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The cottage was small and squat, built like a closed fist. Its sun-bleached wood whistled forlornly in the autumn wind. It sagged at the top, like a rotting pumpkin, and was decorated by nothing but the spindly brown skeleton of what may have once been honeysuckle crawling up its side.
“...How lovely,” Rue said.
Binx had discovered the cottage in their search for new portals to the mortal realm, their letter had explained. It was fantastically old, and had been abandoned on the mortal plane for so long that it had slipped, unnoticed, into the realm of Fairy. Now it straddled the two quite neatly. To Binx, it had seemed the perfect place to set up the new seat of the Court of Craft.
According to their missive, Binx had intended to unveil it in a more ceremonious manner (a “house warming party”), but had been called away to visit their warlocks for some semi-serious matter, and Andhera’s duties to the Unseelie had required him to return at once for another. They were nervous about leaving the new home of all of the Court of Craft’s odds and ends unguarded for the first time, and so had inquired about Rue and Hob’s ability to house-sit for a few days.
They would be delighted to, Rue had assured them in their return letter. It was no big trouble. Rue and Hob had been laying low since the trial of Prince Apollo’s murder (and his subsequent revivification.) The Chorus had claimed they’d had no knowledge of Apollo’s plan, and showed their displeasure at his actions by issuing a blanket pardon to any involved in the murder of their prince, but Rue didn’t buy it. They didn’t think they’d heard the last of the Chorus. Meanwhile, Hob was currently not so popular with the Goblin King (something about falling in love with the target he was meant to find,) and so they’d both decided it would be best to stay out of the public eye for a while. It had felt only natural they would do so together.
It was still strange for Rue, being with Hob. Lovely and strange. They’d both said such big words at the end of the Bloom—and then the Bloom had ended. Now it was just them, desperately in love, but practically strangers to each other.
Rue supposed that was why the romance novels never lingered after the final kiss. After was all thrilling mundanity and awkward sweetness. After was finding out that Hob snored a bit and made an excellent pot of coffee and was ticklish around his elbows. After was, “I had no idea you were allergic to melon,” and, “This reminds me of—oh, well you’ve never met…”
It was all Rue had ever dreamed of and thought they’d never have. They wouldn’t give it up for anything. But sometimes they made a joke that Hob did not laugh at, or prepared a dish they learned he did not like, and they found themself longing for the known comfort of an old friend. In these moments they missed Wuvvy terribly, and they also hated themself for missing her, because it had been their own actions that had driven her away. It was something they longed to speak about with Hob—and yet, they knew they could not. Their carelessness with Wuvvy had nearly landed Hob with a poison blade in his chest. It would be unfair to burden him further.
In any case, Rue was glad to visit somewhere neither they nor Hob had ever gone. They were excited to make new memories in the cottage together, regardless of the way it looked.
“There is an air of the Goblin Court about this place.” Hob remarked, dismounting Wrackingspelt. “My childhood home was much like this.”
The air was crisp with the turning of the season, and a breeze ruffled the fur around his cheeks. He looked fine like this, Rue thought, framed against the backdrop of the woods. The reds and browns of the turned leaves brought out the rich ochre of his pelt.
“Charmingly rustic?” They guessed.
“Impressively decrepit. Watch your step.” Hob offered them a hand. Off the dirt road, the path up to the cottage was lined with smooth gray stones, and Rue’s riding shoes had an impractically pointed heel.
“Thank you, darling.”
While Hob investigated around the side of the house for a place to tie up his beloved horse, Rue approached the cottage. There was a long, rusted key waiting for them under a decorative pig statue on the front porch, as had been promised, and the lock turned with a thunk when inserted. Rue pushed the door open.
The inside was not as impressively decrepit as the outside. It might have even walked the line of charmingly rustic. The floor was a maze of stacked books and rolled up rugs. A kitchen table and its mismatched chairs fought for space with a threadbare chaise lounge, which itself was covered in small piles of loose buttons and bits of lace and an embroidery hoop with a project that looked like it hadn’t been touched in eons. Dried herbs and cracked teacups hung from the ceiling joists. A fire crackled in the hearth, which was nice. Binx must have charmed it and left it waiting for them. Rue could tell it was her work because it smelled like cardamom and cinnamon, and as they approached, they were filled with the quiet satisfaction of looking at a thing you were working on and liking how it was turning out.
There was a folded up piece of paper on top of the mantel, held in place by a salt shaker shaped like an anthropomorphic egg. Rue unfolded it.
Hi, you two! The letter began.
Thanks again for watching the house on short notice. Please make yourselves comfortable. If you get bored, there’s games and stuff in the closet. There’s not much you need to do, but if you don’t mind watering Andhera’s vegetables while you’re here, his garden is in the backyard. Also, you may have noticed that we have a goat. His name is Goaty.
Andhera must have named him, Rue thought.
