by DM Fike
The split-level house persists like a time capsule. Despite minor updates—they repainted the house blue and hired a landscaping company to maintain the pristine lawn—the place remains basically unchanged. While I enjoyed a typical suburban childhood, the details are embarrassing enough that I keep a healthy distance from this closed chapter of my life.
Still, you should pay homage to your roots. Even if it’s cringeworthy.
The front curtains fluttered, indicating my mom had spotted me coming. She flung open the front door before I could get halfway down the sidewalk. Sporting a middle-aged perm, wide button-up shirt, and hip-hugging slacks, she flew toward me with her arms outstretched.
“Gene!” she cried, a shortening of my birth name, Imogene.
She engulfed me in her beefy embrace, the scent of vinegar lingering around her.
“Hi, Mom,” I said into the folds of her collar.
“So glad to see you.” She pulled away quickly, sniffing. “You smell terrible.”
“Sorry.” I’m sure I looked like an unwashed preschooler with my mud-spattered clothes. “I was out in the woods and thought I’d change once I got home.”
“You’d think your friends would value hygiene since they don’t vaccinate.” My mom wrinkled her nose. “Come in and take a shower.”
My parents believe I live in some commune in Oregon. Given my magical habits, it’s a decent cover story, but it does make for awkward conversations when I visit. My parents aren’t big on hippies.
I searched for something positive for her to latch onto. My mom embodied the chipper morning person and always lamented that I didn’t share that particular trait.
“At least we all wake up bright and early, right?”
She scoffed. “A good morning routine is no substitute for a real job.”
Well, you can’t say I didn’t try.
We had to skirt past a dingy beige sedan in the driveway. I frowned at it. Given its slight disrepair and the fact it wasn’t an Asian-made car, it couldn’t be my parents’. They always kept their cars in the garage anyway.
“You got company?” I asked as I stepped behind her into the living room.
She kicked off her sandals next to the entryway bench. “They’re waiting in the dining room. You need to freshen up right now.”
I shoved my muddy boots under the bench so Mom wouldn’t comment. “‘They?’” I repeated. “Who’s visiting, Mom?” It then struck me that she wore her “I’m the manager” clothes instead of something more casual. “And why are you in work clothes?”
She scooted me down the hall so I couldn’t peek into the kitchen, pushing me into my bedroom. “Just get cleaned up, okay?” she hissed before slamming the door shut.
I blinked at the closed door. I thought about pressing the issue, but the possibility of a shower took precedence. A real hot shower. Priorities, Ina.
I rummaged around my bedroom, untouched from the day I left for my freshman year of college. Posters of superheroes and rock stars lined the walls. A shelf of notebooks, worn paperbacks, and ceramic knickknacks lined another. I found a spare cord to charge my dead phone and threw the drained batteries away. The phone said I had an unread text, probably the source of the quacking during the kappa fight, but I ignored it in favor of fresh clothes. I opened the room’s tiny closet and pulled out a spare hoodie, undergarments, and shorts. I’d learned a few years back to stash backups here for just such an emergency.
I darted down the hall and locked myself in the communal bathroom. I only meant to take a quick rinse, but once the hot water hit my shoulders, I lost all track of time. It’s great to control your inner warmth using fire pith, but nothing beats actual temperature-controlled plumbing. Add flowery shampoo and soap to that, and the shower felt as decadent as eating an entire chocolate cake by myself. I scrubbed and sighed until the water turned tepid, then reluctantly dragged myself out.
Wiping the foggy mirror, I checked out my reflection as I towel-dried my hair. I could have used a sigil to dry myself but wouldn’t have been able to explain the instantly dried hair to my mom. Besides a few bruises here and there, I didn’t look half bad. It took some maneuvering to pull the hoodie over my damp torso, but I managed, then followed through with the shorts. I gave my tangled locks a few yanks with an old brush, not really caring if I exiled all the snarls. I idled, wishing I could curl up on the couch with the TV remote, but knew my mom would flip out at such casual behavior with a visitor present. Blowing the fog back onto the mirror, I exited the room.
I kept the towel around my shoulders as I stepped into the kitchen. That vinegar scent hit me again. My dad quietly arranged a plate of salad sushi: a roll with tuna fish, lettuce, sweet egg, and imitation crab. He had that classic Asian dad look to him—wire-framed glasses, thin body, and a chiseled stoic expression. He placed each sushi disc with great precision on the navy plate as if cutting the wires of a ticking bomb.
“Dad, you shouldn’t have!” I exclaimed, knowing it would startle him. He cringed, his eyebrows momentarily ascending before returning to their neutral position.
“Shouldn’t have what?” he asked.
“Made my favorite sushi.” I gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “What’s the occasion?”
He shrugged, but I noticed the slight smile tugging at his lips. That’s as close as I would get to a ‘welcome home’ from him.
“Gene!” my mother called from the dining area. “Stop pestering your dad and come greet our guest.”
I grabbed a beer bottle from the fridge and brought it to my lips as I walked past the kitchen cabinets. I’d come home from shepherding once and interrupted my mom’s weekly bunko game. I expected one of her buddies or maybe an old family friend.
