Chronicles of Devon

by W. J. May

  Titles and shows of affection were eased into gradually. Space was provided when necessary, and choices were offered for everything in between. But there were certain boundaries that needed to be upheld. And the child was already better at pushing them than most.

  No wonder he took to Benji and Aria so quickly...

  With a mighty effort he cleared his face into a smile and leaned down with both hands on his knees, bringing them to eye level. “Forget your dad...I think I’ll text your mom.”

  The boy was gone before he could finish the threat—vanishing so fast it seemed impossible he didn’t have any magical assistance. Devon moved to the window and glanced down just as he was crossing the street, back to his own house and away from all those illicit case files.

  It should have been a triumph. It very nearly was a triumph. Except that he paused halfway through the park and glanced suddenly over his shoulder—staring right into the office window.

  Devon pulled in a quick breath, fighting the urge to duck behind the curtain. There was nothing overtly threatening about it, but children were always better at those sorts of things than regular people. He suddenly understood why they were so often used in frightening movies.

  Totally fine. Shake it off. Work from home.

  Trying to mirror the same inexplicable composure as the seven-year-old who’d somehow broken into his office, Devon settled at the desk and unscrewed the water bottle—taking a sip while he reached for whatever file was on top. It was a security test for a bank in Amsterdam, dated more than three weeks earlier. He frowned to himself as he started reading through his notes.

  Was it THAT long ago...?

  “Key cards pinned to shirts, not jackets...” he murmured, opening his laptop and typing with his free hand. “Interior security code to be alternated every—”

  He stopped short, staring at the iridescent dinosaur plastered on top.

  Jason.

  “Forget working from home!” he announced, pushing back to his feet. “Kids—get your shoes, we’re going to the park.” In a burst of supernatural speed, he jumped the stairs and grabbed his jacket from the rack, banging on the hall closet as he walked past. “Benji—you want to come?”

  There was an irritated shuffling sound amongst the jackets.

  “I need at least four more hours to reach equilibrium.”

  Devon pulled in a steadying breath.

  “You can reach equilibrium on the monkey bars. Come on—into the car.”

  The door reluctantly opened and the boy staggered dizzily into the hall—holding on to the wall for balance as Aria raced past with his shoes. Devon was already strapping James into the car seat, silently bemoaning the image of a baby-carrier desecrating the sacred leather of a Porsche.

  “Awesome!” Benji cried. “We’re taking the red one?!”

  “Yep.”

  “Can I drive?!”

  “Nope.”

  Aria flew around the corner into the garage, stopping short when her eyes swept over the little scene. “Aw, Dad...do we have to take the baby?”

  Devon straightened up with a sigh, opening the passenger door. “Of course we’re taking the—” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “What did you think was going to happen? That we were going to leave your one-year-old brother alone in the house?”

  She dropped her eyes, mumbling at the ground. “He’d have Annie.”

  Devon cupped a hand over his ear. “What was that?” he asked sternly.

  There was a pause. “Annie could watch the baby.”

  Points for persistence, I guess.

  Devon rolled his eyes and knelt down, helping her into a jacket. “So he can either be looked after by a dog, or snacked on by a cat? Honestly, sweetheart, I get the whole persecuted-sibling angle, but you need to lighten up a bit, all right?”

  She threw up her hands in indignation. “I’m already the lightest! In what way could I possibly lighten up?!”

  He pursed his lips to suppress a smile. “To start, you could stop calling him the baby. He has a name, you know.”

  A strange silence fell between them.

  “Arie...tell me you know your brother’s name.”

  She bit her lip. “...I’ll be in the car.”

  “ALL RIGHT,” DEVON MURMURED, pulling a laptop onto his legs, “we reached the drop-point at fourteen hundred hours...”

  The kids were safely contained to the playground and he was sitting on a bench nearby, transcribing his case notes and glancing up every so often to make sure they didn’t impale each other with sticks. To bring such classified information out in the open was strictly forbidden, but in this case he didn’t see the harm. The mission was long over, his body was blocking the screen, and there was no one within ear-shot of his secluded little bench—

  “Hi there!”

  He jumped with a start, looking up in surprise as the shadow of a person fell all over his precious isolation. One with a designer handbag and improbably large curls.

  “Oh honey, I’m sorry!” She laughed just as loudly as one might expect, reaching out to touch his shoulder at the same time. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just so happy to find another one.”

  Words failed him as he tilted down the screen.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally managed, “another what?”

  “Another adult,” she answered with a conspiratorial smile, sinking onto the bench beside him. “Another person over the age of twelve to converse with. I swear, sometimes it feels like they switched my medication. I’m the only person in that house making a lick of sense!”

  ...did they switch your medication?

  He flashed a tight smile, shutting the computer completely as she closed the distance between them, tapping again at his arm. “I’ve seen you out here a lot. Are all these kids yours?”

  He followed her gaze to the Lord of the Flies reenactment on the playground. “No, thank goodness. Just the ones with dark hair.”

