Chronicles of Devon

by W. J. May

  That being said, most of their regulars had been trapped in endless policy meetings for the last few weeks, and all their usual back-ups were sitting beside them at the play. They’d resorted to the stereotype—an over-mannered, smiling, teenage girl looking for some extra cash.

  This one just happened to be top of her class at Guilder, and came with the additional qualification of creating an invisible protective dome around the perimeter of the house.

  “Everything went great,” she answered, suppressing the need to roll her eyes. The first time she’d been trusted to watch the children, the man had called halfway through a Bosnian prison raid just to remind her Aria’s ‘forbidden foods’ had been relocated to the top shelf. “Jamie went to bed about thirty minutes ago. I even got him to drink—”

  “Did he have an extra bottle?”

  “—an extra bottle.”

  Perfect.

  Devon nodded swiftly as the remainder of the children streaked once more past the base of the stairs. By now, the dog was chasing them. They’d also armed themselves with sticks.

  “Well, that’s awesome—thank you so much,” he said gratefully, ushering her towards the door. Something glass shattered in the next room. “Do you need a ride home, or—”

  “Nah, I’ve got my mom’s car.”

  “Oh yeah—of course.”

  They stared at each other a suspended moment, then he reached suddenly for his wallet.

  “Right—sorry. Everything’s...” He rifled frantically through his money, trying to remember the agreed upon amount. “Everything’s a little crazy right now.”

  After a few awkward seconds, he simply emptied it into her hands.

  “Whoa...are you sure?” She stuffed it into her pocket before he had a chance to reconsider, skipping out the door with a parting, “Always a pleasure, Mr. Wardell.”

  Without another word she vanished quickly into the night, slipping past a frazzled-looking deliveryman who was holding what appeared to be seventeen pounds of gourmet pasta.

  “Dev, did you already pay the caterers?” Julian called over his shoulder, one hand braced against the frame. “There’s a guy at the—”

  “You’ll have to do it, I just gave away all my money.” Devon tripped over a giant ball of fur on his way into the kitchen. “Crap—I’m sorry, baby.” He knelt down immediately to rub his faithful Golden retriever’s ears. “Are you hungry? You knocked over your food bowl...”

  He rummaged around beneath the sink for the bag as a pair of dangerously high-heeled shoes clattered noisily into the room behind him.

  “Hey sweetie, you forgot to wheel the trash to the curb last night.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, then lifted to his feet with a frown. “It was just the recycling last night. It’s every other Tuesday—”

  “Every other Tuesday, starting the second Tuesday of the month,” she finished, grabbing a pair of wine bottles in each hand. “It’s okay—I’ll just incinerate it. Try out a new tatù.”

  He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again with a little smile. “Why are you wearing those shoes?”

  Her face blanked as she glanced down at the heels. “What do you mean? You don’t like them?”

  He crossed the room slowly, staring down her legs with a dimpled grin. “I like them...but you can’t walk in them.” His hand slid around the back of her head as he leaned down for a kiss. “How did you manage in the school auditorium—bloody hell, Rae!”

  There was an electric burst and he jerked back with a gasp.

  “I managed just fine in the auditorium,” she answered icily, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I also managed to get there on time...unlike some people I might care to mention.”

  Her face abruptly cleared as she waved out the window.

  “Nice smile, Brandy!”

  “Thanks, Mrs. W!”

  The girl fired up her engine as Rae glanced back at her husband.

  “Did you notice she got her braces off?” She kissed him again on the cheek, no lightning this time, then swept from the room. “Remember to feed the dog.”

  WHAT FELT LIKE A SMALL lifetime of chores later Devon emerged from the kitchen and trudged into the dining room, where his friends were busy setting the table. He reached for one of the take-out bags himself before collapsing instead onto a chair, dropping his face into his hands.

  How is this the same day it was this morning?

  “Hey, man—you okay?” Luke finished with the pasta and settled into the adjacent chair, pouring him a drink at the same time. “You look exhausted.”

  Devon leaned back slowly, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I just...haven’t stopped moving yet today.”

  It was a depressingly literal assessment.

  He’d been up at four with the baby. He’d tried working out at five, only to get interrupted by the baby. He’d left London at six and driven to the Oratory, only to get assigned a vicious training course by Carter—where he proceeded to get his ass kicked by the ghost of fathers past.

  The wine helped. So did the company.

  “Seriously...you look like the before shot in one of those Zoloft commercials. The guy who crumbles at the kitchen table, only to be resuscitated by a magical pill.”

  “I love their qualifiers,” Julian murmured with a grin, settling down as well. “May cause heart attack, may cause night terrors. May cause thoughts of death and color-blindness in your pets.”

  Molly swept in from the next room, plopping down beside them.

  “I like the subsequent attorney advertisements,” she volunteered, leaning back in her chair while the psychic handed her some wine. “Have you been recently hit by a semi? Marooned by a comet? Are you currently involved in a haunting...fantastic—give us a call!”

  Devon chuckled under his breath. Yes, he was in good company.