Goaty needs feeding in the morning and night. Make sure you lock the paddock behind him correctly, or he will get into the house and eat all the socks. Miss you both very much and excited to see you when we get back! Everything in the house and garden is yours to enjoy.
Love, Binx and Andhera
P.S. Ham is in the hatbox.
“Ham is in the hatbox,” Rue echoed aloud, mystified.
“Perhaps it is code,” Hob rumbled from behind them. He had come in while they were reading and now peered over their shoulder. “If I may.”
Rue passed him the letter, and Hob plucked a quill from the inside of his vest. While he set on decoding, leaning over the kitchen table and marking the page with his brow endearingly furrowed, Rue drifted away to explore the rest of the house.
There wasn’t much left of it to explore. Off the cramped living room and kitchenette was a modest bedroom. The bed had recently been made, and there was a generous selection of blankets in a basket by the foot of it. Someone was in the middle of knitting another one and had left it unfinished on the needles. Most of it was expertly done, but the last few lines had several dropped stitches, like whoever had been working on it had passed it off to a novice for them to try.
Rue hummed. It was sweet to think of Andhera and Binx here, making a little life for themselves.
On the other side of the bedroom was a window that overlooked the backyard, which Rue moved to inspect. Through the warped glass they could make out a vegetable garden, currently growing an unruly amount of squash, and a run-down goat pen. Goaty was either hiding in the small goat house built within, or had escaped. Having not gotten a current count of socks in the cottage, Rue couldn’t be sure.
Running out of things to snoop through, and mildly intrigued by what was involved in the and stuff in games and stuff, Rue turned their final round of investigation to the closet.
As soon as they opened the door, the smell hit them. After a moment of shuffling around holey sweaters and battered children’s toys, they found the source of it.
Surely not, they thought, pulling the hatbox toward them.
“I’ve done it,” Hob called. “I believe it’s coordinates to a location ten miles from here.”
Rue walked back into the living room and showed him the still-steaming ham.
After deciding that if Binx had left it for them specifically, regardless of where, it was probably safe to eat, they both rustled up some similarly hidden eggs and bread, and set about making lunch.
Rue loved to play house with Hob, though it felt too silly to admit out loud. He had seemed surprised at first that Rue was interested in simple tasks of maintenance such as cooking and cleaning, but Rue had lived alone for a long time in the Court of Wonder, and hadn’t desired to keep servants or fey of lesser stations about. It would have meant keeping up their glamour all the time, which wasn’t technically difficult, but was exhausting in other ways. They were used to taking care of themself, and liked it. It was like event planning—if they just did the right things at the right times, they could make a simple day a lovely one.
What they liked most about chores with Hob was the chance it gave them to observe him as he worked. While Rue finished frying up eggs and two thick slices of the ham over the woodstove, Hob set the table and made them both a pot of tea: the tea for Rue, the leaves for him. The kitchen was small, the cottage not built for fey of their size, but Hob was thoughtful as he moved. It was still novel to them, how sweetly focused he was as he set the mismatched plates and cutlery. How fastidiously he noted which teacup was the least chipped and placed it where Rue would sit. They were so taken with secretly watching him that they were surprised when he suddenly turned around and looked right at them.
“Ah, Rue!”
Rue’s heart leapt to their throat. “Yes?”
“Your skirt has caught fire.”
Rue jolted, but Hob was faster. He leaned into their space and shook the embers from where they’d jumped up onto Rue’s riding dress, stamping them out where they fell. The fabric was charred underneath, but the smoking stopped quickly.
Rue squawked out a startled laugh. When Hob looked up at them, his eyes were still wide with alarm, and his brow had folded in tender consternation, like he was devising a way to make them fireproof, or at least a way to convince them to let him finish the cooking. “What a terrible time I would have had,” he said vaguely. “Explaining to Binx and Andhera that their ancient oven had immolated their good friend.”
“Not to mention ruined their outfit!” Rue added. But they were truly unharmed, and Hob’s concern was very sweet. They brought their hands to his cheeks and leaned in to teasingly peck his nose. “Lucky for me I have someone around who is so mindful of my wardrobe.”
“It was your person, not your wardrobe, that I was being mindful of,” Hob corrected, all gentlemanly sternness. “Though I admit I am fond of you in this color.”
Rue tittered. “Yes, I know you to be quite mindful of my person.”
Hob huffed in soft amusement—and then his face did something strange. The pleasure slid away. He blinked twice, quickly, and dropped Rue’s skirts.
“Shall we eat?” He asked, turning back to the table. “I believe the tea is ready.”
Rue stared at the back of his head, the space between their palms suddenly empty. Was it something I said? They wanted to ask. They had made such harmless jokes about their coupling before, and Hob had never reacted in such a way. Had they made him uncomfortable? But Hob was already pouring the tea, and complimenting how they’d cooked the eggs, and gesturing for them to sit. So they sat.
