by Sarah Peters
“Or at least have a cookie,” Hippie Mom said, meandering back into the room. She set the tray down on the white coffee table and stared at us.
Stepford Mom’s smile turned expectant.
Seeing them standing together, they had to be twins.
“How many moms does Tobias have?” I asked, taking a cookie to hopefully get Stepford Mom to stop staring at me.
“The normal amount,” Stepford Mom replied, her eyes on Becca. “Come, lovely girl. Eat a cookie. Enjoy some lemonade.”
Becca’s hand, as if on its own accord, reached for the tray of cookies.
I looked down at my own. They weren’t even good cookies. They were brown and square with dark spots that I suspected were raisins, not chocolate. Gross.
“Please, eat. Get comfortable.”
Automatically, I raised my hand to my mouth and bit into the cookie.
I’d been right. Raisins.
The taste was off, but they both looked so expectant that I took another bite. I heard some fabric shuffle, and glanced at Becca as she lowered the scarf, revealing her sheep mouth. She took a bite of cookie.
“Ahh,” the Mrs. Mondays sighed. “You are the Champion.”
Becca shook her head.
“She’s not,” I said. My head felt weird. Like, as weird as when I’d gotten my wisdom teeth pulled over Christmas Break. I popped the rest of the cookie into my mouth and reached for a glass of lemonade. “She’s scared of Jake.”
“I am not scared of Jake, I just dislike Jake,” Becca protested. Her voice sounded far away, and I looked around the room, wondering if she was behind me, only to realize that she was still next to me.
“Hello you have a sheep head,” I observed with a giggle. “Can you say, ‘you’ve been a baaaaad girl?’ but do it in Ms. Clemmings’ voice?”
“Ha! You wish!” Becca’s laugh was long and loud.
“Champion,” one of the Mrs. Mondays said, settling down on the armrest next to Becca. She lifted a hand and stroked Becca’s head, as if she was petting her hair. “How fortunate for you to come to us.”
“How very fortunate,” the other Mrs. Monday cooed, settling down on the armrest beside me. She reached out and ran her hand over my head. “Such pretty girls.”
“It’s been too long since humans came into our house when invited.” Another Mrs. Monday, this one dressed in a blazer and business skirt said from behind the couch. She reached out and ran a finger down the bridge of my nose. “So young. They must taste quite nice, don’t you think?”
My hands wouldn’t lift. I looked down at them, puzzled, but they were on my lap, a half-eaten cookie clutched in one. Everything seemed too heavy and inexplicably also too funny. I chuckled, snorted, and tried to hold back my giggle.
“The champion is saved for the queen,” one Mrs. Monday sighed. “But her friend isn’t spoken for, is she?”
“Indeed, she is not!” There seemed to be another Mrs. Monday. When had she come in? This one was the one I’d seen outside, with that bad haircut and gaudy makeup.
“Is y’re name Karen?” I asked, my tongue heavy against my lips. My head swayed but I managed to stay upright. “Or Debra?”
Becca giggled.
“Surely the queen won’t mind a few nibbles on the champion,” a Mrs. Monday decided, and the others murmured agreement. “Let us bring them to the pool.”
“A pool?” I asked blurrily. I realized I’d stood up. When had that happened? My feet moved although I couldn’t remember wanting to walk, and I followed two Mrs. Mondays out of the room. “I always wanted a pool.”
Everything went fuzzy.
It wasn’t until I was waist-deep in water that I burped, and a splash of clarity came swooping in like a hawk snagging a field mouse.
I stopped walking.
Becca bumped into me, her sheepy eyes glazed and distant. She mumbled something at me, and I felt my own head swim, that fuzziness returning.
But I was prepared.
At the age of six, I distinctly remembered sitting with Jake Wildern on top of the hill that overlooked Reeding Park. We’d snuck a can of (forbidden) pop from a cooler and had cracked it open and shared it between us. We’d competed to see who could burp the longest, the loudest, and who could burp their way through the alphabet the best.
Since that day, I have been able to burp on command.
I did it now, releasing a satisfying belch. It came accompanied by the sour taste of old grapes and stale brown sugar.
The fuzziness dissolved like fog on a hot summer day and I got a good look around.
I was fully clothed and almost up to my boobs in cold water. The pool stretched across the backyard, but sunlight was blocked due to row upon row of tall, thick branched trees which arched over the water, almost like a ceiling designed to cover and hide the activities within. Their leaves grew dark and thick, covering us in shade.