  When Benji was born, Luke had slept through an air-raid and Molly had once materialized inside a Starbucks, without having any idea how she got there. Angel had been desperate enough to try meditation, and Julian had almost drowned in the bathtub at the end of a similarly unending day.

  None of them had taken the plunge and had a second child.

  But it certainly didn’t get easier.

  “I just need five minutes,” he breathed, picking up his glass. “Five minutes to drink this—”

  A wailing cry echoed down from the nursery.

  ...here we go again.

  The problem wasn’t the addition of a new baby. The problem wasn’t the fantastical every day misadventures that defined his career. The problem...was trying to do both.

  Never in his entire life had he found himself so completely overwhelmed with the daily logistics. Never had he felt so ill-equipped and unable to rise to a task. There hadn’t been anything outright. No one but the closest of his friends would even know he was struggling. But little things had begun slipping through the cracks. Little, forgettable, almost imperceptible things.

  But each one was enough to crush him.

  Because he wasn’t programmed for average. He was programmed to be the best.

  Over the years, it had been his entire driving focus—since he was sixteen years old and sweating away on the Oratory mats. Some people didn’t know the difference. Some people said he was already there. Carter was a bit more demanding. He and Julian had even higher standards.

  The only certainty was that he was close. So, very, achingly close.

  But every time he had a chance to get closer—

  Dada!

  The baby wailed again, screeching like some prehistoric bird.

  Rae had just walked into the room, desperate to sink into a chair herself, but she glanced at the ceiling with a tired sigh. “I’ll get him—”

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  Devon pushed to his feet and kissed her on the cheek—jogging lightly up the stairs as his friends wrangled the rest of the children for dinner.

  The second he reached the second story, it was like entering a different
world. The lights were dimmer, the sounds were softer, and all those precious bits of chaos had been successfully trapped behind the closed doors of each room.

  He approached the last of these carefully, cracking it open just an inch...only to see a tiny boy staring back at him, hands gripped around the rail of his crib.

  “Hey, buddy...”

  In a flash, the rest of the world vanished. There were no case assignments, no forgotten plays, no chores that could only be attended the second Tuesday of each month.

  Everything outside that moment fell away, and it was just the two of them.

  “Hey, sweet boy.”

  Those little arms came up and Devon lifted him gently from the crib, taking a secret sniff of his hair as he began rocking them back and forth. It had taken him a while to perfect the grip. Rae had instinctively known, but he’d always overthought it. Not like the way he did now.

  “Did you have fun with Brandy?” he murmured, tilting the child so they were face to face. A beaming smile lit up the darkness, prompting an instant smile of his own in return. “And did she remember to play that brain-stimulating music your mama found?” He shook his head with a grin, slipping into an involuntary coo. “No, she didn’t... I bet she didn’t...”

  James let out a sudden laugh, and he tightened his grip.

  The nursery was well-designed for such quiet moments. It was much more peaceful than Aria’s room, with a big space theme—stars and comets and novas streaking through a night sky.

  His son’s eyes were lit up with them, already teeming with curiosity.

  The exact same shade as his mother’s.

  There was a contented gurgle, then the child pulled back suddenly—wiggling his legs and angling his weight towards the floor. Devon immediately complied, setting him down gently.

  “You going to try this again?” he encouraged softly, placing a steadying hand on the child’s back. “You going to take a step?”

  For a split second, it looked like it might actually happen. His tiny hands flew up for balance, those wobbly legs shuffled precariously on the floor—

  Then there was a sudden bang from downstairs.

  “Aria!”

  Rae’s angry voice echoed up the stairs, followed by a thundering stampede as the girl in question fled the scene of a crime. A second later the door opened another crack, splintering the room with a tiny sliver of light as the same dark-haired girl appeared in the frame.

  “Hey, Dad, can we borrow the baby?” Aria asked casually. “We’re trying to bait the front porch for that stray cat Lily keeps seeing around her house.”

  James froze mid-step as Devon stared in silence.

  A second later, she vanished from sight.

  “What did he say?” Benji whispered, running after her down the stairs.

  Both father and son knelt there in silence, waiting until the last of the footsteps had faded away. Then they raised their eyes with a simultaneous sigh, sharing the same martyred look.

  “Come on,” Devon hoisted him over his shoulder. “Let’s get you some noodles...”

  “TO THE ARISTOCRACY!”

  A chorus of voices rang across the table as the children toasted their theatric success, clinking goblets of apple juice with pinkies extended. The adults sat blank-faced beside them, increasingly reluctant to commit, then eventually raising their own glasses of wine.

  “We should make them spend more time at the Abbey,” Luke murmured, watching as his son attempted to dip his laurels into the drips of candlewax. “Introduce a little egalitarianism.”

  Julian leaned his head back with a smile. “Think about what you’re saying...”

  “He’s absolutely right,” Molly defended her husband. “It would be good for them to see how the other half lives—give them a bit of normalcy.”

  Angel snorted under her breath. “If by normal you mean a sixteenth-century monastery that houses a group of supernatural spies and has a helipad on the roof...you’ve drastically overestimated the other half.”

  Julian nodded soundly. “This is my point.”

