Finn

  I woke to the soft creak of a door opening, the faint sound pulling me from sleep. The first thing I noticed was the scent of lavender lingering in the air, followed closely by the quiet shuffle of footsteps down the hall.

  Rubbing a hand over my face, I sat up on the couch, the blanket I’d thrown over myself sliding to the floor. My muscles ached, a dull reminder of yesterday’s events, but my gaze was already drawn to the movement near the kitchen.

  Isla.

  She was wrapped in a fluffy blanket, its edges trailing behind her like a cape. Her hair was pulled up, giving her snakes room to stretch and move freely, and they were clearly taking advantage of it. They swayed gently, a few flicking their tongues toward the air, while others rested lazily against her head and shoulders.

  She moved with an easy rhythm, filling her electric kettle and starting it. The light streaming through the window caught the coppery glint in her hair and the subtle shimmer of her snakes’ scales. It was strangely beautiful—she was strangely beautiful.

  A soft smile tugged at my lips as I thought back to last night. I’d fallen asleep to the muffled sound of her voice carrying down the hall, punctuated by the occasional hiss. She’d been arguing with her snakes—actual, full-blown arguments—and it was both fascinating and a little ridiculous.

  She didn’t seem to notice me as I stood, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs, and crossed the room to lean against the kitchen doorway. “Morning,” I said, my voice still thick with sleep.

  Her head snapped up, her gaze landing on me with a mix of surprise and annoyance. “Morning,” she replied curtly, her hand tightening on the kettle handle.

  I gestured toward her snakes with a lazy wave of my hand. “So, uh…are you guys still fighting?”

  She froze for a second, her expression shifting to one of sharp indignation. “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “Hard not to when you’re having a full-on debate with your hair,” I said, grinning despite the sharp look she shot my way.

  Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned back to the stove, her movements stiff. “It’s not… They’re not… It’s none of your business.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “But it was interesting, listening to you talk to them. You sounded… I don’t know. Like they’re more than just—”

  “Snakes?” she interrupted, her tone clipped.

  “Yeah,” I said, ignoring the edge in her voice. “Like they’re part of you, but also separate. Like they have their own personalities or something.”

  She hesitated, her shoulders tensing under the weight of his observation. “They do,” she admitted quietly, not meeting my gaze. “They’ve always been…there. A part of me, but not me.”

  I tilted my head, watching her carefully. “And last night? You were arguing with Freya, right?”

  Her lips twitched, but not in a smile. “She’s stubborn,” she muttered.

  “So are you,” I pointed out.

  That earned me a glare, but it lacked real heat. “She overstepped. She should’ve listened.”

  “Don’t go so hard on her.” I was close enough to reach out and pet Freya’s back.

  “Don’t even start,” she said, turning to face me fully. “I told her to stop. She ignored me. That’s not on me.”

  I held up my hands again, this time in genuine defense. “Okay, okay. No need to bite my head off.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Her snakes shifted slightly at the word “bite,” as if reacting to the tension in her voice. I noticed how one of the smaller ones—a new one—seemed to hover close to her neck, almost protectively.

  “They’re protective of you,” I said, more to myself than to her.

  She blinked, her posture softening just a fraction. “They have to be,” she said, her voice quieter now. “That is why they were created.”

  The weight of her words hung between us, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. There was a vulnerability in her that she worked so hard to hide, but it was there, just beneath the surface.

  “Tea?” she asked, her voice almost casual.

  I nodded, stepping into the kitchen. “Sure. But only if you let me pick the kind.”

  “Deal,” she said, sliding a box of assorted teas across the counter toward me.

  I looked through her somewhat dismal collection. “I’m bringing some good stuff and herbs for tomorrow. This stuff is weak.” As I said it, I was sure that she would take offense, before I could correct myself I heard a small laugh. A laugh. I looked up in surprise and saw her shrug.

  “You’re the Druid. I’m sure you know much better than I do. I welcome your tea snobbery.”

