Covens and Proxies

17

6 months since Tody started visiting again. And, true to his word, he manages to crawl through your back door once every month. Unfortunately, Zemra's noticed the food disappearing when it shouldn't, as well as the extra clothes you've gotten since. It's almost time for his next visit, and your roommate knows it.

"So... When is Scar coming by?" She's decided to give him that nickname since his cheek is shredded. You just hope she doesn't use it around him.

"I don't know, okay? And if I did, I wouldn't tell you." You respond, pointing your spaghetti-strewn fork at her.

She huffs. "Why? I promise I won't be in the way."

You roll your eyes. "Right. Things are still super new and awkward for us. All you'll do is make it worse."

She mocks offense. "I would not!"

Rolling your eyes, you go back to eating.

"Okay, but what about a date?" She asks, nudging a meatball around her plate before spearing it.

A date? I've never thought about it. It might be nice, but wouldn't it be dangerous for us both to be seen together in public like that? You shrug. "I don't know. It's a tricky subject for us." It's not a far cry from the truth.

Zemra groans. "Alright. What's his number?" She demands, picking up her phone.

I laugh. "Like I'd ever tell you that."

"Relax! I'm not gonna steal him or anything. Just setting up a date for you." Rolling her eyes, she swipes your phone before you can put it in your pocket and starts typing furiously.

A swoosh sound signals the message being sent. She smiles smugly at you. You want to hide in your food from embarrassment, praying Toby will know it's not really you texting him.

Your phone starts buzzing and ringing, making you both jump. Zemra picks it up, only glancing at the screen before she squeals, hands you the phone and runs out of the room. Uh-oh.

Looking down, you see it's Toby. With a heavy sigh, you answer. "Hello?"

"A date? Re-eally?" Is his immediate response.

You groan loudly. "Zemra was being pushy." You grumble, taking a small bit and angling the mic away from your face. Just so he won't hear your chewing.

There's a long pause, some distant yelling, a loud thud, and a deep sigh. "Do you want to-to go out?" He finally asks, sounding a little embarrassed.

He's cute when he's embarrassed, even if it's really hardly ever. You've only seen him so flushed once; the first night, when you stripped naked in front of him and he hid under a blanket. He was adorable.

You hum, leaning back on against the couch. "Wouldn't it be a little dangerous for us?"

"Well, yeah, but everything be-etween us is." Loud banging sounds, responded with his vicious cussing and yelling at whoever interrupted him. "But I know some places we wouldn't be bothered."

You have to fight giggles as someone yells through his door, him shouting back with a threat. "As long as you don't get in trouble for it, I'm open to anything."

He chuckles darkly, making you shiver. "Careful, an offer like tha-that to an infamous killer is dan-dangerous." His tone makes your joints melt as you fight an audible whimper.

Damn him. "I kinda like that." You purr right back, you both laughing.

"Alright. I'll be there at-at two. Try to be awake."

You roll your eyes. "Please. I stay awake that late on a regular night."

He laughs, cut off by hanging up.

"Zemra!" You call, a little irritated but sort of loving her for taking the jump for you.

She peeks out from the corner of the hall, grinning giddily. "Want some help getting ready?"

You mockingly groan, list to the side and curl your lip. "Finish the food first."
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You stand in front of your mirror, Zemra beside you, examining the dress she'd put you in. It's simple, falling to just above your knees and silver. The waist band hugs your curves, the top fitting to your chest perfectly. The neckline is a deep V, showing half of your cleavage, with spaghetti straps and an open back. On your arm is a wrapping of silvery-looking metal, fitting your wrist and forearm comfortably snug. Like something a fairy might have. Your shoes are simple white flats with a small bow and swirling, silver designs all around. Your hair is fluffed and blow-dried, carefully arranged to frame your face, which is dusted with faint blush and shining eyeshadow and black lipstick. It almost makes you look gothic. A slow spin ruffles the fabric, swirling it gracefully around your legs.

Your roommate looks at you approvingly. "I think we might need a medic to take care of Scar."

You glare at her. "I'd rather not kill him tonight, thanks."

You have a small handbag that matches the dress, just big enough to fit your phone, wallet and an extremely compact version of your spellbook--thanks to a hide-me spell you'd looked for while Zemra picked out the attire.

"What if this is over-dressed?" You ask anxiously, your stomach starting to twist into knots.

Zemra waves her hand. "It's not like we spent four hours on this. Barely more then one. And besides, he said to look your best, remember?" She holds up your phone, showing the text Toby had sent about attire.

The idea of him in anything fancy, and not on the brink of death, made you want to fall into a laughing fit. But you hold your tongue. "I know, I know, but that could mean a million things! Like, what if he meant, look your best in typical clothes! Or, or-" Zemra claps a hand over your mouth, careful no to smear your lipstick.

"I know boys, and I know date talk. This is definitely what he meant." The alarm in her phone rings 1:45, making her bounce a little. "Okay, remember what I told you. Don't eat too much, you already had dinner. If he offers to pay, don't object too much. If he wants to dance, let him lead you, even if he's totally horrible. If you're going to a club, don't let anyone else touch you. Got it?" She runs over her small list of must-know rules for first dates, which is a little ridiculous because you've known Toby for almost a year now, and you've had plenty of nights that are essentially dates, except he's bleeding to death and you had to heal him.

You still take a death breath and nod, your stomach doing flips in your gut, your heart leaping into your throat. She pushes you into the hall, shuts her door, turns off her lights and cranks up her music. As if she were asleep. You fidget with the chain to the bag as you sit and wait, deciding to scroll through social media.

When someone knocks on the door, you nearly jump out of your skin. You might have opened it a bit too fast, but you don't particularly care. Because there, standing in front of you, almost a foot taller the you, is Ticci Toby. His suits is black, his undershirt black and his tie red, much like his boss. Around his neck, pulled up just under his nose, is a red scarf. Instead of his goggles, he's wearing regular glasses. As if he needs them. He smiles wide when he sees you, the corner of his mouth peaking over the edge of his scarf.