khazmine asked.
“A few years now.” Iris admitted. “Though I’ve probably been like this my whole life, if I’m honest. The nausea and headaches have gotten noticeably worse since mom died, and I didn’t keep track of it or anything before then.”
“You could have many more years ahead of you. After all, my Summoner lasted at least forty-some odd years.” Khazmine tried to find a positive spin to lift Iris’s spirits, even if she knew better, deep down. “And you’ll have us to help you in the meantime. I’m not giving up, so I hope you’ll bear with us until you fully recover.”
“Well, you certainly have me on my toes most days.” Iris huffed after pulling a tense-lipped smile. “I about had a heart attack when Zay did that thing earlier.”
“Please don’t say that—” Khazmine shuddered.
“I know, I know. But seriously, I hope you will be a little more forthcoming with me in the future.” Iris snuck her hand out from Khazmine’s and ruffled her disheveled hair away from her eyes. “Please don’t keep secrets from me anymore, okay?”
Khazmine was caught in a troublesome bind. If she were to promise Iris and renege on her pledge, she would likely be cast out of the apartment for lying. That, or she could commit to a life of honesty and rule-abiding, but that would put everyone in danger of starvation or worse from lack of funds. There was a third option, however, that skirted the lines between the letter of the law and its spirit, which held far more appeal than the others.
“I will endeavor to answer all of your questions truthfully, mistress.” Khazmine affirmed with great sincerity and an air of mischief. “You may ask me whatever you like.”
I simply won’t be too specific or generous with the answers. As for earning money, I’m sure there are other ways than what I’d been doing…
“Sounds great. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Iris offered a soft pat on Khazmine’s shoulder, then stood up slowly from the bed to smooth out the rumpled covers as Khazmine followed suit. “The same thing goes for the boys. If you have troubles, come to me first, and no more secrets, please.”
“Acknowledged. Though you should probably inform them when we leave here.” Khazmine folded the tattered throw and laid it delicately at the foot of the bed. “I’m sure they are both nervous and wondering how to apologize.”
“Sure thing.” Iris righted the last of the pillows and fluffed their covers. “And Khaz?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t tell either of them about my illness.” Iris appealed weakly. “I don’t want them to worry about it. There’s nothing they can do, and it would stress them out.”
“Understood.” Khazmine nodded. “I will comply with your wishes.”
Byxx had heard enough from his lonely post in the hallway. He clenched both hands so tightly that his long, black fingernails threatened to pierce his magenta palms. He stalked out of the hallway and fled to the bathroom to wait for the ladies to emerge. Byxx waited until Iris and Khazmine had left the bedroom before pretending to have been in the restroom for the duration of their chat.
All three roommates were huddled in the living room, discussing some of the highlights about secret keeping and being forthcoming with their problems. Zayzann sat attentively on the floor and was the first to see Byxx arrive from the hallway.
“Did I miss anything?” Byxx asked, though he already knew far more than the Paxoram about what was really going on.
“Yes, I was bringing Zayzann up to speed about expectations around the apartment.” Iris explained, filling Byxx in on details he’d “missed”. “…Which is why I’d like to have a night to myself to adjust to this new, uh, talent of yours.”
“What? No, please!” Zayzann croaked. “I am sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I meant no harm. Please reconsider, Iris.”
“It’s just for one night, Zay.” Iris consoled. “I need time, so please—”
Zayzann’s feathers puffed out on end and his palms moistened with sweat. Iris didn't understand, she couldn’t understand what being kicked out of a nest meant to a Paxoram. Without realizing it, this single decision set off a chain reaction in Zayzann that would change the dynamic of their relationship. But for now, all he could do was admit defeat and pretend that all was well.
Late that night, the three roommates were cooped up in the living room to sleep, with each of them struggling to survive the storm in their own way. The rains lasted all night long, having pounded the windows ferociously, and almost drowning out the writhing and wailing of the weary Paxoram.
Khazmine had lost patience and left around midnight, after several hours of listening to Zayzann’s ghastly night terrors. Byxx was not so fortunate that he could leave, and spent the miserable hours with mounds of linens over his head, begging the gods old and new for a moment’s peace.
By morning, the rains showed no signs of letting up, and the living room was in shambles from everyone’s struggles last night. Zayzann was curled up on the floor with his feet tied together with the sleeves of the athletic hoodie. Byxx got up from his ragged heap and trudged to the bathroom to clean his fresh wounds. A quick knock on the door, and greeting from Iris, and he was permitted to enter.