Hob did not speak of whatever had bothered him while they ate, though he spoke of much else. To the observer, Rue thought, he would have seemed perfectly composed. His mouth made the shapes and sounds of pleasantries, and Rue hmm’d and nodded appropriately, but neither of them were really listening. Both were paying greater attention to the secret conversation happening behind Hob’s eyes, which he was only speaking over to obfuscate. Eventually, after the lunch was eaten and the tea was drank, his words wound down, and his gaze fell to his plate in empty silence. He did not seem to notice that he’d stopped talking.
Rue watched him—could not stop watching him—teacup poised at their mouth. Was it the sex thing? They wondered, alarmed. Had they truly overstepped some boundary? They would never make a joke like that again if it meant that Hob would stop looking like this: so quietly unhappy, and clearly troubled. If only they could find the words to ask. This was another one of those moments where they longed for Wuvvy. With her, they had always known the right thing to say.
At least, they’d thought that once. But they’d been wrong, hadn’t they?
“Rue,” Hob finally said, and Rue understood from his tone immediately that it was something serious.
They lowered their teacup. “Hob.”
Hob cleared his throat. “I have been avoiding bringing something to your attention. I feared that it would make you think differently of me, and so I wished to ignore it in hopes it would not come to pass. However … it has become obvious in the passing hours that I will not be lucky enough to escape it.”
So it probably wasn’t the sex thing. Rue shook off a wave of relief and refocused. “I could see that something was bothering you,” they admitted.
Hob’s mouth twitched in what Rue thought may have been a wince of displeasure. “Then let me speak plainly,” he said. His gaze was direct, but his eyes were slightly glassy. “This time of year is special for goblins. As the veil between Fairy and the mortal plane grows thin, the beings of my court prepare for a day of rumpus and ruin like no other. A day where we slip from one plane to the next and run amok with reckless abandon—more reckless than usual, if you can believe. A day where a goblin’s power is at its strongest, our teeth at their sharpest, and our tricks at their cruelest. On the mortal plane, they call this day All Hallows' Eve.”
Rue honestly did not spend much energy keeping track of holidays on the mortal plane. It was so difficult, seeing as the seasons in Fairy were changed more by whim and whimsy than any natural progression. But they could see this was important to Hob, so they nodded. “And… when is this day?”
Hob cleared his throat. “Today, in fact.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” Hob said. “At this very moment the goblins of my court are likely preparing for the dark rituals they will enact on the mortal plane. If I was there, I would be as well.”
“I see.” Rue absorbed this. “And these rituals are…?”
“Mostly hiding under beds, and er. Scaring small children.”
“Oh!” Another wave of relief poured over Rue. They found themself reaching for their teacup again. “My dear, if you were worried I’d have some sort of reaction to you scaring children… I mean it’s not as if I approve necessarily, but some of them can be quite annoying, and it seems relatively harmless—”
“That is not all.” Hob’s gaze dipped from theirs. “Forgive my interruption. It’s only that I mean to say, that it is not the actions performed on this day that I wanted to keep from you, but what they are driven by. There is something that comes about goblins on All Hallow’s Eve, as the witching hour approaches. A sort of … fervor.” He raised his head again, relaxing from his soldier's posture, but only to meet their eye with a measure of bitter wryness. “It is my own self, not my customs, that I did not want to alarm you with. I do not want you to see me in a state so monstrous.”
“Oh,” Rue said again.
Monstrous, they thought, their good humor vanishing. It wasn’t the concept they were repelled by, but Hob’s use of the word. They had never met a creature less monstrous than him.
They wanted to take his hand, but he’d folded them neatly in his lap. They also wanted to yell at him, a little bit. Alternatively, they wanted to cry. Instead of doing any of these things, Rue asked clinically, “And does this fervor happen … suddenly?”
“Not that I can recall,” Hob answered. “But the event is usually surrounded by certain celebrations. A natural ramp up, if you will. This is the first time I will be facing it alone. I believed I could perhaps resist the call entirely, but then we came to this place—this place between places—and I began to feel… I should have known I would be affected. I beg your deepest apologies.”
Rue ignored this plea. It was a ridiculous one, and they had to keep asking questions if they were going to stay calm. “When it happens, do you retain your faculties?”
“The important ones.”
Which ones would be most important to a goblin? Rue raised their cup again, trying to speak lightly. “Dear heart, I hear what you’re saying, but it doesn’t sound so bad. If it’s rumpus that your heart calls for, then perhaps I could rumpus with you—”
Hob looked abruptly pained.
“Or not.”
A silence followed. Hob looked down at his empty plate. Rue felt very un-calm.
“Well,” they finally managed. “If it worries you so much … we could always sleep in separate rooms for the night.”
“Yes, I think that may be wise.”
