Made of Glass Ch. 03

Chapter Three: Cinder-Ellery

'Drawn in, they drew her out
And so was she drawn in broad strokes
A pencil tip trailed her like worn out shadows
But to me she was still art' -- K.A.

*****

Kort woke slowly, stiff from a night on the floor. He rolled onto his side, reaching up for Ellery as he had last night. His hand brushed empty air, then rough cotton.

He sat up abruptly. The couch was empty. The blanket lay, folded neatly atop the pillow. Shit, he thought, shoving aside his own blanket. Where did she go? Had she gone back home, back to those...creatures? No, she couldn't have, not with how terrified she'd been last night. He pushed himself to his feet, groaning as his aching muscles protested.

The apartment was still. Someone—he had a pretty good idea who—had taken the time to straighten the few pictures on the walls, tie back the very basic curtains, shift the rug on the floor so it wasn't lopsided. Kort winced; maybe a woman's touch was in order. He headed into the kitchen, which smelled faintly of bacon and oil. The scent made his stomach rumble. Though he could cook, he didn't do it nearly so often as he should.

A note sat on the kitchen table: 'Bacon and eggs in the microwave. Needs about 3 mins. Meet me in the garage. Ells.'

He grinned. Just how had she done all that without waking him up? She moved like a cat, always had: Quiet and light, as if gravity simply had no hold on her.

Kort ate quickly, feeling strangely bright. If she was down in the garage, she intended to spend her day with him again. Two days in a row...they hadn't done that very often since graduating high school. God but he missed those days.

He found her in the garage as promised, The Who blasting from his stereo. As soon as she noticed him she turned the music down. Ellery smiled, then turned back to what she was doing. Kort took the time to notice her. She wore a pair of overalls, one of the smaller sets he kept around just for her. The top was a bit loose; it slipped off one shoulder, showing him the strap of her bra, the fact that she wore little beneath those overalls.

No you may not pounce on her, he told himself. But he approached her anyway, came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. When she didn't flinch away he rested his chin on her shoulder. Just for a moment, that was all.

"You didn't have to sleep on the floor, you know," she said.

Kort let the moment pull him in the direction of honestly. "I wanted to be near you."

She went still but didn't pull away from him.

"Thanks for breakfast," he went on, sliding his hands down to her hips. He tried to get himself to stop, before he crossed a line, before it went too far, but...

"You're welcome. Gonna hold onto me all day?"

"Hey, we got music. We could dance."

She laughed. "To this? I'm so sure."

Yet she swayed in his arms, swinging her hips back against him. Don't do that, he thought, his breath catching in his throat. Then he thought, Oh yes, yes, do that. Because she moved so well. She leaned into him, tilted her head back, gazed at him with those eyes he liked looking at so much. A few times over the years she'd flirted back like this. Maybe this time he shouldn't let it slip by.

Ellery swallowed. She stopped moving, slid out of his grip. Her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair.

"Sorry. I don't know what—guess I'm out of sorts."

Kort watched her chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. Oh no you don't, he thought, stepping towards her. She backed up until she came in contact with the hood of the car she'd been working on. He caught her there, between his arms, pinned with nowhere to run. He watched carefully, every aspect of her body language; if it looked like he pushed too far he'd back off. At the moment she didn't seem as if she really wanted him to stop.

"Kort, what—what's happening here?"

"What do you want to be happening, Ells?"

"I..." She swallowed. "I don't know. We've been friends for so long. You—you usually don't—and with everything going on, I...What do you want?"

"That's...complicated," he admitted. "But we don't have to do anything about it right now. Just...I want you to know that we can, if you want it."

He didn't know what possessed him to say that. Maybe it was last night. All this weird stuff with Faerie, the way she'd run to him, trusted him with something most people would be unwilling to believe. She trusted him. Always had, in ways most people never bothered. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, it can be different with her...

"I...right now, I want you to play for me," she said.

His eyebrows rose. "Play for you?"

"Yeah. You haven't played for me in a while. I want to see if all that music school is paying off."

"I thought you said I'm already a genius."

Now she grinned. "You are. That's why I want you to play for me."

"Why, when you already play me like a fiddle?" he asked. Smiling, he paused a moment as if in thought, then said, "Fine. On two conditions."

"And those are?"

"First, tell me why you were so determined to be friends, years ago."

He'd never asked. Now he wanted, needed to know. Ellery turned red again and looked away. Kort backed off a little, giving her space. She shifted from foot to foot, fiddling with the front of her overalls—giving him more of a view of what little lay beneath them. Finally she shrugged and smiled wryly.

"To be honest, at first I just thought you were cute. I was...kind of drawn to you. Then I got to know you a little and, well. You were like a prince. The least charming prince on the planet, I guess, but so different from the other boys." She shrugged again. "I liked that about you. That you fixed cars and played guitar and did things most of the guys at school never would."

