by Melody Rose
“Hey, Iris? I think Joan has some previous engagements. Do you think Mom can go easy on her today?” Iris, my youngest stepsister, was “busy” with one of her trademark easy tasks as she scooped sugar from a large wholesale bag into labeled glass containers. She could be counted on to follow the beat of Jasmine’s drum, so if all went well, I could leave relatively unbothered.
Iris stepped toward us and took the brochure from Jasmine. It took her even less time to put two and two together, and as soon as she did, she let out a yelp and grinned widely.
“Good for you, Joan,” Iris chirped. “I guess we couldn’t rely upon you forever! You need to spread your wings, after all!”
Iris and Jasmine left momentarily to speak with their mother, and as they did, I wondered if they had finally found their moral compass and realized that we couldn’t be at each other’s throats until the end of time.
Deirdre returned with her daughters and brushed her hands on her apron.
“Joan, your run to the market can wait. My girls have a study group that they need to attend to pass their chemistry exam,” Deidre informed me. “This is a much larger priority for me as the bakery is just a way for them to make some money on the side.”
As my blood boiled, Deidre continued. “I’m expecting both of them to get into a good school. I mean, you’re set for life and know you’ll always have a place here.” Her last sentence was super unconvincing, delivered in a flat and uncaring way.
Speechless, I watched Deirdre cleanly and efficiently resolve the matter without any input from me. Satisfied that she had laid down the law, she returned to ring up her customers.
“It’s too bad that we have a rager of a party to go to. Otherwise, we’d cover for you today, for sure!” Jasmine teased when her mother had left.
“I don’t know why you look so disappointed,” Iris added. “That’s just one chore off your to-do list today! Now, you can deliver all the pies you baked today, easy peasy! The market will always be there another day, after all.” Iris ended her string of false consolations by dropping my pamphlet. She smiled sweetly as it fluttered into a waste bin full of eggshells and coffee grounds.
I glared, then rolled my eyes. Fishing for my golden ticket to freedom would only reek of desperation, and I wouldn’t even be able to get past my crappy step-family and to Galway in time for my audition. I’d have to just fill and deliver orders to hold on to my customers for who knows how long. I guessed that wasn’t all bad since they sang my praises. I was mostly known for making magic in the kitchen, seen as the mystery baking up a storm. At least I had my niche.
I inhaled and tried to ignore the victorious giggling of my stepsisters as they left for the day. I then approached the service counter to see what I was responsible for, looking at the receipts pinned to a meal ticket wheel. One side designated what would be served here at the bakery and what would be dropped off at businesses or parties.
I sighed when I noticed it was entirely covered with requests for pie. Of course, midday on a Friday was “high noon” for MacKenna treats, when people needed a pick-me-up from their week and a gentle push into the weekend. I decided that it probably made the most sense to serve whoever was in the restaurant first. I imagined that it would lead to fewer sourpusses, and I could then focus on delivering the to-go orders.
Six pies. Oof, talk about a tall order. I selected the largest platter I could find and then loaded it with all the pies from the industrial fridge: key lime, banana creme, pecan, peach, strawberry, and chess. My arms were already aching, and I did my best to throw my weight into the swinging kitchen door to find my customers. I was pretty impressed with myself since I made it out without damaging any of the desserts. I walked with confidence around the order counter, ready to get this all over with.
Apparently, I was a bit too self-congratulatory, as I immediately collided into a young man putting in a coffee order as I tried to maneuver with my heavy tray of pies-turned-projectiles. I clung onto the edges of the tray and winced, a pissed off customer meant that we could kiss a fat tip goodbye.
So, I did what anyone would do, really. I tried really hard to apologize. Really, I did, but this guy wasn’t having it. I swallowed as he raved on, trying my best not to make a scene even though my patience was damn thin with his entitled attitude.
And, okay, maybe I snapped. Maybe I was still mad about my stepsisters and Galway. Maybe it was working two jobs and paying rent to live in my own house while I did all the baking at the family bakery.
