by Lillian Lark
I’ll get through the family BBQ tonight and then go back to Asa’s to face the music for having run, no matter how predictable it was. I’ll stop being a coward. As if the universe has read my mind, my phone starts rattling on the countertop with multiple texts.
I don’t need to check who the texts are from because two minutes later my front door opens, and the horde descends.
“Zeph! We’re here! Did you pick up more saffron?” my mother yells from the door and I force myself to lift my head from the counter. It’s time to use all my terrible acting skills to make sure my family doesn’t see whatever emotional issues I’m dealing with right now.
“Yes Mâmân, I needed it for the rice,” I call back. My mother enters the kitchen toting bins of raw meat mixture for kabobs. Followed by my father, who carries a giant covered pot with oven mitts. Food is how our family communicates. I’m sure that Greg will fit right in. When I felt daring enough to bring him around.
Mom places the bins on the counter before looking at me with narrowed eyes. “What is wrong with you?”
Tact doesn’t exist among relations. I share a look with Dad over her shoulder and he just shrugs. So much for acting.
“Nothing,” I say, and I get up and give her and Dad a hug and a kiss before helping with food. We put the pot of fesenjan, the second entree of the evening, on the stove to reheat. Amara is in charge of cooking the fragrant walnut pomegranate chicken stew, her specialty. My mouth starts to water from the tangy warm scent of the rich dish. It’s a dish meant for cold weather, to warm your bones, but Amara experiments with the flavors year-round.
“Mom thinks you look like shit,” Luca says as he follows my parents in and flashes a smile at me. He’s the youngest of the family and could charm the clothes off a nun. After Luca comes Amara, who rolls her eyes. As the eldest she feels like she can lecture the rest of us on our behavior.
Family dinners are something we do every other week at least and when the weather is good it transitioned to a “BBQ”. The menu is primarily Persian dishes. My mother is determined that all her children learn how to prepare the dishes as she had in her youth. It’s important to her to keep the traditions alive, so we do what she says.
We alternate who is in charge of what per meal. Taking turns with entrees. My duty, as host, is to make the saffron rice and not screw up the flavorful tahdig, the crunchy rice at the bottom of the pot everyone fights over. The house smells delightfully cozy in a way I associate with many family meals growing up.
There have been some failed food dishes in the past. The meals take time and patience to master, but Mom is forgiving, as long as we try. I thought she had an unconditional love for us until the time Sophia brought kotlet to dinner. And instead of the dish being fried patties of ground meat, onion, and potato, they were just fried hamburger patties.
My shameless sister has been in charge of the salad ever since.
Dad and Mom usually do another entrée. Dad learned along with us; he’s younger than Mom, having been a mortal witch before they mated and shared a soul bond. It reminds me that now I am mated to Greg, so he will be as long-lived as Asa or me.
Amara and Luca relax on the various kitchen stools and dining chairs. They still live with my parents. Sophia and I are the only ones who live separately.
I live apart for my own peace of mind; my family can get rowdy. Sophia probably has her own place to avoid Mom being nosy about her business.
“I did not say your sister looked like shit. I was asking because her energies are all over the place.”
Harpies gain more abilities as they age, so my mother may be able to read my energies, but I’m pretty sure she is just fishing. “Helicopter Mom” is such an interesting phrase when one has wings.
“It’s nothing, Mâmân.” I dig the hole deeper as I lie. This is a bad time to host the family dinner. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with your life yet, Luca?”
The distraction is effective and suddenly everyone has something to say and Luca throws up his hands.
“Thanks a lot, Zeph,” he hisses. Luca changes his life plan week to week and all the family has opinions about what he should decide to do. I’m quiet on the topic. Luca is a Shirazi and Shirazi are stubborn; even if someone suggested something good, he’d probably avoid it on principle. He’s young and good at pretty much whatever he puts his mind to. He’ll figure out what he’s going to do.