He touched her cheek, which had gone so red the color reached up to her ears. Her honesty felt good. And she must really want me to play, he thought, because she didn't protest at all. He liked that. Before he'd met her Kort hadn't played his music for other people. Ellery had been the one to persuade him to do it, the one who convinced him to go to college, to try out for a band called Good Intentions that he now played with.

"Okay, there. I said it. What's the other thing?"

"Kiss me."

She stared.

Kort waited. He wouldn't actually make her kiss him—he'd play for her even if she didn't want to—but the prospect was too tempting to let it pass.

"Okay," she finally breathed. "But...then you'll play anything I want, right?"

He nodded. Anything, he thought. Even you, if that's what you want. She leaned forward, rocking onto her toes. Kort caught her around the waist, steadying her. He watched as slowly, ever so slowly, she stretched up to reach him. Her lips touched his so lightly he wanted to scream. Then she lost her balance, fell into him—or maybe she did it on purpose. The kiss deepened, slightly clumsy but oh, it set him afire. He had to pull away before he got carried away.

"Um...no good?" Ellery asked, looking unsure.

He shook his head. "Too good," he corrected. He backed off, turned away from her. "So what do you want to hear?"

Kort kept a guitar at the back of the garage; not his best one, just one he could keep close at hand. He retrieved it and settled down on a chair near the car she was working on.

"Just warm up," she said. "I'll think of something."

He checked the tuning, then played a few chords, adjusted the strings again. While he had his head bent to the task, Ellery approached him. Kort looked up—and started in surprise when her lips met his. She put her hands on his shoulders, holding him there as her mouth tasted his curiously. Her tongue brushed his lower lip, slipped into his mouth for the barest of seconds. Just when he thought he might lose control, she pulled away.

"Play me some Doors," she said, walking back to the car. "Roadhouse Blues."

"Sing it for me?"

Ellery tossed back her head, laughed, and responded, "Let it roll, baby, roll."

*****

Still humming Roadhouse Blues—which she'd made Kort play more than once—Ellery trotted up the stairs to her apartment.

Her whole body hummed, not just her lips. What happened there? she wondered. Did I really...did he really... But she knew the answer to that. Before, when Kort flirted with her, she figured it was just his nature. Despite his reclusive attitude he was quite charming when he wanted to be. This time though he hadn't stopped flirting. He'd teased, tempted—asked her to kiss him. And so she had, not once but twice, because the first time had been so awkward that she didn't want to leave a bad impression.

Despite her apprehension, the rest of the day went just like their days together usually did. Which, looking back on it, wasn't the most exciting way to spend a day. Perhaps she ought to persuade him to do something different for a change.

She reached the fourth floor landing and stopped on a dime, much like a deer in headlights. Waiting in front of her door, looking around as if the sheer poverty of the place might infect her, was Nancy. Wearing a simple but elegant shirt dress, her hair pulled neatly to one side, she looked a good ten years younger than she was. Where as I, Ellery thought, rubbing her greasy hands on her jeans, look like trailer trash. Nice.

"There you are," Nancy said. Her nose wrinkled delicately. "What have you been doing? Rolling in the mud?"

"Working," Ellery retorted. "You know, that thing you've never done a day in your life."

She barged past Nancy, who moved hastily out of her way. One benefit to being dirty: It meant Nancy didn't want to be that close to her. Ellery opened the apartment door carefully, praying she wasn't about to pay for running out without locking up. Everything was quiet inside though, the living room light still on; nothing looked out of place either. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Nancy.

"Why are you here?"

"Rude as always," Nancy said, tossing her head. She didn't step inside the apartment. "I'm here to find out about your work for Charlotte. You promised her you'd be done with it by the end of the month."

"She hasn't paid me for the last time I did portraits for her."

"She is a good friend of this family," Nancy began, "and you will not—"

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" Ellery shouted, her control of her temper shattering to pieces. "You're not my mother. And I'm an adult now. If your friend wants her goddamn portraits she should pay for the last ones. Or have you forgotten that I need all the money I can get, thanks to you."

"It's hardly my fault your father left you nothing."

Ellery clenched her hands, squeezing until her nails bit into her palms. She wanted to smack the smug look right off Nancy's face. Instead she reached out and slammed the door shut. For good measure she locked it too.

Nancy didn't bother to knock. More than likely she'd just come over to gloat again. Nancy had never liked how close Ellery was with her father. When the will had been read, Nancy finally had what she wanted: The favor of a man who'd always seemed to love his daughter just a little more than her.

Ellery ran her fingers through her hair, then pulled them back, grimacing. "I need a shower."

She discarded her dirty clothes in the hamper. Since she'd had nothing else she'd worn them home, but after the funeral yesterday and all the rain, they were disgusting. Ellery turned the shower up as hot as she could bear it before stepping beneath the spray. It stung her skin, all that heat, but in a way that comforted her. Her head cleared, allowing her to think.

