by K. F. Breene
“He must register that strangers can’t hear him,” I said, clicking the on button and wandering back to the living room, “or why would he be screaming at me through the door?” Daisy’s eyes widened, and she looked warily at the door. She was trying to help me with my trade in spite of being constantly creeped out by it. It showed her commitment to the cause. “But then, he is talking about tumbling with a large magical person hiding in the bushes. It makes no sense.”
“It’s easy to picture yourself taking down enemies when you know it’s only a fantasy,” Mordecai said softly.
Daisy shook herself out of her creeped-out daze and put her hand on his shoulder. “We’ve got this, Frodo. We can’t help you carry the ring up Mount Mordor, but we can help carry you.”
“Wow.” I braced my hands on my hips. “You need to stop watching that movie.”
“I see you,” Frank called. “I see you looking.”
I shook my head and tried to ignore the aggressive spirit turned poltergeist outside. “Okay. What of this”—I gestured at the makeshift setup—“will you let me burn?”
“Um, none?” Daisy scoffed before stalking to the visitor chair. “We need to paint this, obviously. I found it a block away next to a dumpster. It looks like it was sitting there awhile.” That was an understatement. With the weathered, badly stained wood frame, and wet, rotted-looking cushion, it appeared to have been sitting there for decades. “Ms. Nicolas, next door, has some extra paint from the latest art…thing she’s making. It’s sitting by her back door. I’m pretty sure she’s just waiting to illegally dump it like last time, so I’ll grab one of those when she goes on her walk.”
“Stop peeping in Ms. Nicolas’s backyard,” I muttered out of parental duty. Ms. Nicolas created horrendous paintings and sculptures that were impossible to ignore. How they sold, I did not know, but it was a train wreck Daisy hated to miss.
“Okay.” She waved the comment away. “But it’s really sturdy. Check it out.”
I was a little afraid to touch it.
“Instead of your TV trays—”
“He’s moving,” Frank yelled. “He’s on the move. Where are you going, you—”
Frank’s voice drifted away.
“—we have a lovely little breakfast bar.” Daisy lifted the edge of one of my rugs, revealing a length of badly pockmarked wood with a stretch of empty spider web spanning the top. I shrank away. “It needs a bath and a paint, and it will look just fab. Check out those legs. Strong and sturdy. That’ll give our clients confidence.”
“Our?” I asked, pushing the pad of my finger against my temple and rubbing.
“We’re all going into business together,” Mordecai said, and he wasn’t being sarcastic.
“No”—Daisy pointed at my face—“don’t do that. I can see you about to pull hero and try to go it alone like some cowboy out of the Wild West.”
“Cowboys in the Wild West were actually farmers in most cases,” Mordecai said. “Hence the term cowboys. The fabricated idea of gun-slinging cowboys was made famous by Hollywood, and nowhere near depicts real events—”
“We don’t care,” Daisy interrupted.
“I care,” I said. “I did not know that—”
“Okay, then, we’ll table that for circle time.” Daisy used her pen to point at the top of the tent, which was two peaks at different heights held up by leaning broomsticks. “Everyone else has a tent, so we need to join that parade. It makes us look legit. Once we have more working capital, we can replace these blankets with more scarfs, but for now—”
“I’m impressed with the lingo,” I said, smelling the coffee and heading back to the kitchen.
“This has actually been a good independent study for us,” Mordecai said, drifting after me. “It’s empowering, creating a business.”
“Uh-huh.” Empowering meant it would take longer for them to give it up. How annoying.
“Your chair is still the same,” Daisy continued, and I wondered if she’d even noticed me leaving the room. “You need it light. I like the idea of you moving your chair around. It creates a sense of urgency in the client. They’ll want to impress the Great Seeing Eye in order to get her help.”
I paused in pouring the coffee. “The what?”
“It’s a working title,” Mordecai assured me.
