Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [98]
I sighed and nodded my head. Zane backed off. If I’d been in jogging shoes or even flats, I’d have just carried Vivian into the house, but I was wearing three-inch spike heels. I could not carry someone nearly my own body weight wearing these shoes. If I kicked the shoes off, then the dress would be so long I’d trip. I was beginning to really hate this outfit.
“Vivian.” She didn’t respond. “Vivian?” She was still sliding towards the ground. I braced my legs far enough apart to get as much leverage as I was going to get in the shoes, and was ready for her when her legs collapsed completely. I might have been able to carry her in a firemen’s-carry even with the heels, but I’d seen her body and there were deep bruises on her stomach. Slinging her over my shoulders would hurt. I managed to lift her in my arms, but I knew better than to try and walk.
“Get Cherry,” I said.
Zane nodded and went into the house.
I stood there holding Vivian, waiting for help to arrive. The July sun beat down on my back through the black coat. Sweat trickled down my spine. Cicadas filled the heat with their buzzing song. There was a small army of butterflies feeding on the flowers. Don’t tell, but I drank at least one cup of coffee every day out here watching the stupid things. It was all very picturesque, but I was getting impatient. How long did it take for Zane to tell Cherry to get her butt out here? Of course, maybe she was busy with Gregory and his fearful injuries. If she was, it could be a while. It wasn’t that I couldn’t stand there holding her. It was that I felt stupid wearing heels so high that I couldn’t carry her into the house. It made me feel girlish in the worst way.
I tried to wait by counting how many different species of butterflies were visible. Tiger swallowtail, spicebrush swallowtail, greater frittilary, giant sulphur, black swallowtail, red-spotted purple, and painted lady. A trio of tiny blue hairstreaks spun into the air like glittering bits of sky. Beautiful, but where the hell was Cherry? Enough of this. I started very carefully forward, my ankle twisted and I had to throw myself backward to keep from dumping Vivian to the rocks. I ended up on my butt in the flower bed, crushing the border of rose moss flat and taking a few zinnias with me. The cosmos towered over me, some of them as tall as six feet.
Vivian gave a small moan, blinking her one good eye open. “It’s all right,” I soothed. “It’s all right.” I sat there holding her, half rocking her, with my butt in the flowers and my feet almost straight out in front of me. I’d managed to keep my feet through vampires, shapeshifters, human servants, and arsonists, but a pair of high heels had set me back on my ass. Vanity, thy name is woman. Though whoever wrote that had never seen an issue of GQ.
A tiger swallowtail nearly as big as my outstretched hand fluttered near my face. It was pale yellow with sharp brown stripes on its wings. It hovered over Vivian, then finally settled on my hand. Butterflies will lick the sweat from your skin for the salt, but usually you have to hold still for it. If you move, they float away. This insect seemed determined. Its proboscis is not much thicker than a straight pin, a long curved tube, but you can feel it like a tickling line.
It was maybe the third time in my life that I’d had a butterfly feed off my skin. I didn’t try to chase it away. It was cool. Its wings pulsed up and down very slowly as it fed, its tiny feet almost weightless against my hand.
Cherry walked out the door, eyes widening when she saw me. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, still careful not to scare away the butterfly. “Just can’t get the leverage to get back up.”
Cherry knelt by us, and the butterfly glided away. She watched it for a moment. “I’ve never seen a butterfly do that.”
“It was after the salt in my skin. Butterflies will feed on dogshit