Lucy at Peace

by Mary E. Twomey

  I reached for my most dramatic singing voice and threw out my hands like an opera singer. “‘Did you ever know that you’re my hero?’”

  Jens chuckled, his hand finding its way around my hip. “I heard you threaten Jeneve. What’s a slitch?”

  “Slutty bitch. I know, I know. Lowest common denominator, but she pissed me off. It’s my little slang on the fly. I’ll come up with something more sophisticated next time.” I shrugged, but inwardly I felt the guilt of stooping so low unnecessarily. “Yeah. Sorry about that. She just pushed one too many times. I shouldn’t have said anything. Nearly lost my shiz when she stroked your arm like that.”

  Jens’s smile was a thing that could make government officials hand over top-secret evidence. It was cocky and handsome and just plain kissable. “Made you uncomfortable, eh? That’s kind of sexy. I mean, you never bat an eye when a woman asks for my phone number, but to see you get all territorial over little old me?”

  I elbowed his side. “Did it make you feel like the pretty princess you are?”

  “Something like that.”

  I winced when I felt wafts of lust and a few choice mental images I didn’t need to see seeping in through cracks in the laplanded wall Jamie and I shared.

  “You alright?”

  “Yeah. Your sister’s getting laid.”

  Jens’s face contorted like he’d eaten a lemon. “Why do you have to tell me? I know you have to know, but do I? I mean, I’m happy for them, don’t get me wrong. But just tell me they’re holding hands or something.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Well, they’re holding hands like double-jointed rabbits.”

  “Thanks for that image.” Jens kissed my fingers. “Glass of wine?”

  “Sure. That should do it.” We’d learned during Jamie and Britta’s honeymoon that a small amount of alcohol numbed the bond just enough to give us a little space for romantic moments. It wasn’t ideal, but we were making it work. I wasn’t ready to take that leap with Jens, but it was nice to know we had options once we got there.

  Jens picked up our pace, as usual doing everything he could to make my life easier. That’s the thing about a man who builds you a white picket fence.

  Three.

  Grayson’s Ambush

  “Hey batta-batta-batta!” I called out from the stands. Yes, I was being obnoxious, but baseball games came with a certain level of expectation as far as that was concerned. Otherwise, the fans would fall asleep ten minutes into the second inning. I was on my third hot dog, and was determined to finish off the seventh inning with an even fourth rolling around in my gut.

  Jens was leaning forward, examining the players with a keen eye for unnecessary scrutiny behind his sunglasses. “See how he walks up to the pitcher’s mound all cocky like that? I almost want him to choke now.”

  “But he’s on our team!” I protested. “You can do it, buddy!” It was a known fact that sports teams relied on the cheers they received as fuel for their wins. If I didn’t negate Jens’s naysaying, we might lose, and I just couldn’t have that. It would totally ruin my fourth hot dog.

  Elsa and Leif had brought a friend named Grayson who sat on my other side. He was a human pet of the Huldra coven we were allied with. He was under their control, judging by his dilated pupils and ice-cold hands, but I learned not to question the reasons for their choice in human puppets. So long as the women kept their mind-controlling whistles away from my group, I didn’t much care more than a passing shake of my head.

  “You feel a strong sense of loyalty to your team?” Grayson questioned. His fingers folded over his stomach and serious expression made him appear always on the verge of a deep thought or life-changing epiphany.

  “I dunno. I’m just playing the part. I don’t really care all that much about baseball. I’m just having fun.” I glanced over to his angular face, his blonde hair combed to the side to look like a Ken doll. All the men the Huldras chose to keep around were gorgeous, and Grayson was no exception. He was forty-something, and sitting next to him I felt like a kid.

  “Is fun your motivation for most things?” Grayson glanced between me and the game.

  I quirked an eyebrow at his odd question. It was like the thirtieth weird thing he’d asked me that day. I felt like I was on some strange talk show being interviewed on the human experience. “At a game? I think fun should be the only motivation for games. Don’t you?”

