“I need to head out myself,” Melissa sighed. “I promised Mr. Franklin I’d try to get there by noon.” She patted her hair, settled her skirt about her hips, and straightened her blouse. “How do I look?”
“Very professional,” I assured her.
“You’re supposed to say beautiful, Peter,” she chided me.
“That too.” She just rolled her eyes, grabbed her purse from the table, and blew me a kiss as she ran out.
“I’m going to see if I can get a picture of Dara in a jail cell,” Susie announced, heading for the door.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why not?” she shrugged and left. Olivia hesitated and then trotted after her.
“We might as well head home,” Mrs. Kendricks said to Stacy. “Ryan’s going to be tied up for quite a while.”
“Why does that matter?” Stacy frowned.
“Oh, well, I was going to invite him over for dinner tonight,” she said, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “I thought perhaps you two should get to know each other a little better, since he’ll be staying in town for a while.” She shot me a nervous glance and Stacy eyed us suspiciously.
“What are you not telling me?” she demanded. “Why should I care about a guy you knew twenty years ago?”
“It’s actually a very interesting story,” Mrs. Kendricks assured her, although her smile didn’t quite match her tone. “I think you’re both going to want to hear it.”
“If you say so,” she grumbled, obviously unconvinced. “Can I invite Todd over?”
“Let’s just keep it to the three of us tonight,” Mrs. Kendricks said firmly. She waved her daughter out the door and looked back at me with an uncertain expression.
“Good luck,” I told her with an encouraging nod.
“Thank you,” she said, with a genuine smile this time. “You, too.” She left and I let my breath out with a sigh.
“So we’re finally alone.” I turned and found the tip of Daraxandriel’s sword pointed right at my heart, with Amy at the other end. “I should just kill you now and get it over with.”
“The Philosopher’s Stone won’t let me die,” I reminded her.
“No, but it would still hurt a lot,” she countered. “You deserve it, for screwing everything up.”
“You tried to get Melissa to kill me and take the Stone,” I pointed out.
“It’s not like you were going to be able to kill all those demon lords,” Amy sniffed disdainfully. “She was the only one who could do enough damage and force my father to come up here and rescue me.” She flopped back into her chair and tossed the sword on the table. “It would have worked too, except Nyx showed up first,” she grumbled. “Stupid bitch. I hate her.”
“So she really is your mother?” I asked doubtfully. I couldn’t imagine two people, human or demon, who were less alike.
“Don’t remind me,” she muttered. “So now I’m stuck here forever until He comes looking for me.”
“Just imagine how I feel.”
“Disappointed, I’m sure, since you’re not going to get your wish.”
“My wish? What wish?”
“Remember? I promised you a wish if you beat all of Lilixandriel’s demons. Well, you didn’t, so you’re going to have to find some other way to convince me to have sex with you.” She stuck her nose in the air.
“What?” I sputtered. “I don’t want to have sex with you!”
“Don’t pretend, Peter, I can see it in your eyes.” She heaved a fake sigh. “It’s going to be hard on both of us, denying our feelings for each other now that we’re living together.”
“I don’t have feelings for you! You’re evil!”
“And you’re good, remember? Opposites attract.”
“No, they don’t! There’s nothing going on between us.”
“Is it the age thing?” she pouted. “I told you I’m older than I look.”
“Yes, it’s the age thing and the evil thing and the nearly getting me killed thing!”
“What if I was blonde?” she suggested. “Would that make a difference?” Now her hair was a gleaming honey gold. The weird thing was, I didn’t see it change. It was as if she’d always been blonde and I only just now noticed.
“Uh, no, that doesn’t change anything,” I insisted.
“I can be older, if that’s the sort of thing you like.” The woman sitting in the chair was still Amy, but a very fit forty-year-old Amy, with legs that went on forever and a bosom that overflowed the bodice of her dress. Her voice was a rich and sensuous contralto oozing from her full and smiling lips.
