by K. M. Shea
“However,” a cyclops from the back piped up. “We cyclopes make up a hefty amount of the donators. With the exception of our eyes, we fit in with humans and have minds that are naturally gifted for business. Additionally, we live longer than the average human, so we have more time to gather knowledge, learn additional languages, accumulate wealth, etcetera, etcetera,” he added.
“So the MBRC is unwilling to help you guys, some of its top donators, see better?” I flatly asked.
The cyclopes glanced at each other, clearly never having seen it that way, if you’ll pardon the horrible pun.
“It does sound terrible when you say it like that,” the periwinkle female volunteered.
“Right. We’re going to take care of this. Does the MBRC have some kind of eye doctor?” I asked.
“Yes, ophthalmological research.” one of them replied.
“Excellent. Would someone please lead the way?” I said.
They stared back at me.
“To the ophthalmological branch?” I clarified.
The cyclopes exchanged puzzled looks but shrugged their shoulders and started out.
We marched into the ophthalmological branch, the female cyclops with the periwinkle eye leading me and my one-eyed army. (On our way there, she took the time to introduce herself to me. Her name was Sandra, another anti-cyclops name.) When we reached the front desk, a glasses-wearing human (sorceress most likely, even though she didn’t dress it) was seated there.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked very carefully.
“Yes. Hello. I’m looking to make an appointment with someone in charge of research or medical improvements in this branch,” I smiled, painfully aware I looked like a school girl next to my designer-label wearing compatriots.
The receptionist raised an unbelieving eyebrow.
“You see, my friends and I are very interested in improvements in the area of eye glasses and contacts, specifically ones designed to fit cyclopes. I’m quite certain they would be willing to make a generous donation to fund your research,” I said, turning around to make sure my guess wasn’t off base.
Behind me the cyclopes furiously nodded.
“I’ll be frank, young lady, we’re swamped,” the secretary said. “We have colorblind werewolves who drive trucks for a living and are apparently incapable of memorizing the order of lights at a stop light. We have miniscule, elderly fairies that need petite glasses in order to properly function. We have blind dragons—which I don’t need to tell you is a highly dangerous situation—and a horrible eye fungus has recently swept through the dryads. We don’t have time to research eyewear for cyclopes. Sorry,” she said apologetically to the cyclopes behind me. “They can function. They’ve been functioning. All they have is a problem reading things up close. It’s easy to get around,” she said before looking back at her files and notes.
I turned around and leaned against the desk, propping my elbows up as I considered my options. Listening to that lady talk reminded me ever so much of my older brother, Michael. Michael was unfortunately named after Michael the arc angel, and as such, he fancied himself God’s greatest gift to the world. When manipulating Michael, it was best to be open and blunt and tell him what he had to lose.
I resolved to use the same method on this maddening woman.
“Well, there you have it guys. I told you they were too stubborn and pigheaded to care, but it’s the MBRC—what do you expect? This is why I wanted to open that clinic in Japan. Not only do they have better technology, but we could focus on you guys and your needs. I mean come on; with your funds, it’ll be a snap. And the second the other cyclopes see what we’re doing, they’ll surely withdraw their funds from here and follow us to Japan. Come on. I know an elf from Glamourizing who’s in contact with a unicorn herd in Hokkaido. They can hook us up,” I said, pushing away from the counter while I prayed none of them would ask me what on earth I was talking about.
The receptionist rolled her eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do. Idle threats will not work on me,” she frowned.
I turned around and cocked my head. “Who said they’re idle?”
“The MBRC is one of a kind. Magical beings need its help to survive. No one is an island unto themselves,” she said in a snarky receptionist way.
I reached out and grabbed the Ralph Lauren suit guy. “His suit could pay for my first year in college. Let us talk to the research guys to see if this is even feasible, please. Or would you rather try to explain to your bosses why some of the biggest donators in the MBRC are all in Japan?”
The receptionist scowled. “Just how big of a donation would you give us?” she suspiciously asked.