Maybe I just popped a damned gasket when I saw my smirking stepsisters and my stepmother’s barely contained anger.
I’m really not sure because somewhere in the middle of his tirade, I picked up one of the pies and smashed it full in his face.
And, for that brief moment, all was right in the world.
Sure, I knew that it really wasn’t okay, but at the same time, I didn’t quite care since I wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath of what happened. Before anyone could say anything else, I walked to the back room, grabbed my stuff, and hustled out the backdoor.
3
Theo
“I thought you said you would hold your temper and look for signs that you were in the presence of our champion.” My father paced the length of his private study and stroked his beard as he spoke. “Bouclier can’t afford for you to bring unwanted attention with your outbursts, and worse, we could all be at a severe disadvantage if we lose out on high-quality recruits due to petty squabbles.”
He paused and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Theodore, I entrusted you with this task because you told me you have great plans for our academy.” He gazed intently into my eyes and dropped the tone of his voice so that it took on a more paternal, perhaps even pleading quality. “We are supposed to uphold the principles of guardianship and camaraderie. Do I need to select another seeker who properly cherishes those virtues?”
Though he had seemed lost in his own reveries when I’d left earlier, he clearly had been monitoring me. Perhaps he had learned to split his consciousness with his decades of dedicated study of the arcane. Not that I cared. If he had been watching, he should have seen that I wasn’t to blame.
I crossed my arms with defiance and wore a stony expression to show I was immune to the guilt he heaped on me.
“You sent me on a fool’s errand that was bound to end in disaster and to frustrate me to no end.” I shot daggers at my father, unable to conceal the rage seeping through my gaze. “The graceless lot of lamb’s blood doesn’t have any meaningful talent to speak of, nor can these peons empty of will navigate the world of mysticism with its countless layers of energy.”
I waved my hand dismissively as I recalled my day. “I mean, by Odin, this girl couldn’t even turn a corner without spilling a banquet’s worth of pies onto me,” as I recounted this, my voice darkened with distaste, “what does that say about the caliber of mortals we’re sifting through? And we’re going to trust them to wield a wand?”
I closed the distance between my father and me and stood by his side as he examined the map rolled out on his mahogany table. That was where he devised strategies that even the most prestigious at our academy probably only knew a trace of. When I noticed that the bakery he once insisted laid claim to a soul vibrant with resonance and power was dim, I stabbed it with my index finger.
“I knew it! I knew that your instincts were off on this one; perhaps you were casting a spell while you were drunk off of hope and it muddled your perception. Didn’t I tell you that it was a stretch from Lemuria to the end of the world to expect we would find a savant who squanders their life pressing dough or taking orders? Wouldn’t this individual have more pressing matters to attend to and more elevated aims than feeding strangers? What’s the point of treats, anyway? They’re indulgent and unnecessary. We need someone with more focus.”
My words almost seemed to register for my father. Almost.
“Admittedly, it is strange. While I don’t approve of the airs that you
put on, nor do I think I raised you to look down upon others from any line of work, the meals of the uninitiated are far from simple. Some require a good deal of care, even if the makers cannot imbue their ingredients with added powers. Still, this establishment once shone brightly with promise. I’m confident that who we seek is in this town. In fact, if you inspect the surrounding area…” My father’s eyes were alight with fascination, but I couldn’t match his enthusiasm nor even bring myself to care.
“What? We’ll find that our Chosen One went for a walk in the park once?” I spat out sarcastically. “Maybe fed bread crumbs to some of those winged rats the lamb’s blood call pigeons?”
“That’s enough, Theodore,” Father said firmly yet calmly. “We live in a world of unknowns and do our best to grapple with our questions. For all of your confidence, you do not have the surefire knowledge of all creatures that live among us. The cornerstone of this mission was to find an individual who can harness empathic powers to communicate with even the most challenging of beasts. I think even you can agree with the intent behind this pursuit.” He admirably resisted raising his voice as he looked at me searchingly, as though he wished to appeal to the ambitions we should have shared as father and son.
