by Sarah Noffke
He blinked at her, confusion heavy in his blue eyes. “No. Why is that?”
“Because firstly, most of them are incompetent and their food tastes like rubbish,” Sophia stated. “And secondly, it’s most certainly laced with drugs that will alter your ability to make decisions, since their inevitable goal is to get us to unknowingly enter into a contract. Don’t ever agree to something from a fae. There will always be strings attached.”
“Oh, your friend, Rudolf,” Wilder said, glancing over her shoulder briefly.
Sophia nodded. “King Rudolf is an excellent example of Laffy Taffy you shouldn’t trust. He once conned Liv into a lifetime of servitude. She got out of it, but just barely.”
Wilder shook his head. “No, I was literally referring to the actual fae.” He pointed over her shoulder.
Sophia sighed and turned to see none other than the king of the fae. He wore a wide smile as he jostled in their direction, his arms full of packages wrapped in brown paper.
She looked around, searching for a place to hide. “Do you think he’s seen us?”
Wilder laughed. “Since he’s trying to wave and shouting your name, yeah, I think so.”
The fae had dropped a few packages attempting to wave at them and was now yelling, “Sophia Beaufont! It’s me! King Rudolf. Wait up!”
She lowered her chin and stepped behind Wilder. “Are you sure? Maybe he will think he’s seeing things.”
“I don’t think so,” he said over his shoulder, still laughing at her attempts to hide behind him.
“Just play it cool, and he’ll get distracted by something shiny and forget,” she offered.
“Hey, King Rudolf,” Wilder said cheerfully. “Can I help you with your packages?”
Sophia sighed with defeat. “What part of cool do you not understand?”
“Absolutely, kind sir,” Rudolf exclaimed, dropping the packages into Wilder’s outstretched hands as Sophia came out of hiding behind him.
The king smiled wide at her. “There you are. At first, I thought I was seeing things and had mistaken someone else for you.”
Sophia cut her eyes at Wilder. “See. It would have worked.”
Rudolf bowed to Wilder, offering a curt nod. “And so we meet again, Neil.”
“My name is Wilder,” he said, managing the packages Rudolf had been bumbling with ease.
“I know that,” Rudolf replied. “I can’t call you by that awesome name because it makes me feel inadequate, so you’ll be Neil from now on when we speak.”
“You do realize you’re the king of the fae and shouldn’t feel inadequate based on someone’s name, right?” Sophia questioned.
“And yet I do,” he said sadly. “It’s a lot better than it used to be. The year when no one wore clothes was probably my lowest.”
“What year was that?” Wilder asked, curious.
“I don’t remember,” Rudolf answered. “Actually, I don’t remember a lot from that year. I spent most of it drunk and finally moved up to Canada, telling people I’d become a Communist.”
“You realize Canada has never had a Communist government, right?” Sophia asked.
Rudolf nodded. “I only moved there because it’s cold, and even during the nude year, people in Canada wore clothes.”
“Oh, right,” Sophia said, drawing out the words, realization dawning on her.
“Now, if you will just deliver those to the Cosmopolitan in Las Vegas, Neil,” Rudolf said, waving Wilder off. “My lovely bride, who is in labor, is expecting those things.”
“Wait, Serena is in labor?” Sophia questioned, shock covering her face.
He gave her a look of surprise. “Of course. Didn’t you get my message? I thought that was why you were here. To help me shop.”
“I have so many questions,” Sophia muttered. “Firstly, how did you send this message?”
“Via telepathy, obviously,” Rudolf answered.
Sophia pursed her lips and glanced at Wilder.
He laughed. “Obviously, Soph. Gosh, don’t you know anything?”
“Apparently, no,” she said dryly. She returned her attention to Rudolf. “And what are you shopping for when your wife is in labor with your triplets? Don’t you think you should be there with her?”
He reeled back, covering his chest with a hand. “My Gods, woman. What kind of witchcraft are you into? A husband can’t be with his wife when she’s birthing. Watching the children come out of her is something I can’t unsee, and I need to be able to find my wife desirable after this whole ordeal.”
“You do realize…” Sophia shook her head. “Never mind. It’s probably best if you allow her to handle this on her own.”
“Yes, and Bermuda says I have a whole three to five days before I have to return,” Rudolf stated.
“Three to five days?” Wilder questioned, still holding the packages.
“Yeah, the fae have an incredibly short incubation time compared to other mammals,” Rudolf explained. “However, the labor process lasts exponentially longer.”
“Your kind is all sorts of screwed up,” Sophia muttered, mostly to herself.
“Anyway, my next objective is to find something for the babies to eat when they arrive,” Rudolf said, looking around at the various shops.
“How about milk?” Sophia offered.
He shook his head, dispelling the idea at once. “Nope. That won’t work. The children will be vegan.”
For a moment, Sophia thought her head was going to explode from the strange thought. “Yeah, I guess vegans can’t breastfeed.”
Rudolf giggled nervously. “You said ‘breast.’”
“Oh, for the love of the angels.” Sophia sighed. “I didn’t know you and Serena are vegan.”
He gave her a surprised expression. “Oh, we’re absolutely not.”
