Mahogany and Teakwood

Chapter 29: Rue

runaway gray

taking me away

drift with the clouds to better days

Virgil snuck out like a thief in the night.

He spent three days in his room, packing, while Roman arranged the trip. Logan and Patton made only minimal efforts to check on him. Possibly, likely, they meant to be respectful of his space. Or maybe Virgil had finally pissed Logan off enough that the half-faery had stopped caring.

Assuming the latter made it easier to contemplate leaving.

Two duffle bags, one backpack, one Uber ride, and one bus ticket later, Virgil was on his way to Orlando.

He knew he needed to tell them. But what would he say? How could he possibly explain that it wasn't them, that they hadn't done anything wrong. It was him, with his stupid, pathetic feelings and his thorny, out of control powers. Patton would be heartbroken, and Logan...Virgil had no idea how Logan would react.

So, he put it off, and put it off, and then it was the evening before his early morning flight, and he still hadn't said a word.

One last minute hotel reservation, one sleepless night, and one airport shuttle ride later, Virgil sat at his gate and guiltily checked his phone for messages.

He did leave Logan a note. Weeks later, when the guilt ate at him, he reminded himself that his first impression of Logan had been an absence and a note. Virgil was merely bringing it around full circle. He'd tucked the paper against the easel where his last painting still sat, stark and red with all the unconfessed feelings he meant to leave behind. The bear pendant, too, still hung where he'd left it.

He left all his other paintings, too; not as any sort of message, but simply because he didn't know what else to do with them. Roman warned him about his murder's tiny apartment complex, and as a former Rennie, Virgil was well-acquainted with a lifestyle that demanded sparse possessions. He took only what he could carry.

He'd gotten a few messages that morning; enough for Virgil to know Logan had noticed his absence, not enough to tell him whether the half-faery guessed he'd run off to join a murder cult. He deleted the conversation without reading it.

Two and a half hours later, he landed in Philadelphia.

Roman and an older woman with a stern, acne-scarred face met him at the baggage claim, and something in Virgil's heart settled the moment he laid eyes on the other changeling. How did Princey turn into the one person in the world I can truly count on?

Roman's wide mouth split into a toothy grin as he approached, but he forewent a hug in favor of grabbing Virgil's hand in a strong clasp.

"Smile!" He yanked him close; before Virgil could do more than scowl, he'd taken a selfie of them both. Virgil shoved him away, but Roman was already posting the picture on his stupid Instagram page.

"You aren't wearing your sword," Virgil blurted out.

Roman rolled his eyes and pocketed his phone. "Well, good to see you too, Jack Smellington. Despite what you may think," he added with a huff, "even I am not foolish enough to carry a weapon into an airport."

"Mmm, debatable," Virgil teased, spotting his second duffle bag on the turnstile and grabbing it. Roman made one of his trademarked offended noises, something Virgil hadn't realized he'd missed. He swallowed a smile.

"Virgil, this is my mentor." Roman nodded to his companion, who'd been silently observing them.

"Katherine Gardener-Conroy, co-founder of Smile and head of the Philadelphia murder," the woman stated crisply, then pulled a sour face. "Good lord, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that, doesn't it?"