by R. J. Blain
Chapter Three
Ryder texted two more times: rentable teepee, and bungee jumping.
I laughed at that last one because jumping off cliffs wasn’t my idea of relaxation.
I sent him a smiley face, then pulled up to Than’s house. The shades were drawn. I didn’t see any light peaking around the edges.
“What do you think?” I asked the dragon pig, lying in the passenger seat.
The windshield wipers were going full tilt. Even though the car was idling, it wasn’t enough to keep the rain from blurring up the world.
“Doesn’t look like he’s home.”
Dragon pig had curled up in the seat, happy and full of forks. It ignored me, both eyes closed, a tiny little snore rumbling in its chest.
“Let’s give him a call.” I thumbed through my contacts and dialed.
“Reed Daughter.” Than’s voice was smooth and cool, like I’d just interrupted important reading.
“Hey,” I said. “I need to discuss something with you. Are you home?”
“Why would I be there?”
I glanced at the dash. Three o’clock.
“I just thought business might not be booming at your kite shop.”
The wind punched the Jeep in the side, rocking it. Sheets of rain slashed sideways through the air.
“Oh?”
“It’s a little weather-y for kites today.”
There was a pause. Then, “I am aware. Is this what you wish to discuss? The weather?”
“No. I was…. You know what? Never mind. You’re at your shop? Can I meet you there?”
“I am open until four p.m.” He hung up.
Still hadn’t quite nailed the social norms of the phone call. I tipped my phone down. “Okay, then. I’ll see you there. Coffee would be great.” I put the Jeep in gear and backed out of the dead end next to his house. “Cookies too? You’re too thoughtful.”
The dragon pig snorted. It sounded like a tiny grumbly laugh.
“You’re staying in the car, bucko.”
All I got for that was louder, more dragon-y snorts.
The drive wasn’t far, but the weather was getting worse. Tough shore pines swayed in the gale. Softer firs and hemlock boughs whipped and bent. Rain rattled and hushed with the surging wind, turning the Jeep into an amateur drum-line jam session.
Than’s kite shop, the tailwind, was a little A-frame building lit by a nearby shepherd’s crook streetlamp. There were no cars in the parking lot, but the shop windows were filled with brightly colored kites. The light inside the shop poured through all that ripstop nylon, turning the windows into stained glass.
I parked as close to the door as was legal and shut off the engine.
“You going to be okay out here?”
The dragon pig opened one eye, and it flashed a deep, burning red.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re actually a big ol’ bad dragon. But look at these soft piggy ears and this squishy pink nose and those sweet piggy eyes.”
The dragon pig growled, a very dragon sound.
I chuckled and scratched behind its adorable soft ears. “Okay. If you want to go home, you can pop on outta here. But no eating the car.” I put my fingers on the handle. “Or the house. Or anything in the house.” Before I opened the door, I added, “You know the rules. Stick by them, and I’ll let you slurp down a roll of old chain-link fencing later. Deal?”
The dragon pig flipped on its back, showing its little round belly. Its tiny feet pointing straight up, flopped ears, round nose, and piggy eyes were all very convincing.
I patted its belly. “Good dragon. See you soon.”
I shoved out into the rain and wind and storm.
The Open sign on the door was hand-lettered in gold and, really, quite lovely. Death had good penmanship.
A jaunty bell jingled as I stepped into the shop. The warmth of the place and the soft gold light folded me away from the storm outside. I leaned back against the door, suddenly safe in this little colorful nest inside the roaring storm. Even the clawing of rain on the windows sounded cozy. Like someone should be pouring chocolate and wearing thick socks.
Music played a deep jazzy bass, the tune soft and swanky. Nina Simone was singing about a new dawn and new day. Feeling good.
Death liked blues.
“Than?” I called out, not seeing him in the open space. Well, open was relative. The walls and ceiling were crowded tip-to-tail with kites of every color and whimsy.
Deltas, diamonds, cellular, rokkakus, stunt kites in every color and style. Lofted against the ceiling was a fantasyland of creatures and things: giant squid, koi, a tractor, frogs, a line of cutesy dragons.
Just when I made out one animal (a sheep) another leered behind it (a wolf). The placement was clever but startling, always a predator just around the corner, always some kind of death or danger with each combination.
The longer I looked, the creepier it felt to have all those eyes and teeth shining down on me.
The horror was subtle, but shocking. As if the entire sky above me was alive with chase and capture and flight, with wing and claw and joy…
…that got eaten.
I had no idea how he had repeat customers. Because it sure wasn’t that huge sign out front that looked like a clown had carved it with a dull meat clever that brought ‘em in.
“Would you care for tea, Reed Daughter?”
I looked down from a spider kite perched so near a shy little ladybug kite that I wanted to smack it with a broom.
Than stood in the now-open door that led to the back room. He had on a chunky cream-colored sweater and a pair of jeans tucked into bright yellow rubber boots with little blue turtles on them.
I’d never seen him in jeans. He was more of a slacks and cheesy, touristy T-shirt kind of guy. The kind of guy who only looked comfortable in a tuxedo, or three-piece suit, and therefore hadn’t quite gotten the hang of casual wear.