It worked. Barely. I felt a pinprick of my cold apathy melt, but my suspicion remained. Of course, I too wished to resurrect our institution and our family legacy’s past glory by reigniting the Von Brandt connection with even the most unruly of animals. Our library was filled with scrolls and tomes that hailed the artistry of our bloodline and celebrated us as the noble guardians who bonded with beasts in order to protect our lands. Where had that gallantry gone?
Now, it was all just faded ink and fever dreams that tormented my father and kept him in an idealistic haze. Even though I resented him for brewing up harebrained strategies and desperate dreams, the image of my ancestral stronghold surrendering to mediocrity and common magic tricks disturbed me even more.
Bouclier des Bêtes, “Shield of the Beasts,” was more than an academy. It was the life’s work of my forefathers, who had braved approaching and bonding with creatures that would cause lesser men to run for their lives. They believed that only true connections could achieve harmony, the crowning principle of magic. I wanted my peers to heed this wisdom instead of getting sucked into lightweight illusions that did nothing but entertain themselves.
I sighed and made a sweeping motion with my hand. “Continue.”
“The signal burns bright as an ember here, and it can’t be a coincidence,” he explained. “I’ve communed with the will-o-wisps by the briarwood, and in return for lighting a ghost candle to draw wayward souls to their fold, they have heightened my sensory magic with a traveler’s charm. When I implored the map to reveal one of the uninitiated with the heart of a beast tamer, it made itself clear. Even right now, it is just as radiant as when I first posed my question. It’s just moved to a veterinarian clinic.” My father’s voice became rushed, just short of frantic, and there was no shaking him out of his excitement at the proof he thought he’d seen.
“Come again? A veterinarian clinic? In spellman’s terms, please?” I had no idea what he was on about and hoped he’d speak more plainly now that I was fully roped into this search.
“A veterinarian clinic is essentially where the uninitiated take their ‘pets,’ creatures that are like familiars but have not fully developed their powers,” Father eagerly explained. “Instead, they choose to focus on their affection toward their handler in return for food and shelter. Humans who do not have healing powers can still tend to the animals that are brought in because they have closely studied the ‘pets’ systems to advise handlers about how to heal internal or external wounds. They call these masters of their trade ‘veterinarians,’ and I have reason to believe that our candidate is among their ranks or an apprentice who strives to become one of them.”
“Very well,” I said, impressed by his knowledge about the lamb’s blood. “I can almost see sense in this journey, and it seems far better advised than the last messy jaunt you forced me to put up with.” I raised a finger at that point. “Except for one problem. Even if these lamb’s blood know their way around… pets, what good does that do us in terms of locating a champion who can tap into the spirits of creatures of immense power who haven’t sold themselves out to handlers for meals and leisure?”
What a cockatrice hunt this was. Right when I thought my father was coming to his senses, there always seemed to be a gaping hole in his strategy.
“Excellent question, Theodore.” Abelard smiled as he nodded. “I’m glad to hear that you’re paying attention. Of course, this is not simple reconnaissance. You will be tasked with bringing one of our own creatures to this clinic so you can watch and note how our prospect tends to a creature that they’ve never encountered before. If this uninitiated human can break past the barrier of their conventions and see straight into the spirit of this troubled beast, then we know that they possess natural abilities that Bouclier must nurture.”
“And if this veterinarian just has gruel for a brain and can only make sense of dull, lamb’s blood pets?” I arched an eyebrow in challenge. If an academy teeming with mages still struggled to detect the difficulties of our beasts, how would an empty shell without a beginning healing spell accomplish this chore?
My father paused for a brief second as the flash of a vision crossed his blue eyes and temporarily turned them clear. I hated when he did that. It always seemed as though he was at once mocking me for the gift I did not have and keeping me from his precious secrets.
