Patience idly wondered what Schuler was doing today. When he returned her home yesterday after their modest foray into the west, he left before she could start supper. He made no mention of any plans. Patience sucked on her tongue. No matter. Right now it was her time to unwind.

After a breakfast of biscuits and eggs, she settled into the parlor. Patience was nearly finished with the book Anax had interrupted almost a month ago. Meanwhile, Anax snaked a tendril to the shelf to select his next literary conquest. The creamy pages flitted through her fingers as she searched for where she had last left off reading. A smile crept over her lips when her eyes fell on the first line of the final chapter.

At that moment, a vigorous rapping came from the door. An echo that was Patience’s heart immediately followed. She placed her book down on the cushion, abandoned again. A knot formed in her stomach. Striving for ghostly silence, the girl tiptoed to the window. She felt the blood pulsing through her ears as she shakily peered out between the half-drawn curtains to see who was there to knock so violently. A flash of silver caught her eye.

“He’s HERE! He found us!” Patience wheezed, ducking to the floor.

“Hmph. He’s good,” Anax calmly noted. “This is your house. You know where to hide me.”

Patience gulped and nodded. She pushed the skull away from her own. Crawling to the fireplace, she reached a hand up into the chimney. Inside was a brick ledge just wide enough to support Anax if he leaned against the wall. Many years ago, she had discovered this spot in her quest to hide the sun-dried body of a snake from her mother. If there was one creature Frances Firmin could not stand in the house dead or alive, it was a snake. Ultimately the carcass fell victim to an infantile lapse in memory, becoming sacrifice to a cold night’s fire. For a brief moment Patience questioned the combustibility of Anax, but she had learned her childhood lesson. The girl placed him there, taking care to unsettle as little soot as possible.

The rapping continued impatiently, shaking the very pins in the door’s hinges. Patience bounded to the kitchen to dunk her hands into the sitting water of a bowl she meant to clean later. She wiped her hands on the seat of her pants and finally attended the door. As it swung open, her greatest fear was confirmed. Valon stood before her. He wore a familiar glower.

“H-how did you f-find me?!” Patience stammered.

“I’m a hunter,” said Valon.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The man snorted, “Firmin was a name I heard a few times during that meeting of the hunter’s association. Your father was a master taxidermist, correct? There aren’t many Firmins around.”

“Y-yes,” admitted Patience. She regretted giving him her real name. The girl began to sweat now that the predator was at her throat. She was cornered. All the moisture from her mouth evaporated.

“That day we had coffee, I noticed the corner of a train ticket peeking from your pocket. Then under the guise of a concerned uncle looking for his runaway niece, I asked the stationmaster where you were headed. Once in Haverston, it was but a simple task asking for the Firmin residence.” His boot tapped on the front step. “But let’s get to the point. I’m here to ask for your help,” Valon stated.

Her help. Some sort of switch within her flipped. Patience plumped her lips to appear fuller than they normally were. He still sought her. He had not even once asked about Anax since he arrived. She relaxed a little, lowering her shoulders and enhancing the presence of her collarbone. Patience sidled up to him, swirling her tongue to coax more saliva into her mouth.

“So soon?” she crooned.

He raised an eyebrow. Patience persisted, stroking Valon’s chest. Her nails gripped into the wool. She tugged him her way, inviting him inside.

Valon’s nostrils flared. He sauntered to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. Without breaking eye contact, he undid his pants, sliding them down. His leer no longer felt like hellfire to Patience. It was now a sinful lock between them, burning and setting her insides ablaze. He pulled his drawers down and sat upon the seat with his right arm on the table and his left upon his thigh.

“Strip,” Valon demanded in a soft voice with an edge of aggression.

Unable to refuse him, Patience obeyed. A breath of a chuckle escaped her nose as she smirked. “Yessir.”

She casually pulled her blouse over her head and then slinked out of her pants. Once down to her undergarments, she reduced her pace. Patience unhooked her corset in precise, careful movements. The chemise underneath found itself flung to the floor. As she undressed, she watched Valon’s cock roll against his thigh, twitching to attention. Her skin prickled from the cool air of the kitchen. She finally undid the belt of her drawers and let the fabric follow the chemise. Anticipation tingled over her body. Now completely bare, a drip of wet slid from her gap.