Hob had agreed so quickly and with such relief that Rue immediately regretted suggesting it. Do you really think you would hurt me? They wanted to ask. Do you really wish for me not to see you as you fully are? I want to know all of you. See all of you. Had they not said as much before?
But they had never seen Hob behave like a goblin in the truest sense—except for the once with Wanessa—and if he wanted to keep that part of himself private then they would respect that. They had been careless with others feelings before. They would not repeat the mistake again.
Rue reached a hand across the table. Hob eyed it blankly for a moment, then seemed to realize what they wanted, and put his paw in theirs. He met their gaze again. Hob’s eyes were a lovely amber, as deep and warm as the tea he’d made. In them, Rue found anxiety, shame, and a sweet nervousness. It made their heart ache.
Rue squeezed his hand. “I believe the letter said Goaty needed feeding in the mornings.”
“Ah. Yes.” Hob said. “...Andhera was the one who named him that, right?”
Of course, after feeding Goaty, Hob discovered that the paddock fence had fallen partially into disrepair, and set about finding the necessary tools to fix it. Rue did their best to not feel any type of way about this. Space was normal after a conversation like that, they told themself. It didn’t need to mean anything bad. In fact, it was good! Rue also had things they needed to work on.
Binx had written to Rue shortly after the Bloom about their plans to find new portals to the mortal plane. Binx had a natural eye for lost things—it was what made them so brilliant and so kind—and so shouldn’t have had too much trouble, but they weren’t familiar with the land of Fairy. That was where Rue came in. In the letter inviting them to the cottage, Binx had mentioned that they’d left a map of locations they had intentions of investigating, and had asked Rue to go through and mark any places of interest.
So Rue sat back down at the little dining table, now cleared of their breakfast, and took up a quill.
The first map in the pile was beautifully illustrated, an inking of the domain of the Court of Wonder. It made sense that Binx had left this one for them on top. Though traveling for the Bloom had left them familiar with many courts, the Court of Wonder had been Rue’s home for millennia.
Rue thought for a moment, then placed a mark near a copse of trees where many fae claimed to have tempted mortals through.
That copse was not far from where Rue themself had first crossed as a child, they’d been told. They had no memory of the night, but apparently they had been found alone. Alone and crying. The fae who’d come across them had looked for their mother and could not find her. Filled with pity, they had taken the tiny owlbear into their arms and spirited them away.
In their darker moments, Rue doubted this version of the story. Sometimes it was easier to believe that they’d been stolen. Snatched from the warmth of a cave, of their mother’s fur. But the truth was that their earliest memories of Fairy were of love and sweetness. The pain had only come later.
Their next mark was heavier than intended. The ink swam.
Monstrous. Rue had been called it, too. It had often been said sweetly of them in their childhood, as they’d been petted and praised, passed from one pair of soft hands to another. What a darling monster. What a sweet little animal. You’d hardly know they came from the forest, as long as you minded their claws.
Rue had spent so much of their life struggling with that word. It wasn’t until recently, until the Bloom, that they’d decided to stop fighting it. So what if they were a monster? They were themself. At the very least they would be themself.
It had been the best decision they’d ever made. It had led them to Hob.
Rue put the quill down. It really wasn’t about the fact that Hob wanted to spend a night apart. If he didn’t want to be seen in a moment so vulnerable, well, Rue could make their peace with that. But they could not abide Hob wanting to spare Rue some aspect of his true nature. It was against everything they believed in. Against their very soul. They wanted this relationship, new as it was, to involve loving each other fully. They thought Hob had too. If he didn’t—well.
Rue wanted to cry again. They stood up and went to confront him.
There was no backdoor to the cottage. Rue had to stumble along the little cobblestone path that meandered through the front yard, swinging by the woods that circled the house, to get to the back. They made it as far as the edge of the line of trees before their momentum faltered.
Hob was across the yard, kneeling by the paddock fence. An evil-looking little black goat was giving him its full attention, as if considering ways it could slip past its jailer. Hob seemed determined to ignore the stink eye he was receiving, though the crisp autumn air carried the sound of his voice toward Rue.
He seemed so content, holding a hammer and a few nails in one hand, using the other to keep the gate held in the right position. Softly reprimanding Goaty for his efforts at escape. It was enough to give Rue pause. Did they really want to do this? And now? Hob had been so stressed at lunch. Couldn’t they put their feelings aside for one moment and leave him be?
Rue wavered. They felt untethered and unsure. This close, the smell of the forest coated their palette, and something in their bones reached out for the comfort of it. Something beyond reason that smelled wet leaves and decay and thought safety, thought home. Thought, that is where I should be.
But it wasn’t true. Rue shuddered, disoriented by the strength of the feeling. They knew there was no comfort for them in soft lichen and damp earth. The magic of Fairy had changed them. If they tried to live on the mortal plane they’d be no better off than Binx’s poor family, turned into objects. They were an animal, but they were also fae. They belonged somewhere in between.