“Then why, if you two aren’t vegan, do you think your children will be?” Wilder asked, sounding amused.
Rudolf took the packages back from him. “Because they are progressive.”
“Obviously,” Sophia said, shaking her head at the fae.
“Well, since Neil is as unhelpful as he is attractive,” Rudolf began, juggling the assortment of packages, “I’ll take these back to the casino myself. When I return, Sophia, I want your help picking out a good hemp formula for Captain, Captain, Captain, and Captain.”
She rubbed her head, the familiar headache she got when around Rudolf starting to pinch her brain. “I wish I could, but I’ve got to go see Papa Creola.”
“Oh, and he takes precedence over me?” Rudolf questioned.
“He’s the father of time, so yes,” Sophia answered.
Rudolf smiled. “Yeah, that’s probably a good call. I literally have zero authority over anything.”
“You’re in charge of the fae,” Wilder offered.
“True,” he sang. “That mostly means I have to oversee a lot of laws regarding the sexual display of affection and incest.”
Sophia let out a long breath. “It’s really a wonder the fae don’t get taken more seriously.”
“I know, right,” Rudolf said, nodding. “Okay, I’ll message you when the triplets are born so you can stop everything you’re doing and help us with the children’s education for the next several years. We’ve elected you, Sophia, as the one who will teach them about unicorns.”
“Why is that?” Sophia questioned.
“Well, because you’re a unicorn rider,” Rudolf answered.
“Yeah, Soph,” Wilder said with a sigh.
“Right,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “Just be sure to send that message like you’ve sent all the others, so I get it.”
Rudolf tapped the side of his head. “I absolutely will. Nothing more reliable than our telepathic link.”
Chapter Seventeen
Wilder laughed the entire way to the Fantastical Armory. Sophia pretended to roll her eyes at him, but she was really very amused by the whole interaction with Rudolf, per usual.
“What’s your unic
orn’s name?” he joked.
Her eyes fluttered with annoyance. “Well, Neil, if you knew anything about unicorns, you’d know they don’t have names.”
“Oh?” he asked, sounding curious.
“No, you call them using a melody,” she answered.
“That’s inherently false,” Subner said when they entered his shop. He was leaning over the counter, inspecting a knife with an intricately carved handle. His stringy brown hair was partially covering his face.
“Yes, I know,” she said dryly. “It’s a joke.”
“You take after your sister,” he said absentmindedly, his attention on the weapon.
“Thank you,” she stated proudly.
“That wasn’t a compliment,” he muttered. “I never know what that Warrior is actually saying or if she's serious or not. Sarcasm is a very confusing device that is also incredibly ineffective.”
Sophia turned her attention to Wilder. “You’ve got two uptight bosses. Good luck with that.”
Wilder gave her an uncomfortable expression. “Subner, you paged me? What can I do for you?”
He lifted his gaze, peering at Sophia, an impatient glare in his eyes. “You’ll have to leave before Wilder and I can meet.”
Her annoyance was palpable. “Are you serious? You made me tote him here, and now you’re kicking me out?”
“I’m not a purse,” Wilder argued, a smile dancing in his eyes.
“And I’m not kicking you out,” Subner stated, standing from his stool.
He was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Certified Organic” over his cut-off jean shorts. Sophia still couldn’t get used to him in his hippy form, but she guessed she would in time. He and Papa Creola had apparently been gnomes for several hundred years before they were “rebooted” as hippy elves. Barring any catastrophic situations that put Father Time at risk, they’d stay in these forms for another few hundred years, at least. Sophia was looking forward to when they became fae. The pair would be extra grumpy. They liked being gnomes because it suited their no-nonsense personalities. Being hippy elves was harder for them. Being fae would be painful.
Subner pointed to the door at the back of the shop. “Papa Creola wants to see you.”
“Oh?” Sophia asked, curious.
“Yes and no. I don’t know what it’s about, but apparently you do, or you should,” Subner noted.
Sophia nodded and headed for the door. “Of course, I should.” She waved to Wilder as she entered the area that led to Papa Creola’s office. “Have fun with your secret meeting. Can’t wait to hear all about it, Wild.”
“He won’t be telling you a thing,” Subner said dryly.
“It’s a dragonrider thing,” she replied, looking over her shoulder to the hippie elf. “He has to tell me, or he gets kicked out of the Dragon Elite.”
Subner didn’t appear amused, and he waved her through the door. “Why do the Beaufont children have to be simultaneously the most irritating magicians while also being incredibly skillful and necessary?”
She winked. “It’s a gift.”
Chapter Eighteen
It took much longer than Sophia would have expected to descend the stairs to Papa Creola’s office. She’d heard about this space from Liv and heard it was what felt like a hundred stories down in a dark basement. Things must have changed since then because Papa Creola’s office wasn’t how Sophia’s sister had described it. Instead of being warm and dark, it was…hippy-ish.
A few large bean bags were arranged in a circle. Incense was burning, making Sophia’s nose twitch. The sound of chiming music could be heard overhead. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bean bag circle was none other than Father Time. His eyes were closed, and his hands were resting on his knees as he sat in lotus position.