Valon patted his lap, urging her to come to him. Patience lightly stepped over her discarded clothes and stood in front of the hunter. Not having to tilt his head far, he met her gaze.

“Come on, then,” he said.

Wordlessly Patience brought her legs over his thighs and straddled him, her arms resting on his shoulders. His left hand glided up her side, sending a shudder along her spine. Her slit gently parted around Valon’s shaft. His cock pulsed, drawing a thin strand of fluid from her sex. Her face drew close. In the clear light, Patience drank in every whisker and fine line that had escaped her in the dimness of their last encounter. His heavy breath kissed her chin. A faint scent of smoke and citrus met her nose.

She leaned her head in closer, nose nearly touching the bridge of his. It was not unwelcomed, but Valon did not change his expression. She pouted. Something about him made her want his attention. Patience needed to draw some emotion out of him. It was her challenge.

Her lips slowly wrapped around his mouth, separating to release her tongue to seek out his. However, he quickly took control. Lunging in, his jaw worked her roughly. Patience rolled her pelvis against him. His upright cock slid along her aching gap. Gently rocking her bottom half, she savored the sparks the touch of his flesh sent across her slit. Valon slapped her ass, ushering for the next phase.

Clutching his broad shoulders, Patience lifted herself onto his cock. She eased herself over it, hoping to soak in the sensation. Except Valon grabbed her hips and forced her down the last half. She gasped, her breath cut short by his silencing mouth. Flourishing in his heat, she bucked into him.

Aiding with his strong arms, Valon eventually had her bouncing on his cock. Patience’s moans hitched with each slam. The resounding wet slaps further fueled her arousal. Her hand kept busy, rubbing the back of his head and neck. Her other hand buried underneath his shirt and massaged his hard torso.

Between kisses she attempted to catch glimpses of the man’s face. She wanted to see his eyes, to get a sense of what he might be feeling. But it was a difficult task. He never stilled his head long enough for a good look. And if he did, he bumped Patience around too furiously for her vision to settle. Valon would continue to be a mystery. Pondering over his thoughts would be a fruitless labor. So Patience decided to simply lose herself to his motions. And what motions they were.

He jacked into her chamber, leaving no space between their flesh. Fully enthralled, Patience ground into his cock. The heady, full feeling rose from her loins through her chest with each of his thrusts. Her legs folded around his sides, the cool surface of the chair-back on her calves. Valon sucked her neck, growling and nipping in between, drawing out wild cries from her mouth. In the back of her mind, Patience was glad Anax was inert at the moment. She would not hear the end of it from him if he learned she was losing this much control.

Valon then wrapped his arms around her thighs. He sharply stood up, the chair squealing as it scuttled away from them. The strength surging from his body astounded Patience. Gripping her tightly, the man lifted her up, cock digging into the pit of her hips. Her legs grasped his middle. Lewd squelches echoed in the kitchen. Had anyone peered through the kitchen window, they would meet Valon’s pumping buttocks and the crimson face of Patience, mouth agape, gasping in exaltation.

She kicked her legs straight, propelling herself to breach the top of the mountain of pressure. Valon reached his hand closer to the bottom of her groin and began kneading the muscles there. Out of breath, she rested her head against his chest, only letting her bottom half continue to work. Nearly there. Patience diminished her thrusts, deliberately pulsing her inner walls around Valon’s length. Almost coming to a full stop, she then pressed her loins firmly against the hunter. He gave another squeeze and they both released. Their pelvises wantonly jerked as Valon pumped into her cavity and as she attempted to drink it all.

Panting through her ecstatic throes, Patience held her arms tightly over him. She could hear Valon’s heavy breaths escape his nose above her. He gritted his teeth to stifle grunts desperately seeking to flee his mouth. After they calmed, Valon slipped her off of him. A splash of fluid dripped to the floor. A long silken thread extended from his tip. It broke when his still slightly tumescent cock twitched.

“Now about that help,” said Valon, shuffling toward the sink, his pants around his ankles.

