by Kat Quinn
“Connor, Zeke, and myself only just arrived, and our cutie pie right there,” now it’s Connor’s turn to get displayed to me like the winning prize on a game show, “just had a full-on destructive episode atop our felled wolf, black eyes and scary voice included. Something I’m certainly hoping we can discuss a bit more.” Both of his hands are shaking as he attempts to casually hook a thumb into each pocket.
“Hmm, yes, okay, I see,” I stroke my chin like that’s where all the distinguished thoughts are kept and chin stimulation is the only way to extract them. “Question? Is Monty okay?” He’s breathing and all, but there’s really not a chance that position is particularly comfortable. At the thought, Monty’s position shifts slightly; still hunched over, but not quite as heavily.
Lin looks to Remy, the gray-haired, nickletacular business dude. He clears his throat, stepping with an outstretched hand towards Kieran, fresh wounds vanishing almost instantly beneath his touch. Kieran stirs. “Yes, he’ll be fine. My son foolishly over-exerted himself while tending to your... ferret.”
I gasp, Aria hisses from atop my chest, shooting up to a sitting position at the dig against her. “Ferret? A ferret?!? Ferrets WISH they were as cool as Aria. Right, girl? When was the last time you saw an all-black ferret with wings and grabby hands on all four legs and a long, sleek nose? Never. Pft. Can’t carry a tune in comparison.” Aria’s fur bristles against the insult, but my defense helps take the fluff down a few notches in the sleekness scale.
The man blinks, then offers a small, courteous bow. “Apologies. I meant no slight.”
A door slams loudly, pink apron guy perking up excitedly at the sound. “Oh! That’ll be Jack, then. I’ll just be off to fix her a plate.” Right after he disappears from the doorway, his head pops into view again. “Oh, my, where are my manners? This excitement has got me all out of sorts! Would anyone like supper? Or something to drink?” A chorus of no’s and thank you’s send him on his merry way.
“We were supposed to have supper with that couple, the farm people. Are they okay?” I look around at a room full of clueless dudes who just straight up don’t answer the question. Rude. Questions need answers.
“Albert and Molly didn’t make it,” Monty’s deep voice is scraggly, a mournful whisper barely slipping through the gaps between his curtain of dreadlocks.
Beside me, Connor stiffens. The glimmering pools of his turquoise eyes dull, losing their sparkle and focus until it’s clear he no longer sees me right in front of him. I give his hand a squeeze, in case it helps.
“Al was already gone by the time we got there, chest barely more than a pile of scraps.” Monty starts to unfold himself, eyes sunken deep into shadowed sockets. You can just barely hear his voice as he tries and fails to keep it steady. “But Molly? Molly still had a chance… I…” He trails off, head hanging lower as he buries his face in his palms.
I bite my lip, wanting to get up and comfort him, but already buried beneath a lil’ fluff and a tall man. Instead, Remy, the healer, storms over to Monty and yanks one of his arms, forcing him to stand. “Montgomery Ursanis, what have I told you about losing control?! You can not bring back the dead, and you can not bring back the nearly-dead. It was reckless and foolish for you to try, knowing the cost.” Remy slams Monty into a tight hug, cradling the back of his son’s head against him as though squeezing themselves together is the only way to save the world. “And then, then you come in here, half dead already, and still stretch yourself beyond your means? You will never do this again, do you understand me?” Remy pushes Monty back far enough to look him in the eye, furious.
Monty nods, gaze trailing to the ground as his shoulders rely entirely on Remy’s firm hold to stay up. “Yes, Pops.”
“Good. No child of mine is getting buried before me.” Remy rests his forehead against Monty’s, still holding tightly to the mourning man’s arms. They stay like that, locked together intimately, in their own bubble. Monty begins to struggle, trying to loosen his father’s grasp and wriggle out of it.
“No, stop, you need it more than I do!” The tables turn, and Remy starts to lose his footing, Monty growing stronger, spine straightening as he becomes the one supporting them both. “Pops, stop! Okay, I get it, I’m fine, I’ll be fine! You’re more important, and twice as good! I just need a bit of time, it’s no big deal!” Finally, Monty manages to overpower Remy, swinging the faltering man around, lowering him into the now unoccupied chair and breaking free. “You shouldn’t have done that!” He pleads, one arm stretching towards the slumping man at odds with his backwards steps away.