“Uh –” I cleared my throat. “Stop that, I’m still not interested.” She’s a half-succubus, I reminded myself firmly, she’s just playing tricks with my mind.
“Oh, darn, did I overshoot the mark?” she smiled, teasing a lock of her still-blonde hair. “I just assumed, from the way you were ogling Agent Morgan –”
“I wasn’t ogling her!”
“Could have fooled me.” Eighteen-year-old Amy, perky, fresh-faced, and buxom, rose to her feet and hooked her arm in mine. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it right eventually,” she assured me, coyly catching her lip with her teeth. She was just an inch shorter than me now but her dress wasn’t any longer, so she was showing a lot of skin. “Come on,” she said, retrieving Daraxandriel’s sword as she tugged me towards the door. “I want to show everyone my new boyfriend.”
“What?” I dug in my heels. “I’m not your boyfriend.”
“Of course you are,” she insisted. “Who else have I got?”
“I thought you had a rule against fraternizing with humans.”
“I changed my mind,” she shrugged carelessly.
“I already have a girlfriend. Two or three of them,” I added doubtfully, “depending on who you ask.”
“Well, now you have four.”
“I don’t want another one!”
Amy heaved a put-upon sigh. “Look at it this way, Peter. When my father comes to free me, He’s going to slaughter everyone involved in keeping me here and take back His soulstone. If I tell Him you’re my boyfriend, maybe He won’t actually kill you.” She smiled winningly at her sound reasoning.
“The Dread Lord’s coming here?” I asked uneasily. “When?”
“As soon as I figure out a way to let Him know where I am. Nyx and Metraxion ruined my original plan,” she grumbled.
“Your original plan involved killing everybody,” I pointed out.
“I know, it was perfect,” she said with a disappointed tsk. “Oh, well, I’ll think of something. It’s going to be a big surprise.” Her grin exposed her fangs.
“I don’t like surprises,” I reminded her.
“You don’t even know what it is yet. Come on.” She took my hand and hauled me out of the conference room. “Let’s go tell everyone the good news about us.”
26
And they all lived happily ever after. Those seven words convey a sense of completion, an assurance that the tale has been wrapped up neatly with a bow and set on a shelf, never to be looked at again. The princess has been rescued from an untimely demise, the wicked witch has been dispatched with extreme prejudice, and wedding bells have rung for the besotted couple. There’s nothing left to do except wish them well and move on.
But you really have to wonder: what happens next? Is the wicked witch’s equally evil sister plotting revenge in a dank cave somewhere? Do the couple’s offspring set out on their own improbable adventures? Does the prince finally realize the princess was actually a clingy, co-dependent piece of eye candy with no useful life skills and does he start an illicit yet torrid affair with the beautiful scullery maid down in the castle kitchens?
No story, happy or not, ever truly ends. There’s always a path left untrodden, a quest still to be undertaken, an innocent love yet to blossom. As long as there are characters we care about, there are stories waiting to be told about them. All it takes is patience. Sooner or later, those tales will be written.
/> I can’t wait to see what happens next.
“This is the last one.” I set the box down on the kitchen room table and arched my back, hearing every vertebra in my spine crack in protest.
“What’s in it?” Melissa, wearing a distractingly snug t-shirt and denim shorts, was sorting through our combined utensils, slotting each one into its proper place in the drawer organizer.
“I have no idea.” It probably wasn’t two dozen cans of sliced peaches like the box claimed, although it certainly felt like it. Melissa paused in her labors to give me that look and I sighed to myself as I picked up the scissors from the table and slit the packing tape. “Bowls and plates,” I reported.
“Bowls up there, plates up there.” She pointed to the pair of cabinets closest to the fridge.
“I’m used to getting my bowls from under the counter.” I got the look again. “But up there is probably much better.” I dutifully stacked the dishes in their designated locations, knowing full well that Melissa would probably rearrange them as soon as my back was turned. “Where did Dara and Olivia get to?”
“They’re hanging Dara’s clothes in their bedroom. Is Amy doing anything useful?”