The family fight really gets into swing when Luca points out that Amara’s cooking service hasn’t taken off yet. I feel like I’m finally in the clear until Sophia walks in the front door.
“Zeph! There are two men on the porch looking for you,” she calls out playfully and I feel myself freeze as everyone turns my direction. Sophia comes into the kitchen holding a bag of produce and winks at me. “I must say I approve. I told them you usually aren’t in for repeat performances, but they were insistent that they see you.”
Mom looks at Sophia. “What is that?”
Sophia lifts the produce bag cheekily. “The salad! What, do you have problems with things being uncut?”
The suggestive question has Dad clearing his throat. I’m still frozen; has the danger passed? Mom swings back to look at me.
“Men? Who are these men, Zephyrine?” Mom asks. She’s a predator who smells blood in the water.
I’m going to die from embarrassment. This is not how I wanted to do things and my brain still tries to hold on to my original plan.
“They’re no one, Mâmân.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. My mother might have left it there, but Sophia keeps talking as she places her uncut unmentionables on the counter.
“They. Are. So. Hot. Way to go, Zeph! I wouldn’t mind starting my clutch early if you’re done with them. Oww—” The yank I give to her hair is as vicious and unexpected as my shout.
“YOU WILL NOT!”
Oh shit. Sophia’s eyes are as wide as mine at my outburst and all of my family is looking at me in the same way you’d keep your eyes on a dangerous animal.
“Holy shit,” Sophia whispers. “I’m staying far away from them,” she says in a soothing voice.
My shoulders drop as the tension leaves at her words. Oh shit.
“Just who are these men, Zephyrine?” Mom’s tone is dangerous. The look she gives me is reminiscent of when Sophia convinced Amara and I to steal from the convenience store and Mom had found the lipstick. Cherry Berry had been the beginning of the end for our career of crime; resistance is futile.
“They’re my mates.” My voice is small. The room explodes with noise.
“Mates? As in Plural? You were mated and you didn’t tell us?!” Mom’s voice breaks through the rest of my family’s bickering.
“It’s a new thing,” I squeak. The fighting starts anew.
Gregory
Asa and I stand on the porch of Zeph’s place and hear the voices inside climb in volume.
“Should we go in there?” I ask.
Asa seems hesitant but nods. We can’t leave Zeph to face her formidable family herself. Sophia had winked at me on the way in and hadn’t locked the door, so we enter the house.
“Hello?” I call out. The voices stop as suddenly as they started.
Zeph meets us in the entryway of her house. The house is beautiful and large, much larger than Asa’s place. A pang occurs in my gut. It doesn’t bother me that Asa is so wealthy, it’s just the way things are. But the information that Zeph is probably just as wealthy pinches.
I don’t begrudge her the professional success she has experienced but my mind stumbles. I won’t be providing for either of my mates in this relationship. Why do they even need me at all? I shove the pang down deep. Now is not the time for it.
Zeph looks tired and I want to cradle her in my arms, but I still feel the sting of overhearing her say Asa and I are no one. When Asa and I don’t move to approach her, the tired look turns to sadness and I can’t stop from rushing forward and pulling her in for a hug.
�
��This wasn’t the way I wanted to do things.” Her words shudder out into my chest and I suddenly feel guilty about ambushing her at a bad time. Asa shows no such guilt.
“It had to happen sometime, Zephyrine, so perhaps you should introduce us to the rest of the flock,” Asa says. Zeph peeks out at him and glares. Asa just looks sternly right back. “What did you expect to happen when you ran, darling?”
Zeph huffs, “I was going to come back tonight.”
My heart lifts that she was going to return to us. I rub her back. “We saved you a trip. Should we go and meet your family?”
She sniffs. “You have to now.”
“Yes, you do.” We turn to the direction of the voice and see a tall woman with folded arms who bears a remarkable resemblance to Zeph. She appears to be in her thirties, but Asa told me that harpies are long-lived so by the harsh look she gives us, I would guess this is our Zeph’s mother. While my own mother is soft and approachable, this woman is not.