“Keep working.” I eyed the messy stack of mail in the middle of the counter. Daisy had been so busy with this new venture she wanted to force on me that she hadn’t insistently alerted me that she’d gotten the mail.
“We still need a sign. I need to get some poster board and pens, but I figured we should work on a budget first,” Daisy went on, scribbling on her clipboard.
“Uh-huh. What’s the pencil behind your ear for if you’re using the pen?” I asked before taking a sip of my coffee. I wandered to the table and pulled the stack of relevant pieces of mail closer. Daisy had sorted the junk out already.
“Because that’s what builders use,” she said.
“Right.” I frowned as I noticed an envelope from the city’s Parks and Rec Department. Daisy’s voice drifted to the back of my awareness as I set my coffee down. Unease flowed through me—a sense that I was waiting for the shoe to drop. A moment later, the air dried up in my lungs and a feeling of helplessness washed over me.
“It isn’t fair.” I pulled out a chair and plopped down, my eyes stinging in frustration. “It isn’t fair!” I yelled.
The kids were next to me a moment later. “What happened?” Mordecai asked.
“What’s not fair?” Daisy peered over my shoulder.
I set the letter on the table and dropped my face into my hands. “The freak show has been shut down.”
“What?” She snatched up the letter. “‘Dear Patron,’” she read, then mumbled, “Off to an intimate start… ‘Dear Patron. Due to circumstances beyond our control, the Magical Showcase, held at Pier Thirty-three’…yadda yadda…‘has been permanently cancelled. All permits have been suspended, and access into the area has been closed to all persons of a magical nature.’” Her voice drifted away and her eyes roamed from side to side, reading on down. “Oh look! Here we go. ‘Plans have commenced to move’”—she gave Mordecai and me poignant looks—“‘the Magical Showcase to a neutral location wherein magical and non-magical people alike will be welcome to showcase their talents. Permits will be granted to those applicable. For more information, please contact your specific governing body.’” She beamed at me. “So you see? This is good news. They’re moving it to the dual-society zone and opening it up to everyone. It’ll be bigger! We’ll get more people actually interested in magic instead of just looking for entertainment.” She nodded and tapped the letter. “This is a stroke of luck. This will be great for our brand.”
“First, we have to actually create a brand,” Mordecai said dryly.
Daisy glared at him. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, Mordie. Instead of pointing out the flaws, why don’t you help solve the problems?”
“Permits will be handed out from our specific governing body,” I said, my head still resting on my palms.
Mordecai exhaled loudly. “Oh,” he said.
“Why is that bad?” Daisy asked.
“Because a certain stalking Demigod wants me cornered,” I said, “and now he has the power to deny me the ability to make money he isn’t supplying. The ball is in his court.”
38
Alexis
“Like hell the ball is in his court.” Daisy slapped down the letter. “He’s not in charge of this city. His dad is. And his dad doesn’t give two rats about us. We’ll apply, and if he sticks his big nose in, we’ll appeal. Worst case, we’ll fire up the computer and create a fake profile. We can get around him.”
A knock sounded at the door. I glanced around at the others. “Did you guys hear that?”
“Yes. It was a real knock,” Mordecai said.
I lugged myself up, suddenly too exhausted for any of this. I was tired of being kicked in the jugular.
Tired of Kieran getting his way so easily.
Tired of this life.
“The other one left, and this one took his place,” Frank said, standing behind one of Kieran’s minions, this one with wavy brown hair, piercing gray eyes, and a sun-kissed face that beamed raw hostility. “Don’t let the suit jacket fool you—he’s just like the others in their black jumpsuits.”
“Thanks, Frank,” I said, eyeing the pristine, tailored suit of this minion and noticing a thick manila envelope in the hand resting at his side.
“Alexis Price,” the minion said in a thick, scratchy voice.
“Stalking creep,” I answered.
On a normal day, his animalistic stare promising pain if I sassed him might make me zip the lip. Right now, he could suck it.