“She’s keeping one of the chairs warm in the living room.”
“I guess not getting in the way is technically useful,” she grumbled. “Explain to me again why she’s not living at your parent’s house?”
“Because she’s evil and we have to keep an eye on her.”
“Susie could do that.”
“Susie can’t tell the difference between good and evil. She’d just as likely to go along with whatever schemes Amy hatches as stop them.”
“Your sister has to be adopted,” Melissa muttered under her breath as she resumed her sorting.
I took the empty box out to the hallway to add it to the recycling stack. Amy watched me with a sullen glower from the leather lounger by the fireplace. She was black-haired tweener Amy again, probably to make herself look too small and weak to fetch and carry for Melissa. She wore one of Susie’s linen sundresses and it was still too big for her.
“I’m bored,” she declared.
“You could help unpack,” I suggested. The living room was knee-deep in boxes we still hadn’t gotten to.
“I’m not that bored. Is the TV hooked up yet?”
“I told you, not until Monday.”
She heaved a why-do-these-things-always-happen-to-me sigh. “You’re my boyfriend, you’re supposed to entertain me.”
“I’m not your boyfriend.”
“You’ll change that tune when my father shows up,” she predicted. “Did your mother bring chocolate cupcakes? I don’t care for the yellow ones.”
“What are you talking about? Mom’s not coming over until later.” The doorbell rang and Amy smiled at me. “That’s not Mom,” I insisted.
I heard a tentative knock on the door downstairs and then a familiar cheerful voice called up the stairs. “Hello? The door was unlocked. Is everyone decent?”
“Up here, Mom!” I called, eyeing Amy dubiously. She just slid off the chair with a smug grin and joined me at the top of the stairs.
Mom trudged gamefully up the steps from the entryway, pausing on the second floor landing to catch her breath before continuing on. Susie and Dad trailed along behind her.
“My goodness,” she puffed, fanning herself with her free hand when she finally reached the top. “You should install an elevator in here.”
“I’ll get right on that,” I assured her. “I thought you weren’t planning to come over until tonight.”
“Susie and I had a late lunch with your father so we thought we’d all drop in before he went back to work. Hello, Amy!” she smiled. “Have you been helping Peter out?”
“Absolutely.” Amy patted the pile of flattened boxes beside her. “We got a lot done. Are those cupcakes?” she asked eagerly, already reaching for the Tupperware container in Mom’s hand.
“Just a little housewarming treat for everyone. Share!” she called as Amy scurried off with the whole thing. “She’s such a charming girl,” Mom observed.
“Mom,” I sighed, “she’s an evil demon-succubus thing, remember?” Explaining the truth to her had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Apparently it cleared up a few questions she always had about Grandma Marjorie as well.
“I know that, but I’m sure she’ll come around if we just treat her with kindness and respect.” Dad, Susie, and I all rolled our eyes simultaneously. Mom was nothing if not positive and upbeat.
“Mrs. Collins!” Melissa came out of the kitchen with a big smile. “You’re here early. Oh, Mr. Collins! Welcome to our humble abode.” She spread her arms to take in the entire townhouse.
“It’s quite a bit larger than I expected,” Dad observed, looking around with an approving nod. “Weren’t you originally planning to move in here all by yourself?”
“Well, I have a lot of stuff. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.” Melissa waved them back into the kitchen, leaving Susie and me in the hallway.
“Have you moved into my room yet?” I asked her.
“Not yet. I might just turn it into a workshop.” She wandered away and started peeking through every door she passed.
“Did I hear Dame Collins?” Daraxandriel came up the stairs, towing Olivia with her tail. “Didst thou not claim she would arrive nigh unto supper?” Daraxandriel wore one of my t-shirts, while Olivia had another of Susie’s dresses, although it fit her a bit snugly. Mom was definitely going to have to do another shopping run for our two newest guests.
“Change of plans,” I told her. “She brought –” I was about to say cupcakes, but I reconsidered that in light of the cake incident, “– Dad and Susie along. Are you guys done unpacking?”
