by Chrys Cymri
‘We couldn’t let her stay,’ I said, fighting against a pang of guilt. ‘And this is where she belongs, in her own world.’
‘She was born here,’ Abella agreed. ‘But this is no longer her world.’
‘Why doesn’t she just cross back over, then?’ Jago asked.
‘On your side, she lived in a lake, and the crossing was fixed,’ Abella said. ‘But on our side, the crossing led to the ocean. And like all things in our oceans, crossings are subject to the tides and to the moon.’
I could feel my face beginning to burn. The hat was in the usual pocket, damp but still functional. ‘So she can’t find her way back?’
‘Would she be welcome if she did?’
‘No. Well, only to the Scottish Tourist Board.’ I shook my head. ‘We don’t have the resources to feed her. She had to return to her birth country.’
Jago batted a wing against my cheek. ‘Talk, talk, talk. Still no adventure.’
Abella chuckled. ‘Let’s see what we can do to amuse the young one. Shall we have a display?’
My chest ached as throbs flowed through me from numerous directions. Heads emerged from the blue-green water, revealing that the fifty or so merpeople resting on the platforms were only a small proportion of the shoal’s total.
And so, over the course of an hour, we were treated to jumps, twists, and other acrobatic leaps over the surface of the ocean. I had long ago sworn off going to any shows which involved captive dolphins or whales, as I had read about the lives of misery which they led, but this show was more intricate than anything I’d watched in my less enlightened years. The final performance, which featured twenty merpeople undertaking a series of synchronised manoeuvres, left Jago jumping up and down in excitement.
‘That was good,’ he said after we’d said our goodbyes and I made my way back to the outside platform. ‘Even if it weren’t really an adventure.’
I’d wondered how Raven would be able to take off from the water. He laughed at the question, and told me to climb onto his neck. Merpeople gave me helpful support up his side. Once I was in place, the dragon’s gas chambers filled, expanding his belly until my legs were nearly perpendicular. We rose from the ocean. Now that his wings were clear, Raven flew us away from the settlement. He expelled the excess gas in a show of red and orange flame which made Jago squeal with approval. The gryphon was still purring happily when we’d finished our journey home.
‘Well, Penny,’ Raven said as I hurriedly dismounted, all too aware of the sound of my neighbour in his back garden, ‘are you finally satisfied? As I told you, I’m in full health.’
‘You certainly seem to be,’ I agreed quietly.
‘If you need more proof, you know how to call me.’
I stepped back to look him in the eyes. ‘You’ve always said you’re not a taxi service.’
Raven snorted. ‘I am not at anyone’s beck and call, no. But it seems I must snatch my moments with you as and when you deign to remember me. I’ll accept your crumbs for now, elusive Penny. This state of affairs won’t last forever.’
I turned my back on him and stomped off to the house. For the second time in less than a week, I was dumping boots outside the kitchen door and going straight to the washing machine with my clothes. Jago took off and, I assumed, went upstairs to find James. I took a shower and dressed before going back to the kitchen to place my iPhone in a bag of rice.
A pile of t-shirts and y-fronts had mysteriously appeared on the floor in front of the washing machine. I marvelled at my brother’s ability to know when someone else was undertaking housework. At least it proved that he was back home. I wandered out into the hallway. ‘Skylar?’ I called up the stairs. ‘If you have any washing, do you want to bring it down? I’m about to do a load.’
The vampire appeared a few minutes later. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked as I stuffed her socks and smalls inside. ‘I can do my own laundry.’
‘I already have mine and James’s to do,’ I said as I added detergent. ‘I might as well run a full load.’
‘Don’t you and James take turns?’
I found myself laughing as I stood up. ‘Not that I’ve noticed.’ Then I saw the frown on her face, so I added, ‘But he’s planning to move out, so he’ll be doing his own soon enough.’
‘We have a lot in common, you see,’ Skylar said in the breathless way which I was beginning to dread. ‘My mum and dad died too when I was young, and he likes flying although he can’t often afford lessons, and he loves to bake cakes and chocolate is his favourite, just like mine. And he has a really cool car.’