“Hold on, I thought that was it!” Patience exclaimed, standing naked in the kitchen.

“No. I just wanted that. There’s something else you can do for me.”

“Wh-what do you want?”

Valon found a dishtowel and wiped himself clean. “Your father mounted a few of the specimens in the Manford Museum of Natural History in New Amstel.”

Patience looked away. She murmured, “He’s worked with many institutions throughout his career …”

“Funny thing happened in St. Phocas. After my presentation, a few of the fellows and I went to the gambling house for drinks and a game of cards.” He reapplied his drawers and pants. “I suspected one of them to be cheating and thus, showed him my knife.”

“As you do,” Patience huffed, putting on her undergarments.

Valon continued as though he were never interrupted, “Lips loose from rum, he mentioned a peculiar specimen that shone exactly like my knife’s handle. He came across it in a back room of the museum during a private tour. The way he described it—well, it made me think of a particular beast.”

Valon was indeed the wrong man to consort with.

“I’m sorry to hear of your father’s passing, but I need you to use your connections to get that skull for me.”

“I can’t steal from a museum!”

“You said you wanted to help me. Either we get that skull, or I will find yours and take him.”

Valon took out a cigarette of dried lavender and matches from his pant pocket and lit the roll. Patience’s expression matched the staunch frown usually gracing the hunter’s face. The man now had a curl of a smile pinned between his jowls. He had the upper hand, just as he liked.

“Fine, I’ll help you,” sighed Patience in defeat. “Let me think of a plan and then I’ll contact you.”

“Wonderful,” said Valon, “You can find me at the Comstock Inn in Keaton. Leave me a message.” His expression barely changed despite his victory. He was expecting it all along. The man put out the cigarette on a cutting board and returned it to his pocket. With a half-hearted nod toward Patience, he let himself out. As he threw the door open, he nearly crashed into Schuler who was just outside, gripping a basket. Valon grumbled, sidestepping the musician to continue on to the road.

Schuler stared dumbfounded at the older man. He then glanced inside, meeting eyes with a scantily-clad Patience.

“Oh, God!” Schuler yelped, averting his gaze.

“Schuler! I’m sorry! Let me—” Patience’s face flushed a deep red as she stumbled over to close the front door, but not before dragging Schuler inside. She scrambled to dress over her underclothes.

Once properly covered and Anax was retrieved from the chimney, Patience invited Schuler to sit at the kitchen table. She deliberately hovered over where Valon had sat. “Sorry, again. But I didn’t know you were coming over …”

Schuler dropped his basket on the table and begrudgingly pulled out the chair by the stove. Patience affixed Anax to her head, taking the seat opposite him. This brewing confrontation would be easier to bear with Anax to stand between her and the man.

Schuler stroked his whiskers and spoke, “I wanted to surprise you with lunch, but—Can I say my piece on that man I ran into?”

“Yes, Schuler,” whimpered Patience, preparing for the backlash.

“Patience! I can’t believe you!” Schuler threw his hands into the air. His mouth distorted into a scowl.

“You can’t tell me whose company I can keep!” she retorted.

“I know! I just—I worry about you!” Schuler bit his fist, trying to gather himself. “Who is he anyway?” he asked with pleading eyes.

“A man I met during my vacation,” confessed the girl.

“And he came all the way here to you?”

“Yes, but it’s nothing serious. We have … an arrangement.” Patience shifted her eyes away, even though they were difficult to see with Anax on her.

“That seems rather … precarious,” grunted Schuler, fighting for the right words. “He doesn’t sit well with me.”

“He has matters with Anax that I’m sorting out—in my own way.”

“So you ARE in trouble!”

“I will take care of it!”

“Are you sure you can handle whatever shit you’re embroiled in?” Schuler passed a hand over his face. “This really isn’t like you.”

“I’m not the same girl you met six years ago!”

“You’re right, you’re going out risking your safety! I just want you to be okay! The Patience I knew was comfortable staying at home, working the garden, playing with skeletons—”

“Maybe I needed a change in scenery,” Patience interjected.

“She’s been playing with skeletons in a new way!” quipped Anax.

“Shut it, Anax,” snapped the girl.

