Chapter Text
It’s two days after moving in with her Aunt that Ambriel settles. Beverly panics when she sees her, fingers flying across Ambriel’s downy chest as she tries to make sure she’s not hurt. There’s no sign of dust, but that doesn’t calm her any. For a moment she swears she feels the familiar, tacky sensation of blood on her fingers, but Ambriel coos reassurances until Bev stops shaking. We’re okay, we’re okay, Ambriel repeats like a mantra, like a poem she recites when she feels alone. She’s already starting to forget how it goes.
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Beverly wonders if people look at her daemon and know. It’s a stupid worry that leaves her feeling paranoid, but sometimes men on the street will look twice and she’ll suddenly feel like Ambriel is on display - “Look at me, take advantage of me, I’ve been hurt and will be hurt again! I’m a bleeding heart for God’s sake!” The moment will pass as it always does with no confrontation, her daemon tucked under the folds of her scarf, and a sick feeling in her stomach. Beverly wonders if she’ll always feel this way.
Ten years later and Tom Rogan is one of those men who look twice. He approaches her on the bus the night of New Year’s Eve, a gentle smile on his clean shaven face. “I’ve never seen a bird like that. He looks like he’s been shot.” Tom’s German Shepherd daemon stands at his side, wagging her tail. “She’s okay,” Beverly assures him automatically, wincing at how stiff her voice sounds. She checks her watch as she takes a drag of her cigarette. Her stop isn’t for another ten minutes. “I just worry, that’s all,” the man continues with sickly sweet honesty. Bev’s stomach swoops and Ambriel shudders against her neck. “That’s,” her voice cracks, “That’s kind of you, but we’re okay.”
He talks her into giving him her number before she gets off. It’s late, she’s tired, she wants to be home in her apartment, but when she lies down for bed all she can think about is worry.
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Every part of her feels like it’s been set alight. Two of her nails are torn, her ribs ache with the promise of a bruise, and she forgot to put on fucking shoes. It must be eleven, maybe even twelve, but she’s got her phone tucked into her bra and God knows Kay is always there when she needs her. “Bevvie?” A tired but curious voice answers when she picks up. She’s the only one who can call her that. “I left him. Tom. I need- I need money, and a train to Bangor.” Beverly listens to the soft chittering of Lux, Kay’s red squirrel daemon, while Kay audibly lights a cigarette. “Yeah, love. Jesus and Mary, you’re so brave. Anything you need.” Bev takes a moment to remind Kay McCall that she is a goddamn miracle of a woman before hanging up. She’s feeling a little hysterical laugh bubbling up and she’d rather not wake up the neighbors.
Bev buries her fingers into Ambriel’s chest until she can feel their too-fast heartbeats match up and laughs. It feels like it’s been forever since they’ve synced up and felt like the same person. She rubs her thumb delicately across the dark red patch on her daemon’s chest and for once doesn’t see blood- she rediscovers the spark in her soul. My heart burns there, too, Ambriel recites with glee, and the cold air doesn’t bother them as they make their escape.