  She nodded faintly, chewing on the tip of her sunglasses. “That’s my daughter with the braids.”

  He glanced towards a sullen teenager perched atop the monkey-bars. She was clearly too old for such a place and was currently texting all of her friends to that effect—shooting occasional glares at her oblivious mother, who was in the process of flirting with a random stranger on the bench.

  “She looks sweet.”

  The woman smiled again and nodded. “She’s not, but she gets that from her father. My ex-husband,” she added, with such direct emphasis that a blush rose to his cheeks. “What about you? You married?”

  “Yes,” he replied a bit too quickly. “But my wife’s out of town for a few weeks, so I’m trying to multi-task.” He gave the computer a pointed shake. “Working from home, and all that.”

  She nodded fervently, scooting even closer. “Oh—I can relate to that! Not me personally, but this friend of mine from primary school. We still keep in touch every now and again, and she was telling me how—”

  His mind began to wander as his eyes drifted up towards the sky.

  Maybe the weather will turn. Maybe we’ll have to go indoors.

  A spiteful sun twinkled back at him.

  “—which is why I told her, you didn’t marry a cardiothoracic surgeon for his sparkling personality. If you don’t want to keep working then, honey, it’s not like you need the—”

  There was a sudden vibration in his pocket.

  C. Barnes

  He frowned at the phone, then clicked to ignore.

  “—but then the children make it all worth it, don’t they?” the woman cooed, looking not at her own child but at little James crawling about the sand. “I mean, not on a daily basis or anything—they kind of drive you nuts—but if you’re trying to give your life some meaning—”

  He nodded faintly and followed her gaze to where the baby was inadvertently attacking himself with a fern. He stared a moment, then took a deep breath, praying for rain.

  “—which pretty much brings us here.”


  A sudden silence rang between them.

  “Uh...yeah. I guess it does.” He twisted slightly on the bench, scrambling to remember the last thing she happened to say. “Lovely day for it.”

  Her eyebrows rose ever so slightly, and he vowed to punch himself the moment he got home. Fortunately, at that very moment, an unexpected helper came to his aid.

  “Hey, Dad—we’ve got to head home.” Aria appeared on the grass in front of him, towing James by the arms. “I told the baby he’d make a better squirrel than a companion, and there’s a chance he might have swallowed a nut.”

  BY THE TIME DEVON AND the kids made it home that night, each of them was exhausted in their own right. Aria had endured what she felt to be a completely unjust lecture, while James had undergone what turned out to be an unnecessary round of the Heimlich.

  Their father had only just gotten himself under control, when he reached into his pocket and found an unwanted phone number written in a truly nauseating shade of pink.

  They gathered together for a quick meal of microwaved leftovers, then split off their separate ways. The baby went to bed. Aria went back to her incantations. And Devon sat down at the kitchen table, head in his hands, hair in his fists, before opening his computer once more.

  “We reached the drop-point at fourteen hundred hours...”

  Chapter 4

  One of the first things the Privy Council taught its agents was to operate in high-stakes situations on little or no sleep. There were agonizing weeks during their initiation where they would be kept in the training ring for upwards of twenty hours, then called once every twenty minutes until morning to make sure they weren’t sneaking rest back in the dorms. Different trainers utilized a variety of methods—from cold water, to deafening music, right down to bunking them with a litter of yappy little dogs—anything that would help them learn to stay awake. At the time, it seemed highly effective. In hindsight, Devon thought they might as well have forced them all to have children.

  He worked through the night, and closed his eyes just as the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. Just a few hours after that, his body jerked awake to the sound of his alarm.

  “Bloody hell...”

  He threw a pillow without opening his eyes, knocking the thing off the shelf, then rolled over with a groan—stretching his arm to the opposite side of the bed. He groped around for a moment then opened his eyes, staring at the empty sheets.

  Deep cover. He pushed himself onto his elbows. I’m instituting a formal ban.

  With a mighty yawn, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and fell into the normal morning routine. Quick shower, brush teeth, even quicker shave, tie back the hair. He had to admit, the process was much easier without his wife hovering around the adjacent sink. If Rae didn’t spend the mornings dancing to Icelandic pop songs or conjuring miniature fireworks, she’d try her hand at making breakfast—or any number of other things that could easily set the house on fire. One time he had caught her playing with his shaving cream. They’d never spoken of it again.

  With a faint smile, he glanced at her side of the bathroom. It was one of the wisest things Molly had ever done—insisting that when they set up their house together, they divided that particular space. His side was immaculate, sparse, and clean. Hers was a slightly different story.

  He didn’t know the names of half the bottles clustered on the counter, but he was absolutely certain she’d know if any of them were touched. He gave them an instinctively wide berth, stepping in closer only to sniff at something labeled ‘Forever Young’.

  From the girl who gave up her immortality...

  His phone vibrated with another text. This one was from his father.

  How was the course?

  He stared a moment, then slipped it back into his pocket.