It didn’t hide the fact that we weren’t alone in the water. Small, oblong black and orange objects floated around us and I bit back a shriek when I realized they were hundreds of dead box elder bugs, unmoving in the water.
Five identical women knelt on the far side of the pool, all wearing identical, anticipatory smiles. They each had a hand in the water, and something black and thick pooled where their fingers submerged.
“Keep walking, lovelies,” one called, beckoning. “The water is so sweet and deep here.”
Uhhhhmmmm no.
No way.
My legs, though, seemed to have a different idea. With the call, they surged forward, taking me deeper into the water.
I tried to burp again, but whatever they’d done to us was deeper than a burp could clear, and my legs took another step forward, the water sloshing over my boobs.
“What exactly is going on here?”
His voice cut across the water like ice, and the Mrs. Mondays all looked up in surprise, their gazes finally falling away from Becca and me.
I found I could muster enough control to stop my legs from taking me deeper into water, which was just peachy, because it was nearing my neck and the need to stand on my tippy toes was getting to me.
“Ah, Tobias dear, you’re home,” they all chorused. “Just in time for our snack.”
I heard him stomp across gravel, and then saw his feet in my peripherals, striding purposely. He came to a stop near the edge of the pool and I glanced up.
“Hey,” I offered.
He’d never mentioned exactly how good he looked in a school uniform. Until that moment, staring up at his ironed trouser legs to his maroon vest, plaid tie, and black blazer, I hadn’t realized that I had a thing for guys in uniform.
Well, life is a lesson I suppose.
He barely looked at me, other than that first furious blazing glare which I’d met with an awkward smile. Instead, he rounded on his moms. “What are you doing?” He pointed accusingly at Becca and me. While their attention was diverted, I looped my arm in Becca’s and took a few cautious steps into more shallow water. “Two humans, really?!”
“We were hungry, dear,” one of his moms explained. “And we invited them inside, and they just came in, and they were so lovely that we knew we had to give them some snacks, and look, that one is the Champion. Everyone says she has a sheep’s head now.”
Tobias’ pale eyes snapped back towards Becca and me before returning to his parental units. “That is not the Champion,” he barked. “Obviously Romeo and the others made a mistake, because I’ve seen the Champion and that’s not her.”
The moms all gasped.
Underwater, Becca’s hand found mine.
“And you can’t eat them,” Tobias continued, really getting into it now. I’d seen him annoyed plenty of times (being in my presence seemed to have that effect on him), but he looked actually angry this time. “They’re juvenile humans, can’t you see? They’re not homeless or wanderers or those seeking shelter. They’ll be missed, and who knows how many people they’ve told about coming to this house?! You know what ha
ppens with missing human children, don’t you? Police and investigators and too many questions. Can all of you handle that?”
“That’s right,” I added because I can never keep my stupid mouth shut. “You have no idea who we’ve told!” (ok, we didn’t tell anyone. They didn’t need to know that.)
I recalled, too late, that at least one member of the honorable Butterfield Police Department was a fairy from their court. Whatever.
“We just wanted a bite,” one of the moms complained. “We’d let them go afterwards, after eating their memories.”
“And maybe some of their hair,” one added.
“Or their eyes,” another suggested.
Tobias looked volcanic. Like, not a bubbling Hawaiian volcano. More like Mt. Saint Helens circa May 1980.
“Really, Tobias,” another scolded, “when did you become such a stickler for rules?”
“I knew we never should’ve let him become a knight,” one grumbled.
Becca and I took another step backwards. Becca’s sheep fur was soggy and the smell emanating off her head and neck was distinctly animal.
“You should be glad at least one of us is following Court Rule,” Tobias snapped. He turned his furious gaze onto us. “What are you humans even doing here?!”
“Do you know them, dear?” Hippie Mom wondered. “They said they were friends of yours.”
“They were lying. I’m not friends with any humans,” Tobias growled. He pointed behind us. “Get out of the water. Now.”
Becca and I didn’t need to be told twice.
Of course, it’s impossible to slog your way out of waist-high water quickly or gracefully but I think I managed reasonably well, considering I only slipped on my shoes twice and face planted in the water once.
Tobias marched alongside the pool, shooting death-glares at us (me, they were all aimed at me) as we pushed our way back into shallower water.
