Days of the Dead Book 3: The King's Ghost

Chapter 9: Fireflies

Kit
I think I am falling in love with him.
It was painful at first, but now it's just pretty. He's just pretty. Standing in the glow of the fluorescent lights. Explaining my actions to the police. Taking responsibility for me and providing financial compensation for my crimes.
Beautiful. Just beautiful. I want to kiss him with my eyes closed.
To start off he's tall, but not like 'ridiculous go and share your height' kind of tall. No, he's just right. And he's got this thick black hair. And I have only ever been into white guys, but he's got this soft, almost carmel colored skin that's all smooth and creamy except for where the white scars are.
It's the jawline that does it for me. Smooth and sharp. And he never stops fucking talking so you see it all the damn time. He's got cheekbones as well they're not high though and they're pillowed and soft. 
And I'm definitely going to kill him. But I think I'd like to kiss him first.
Eventually I do get up off the floor and he ushers me out to the car. I pick food off of myself before getting in, very petulantly. Like, I realize I caused that whole situation and he's acting like I'm five and he's picking me up after biting another kid. I did that by the way. Bit other kids. Like a lot; they quit letting me go back to school for a while.
"Do you feel better now?" Gideon asks, pleasantly, as he turns up the heat and fiddles with the radio.
"Why do you have that on?" I ask, tapping the speakers.
"The car has sounds, it's better for me to have the radio on," he says.
"The fuck's that supposed to mean?" I ask.
"I'm fucking autistic," he says, voice dipping a little.
"No, you're not," I frown.
"Okay, I'll tell several doctors you specifically said that."
"You're not autistic that's stupid," I mutter, putting my hand on the window.
"Again, I'll inform NYU that you came to that determination I'm sure they'll be very, very interested. Like they'll give you medals, it'll be beautiful," he says, pulling out of the parking lot.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"My day isn't it? Before you try to kill me?"
"Yeah."
"So we're going to a museum because I love museums and then we're going for a walk in the park," he says.
"Why do you like museums?" I ask, looking over at him.
"Because one day, years from now, all that's going to be left of any one of us, is going to be, just a piece of jewelry, or a fragment of a letter, or an urn. And it'll say by it 'owned by unknown man' and then some dates they guess at. And that's all that's going to be left. So we have to keep remembering them, just like we have to sing our songs, and tell our stories. Because even though the songs change, or the stories lose their meaning, it stops everyone who has ever told it before, from really dying. And so we all get to live forever," Gideon says, gently.
"God, how exhausting is it to be you?" I ask.
"What?" He frowns.
"You feel—some noble bullshit duty to everyone who has ever lived? All the time?"
"Yes—?"
"How do you get through the day? With the crushing obligation of every ancestor you've ever had looking down on you, that's disgusting, how can you even do it?" I ask.
"I live my best life possible, and have the most fun I can possibly have. So that if they're all watching they're cheering for me. And at least they know that in the time I had here on this earth, I had a marvelous time," he smiles.
"I don't think anyone's watching. I think we just stop," I say, fiddling with the radio.
"Okay."
"What's that mean?"
"Okay you're entitled to your opinion. We'll both find out eventually."
"What's this song? Is it new or something?" I ask, tapping the speakers.
"It's new to you. It's 'Kids in America'."
"I don't like it," I do.
"Okay, then change the station."
I don't.
We get to the museum not long before they close.
"It's the North Carolina Museum of Art, they have the largest museum outdoor park in the nation," Gideon is a natural tour guide. It's a big cement building, but there's like, park and woodland like behind it I guess. I take it that's what he's on about.
"Why do you even know that?" I ask.
"I wanted to be a museum curator when I was little, so I looked up every museum in the nation to pick which one I wanted to work for," he says, sticking his fist in his mouth.
"But instead you're a wizard," I say.
"No. Instead I write children's books."
"I've never heard of you."
"Well that's fine. You're not a child you don't have children, and you've been in a tomb," he mumbles, past his hand. He might say more to be perfectly honest.
"What are they about?" I ask.
"Heroes."
We go and check in or whatever to the museum. I don't know, buy tickets, I guess you call it with a museum?
Gideon promptly leads the way to a white, long hallway, lined with paintings. A couple of white statues sit at either end, stately and quiet.
"He's nice," I say, observing a statue of a naked man.
"Heracles," Gideon says, "Or Hercules, in the Roman tongue. A son of Zeus, later a god himself. Legend has it he guards the gates to Olympus."
"Do these thoughts just go through your head like this? Little fun trivia facts?"
"Oh, it's worse in my head you don't even know. This is just filtered," he says, looking at the statue reverently.
"He probably would beat us in with that club," I say.
"No, he was gay."
"You're fucking with me."
"Well, bi. He did marry women, but he also had relationships with men. Most Greeks heroes and gods did. Achilles, gay. Apollo, bi. Artemis, gay. Like, most of them, super gay if you really look at it," he says, happily just eating his fucking fist, "No, Heracles was a hero, he went on his quests for the gods and learned valuable lessons. He was also an Argonaut—okay, this is a funny story so you know who Jason and the Argonauts are—-?"
"No. Like no one knows that. I have no idea where you came from but like no, no one knows what you're talking about ever," I say.
"—so Jason led the Argonauts think Justice League for the Ancient Greeks, and anyway Heracles was a member for a time, but he was like the dad member of the group and kept trying to get them to be responsible and anyway they wound up leaving him on an island fighting a monster and sailing off and it's funny. I get you're not laughing, trust me it'll be funny later."
"You're so weird," I say, staring at him.