For some reason, I suddenly felt very old. ‘Yes, the BMW is quite something.’
‘And he’s told me how much he enjoyed the church in Caer-grawnt, but now he’s looking forward to going to St Wulfram’s again, now that you’re all back from Lloegyr. He says your sermons are really good, like today’s was, and that the people are really nice, just like they were today. Is that a sunburn?’
I lifted fingers to my warm face. ‘A bit of one, it seems. I was thinking of having a cold supper, since we had a large meal at lunchtime. Could you fetch James?’
<><><><><><>
Three rats flew in on Monday morning. They insisted that their recitations were meant for my ears alone, so Skylar disappeared upstairs. I placed bowls of tea on the kitchen table, and the rats thanked me in a chorus of iambic pentameter before slaking their thirst. Then, pen in hand, I did my best to take notes as the rats took turns to pass on information about my curate.
The first rat, a black and white female, rustled her wings as she recited Skylar’s CV in blank verse. The vampire was as old as she looked, namely in her mid-twenties, home address given as a street in Llanbedr. The list of schools and academic awards was more confusing than enlightening, but Morey would be pleased to hear that Skylar had an honours degree in theology. And that she had started a Master’s. I starred the note, wondering about the title. The Weariness of Were-Wolves: Theology for the Unchanging.
The second rat, a large brown male, reared up on his legs to recite.
‘How great her joy, her griefs so few,
when Skylar came upon God anew!
The months of ache, the years then flew.
How great her joy, her griefs so few.
As learning rooted, and her knowledge grew,
The church called her, and then she knew.
How great her joy, her griefs so few,
when Skylar came upon God anew!’
It was only partway through the next set of rhymes that I realised I was being presented with Skylar’s curate portfolio. I drew arrows across my page, linking the list of practical experiences to her more formal learning. There were many terms which I’d need to ask Morey about later, but I was pleased to discover that she’d been taught about Lloegyr marriage law.
We had a second round of tea and biscuits before the third rat took his turn. He was small, and black, but with large red eyes. ‘“In today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew,”’ he intoned, ‘“we heard Jesus talking about the wheat and the tares. How are we, people more accustomed to hunting our food than harvesting it, supposed to understand this parable?”’
I realised that I must be listening to one of Skylar’s sermons. My cup of tea had gone cold by the time the rat finished the fourth one. ‘I think that’s ample, thank you,’ I said quickly before he could start another. I’d heard enough to note that my curate had a very interesting approach to the Bible, including a willingness to quote verses out of context when this served to reinforce her message.
The rats asked for one last hot drink ‘for the long flight home.’ I had the suspicion that they were trying to fill up time before reporting back to their rat king and receiving their next assignment. When they had finally slurped their bowls dry, I opened the back door so they could wing their way out.
I went through to my study with my notes. ‘It’s very confusing,’ I said to Morey when he joined me several minutes later. ‘This is
what Nenehampton Diocese expects a curate to do.’ I waved at the Word document open on the computer screen. ‘And what Skylar’s done on Llanbedr is very different.’
Morey took a seat near my keyboard. ‘You’ll just have to do the best you can.’
‘I’d rather do it right.’
‘Your first curate?’
‘Well, other than you, but you don’t count.’
‘Certainly not,’ he said, feathers fluffing around his beak in agreement. ‘Does your Curate Training Officer know about Lloegyr?’
‘I don’t think so.’ I leaned back in my office chair. ‘I’ll have a chat with Sally.’
‘Good idea. The Bishop’s chaplain should be able to give you a steer.’
I pushed my notes to one side and looked down at Morey. ‘Jago... His Welsh is very rough.’
Morey lifted wings in a shrug. ‘He’s living on Earth with humans. It’s to be expected.’
‘You don’t worry about that? It could make things more difficult for him on Lloegyr. Shouldn’t he spend more time in his own country?’
