by Sarah Noffke
“Where are the other animals to feed?” Paris questioned.
“They’re coming.” Bermuda held her chin high with a neutral expression. She had a broad face and prominent features. Paris thought that if she smiled, she might be pretty, but she was starting to get the impression that the giantess wasn’t the smiling type. “Are you going to ask me your questions now or are you still working up the nerve?”
“I’m not nervous about my questions,” Paris protested, somewhat offended.
“Well, you did have the peace giraffes around you, but I sense your hesitation,” Bermuda stated. “My guess is you’re here because someone told you to seek out my expertise, but you’re not sure you want to.”
Paris stuck her hands on her hips. “Actually, two people did. One of them was Papa Creola so you can tell me where to find your son, and he can help me defeat the Deathly Shadow and hopefully get to live my life without fear. There’s no hesitancy there.”
“No one lives without fear,” Bermuda chimed.
Paris suddenly realized that the Deathly Shadow might be able to track her down there, wherever they were, and searched the plains for wind. The stress she almost always felt when outside Happily Ever After College and potentially being hunted returned. The peace giraffes had made her feel better, and she suddenly wished they were still close by.
“You’re safe at this park,” Bermuda remarked, having sensed her sudden tension. “The protective longhorns keep this place safe from evil with their magic.”
“Oh, well, they sound as helpful as the peace giraffes. Maybe I can take one of those with me unless they’re a million dollars too.”
“They aren’t,” Bermuda chirped. “But their horns are on average five feet long and can span up to ten feet from point to point, and they’re dangerously clumsy with them.”
“Oh, well, never mind then. I hope they keep their distance.”
“They won’t,” Bermuda said. “It’s their feeding time. Here they come now.” She pointed in the opposite direction of where Paris faced, and the half-magician turned to see the most intimidating animals barreling in her direction.
Chapter Forty-Two
The protective longhorns were massive—and there were a lot of them. The reddish cattle with white spots had the largest horns Paris had ever seen, although she hadn’t been around many horned animals. Attached to either side of their heads were thick, pointy horns that stretched out and up.
Paris immediately knew what Bermuda meant about them being clumsy with their horns. As they thundered in their direction, in proximity to each other, their horns banged into each other’s making a clicking sound.
For a moment, Paris considered taking shelter behind the giantess, but that seemed like the cowardly thing to do.
“Ummm…any advice for dealing with these guys who have clearance issues?” Paris asked Bermuda, watching as the protective longhorns approached at a rapid trot.
“They’re extremely gentle,” Bermuda answered. “If they poke your eye out with their horn, it’s not because they meant to. Hold out the cup of feed and pour it into their mouths.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much better that they’re well-intentioned,” Paris quipped, filling her cup and holding it as far from her as she could.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, they won’t be here long.” Bermuda indicated something farther away behind the herd of longhorns. “The bison are on their way, and they always run the protective longhorn off.”
“Because…” Paris dared to ask.
“Because they’re so much bigger,” Bermuda said matter-of-factly.
“You don’t sugar-coat things, do you?” Paris deadpanned as the first of the protective longhorns approached, their hooves kicking up dirt. Since Paris wasn’t as tall as Bermuda, she couldn’t see the approaching bison in the distance, but she had enough to fill her attention.
The protective longhorn did seem somewhat civilized, stopping a safe distance from Paris and holding their mouths open for her to feed them. They stretched out their long tongues, and as though using them as fingers, it curved back around and pointed at their mouths as if they were saying, “Put the food in my pie hole, please.”
Paris found herself giggling as she emptied a cup of food into one of their mouths. He backed up and chewed, making way for the next one as she refilled her cup. Paris was constantly aware of the long horns that rattled around her head as she leaned over. However, when one came close to her, she pressed the side of the steer’s face, and it got the hint and backed up.
“So you said that two people told you to search me out,” Bermuda began, making quick work of feeding the longhorns. “Who was the second?”
Paris was slimed many times by the snotty noses of the cows as they jostled for food. “That’s way gross,” she remarked, sliding her hand covered in snot down her pants.
“If you touch one of their tongues with your finger, it gives your entire family seven years of good luck,” Bermuda explained.
Paris eyed the pink curvy tongues all around her as the animals encouraged her to feed them. Sighing, Paris decided that it couldn’t hurt. After everything her family had been through, they could use the extra good luck.
After emptying a cup into a protective longhorn’s mouth, she quickly touched the long tongue and shrank away to refill her container.
“The other person told me to find you because you might know something about my friend.” Paris laughed at the longhorns that were all standing around her with their mouths open.
“That’s the part you’re hesitant about,” Bermuda guessed.
“No, I’m not as concerned about my friend as other people. I trust him,” Paris explained.
“What’s wrong with this creature?” Bermuda asked.
Paris was surprised when the longhorns backed up, looking over their shoulder. She guessed that meant the bison were coming. “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s really smart and talkative.”
“And?” Bermuda questioned.
“He’s a squirrel,” Paris muttered.