“How many digits guys, four?” I ventured.
“How about six?” someone suggested.
“If we all chip in a little, we can get a seven figure sum without much difficulty,” Mr. Ralph Lauren suit man acknowledged. I dropped his arm and my jaw.
The receptionist’s eyeglasses slid off her nose.
“Well,” she blustered. “If you’re going to make it worth it…”
Turned out she wasn’t the receptionist, but the director of ophthalmological research. Yeah, Sha-ZAM! Knowing that my cyclopes were very willing to hand over a seven-figure sum, she was quite happy to arrange an appointment for the following day.
The cyclopes were beyond ecstatic and enthusiastically back-slapped me the entire way back to the information desk. They also pleaded with me to attend the meeting with them, which I agreed to. (Visions of me taking over the MBRC with leadership help from Fran and Hunter—Hunter had to know something useful after reading all those books—danced through my brain. I could make a cyclops UNION!)
When I got back to the information desk, I told the whole story to an amused Corona and an interested Orion, Corona chuckled at me about the whole Japan thing. “An elf in ‘glamourizing’?”
“Hey, give me a break! Besides this room, the only thing I’ve seen of the MBRC is Dr. Creamintin’s office,” I said.
“The frog in the well does not know the greatness of the sea,” Orion said.
“Ahem,” Toby coughed, clearing his throat. He drank his coffee in my absence and was starting to lose patience with me since my supposed gift of caffeine was consumed.
“Right, Toby, I’m coming,” I said, bending over to pick up Doggy before making my way to the hobgoblin’s side. I winked at Orion and Corona as I plopped down in my chair, my attention once more on Toby.
“Thank you lets go 123,” Toby started, banging on the keyboard with his long, green fingers.
Eighteen phone calls and countless emails later, I collapsed in my chair as Toby said his goodbyes before he puttered off to his break. Frey and Dave would arrive any minute, but I was mentally spent.
Our question-answering average for today was 21 seconds. Toby was a slave driver!
I was leaning back, massaging my head, when a velveteen voice interrupted my thoughts.
“So you think I’m attractive?”
I removed my hands from my eyes and twisted around. Devin was leaning on the desk, a deliciously devious smile curling across his lips as he propped his chin up on his hand.
“What?” I asked, my voice cross.
“Yesterday, when talking to that mongrel of yours, you said you thought I was quite handsome,” Devin smirked.
I crinkled my nose. “I don’t ever recall calling you handsome,” I countered. “I said you were cute. You know, like a pony?”
Devin straightened, tipping his head like a posing model. “I am merely interpreting what you meant to say. I am not cute. No part of me is cute. I am what you would call dangerously handsome.”
“Right. And I’m a mermaid,” I said standing up.
Devin rolled his eyes. “If you choose to be blind, that is your own choice, hapless human.”
“You are so full of yourself,” I said, slipping on my jacket before shouldering my backpack and exiting the desk.
“I would rather be full of
myself than full of crap,” Devin shrugged before jumping into a new topic. “So what are you going to do about Frey?”
“What do you mean, what am I going to do?”
“You know, his whole canine-instincts thing, getting up in your space, pretending to like you in order to woo you away from me—any of this ringing a bell?”
“There’s nothing to do. I’m getting hypnotized on Friday. Come next Monday, I might not even remember Frey’s name,”
Devin hesitated. “You’re what?”
“I’m getting hypnotized. Dr. Creamintin is arranging it for me. Frey was all for removing my memories, but Dr. Creamintin and Dave insisted hypnotizing was a safer route.”
“You mean you’re not staying on?” Devin asked, sounding shocked.
“Uh, no.”
“Why not? You could be a consultant or something. Heaven knows we need more instructors around here with actual experience in the human culture.”
“No. I am a regular high school girl. I want my social life back,” I said, doing my best to ignore the resistant voices in the back of my head that shouted I really wanted to keep working.
“You’re in HIGH SCHOOL?” Devin groaned, lifting a hand up to his forehead. “Good Lord, I should have known. That flea bitten Frey is in high school as well,” his yellow eyes landed on me and he looked oddly flustered.