Without another word, he held up the manila envelope. After I took it, glaring all the while, he turned and made his way to a Beemer double-parked in front of my house. He revved the engine before speeding away.
“I probably don’t want to know what this is,” I said, dropping it to my side. “Kieran seems to have a flare for timing. It’s like he knows exactly when to kick me when I’m down.” I remembered the cameras, stepped out a little farther onto the porch, and flipped the bird.
“Well now, that’s not ladylike,” Frank said in distaste.
“Go ahead and keep talking, Frank. Find out what happens…”
His lips thinned, then whitened. Clearly the effort to hold back was intense.
“They’ve been roaming around all day,” he finally said before walking to my side and turning, staring out at the street with me. He braced his hands on his hips. “One was peeking in the front window when I got here this morning. There was a crack in the curtains. Well, I gave him a good kick.”
“Oh yeah?” I said, trying not to move my lips. I didn’t want neighbors to glance out their windows and catch me talking “to myself.” “What did he do?”
“He jumped and looked around.” Frank preened. “I didn’t know I still had it in me.”
The lurker had probably felt a sudden icy stab that had set his hair on end. Knowing what I was, he’d probably guessed exactly what had happened. That would freak a great many people out.
I smirked. “Keep up the good work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Frank saluted me in a way that made it clear he’d never served in the armed forces.
Back in the house, I debated throwing the envelope in the trash. I even opened the lid and held it over the bin, staring down at it. But I caved, the silence ringing loudly in the kitchen. The kids clearly knew who had sent it, and what it possibly held.
The first sheet of paper held a simple message and directions, followed by a small picture of a map.
Meet me to discuss. —Kieran
Butterflies swam through my belly.
I separated two packets, each with its own cover letter. The first was from the office of Kieran Dursus.
“The details of his job offer,” I said quietly, skimming the cover letter before turning the page and reading through the description of the services he’d requested. The simple job of helping his mother cross over was described with a great many unnecessary details from someone who thought they understood my job and clearly did not.
Mandatory séance? Spirit communication devices?
“Why the hell would I use a tape recorder?” I muttered. “Those things catch one word in ten. Spirit box? Oh now, they’re just taking the piss altogether.”
I kept flipping through.
My breath caught.
My hand started to shake.
Without another word, I passed that page on to the kids.
“What is it?” Daisy asked Mordecai, taking the page and quickly huddling with him. “Holy shit.”
“Language,” I said in a wispy voice.
“A hundred thousand base salary, with perks.” Her eyes rounded and she looked at Mordecai. “What do you think the perks are?”
“Breakfast, maybe. Some companies do donuts in the morning.” He took the paper, skimming the contents. His eyes stopped moving and a wistful expression crossed his face.
He’d seen the benefit section, which covered all of my family, including undocumented wards (their names were listed). 401k, dental…and full medical, both magical and non-magical. Mordecai’s medicine would be covered, he’d have access to routine checkups, and if he was a candidate for the cure, he’d have access to it.
He tossed the packet on the table angrily. “He’s trying to buy her.”
“Obviously. But wow.” Daisy blew out a breath. “He thinks she’s worth a lot.”
“That’s because she is.” Mordecai turned away toward the fridge.
“Yes, Mordie, we know she is worth more than a basket of gold and chocolate. But usually we’re the only ones.” She moved closer to the table. “Then again, she’s a bona fide class-five magical worker.” She reached across the table for her clipboard. “We need to find out what someone like her is worth in the job market. He could be shortchanging us. That bitch already owes us money for the freak show thing. I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be damned if he’s going to get one over on us again.”
“That one’s mine, right?” Mordecai asked softly, glancing at the shaking packet in my hands.
I didn’t look up from the cover page. I didn’t want him to see my fear.
This packet would tell me if my inability to keep him stocked up on medicine had damaged him for life. That, or it would tell me there was still hope, but only if I willingly put myself into the hands of an egotistical, possessive Demigod who was about to be in a fight with his homicidal father.
