by Melissa Gunn
Freya’s Dad stood with his hands in his pockets, ignoring the goings-on as the family tried to figure out what they could take with them. His brown hair was black with rain, and droplets ran down his face unheeded. He was the one who had found this house, had enthused about the sea view and the good fortune that they could afford the rent. It was clear now that the rent had been low for a reason, and the sea view was all too visible with the house no longer blocking it. Surreptitiously looking at her Dad’s thunderous expression, as she cast about for a box that might hold a squirming kitten, Freya decided that she wanted to speak to him even less than she wanted to complain to Tammy - even though her Dad was usually her first choice of confidant.
Finding a reasonably solid box under a soggy duvet, she manoeuvred Mr Fluffbum into it, not without difficulty, as he somehow managed to get both front paws stuck on the sides of the box as Freya slid him in. Even after she’d tied the box with string, a white-mittened paw slipped out through the top of the box as Mr Fluffbum explored his new string toy. Despite the disaster that had struck their family, Freya couldn’t help but grin at his antics. The world couldn’t be all that bad, not when there were kittens like Mr Fluffbum in it.
Freya bundled up her wet duvet into a parcel. Perhaps they could dry it out somewhere, later. Now that she’d removed the duvet, water dripped into Mr Fluffbum’s box. He yowled irritably.
“Sorry. I’ll get you somewhere dry soon,” she promised the kitten. She looked over at her sister, who was juggling mysterious jars into her bag.
“So, Tammy, if you wanted to sell a video of our house being destroyed, why didn’t you? I mean, you have a phone. And photos too now, assuming your battery lasted. According to Mum, the storm surge was forecast. Someone knew it was coming, even if we didn’t expect the surge to carry the house with it.”
Tammy was silent a moment, then muttered.
“I don’t know who I’d send it to.”
“Well, any of those friends who are always texting you, maybe?”
“They wouldn’t care. They’re mostly trolls anyway. They don’t go near the sea. Though I guess they might have to if it keeps rising.”
“Real trolls?!” Freya asked disbelievingly.
“Well, part-trolls, at least. You wouldn’t believe how many half-breeds I’ve met at high school. I’m sure the PE teacher is a werewolf too. No pure human could be that keen on ball sports.”
Once again, Tammy and Freya’s Mum passed by at an inopportune time, this time carrying a tray full of seedlings that she’d evidently rescued from their house’s former site.
“Tammy, how many times have I told you not to call people half breeds and weres! It’s rude, it will get you in trouble - with me and them - and it’s probably not even true.”
“Oh, it’s true, all right. But they’re sort of friends, so surely I can call them what they are?”
“No, you can’t. No-one is supposed to know about people like us. If you bandy about phrases like half-breeds, either they’ll think you’re racist, or they’ll guess the truth. Neither is a good outcome, so kindly find a new description, whatever your friends are.”
Tammy rolled her eyes when their mother turned her back.
“I don’t see why we’re always so shrouded in secrecy. It’s not like we have anything to lose by being known. I mean - look, we can’t even save our own house. It’s not like we’d lose power by telling.”
Freya glanced around quickly to see if their Mum was in hearing distance. She wasn’t.
“Don’t say that to Mum, Tammy. She’d probably go spare if you did, right now. But... I wish we did have power. Enough to save my books, and not have to hide what we are.” She looked down towards the site of their cottage again and felt a niggle of guilt about that hob. “Enough that finding a hob meant the cottage wouldn’t get washed out to sea without warning!”
“Oh, don’t I know it. I don’t think hobs could manage that much though. They’re small fry, power-wise. But if I had power like those stuck-up deities, I wouldn’t waste it on washing away some innocent demi’s cottage just because you had an argument with their oh-so-glorious ancestors.”
Tammy glared at the waves as though her stare alone would hold back the sea.
“Are we truly demi-gods then?” Freya asked. “Or demi-goddesses, anyway?”
“Sure we are. Can’t you feel it in yourself?” Tammy struck a dramatic pose, arms raised to the sky, ignoring the rain dripping off her nose.