“I don’t have anything to unpack,” Olivia pointed out.
“And thou needs must assemble thy bookcase,” Daraxandriel told me, “that I may place thy manuscripts.”
“Manga,” I corrected her. “I’ll do it after Mom and Dad leave.”
“So my bedroom and the master bath are down that way,” Melissa swept by, leading Mom and Dad along like a museum guide, “and there’s another half-bath just over there for guests to use. We’re using the other bedroom for storage right now. Dara and Olivia are bunking together downstairs and Amy has her own room. There’s another full bath down there for them to share.”
“Where is Peter going to sleep?” Mom asked curiously.
Melissa cleared her throat as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll get everything sorted out tonight. So that’s the formal dining room, except we don’t have a dining set so we’re going to use it as the gaming room. The living room is through here.” The tour group continued on around the corner. “We still need to get a proper couch or a sectional for –” Melissa’s voice cut off with a gasp of horror. “Peter!”
I ran into the living room, envisioning all sorts of possible disasters that might be awaiting me, from spiders to electrical fires to Amy’s father. Instead, I found Amy sitting in the lounger with Mom’s Tupperware container sitting open on top of one of the cardboard boxes. Her hands and face were smeared with chocolate icing and three cupcake wrappers lay crumpled on the floor. She looked at us like a five-year-old caught with her arm elbow-deep in the cookie jar.
Daraxandriel drew in her breath in dismay. “Thou didst bring chocolate without informing me?”
“I’ll get a cloth,” Melissa gritted. “Don’t touch anything,” she pointed a warning finger at Amy before hurrying off.
“They’re very good, Mrs. Collins,” Amy mumbled around a mouthful of cupcake.
“I’m glad you like them, Amy,” Mom told her as she retrieved the Tupperware and snapped the lid back on, “but maybe we should save some for the others.”
“I shall hold those for thee, Dame Collins,” Daraxandriel offered eagerly, reaching for the container.
“Don’t you dare!” Melissa arrived with a damp washcloth. “
Peter, put those in the kitchen. You, give me those hands,” she ordered Amy sternly.
I took the container from Mom, fending off Daraxandriel’s grasping hands and tail, and brought it into the kitchen. I set it on the table and then, after glancing around to make sure there were no witnesses, I carefully peeked under the lid. There were fifteen cupcakes left, six with chocolate icing and nine with white.
They won’t miss a white one, I reasoned, and they’ll blame Amy anyway. Maybe there was an advantage to having a resident evil-doer after all. Before I could turn that thought into action, though, the doorbell rang again. I heaved a sigh and closed the lid.
“I’ll get it!” I called, wondering who it was this time.
I wound my way down the stairs to the entranceway, speculating on the probable cost of Mom’ elevator idea, and opened the door. Mrs. Kendricks stood there on the doorstep, with Stacy and Prescott behind her.
“Hello, Peter,” she smiled warmly. “I hope you don’t mind us dropping in unannounced.”
“No, not at all,” I told her. “The more the merrier.” I stepped out of the way and they filed in, looking around curiously. “Everyone’s upstairs.”
“We were on our way to Dallas and we just wanted to pop in quickly,” Mrs. Kendricks explained as she started up. “We won’t get back until late tonight.”
“Dallas? What’s the occasion?” She had on her usual sort of outfit but Stacy was wearing a dress instead of her normal athletic duds and Prescott had on a white button-down shirt and dress slacks. He was also carrying a large gift bag with tissue paper sticking out of the top.
“We’re having dinner with Todd,” Stacy told me with a shy smile, an expression I’d never seen on her face before. It was a bit disconcerting, actually. “I want him to meet my father.”
“Your –?” Stacy and Prescott grinned at each other and Mrs. Kendricks watched them with an embarrassed smile of her own. “So you finally told them, huh?”
Stacy’s smile faded into her more normal scowl. “Wait a minute. You knew?” She turned on her mother. “You told him but you didn’t tell me?”
Necessary Evil Page 37