“You shouldn’t have done that, either,” Remy mumbles back, eyes closing.
With one arm, Monty clutches at his stomach, nearly doubling-over. Covering his mouth with the other hand, he closes his eyes, shoulders heaving with silent sobs.
I look around the room, none of us knows what to do. Connor’s still a husk of himself, here but not. Kieran’s awake, groggily taking in the scene. Lin and I catch each others’ eye and I see in him the exact same paralysis. What do you say here? What do you do? Did we just watch someone die? Did Monty almost die? Is there something going on here that I missed?
We don’t do anything, waiting for someone else to make the first move.
Straightening up, tucking some stray locs behind his ears, Monty’s the one to break the stillness. He slowly surveys the room, taking in our various states. Eventually, he walks, stony-faced, towards me; silently shoo-ing Aria off my chest before gently and detachedly wiping off some of the dried muck in my cuts. From his pocket, he pulls out a screw-top jar filled with salve, silently massaging it into my wounds with great care.
“… Monty?” I search his face, not really knowing where to go with this.
“A reminder,” He says. “One I wish I hadn’t needed.” Finishing up, Monty screws the lid back onto its jar and sets it down beside me on the bed.
Wordlessly, he leaves. We let him.
43. Monty
My heart pounds away in my chest, all worked up, breaths tight as I try to control them. Back in school, the teachers always warned us what could happen, and always warned us that by the end of the year, someone would go too far. Sometimes it was the cocky kid who thought they knew better, sometimes it was the quiet kid looking to prove something, or the person you didn’t expect who just had a bad day and slipped up. Either way, every single one of us learns the lesson early; death will find you if you forget to look out for it, and it will happily take its bounty twice if you’re foolish enough to pay the price. A healer’s life is noble—their death is not.
Not really meaning to, but at the same time, not surprised at all, I find myself walking straight towards the kitchen of my childhood. As I enter, a small bundle of energy tackles my leg, barely making an impact, but still forcefully demanding my attention. Stooping down, I pick Colonel Stubbs up and hold the little white Frenchie with one arm, his floppy tongue happily assaulting my chin with slobbery kisses. “Okay, okay, yes, thanks, boy. Where’ve you been hiding out?” Just holding him, my jagged heart already starts to even out to something like its natural rhythm.
“The little con artist has been grifting scraps off me, if you can believe it.” By the sink, Daddy’s dabbing a wet cloth at Mom’s face. The dried blood looks gruesome, but beneath it he always reveals perfect, smooth, rich, dark skin. Part of the reason she’s such a good fighter is that no one can land a wound that sticks long enough to keep her down.
“Hey, kid,” she says, nodding her acknowledgement.
Rubbing the little dog’s head playfully, “Oh, really? Wonder where he learned that. I’d never encourage such thievery in my household.” On the cutting board, there’s a small pile of carrot scraps; one of Stubbs’ favorites. A rich pot of Japanese curry bubbles away happily on the stove.
He gives a sly smile. “Of course you wouldn’t, honey.” Growing up, no matter what he was cooking, we’d always manage to weasel some bits and bobs out of Daddy in the kitchen, even when h
e said it would spoil our appetite. “How are your friends doing?”
Tugging on one of Colonel Stubbs’ ears, I shrug, face shutting down into a neutral state. “They’re fine.”
My parents share a look.
Ignoring it, I set Stubbs back down on the ground, subtly sliding a few scraps off the cutting board at the same time. A drumming in my gut urges me to open cabinet doors, looking for… something? Always a go-to, my hands hover over the jar of flour, urging me to put it to good use. Its friends, sugar and yeast, follow along.
“How ya been, kid?” Mom asks, blunt nails scratching loosely at her closely-shorn hair.
Shrugging again, “Fine. Things have been a little tricky, lately, but nothing we can’t handle.” Bagels sound good; nice way to start the morning. And the dough needs plenty of kneading; perfect way to pound out my feelings.