The giantess nodded as though she’d expected this. “Animals shouldn’t be able to talk. There’s strong magic at work if they can.”
“That’s what my other friend said who told me to consult with you on this,” Paris explained. “But Faraday, the squirrel, said it was a spell and that he’s always been curious, soaking up knowledge and enjoying learning about science.”
“Squirrels don’t talk and aren’t interested in science,” Bermuda said plainly. “Are you sure that Faraday is a squirrel?”
“Well, he has a tail and looks like one.”
“I know a cat that looks like one, but he’s actually a lynx and can talk,” Bermuda stated. “He can’t be trusted. Lynx are notorious for being secret-keepers.”
Paris gulped, wishing she had an animal to feed, but all the protective longhorns had moved on. In the distance, she spied the huge dark bison approaching, their faces large but thankfully their horns much smaller. After feeding the longhorns, she found she wasn’t as nervous about the bison. Instead, she filled up her cup, ready to feed them. “What’s magical about the bison?”
“Nothing. Sometimes things are what they are.”
Similar to the protective longhorns, the bison didn’t try to trample Paris. She guessed that they reasoned if they did, they wouldn’t get fed. They circled her and the giantess, their mouths open and an insistence to be fed heavy in their dark eyes.
“I’ve also known a talking alligator named Smeg,” Bermuda continued.
“What’s wrong with him?” Paris asked.
The giantess shook her head. “Nothing. All the lizards related to Godzilla can speak. He just is never quiet and makes fishing really difficult.”
“Maybe you should stop inviting him on these fishing trips,” Paris offered.
Unimpressed, Bermuda pursed her lips. “I never invite him. He always seems to show up.”
“There’s nothing wrong wit
h this Smeg, so maybe there’s nothing nefarious about Faraday,” Paris reasoned. “Maybe he’s related to Rocky or Slappy the squirrels.”
“I don’t know them,” Bermuda said.
Paris emptied another container of food into a bison’s mouth. “They’re cartoons.”
“Then I don’t think that’s why Faraday can talk,” the giantess said quite seriously. “My advice to you would be to be leery of a squirrel who can. Yes, someone could have used a spell, but it would have to be incredibly powerful. Then I’d expect him to talk like a squirrel, which means he’d be interested in gathering nuts and not science.”
“Faraday is allergic to nuts.”
Bermuda side-eyed Paris. “That’s even more reason to be suspicious. Squirrels are supposed to eat nuts.”
“Fairies are supposed to be obsessed with romance,” Paris argued. “I’m not.”
“That’s because you’re half-magician.”
“I’m just saying, there are exceptions to every rule,” Paris countered.
“Then you need to find out what this exception is that makes your friend not behave like a squirrel.” Bermuda finished off the last of the feed, and the bison were immediately disinterested in them.
Before they could trot off, the same as the other animals, Paris patted one of the largest bison on the head, finding that she wasn’t as intimidated by them anymore.
“That’s Mike Bison.” Bermuda indicated the one she was petting. “He has an anger management problem, so I’d be careful.”
Paris pulled her hand back at once. “Kind of like the boxer he’s named for.”
“Boxer?” Bermuda asked. “He was named after his father, not a boxer.”
“Oh.” With the bison having moved off, Paris noticed some elegant gazelles approaching. She glanced down at the empty feed bag. “Looks like we need more food.”
Bermuda shook her head. “We don’t feed the thieving gazelles. They prefer to steal their food and just about everything else.”
“They’re thieves?” Paris was fascinated by all the strange attributes of these magical animals.
“Yes, so hold onto anything you don’t want taken.”
Paris’ hand instinctively went to her protective charm and the heart-shaped locket, both fastened around her neck.
“You can find my son, Rory, in Los Angeles. I’ll give you the address, and you can open up a portal in a moment, as soon as this lot passes. We wouldn’t want one slipping through the portal. They’d steal everything in a one-mile radius that they could before someone properly stopped them.” Bermuda indicated the thieving gazelles as they passed, a shifty look in their eyes. “I’ll warn you that Rory should be very busy right now. It’s April fifteenth, and that’s his busiest day of the year.”
“He’s an accountant?” Paris was shocked that a giant who was the only person to forge a container to hold the Deathly Shadow was an accountant.
“He used to be,” Bermuda answered. “He still does taxes for his friends. Now he’s wasting his life away writing books.”
“Don’t you write books?” Paris questioned. “You’re the author of Magical Creatures.”
She grimaced. “My son writes about things that aren’t real and haven’t happened.”
“You mean fiction?”
Bermuda nodded. “It’s a wonder why people would use their time reading that stuff when there are books about real things and places to educate them.”
“Yeah, or books on tax codes,” Paris joked.
The giantess shook her head, a look of disapproval on her face. “That sounds like something your mother would have said.”
“Did you not much like her either, like Subner?”
“Liv was hardly ever serious, overly employed sarcasm as a form of communication, and never brushed her hair,” Bermuda stated.
“Oh, well…” Paris didn’t know what to say about all that. It pretty much sounded like her.