Freya wondered when her sister had stopped minding the rain. At one point she’d had quite a water phobia.
“That sounds rude, Tammy.”
“So not what I meant. If you don’t know yet, you’ll have to figure it out when you’re older. Not my job.”
“Alright, don’t give me a straight answer. You do know that I still don’t know what power I’m supposed to have, right?”
“You’re supposed to figure that out when you go through puberty, Freya. Ask me again when you’re older. Just be glad I figured out the rain issue for us.”
Freya couldn’t remember much of an issue with rain, except that there was usually too much of it. And she really didn’t want to discuss puberty with Tammy out here on the streets. She pursued another topic instead.
“So who had an argument with a god then? Do you know? I’ve always wondered why we don’t move away from the sea.”
“Mum’s never quite told me, but as far as I can gather, her ancestors were in some argument with a sea god. Or maybe goddess. Probably a god, the way she always goes on about the important difference between gods and goddesses. But I don’t know why we don’t go inland either. Especially now!”
“So, the gods are real, then?”
“Frigg, yes. Better not let Mum hear you asking that. Bastard gods. Fenris’ teeth, I wish they weren’t real.”
After a moment, Freya attempted to defuse her sister’s anger with distraction. Although she was angry herself, it also seemed a dangerous emotion, here on the edge of the cliff, so near the sucking waves and whatever gods or goddesses they might be hiding.
“So. Anyway. What are part-trolls like?” Freya was processing her sister’s earlier comments about half-breeds.
“Oh, you know. A bit hairy, the girls too, not just the boys. Arms like spaghetti, keen on rock music. Surely, you’ve seen them at school? And there were those werewolves in the last town, too.”
Freya shook her head. “I’m never sure what I’m seeing.”
Tammy warmed to her topic. “There was one in my class last year who turned up to all the school discos in pink pyjama shorts and an orange muscle top. He just stood around waving his arms in the air in time to the music though, so no harm done except to fashion and my nostrils. That troll’s B.O. was something else. To be honest, from what I can see, half-trolls are pretty much what Mum tells us they are. But don’t tell her I said so, she’d rub it in for years.”
“Do all the part-trolls have bad taste in clothes then?”
Tammy nodded, her eyes on the sea.
“Far as I can tell they do. That was a supreme example though.”
“Tammy, why are we talking about trolls and their fashion choices?”
“You got anything happier to talk about?”
“I guess not.”
“There you are then.”
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER THE DESTRUCTION
It took the family till after nightfall to find an emergency shelter. By that time, they’d left Freya’s Dad guarding the damp pile of their rescued belongings, and gone on foot to see what they could find. What they could find, as it turned out, was one room in an old, damp bed and breakfast, tucked into the cramped streets away from the beach. Its peeling exterior held nothing more promising than a faded sign advertising ‘vacancy’. They had to pay up front for a week’s lodging, which took most of the cash they had, or so Danae said. There was a double bed and a fold-out couch in the single room, so at least everyone had a bed to share. And while it was
musty and dank, it was certainly less damp than their house must be at that moment.
Apparently in order to stay at homeless shelters, you had to tick a number of boxes. Freya’s Mum had been complaining bitterly for the last couple of hours about how Freya’s family did not meet whatever those criteria were. Freya wondered how much worse things could get, compared to losing your home off a cliff. Looking around at the faded walls of the room they had found themselves in, Freya decided she didn’t want to know how much worse it could be. Apart from anything else, Tammy hadn’t yet revisited their conversation about trolls. That alone was cause for celebration, no matter how crumby the walls of their temporary abode.
“Freya, Tammy, you’ll have to find something to eat from your bags. I hope you still have some snacks left in there. I’m going to go back and get your Dad. One of the neighbours might give us a lift with all our gear.”
Freya noticed her mother wasn’t complaining about their former neighbours’ propensity to steal, now. But...
“Mum, I didn’t have a chance to grab any snacks. And I’m hungry. Mr Fluffbum is too.”