  Just a few minutes later, he slipped into a pair of shoes and headed downstairs—checking the time as he went. “Arie, you’d better be getting dressed—”

  The second he stepped into the hall, he knew something was wrong. If it wasn’t the slight prickling of his skin, it was the faint tug around his ankles. He glanced down at the piece of yarn stretched across his doorway, then looked up just as a giant water balloon dropped onto his face.

  “What—”

  For a few seconds, he just stood there—blinking water from his eyes and trying to catch his breath. He’d seen the thing coming from the moment it fell from the bucket, had watched it falling towards him in what felt like slow motion—but he’d been too utterly stunned to move.

  What the hell just happened...?

  He was still staring at the rudimentary contraption, when there was a squeal of giggles and a pair of footsteps flew down the hall. It was only then he remembered Benji had stayed the night.

  I’m instituting a formal ban on sleepovers as well.

  Deciding it was probably best to avoid his daughter, he went instead to his son—easing open the door and ghosting to the crib. For once in his life the baby was sleeping soundly, lips slightly parted, the remains of a rubber elephant strewn about his hair.

  Devon smiled and picked out the fragments before tiptoeing back to the door. He paused instinctively before stepping into the hall, then threw back his head with a vengeful, “Arie!”

  More scampering footsteps, followed by a little shriek.

  By the time he got downstairs, they were seated innocently at the table. Benji was wearing a scarf he’d stolen from Devon’s own closet, while Aria was reading Economics Weekly upside-down.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” they chanted back in unison. Aria’s eyes widened with false confusion and she couldn’t help but add, “What’s the matter, Dad? You’re all wet.”

  He nodded slowly, folding his arms across his chest. “Have you done this sort of thing to your mother?”

  Benji scoffed at the mere suggestion, while Aria set down the magazine.

  “She’d incinerate us,” she said matter-of-factly.

  ...fair point.

  “And what makes you think I won’t do the same?” he challenged, taking a step closer to the table. “Your mother’s not the only one with powers.”

  He’d thought that it was a pretty concrete threat, said with just the right amount of menace, but Aria just tilted her head with a sweet smile—the spitting image of Rae.

  “Oh, Dad...” she said with a trace of pity, “you could never massacre a table of unarmed children. You’ve got a heart of gold. It’s both a blessing and a curse.”

  “Don’t worry, Uncle Devon,” Benji added sympathetically. “It happens to the very best of us—or so I’ve been told. Just make the most of what you have, I guess.”

  Devon blinked back in amazement, not a clue in the world what to say.

  Fortunately, the children didn’t require a response. In fact, no sooner had they delivered their rather disturbing judgement than they were up from the table and scavenging around for breakfast.

  If Devon wasn’t dripping wet, if he wasn’t seriously considering hiring his young daughter a therapist, he might have found the scene rather amusing.

  Since the children weren’t yet large enough to fend for themselves they’d learned to work in tandem, using their combined physical resources to tackle each task. One would stand on the other’s shoulders to reach a cabinet. Their hands would overlap as they tugged on a stubborn drawer. By the time they were finished they’d assumed an impressive, if rather unorthodox, feast.

  Waffles with hummus, pine nuts with jelly, and...a single yam.

  Devon opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  Pick your battles.

  “Remember I’ve got to head into work today,” he reminded, pulling open the fridge and searching for an iced coffee. If there was another thing the Privy Council instilled in its agents, it was an unhealthy and permanent addiction to caffeine. “Your Uncle Gabriel’s taking you to daycare.”

  The kids froze in unison, then shared a fleeting look.

&nbs
p; “Can’t we stay at the Aldens’ with Jason?” Aria asked innocently. “Or better yet...can we go into work with you? We won’t get into any trouble, I promise. We could play in Grandpa’s office.”

  “He’s assigning cases today,” Devon answered, sniffing at an old bottle of cold brew before pouring it down the sink. “And Gabriel’s got some work to do himself. You guys will be fine at daycare. Jason will be there with you.”

  “Yeah, but...” Aria trailed into silence, eyes darting frantically around the kitchen. “But there has to be somewhere else we can...”

  He watched in the reflection of the microwave as the kids shared another panicked look.

  “I’m not feeling well,” Benji announced abruptly, nodding as if this settled things. “We can’t go to day-care today. You’ll have to say home and take care of me.”

  Devon turned around with a grin, leaning back against the cabinets.

  “Really. Developed some kind of mid-morning flu, have you?”

  The boy jutted up his chin, refusing to give an inch. “I’m highly contagious. I suggest you prepare me a broth.”

  Devon nodded again, folding his arms.

  “So who exactly did the two of you tick off at daycare?” He glanced from one to the other, reading between the lines. “Are you avoiding Bryce? The kid whose puppets you torched?”

  Benji went pale as Aria muttered at the table.

  “...we had an understanding about the puppets.”

  Devon clapped his hands together, bringing them back on point.

  “All right, now that we’ve solved that little mystery, allow me to clarify. You’re going to daycare, you’re going to apologize about the puppets, and if this poor boy demands reparations—”

  They were gone in a flash, high-tailing it back up the stairs.

  For the love of—