“Thank you.” Byxx sidled his gigantic body into the bathroom and set down a small leather pouch on the counter. “I just need the mirror for a minute, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Wait, Byxx, what happened?” Iris gasped as she spied a series of painful looking gashes that ran up and down his forearms. “Did you guys fight last night?”
“No, it’s not like that.” Byxx tapped a palm full of beige powder into his wounds, using the mirror to calculate where to add it to areas he couldn’t easily see. “Your bed warmer has some nasty nightmares, did you know that? Poor bugger was thrashing about all night. He got me a few times with his feet, see?”
Iris tensed upon seeing the slices taken out of Byxx’s arms. She had no idea that Zayzann had such horrible nightmares. He’d been so calm in the queen-sized bed that Iris would have never known about his troubles.
“I finally got him tied down a couple hours ago, and he spent the rest of the night whimpering in his sleep.” Byxx shook his head. “You wanted us to be straight with you, and there it is, with no sugar coating or bandying about. Now please, please, would you take him back? I can’t do this every night, or I’ll lose my mind.”
“All right, he can come back. I don’t see much of a way around it.” Iris relented while clipping the last strand of her hair in place. “I need to head out to catch the dawn bus. Will you let him know when he wakes up, please?”
“Sure thing.” Byxx sighed as the powder foamed and burbled in the tattered flesh. “And Iris? I’m sorry about keeping all of this from you, truly.”
A warm, gentle smile from Iris sent waves of tranquility over Byxx. She had a way of saying so much to him without a uttering a word, and he was grateful for her forgiveness. After the healing powder finally fizzled out, he heard Iris open the hand-me-down umbrella in the entryway and disappear into the downpour.
The view from the corner office window was as dreary and oppressive as it was yesterday, as Mr. Cavendish stared onto the half-flooded streets below. He caught his flushed reflection in the glass, and teetered back to his leather sectional for relief. His head pounded rhythmically in time with his heartbeat, drowning out the sounds of the ticking clock on his freshly-painted wall.
Alden never did get a chance to properly dry off yesterday, what with all of the delivery issues and inventory problems they’d had. It was more than likely that he’d caught a cold, which was worsening as the early morning dragged on. Alden’s throat was dry and scratchy, and his tongue rasped the roof of his ragged mouth. Before too long, a strained, powerful coughing fit overtook him.
He doubled over at the severity of his wheezing cough. Alden hadn’t been this sick in ages, and the timing couldn’t be worse for an unexpected illness. He’d already received a message from Javier that he would be absent and on sick leave, so there wasn’t anyone else who could fill in for him, were he to rest at home. Another episode of painful coughing overwhelmed him, broadcasting sounds of distress through the halls of GC&S.
When his coughing finally subsided, he overheard the timid footfalls of a familiar presence outside his office door. It was still quite early, so he hadn’t expected anyone to arrive yet, but there she was. A gentle knock on his half-closed door confirmed it.
“Mr. Cavendish, sir?” Iris leaned into the office, brandishing her folded umbrella and faux leather bag. “Are you all right?”
“What?” Alden croaked. His hoarse voice crackled and burned when he tried to speak plainly. “What was that?”
“I asked if you were okay.” Iris repeated with tented brows and a warm tone. “You sound awful.”
“It’s nothing.” Alden deflected, but Iris was unrelenting in her concerned stare. “Well, I started feeling a little off and now I have this headache, sore throat, and a nasty cough that won't go away. Just a cold."
“Have you taken anything for it, sir?"
"No?” Alden replied without pretense, as he didn’t have the energy to put up a strong front any longer. “I don't keep anything for that at the office, and the kit in the breakroom is notoriously out of medicine, so, no, not really."
"Do you think you have a fever?" Iris asked as she drew closer to his luxurious sectional. "May I check?"
"Uh, sure.” Alden’s shoulders rose at Iris’s advance. “Go ahead."
Iris moved close enough for Alden to catch a fleeting whiff of her perfume. He stiffened abruptly when she placed a frigid hand against his forehead, then ran it further down his cheek. Her skin had a pleasing coolness that soothed the overheated Alden’s flushed face, making him temporarily forget his raspy cough. Their eyes met as Iris pulled her hand away from his beet-red face.
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