  He nodded once in that noncommittal way he’d been doing since I’d met him last night when Elsa popped in with her crew unannounced. Grayson, Elsa and Leif were spending a bit of time sightseeing around the warmer parts of the US, and were currently crashing in our guest rooms.

  Britta and Jamie were still making their way through their shared tub-o-coke. They gave the game an honest effort, but there were certain rituals of my world they just couldn’t get into. “Which one is the catcher and which is the king?” Jamie asked again. “This feels like a waste of time.” Jamie’s usually gentle musings came with a Foss-like bite to them today that gave me pause.

  I shook my head to Jens, adjusting the brim of my blue baseball cap. “You take this one. I just can’t explain it any different.”

  Jens clapped his best friend on the shoulder, grinning at the cuteness of the many questions Jamie and Britta were known to ask. “The catcher is the one kneeling who catches the ball when the pitcher throws it. The umpire is the one who judges the game, calls the shots.”

  “So, the king,” Jamie clarified, taking a sip and wincing. They’d snuck a bottle of vinegar into the stadium, though why they felt the need to stuff it in their jacket pockets like it was a dime bag, I’ll never know. Undrans were the only ones who could get drunk off the stuff. Dumping it into the coke couldn’t have been a taste sensation to celebrate, but then I’d never seen the appeal of beer, either.

  Jens hung his head. “No, not the king. Baseball doesn’t have a king.”

  Jamie raised his eyebrows. “The person who makes the rules and enforces them is the king in any country I’ve ever been in.” He pointed toward home plate. “That there’s a king. Britta, stop drinking all the Coke.”

  I raised my eyebrow at Jamie. He’d never begrudged Britta anything. He seemed to catch himself and softened, sitting back in his stadium chair and rubbing Britta’s back in silent apology.

  Jens took a troll-sized bite of my hot dog. “I’m out.”

  “Hey!” I protested, yanking the delicious smelling meat away from him. “You’ve had six already!”

  “I’m bigger than you.” Jens flexed a muscle that drew a good many stares from the packed stadium. “Takes more to fuel this tank.”

  Jamie turned sharp out of nowhere. “Britta, move over. You’re on top of me. Aren’t you done with the Coke yet?”

  “I’m sorry.” Britta shifted away from him. The Undrans were taller than the average human, so elbow and feet space was a thing of discomfort sometimes. Never had it devolved into a source of marital contention, though.

  It was the tenth time Jamie had snapped at one of us, and the tenth time no one said anything much about it. I mentally shoved Jamie, and he shoved back. “Get out of my head, Lucy. I’m trying to watch what passes for a good use of time in your world.” Then he stopped short, rubbing his chest like he had indigestion, utterly perplexed at his own rudeness. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  I frowned at him. “You’re rationing out the gallon of Coke you’ve got there? Unclench, Jamie. Why are you weird today?”

  Britta pointed to the dugout to try alleviating whatever was the source of Jamie’s frustration. “That’s the king, Jamie. Both teams have one to tell the players what to do.” Britta’s brown braids swung as she shook her head at her husband, as if he should have guessed at the stadium’s obvious royal court.

  “Oh. I thought that was like their military leader or something.” Jamie scratched his curly brown hair under the blue baseball cap that matched mine. “Jens, move over! Why is everyone in my space?”
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br />   Jens shoved his friend with a frown, and then purposefully took up more room, jabbing his elbow into Jamie’s ribs. “Better, your highness?”

  Jamie did something that probably wouldn’t have been out of place at a frat house, but for my favorite Tomten prince, it was shocking. Jamie’s fist flung out and punched Jens right above the knee. “I feel much better now, thanks.”

  “Jamie!” Britta’s hand flew to her mouth. “You’ve never struck Jens before!”

  “Relax. You’re not my mother.”

  My mouth dropped open. Jamie’s mother died in childbirth when he was born. He never made crass jokes about mothers. It was like his heart had frozen over and been replaced with the one Foss used to have before he learned to attempt kindness every now and again.

  Jens was just as taken aback as the rest of us. “You alright, Jamie?”