Schuler crossed his arms and slouched into the chair, looking quite despondent.

Hanging her head, Patience softened her voice, “This house, it’s too full of memories. I have to go out and make new ones. Memories of my own … with Anax … and anyone else I choose.”

Schuler stared out the window in abject silence.

“Are … are you still bitter about me declining your marriage proposal?” she murmured.

The man brought a hand to his brow, smoothing back his black hair. There were more streaks of silver than Patience had remembered last. His gaze rolled to meet hers.

“Can you blame a man?” asked Schuler.

Patience flicked her head to the side, afraid to look at his face.

“I wanted to give you that change in scenery,” he said.

“I … wasn’t ready then …”

Schuler reached over the table, offering his hand. Patience extended her arms and clasped his palm between her own, running her fingers over his callused ones.

“I can still give you that change,” said Schuler, a weak smile on his lips.

“I …” Patience knew deep down in her heart she was not ready. She was not ready to commit to him and lose him. She did not know if she ever would be. Valon did not mean much to her. Anax would stay with her indefinitely, possibly until she herself departed this world. But Schuler, from the day he came to their house to patch their roof, she knew he was special, and that he was evanescent.

“Not yet,” was the best she could muster. The man’s disappointment weighed on her slumping shoulders. Keeping Schuler at arm’s length was easy when he traveled with his troupe. Now that he was here again, it pained her more than she anticipated. Her fingers gave a hard squeeze before he withdrew his hand.

“Well, let’s tuck into this roast chicken before it gets cold.” Still with a smile on his lips, Schuler opened the basket. As they ate and passed words between them, the smile remained, but his eyes were glazed and distant. Anax, meanwhile, had snaked a tendril down Patience’s back and reached around discreetly to clean her.

***

“These men won’t leave us alone,” hemmed Anax.

“Well, it seems I fumbled things with Schuler,” Patience whined.

The skull grunted.

“And I’m doing what I can with Valon.”

“I still don’t like him marking you.”

“If it keeps him from taking you, I will put up with it.”

“You enjoy him, though.”

Patience sighed, “My body has a mind of its own.” It was true. If only she had more restraint. She could not help her attraction to any of these souls.

Patience’s heart ached through the night into morning. Having disappointed Schuler again led to a troubled sleep. To compound her suffering even more, she found that onerous spot of blood on her drawers. The girl groaned and began her routine.

After settling her business in the outhouse and washroom, thanking Anax for his duty, the girl entered the kitchen. She started a whole pot of tea and a light breakfast of eggs. Today would be devoted to thinking of a plan to obtain the skull in New Amstel.

The girl griped, “Why can’t Valon come up with a plan? He’s the man of action.”

“You are more familiar with museums, at least your father was.”

“I only know what he’s told me. Never had I accompanied him on one of his business trips.”

She paced around the parlor, eyeing the books containing the knowledge of numerous minds. It was a vain hope that some of that knowledge would effuse from the pages and creep into her own brain. The exercise did assuage her abdominal pains at the very least.

Unfamiliar with the ways of humans and museums, Anax remained silent on the matter. He focused his attention on caring for Patience, and reading a book on the side. It was an odd sight: a girl going about the cottage with a skull on her head, a mass of mist around her, holding a book up to the right eye socket with smoking coils. But any voyeur would have grown accustomed to it as this scene played through the day and into the night.

Feeling better the next day, Patience decided upon dumplings for lunch.

Kneading and rolling the dough at the kitchen table relaxed the girl. It was a simple task and kept her hands busy. Flipping the wad of dough in her hand, an idea struck the girl.

“Anax!” she exclaimed.

“Hm?”

“You can take on any form you want … and you seem to be able to hold those forms steady, or as you will it,” Patience continued.

“Yes.”

“Do you think … you could form yourself around an object, essentially making a mold, and use that muscle memory—in a sense—to sculpt a piece of clay?” gasped Patience.

“I suppose I could,” said Anax.

“Let’s see!”