Forget Nancy and Charlotte. She had enough problems with her new stepsisters on her hands. Granted, until she had proof one way or another whether she'd just imagined them, she couldn't do much about them. But Kort, she thought, closing her eyes. Maybe I can do something about that. Even if he didn't want more than sex, she thought she could deal with that. It stood a chance of being something good in her life.

After her shower she dried her hair, then slipped into a too large T-shirt—one she'd swiped from Kort. Though it was still early she crawled into bed. Despite her night on Kort's couch, Ellery hadn't felt like she'd slept properly in more than a week. Exhaustion settled over her, a heavy weight on her shoulders; she preferred to try sleeping it off.

She didn't know how long she slept for before something stirred her awake. Ellery peeled her eyes open and peered blearily at the clock on her nightstand. The digital red numbers blurred in her vision. Maybe she'd just been having a dream...

A giggle sounded around her like an echo in a cavern. She sat up, suddenly wide awake. A breeze crept through the room, carrying with it lilting, singsong voices.

"Cinderella, Cinderella."

"All I hear is Cinderella..."

"Knock it off," Niamh's voice snapped, "before I smack you." "Awww..." Sadhbh appeared in a flurry of fluttering, luminescent butterflies. "But that witch last night, she sounded just like Cinderella's evil stepmother."

Glimmering dust swirled, a small tornado. Then Muirne was there, perched on the end of Ellery's bed. "She is an evil stepmother. Poor Cinder-Ellery."

Ellery stared at them for a moment. Niamh appeared in the doorway. All three of them looked more amazing than they had the night before. They wore clinging dresses—Muirne and Sadhbh in gold and silver sequins, Niamh in electric blue and bronze with fringe, like a flapper. Oh, that's nice, Ellery thought. Just what I need first thing in the morning. A blow to my confidence.

"Fuck off," she muttered, flopping back down on her pillows.

"That's not very nice," Niamh said. "Come on, Cinder-Ellery. We've brought you a present."

"How nice do you think I'm gonna be if you keep calling me that?"

She sat up again to glower at her—stepsisters? Persistent hallucinations? Muirne's weight making the mattress dip felt real, like before.

Niamh stepped out of the door. Ellery scrambled back against the headboard, shocked and breathless, as five men—Faerie men, assuredly—stepped into her bedroom. All of them tall, all of them with skin like bronze and gold, all of them as beautiful as her sisters. One of them reminded her of Kort, of his unruly dark hair and his skin, always a warm brown. She pressed hard against the headboard, thinking, What the hell is going on?

"Aren't they lovely?" Niamh smiled at her wickedly. "Do you want to pick just one? You can have them all, if you'd like."

"I don't want any of them," Ellery said firmly. Gorgeous or no, none of them were Kort. "Really. That was very thoughtful of you, but I'm good."

"But you don't even know what they're capable of," Sadhbh pointed out. "Believe me, you want to know."

"No, actually, I don't."

But they approached the bed, fanning out in a half-moon to come at her from all sides. Ellery couldn't back up any further and there was nowhere to run. When she tried to lunge up off the bed, Sadhbh pushed her back down.

Then the male Faerie were there, climbing onto the bed with her. She kicked out at the nearest one; he simply caught her ankle and pulled, dumping her onto her back. A touch of panic fluttered in her throat but she tried to remain calm, to think. Kort had taught her dozens of ways, over the years, to discourage unwanted male attention. Too bad he didn't know of any tricks that would work on five beings that didn't need to be physically stronger than her to have the upper hand.

"Relax, sister," Muirne said. "Think of this as an...initiation rite."

"Initiation?" Ellery snapped. "Are you mad? Tell them to let me go!"

"Why? Doesn't it feel good?" Sadhbh asked.

One of the male Faerie ran his hand up Ellery's bare leg. Heat flowed over her skin, zinging her nerves awake. She closed her eyes. It's some trick they use, she thought, not a real feeling. Though her heart thudded painfully with fear, anger flared up inside her as well. Who the hell did they think they were?

"Perhaps she's too mortal for this just yet," Sadhbh said, sounding uneasy all of a sudden. "If we—"

"Nonsense," Niamh interrupted. "She needs to understand our power before we can grant it to her. What better—and more pleasurable—way than this?"

"But—"

"Hush. Just watch."

"You call yourself my sister?" Ellery snarled. "Fuck you, bitch."

Niamh smiled. Ellery fought, twisting beneath the grasps of the male Faerie. Two of them caught her wrists, pinned her against the bed. Her fear and anger rose, mingling, a potent combination that set her volatile temper alight. She probably shouldn't try to fight them—they could probably tear her to shreds with barely a thought—but her fury was a stone rolling down a hill. Ellery watched her assailants, looking for the best way to do what she always did when her anger slipped her control: Lash out.

Then one of them made the mistake of placing a hand on her cheek. She pretended to relax, pretended to go boneless beneath their eerily sensual touches. Then she turned her head, slowly, let her lips part against that hand...

And sank her teeth in as hard as she could.