* * *
The evening went on as usual after Brooke and Ria left. Emory and I poured drinks, I filled him in on what Mom had said—making sure to tell him not to say anything to her—and he quickly cut me off, saying we’d talk about it when there wasn’t a full house. A valid point.
After last call, we got the place cleaned up, prepped for opening tomorrow, and locked the door on our way out. As we headed around the back, and we walked past Emory’s car, he kept strolling beside me.
I stopped and met his gaze. “What’re you doing?”
“Going to bed,” he said.
I didn’t understand, and my face must’ve said so.
“You were fucking shot yesterday.” Emory’s tone was sharp. “I’m staying at your place until we figure out why. And we need to talk about this par animarum shit anyway.”
“I’m a big boy. I can—”
“My bunk bed’s still in the guest room. I’m crashing there until further notice.”
“Dude—”
“Or I can call Mom.” He tucked his arms against his chest, holding my gaze. “Your choice.”
Should’ve known he’d pull that card. “Don’t wake me up at ass crack of dawn.”
* * *
“But they aren’t real.” Emory rubbed his five o’clock shadow, peeling the label on his beer with his thumb. “Right? We’ve always been told they aren’t real.”
“That’s what Mom said too,” I said. “What stories were you told about them? By… Ya know.”
Emory’s parents were a topic we did not discuss. Occasionally, like now, a mention would come up. But no matter how many times I said bitch, fuck, ass, or damn, their names coming out of my mouth always felt like the filthiest words I could speak.
He harumphed and took a gulp from his beer. “They said they were ‘false idols that died like mere men.’”
Like Mom said. One part of the myth everyone seemed to agree on. “But what about their origin? What was the story you were taught?”
“Not much. They said that their powers came from sex, and that they were evil. Heathens, whores, infidels.” He lifted a shoulder. “C’mon, man, you know the types of bedtime stories my parents told me. Noah’s ark and Moses parting the Red Sea was more their style.”
Chewing my lip, I strummed my thumb against the tabletop.
Mom’s story classified them as divine, but Dad’s and Emory’s both referred to the par animarum as infidels. I’d wondered where that differentiation came from initially, although, hearing that last line made it click.
Dad got as close to atheism as a Werewolf could by the time he passed, but he grew up strict Roman Catholic. Emory grew up the same way. In both stories they were told, the par animarum were demonized.
But Mom viewed the sun and moon as her gods, and she was taught that the par animarum were divine lovers.
Given the way most organized religions vilified sexuality, and the fact that paired souls had a fair bit to do with sex, I could see where the difference in opinion formed.
“But you really think it’s true?” Emory asked. “And you think you and Brooke are some of them?”
I rubbed my tired eyes and shook my head. “I don’t know what I think. It’s the best explanation I have, but I don’t know.”
“Guess you can’t explain reading her mind any other way,” he murmured. “Are you alright with that though? Being stuck with her forever?”
My stomach flipped, and I wasn’t sure what at. “We aren’t stuck together. We aren’t even together.”
“She felt you get shot, and you hear each other’s thoughts. You’re stuck together, Declan.”
Another uncomfortable gurgle. “But that doesn’t mean we’re a couple.”