But here he was looking… well, the rubber boots were ridiculous… but other than that, he looked passably human.
It was shocking. I wasn’t sure what I should even say. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well. Was this how death got the blues?
“Delaney?” he asked into my silence, his expression entirely blank.
Well, not entirely. No matter how dour and indifferent he tried to be, there was something alive in his eyes. An intelligence, a keen curiosity.
Life. There was a life in his eyes that was ancient and paradoxical, considering what power he had carried for æons.
“Tea,” I said, picking up the conversation where I’d dropped it. “Yes. Thank you.”
His eyebrows rose, and those sharp eyes sparked with interest. “Come this way.”
Said the spider to the fly.
I followed him behind the counter and through the door into an office and storage space. There was a door to one side with a Bathroom sign, and a back door for deliveries. A very small sink was tucked into one corner. A roll-top secretary’s desk stood in the other corner, opposite the sink. On the desk was a tiny, stuffed Grim Reaper, big emerald eyes and stitched smile fixed forward, hands clasped around a wee scythe.
“Aw,” I said, heading for the stuffy. “It’s a little you.”
He settled on one of the tall stools near a shelf full of stacked boxes.
“Did you buy this?” I picked it up, mesmerized by the huge eyes.
“No.” He sipped tea, and I gave the toy a squish before setting it back in its place.
“Let me guess. Jean?”
“She said it was a housewarming gift.”
I pursed my lips but couldn’t hold back the grin. “This, I notice, is not your house.”
“Yes, well, it is better kept here.”
I had no idea why, until I thought back to his house, which I’d only been inside of twice. He had a good eye for decor. Very clean and classy and comfortable. I hadn’t seen anything resembling a toy in his home. There wasn’t really room for them among all the plants, flowers, bushes
, and succulents he had draped—growing and flourishing—in his living room and kitchen.
Death, or at least Death on vacation, had quite the green thumb. But for some reason he didn’t want anyone to know about it.
“Tea?” I asked.
He gestured toward the cup sitting on a side table set up with a burner, tea pot, and a selection of teas.
I poured sugar and cream into the cup and sipped. It was light, creamy, and tasted of spring.
“Why don’t I drink tea more often?” I murmured as the music changed to a new song. This one was newer and more upbeat. Pretty sure it was Taylor Swift talking about calming down.
“Did you come to discuss my opinion of your terrible tea-drinking habits?” He hadn’t moved, was still on that stool, watching me, the tea a shield between us.
“Nice jeans,” I volleyed. “Totally go with the boots.”
He paused, then set his cup down on the shelf behind him.
“I understand denim trousers are very ‘Pacific Northwest,’” he said.
“Oh, they are. But so is the lumberjack look. Have you thought about flannel and suspenders? Maybe a beard and a beanie?” I tipped my head to one side. “Can you even grow a beard?”
“I can grow whatever facial hair I desire,” he said, clearly affronted. “However, if you came here this afternoon to discuss my wardrobe, I would remind you that this is a place of business, not an episode of a fashion show.”
I blinked. Because half of that comment was what I’d expected he’d say. But the other half was blowing my mind.
“Please tell me you watch fashion shows. Do you like the wedding dress shows more than the runway designer shows? No! You like that new one that’s all about thrift shopping for a look. You do, don’t you? That’s why you’re wearing jeans and turtle boots.” I sucked in a big, fake gasp. “You thrift-shopped.”
“Denim,” he corrected, “because it is practical in this community. Boots,” he pointed one long finger downward, “because it is raining.” His finger swung to the windows behind me. The sky had darkened another notch, the clouds and storm growing into a real force.
“And the fashion shows?” I wheedled.
“If that is all, I am very busy, Reed Daughter.”
The song wound down, Tay Tay telling us all to calm down. I made a big show of looking out into the shop, craning my neck to see the corners. “So many customers in here today. You really are super busy. Maybe I should stay to help you keep up.”
I thought, just for a moment, that maybe I’d pushed my luck a little too far. He gave me a withering glare, then picked up his tea and sipped again, looking as if he had all the time in the world to watch me rattle on.
“Unless you’re rearranging your ceiling menagerie? I’d be happy to help you hang some poisonous jellyfish on top of kitten kites, or whatever other childhood joy you’d like to ruin.” I gave him a big grin, letting him know I was teasing, but those eyes.
Those eyes were watching me.
“Tell me,” he said.
“Tell you what?”
“Who is bothering you and why you are avoiding them.”
“Nothing’s wrong. No one is bothering me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have my punch card still?”
“Yes. If I needed you to help with something… big, I’d ask.”
“You are telling me there is nothing going on you need help with?”
“There’s always something going on,” I said. “This is Ordinary and there are no days off. Not really. It’s just magic, explosion, curse, monster. All. The. Time.”
He sipped tea again, waiting.
“Have you seen anyone with a stolen traffic light?”
One eyebrow twitched “No. If I had, I would have apprehended them, since I am still a reserve officer.”