Which was perhaps the same thing as belonging nowhere.
Hob had still not noticed them. His shoulders were loose, body freed of the tension that he’d carried in the kitchen. He looked happy.
Rue turned, and took themself back inside.
Evening fell gracefully in the little cottage. Candles sprung alight without anyone having to light them. The fireplace crackled along happily without the need for more firewood. It was exquisitely cozy—a dream—and was only ruined by Rue’s increasing anxiety and despair.
They worked mindlessly on the maps that Binx had left for them, trying to muffle their thoughts. When Hob returned to the house with an armful of pumpkins, fur slightly dirty and charmingly tousled, Rue did their best to look like they had not been in mental turmoil for the past few hours.
“I took the liberty of pruning a few of Andhera’s squash,” Hob said, his shoulders still relaxed despite the weight he carried. “I was thinking perhaps I could make us a stew.”
“Sounds delicious,” Rue replied, careful to keep their voice steady.
Hob set the gourds down on the table. He appraised the maps. “Ah, these are locations where Binx thinks there may be portals?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a map of the Goblin Court?”
“I believe so.”
“Perhaps I could take a look at it after dinner.”
“I’m sure Binx would appreciate that.”
Hob glanced over at Rue. It was just the slightest cocking of his chin, the barest shifting of his eyes, but Rue still felt it when he settled the weight of his attention on them. “Are you … alright?”
“Yes. Just—my eyes are tired.” They waved a feathered arm over their face, obscuring it from him. “The maps. How about you go clean up and I’ll get started on cutting up the pumpkin.”
When they stood, Hob leaned over to brush a kiss against their cheek. His fur was still warm from the sun, and slightly damp with sweat. He smelled like salt, and earth. Something in Rue called out to linger in his orbit, to press close to his throat, to push him back against the wall and—
He moved away. Rue blinked, dazed.
While Hob cleaned up, Rue dismembered the pumpkin with a distracted ferocity. By the time he’d returned, they’d already hacked apart an onion and a few potatoes they’d found in a shoe rack, and were aggressively throwing some dried spices into the pot.
“That smells lovely,” Hob said, coming up behind them.
“It’s just onion.”
“It is the job of the person not currently cooking to remark that something smells lovely when it is just onion. May I?”
Rue backed away as Hob took over stirring the pot. They hunched against the chaise lounge, staring at the back of his head, feeling confused and wild, untethered in their own body.
Hob picked up the stem of rosemary that Rue had been in the middle of stripping and added a few more leaves. “Have you made this before?”
“No.”
“Strange. You’ve prepared it just as I would have. It’s a soldier’s dish, sometimes made out in the field.”
This successfully distracted Rue enough to stop their glowering. They had not had the presence of mind to really think about what they were cooking, they’d just grabbed what felt right. But the stew did seem familiar, in some strange way. And comforting.
It was because Wuvvy had made it for them once, Rue realized with a start. It had been near the beginning of their friendship. Maybe it had been the beginning. Wuvvy had only just started in her role as their assistant, and Rue had fallen ill, too ill to even keep up their glamour. They had told her not to enter their quarters—they’d had assistants before, who had always known they were not to be disturbed when they were ill—but Wuvvy had come in anyway.
She had not said anything. She had just looked at them, and Rue had felt nauseous with despair, and then she had left. But when she came back, it was with soup. And she had sat with them, and told them stories of her time as a Champion in the army of the Court of Hoof and Claw, and at the end she’d touched a furry hand to their feathered forehead and said, with a sweet sincerity that still made Rue want to weep, “You know, I’ve always liked the color green.”
“My love?”
Dimly, Rue was aware that they’d placed a hand over their face. They heard Hob move closer, leaning into their space.
“What’s wrong?”
But they couldn’t share this with him. It wasn’t fair.
“It’s nothing,” they choked, though at the time it had been everything. “I’m just feeling worn out from the day. If you don’t mind finishing dinner by yourself, I’ll just lie down for a moment.”
Hob’s hands had come to rest at their elbows. They felt his hesitation where their bodies touched, lingering just a moment longer before moving away.
“Of course,” he said.
When Rue emerged from the bedroom, after a long time of staring at the ceiling and willing themself to get it together, they found the stew simmering on the stove. The whole cottage was filled with the smell of it, warm and round and heartening.
Hob had already cleaned up the kitchen and neatly made up the chaise lounge with sheets and a pillow. He was now in the corner of the room, fiddling with some strange contraption that Rue had not noticed before. It was a wooden box with a large metal horn protruding from it, tipped toward the sky like a morning glory, with a separate thimble of some sort poised above the box itself. The entire thing was balanced precariously atop a stack of dusty books.
As Rue watched, Hob tapped a claw against the thimble, and it dropped down with a clunk. He jumped, and after a moment of spinning and wheezing, the first notes of a brassy song began to ooze from the machine.