  Devon turned to his daughter, patiently confiscating the packets of sugar she’d fished out of the take-away bags. “Honey, I hate to break this to you...but we work for the people. Protecting them from the ravages of dictatorships... Defending the little guy against corporate overlords...”

  Aria froze, then turned instinctively to Benji.

  “It was never about the money,” he assured her quickly. “It was always about the fame.”

  She drew in a breath, then nodded shakily. “Geez, Dad...you scare me sometimes.”

  The feeling’s mutual.

  “And how’s my little man?” Julian reached across the table with a smile, taking James out of Rae’s arms and bouncing him on his lap. “You still working on those first steps?”

  Devon smiled involuntarily, watching with a warm glow in his eyes.

  “We’ve come close, but nothing yet.” He shot a quick look at his daughter. “It might have happened today if someone hadn’t requested the baby to lure neighborhood strays...”

  She rolled her eyes, as if he was being very tiresome.

  “Honestly, Dad, it’s not like the cat would have eaten him.”

  Benji nodded soundly. “At the very worst, it would have nibbled him around the edges.”

  They turned to Jason for a final contribution, but the boy was curved over the table in fierce concentration—trying to eat his noodles with the chopsticks that had impaled him on-stage.

  “Can you see that coming?” Gabriel asked curiously. “The first time he walks?”

  The psychic paused, then shook his head.

  “Maybe if it was closer to the moment, but there’s no active decision being made.” His eyes suddenly flashed white before his hand shot across the table. “Other things are easier...”

  Benji froze in place, still reaching for a lit candle. He locked eyes with his uncle, then reclaimed his captive wrist with an innocent smile.

  “Honest mistake.”

  Meanwhile, Aria was still chattering happily about the play to whoever was seated close enough to listen. Most of them were making a good show of it, nodding when appropriate and drinking heavily. It looked as though Angel might be considering freezing her beneath the table.

  “—said we could have one controlled fire and I’m so glad we saved it for the puppets. Of course, there was a chance Bryce thought he’d be getting those back at the end of the show—”

  “Your teacher allowed you one control fire?” Devon interrupted in spite of himself. “What the...” He took a deep breath before swearing and tried again, “What kind of production was this?”

  The children turned to him with matching smiles.

  “Montessori.”

  Don’t engage.

  With the experience of one who’d been trapped in numerous such conversations before, he wisely returned to his dinner—pushing globs of tomato half-heartedly around his plate. In all likelihood, it was all quite delicious. But he’d lost the ability to taste when Rae shocked his mouth.

  “You don’t like the rotini?” Molly asked with her mouth full of noodles, offering her own plate across the table. “You can have some of my lasagna—”

  “He’s still moping about the course,” Gabriel interrupted authoritatively.

  Devon shot him a death look, but didn’t have the energy to disagree.

  “If you’re hoping to shave off a few seconds, we could always cut your hair,” Angel offered with a sly smile. “You wouldn’t even have to be awake for it.”

  Every man at the table glanced over with matching looks of alarm, while Molly tilted her head speculatively to the side, murmuring under her breath.

  “I have a few mood boards with different ideas, I could bring some by...”

  At those fateful words, Devon picked up his chair and carried it to the other side of the table—resettling next to Julian and the most recently opened bottle of wine.

  “Do you ever thin
k we should stop having family dinners?” he asked quietly, pouring himself another glass. “At some point, we’re just asking for trouble.”

  Julian smiled, never taking his eyes off the baby. “I think that every day.”

  The two had reached the part of the meal where the rest of the table was purely optional and they were a world unto themselves. There had been little games, little tricks, little songs the rest of them couldn’t hear. One of James’ fingers was tangled inexorably in his uncle’s dark hair, while a generous helping of the pasta he’d been attempting was smeared across Julian’s shirt.

  Neither of them seemed to notice.

  “You can do it,” Julian encouraged, biting playfully at those tiny fingers while the baby shrieked with laughter. “Ju-li-an. Just give it one more try...Ju-li-an.”

  Molly smirked from across the table. “You know, he said my name the other day.”

  Julian glanced up in dismay. “He did not.”

  “He did,” Rae inserted apologetically. “Twice.”

  The baby squealed again, showering the table in alfredo sauce.

  “Your name is simple,” the psychic pouted. “Rudimentary. Like the kind of name someone would give a troll. Mine is full of nuance.”

  Molly nodded smugly, sipping her wine. “That’s what it is. I have a troll name.”

  “Ju-li-an.”

  “Speaking of trolls,” Rae interrupted suddenly, “did anyone find out how the meeting went today with Cliff? I told Carter that I might go...but some other things came up.”

  The gang froze in unison, then bowed their heads.

  They had each told Carter the same thing.

  “He can’t expect us to attend every meeting,” Molly inserted nervously, keeping her eyes on her plate. “There’s been, like, five already this week. And it’s only Wednesday.”

  “Attendance is technically optional,” Luke assured her, playing absentmindedly with her crimson curls. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Gabriel glanced pointedly from across the table. “They won’t be optional for long,” he warned. “Not with Cliff Barnes pushing his agenda.”