  “Yes, Jens the Brave, guardian of the lesser beings. I’m fine. Aren’t you done with the drink yet?” he barked at Britta. Britta was so startled, she merely handed over the giant cup without a word. Her doe eyes and wounded expression seemed to snap sense into Jekyll and Jamie. “Britta, I’m so sorry! I… Let me get you a whole new drink. I’ve utterly tarnished this one. I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Hello!” Jens threw out his arms. “Where’s my apology?” His complaint earned a thorough self-debasement by Jamie.

  I clapped my gloved hands twice, attempting to keep the peace. “Everyone’s going to chill out. Jamie, shut your smackhole. You of all people should know you can’t talk to your wife like that. What’s your deal today?”

  “I honestly don’t know. Please ignore me.” Jamie stared at his hands in confusion.

  I poked around in his head, feeling that same black baser heaviness I’d stumbled upon when he’d downed Jeneve’s Gar.

  Jens was growing irritable, so I cupped the nape of his neck and rubbed the tension building there. He deflated and buried his face in my shoulder. “Tell me why we’re here again?”

  I motioned out to the field from our vantage point about mid-way up. “This is part of the human experience. We’ve been here seven months, and they’ve never been to a game before. That’s not normal. Plus, I always wanted to go to one growing up. This is fun!”

  Jens leaned back in his chair and rested his arm around my shoulders. “It is fun. You’re right. Good idea, babe.” His stance appeared laid back, but Jens was always on the job. His aviator shades kept his studying gaze from detection as he analyzed the crowd for any hint of a threat.

  “Did you not enjoy baseball as a child?” Grayson inquired in his strange prying way. He’d not asked anyone else a thing except for a few queries to Jamie every now and then. I was sitting next to the newcomer, so I got the full blast of his curiosity.

  “My brother played soccer,” I answered succinctly. He knew enough about my family history from the game of Monopoly Jens insisted we play last week. That turned into Grayson firing question after question at me. He was a little much, but I felt for the guy, being turned into a puppet by the whistle ninjas and all.

  “So your brother controlled your interests to some extent?” Grayson’s bland smile was infuriating. “Is he the one who encouraged you to go to school to be a doctor?”

  I jerked my thumb at Grayson, leaning around him to address Elsa. “Why again did you Jiu-jitsu this one?” Usually the Huldras kept mind-warped men around as playthings or made them into ideal husbands. Elsa and Leif were together by choice and very happy. She wasn’t the man-crazy kind who needed more to satisfy her than Leif.

  “He’s a toy of Liv’s, and she was tiring of him. He makes for a great designated driver, Domslut. We’ll return him when we go back home.”

  I shivered at the cold way she discussed controlling a human. She was the leader of her coven, and not too bad to hang out with, but every now and then she made me uncomfortable.

  “How about you, Grayson?” I offered, trying to turn the tables so I wasn’t the object of all his conversation. “What’s your sport?”

  “I like football, but baseball’s not bad.” He indulged Jens in a fist bump and turned back to the game. “I notice your ex-husband isn’t here.”

  I’d been trying not to look at the empty seat on the other side of Britta, but it called to me all the same. “Yup. I don’t think he’s coming. He’s got a lot to do these days. Busy with the ranch, I’ll bet.”

  Grayson gave a thoughtful pause, his fingers still folded across his stomach. “Do you think that’s really why he’s not here?”

  I huffed. “Look, Foss can do whatever he wants. I don’t control him.” I gave Elsa a purposeful look she only smiled airily at. “And I wish you’d stop calling him my ex-husband.”

  “But that’s what he is, isn’t he?”

  I scratched the back of my neck under my mass of blonde curls. “Well, yeah, but I don’t like the term.”

  “Is it a derogatory term?”

  I turned to Jens with a “can you believe this guy” covert eye roll, and he offered me a shrug.

  “You want another hot dog?” Jens asked, taking a second bite of mine before turning back to Jamie to snap at him for being rude to Britta. Jamie was a different person today; I’d never seen him so grouchy and just plain mean.

  Grayson continued in his methodical determination to ask every personal question in the middle of what was supposed to be a relaxing Saturday. “You seem defensive when I bring up your former husband. Are you protecting yourself from the term itself, or are you protecting Foss?”