He did not offer to help either of us up out of the pool, instead pointing firmly towards the back of the house. “Get moving.”
I checked my butt pocket, only semi relieved to find my phone. I pulled it out as I sloshed wetly across a manicured lawn. I tried turning it on and the screen remained blank.
It really was just one thing after another for me, wasn’t it?!
Son of a Flower
“Th-thanks for saving us,” Becca whispered, sheep teeth chattering.
Tobias did not reply, instead slamming the door open and practically pushing us inside.
It wasn’t until we were standing in the front yard that he rounded on us (me, he rounded on me) and hissed, “what is the meaning of this?”
I refused to be ashamed. I shrugged one shoulder. “We have a sheep problem,” I jerked my thumb in Becca’s direction. “No one else will help, so as a last resort we—I—decided to ask you.”
“And you thought you’d just come to my house?!” Tobias demanded.
“Well it’s your fault for owning up to living here,” I said. “You can’t tell me where you live and then never expect me to show up. I’m like a feral cat. Feed me tuna once and I’ll keep coming back.”
Tobias lifted a hand and pressed it against his temples.
“Do you really have five moms?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my body. Late September was beautiful, yes, but not the warmest month. Especially when soaking wet. And covered in the corpses of more than a few box elder bugs. Icked out, I hastily brushed myself off. “How’s that one work out for PTA meetings?”
Tobias dropped his hand, only to give me a baleful glare. “Why,” he hissed, not answering my valid question, “does she have a sheep head instead of you?”
I pointed at myself and then at Becca. “Wait a hot second, you knew about the sheep thing?!”
“Your dumb fairy friends got us confused,” Becca added, stepping up to me and plucking a bug out of my hair. For a second I thought she’d pop it in her mouth. The fairies must’ve been getting to me. “They cursed me instead of her.”
“How could you let them give me—well, Becca—a sheep’s head?!” I demanded. I lifted an accusing finger and prodded Tobias in the sternum. “You took me to Homecoming and that’s how you treat me?!”
“Your broken promise has nothing to do with this,” Tobias retorted. “I thought if they gave you a small curse it’d distract them from trying to kill you, and I was right, wasn’t I? You haven’t been attacked since then, have you?”
“Was I attacked before then?” I wondered. Wait, no. I couldn’t get distracted. “So you thought it’d be totally fine for me to walk around with a sheep head forever? Becca’s been pretending to be sick!! Were you even going to help?!”
“I knew Wildern, his owlbear, and that changeling could help you,” Tobias said, without so much as an ounce of shame.
He really was the worst.
I grabbed Becca’s hand again. “Let’s go home,” I snapped, dragging her away from Tobias.
“Cat,” Becca said, pulling me back. “I still have a sheep head. I can’t go around like this.”
I didn’t look at Tobias. It’d been stupid to come here. He was stupid too, even if he’d saved us from his moms.
“Thank you for saving us,” I sniffed. “Now kindly put a spell on Becca so no one notices she has the wrong kind of head.”
Tobias didn’t answer for so long that I was forced to look at him. He regarded me, his thick, dark eyebrows bunched together, arms crossed. It made his shoulders look fantastic in that blazer, strong and masculine and begging to have my arms wrapped around them.
No one had any right to be that alluring. Rude, is what it was.
“My magic isn’t of that nature,” he eventually said. I opened my mouth to demand what good he was, and he finished, “but I have a car and can drive you home.”
“As if we’d get in your dirty car,” I spat.
“Cat…” I could feel Becca rolling her eyes.
She’d said a lot with one word.
I knew I couldn’t just leave her with Tobias alone in his car, not after what he’d let his friends (try to) do to me, and not after his moms had tried to eat us. I tightened my grip and she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze in return.
“Alright but no funny business,” I muttered.
“You’re the morons who decided to go for a swim in late September,” he muttered. With that, he turned and stomped towards his three-car garage.
It wasn’t until we were in Tobias’ swanky car and Becca giving him directions to her house that I realized somewhere between the front lawn and the garage he’d magically dried us off.
I glared at the side of his beautiful head from my position in the back seat. I figured I’d have the best chance to beat him up from the back if he tried to drive us directly to the queen’s home or whatever.
We turned onto Maple St.
Tobias, as expected, was a conscientious and skillful driver. Far better than Finn. We drove across town, all of us mulish.