Chapter 102 Water Manipulation.

Chapter 102: 102 Water Manipulation.

The morning after Ayra’s heart-to-heart, I woke up the same way I’d been waking up for weeks now.

Elsa had claimed my right arm sometime around 3 AM and was using my bicep as a pillow. Her golden braids were fanned across my chest like she’d arranged them there on purpose.

Ayra was curled against my left side. Her face was pressed into my ribs and her tail thumped against my lower leg in her sleep.

I could feel through the bond that she was dreaming about something happy, probably tennis balls or possibly my hand. I chose not to investigate further.

Then there was Juniper. I was glad she was part of this mix now in a more official way. Her coils were wrapped around my ankles in a loose figure-eight.

A couple times throughout the night I awoke to the feeling of a loss of circulation, but it quickly went away each time. She was already awake.

I knew because the bond was feeding me her mood, and she was calm and focused, already chewing on some problem before the rest of us had opened our eyes.

I left the pile with great, superhuman effort.

Elsa made a displeased noise and grabbed for me, caught a fistful of pillow instead, and pulled it to her chest without waking, tongue lashing at it mercilessly.

Ayra rolled into the warm spot I’d left and her tail picked up speed as she deeply inhaled. Juniper’s coils loosened. She cracked one crimson eye open, looked around, and closed it again.

Downstairs, I got coffee going and started on breakfast, like I usually did. Eggs first for Juniper’s plate, then pancake batter, then bacon, yada yada, I’ll spare you the details.

The routine had calcified into something I could do on autopilot, which was good because my brain needed the spare bandwidth to process the fact that I now had a permanent emotional radar for four women’s feelings.

Five, counting my own, though I only had three moods these days, and two were just variations on "painfully erect".

Sigh. I lead a difficult life.

Clementine’s hooves announced her on the stairs before she appeared. The sharp clack of them against the hardwood was something I was slowly getting used to.

She was wearing my flannel with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows and the basketball shorts with the tail hole she’d cut without asking.

The flannel was unbuttoned one button too many, giving me a view of cleavage that the System had been very generous about when it redesigned her.

I forced my eyes back to the eggs. She grabbed the coffee pot, poured a mug, and leaned against the counter to watch me cook.

She didn’t say anything for half a minute. That was a long time for Clementine to be quiet. I started counting.

"You look fucking disgusting in that wifebeater right now," she said at the thirty-two second mark. "Like a friend’s hot dad I simultaneously want to teach me how to drive and how to fuck."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, good morning to you too, Clementine." I cracked an egg one-handed into the skillet, trying to maintain whatever aura she saw in me while slightly recoiling from the way she chose to describe it. "Also, your definition of disgusting is growing increasingly distorted and nonsensical."

"Your face is ridiculous. Such a fucking chair, it’s obnoxious." She took a sip and nodded at the stove. "You want help?"

Assuming she meant breakfast, I slid the bacon pan toward her without a word.

She took over and adjusted the heat by instinct the way she always did. We worked side by side in the kitchen for a few minutes without talking.

She bumped my hip with hers when she needed the burner, and I handed her the spatula before she asked for it, then flicking a boob to watch it jiggle, making her snort. This was our version of boyfriend-girlfriend shit, I guess.

Breakfast of course brought the full circus to the table. Elsa came down the stairs in her nightgown, which was sheer enough to make Little-But-Not-Really-Little Grey perk up.

She claimed her chair, claimed my arm, and then attempted the coffee maker on her own. It was her second try since yesterday’s lesson.

The result was drinkable, if slightly fucking awful, and her pride through the bond was enormous even as her face gave nothing but performed composure.

"I have once again subjugated this primitive device to do my bidding," she announced.

Progress was progress.

Ayra was quieter this morning. Her tail wagged at standard speed but the performance dial had been turned down a few notches since yesterday’s field conversation.

She ate her breakfast in her combat outfit, for some reason, and started sharpening my sword at the table. When Elsa began arguing about shower priority, Ayra just said, "You go first, Princess."

Elsa’s fork froze mid-air. She stared at Ayra in shock. Through the bond I felt a spike of genuine confusion from the princess, followed by suspicious gratitude.

"Well," Elsa said, recovering. "Obviously."

Juniper ate her eggs and bacon while reading something on my tablet.

She’d been deep in research mode for days now, and the crease between her brows had been getting deeper each morning.

She didn’t bring up whatever was bothering her at breakfast. She ate, she read, and every few minutes her tail bumped against my calf under the table.

After the dishes, Clementine and I trained in the field the way we did every morning.

She transformed in the yard and I vaulted on, and we ran drills for an hour.

The Cavalier bond had tightened to the point where verbal commands were mostly unnecessary.

I’d think hard right and she was already banking. She’d feel my weight shift for a strike and adjust her stride to maximize the angle before I’d even raised the sword.

You’re leaning too far forward, her mental voice said as we ran a charge pattern toward the practice post I’d set up.

If you fall off at this speed you’ll break your stupid neck and then I’ll have to explain to three grieving fantasy women why their boyfriend is a quadriplegic.

"At least I won’t have to read the Presbyterian Catechism." I adjusted my balance and she accelerated.

I told my mom you’re Presbyterian, not a theologian.

We hit the practice post at full gallop and Mounted Charge activated. My sword went through the four-by-four like it was cardboard, and the momentum carried us another forty yards before Clementine slowed to a trot and stopped.

That one felt stronger, she said.

"STR 20 will do that. Everything hits harder now. I’m a beast."

Cool. I actively choose not to get horny for you in this form. Let’s do that again.

We ran the drill six more times. By the end, the field had a line of demolished posts, and Clementine was grinning through the bond even if she’d die before admitting it. She loved running, and the Cavalier link broadcast that to me whether she wanted it to or not.

She transformed back and we sat on the fence catching our breath. She looked good after a run, with her flushed cheeks and wild black hair, body slick with sweat, and my flannel had magically come open another button during the workout even though that didn’t make sense since she was a horse the whole time.

"I had a dream last night," she said, looking at her hooves. "I was a full horse, just standing in a field eating grass and carrots." She paused. "I woke up and checked my teeth."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. The dreams are getting less scary and more just, like, annoying horse shit. My brain won’t let me forget what I am even when I’m asleep." She picked at a splinter on the fence rail. "But I was happy in the dream. Chill. Like I belonged there." She glanced at me. "Is that fucked up?"

"Doesn’t sound fucked up at all. I had a dream last week that I was a Jewish detective, and for some reason I looked like a young Martin Luther King Junior."

"You were... a black Jew? In your dream? How did you even know you were Jewish?"

I shrugged. "It came up a few times."

She punched my arm. "You’re so weird." She hopped off the fence and her hooves thudded into the grass. "Come on, fuckface. I wanna shower before Lewd Luthien uses all the hot water."

My eyes widened. "Wow. Luthien is a deeper cut. Mad respect."

The afternoon turned into lazy and comfortable activities, as it usually does.

Elsa had decided she wanted to do her own laundry, which was a first. She had a whole wardrobe’s worth of clothes from an online shopping spree I’d let her have back in the early days, but she spent most of her time half naked and usually used magic to clean her own body, making laundry largely unnecessary.

She stood in front of the washing machine in the mudroom and studied it like Juniper studied ancient texts. "This device." She tapped the lid twice. "It cleans garments through water manipulation, yes?"

"Pretty much." I leaned against the doorframe and crossed my arms, ready for the show. "Sort by color, add detergent, pick a setting, press start."