by G. Bailey
"I'm all good but hungry, what has mum made?" I ask, sniffing the air and feeling like it’s chicken something.
"A roast dinner, your favourite," he tells me. "Be right back, I'm going to help your mum dish up." I beam up at dad once before going into the room where all my brothers are sat down with the mystery new girl.
"This is my only sister, Karma," Damien introduces as I sit down opposite him, between Hugo and Peyton. I reach across the table, shaking the girl’s hand that she offers me.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Daisy," she says, and even her voice is sweet and overly nice.
"Like the flower, awesome," I reply, not wanting to comment on how she looks the very opposite to a daisy with her black hair and tanned skin. Hugo nudges my side, and I look up to see him grinning, his questioning eyes wanting to know if it’s done. I nod once, and he looks so damn happy. I know he has been sad this week since his girlfriend is visiting family in Scotland. Those two are usually inseparable. I’ve never found anyone that I could remotely imagine wanting to be around all the time. I like my space, so I can’t fathom it. This is going to end so, so badly. Mum comes into the room a second later with dad following, and they hand out the plates of food before going to get their own. We all wait for them to come back and sit down at the ends of the table.
"We thank the gods for the food and blessings we have," mum says, having no idea how strange her blessing is to a human. Mum is pretty out of touch with the human world, considering she does her karma job every so often and spends the rest of her time with dad at the magical market, doing volunteer work. Daisy frowns but doesn't say anything before everyone awkwardly starts digging into their food. I pick a small bit of my chicken off when no one is looking, folding it into a napkin and sliding it into my pocket. I dig into the rest of the food, which, as always, tastes delicious.
"Damien told us you recently moved to the area. Where are you from?" mum asks Daisy, who puts her knife and fork down for a second before she answers.
"We moved from Essex because my dad got a better job offer in Dublin. Mum wanted an older house in a village nearby the city, so here we are," she explains. “My mum loves the area and the gardening centre. I’m sure she would love to meet you, as I saw all the flowers outside, and it looks just like my mum’s garden.” I see the determined look in my mum’s eyes; she can’t have someone in the village having a nicer garden than hers.
"Well, she couldn't have chosen a better village to live in. Everyone is so nice here, and our family have lived here for hundreds of years," mum proudly says before she starts going on about our ancestors who apparently helped make the village what it is today when they settled here. I cut up my chicken and place a forkful into my mouth just as the door is pushed open and Michael walks into the room, and everyone goes silent.
“No, no, no,” mum shrieks into the silence as she mentally begs Michael not to say a word.
“Oh, you have a goat! That is so cool!” Daisy exclaims. “Wait, you all look nervous. It is your goat, right?”
"Food for meee!" Michael shouts, pushing past dad and shoving his head into his plate. Daisy lets out a deafening scream, falling back with her chair as she struggles to get away. Damien and mum rush to her side as Hugo and Peyton can't stop laughing with me. Dad only pats Michael’s head before reaching over him to grab his bottle of beer like the room isn't in chaos. Typical dad.
"Your goat talks! Oh my god, it talks!" Daisy exclaims. Way to point out the obvious. If she can’t handle a talking goat, then there is no way she could handle the actual truth about her boyfriend and his family. As if reading my thoughts, she gives a panicked look around the room, shoving her chair out suddenly and standing bolt upright. “What the fuck?” she cries, cringing away from Michael, who seems more keen on his food than on paying attention to Damien’s new girlfriend.
“Daisy,” protests Damien, “wait a minute-”
But she’s already moving, scurrying across the dining room in the opposite direction that Michael came from and making for the front entryway. A moment later, there’s the sound of the front door opening and closing. I can’t help but feel a little sorry for her; that can’t have been easy to take in.
"I am so disappointed in you, Michael!" mum huffs, following a disappointed Damien out of the door after Daisy.
"Which one of you is responsible?" dad asks as I carry on eating my food before pouring myself a drink of water. I lean over, whispering to Hugo.
