Page 86 of The Gathering
“Now you’re meeting them in a perfect body,” Bishop said.
“That is onebadasshand, bruh,” Hurricane awed.
Handy raised it up, wagging his fingers. “That it is,” he assured. “Pah-Pah did me so proud.”
“I’m gonna need you for a few days,” Bishop said. “Your schedule free?”
“I’m as free as a bird now,” he said before flashing a perfect grin. “If Pretty Poppy lets me fly.”
That all-familiar female collar brought a round of laughs. Because they all had one. “We’ll meet in the chat in two hours,” Bishop told his men then eyed Handy. “I need you to have a look at my wife.”
“Anything for my Pah-Pah,” he said, his affection curiously genuine. “I will look at yourhighlygifted son, also.”Handy’s wink implied he knew what Bishop desperately needed to know.
Fuck, he prayed.
“We’ll take my ride,” Bishop said as he headed out with Handy after he got off the phone with his Pretty Poppy. Bishop chuckled the entire time he talked to her. His bat/raven ears allowed him to overhear every obsessed word he spoke to her. How much of his personal DNA made its way into his design, he wondered. Because damn, he sounded like his twin with his woman, minus the filthy words.
At the swamp dragon, Handy asked, “We’re riding this?”
Bishop looked at him after hopping on. “Yeah, it’s my Swamp Dragon.”
“I know what the hell it is,” he laughed, excited as he hopped on.
“You never rode one yet?”
“Not inthisbody, I haven’t. Hell yeah!”
The twenty-minute ride there, Handy went from terrifying terminator to an overgrown boy having his first taste of being real. The wind and the speed and the power under their ass plugged right into him and lit him up. His howling yells and laughs the entire way were fucking hilarious and the exact kind of distraction Bishop needed.
They made their way to the big house with Handy going on about modifications that made him wish they weren’t dealing with a fucking apocalypse. “Keep those plans in your head,” Bishop said as they climbed the steps. “After all this bullshit blows over, we’ll build it andraceit.”
“Race it?” he nearly squealed with excitement, making Bishop chuckle. Handy suddenly stopped. “Who is that?”
Bishop listened. “That’s my Mah-Mah and Pah-Pah.”
“Are they angry?”
He had to laugh. “We call it passionate. They’re fussing over food, probably. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Handy stopped him with his mechanical hand on his arm, dark eyes flashing with those red embers. “Now? Are you sure?”
“Oui,” Bishop said, sensing a negative something in him. “What’s wrong?”
He gave a light grimace. “Not that good with socializing,” he regretfully whispered.
“Then you won’t socialize,” he said. “We’ll sneak around and head up to my room. My wife is waiting for us.”
He relaxed and gave a small grin. “Right behind you, Pops.”
****
Handy slowed as he climbed the stairs leading to Bishop’s room, sliding his hands along the worn wood rail. He paused at every step as past memories leapt into his data sensors and raced through his body before turning into a living memory.
That was new.
His new body was full of surprises. All of them requiring acclimation. But he’d never gottenthiskind of data when touching things. The smell and taste of apple pie… boiled crawfish. Cedar and lavender… pipe tobacco that smelled like vanilla. And pine. Lots of pine.
“Something wrong, mon frere?”
