Page 163 - What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours

on yours. He was deliriously happy too—that was part of it. He freely admitted

that Tyche was his first love, admitted this to anyone who’d listen. Wherever he
was, the delectable, ambrosial Tyche Shaw wasn’t far away. They couldn’t keep
their hands off each other. A blended scent rose from their skins—sulfurous,
sticky, sweet. Wasn’t he rather old to be falling in love for the first time? And
who was she? Since Jean-Claude wouldn’t tell me what he’d learned about her, I
did some research of my own. She was a puppeteer, and very far from a well-
known one, though she did associate with the likes of Radha Chaudhry and

Gustav Grimaldi. Aisha added in an offhand manner that Tyche also did odd
jobs and invocations. Odd jobs? Was Aisha hinting at prostitution?
Chedorlaomer seemed like a nice person and so did Tyche; if either one was
ill-natured they hid it very well. But it didn’t matter; I was there to end their
romance. They were in love, and laughed at everything, and assaulted me with

the odor of all the sex I was being denied. I know I said denied, as if I had a right
to it. But those two filled my brain with the filthiest helium—I watched their
wandering hands and I watched Aisha’s Deadly Beige and when I blinked
diverse, divine contortions appeared to me, all wrapped up in satin sheets. The
bodies I saw and felt combining were mine, Aisha’s, Chedorlaomer, Tyche’s . . .
even the puppets got a look in. I propositioned Chedorlaomer, but the typical
halfheartedness of my attempt aside, Jean-Claude’s son was immune to my

charms. He talked about Aisha and explained that anybody who hurt her wasn’t
going to find it easy to live with all the injuries he and Aisha’s stepdad would
inflict upon them. He made these remarks in such dulcet tones that it took me a
few minutes to realize he was warning me.
After that I had to let Aisha in on my project, before Mr. Protective told her.
Once I’d told her everything she looked at me with the most peculiar expression.

“So you have a tendency not to want anything more than you already have?”
she asked.
“Yes.”
“And you think that’s a problem?”
“Clearly it is: It’s a difference that’s slowly estranging me from my family!”
“What if I told you that I know both Ched and Tyche well enough to be fairly
sure there’s no need for you to break them up?”

“I’ve still got to do it. My word’s my bond. I told Jean-Claude—”
“As for Jean-Claude,” Aisha said, stirring her tea with sinister emphasis.
“Oh, don’t.”