“She was also the bravest warrior I’ve met and the reason that magic still exists,” Bermuda said in a low voice. “When you meet her again, and I hope you do, don’t ever tell her I said that first bit about her. She’d surely throw it in my face and make insinuations that I like her.”
“We can’t have that,” Paris teased.
“No, we definitely can’t,” Bermuda imparted quite seriously as the last of the gazelles passed. Paris thought that the herd would pass without incident when one of the larger ones circled back. Before she knew what was happening, the thieving gazelle grabbed the cup in her hand with its teeth and ran off.
The giantess shook her head. “You can’t trust those guys. They take things even if they don’t want them.”
Paris laughed, glad that they only got away with the cup and not her charms or leather jacket.
Bermuda held out her hand, a piece of paper in it. “That’s Rory’s address. You can portal close to that location, but then you better hurry since I suspect the Deathly Shadow will pick up on your presence and be after you. That evil entity won’t stop until he has you or he’s stopped, I’m afraid. I hope that my son can help you—for all our sakes.”
“I’ll be safe once I’m on Rory’s property?” Paris asked.
“Yes.”
Paris eyed the address and created a portal to as close to it as she could. Before stepping through, she offered a smile to the giantess. “Well, thanks for all your help and advice.”
Sternly, Bermuda nodded. “Keep an eye on that squirrel of yours. Animals who can talk are either covered in secrets or the work of powerful magic. Either way, you may not want to get mixed up in it.”
Chapter Forty-Three
The sun was as bright in Los Angeles as it was wherever she’d been with Bermuda Laurens. Paris had stepped out into a quiet neighborhood that looked as if she’d stepped back in time. The street was wide, and large trees lined the sidewalk. The houses were one-story little bungalows with large porches.
Paris smiled at a couple in a swing on their porch, then the black and white cat in the yard. Remembering what Bermuda had said about getting to Rory’s property fast, she glanced at the address in her hands again and the street number on the house with the porch swing.
The couple was still lounging there, but the black and white cat had disappeared. Paris was a block from Rory’s house, it appeared, which made her feel more at ease since she had her protective charm. However, she wasn’t going to dawdle, not that she was a dawdler.
She hurried down the sidewalk, making quick progress. It was more likely for Paris to cry while watching a sappy romantic comedy movie than dillydally and the odds of either of those were extremely low. Paris had always felt as if she had a place to be and there was no reason to stroll to get to said place.
“To dither is to die,” Paris remarked to herself, looking over her shoulder, trying to stay aware of her surroundings and more importantly any strange wind that came her way.
“I used to know someone who talked to herself often,” a strange voice said in front of her.
She whipped around, tense and ready to fight, but there was no one standing in front of her, as she’d expected. Glancing down at the yard beside her, she found the black and white cat she’d seen a few houses back.
Pausing, she looked around for the source of the voice but didn’t find anyone.
“I think I’m hearing things, kitty,” Paris related to the creature, which was mostly white but had large black spots and a black tail, save for a white tip on its end. He wore a curious expression.
“Like what?” the cat asked, quite seriously. “It could be a sign that you’re going crazy.”
Paris backed up, wondering what the hell was going on. “You spoke…”
“So did you,” the cat remarked.
“Cats aren’t supposed to speak.” She thought that maybe she should run after what Bermuda Laurens had said about talking animals.
“I’m not really a cat…not like you’re used to.”
Then Paris remembered some
thing else that Bermuda said. “Are you a lynx?”
“I am.”
“I learned about you and that you—”
“Can’t be trusted and I’m notorious for keeping secrets,” the lynx interrupted, completing her sentence.
“How did you know that’s what Bermuda Laurens said to me a minute ago about lynx?” Paris backed up again.
Casually, the cat lifted his paw and licked it as if he didn’t have a care in the world and wasn’t concerned that Paris looked ready to start running. “I know things.”
“You were spying on me a minute ago…wherever I was with Bermuda,” Paris accused, her eyes narrowed.
“Spying is such a harsh word,” the strange creature said in a refined tone, sounding a little like Wilfred for a moment.
“You…” Paris said with a gasp. “You’re the cat who saved me from the Deathly Shadow in Beverly Hills, aren’t you?”
“As I already mentioned, I’m not really a cat,” the creature said in answer.
Paris remembered that she was standing in the middle of a very quiet neighborhood and glanced around. Thankfully no one was watching her talk to a cat or whatever it was. Still, she realized that she shouldn’t stand around where the Deathly Shadow could get her.
“You’re safe,” the animal said matter-of-factly.
“How?”
“Because,” he answered simply.
“Who are you?” Paris asked. “Uncle John seemed to know about you.”
“I’d say,” the creature said.
“Were you a friend of my parents?” Paris didn’t feel nervous about the lynx despite what Bermuda Laurens had said.
“Your mother,” he said. “She was my…best friend.”
“You were her familiar,” Paris said with a gasp, suddenly full of so many questions. “You were the one who saved me in Beverly Hills, then.”
“My name is Plato, and I thought that it would be a disservice for me not to offer my input after your lecture from Bermuda.”