She waves Daddy away, crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? What kind of tricky?”
Clearing off the cutting board, I get to work dicing up some onions, keeping my head ducked down and focused on the task. “Like I said, nothing we can’t handle.” Pausing mid-slice, I look to Daddy, “Any allergies?” He shakes his head, grabbing a couple of bowls from a cabinet and starting to scoop out some rice. It’s been long enough since I’ve checked in that I’m not even sure about who’s here right now.
“Didn’t say you couldn’t handle it, I asked what it was,” Mom says, one eyebrow raised, daring me to dodge again.
My nose twitches, jaw clenching. “Daddy told you we have a new… addition?” Mom nods, brow still raised. “Well, turns out Dizzy’s got a history. Someone’s after her, and because we’re with her, they’re after us, too. And they hit below the belt.”
Her eyes slit, bottom jaw jutting out, nostrils flaring. “Someone’s trying to fuck with you?” She confirms.
I nod.
“Honey, what can we do to help?” Daddy asks, ladling curry on top of each bowl of rice, one clearly intended for me.
I shake my head. “Not sure yet.” My lips form a firm line, clenching together tightly. Ignoring the bowl he passes to me, I grab a clean pan and start caramelizing my onions. Haphazardly, a rough cluster of rosemary finds its way flung in to join them. Helping to speed up the process dramatically, a splash of sweet mirin sizzles as it’s swirled in the hot pan.
“How long? What’ve they done? What are you doing about it already?” Mom asks, rapid-fire words gruff through gritted teeth. She also ignores her bowl of curry, daggers glaring in my direction instead.
“We’re fine, Mom, they’ve just gotten in some sucker-punches when we weren’t expecting it,” I don’t dare tell her the truth. It’s hard enough keeping Kieran from going berserk—a skill I picked up from a lifetime of trying to tiptoe around her anger. “I’ll talk to everyone in the morning, see if we can come up with a plan. Right now, we’ve just been enjoying our time together, keeping The Tea Kettle and Cauldron running, working on keeping the house a home. We’re… fine.” I finish, lamely, turning my attention to a pile of flour on the countertop.
“My ass,” she says under her breath.
Conspicuously, Daddy clangs a spoon against the side of his bowl before taking a big bite. “Mmm, don’t you just love a nice, warm curry? While it’s warm, and not cold? It would really be a shame if I went through all this trouble and was the only one to appreciate how tasty it came out.”
Mom snatches her bowl off the counter and rams a spoonful of it into her mouth. “Thanks for cooking, Ty. I could have thrown something together.”
“Oh, hush. You’d think after all these years you’d know I wouldn’t make you come home late to an empty plate,” he cheerfully replies, decades of love softly melted into every crease of his smile.
“Still, don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it.” Mom’s furious features ease as she looks at him, eyes no longer angry cracks, brows no longer furrowed.
I grunt, bearing down conspicuously hard on the ball of dough forming in my hands. Its soft, warm mass firming, becoming more springy the harder I work it. Dough can take one heck of a beating if you need to give one, and it won’t ask questions about the secrets you slam into its bulk.
Eyes sliding to the side, focusing on a small, white gown floating near the edge of the entryway, Daddy speaks aloud. “You know, I could have sworn I’d put all the nosey little nuggets to bed, but maybe I should double-check and see, just in case? Because if there are any nosey nuggets about after their bedtime, like a little invisible Olivia, I might have to collect those noses and put them into my nose jar.”
“Eeep!” The dress squeals, hopping in place a little bit before crouching close to the ground, a plush, shimmering, rainbow fish following suit. It attempts to quietly scuttle towards better cover, but doesn’t seem to know which direction it wants to go.
“Jig’s up, Livvie, might as well come out,” I say, flattening the dough and smoothing a layer of rosemary onions on top, ready to be folded in.
The dress fills in with a small girl, clutching the fish plush tightly to her chest. Half of her delicate face is heavily scarred and burned. “I didn’t mean to nose, but there was noises and I couldn’t sleep good.” Her squeaky voice is quiet, “And I wanna’d ta pet the doggy…” She looks longingly at Colonel Stubbs, his oblivious sights set completely on the counter he’s already managed to swindle some snacks from.