Her Mum looked at her sadly.
“Oh, Freya. I only have things that need cooking, and nowhere to cook them. You’ll have to share with your sister, assuming she has anything. I have no clue what that cat can eat though. Tammy?”
Tammy muttered darkly under her breath, but rummaged in her bag and fished out a bent flapjack, still in its packaging.
“Here. But I don’t have many more, so don’t complain when it’s gone. I guess the cat can lick up the crumbs, if you don’t mind him being poisoned by chocolate.”
She tossed the package to Freya, who nearly caught it.
“Gaia wept!” she exclaimed as she fumbled it from the floor. Hunger and shock were setting in, now that they had stopped moving.
“Freya!” exclaimed her mother sharply. “We can’t afford to anger any gods. No swearing, remember?”
Unexpectedly, Tammy intervened.
“Oh, come on, Mum. After what happened today, surely a little swearing isn’t going to attract any more godly notice? It’s not like she’s standing at the sea, shouting, like Dad probably is right now.”
Danae looked like she might argue the point, then her face crumpled.
“Oh, I know. I’m sorry girls. It’s just all too much, right now. Look, do your best with the food. At least there should be breakfast food downstairs in the morning. Not that we’ll be able to eat half of it, as usual. The cat might eat eggs, Freya. And Tammy, you’re probably right about your Dad, which is all the more reason for me to go fetch him now, before he says something the goddess can’t forgive. Just... look after each other, OK?”
“Yes, Mum,” they chorused. Their mother was always enjoining them to look after each other. The repetition made everything seem a bit more normal.
Once their mother had left the room, Freya tore into the flapjack.
“Do you want my cat poisoned?” she asked Tammy, with her mouth full of oats and sultanas and only the tiniest flecks of chocolate.
“I’m not answering anything while you show me what you’re eating. Finish your mouthful then ask, or I’m not talking to you.”
Tammy turned her back meaningfully. Freya obediently swallowed (she was hungry, after all), then repeated the question.
“Look, Freya, I don’t mind your cat in principle, but I was never allowed the dog I wanted, so it doesn’t seem fair. So, since you’re the one with an extra hungry mouth to feed, you’d better get busy finding something to feed it. I’ve given you what food I could spare. Maybe next time we have to leave somewhere in a hurry you can remember to grab some food too.”
Freya felt that Tammy was being spiteful, but she couldn’t argue about the food. She hadn’t thought to bring out any herself, not even for Mr. Fluffbum. As though on cue, a complaining wail emerged from the box in which she had smuggled her cat into the bed and breakfast. Pets weren’t allowed, of course.
“Shut him up, Freya,” hissed Tammy, sounding catlike herself. “They’ll kick us out if they find out you have a pet in here.”
“I don’t know how to make him quiet. He’s hungry.” Nevertheless, Freya hastily opened the box.
Mr Fluffbum leaped out gracefully, but spoiled the effect by landing on the edge of a bed, slipping backwards and scrabbling at the covers. Freya laughed, but Tammy glared at her.
“If that cat scratches the covers we’ll have to pay for them, you know.”
Freya subsided guiltily.
“Here, puss. Come sit down with me.” She patted the bed beside her, and for once Mr Fluffbum complied with the suggestion, stalking along the bed and sitting with his back to both of them. He washed a paw and used it to groom his ears.
“At least he’s not making a noise, now,” said Freya.
“Good. What happens when he needs to use kitty litter again and there isn’t any?”
“I’ll teach him how to use the toilet. I saw that on a video once, it should be possible.”
“Better hope it is. Because there’s an awful reek coming out of that box already.”
Freya leaned over to look, but recoiled.
“Ugh. That’s disgusting. No wonder Mr Fluffbum was yowling, anyone would hate being stuck in a box with that smell.”
“Clean it up, quick. I can’t stand it over here,” complained Tammy.
Reluctant to deal with her cat’s mess, but knowing she had no option, Freya picked up the box and held it at arm’s length.
“OK, open the door. I wish this place had an ensuite.”