Instead, Zeph’s mom emanates an intimidating air that crackles as she takes in how I’m holding Zeph. Her skin matches Zeph’s coloring, her hair is the blackest of blacks and cascades down in curls. Asa steps in front of us in a protective gesture as he extends a hand. “Asa King, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Zeph’s mother sniffs as if scenting the air. “Demon,” she states in a way that rouses the woman in my arms.
“Mâmân!” Zeph says aghast, “You’re being rude! This is Asa and Gregory. They are my mates. The disrespect you show to them is disrespect that you show to me.”
The woman sniffs at that but I see her hide a very small smile. Zeph turns to us.
“Greg, Asa, this is my mother, Hester Shirazi.”
Hester gives us a cool nod before turning. Zeph grabs each of us by the hand and pulls us into an open concept plan that shows a dining room and kitchen, where the rest of her family is. I’m surprised there are only three more individuals that we haven’t been introduced to, along with Sophia.
From the noise level I had expected there to be more. All of them look at us in amazement. Hester goes and starts to mess with the bins of food on the counter and my hands itch to help. Everything is easier when I’m handling food.
Zeph starts the introductions with a tall white man with brown hair and green eyes. “My father, Lucas Shirazi.” Lucas nods at us, lacking the combative reaction of his mate that immediately warms me to him. He might not be on our side yet, but he isn’t going to eviscerate us where we stand.
Zeph moves on to her siblings. They all look like they take directly after Hester with a few exceptions. “This is Luca.” A young man with his father’s eyes in his early twenties. He waves to us with a look of shock on his face that makes him seem even younger. “Amara.” The woman has closely cropped curly hair but looks the most similar to Zeph. Amara just narrows her eyes at me and my smile feels forced. Tough crowd.
“And you’ve already met Sophia.” Zeph gestures at her last sister. Sophia’s face shows she’s enjoying this too much and gives us a cheerful wave. “Everyone, this is Asa and Greg.”
“Do you have a bite mark?” Hester is analyzing Zeph and I realize the jumpsuit she wears bares her arms but covers the mark. Zeph nods and goes to help her mother with the food. I have been abandoned.
“You bit our sister?” Amara asks.
My brain feels blank at the judgment seeping into her tone. Asa rescues me. “That is how it is done.”
Amara looks like she is going to say something to that when we’re saved by Lucas interrupting.
“Children, let’s not scare off Zeph’s mates. Luca, get the old deck of cards Zeph keeps in the cupboard. Amara, let Zeph tell you if she needs you to terrorize them. Maybe remember that your mother is scarier than you are.” Lucas’s voice is soft-spoken to be in this family of loudness, but his progeny jump to do as he asks.
He’s right. Hester is scary but I’m more worried about Zeph being happy than trying to get Hester to approve of us. Small steps.
“Do you need help with the food?” I ask toward the kitchen. The look Hester casts me makes me want to swallow my tongue. Lucas chuckles quietly and Asa pats me on the back.
“Come on brute, we’ve been restricted to the game table. It’s time to show the in-laws your poker face.” Asa’s words make Luca smile in avarice. The kid is a sharp one because I don’t have a poker face.
Chapter 11
Zephyrine
I keep an eye on the poker game while I help my mother prepare the kebabs and heat the premade food. A tingle at the back of my neck tells me my mother analyzes me. Part of me just wants her to get the lecture over with but the part of me that has always craved her approval cringes at the thought of hearing just what she thinks of my current life decisions.
“I do not like that you didn’t tell us about this.” My mother’s voice is low, and she helps Sophia chop the cucumbers for the salad.
Here we go.
“I told you, it’s a new development. I was going to tell you later.”
“How do we know that you weren’t forced into this?” Mom sounds angry and I widen my eyes as I turn to look at her. I’m suddenly very glad that Asa had required me to make a decision about mating before letting Greg bite me. But for Mom to suggest that I’d be forced into anything as a harpy speaking to another harpy grates.