He shrugs, continuing to cram more of his stupid fist in his stupid mouth.
"Is that what we came here for? To stare at one statues of a Greek guy you find funny?" I ask.
He nods, fist in mouth.
"Take your damn hand out of your mouth," I say.
"Why?" Mumbling, past the fist.
"Just fucking do it," I sigh.
He does, slowly, wiping his spitty hand on his shirt and continuing to stare at the statue reverently.
I reach up and anchor and arm on his shoulder to help me up. I need it he's kind of tall. Then I try to kiss his lips. Operative word being try.
"What in the name of sexually-repressed anime antagonists is wrong with you?" He cries, leaping backward.
"Homophobe," I snarl.
"It's not the gay thing! Do I seem straight to you?"
"Oh really? Then why did you leap away?" I ask, face blushing angrily. I want to use magic so badly right now.
"Because you want to kill me——? That's a significant barrier to any relationship," Gideon scoffs, adjusting his sweatshirt.
"Well, maybe I wouldn't want to kill you, or anyone if someone gave me a good kiss. Just one good kiss. Pin me against the wall among your precious art. Kiss me until I can't think anymore, and then perhaps I'll be tame," I say, following him around the statue.
"No. That doesn't fix you. One good kiss doesn't turn you into a handsome prince that's not how this works. You have to be worthy of someone's love, it's not their job to fix you. And that is certainly not me," he says, keeping well away from me, like I have a disease.
"Well, I think it's worth the try. What's wrong with me?" I ask.
"Do you—want a list?"
"What's wrong with me that isn't wrong with you?"
"You're asking the question instead of just trying to become a better man," he says, walking away from me, tugging on his necklace instead of eating his fist.
"Don't walk away from me."
"The place is closing soon. We're going outside," he says, shaking his head a little.
"Fine," I pout, following him outside.
There are other people enjoying the park, but we break away from them.
Gideon goes a distance away from the main crowds to flop carelessly on a grassy mound. I guess it's a hill. Like a little hill? Not like a super involved tall hill but like a rise. Let's go with that. A grassy rise.
"Why not me?" I ask.
"For one thing you're much younger than me—,"
"I'm literally older than you."
"For another you want to kill me. Let's start there," he says, dryly.
"What? Like you're getting that many offers to be kissed?" I ask.
"Maybe I don't need or look for offers to be kissed. Also, I don't have to prove to you I'm wanted. I am happy," he says.
"That's why you're lying on a grassy knoll with me? Because you're happy?" I ask, "Or because you're as lonely as I am?"
"No, I'm pretty good. I honestly was worried about you," he says.
"Oh, nice, I'm a charity project. Well kiss me and do your volunteer hours for the week then," I say.
"Not how it works, Kit," he says, tipping his head back, "Do you see those?"
"What? The bugs?"
"Fireflies—look, aren't they pretty?" He asks, smiling, "I'd never seen them growing up. They're beautiful, aren't they?"
"I used to catch them, put them in jars in my room so they'd light up for a few days. They'd die and I'd put more in with the other bodies," I laugh a little, "My mother found out and made me throw it out."
"Hm," he says, "That's disgusting."
"Oh that's very nice, calling me disgusting."
"You want to kill me, Kit."
"I don't know why you're letting that get in the way of our relationship," I say, laying a hand on his chest.
"Kind of significant. Our time is almost up."
"Is it?" I ask, hopefully. I do want the magic back. "You're going to be exhausted." I sing it.
"I'm not worried," he says, smiling a little.
I reach out and tip up his glasses, then leave my fingers lingering on his smooth face.
"Take your hand back, please."
"No. Why? Thought you said you weren't straight."
"I'm not. Doesn't mean I want to kiss you right now," he says.
"Well, you'll have to remember what it feels like to die. For when we meet in hell," I say, bending down to kiss him again.
My magic comes surging back, and in such a rush I nearly falter. His does too, his eyes glowing hot white with his own, special, burning magic.
But he's weak. And I'm strong. I wrap tentacles of magic around him, pinning him to the ground, and then bend down to kiss his soft lips.
A bolt of pain shoots through my shoulder and I feel myself flying backward and into the ground. An arrow bolt is buried in my right shoulder and another snaps through my left wrist, pinning me down as I'm overwhelmed with burning blue magic.
"Having fun, Gid?" A boy, well young man really, but he's like a kid, sort of young man, wanders out of the dark. He's got ice white hair, and surprisingly pretty eyes. He also has a thick accent. I don't know what it is.
"Not remotely," Gideon says, standing up and taking the man's offered hand. The man pulls him up to his chest, and the two press their faces together, then kiss quickly.
On the lips.
Gideon smiles and kisses the man again. The other man puts his hand on the back of Gideon's head and pets his hair a little, before they part.
"Kit, this is a friend of mine, Oisin MacFionn," Gideon says, looking down at me and raising a hand lazily to keep me well pinned.
"Yes, I hear you weren't being very nice to my friend," Oisin says, fiddling with his bow.
"Because you see, while I couldn't use any magic, amulets work just fine, and Oisin and I have been friends for years now. We long since planned to summon each other if needed. I called to him the moment you got predatory inside the museum," Gideon says, holding up a woven like, circle thing, necklace pendant sort of thing.
"Yes, and I will put an arrow through any body part I choose, if you touch him again," Oisin says.
"Or anyone for that matter, you always need target practice, right mate?" Gideon asks, clapping the other man around the shoulders.
"Always. Now, you are going to take a nap," Oisin says, reaching out a hand, "And think about not being so creepy."
"Don't you dare—," I snarl. And I black out.