Nothing prepared me for Neil Roberts.
I nearly spewed alcohol all over the rug at the sight of my old classmate. Even several years out of high school, his face still had a boyish roundness to it, topped with slicked-back blond hair. He wore a cheaper version of the slacks and shirt my mom had on, holes over one breast pocket to denote where he pinned his name tag for customers. He grabbed a crinkly bag of supermarket flowers, thrusting them in my direction.
“Imogene Knocky-more-y,” he butchered my last name of Nakamori. “Long time, no see.”
Not long enough for me. Neil had a crush on me my senior year. A permanent JV member of the wrestling team, he liked hunting with his large religious family and wanted to join the military after graduating. What he saw in sarcastic, loner me, I’ll never know, but he started asking me out every week or so. I constantly turned him down, but it didn’t faze him. Everything imploded when he asked me to prom by bringing a child-sized teddy bear to our homeroom during morning announcements. I guess he thought I would be too embarrassed to say no, but I did, in front of thirty jeering teenagers no less. He tried to argue with me, and I responded by dragging the bear down the hall and flinging it down the stairwell. I smacked a tardy junior on the head, giving him a concussion. That finally got it through Neil’s thick skull that I was not interested.
Or so I’d thought.
I spun away from Neil. “Mom?” I asked her beaming face. “What’s going on?”
“Gene, don’t be so rude,” my mom scolded. Her eyes threw daggers at my hoodie, and I knew she would ream me about my clothes later in private. “Neil started working for my store a few months ago. He mentioned what good friends you were in high school, so I thought it would be nice for the two of you to catch up.”
I resisted the urge to slap my hand on my forehead. “Mom, don’t you remember when Principal Bowers gave me detention? That was because of Neil.”
My very rules-oriented mom paused at this, but Neil shrugged it off with a laugh. “High school antics. Those were the good ol’ days.”
My mom’s face softened into a smile.
So gross. If high school was the pinnacle of my life, I might as well just let a vaettur suck my pith dry and end my miserable existence.
I scowled, hoping
to shame some sense into him. “What ever happened to your big plans with the Air Force, Neil?”
“Hearing problems,” he said. “Blew up a mortar close to my left ear drum and shattered it. But don’t worry, Genie, I’m still a weekend warrior with the National Guard.”
My hand instinctively shot up to grab my air charm. No one called me ‘Genie.’ I let air pith howl through me, my mind already tracing a sideways S to fling this smug idiot across the room.
Fortunately, my father showed up with a plate of sushi just then, stopping me from doing something I would definitely regret in the long run, despite the immense short-term satisfaction.
“Please enjoy this sushi,” he said politely, centering the plate in front of our guest.
Neil wrinkled his nose. “I don’t eat raw fish.” He held his water glass like a ward against the offending dish.
“I do!” I declared happily. I dragged the plate to the opposite end of the table, as far away from Neil as possible. My dad handed me a set of chopsticks and little saucer of soy sauce, and I dug in.
My dad’s not much of a talker, but I managed to hold a broken conversation with him about his spring semester teaching load at the community college. My mother kept up light chit-chat with Neil, trying to rope me in, but I’d answer in monosyllables and immediately lob Dad another economics question. My mom fought valiantly, but after about twenty minutes, Neil stood and announced he needed to get to the store for closing shift. Mom glanced pointedly at me as she walked him to the door, but I focused on supply and demand curves with my father until I heard the front door slam.
Mom returned to the dining room with her hands on her hips. “Really, Gene. Neil came all this way, and you barely had a dozen words to say to him.”
I swallowed a mouthful of rice. “Mom, I tried to tell you. Neil wasn’t my friend in high school.”
My mom picked up a pair of chopsticks, toying with one of the last pieces of sushi left on the plate. “But he said you guys dated. Must have been some break-up for you to treat him so coldly.”
I took an angry beer swig before replying. “He lied, Mom. We never went out.”
My mother would not relent. “But he seems so nice. He always comes in to work on time, is friendly with even rude customers. He offers to go the extra mile. It’s so rare in your generation.”
I bristled at the implication that Neil represented the best of my graduating class. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Mom, but Neil’s a pig. He kept asking me out and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Why did you think I threw the teddy bear?”
My mom rounded on me. “And I suppose you’re an expert on good friends.”
I slammed the bottle on the table harder than I’d intended. My dad flinched as I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She wagged a finger at me. “I don’t approve of this whole free-loving lifestyle of yours. The weirdos you hang out with have taught you nothing but idealistic nonsense. It’s made you lazy.”
My mom had no idea that I’d just risked my life this morning keeping the natural world in balance, but still, it rankled that she thought so little of me. “How does dating a loser like Neil transform me into a responsible member of society?”
My dad cast his face to the ceiling in prayer.
My mother turned a shade of imitation crab red. “You deserve more out of life.”
“It’s not your life, Mom,” I shot back. “It’s mine.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She snatched all the dishes from the table. “You never let me forget.” Then she stalked back into the kitchen with her arms full.
I sat there fuming, unable to respond. My father put his calm hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take it too personally,” he said in his soft, measured voice. “She just worries about you.”
He was right, of course. She didn’t understand because she could never know the full truth.