Hob looked up, and only then noticed Rue standing in the doorway. He blinked at them sheepishly. “I’ve heard tell of these from the mortal plane,” he said. “I believe they’re called grammar-phones.”
Rue crossed the little room, coming to inspect the object. They both stood for a moment, listening, as a lonely horn piped out something sweet and slow from within it. “Lovely,” they said, meaning it this time.
“Delloso.”
They turned, and found Hob had extended a hand. His amber eyes were as soft and warm as candle flame.
“Would you give me the honor of this dance?”
Rue’s chest flushed with a soft, worn-out pleasure. They curtsied. “But, of course. The honor is mine.”
Hob took them in his arms, and they pressed against him, far closer than any courtly dance would ever have allowed. The room was too small and cluttered for a waltz, and they were both too large to do more than shuffle without knocking their heads against the ceiling, so they just leaned together and swayed. Under the tender control of Hob’s guiding hand on the small of their back, Rue let themself be rocked in a small circle.
“I didn’t know you cared so much for dancing.” They said after the first turn.
“Before, I didn’t,” Hob replied. “But lately I seem to have a newfound passion for the act.”
Rue exhaled a laugh. Inside the machine, a mortal man with a syrupy voice began to sing a muffled song about love, and time, and not having enough of it. Rue remembered how Chirp, when she’d come clean about her mortal lover, had said something about how short her life would be. A little flame, burning too quickly.
It was a terrible and frightening thought—but not, Rue thought, one beyond their understanding. Love could leave you in the realm of Fairy too, even without the fear of a mortal death. They understood that now.
Perhaps they gripped Hob a little tighter, or perhaps he was thinking of the singer’s words as well, because he spoke again. “I hope you know it does not please me to be parted from you tonight.”
Warmth again, like a dowsing wave, like the glow of the hearth. Rue rested their cheek against his and let thoughts of Wuvvy slip away for the moment. “Well. We have lived most of our lives without one another. I suppose another night will do us no harm.”
“Yes,” Hob allowed. “That is true. But I know the time we’ve spent together has not been long. I didn’t want you to think I had tired of—”
“Hush, you silly man.” Rue shook their head. They pressed impossibly closer to him, close enough that they were flushed chest to chest, and felt the answering rumble from deep within his ribcage. Did you know you purr? They’d once asked, to which he’d replied with an endearing, wide-eyed shock, Growl, you mean, surely. “I would never be so foolish.”
Hob led them in another slow turn, quiet again. Rue let their brain be quiet too, savoring the warmth where their bodies touched, and the moment that allowed them to do so.
When Hob spoke once more, his voice was very soft. “I believe my pronouncement this morning put some stress on you.”
Rue hesitated. They searched for a moment for a lie, or a denial, but in the end found they wanted to speak truly. “Yes,” they finally admitted. “But not due to any fear of what might become of you tonight. It was just … the way you spoke about it brought up some old wounds in me. Ones I did not know I still had.”
Hob pulled away, his eyes shining liquid dark with concern. “If I have hurt you—”
“My heart.” Rue closed their eyes and gently touched their forehead to his. “You have not.” They stroked the back of his neck, where one of their hands still rested. “But would it be terribly selfish of me to ask that we wait till morning to speak of this further?”
Hob leaned away again, but this time only to kiss them. It was his answer.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, once they’d broken apart.
“Famished.”
Dinner passed with a syrupy ease. The candles burned down slowly, as if savoring the night. Rue and Hob each ate two full bowls of stew, and then finished cleaning up together, dancing around each other in an over-full stupor, sometimes bumping arms on purpose.
If Hob was feeling the tension he’d claimed he’d feel as the witching hour grew closer, he did not show it. When it was time to part for the night he caught Rue at the bedroom door and kissed them against the doorframe with a long and earnest sweetness. Rue lingered in his space after he pulled away, a hand cupping the back of his head—but they didn’t ask him to come inside, and he did not suggest it. With a parting stroke behind Hob’s ear, they turned, and slipped into the bedroom.
Rest came easier for Rue than they had expected. They thought the spell of their peace might break once they and Hob parted ways, but the nest of blankets that Binx had left were heavy enough to weigh down their thoughts. They stayed up for a while, reading by candlelight, and then dozed off mid-chapter when the words began to blur.
They dreamt of pine needles between their claws and cool air ruffling their feathers, and woke with a start to find the candle on their bedside table had burnt nearly all the way down. When they sat up, rubbing an eye, the book slid from their chest and hit the floor. The candle flickered once in the dish and then sputtered out.
The room went dark.
Rue was suddenly very awake.
Some hours had to have passed since they’d fallen asleep; the room had gone cold. Their breath fogged in the air. Thin moonlight slid languorously through the window and onto the bedroom floor, painting everything a deep and imperfect blue.
