Kate Fox & The Three Kings (18 page)

“Why?” I wondered aloud, keeping my eyes fixed on the water. The question had filled my thoughts as I paced around the pool house for the majority of the evening.

Hemming cleared his throat. I could feel his eye studying me. “‘Why’ what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning? From the moment I stepped into the ice-cream shop, asking for a job? What were you waiting for exactly? Why did you treat me kindly when you just wanted something from me the entire time?” I tore my eyes away from the window to look Hemming straight in the face. Pressure built in my chest, circulating through my body and rumbling in my ears. My cheeks became hot. “You made me care about you, so you could ask me to kill you. What a flawless plan.”

“I didn’t make you do anything, Miss Fox,” Hemming snapped back.

“Well, you certainly didn’t stop me,” I hissed, easing myself into his office chair and propping my feet on top of the wooden desk. “Tell me, if I die tonight, will you mourn my death?”

“Hmph—no,” Hemming replied without much thought. His response smacked into me like a ton of bricks, and I cringed from the blow. “Death would be much preferred over what awaits, should you win the Game,” his top lip twitched. “Now, kindly remove your boots from my desk.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Rise,
please
,” he grumbled through clenched teeth. He strode over to me, offering his hand. I took it somewhat reluctantly. He slid open the glass door, letting a warm breeze in, and led me outside, down the uneven stone steps. “I can tell sleep will be difficult this evening,” Hemming murmured. I peeked at my phone. It was midnight exactly.

We sat along the dock’s edge, letting our bare feet hang over the water, which felt dangerous. An alligator or angry manatee could emerge from below the surface and claim a toe at any time.

“Why Florida?” was the only question that passed my lips. ‘Openness’ and ‘Hemming’ didn’t jive in the same sentence. He always limited my questioning.

“Florida is where fossils find their final resting place.”

I cringed at his nonchalant statement and dipped another toe into the water, contemplating what to ask next. “Tell me the truth, all of the truth,” I demanded.

“The truth? Helen and I have been incredibly accommodating to your questions—”

“I’m not a brain donor! You’re not telling me the whole truth—about the Cù Sìth, about how you knew my father. I know nothing about you.”

“Mmm…” Hemming nodded, absorbing my anxiety and anger in his gaze. His long fingers trailed across the splinters of the wooden dock. “We’d reached a dead end, Helen and I. The name “Fox” was our only trace of hope, whispered by a strung-out gypsy witch in a Bulgarian whorehouse in exchange for 1,805 Lev...roughly—hmph—one-thousand dollars,” Hemming rubbed his palms back and forth on his pants leg.

“As we scoured the world for the Fox, we intercepted a Nixie named Ornella when we were hot on your father’s trail.”

“Pause, please—a Nixie?”

Hemming bowed his head, “A shape shifter, much like myself. However, her ability was inherited. Nixies are unique...They’re able to glimpse into the future. They’re caregivers. This particular Nixie was your mother’s midwife. She saw us coming, nearly two weeks before Helen and I crossed the Florida line.”

My mouth dropped open, but Hemming silenced me with his continuation.  

“Ornella guarded your mother’s hospital room, waiting on my arrival, but I was insistent on seeing George. I’d spent months attempting contact, writing letters and leaving messages on his voicemail. He dodged my every attempt until that night, when he ordered Ornella to step aside, assuring her he had business to tend to.” Hemming gulped, diverting his attention to the water. “I think he was intrigued by my desperation. And so, I told him what he craved to hear. I told him the details of mine and Helen’s transformation into the Cù Sìth.”

He ground his fist onto the dock in a nervous tic, but allowed his story to unravel from his lips and into the static between us. He shuffled through the details of the ride to Dachau, where he and Helen saw their mother for the last time, being beaten into the mud and chaos. He told me how Helen held him through the bitter cold, whispering and promising the next day would bring light to retract the darkness, though, Hemming thought she didn’t believe her own words. He lingered on his hatred of Dr. Mengele and the SS physicians, choking on his description of their clinical approach and cruelty. His eye watered when he recalled watching his sister’s organs being removed while she was awake and driven mad by pain, and the side of his mouth trembled as he recalled the origin of his scars, the burning acid of his eyeball draining down his throat.