“What, did you think I was in middle school?” I asked.
The fairy horse muttered something like, “Almost robbing the cradle, and I didn’t even know it,” before straightening back into his model-like poses and smiles. “I was under the impression you were in college,” he ruefully smiled.
“Nope. Sophomore in high school,” I said, working hard to keep a pleased smile off my lips. I always love being mistaken for a college student.
Devin frowned. “But you can’t leave,” he said, reaching out to take my hand.
“Why not? And let go,” I ordered, tugging on my hand.
“Because—,” Devin started.
“Morgan,” said a stormy voice.
Frey, his green wolf eyes narrowed, his stance stiff and wide, some of the muscles on his face twitching with anger, had found us.
“Frey, hello,” I said, painfully aware that Devin was still holding my hand. “So, it’s time to go?”
Frey clenched his jaw, clearly trying to control his fury. “Why are you with the Pooka?” he asked, his eyes were fastened on the space between Devin and me. It was like he was so angry, he couldn’t look at either of us.
I rolled my eyes, not at all impressed. “Come on, Frey. We were just talking,” I said before yanking my hand out of Devin’s grasp. I adjusted the straps of my backpack and strolled over to the angry werewolf.
Frey finally raised his eyes to stare at my face. “Talking?” he spat.
“What is your problem?” I asked.
“No girl just talks with Devin,” Frey snarled.
“Your concern is noted. But I hardly think I’m in danger of being ensnared by him. I’m being hypnotized on Friday. Remember?” I asked.
“About that. Why are you letting her go, mutt?” Devin asked, leaning past my shoulder to peer at Frey’s face. “If she were mine—,”
“But she’s not! Leave, outsider,” Frey demanded, his shouts causing some stir among the magical beings around us.
“Lay off him, Frey. He hasn’t done anything to you,” I said.
Devin flashed me a charming smile before smirking at Frey. “Why, thank you, Morgan,” he started before I cut it off.
“Devin, shut your mouth and leave. I don’t need you rubbing it in his face,” I ordered.
“Rubbing what in my face?” Frey asked, his voice tightening with something that sounded a lot like…well…fear. “You haven’t—you can’t stop her hypnotizing, Pooka.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked before waving it off. “Never mind. Look Frey, I know about your whole ‘instinct’ thing,” I said, making quotation marks in the air with my fingers. “Devin told me all about your pack mentality and how offending it would be if Devin dated me or something equally as ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” the fairy horse shot over my shoulder.
“Shut up, Devin,” Frey and I snarled.
Devin meekly backed down.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frey stubbornly said.
I lifted my hands as though to strangle him. “GRRR-AGH! You blockhead! Do you have fur in your ears or something? I said I KNOW ALL ABOUT IT!” I shouted the last line with such force and feeling that a purple genie that was floating by stopped to stare at us.
I continued my tirade. “I know you don’t care for me personally, but you feel responsible for me, so the thought of Devin whisking me away is unbearable!”
“That is not it!” Frey shot back.
“Oh, really? Then why do you get so upset whenever I’m with him, or whenever I express some admiration of him?”
Frey sputtered for a moment before glaring at the gleeful Devin. “This is your fault,” he snarled at the black-haired fairy. “If you had just kept your stupid horse muzzle to yourself—No! If you just stayed with the Fairy Council like you’re supposed to and stop skulking around the MBRC, this wouldn’t have happened!”
Devin shrugged. “Your petty jealousy is hardly noteworthy. It stimulates only a mild interest. If you hadn’t reacted so hilariously, I might have left her alone.”
“Stop trying to pawn off the blame, Frey,” I snarled. “I knew from the moment Devin switched out of his horse form that he was a conniving, backstabbing, womanizing flirt.”
“Hey!” Devin objected.
“But you,” I shook my head at Frey. “I thought we were friends! And it turns out you’re just as bad, just as territorial and self-centered as him!” I said, jerking my thumb behind me to point at Devin.