“I dare you to take the blame.” His eyes widen, but he can’t disagree. I can’t wait to see what mum does.
“It was me,” Hugo bites out, and I just about stop myself from laughing.
"I don’t believe you were entirely alone in this, Hugo, and neither will your mum. I would suggest you all go and hide in your rooms before your mum gets back and curses you all. Literally," dad says, and he has a valid point. Mum has this curse charm that makes itchy, painful green spots appear all over your body, and boy are they annoying. The curse usually lasts a good five days as well, and mum has never taken it off once she uses it. I don't know who gets up first, but the next moment, we are fighting each other to climb past Michael and run out of the door and up the stairs. Just another typical Kismet family meal.
6
I close the door to my room, taking a deep breath of relief that I’m safe for now, especially as I can still hear Daisy shouting downstairs about how magic and gods aren't real. Damien must have gone after her, and I’m frankly surprised that he by some miracle managed to get her to come back into the house. If I were a human faced with a talking goat, I would be well on my way to Zimbabwe right about now. I guess I didn’t give her enough credit, although it remains to be seen whether my family will actually be able to calm her down after this. I feel a slight pang of guilt at turning this dinner into such a disaster, but at least this is a hell of a way to vet the girl. She is in for a big awakening, and if she can't accept it, then we’ll no she’s not a keeper. If she does, however… Well, I suppose I’ve seen stranger things happen. Worst case, mum has a charm like Peyton's that takes memories away. We can put this whole fiasco behind us and Damien can go back to looking for a girlfriend.
I briefly look around my room, at the small window that overlooks the next door neighbour’s garden, and my single bed with deep green sheets. Mum must have made it up for me while I’ve been out, and I sigh as I hear her continue to desperately try to reassure Daisy that she has nothing to be afraid of, Michael is actually quite friendly, and we aren’t a very dangerous group of gods, in the grand scheme of things. On the other side of the room is a big wardrobe that has a long mirror on it, and a dressing table next to it. I go to it now, pulling off my heels and putting them back into the wardrobe, before sliding the little tissue with chicken inside of it out of the pocket of my jeans.
"I have food for you, so don't bite my fingers off, you little shite," I announce into my room before squatting on the carpet by my bed. Lifting my bedsheet, I peer into the darkness under my bed. He’s under there somewhere, but between the clutter and the dust bunnies, it’s difficult to find him - and that works out just fine for the two of us. Most people, including my family, would think I'm crazy to keep a goblin under my bed, but we have somewhat of a friendship now, and I just can't kick him out.
I met Kit when I was twelve. He was being chased around by a bird out in the garden, breathless and terrified, practically tripping over himself. I don’t blame him - it was a big bird. The poor thing had a broken arm. That, combined with the fact that sunlight is dangerous to goblins anyway, meant that he was in deep trouble by the time I stumbled across him. For all that people have called me sullen and heartless in the past, I have a soft spot for creatures in need, and my heart went out to him. I rescued him - an easy enough task, even for me, considering that the bird was non magical - and hid him under my bed, where he made himself at home and never left. He doesn’t mind the dirt and dust, which suits me just fine, since cleaning is the bane of my existence. Well
, one of the banes of my existence, anyway - dentists’ offices are the other one.
Goblins are said to be unlucky to have near and bring only death and misfortune, so I was initially hesitant to have one living in my room long-term. Kit surprised me, however: in almost nine years, no one close to me has died, and aside from my standard mishaps on the job, I wouldn’t say that I’ve been that unlucky. In all honesty, I think it's all just rumours. Goblins are magical creatures, the same way we are, and it’s not their fault that there’s a stigma around being near them.
Only issue with Kit, though: he bites like a bitch.
I unwrap the chicken and quickly drop it on the floor before moving a few feet back. Goblins can get territorial, especially when food is in the mix, and I’d rather not have to try to explain away a bleeding hand as I sneak back downstairs for the first aid box.