I reached to squeeze his hand, urging him to continue even though I didn’t want to hear the whole story. Finally, he arrived at the injection administered and the life that awaited he and his sister as they awoke, piled next to the ovens.

“We should have died as the bullets pierced our hearts, our shoulders, our brains, but instead, death awoke the Cù Sìth. We were children no longer,” Hemming traced a single finger along the scarred side of his jaw. “We ran away from the horrors of our old life, not fully understanding the ramifications of our new one. With new stride, power, and an insatiable hunger, we targeted villages, devouring the flesh of the weakest—sometimes animals, but mostly the elderly and small children. Of course, in the moment, neither of us fully processed our actions. As the Cù Sìth, violence was pure instinct. There was no lingering guilt or morality—just sustenance.”

“The year was 1959. I awoke with a chill on my bare skin—the morning dew nestled itself across our den. I’d been dreaming of mother—the mouth-watering bread she baked every week. How she tucked me and Helen under several blankets when the frightening storms rolled in, lulling us to sleep with stories of her past. Images of my mother’s head, caved in from being bludgeoned, poured in. I remembered the way her body twitched even after death. I sobbed, choking on my own sorrow, knowing I would never truly escape from the hauntings of my life. When I reached to wipe away a tear, my hand was flesh. I was flesh. I was a man—a boy no more—but Cù Sìth remained, just under the surface, always waiting,” he shook his head and sighed.

“With over a decade trapped in the body of a monster, my mother’s humanity allowed me to separate myself from the Beast, but it was the lack of humanity that got me and Helen here in the first place,” Hemming took my hand in his. “We are wicked, Helen and I. The things we have done would truly horrify you. With an everlasting life, we remain this way, frozen, forever. The memories—-ripping apart flesh, gnawing on bone, devouring the weak—they flood in, all at once. We cannot move on.”  

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Hundreds of stolen images entered my mind, none of them pleasant: visions of two frightened children, dragged away from their mother, and the awful conditions within the camp. How Hemming must’ve felt to watch his friends and family slowly tortured at the hands of a nation he once called home. How terrifying it must’ve been for the twins to lose each other, little by little, each day. Their lives were ripped from them and replaced with something they never asked for. I understood Hemming’s withdrawn nature, solidified by a lifetime of conditioning.

“I do not seek your pity.” Hemming paused and shook his head, “I have seen the devil, Miss Fox. He is handsome man, who grins and wields a scalpel, saying ‘This will hurt me much more than you, kid.’ He forces you watch as they take away your sister’s chance at becoming a mother. And when the tears and screaming and pleading begin, he pulls a sweetie from his pocket, hands it over with a pat on the shoulder, and assures you that you’ll go home tomorrow.”

“I tell you my story because you have a choice. Helen and I didn’t. You could walk out of this house right now if you wished. Go to parties, finish your studies, find some…gentleman to settle down with and have a… nuclear family…what is it? Two and a half children? I’m not sure how that works. Who knows how long the Belladonna can keep the Fox at bay? I would be happy to procure some more, if you would turn around and go home tonight.”

“But what about you and Helen? I thought that was the entire point of this whole—“ I pointed between Hemming and myself, “arrangement. The two of you wanted something from me, and I wanted answers from the two of you. If I leave right now, doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of y’all moving to…Florida?”

He nodded, understanding my reference. I wanted to say,
Hey, if I get cold feet tonight and go off the grid, who’s going to murder the two of you? Wasn’t that the whole point of associating with me?
But I refrained, because I thought that might sound a bit brash.

“I am a patient man, Miss Fox. Helen may not seem like it, but we’ve waited a long time to restore the natural…order. I am no longer tied to this life. Time has ceased to exist since I became the Cù Sìth. It’s just an endless loop, replaying over and over. You will learn this, should you survive the Game. I will not mislead or deceive you. I long for release. I’ve waited a lifetime for death. But not at the expense of your free will,” Hemming stroked a shy finger across my jaw with a sad smile. I held my breath. “Too many have tried to take your free will from you. I will not, and I’ve realized I cannot. You deserve to navigate your own life.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. I couldn’t help but inhale his scent, piney and distinctly masculine. Breathing in was like taking a long drag of a cigarette after a twelve-hour shift. I leaned into his touch. He didn’t pull away.