I shoot a glance towards Daddy, who shrugs. Nudging Stubbs towards the girl with my shoe, “If you promise to cuddle Colonel Stubbs real good, I’m sure he’d show you how to get back to bed.” The little white Frenchie bounds over to Olivia, actually making her lose her balance and stumbling back a step or two from the force of his excitement.
“Really, Monty?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful as she pauses before actually petting the dog already very much up in her business, stubby legs scrabbling to climb her small frame.
“Of course, Liv, he needs someone strong like you to keep him safe. Protect him from monsters, like Mister Fishy does for you. Think you’re up to it?”
“Yes!” She squeals, giggling as both her arms wrap around the wriggling pooch. Her face is quickly covered in a visible coating of puppy slobber.
“Now you two get back up to bed, okay, flower?” Daddy shoos them off in the direction of the stairs, “But if I come up there in five minutes and you’re not both tucked in, I’m taking that nose of yours for my jar!”
She squeals but hurries up the stairs, white dog in tow.
Turning on his heels to face me, “Now, honey, you know I’d never tell you what to do, because I know you’ve got a good head and make good choices, but if you don’t take care of whatever’s causing you trouble then I also won’t tell your mom what to do,” he nods his head in her direction. “You know she’s got a strong head that makes strong decisions, and there’s no force in this universe that can stop her once she’s made them.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I keep kneading the dough, trying not to let anyone outside of the elastic mound in my hands feel the worry tugging in a knot between my shoulders.
“So, handle your business. And if you need help, ask for it. Or, let me put it this way, if you don’t ask for help we’ll assume you need it and give it to you whether you want it or not. Regardless of whether it’s the right kind or not, you hear?”
Because he’s a teddy bear through-and-through, decked out in pink and frills and bunny slippers, it’s easy to forget that teddy bears are still bears. As he crosses his tree-trunk arms over a broad, brick-wall chest, sweet smile slightly menacing around the edges while noticeably towering over me, I no longer forget.
“Yes, Daddy,” I reply, eyes down while nodding.
“Good!” He exclaims, patting me on one shoulder. “Jack, dear, why don’t we leave our boy to his baking? I’ll fix up one of the rooms for our guests. Make sure your friends get something to eat, okay, honey?” Gesturing towards the still-simmering pot of curry.
Mom slides he
r empty bowl into the sink, rinsing it. “Love you, kid. Just want you kept safe.” She punches me lightly on the shoulder. Well, lightly for a champion fighter. I rub at the spot, grinding a powdery trail of flour into my sleeve.
“Love you too, Mom, Daddy.” I look between them both. “We’ll be okay, promise. And there’ll be bagels in the morning.”
44. Dizzy
****
Bastard thieves trapped us inside the light, away from her. How dare they keep us apart! They have no right. She needs me. I need her.
“I would do anything to protect you, darling, anything. I always have, when I could.” I tell her, she paces. Anger. Why? I promised we would be safe, I will always keep her safe. We belong. “These criminals aren’t the first to try and keep us apart, but they will be the last, now that you know I’m with you.” I’ve always been with you. You’ve always been with me, too. Even when I wasn’t with me.
She glows with anger, righteous in her fury. She is beautiful, she’s always been a light beyond the darkness. “Do you know what I’ve gone through?! Do you know how horrible I’ve felt all this time? Do you know how much guilt and anger I’ve had to shove down every day just to focus on survival? And now you tell me, what, all of this isn’t my fault anyway? That you’ve been the reason I’ve been trying not to be miserable for the last twelve years? How could you do any of this? Not just to me, but to other people!”
Twelve years? No. She’s miserable? I don’t understand. Does she not understand? This is for us. We promised. “Because I love you, darling. I’ve always loved you.” I’ve kept her safe, kept her away from the nasties, made sure they didn’t get her. Make sure they don’t hurt her. When I can. Mother just wants the beast, but she is mine and I will have her. I deserve this, finally. Let me have her. Mine mine mine mine mine.