“I’ll do the honors,” Daisy said softly, putting down her clipboard. She’d clearly noticed my expression and read the situation. She gingerly took the packet.
Mordecai turned to stare out the window, not seeing the curtain in the way.
She took a deep breath, pulled the cover page up, and then tucked it behind the rest of the packet.
“Read it out loud,” Mordecai said. “It doesn’t matter regardless. There’s no sense in beating around the bush.”
“Forty-four percent corrosive cells,” she read, her brow furrowing. “Seven-two percent responsiveness…” She shook her head and turned another page. Then another. “Ah. Here. A summary.” A relieved smile crossed her face. “Damage rate is borderline critical, but”—her smile widened—“likelihood of… I can’t pronounce this, but the procedure for people like him is ninety-two percent likely to prove effective!” She looked between me and Mordecai excitedly, then went back to the summary. “If he does not get the procedure, likelihood of his condition improving with continued medication…is dim, okay, fine, but…” She traced a line with her finger. “The likelihood of his condition staying stable with continued medication is a strong possibility.” She dropped the page, joy radiating from her whole body. “He’s okay! He could be better, sure, but as long as he gets his meds, he’ll be okay.”
Pain soaked through my middle and tears welled in my eyes. I turned away toward the coffee pot so they didn’t see. “Except I don’t have a job, Daisy. And now I don’t have the freak show. I have no way to earn money. What happens when the meds run out again?”
“You don’t need the freak show. We can take your act to the streets.” Daisy snatched up her clipboard. “There has to be a dark alley where your caliber of magic would really sing.”
Her enthusiasm was admirable, but it didn’t stop the tears from rolling down my face. Utter helplessness dragged at me. Fear for the future. Sorrow at what Mordecai was going through. I could end this. I could fix it.
What was a Demigod’s gilded cage if it saved a loved one from a life of pain?
“We still have that other medicine to sell,” Daisy said, her voice ringing with determination and confidence. “You can ask around at that bar you go to. From your stories, it sounds like those people would know how to unload it, or they may be in the market themselves.” I heard her pen scratching on
paper. “I can still take a job with Denny’s dad. I won’t give myself away. I know I won’t. So that’ll hold us over for a while…”
“You’re not taking that job, Alexis,” Mordecai said softly, cutting through Daisy’s planning.
“No way.” Daisy’s pen smacked the paper. “Like, really? He’s going to try to blackball you, then deliver this, and expect you to just cower at his feet? No.” She was writing again. “I say we egg his car. Didn’t you say he had a really nice car? Well, eggs would ruin the paint. The punishment would fit the crime.”
“I would be down for that,” Mordecai said.
I blew out a long breath, letting my emotions run their course. Letting all this wash over me.
“We can make it,” Daisy said. “We can. I know we can.”
“I agree.” Mordecai turned away from the sink. “Next year, I’ll be sixteen, then I can get a work permit. I can get medical myself, or just help with the bills. We’ll have enough. We just have to get through one more year.”
“Easy,” Daisy said. “We just need to figure out this dark alley idea until we can get into the new freak show. I know, what about—”
I laughed silently through my tears. They were resilient, these kids. True survivors.
“Okay,” I said, marshaling my resolve. “Okay. We’ll do this as a family. But…” I wiped my face really quickly and turned toward them with my finger held out. “If we run out of medicine again, I’m taking that job.”
“We won’t.” Daisy gave Mordecai a comforting look. “We won’t run out. We’ll keep you steady until we can get you that procedure. We’ll do it.”
I nodded as determination rose through me. Followed by anger.
That meddling Demigod asshole thought he could strong-arm me into getting what he wanted. He thought he could play Mordecai’s condition against me.
But he didn’t realize that, in my moments of weakness, I had two awesome kids to band together and raise me up.