“Then we can reverse our roles and you can give the orders,” he said clearly. “If I have truly made a mistake and you cannot unearth a prospect in this guild, the veterinarian clinic of pet tenders, I will defer to you and listen to how you would like to run Bouclier.” An impish smile grew on his lips, and I could tell that he found this outcome impossible.
“I look forward to taking the mantle, Father.” I wasn’t going to let him poke fun at me, and instead, I regarded this as the opportunity to receive the role I was born for.
“Ha! Nothing is better incentive to my Theodore than dethroning his father and stepping into his own power. Let’s just see if it really comes to that. On a more serious note, I did not jest when I said you would be bringing along a wounded familiar. This mission will only be valuable if we can assess this candidate’s power in the face of a real crisis. Lander?” My father raised his voice to call over an assistant waiting outside the study.
A man with golden-brown hair tied back neatly in a centuries-old style I frankly admired walked in, his outfit well-tailored out of amber and cream brocade and his fingers decorated with tiger’s eye rings. This was Lander, the beastmaster of magical hounds, and he was a Löwenmenschen, or “Lion-man,” a species that transformed into a half-beast at the full moon like a werewolf. The major difference was that werewolves were unrestrained during their turning, while a werelion was calculating and thoughtful. For this reason, my father, Abelard, had employed Lander to train canine familiars and wild hounds with the same composure he had possessed in order to match them with the academy’s students.
“Sir, I have the poor runt right here,” Lander said. “A Cavallian chaser who is behind the rest of the pack.” Lander peeled the blanket in his arms back and revealed a shivering Cavallian pup with shaggy white fur. “We can’t get him to summon the energy or motivation to participate in the boggart banishing. It’s good fortune that we only test out the pups with such minor shadow magic that even a low-ranking demon would laugh at because this little one just can’t take it. I see no reason why. He has no broken bones. No curse. None of the tamers can determine what’s wrong with him.”
I felt bad for the critter, as I realized that it was rarely, if ever, the fault of the beast but of the tamer. That being said, while I was willing to air my grievances to my father, I wasn’t inclined to test the patience of a werelion.
“We might have just the solution.” My fath
er nodded at me and signaled me to collect the pup.
As I took him up, I thought it would have made a fine familiar if it weren’t for its piteous whining.
4
Joan
“Petunia doesn’t want a cracker!” The mouthy parrot repeatedly squawked at me as I tried to clean its cage and prepare it for an examination. I yelped in annoyance as she battered her beak into my forearm.
“Ouch! Just a minute, Petunia!” I protested. “I know that you don’t like me crowding your space, but I’ve got to do it. Dr. Kerrigan wants to make sure your cage is disinfected before checking up on you.” I tried to make my case, but she wasn’t having it, so all I could do was grumble while I relieved her home of any feathers, droppings, and dust.
There were perks to this job, but this certainly wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t even say that the money made all this worth it because it went immediately down the drain. And by that, I meant into Deirdre’s wallet. There was no way that I could cover the rent if I couldn’t even make tips at the bakery, so here I was, holding down two jobs right out of high school while everyone else my age figured out how they were going to decorate their dorms. Neither culinary nor veterinarian school were in the cards for me, and since I clearly wasn’t going to climb up the ladder at the “family” bakery, maybe I could learn through experience and get promoted to veterinarian technician.
“Hey, good job, Petunia,” I sing-songed soothingly to the bird as I finished. “You stuck through it, even though you were being a punk! I’m lucky you didn’t break any skin. Now that we’re all done and you haven’t skinned me alive, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I walked over to my cubby and pulled out a brown paper lunch bag covered with stickers of tropical birds. The staff at the clinic weren’t as stingy with petty cash as my stepmother was and let me make dollar store runs to design my own treat pouches for our patients. I thought stickers or doodles gave them a thoughtful touch, and since I was sensitive to the allergies and preferences of the animals I served, my little gift bags delighted even the most particular clients, so now we were the first choice for an animal hospital in at least a twenty-mile radius.