Kit walks out from under the bed, pausing to inspect the room and to give me his usual “lack of being impressed” frown. His stature is, predictably, small, and he has black skin covered in tiny little glowing spots. They give the effect of making his skin look like it is painted with stars, a sort of otherworldly glow that could never be understood by someone who isn’t familiar with supernatural beings. His eyes are admittedly creepy: diamond-shaped slits that shine like pure silver. In spite of his unsettling face, though, I can’t help but find him adorable; he has this cute fluff of black hair on his head between his pointy ears that seems to be perpetually unkempt. His body looks like a miniature human, or a doll, and he (thankfully) covers his lower parts with a dead flower skirt. As endearing as he is, I’d rather not have to have a naked goblin running around under my bed.
I frown, sitting back on my throw rug as I watch the little goblin scrutinize me with his shining eyes. Now that I think about it, I have no clue if Kit is a boy or a girl. I've just always guessed that he’s a boy because of his attitude. Male goblins have a tendency towards aggression, from what I’ve read - it’s probably just another stupid macho thing that seems to affect every species in the animal kingdom, magical or not. A female goblin would no doubt be more thankful to her saviour, instead of eating her food...and lipstick. Kit has a weird thing for lipstick.
I watch as he picks up the chicken, holding it under his arms before he turns to walk back under the bed.
"Thank you, Karma. Once again, you have fed me and kept me alive," I sarcastically say to his back. “I’m so grateful to have you keeping me safe and nourished all these years.” The goblin pauses, looking back to flash me a sharp, white toothed grin. It’s moments like these when I’m almost certain that he understands me, and is simply refusing to communicate with me because he knows it pisses me off. Goblins are an intelligent species, and even though they aren’t known for their conversational abilities, but they sure as hell know how to interact with each other… and, I have no doubt, with humans, if they wanted to. I hold his gaze, refusing to break the eye contact, challenging him to be ungrateful for the tasty snack I’ve smuggled him. Finally he turns back around and disappears into the shadows under the bed.
I roll my eyes, wondering why exactly I bother feeding the most ungrateful pet that’s ever existed as I pull my clothes off and get into my pyjamas. I know it’s early yet, but my only other option is to go back downstairs and face the potential wrath of my family - as well as the confusion and upset of Damien’s new squeeze, which doesn’t really sound appealing at the moment. At least this way I can get a sound night of sleep, and with luck, I’ll wake up early enough in the morning to avoid my family’s inevitable fawning. Tomorrow is my birthday, which means Mum will no doubt be waiting to ambush me in the kitchen. It’s not that I don’t like birthdays, or have a problem with celebrating them with my family. But the mistake I made with the bees has put a damper on my mood, and I’d rather keep the attention on me to a minimum tomorrow when I start on my next batch of jobs.
Right, I think to myself as I fluff my pillow. Like that’s going to happen.
I switch the light off and climb into bed, picking up my phone and aimlessly scrolling through Facebook. Yes, gods use Facebook, okay? This whole idea that we all live in antiquated palaces, wear togas, and ride horses is so last century. Besides, I have a fair few human connections who I like to keep an eye on, if not for the sake of my job, then for the fact that I care about what happens to them. As much as you might think it, I’m not a heartless shrew.
My eyes are just beginning to drift closed, my scrolling slowing down, when a text comes through from Mads. Karma I need to talk to you!
All thoughts of sleep quickly forgotten, I sit up in bed and quickly call her, waiting as the phone rings a few times before she answers.
“Mads?” I say into the phone. “What’s-”
"I got the job!" she shouts, not even waiting for me to finish my question. She sounds overjoyed, and I can hear her jumping up and down in the background. I can’t help but smile; she sounds so feckin’ happy.
"I'm so happy for you!" I reply, and she laughs. “I knew they would fall in love with you and give you the job!”