  “Huh? I don’t need protection from a word. It was both of our decisions, and it was the right one. It wasn’t a real marriage to begin with.” I signed to Leif, Your friend’s a jackfish. I was getting pretty decent at sign language, learning (and inventing) the most important words.

  Grayson interrupted Leif’s reply. “And yet you feel protective of him. Enough to invite him to social events.”

  I lowered my voice. “He’s my friend, and Jens’s. Why wouldn’t we invite him to hang out? Could we talk about something else? How about the skeletons buried in your closet? You got a failed marriage you want to discuss?” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees to attempt to watch the players. “Dude, focus on the game.”

  My harsh response was rewarded with twenty seconds of reprieve before Grayson started up again. “Then you see your marriage as something of value, if you say it’s capable of failure. It was important to you.”

  I shoved the last bite of my hot dog into my mouth and stood. “Need another hot dog,” I announced ungracefully around the mouthful of food. There was a guy selling hot dogs walking by a few sections over, and though I wasn’t really hungry for another, I would’ve eaten a mastodon if it would’ve gotten me away from Grayson and his never-ending stream of questions. I stumbled over their long legs to the aisle and made my way up the steps toward the bathrooms. I didn’t want another hot dog. I wanted space.

  My opera gloves were out of place in the warm weather, but I pulled them up all the same so they hugged my elbows. They hid the stars and glitter of the siren blood that permanently coated my hands and forearms. Pesta was dead, but I still carried traces of her around wherever I went. The battle was over, but the scars would never fade. Jens thought they were beautiful. I was still on the fence.

  I entered the bathroom and wetted a paper towel, dabbing the sweat beading on the back of my neck. My hair was shoulder-length now, but it wasn’t the heat that made me uncomfortable. Elsa was evasive every time I asked her how long they were staying with us, and Jens didn’t seem to mind. I wasn’t the type to tell someone to get out of my house, but I was hitting my limit with Grayson.

  I whipped out my phone and went to dial Foss, but stopped before I hit send. It was fine that he didn’t want to come to the game. The distance he’d been putting between us was a healthy one, given the depth of our dysfunction, so I did my best to respect it. As much as I didn’t want to, I missed him.

  The five of us used to go rock cl
imbing, kayaking and do other physical things together every Friday to keep their skills sharp, and well, to give me any skills at all. The last two Fridays, Foss had “plans” that couldn’t be cancelled. He’d still faithfully attended his Anger Management classes with Jens, and accompanied Jens when my boyfriend went to his Narcotics Anonymous meetings. I guess those were the important things, so I tried not to worry about him or miss him too badly.

  I looked at my reflection and took a deep breath. My practiced smile in the mirror wasn’t as forced as it once had been, but there were times Undraland took its toll on me. Namely, when Grayson shoved it in my face.

  Our life was a good version of normal, and I clung to the trappings with all that was in me. My white picket fence was everything I dreamed it could be, and the house behind it was a dream so big, I still couldn’t believe it was mine. Jens and I had a sizeable colonial set on four acres of land. He was still vigilant in making sure we were safe, but since no one was after me anymore, he had more free time to enjoy his new life. He had a small orange grove on the back two acres and a garden to rival Martha Stewart – or, you know, someone who loves to garden.

  I moved out of the bathroom and bought a hot dog for Jens and a drink for myself, using the black credit card Undraland footed the bill for. To them, I was Queen Lucy of the Other Side, so I got the deluxe package. I took the money as payback for the funds they’d skimped my parents on when they’d fled Undraland after the Huldras were cast out.

  I got my food just as the seventh inning stretch was breaking out – otherwise known as the intermission of the baseball show. The crowds were thick as everyone headed to the bathrooms and to the vendors to refuel with the necessary beers and nachos. I moved slowly against the tide until I finally rejoined my party. “Hey, guys. Did we magically score four runs since I left, or are we calling this one a loss?”

  “So quick to jump to conclusions. Is everything always a win or a loss?” Grayson asked in his prodding way that he tried to make sound like innocent musings.