  I wish I could say that I played it cool and casual. Her being kind. Complimentary. But I didn’t. My mouth open and shut multiple times, I likely looked like a fish caught on dry land.

  “Careful, elding,” I managed to say, recovering enough to at least sound somewhat coherent. “Keep flattering me like that, and I might start thinking you like having me around.”

  Her lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or irritation, I couldn’t tell. “Don’t push your luck, Ron,” she said, turning her attention back to the kettle.

  Ron? I blinked at her, confused.

  She caught my expression and smirked. “You know, the end part of your name? Theron. Ron.”

  Her smug smile told me she was trying to annoy me, and damn it, it was working.

  The kettle whistled, breaking the silence, and Isla moved with practiced efficiency, pouring hot water into two mismatched mugs. She slid one across the counter toward me without a word, her movements deliberate but unhurried.

  I took the mug, inhaling the faint aroma of chamomile. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either. Still, I sipped it without complaint, watching as she cradled her own mug in both hands. We lapsed into silence, the only sound the faint rustle of her snakes shifting against her hair. I found myself watching them, the way they moved so naturally, so seamlessly with her. They weren’t just a part of her—they were her, in a way that was hard to explain.

  “Do you ever wish they weren’t there?” I asked quietly, surprising even myself with the question.

  Her grip on the mug tightened, her snakes going still. “Sometimes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

  I waited, sensing that there was more she wanted to say.

  “But I don’t think I’d know how to live without them,” she continued after a pause. “They’ve been with me for so long. They’re…my armor.” I could see that the moment, she said that last part, she wished she could take it back. As if she revealed too much.

  I nodded slowly, setting my mug down. “Makes sense. They’re part of what makes you, you.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine like she was trying to decide if I meant it. “They scare people,” she said finally. “And maybe that’s a good thing. It keeps people at a distance.”

  “But not me,” I pointed out.

  Her gaze dropped to her mug, her fingers tracing the rim. “No,” she murmured. “Not you.”

  The words hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I wanted to reach across the counter, to bridge the distance between us, but I held back. Whatever walls she’d built, I wasn’t going to tear them down by force.

  “Did you name your new ones yet?” I ask, hoping to sound like a normal person who hasn’t seen visions and moments of the future.

  She gives a small smile, her hand going to the smaller, new snakes. “Yes. But you probably already knew that?” She asked, curious.

  “Nope.”

  “Liar,” she challenged.

  “It’s true.” I thought of how to word my explanation without making her too freaked out by just how much I’ve seen her through the years. “I see visions and blips but I don’t know when they are, so…say I see a vision of you talking with Blue. I don’t know if you’re talking with her next week or ten years from now. You have some snakes that come and go and I don’t know when those snakes align with your timeline.”

  She considers this. I can see she’s a little uneasy at the thought of my seeing her in visions and I’m glad I was vague, not giving real examples. She takes a breath before listing, “Lyra, Helen, Luna, B-blaze,” She stumbles over Blazes name, and I’m curious as to why. But the next name, distracts me. “And Kevin.” I see her holding back a smile.

  I’m unable to hold back mine. I wasn’t going to tell her, but I did already know of Kevin. After all, there is a funny exchange, likely years from now that I’ve seen more than once. Once I knew Isla was not looking, I winked at Kevin.

  As I took another sip of the tea, grimacing slightly, I decided to not push any further today. “Seriously, though. This tea is terrible. It’s like chamomile spent some time in the same room as hot water and that’s it.”

  Her laugh was soft but genuine, and it warmed something in me I hadn’t realized was cold.

  “Bring your fancy Druid herbs tomorrow,” she said, shaking her head. “Maybe you’ll finally shut up about it.”

  “Deal,” I said with a grin.

  Moments later, when the knock came. Finn’s head snapped toward the door, his entire body going still.

  I froze too, the sound settling uneasily into the quiet of the morning.