“Don’t insult me in my own house, Mâmân.” My biting tone seems to ease her some. Our harpy family dynamics are strange because they are influenced by our natures. I know Luca and Dad just have to roll with it sometimes. Well, now Greg and Asa are going to have to deal with it. A pang of unease hits me at that thought. Am I too strange to be a part of this relationship?
“Do you know what you’re giving up being with these men?”
“Do you regret what you gave up to be with Dad?” I snap as I aggressively place the skewed ground meat on the indoor grill. Mom is being a hypocrite. All my life I’ve seen her and Dad happy together. It isn’t perfect, but I want a life like that.
“These men are not your dad.”
“That’s good, because I’m not calling either of them daddy,” I snark back and Mom glares at me. I hear Greg choke from the dining table and realize with his shifter hearing he’s been privy to this entire conversation. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, but I stare down my mother’s glare. Not giving an inch.
“Tell me Mâmân, what exactly am I giving up claiming Asa and Greg?”
“The standing you have and support from the harpy community.” It hurts her to say it, to admit it. “My actions led to you girls being looked at with suspicion but your actions on top of those will make them disown your clutch. Do you want that for your daughters?”
It stings when Mom says it like that. I can resign myself to whatever the harpy community thinks of me but the idea of cutting my own children off from their culture distresses me. “I don’t want to talk with you about this anymore.”
“You cannot put your head in the sand about this.”
“We will speak about this later.” I’m past the point of discussing this calmly and I know it. My mother slams down the cutting board and the sound makes me want to flinch. I don’t though. Instinct requires me to hold my ground.
“I am matriarch here and we will talk about this now. We are born of magic; we can sever a soul bond before it’s too late. You will not be required to continue with this mistake, we can fix it.” Mom doesn’t keep her voice down at that and a silence falls over the poker game. It’s like I’ve been slapped. Emotion roils under my breastbone and there’s a dangerous violence in me that wants to extend my claws and rip my mother’s face off.
“Let’s take a walk in the garden, Zeph, you know your mother prefers to control all the food preparation.” At the soft sound of Dad’s voice, the violence in me starts to bleed away. He puts an arm around my shoulders and steers me out the back door.
Now that I’m away from the tension I just want to curl up and cry. Facing my mother’s di
sapproval hurts. I’d known that my extended family would be a struggle, but I hadn’t expected my mother, who had taken a mate, to question my reasons.
We enter the garden. The backyard of my house is large, and I had worked with a landscaper to put in a walking path and garden, giving the space an oasis-like feeling. There is still a fair bit of grass that children might like to run around on.
So many of my decisions seem to revolve around the future of my clutch without me even having committed to the notion of having one. Now that I have mates, I still can’t decide if a clutch is what I want or what my community expects of me.
Though, with the possibility of being shunned from the harpy community I didn’t have to worry about being pressured to strengthen our dwindling population.
With dusk, the lights in the garden turn on. The small lights offer just enough light to illuminate the space without ruining the atmosphere of greenery and cricket sounds. The rocks of the pathway crunch under our feet and I let the calm of the space wash away my earlier fury. I’ve never had the urge to physically attack my family, other than my sisters, but my mother throwing my mating in my face as a mistake that could be easily severed has roused dormant instincts that call to times of blood and war.
“Do you remember the story about how I met your mother?” Dad’s gentle question makes me smile.
“You were a brave young witch tracking down an elusive spell ingredient that you were charged with acquiring. Only to have your path lead you to a beautiful harpy who entranced you.” I alter my voice to flow into the cadence of a storyteller. This had been my sisters’ and my favorite story growing up. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to consider living as a harpy should, only relying on myself and other harpies.
Dad chuckles at my grandiose retelling. “Your mother had done what any good harpy should. She tasted my magic on the air, saw the strength of my body, and decided that I would make a good stud for her first clutch, so we struck a deal. A night in her bed in trade for one of her feathers.”