Rue rose from bed, flinching at the chill of the wood against their bare feet. They moved to the bedroom window, half a thought that it might have come unlatched.
It hadn’t, but Rue paused at what they saw outside.
Standing in Andhera’s vegetable garden, perfectly still, was Hob. There was no breeze, but the cool light played off his fur like water—gave the illusion of movement. His back was to Rue. He seemed to be staring deep into the forest, or up into the air.
Rue did not second guess their instinct. They moved from the bedroom and left the house.
It was even colder outside than they had expected. Rue felt their feathers fluff against the chill. They had nothing but the thin silk of their nightgown to protect them, but for some reason, that didn’t bother them. It felt right to be outside like this. In fact, they were somehow sure that was what had woke them; they could not have stayed away.
Being barefoot, they were much quieter coming down the cobblestone path than they had been earlier, but this time Hob heard them instantly. He turned, the motion fluid and sure, and his gaze found theirs.
Hob’s eyes were the flickering orange of embers, the kind that leapt up and bit you when you thought the fire had long gone out. He looked cold and sleek and dangerous. He was all teeth and claws. An animal—but more than that. A predator.
Rue paused. “Knickolas?”
Hob blinked at them. “Rue.”
His voice was clear, if a bit dazed. It filled Rue with relief, and relief made them bold. They took a step closer to him, and noted the way his ears swiveled as they crunched across the dying grass. Noted how his chest swelled, how his mouth was slightly parted, tasting the forest air.
He was different, that much was evident. Hob hadn’t overblown the night's effect on him. He was truly, even gorgeously, a goblin in their finest form.
But he wasn’t unfamiliar. In fact, Rue thought, they knew exactly how Hob felt.
“My dear,” Rue said, abruptly filled with clarity of purpose. “Would you walk in the forest with me?”
A frown tugged at the edge of Hob’s mouth, a hint of his genteel reserve. Before he could reply, and before they could lose their nerve, Rue undid the ties of their nightgown and let it flutter to the ground.
Hob’s mouth fully popped open.
Rue stood for a moment, just letting him look. They should have felt ridiculous. They were naked! In Andhera’s garden! Where Goaty could see! But under the thin gauzy light of the moon, they did not feel silly at all.
“Walk with me,” they said again. And then they turned, and let the black of the wood swallow them.
Night was fuller in the forest. As full and loud as any party Rue had ever thrown. The cold had swept away the song of cicadas, but the darkness still sang. The leaves shifted and sighed under their feet. The tree branches shushed each other as they swayed. Above Rue, an owl called out, and their body called out with it. Their stride began to lengthen; they fell naturally into a lope.
Distantly, they heard the sound of someone prowling behind them, and their heart leapt in delight. They were not graceful here in the woods, but they were strong. For the first time in their recent memory, they found they preferred it that way.
Rue moved faster. The night was cold, but their blood hummed hot. Air slipped through their feathers like silk. Joy surged up through their throat, and they broke into a run. Hob was close behind them, and they knew, because they could smell him: salt and woodsmoke. They could hear his breath bellowing in his lungs. They could feel him shivering.
Rue began to laugh.
That was their mistake.
Something hit Rue’s back with the force of a carriage. It bowled them forward, sending them tumbling through the air. They hit the ground hard, still rolling, and the creature that had jumped them came up on top. Its fur was hot, its body thrumming. Its claws pinned Rue to the forest floor. It knelt its head, and Rue felt the cool pinch of teeth against their throat.
Rue’s heart stopped beating. For a long, long moment, they felt nothing but the cold.
“...Hob?” they exhaled.
Hob paused, then lifted his head to meet Rue’s eyes. Glittering in the deep gold of his own, they saw intent, and hunger, and…
A little bit of sheepish humor.
Rue choked out a loud laugh—the sort of which they had thought had long been trained out of them. Their mind quickly recontextualized the last few moments, noting how when Hob had tackled them, he had placed his arms so that he would take the brunt of the force when they tumbled. How he had held them against him so tenderly, and how the press of teeth they’d felt was light enough to be a kiss.
“You caught me,” they said breathlessly, heart finally resuming its pounding, and in double-time. “Though I think you may find me a poor meal. Too many feathers.”
Hob grinned in wolfish delight, plainly glad they weren’t upset. His body was hot against theirs, and it flushed every part of them warm again. “I disagree wholeheartedly,” he rumbled, bending to cover their torso with his. “You are the finest meal I have ever caught.”
Rue laughed, high and wild, as Hob bent to kiss their throat in earnest. They reached up and thread their claws through his fur, almost dizzy with joy. So happy that their plan had worked, and that Hob had been pleased, and happier still to be here, now, as themself. To be on their back in the woods in the arms of their lover, with the forest breathing all around them. To inhale the cold damp air and for a short time feel their place in all of it.
“I love you,” they told him, and they meant it in every bone. In every breath.
Hob raised his head. There was a bend in his expression.