I ground my teeth. “I just wish she’d trust me.”
“She does in her own way, but she can’t relate to what you’re going through. She has no idea what kind of trouble you could get into.”
If me hanging out with a bunch of hippies frightened her, I wondered how she’d react if she discovered I slayed monsters for a living.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, picking up the empty beer bottles.
I helped my mother tidy up the kitchen, which calmed both of us down. I couldn’t stay for much longer, but we did manage to end our conversation on a string of hollow small talk. I wish it could have been more profound, but at least we’d called a sort of truce.
As I laced my muddy boots back on, preparing to catch a bus to Mill Creek, my mom threw her arms tight around me. “Just remember how much I love you,” she whispered in my ear.
I returned the hug with the same ferocity, something deep inside of me tapping into kissed bruises on forgotten scrapes. “I love you too.”
She pulled back so we could face each other. “We’ll always be here for you, even if you’ve got no one else. You can always come home.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “Okay, Mom,” I told her, not vocalizing that I’d never live here again. Then I jogged down the front walk and back onto the street, my past growing smaller behind me.
CHAPTER 4
DESPITE MAKING UP, I couldn’t shake my mom’s criticism as I navigated the series of wisp channels back to the homestead. Did she really think I had no good friends? I had Guntram. Okay, he wasn’t actually a friend, but a mentor. What about Sipho, the blacksmith that ran the homestead? But she didn’t qualify as a friend either, more of a helpful co-worker with whom I happened to supply contraband items. I guess that made me her dealer.
I hated to admit that my mom just might be right. I paused on a hilltop overlooking the breathtaking Columbia Gorge, halfway to my destination. The largest river in the Talol Wilds surged toward the Pacific Ocean, dotted by brightly colored parasails swaying in the breeze. Lush coniferous trees coated both sides of the wide bank. Cars snaked down below on I-84, spears of evening light causing them to sparkle like satellites as they shot eastward and westward.
But I wasn’t standing there to soak in the view. Instead, I withdrew my now charged phone to view that text message I’d forgotten to read.
“Let’s meet up,” it said simply. From one Vincent Garcia, timestamped right before the kappa skirmish.
My face flushed with heat. Vincent was a game warden I’d met a month ago. Through a series of unfortunate events, I’d ended up in the back of his police cruiser when a nasty vaettur drove it off the road. Even though he’d acted like a jerk and didn’t deserve it, I made sure he received medical attention. The last I saw of him, he’d been healing from the wreck in the hospital. We’d come to some sort of mutual appreciation of each other’s jobs.
Since then, he’d tried to contact me twice. Both texts had offered a date and place for us to meet, but I never went. I didn’t even respond. Sure, I could make the excuse that I didn’t have the time, but the truth is, I probably could have snuck away if I’d wanted to. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my heart raced just a little whenever I thought about him.
But reality always held me back. We came from completely different worlds. I didn’t trust him. He was a police officer who operated under a different set of rules than me. He had no idea how to handle magic. Besides, shepherds don’t have outside relationships, period, romantic or otherwise. They stick to themselves and their sacred work.
Nevertheless, there he was. Not really boyfriend material, but a friend maybe. Or at least, the closest chance I had at one.
Guntram’s voice in my head told me it was against shepherd conduct to meet up with some random outsider. I’d be in big trouble if I got caught. But then an image of my mother trying to set me up with Neil made my toes curl.
I tapped on Vincent’s number before I could change my mind.
My mouth went dry as the phone rang once, twice, three times. I thought for sure he wouldn’t answer when it c
licked after the fourth ring.
“Hello?” his deep, masculine voice hummed in my ears.
“Hi,” my voice cracked.
Vincent’s tone brightened. “Ina! I was beginning to think you’d never respond.”
I cleared my throat. “When and where should we meet up?”
He chuckled. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“I’m not sure if you’re tracing this.” I needed to quickly end the call. “Give me the details or I’m out.”
“Okay, okay. I’m free in Florence right now. I can meet up wherever is convenient for you.”
My mind scrambled for a place near his location and close to a wisp channel. I settled on a local bar well off the beaten path, tucked away toward the ocean.
Vincent paused on the other end. “You sure? It can get a little rough there.”
“I can handle myself. Can you?” I asked sweetly. “Meet you there in an hour.”
I hung up before he could reply.
* * *
The sun had mostly set by the time I arrived at the parking lot. The building itself looked like someone had converted a mobile home into a bar, not bothering to update the exterior to fit its new purpose. I hadn’t expected a line of motorcycles outside on a Sunday night, but there they were, leaning toward each other as if in moral support. I hoped they were the friendly type of bikers as I pushed open the front door.
The dark interior took some getting used to, neon lights non-withstanding. The half dozen leather-clad patrons with bulging tattoos hovered around the counter, ordering drinks and laughing. I considered sliding past them toward some isolated booths against the wall when a hand came down hard on my shoulder.
“Are you old enough to be in here?”
I froze. I had completely forgotten that bars carded people like me who looked perpetually eighteen, and I didn’t have any form of ID on me. “I, uh,” I stuttered, whipping around to address the bouncer.