Abandoning meal preparations, the girl hurried to the washroom. She unhooked a key from a nail on the wall and flew into the garden. Once past the greenhouse, her feet tread upon crab grass creeping over the stone pavers. This part of the garden had grown wild in the years since its last spate of attention. Patience stopped short of the door of her father’s atelier. Her eyes traveled across the small building’s facade. Moss feathered the corners, spider webs flocked the eaves, and yellow lichen painted the roof. It looked well assimilated into the garden.

Hesitant steps led the girl to the entrance. She inserted the key, cringing at the scrape of rust reverberating through her fingers as she unlocked it. The door opened with a groan. A waft of dust and mildew awakened from dormancy greeted them in earnest. Patience coughed.

Everything was gray on the interior. From bones to wooden forms, they were all covered with a fine layer of dust. The girl found an old rag in a drawer and wiped off the surface of the main worktable. Guilt gnawed at her stomach. She had left this place for so long. This place housed many fond memories of her working with her father. It was difficult to relive them as she looked around the space. However, it now pained her more to feel that she had decidedly abandoned those memories. She shook her head and set about her task.

Since the windows were dimmed with dust and grime, Patience left the door open for light and to let the studio air out. Patience found the sack of clay powder in a cabinet. Her father used to sculpt most of his taxidermy forms from clay for the smaller animals. When she was a child, she would attempt to sculpt alongside him, but her clay never developed past rudimentary shapes. Feeling the texture of the powder, she was sure it was still usable despite being in storage for so long. She then ran to fetch a pail of water.

As she mixed handfuls of water into the light gray pile of powder atop the table, her heartbeat quickened. It had been much too long since she last worked with her hands outside of domestic needs. She missed this. Patience kneaded the mixture into the wooden surface of the worktable, adding more water, more powder, approximating until it felt how it should be. A peaceful silence fell around the girl. This atelier embraced her; long had it gone bereft of an artist.

Finally pleased with the consistency, she then stepped over to a rack on the near wall displaying a manner of animal parts. The girl picked up a cat skull that came from an incomplete and broken carcass she and her mother happened upon the road one summer day long ago. She stroked a loving thumb over the cranium and brought it to the worktable next to the lump of clay.

“We can practice with this cat skull. Recreate it with the clay,” said Patience.

She sat with her hands neatly folded, eyes trained on the skull and medium. She watched Anax form a tentacle as thick as his arm and cup it over the skull. The vapor reached into every visible depression and crevice. He then lifted his appendage away and brought it to the lump of clay. Like her hand squeezing around a ball of dough, Anax gripped the mound. Additional smaller tendrils formed to check between the original and the replica, seeking precise reproduction. Slowly the shape of the cat skull took form in the gray lump.

“This is amazing,” Patience breathed.

“I’ve never made anything before. It is not in our nature,” Anax said as he pinched out excess clay between the cat’s jaws.

“Hm, Uncle Lung always did believe the creation of art was the true indicator of a society’s evolution … paintings, music, even the basest forms of such …”

“We make gashes in trees to relay relevant information, but we never create for the sake of creating.” He brushed the trimmings to the side of the table.

“I believe I can sneak enough clay into the museum to make a replica and switch it for the real skull!”

Their plan was taking form just as a copy of the cat skull did before them. Patience’s mind began whirring like the gears in a clock.

“Skulls don’t get much bigger than you, do they?” she asked.

“Not very much.”

“It will still be a lot of clay, but I think I can fit both you and the clay into my bag.”

“Will we use this clay and have to mix it there as well?”

“Hm, I’m supposing this wouldn’t be the right kind to fire into what we want …” Patience pondered. “I’ll ask Valon to handle it. This is his expedition after all.”

“And how do we gain access to the specimen?” asked Anax.

“I’m fairly certain Uncle Lung is a patron of Manford if my memory serves correctly. I hope I can ask him to send a letter of introduction if being the daughter of Antander Firmin isn’t enough to grant me entry to the back rooms.” Patience nodded. “I will send him a telegram.”

In a matter of minutes, a complete clay replica sat next to its twin. Anax silently marveled at his own work. Patience’s eyes shone. Her worries over Schuler receded, all of that seemed trivial in the presence of these two small skulls. For this was their solution to the sword hanging over Anax’s head.