Rue’s delight faltered. “What is it?”
Hob pressed his lips together. He placed a hand upon their cheek, smoothing at some disarray there. Finally, he replied, voice light. “You have humored me tonight.”
“Oh, Hob…”
Rue shook their head, and for a long moment searched for the words. Eventually, they gently took his face between their hands. Though Hob’s expression remained calm, Rue could feel the tension in his jaw.
“If anything, you have been the one who humored me ,” Rue began. “You saw today that I was out of sorts, and thought it was due to fear of what you had confessed, but it wasn’t that at all. That thing you said you feel, calling you to the woods—I felt it too.” Here, Hob’s brow furrowed, but Rue went on. “I don’t know why. Maybe it has been this time living as my true self for what feels to be the first time. Maybe it is because the veil is thin, as you said. I don’t know. All I know is that if you truly believe that these feelings make you monstrous, then you must concede that I am a monster as well.”
Hob closed his eyes, almost a flinch. Rue relaxed their palms, allowing him to slip away and hide if he wished, but he did not go.
After a long pause, he said, “I love you deeply.”
“And do you see me?”
His eyelids fluttered. His gaze met theirs again. “I do.”
Rue lifted their head, bringing their face closer to his, like they could pass the truth from their mouth to his. When they spoke again, it was a whisper. “Then you must see the animal in me, and know it loves the animal in you.”
Hob shivered. Rue felt it where they were intertwined. He did not reply immediately, but instead slowly lowered his head into the crook of their neck and left it there.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Rue folded their arms around him, allowing themself to be crushed against the earth. They ran their claws along the frill of his skull, and heard his sigh. Slowly, the tension coiled in Hob’s body began to unwind.
“Good,” they said. “Now can we please go back to the house? I seem to have misplaced my clothes.”
But once they returned to the cottage, they found that Goaty had escaped through a gap in the new fencing that Hob had built, and had made a meal out of Rue’s nightclothes. Rue laughed themself silly watching Hob chase the tiny hellion around the garden. By the time he managed to free their negligee from the creature's mouth and wrestle him back into the pen, Goaty had already eaten through half of it. Rue requisitioned Hob’s plush flannel dress robe from his traveling bag, wrapped it around themself, and called it even.
Afterwards, they were both too giddy and overwarm to go back to sleep, so Hob pulled the sheets off the chaise lounge and laid them out in the garden. Under the cover of autumn’s starlight, and the weight of several blankets, the two curled up and talked for a long time about nothing much at all.
In the middle of such musing, Rue stopped suddenly and began to laugh. “I’m sorry, I just remembered the face you made when I took my clothes off!”
Hob huffed. “I don’t think my shock should come as such a surprise. Putting the temperature aside, I’d never thought I would see the day you’d put your fine clothes in peril purely to bait me.”
“Proof we still have much to learn about each other,” Rue returned teasingly. “I must tell you about all the scandalous things that Wuvvy and I used to get—” They closed their mouth with a clatter.
Hob stared at them, waiting for them to go on. When they didn’t, his features shifted into something like understanding, wry and tender.
“My love,” he said slowly. “Forgive me if I’m imagining things, but I cannot help but notice that each time you bring up Wuvvy you somewhat obviously stop yourself from speaking any further. Is there a reason for that?”
Rue flushed warm with embarrassment. “I’m not! I mean, I wouldn’t…”
Hob raised an eyebrow.
“Alright yes, fine! I’ve avoided mentioning her around you. But does it not make you uncomfortable, me talking about her?”
“Why would it?”
“Why? Hob!” Rue sat up, flustered. “My missteps with Wuvvy lead to so many misunderstandings between us! She challenged you to a duel, for goodness sakes. I would understand if you did not want to linger upon her involvement in our relationship, or if my mentioning of her caused you some pain—!”
Hob reached out and gently captured one of Rue’s hands, which they’d been gesticulating wildly with. He held it between his own, and pulled it to his chest. “Wuvvy and I perhaps got off on the wrong foot,” he allowed. “But I know she was your companion for many years. You have shared much of your life with her, and may still yet share some future.” He leaned toward them, voice soft. “Which is to say, she was a part of your life, and so is a part of you—and I wish to know all of you, Rue.”
Rue’s stomach flipped. With their free hand, they reached out and clutched the collar of Hob’s shirt.
“Say that again.”
Hob blinked, breath catching, obviously taken by their fervor. “I… I wish to know all of you.”
Rue looked at him pointedly.
“Ah,” Hob said. “I am a silly man, indeed.”
Perhaps, Rue thought, moving to kiss him through their laughter, they had both been silly. Of course there would be misunderstandings between them; their love was new. But someday it would not be. Someday their love would be worn and comfortable, and they would know all there was to know of each other. Rue would look forward to that. Until then, it was not so bad being here, in the time before someday.
After all, it was a lovely night.