The single drop of blood from a being that we call a god abides in the Temple of the Gentle. It abides there and must abide for all time, or until the end of time. For if anything were to happen to that one drop of blood, my kingdom and every single living and un-living thing in my kingdom would fall.
My name is Felix. I want to tell you about the time my brother, my sister, and I came down with the pox. Not just the chicken pox, but the other one too. The one we caught from a runaway sprite. The rose pox.
“Your alibi checks out, Ms. Cavellero, so you’re free to go for now. Give us a call if you remember anything.”
“I will.” She caught her breath. She almost asked the detective to do the same if the police found anything further in the case, but of course that wasn’t the way it worked. She wasn’t family.
She hadn’t killed that poor young couple, but she felt responsible for their deaths. And she knew more people would die if she didn’t help the police. She hadn’t killed that young couple, and she didn’t know exactly who or what had.
But she knew where he lived.
When Cantor was a child, it was said that he was descended from Orpheus, who made flowers bloom with his song, who inspired trees to bend toward the playing of his lyre, who soothed the hearts of beast so well, they forgot to hunt their prey. Even Cantor’s crying was so sweet to hear that his mother had to stuff wax and cloth in her ears and watch his expression to know he was in misery.