The Pooka was slightly put out. “That’s harsh,” he complained.
“You know what? Fine! If you’re so happy with him, why don’t you go home with Devin?” Frey hissed.
“Fine!” I said, snapping my head up and down.
“Fine!” Frey returned.
“Fine!” I said as he turned around and headed in the direction of Dr. Creamintin’s office.
Frey stopped and turned around to shout at me. “I’m GLAD you’re getting hypnotized! I can’t wait until you’re not around anymore!”
“Yeah? Well, I can’t wait to forget YOU!” I shouted, a fairy godmother scuttled past us and shot me a concerned glance. A T-Rex moved between us, his predator eyes raised, staring at the ceiling as he probably wished he were somewhere else.
Between the dinosaur’s legs, I could see Frey growl at me before stalking off for Dr. Creamintin’s.
7
I Negotiate with the Magically Inclined
I glowered at his backside and headed for the MBRC exit.
It wasn’t until I reached Tiny that I realized Devin had followed me.
“Hello, sir,” Tiny respectfully said, saluting Devin.
“Hello—Tiny, isn’t it? Good work, today,” Devin said, ambling after me as I stalked ahead with quick, jerky steps.
When we rejoined the population of Chicago, I glanced up and caught Devin’s yellow eyes. “Bye,” I said before heading for a ticket window.
“No, you don’t,” Devin said, reaching out to snag me.
“I need a ticket,” I said, sullen and not caring. “Frey has my round-trip ticket.”
“Fine, fine. Go off on your warpath. I’ll just follow the wreckage like it’s a yellow brick road,” Devin said, whimsically fanning his hand while looking off to the side. I stomped off before he realized I had left. “Hey!” he said, moving into a normal-paced walk to keep sight of me.
He waited just past the ticket counter, his arms folded across his broad chest, while I purchased my ticket home.
“What do you want?” I demanded.
“You liked that mongrel, didn’t you?” Devin asked, following me as I stomp
ed towards my appropriate platform.
“No, I didn’t,” I said, purposely reminding myself that I was head-over-heels for Brett Patterson. There wasn’t a chance I liked Frey, not when I had a major crush on Brett!
“Then why are you so mad? You were perfectly pleasant before he snarled at you. Even after all I told you, you still nursed some hope didn’t you?” Devin drearily sighed.
I turned on my heels to glare at him. “Is this fun for you? Do you like intentionally hurting people and rubbing things in their faces? Yeah. Maybe I did hope against all hope that Frey wasn’t completely overrun by ‘instincts,’ whatever that means. Maybe I hoped he would apologize. So what? You want a cookie for guessing my feelings?” I snarled before storming off.
I was more than mildly surprised when Devin materialized at my shoulder as I found the platform.
He didn’t say a word. Even when we climbed on an express train, and I wrathfully plopped down in a seat. He sat next to me, people-watching and winking at cute girls while I stared out the widow. It was a long but quiet train ride.
Devin flashed me a smile when I stood up to leave at my Oakdale stop, but it wasn’t his charming, flashy smile. It was more…empathetic. I knew I had to look pretty miserable if the self-absorbed playboy Pooka felt even remotely bad for me.
That night, for probably the first time in my high school career, I played video games with Odie and Peter, the bloodiest, most violent video games they had. Engaging in computer-animated fist fights oddly soothed the turmoil that raged inside of me.
When I went to bed, I stared up at my white ceiling for a while, wondering what I was going to do tomorrow. It was Thursday, so Dr. Creamintin would not be expecting me—especially after I blew up at Frey like that—but I told the cyclopes I would be there for them.
“They wanted me there. Plus, I like helping them,” I reasoned, refusing to allow my mind to paint a picture of a furious Frey. “I’m going. I don’t care about Frey. The cyclopes asked me for help.”
Thursday afternoon, I looked up and down the hallways of my high school before hastily leaving the school grounds. The final bell had just rung, and students swarmed the hallway.