"I am pretty special,” she replies jokingly, preening a little. “I knew I had to call you. Thanks again for waking me up this morning.”
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows. “Now you’re thanking me for dousing you with water?”
“It got my sorry ass out of bed, so damn right I’m thanking you,” she exclaims. “So, what time do I get to see you tomorrow then? We have to talk all about it, and I’m going to need some advice on business clothes.”
"Whenever my crazy family lets me escape," I reply, pulling the covers over me as it’s a bit cold. Thankfully, it’s silent in the house now, and it’s likely Daisy has either calmed down or gone home. Part of me wishes I could tell Mads about my night and everything that happened. Instead, I have to stay quiet because telling her the truth could risk our friendship. Her exposing the truth about us isn’t the problem - that’s what memory charms are for - but it would risk it on my end. I’ve known her since we were children, and as hard as keeping my nature a secret from her is, it would be even harder to willingly magick her memory away. How the hell would I be able to look her in the eyes after that kind of a breach of trust?
"Well happy twenty-first birthday for tomorrow in advance,” she continues, seemingly oblivious to my pensiveness. “Twenty-one! When did we get old?" she asks with a sigh. “I feel old, and I’m only six months older than you.”
"How am I still single at twenty-one?” I ask, raking a hand through my red curls. “I'm starting to grow back my virginity, I swear.” Mads laughs, but I just groan, turning on my side and looking out the window over the garden. I spot Michael down at the end, the gate firmly locked, and I smile. My family is all sorts of crazy, but it’s the best kind of crazy. I wouldn’t change them for the world. Who needs a boyfriend when you have a good family, an awesome bestie and a talking goat? At this point, with every interesting human guy I’ve met being a douchebag, I’m going to end up an old lady with a house full of talking goats. Yep, not cats. Goats.
"Then we need to go clubbing or something tomorrow," Mads informs me. “You know, act like we are still young and celebrate.”
"I'd love that. Maybe a birthday hook up will improve my situation," I reply. Iet out a long yawn; it’s been one hell of a day. "Listen, Mads, I’m going to go to sleep. It’s been a crazy day, but congrats once again and see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow, bestie! Have a good sleep!" Mads says, and she ends the call after I say bye one more time.
I put my phone on the side table after turning it off and curl up with my pillow, looking out of the slightly open curtains to see the moon high in the sky, millions of stars surrounding it. I've always loved the night sky. Truth be told, that might possibly be the reason why I put up with Kit's bad attitude all the time - because he looks like my favourite view.
Or maybe it’s just because I'm crazy. It’s more likely the second option.
7
"Happy
birthday, my sweet daughter!" mum shouts, bursting into my room, and I groan, covering my head with my pillow. It's too early. It's always too early when there is bright light outside. Mornings are not a nice time of the day, and I swear my bed makes itself more comfy so that I never want to leave it.
"Go away," I groan into my pillow, my voice muffled. "Come back at a reasonable hour. Like midday!"
"No, I will not. It's eleven in the morning and about time you got your pretty self out of your pit," mum tells me. “It’s your birthday for heaven’s sake.” Mads was crazy yesterday saying I'm lucky to be living at home when I have a mum that insists getting up early is the best thing in the world. I'm not a morning person, and I highly doubt I ever will be one. Or like anyone that is. I don't trust people who like crazy things like getting up early and exercising for fun. Those are signs of a bad, bad person.
"Come on, I have peanut butter on toast," she says, teasing me as she sits on the end of my bed. Dammit, peanut butter is one of my weaknesses. I can't resist the stuff, and anyone that knows me uses this weakness to get what they want. "It's even the crunchy, expensive homemade one you like from the shops. I have the jar on the tray for you." I lift my head from under my pillow and sit up, smiling at her as I push my hair out of my face. Mum hands me the little tray she has, which has the heaven-sent peanut butter toast and jar on it, a drink of orange juice, and a little present box with a card behind it.