“Yeah, me too. Then I wouldn’t have to smell that filth while you get it out the door.”
When Freya returned from emptying out the box - she’d left the box itself outside - she had to close the door after herself to stop her cat escaping.
“No you don’t, Mr Fluffbum. We have to stay here for now.”
Tammy flopped backwards, her head thudding onto the pillow with a dull sound. She pulled out a flapjack of her own - chocolate coconut, a better flavour than the one she’d given her sister, Freya noticed.
“I can’t believe I’m stuck in this room with you and a cat. I was supposed to go out tonight, you know. I actually had an event in my social calendar. For once,” said Tammy.
“It’s not my fault the house washed away!”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just my luck though. I managed to line up a date with someone who wasn’t a troll, and some stupid goddess gets in a snit and destroys our house.”
“Ooh, who was this non-troll? A werewolf? A demi?”
Tammy had often bemoaned her luck (or lack of it) when it came to dates.
“Neither, thank you very much for your confidence in me. He was an actual human. A genuine non-hybrid, as far as I could tell. As rare as hens’ teeth, as Mum would say. OK, so maybe a demi would look better, but this guy is a much better option. Not as hairy as a were or a troll, plus no pack to annoy. No chance of angering his ancestors with an accidental curse, either. But now here I am, stuck with minding you while Mum yells at Dad for getting us a rental on a cliff. Missing my first decent date in months.”
Freya hesitated, then suggested to Tammy,
“You could still go. I don’t mind being by myself. I’m old enough now.”
Tammy sat up, suddenly alert.
“Really? I mean, sure, I think you’re old enough too, but does Mum? She’s going to be pretty mad at everyone for a while since her plants went over the cliff with the house.”
Freya patted the cat, who was urgently nudging at her hand. She didn’t want to be alone, but she did have Mr Fluffbum with her.
It’s worth a couple of hours of loneliness if it means I avoid a week of Tammy complaining.
“I’m sure I can handle Mum. Or I can blame you of course.”
Tammy glared at her sister. Freya laughed at the expression on her sister’s face.
“Kidding! I’ve got Mr Fluffbum for company. You go. Otherwise, I’ll never
hear the end of it. And you might never meet another pure human again. It’s the first time you’ve talked about one, anyway. Mind you, I’m pretty sure I haven’t met anything other than pure humans.”
“I won’t remind you about the werewolves in the last town then. You’re not so bad as a little sister, sometimes. Thanks Freya. Well then, I’d better start getting ready.”
Freya watched her sister’s hasty preparations with mixed feelings. She was sure Mum would be mad at both her and Tammy - but Tammy was always wanting to go out and socialise. And Freya was old enough to look after herself, she was sure. Especially when they had only a single room to live in. Keeping Tammy in would make everything worse. Especially when Dad got back. Tammy and Dad were a volatile combination. Dad always seemed to feel that he should exert control over his older daughter. Tammy objected to any form of control vociferously. Tammy didn’t keep her frustrations to herself, as a rule, and she was in prime form to argue with everyone. On the other hand, now that her plans were back on track, Tammy hummed to herself as she gave herself a quick wash using the ancient pink porcelain sink that made the room a more inconvenient shape.
“So, does he have a name, this human guy?” Freya asked idly, as Tammy moved on to adding mascara to her pale lashes.
How did she manage to pack mascara in that frantic flight from our cottage?
“Not one I’m going to share. The less you know, the less you can tell,” said Tammy.
“Oh, come on, Tammy, we’re not in some murder mystery. I’m pretty sure no-one’s going to torture the name out of me - not even Dad!”
Tammy laughed, which had been Freya’s intent. Their Dad was more likely to exit a room himself than argue back with Freya. For some reason, Freya had always been able to talk Dad around to her way of thinking. Tammy called him a slitherer-outer - when she wasn’t arguing with him.
“Oh, all right. He’s called Dan, and he’s an ecologist. Or possibly biologist. Something like that. I met him after school a few weeks ago,” said Tammy.