Where Liv had described a fireplace on the far wall was now a Buddhist shrine of sorts. Over it was a large hourglass attached to the wall. Sophia studied the space for a moment, wondering if she should clear her throat to get Papa Creola’s attention.
She stood uncomfortably, alternating putting her weight on either foot.
“Why don’t you take a seat,” Papa Creola said, his eyes still closed.
Sophia looked around. “On one of the bean bags?”
“That’s entirely up to you,” Papa Creola answered.
Since there weren’t really any other options, Sophia ungracefully slipped into the bean bag chair directly across from Papa Creola, making way more noise than she should have. This particular chair was a lot less firm than the pink one she had in her room in the Castle, and it made her really have to engage her core to sit upright.
When Papa Creola opened his eyes, the blue of his piercing gaze made Sophia sit up. He appeared alert, a certain knowing in his stare.
“Thank you for joining me,” he said, looking around.
“Well, I didn’t really have a choice,” Sophia said casually. “Subner kicked me out of the shop upstairs. He said I was needed down here and totally knew what it was about, although you may be surprised to find out I don’t.”
“You do, but your mind is overwhelmed,” Papa Creola stated. “Do you want me to sage the place for you? Do you think that would help?”
She scowled at him. “Is that a result of your new hippy persona?”
He nodded, guilt covering his features. “Sorry. Liv is trying to help break me of it, but it will take some time. I’m afraid I’ll say other really repugnant things without meaning to.”
“Like how children should name themselves and vaccinations are ruining the modern world?” Sophia asked.
He nodded, stretching to a more relaxed position. “Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s just a part of who I am now. I’m aligned with the elfish ways, so when I respond, I pull from their well.”
“Which is a sparkling spring full of hippies bathing with mud masks,” Sophia joked.
He nodded. “That is very accurate.”
“So I should know why I’m here,” Sophia mused to herself.
“You do,” he stated. “Just relax your mind and it will come to you.”
“Then you’ll offer me the answers I seek?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, then I’ll offer you an unhelpful riddle that will make you wish you had never visited me, and it will make you more confused than before you started.”
Sophia pursed her lips and nodded. “That seems about right.”
So much had been going on for Sophia with training and Thad Reinhart. She racked her brain to remember what other missions she could be turning to Papa Creola for. He was devilishly helpful when he wanted to be, but the keywords were “when he wanted to be.” He was much like Plato in that regard, and apparently, the two were made of the same stuff—the oldest and most powerful magic in the world.
“I’m looking for a desk…” she muttered. She tried to process the last few days, which were all running together.
“That’s not it,” Papa Creola said, sounding terse.
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word, thinking. It suddenly hit her. Sophia couldn’t fathom how she’d allowed it to escape her memory. She had too much going on for sure. “Papa Creola, I’m looking for a certain closet in the House of Fourteen.”
“There you go, sunflower,” he said, nodding.
“Say what?” she asked, confused by the nickname.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Ignore that part or anything else hippy-ish, I say.”
“I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to do that,” she teased.
He shook his head. “You are your sister’s sister.”
“So, the closet. That’s what I need your help with,” Sophia began, thinking. “Plato, your bestie—”
“Nope,” Papa Creola interrupted.
“Okay, fine.” Sophia laughed. “But Plato said the closet I was looking for could be in the House of Fourteen, but at a different point in time. Does that make sense? Is that possible?”
“It is,” he answered simply.
Realizing Papa Creola wasn’t going to expand on his own, Sophia tried to pick her questions carefully. “How can I get to the right closet in the House of Fourteen at the right time?”
He let out a long breath. “You can’t. But I can.”
She perked up, leaning forward. “Oh! Will you?”
“No,” he answered simply.
She slumped. “Dude, this isn’t going well.”
“I think you know, Sophia, I’m not going to hand-deliver you the solutions you seek,” he said, sounding sage-like.
“Cool, but deliver me something I can work with,” she asserted. “There is a way to get to the closet on another timeline. Can you give me a clue about how to find that? Something really confusing I won’t understand that will make me want to knock my head against the wall, but still give me an option?”
He thought for a moment. “We live in the present moment.”
“Some of us,” she observed, looking at his tie-dye pants.
“Well, for my example, we technically live in the present, regardless of my attire,” he amended. “But in some cases, the present isn’t gone and lost like it should be.”
“Not at all following you,” she stated.
Papa Creola held out his hand and a snow globe appeared in the center of his palm. In it was a figurine of the House of Fourteen, snow fluttering all around it, which had never happened in Santa Monica. “The past is meant to be a lost reality. Once it passes, there’s no more revisiting it, except in your mind.”
“Or if you know Papa Creola and he’ll grant you access to things to turn it back like when you allowed me to bring the Phantom back to life so I could kill it again.”
Papa Creola sighed dramatically. “And here I thought Liv was a pain in the ass.”
She smiled. “You want me to shush it so you can make a point, don’t you?”
He nodded, still holding the snow globe, an expectant expression on his face.
Sophia waved him on, urging him to continue.
“The past is meant to be gone,” Papa Creola began. “That’s the way I created it so others couldn’t tamper and change things. There are rare occasions where I made exceptions to preserve the world.”