“Why do you never call me Kate?” I whispered, tilting my head upwards to meet his gaze. He moved his long fingers across my hair, trailing to the ends. I grabbed his hand before it dropped to his side. My stomach fluttered, and I forgot to breathe when he propelled forward and our lips collided. His lips were warm and his stubble tickled my upper lip. The kiss wasn’t gentle and questioning like our first. He was needy and commanding. I gasped when his tongue entered my mouth, and I forgot what to do with my hands; what hands even were. I found a place for them, roaming his chest and pulling his collar towards me. I needed more. I needed Hemming.

His kisses trailed down from my mouth and lingered on my neck. Tiny moans passed through my lips. I was panting and flushed. His touch was domineering and intense, but I desired control. Electricity jolted through my veins, and I straddled his lap. My breasts felt heavy against my dress as I pressed myself into his warm body. I slipped my tongue into his mouth, taking initiative this time, and a wave of pleasure shook through me as Hemming let out a low groan and trailed his fingertips across my upper thigh, just under the hem of my dress. I began to unravel when he grabbed my backside.

“You make me crazy, Miss Fox,” Hemming moaned into my mouth and clutched a fistful of hair, tugging to expose my neck. He planted soft kisses along my jaw, down my neck, then brushed his lips against my collarbone.

I shivered in delight and giggled when he flipped me onto my back. Jagged nail ends caught my dress as Hemming pressed into my thigh, and desire intensified between my legs. Feeling bold, I traced the outline of him through his pants, guiding my fingertips along his length. A low growl vibrated through his chest in response. Hemming shoved my knees apart and settled himself between my legs. A wave of warmth spread each time he rubbed himself against me.

“I need you, Hemming,” I whimpered against his lips.

“Say it again, Miss Fox,” Hemming begged, cupping my breasts through my dress.

Taking the opportunity to knock him off balance, I seized his wrists and pinned him down. “You heard me,” I breathed, tugging at his lower lip with my teeth. I drew back, and he gave me a lopsided smile.

“Undress for me. I need to see all of you,” he ordered, examining me as I held him down.

I felt shy and self-conscious when I released his wrists. What if my body wasn’t what he expected? Or what he was used to? Hemming studied my face when I hesitated. My knees wobbled slightly as I reached for the bottom of my dress and jerked it over my head. I continued to straddle him as I unclasped my bra and tossed it on an Adirondack chair. My nipples hardened when they met the cool air, but I avoided looking directly at Hemming.
Be brave
, I urged myself.

Hemming sat up and gripped my hips tightly. He was eye level with my collarbone, but he arched his head to meet my eyes. “I—hmph— have thought of you like…this,” his smoky gaze traveled down my face, to my neck, and paused on my breasts, then back to my face. “Often. But I could never have imagined your skin this soft,” Hemming glided his hand up my stomach and barely brushed a thumb across my nipple. He withdrew his hands and muttered, “You are divine.”

I sucked in a deep breath at his words. Hemming activated a surge of tingling sensations that cascaded down my spine. I reached between my legs to unbuckle his belt. I didn’t have the patience to undo his shirt buttons. I felt as though I might spontaneously combust at any moment. After a clumsy struggle with his zipper, I freed Hemming from his confines.

“There’s a condom in my purse, I’ll go grab it—-” I stood to retrieve my purse but froze when I glanced at the house.  

“It’s, uh, it’s 3:25. I just, uh, thought you—j-just get dressed for fuck’s sake,” Helen croaked, fists clenched, and stormed back through the glass door.

When I turned to Hemming, he was tucking his shirt in and went to retrieve my dress, which lay crumpled on the dock. I snatched my bra and got dressed in a huff. Truthfully, I was distressed about more than being denied pleasures of the flesh. I was downright nervous about the next hour of my life. I could die, or worse, I could live. Running away as Hemming suggested was never an option for me, although the idea was alluring, but I couldn’t go through with it. I craved a future constructed of my own volition, untainted by lore, predestination, or cult interference. I tried to hide my chattering teeth when Hemming slipped my dress over my head.

“It’s not too late to walk away,” Hemming grabbed my elbow as I turned to follow Helen.