‘I don’t mind if he assimilates.’ Morey’s tail lashed at my look. ‘He’s not going to grow any larger, Black, so he can’t live with a gryphon clan. I think his future is here, in England. Actually, I have hopes that all of our children might become Associates in time. Taryn and I have been talking about setting up some interviews.’
‘Police or Church?’
‘Whichever they prefer.’ Morey sighed. ‘Although, at this rate, it looks like Jago won’t end up with either. He seems very attached to your brother.’
‘James did save his life.’
‘Something for which I’m very grateful,’ Morey said. ‘And I’m pleased that Jago is here with us now. Normally, gryphons say farewell to their children once they’ve fledged, and then see them infrequently afterwards. I’m beginning to realise how much parents lose by that tradition.’
I cast around for a tactful way to pose my question. ‘How often do gryphons build a nest?’
‘Around every four years.’ Morey chuckled. ‘We need to recover from feeding this lot.’
‘And Taryn needs to recover from carrying eggs?’
‘That too.’ Morey tapped at my hand when I tried to turn my attention back to my computer. ‘You need to talk to Clyde. I think more snail sharks have come across from Lloegyr.’
‘Just what we needed.’ I came to my feet and went through to the kitchen. Whatever snail sharks lurked in the back garden were well hidden in the bushes and weeds. I let myself outside. A quick glance showed that the hiking boots were as dead as my iPhone. So I stayed on the patio. ‘Clyde?’
The snail shark slid over to my slippered feet. ‘Yes?’
‘Is it true that more snails have crossed over?’
‘Yes.’
I bent down and collected him in my hands. We studied each other, eyes to eyespots. ‘They can’t keep coming, Clyde. We don’t have the space. Shall I arrange for the thin places to be sealed?’
Clyde flushed brown and yellow. ‘Sheep and goats.’
‘At least sheep and goats eat grass,’ I pointed out. ‘The lemmings have gone, on both sides of the crossing. What will you all do when you’ve eaten all the garden birds? You’ve told them that they’re not allowed to eat dogs or cats, haven’t you?’
‘Yes! And babies!’ His colours settled into blues and greens. I gave him a moment to think. ‘Carrion?’
‘How many of you are there?’
Clyde whistled. Bushes shuddered and grasses bent. I sighed. Around a hundred snail sharks emerged. A half-dozen were dog sized, and the rest ranged from Clyde’s height down to many small pups. How much was it going to cost to buy all of them free-range poultry? For a moment I wavered, wondering if a bucket of fast food chicken would do. Then I reminded myself that principles were principles. Years ago I had sworn off factory farmed meat, and I wasn’t going back to it now.
‘I’m driving into town after lunch,’ I told them. ‘I’ll do some shopping.’
The human and vampire members of the household gathered for sandwiches. I left Skylar to work on her sermon and James to do whatever James did, and left the house to drive into Northampton.
I’ve always considered my home town, if not exactly beautiful, to be at least functional. An Apple store had recently opened, which I took as a sign of divine approval. A very helpful young woman confirmed that my four-year-old iPhone was dead. From the way she described the latest model, I fully expected it to bring me coffee in the morning. I signed the contracts, waited while she arranged for the phone to be updated with my personal information, and walked out of the shop with a heavier pocket and a lighter wallet.
My wallet complained even more as I paid for a shopping cart full of free-range turkey and chicken. ‘Big family?’ asked the man at the till.
‘Big and growing,’ I said wearily.
Back at the house, James and Skylar helped me carry the shopping through to the back garden. The snail sharks ripped into the carcasses, chewing and swallowing even the largest bones. ‘Good,’ Clyde said, burping as I lifted him from the ground. ‘Full.’
‘For how long?’
‘Five days?’
I rubbed my forehead, wondering what cut backs I could make in household expenditure to help pay for the feeding of this rabble. ‘Right. Five days. Gotcha.’
Clyde touched my face with his tentacles. ‘Okay?’
‘Yes, it will be.’ I forced a smile onto my face. ‘We’re family. We’ll make it work.’