“I know. Well, there’s a light missing, so keep your eyes out. Also, I was just talking to Frigg. She’s ready to transfer the powers to the next god to take over guarding duties. We’ve been through the rotation of gods in town. Next up on the list is you.”
“I see.”
“You can refuse, but if you do, I’ll expect you to do it next year. Unless you leave town, there will be no getting out of it.”
“I see.”
“You’ll need some kind of vessel to keep them in. Crow uses the old glassblowing furnace. Odin has a growler. Frigg keeps them in her grove.”
“I see.”
I gave him a few moments to say something else or to ask questions. When he remained silent, I pushed on. “If you pick up the job, we’ll need to get together with Frigg tomorrow before noon. Will that be enough time for you to decide on your storage vessel?”
His eyes cut sideways to the secretary desk, then returned to me. “Yes.”
“Are you agreeing to guard the powers?”
He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin so he could look down his nose at me. I had to admit he looked very regal and imposing. Too bad there was a giant flower-shaped kite on the shelf behind him. The yellow petals fanned out behind his head and spiked down his shoulders like an Elvis impersonator’s cape.
“Of course.”
Just like that: of course.
“Good,” I said. “Do you need any help setting up the vessel?”
“I shall need to use a small portion of my power to create it.”
I nodded. “That’s the one time gods are allowed to use their powers while on vacation. Make the vessel, and make sure it will last until the next time you’ll be asked to guard the powers. When you leave Ordinary, you’ll want it to go into stasis until you return. No matter how many hundreds of years that might be.”
“I understand. I have read all of Ordinary’s rules and regulations. You insisted on it.”
“Okay then.” I gulped down the rest of the cooling tea. “That’s decided. See you tomorrow, late morning.” I started toward the interior of the shop but heard him moving behind me.
“Are you sure that is all, Reed Daughter?”
Ever since I’d first met him in the casino coffee shop, he’d called me by that name. Ever since then, I’d been telling him that Delaney was fine. More than fine; preferred.
But as the months went by, I realized I kind of liked it. Liked being reminded of my bloodline, my family history.
The Reed family alone had been chosen by the gods to keep Ordinary safe. It was an amazing honor and something that humbled me. It was also something that defined me, just as it had defined my father and our ancestors before us.
Could I leave this place behind, even for a much-needed vacation?
“Ryder wants to get out of town,” I said, my back still toward him, as if not facing him would somehow help me get this off my chest.
He just made a soft hmmm sound.
“I know it makes sense. To get away. To take a break. My job here is…” I held up my hands, trying to encompass it all. “My job is my life. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be. It’s everything I want to do. But it is full time. More than. And things have been more difficult since Dad died.
“But if I leave….” I scrubbed at my forehead, then let my hands drop.
“If you leave?” Than repeated.
“Every time I try, something goes wrong. What if that’s fate or destiny or something telling me I shouldn’t go? Telling me Ordinary needs me to stay, to put out the fires, to keep the town going forward?
“What if I’m not here to save someone? I don’t think… I’d never forgive myself if something happened.”
The last came out a little quieter. I hadn’t meant to say it all. But it was good to have it out. I just wasn’t sure Than was the best counsel on matters like this. He was Death, after all, and dying couldn’t possibly bother him as much as it bothered me.
“Is that all, Reed Daughter?” He’d lowered his voice to match mine, his words soft and sanded, smooth and inviting.
“I’m not being a martyr about this. I want to go. But is now th
e right time? Is now the best time?”
The silence would have been complete, but wind-driven rain shucked down the windows like carwash jets on full blast.
“Delaney.”
I held my breath a moment, then, finally, turned.
Than stood in the doorway to the back room, his hands folded in front of him.
“You are worried about Ordinary?”
No, I wanted to say.
“Yes.”
“You are worried you will not be here to… save someone from… something?”
I shrugged. When he put it that way, it sounded kind of dumb.
“A lot of people have been hurt. Some have died,” I said.
He shifted, just slightly, like a hunter scenting prey. “So this is about trust.”
“No.” But maybe it was. Trusting my town to look after itself without me. Trusting my gut to make a selfish choice for myself alone and sticking to it.
“Ordinary is what I am. I don’t do…” I waved at the windows, at the world beyond Ordinary’s borders. “…all that other life out there.”
He let the rain and wind fill the space between us, his vision cast over my shoulder, out into that storm, out into that raging world.
“What does your heart tell you?” he asked. Still not looking at me. Still entranced by the violent beauty raging around us.
“My stupid heart wants to be with Ryder no matter what. But I don’t even know what kind of person I am if I’m not working.”
“Ah.”
The rain washed across the window again. Gusts buffeted the little A-frame, which stood steady and strong.
There was something hypnotic about the storm, about the warmth and color of this little room, this hidden gem, floating safely here in the center of such fury and rage.
There was something hypnotic about the god before me too. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t twitched a finger, hadn’t blinked, but I could tell he was waiting for me to think this through. To come to a reasonable conclusion.
I thought there might be some kind of metaphor I was missing. Something about the darkest day still holding a tiny spark of warmth and light.
Something about friends being all one needed when facing a storm.