Chapter Fourteen
My carefully composed email to Sally resulted in a friendly but short response. No, the Curate Training Officer did not know about Lloegyr. But one of those who had visited my stall was an ordinand with the Sight, and he had expressed interest in doing part of his curacy in the Diocese of Llanbedr. So we might have to tell Stephen soon, the email concluded. In the meantime, say to him that Skylar has ‘particular needs’ and talk things over with her.
On a more positive note, Peter dropped by on Monday evening and we re-watched the latest Doctor Who episode together. I snuggled deeper into the warmth of his side, and forced myself to forget about the conversation we hadn’t yet had. If he weren’t going to raise it, I certainly wasn’t.
I was up early on Tuesday morning and decided that the time had come for a spring clean. James poked his head out of his room at the sound of the vacuum cleaner. ‘Come on, Pen, it’s not even 8am yet!’
‘There’s a Minister of Parliament coming this afternoon,’ I reminded him.
‘So you’re hoping she’ll take you on as her new cleaner?’
I stopped the machine and wagged at finger at his face. ‘Our mother would’ve been appalled if a MP came and found dust on the furniture. We have standards, James. We have standards.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ my brother drawled, ‘but some of us need our sleep.’ And the door slammed shut behind him.
I halted for Morning Prayer at 9am. The dust in my study haunted me throughout the chanting of the psalm. ‘I don’t suppose you could swipe your tail along the bookshelves?’ I asked Morey.
‘Not without knocking down a half-dozen Daleks,’ he pointed out. ‘A little less clutter would serve you well.’
Skylar leaned back in her chair and her eyes swept the room. ‘What are those things? I’ve not seen anything like them before. They look like those pots you get in restaurants here in England, you know, the ones which hold salt and pepper. But I don’t understand all those bits sticking out.’
‘They’re from Doctor Who.’ I waited. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Doctor Who? It’s a TV show.’
‘I only moved from Lloegyr a month ago,’ she said. ‘I know you have this thing called “television”, but I’ve not got round to watching it yet.’
‘Dear Lord God,’ Morey intoned, ‘please protect our sister Skylar Grey from the attempts by Penny White to indoctrinate her in the ways of sonic screwdrivers and malicious pepper
pots.’
‘Coffee,’ I said firmly. ‘We’ll discuss Skylar’s pop culture lessons later.’
The household split into separate directions. Skylar drove off to look at a possible curate’s house. Morey located Jago, and the gryphons went for a flight. I was talking on the phone with a wedding couple when James exited the house, giving me nothing more than a quick wave.
After a thorough clean of the downstairs toilet and a scrub of the kitchen floor, I forced myself to eat some lunch. Then I went upstairs and managed to fill a half hour with several wardrobe changes. In the end, I decided on a black clerical shirt, black trousers, and my best grey jacket. I checked the shoulders, and was relieved to note that there were no holes.
Twenty minutes to go.
I prepared the coffee machine and filled the kettle. Then I dug around in the kitchen cabinets. Surely not all of my mugs either carried images from Doctor Who or celebrated the anniversary of an ancient church? Finally, the back of one cupboard revealed a set of handmade pottery mugs. No saucers, but the black and blue swirls looked elegant enough. There was even a matching teapot. Perfect. I placed them next to the kettle.
The cat flap rattled, and a moment later Morey landed on my shoulder. ‘That’s a bad sign,’ he said. ‘You’re in a black shirt.’
I was more concerned about his claws. ‘She’s a Cabinet Minister. I really want to look the part of a priest.’
‘Then you might want to slip in a dog collar.’
Morey fluttered over to the kitchen counter. I hurried back upstairs and, after some frantic searching, found the necessary piece of white plastic. My fingers were trembling slightly as I threaded it into my shirt.
2pm. It was time.
I hovered near the window of the living room. When the dark green Jaguar pulled into my drive, I gave my jacket a final tug and went to open the front door.
The driver emerged first. A shimmer around his hulking body told me that I was looking at a were. His face shifted between human and bear, brown hair blending into the fur of a grizzly. A glance from the dark eyes made me freeze in place. His long legs carried him across the drive, over the front garden, then back to me. ‘Reverend Penelope White?’
