by Kat Quinn
3. Monty
The secret to a good fruit salad is just the tiniest splash of balsamic vinegar. Sure, sugar is always a solid move, but the richness and acidity that dark liquid adds to zing its way up, over, and through every other flavor in the bowl equals a balance and cohesiveness that most fruit salads lack. Though I’ll never snub my nose up at a luscious taste of juicy fruit; vinegar or no.
Based on all the noise, what isn’t a secret in this household is the sex. I breathe through what sounds an awful lot like Lin screaming mid-pleasure, and give the salad in front of me another swirl. With all the training lately, most of our meals haven’t given me the time to zen out the way I like, which is really messing with my head. This is my time to reset, and without it, I’m starting to fray a bit at the edges.
Knowing I’m a sucker, Colonel Stubbs paws at my leg until I toss him some melon to gobble down. Though Aria’s been sneaking enough bits and pieces for both of them when she thinks I’m not looking. Neither is in danger of starving, but you’d think from the watery, desperate, pleading eyes they’ve perfected, both are inches from death’s door.
It’s been a couple of weeks since Dizzy and Aria joined our comfortably ragtag family, but at the speed change keeps barreling through, I may be getting left in the dust settling behind. My strengths lie in adjusting to whatever someone else needs, like learning the favorite dishes of all the kids our family fostered, not figuring out which one is my own. It’s more effective to lead organically by following the needs of the many, not selfishly imposing your own will.
“Need help?” Connor asks, clear voice just above a whisper. Shaggy blonde hair still damp, tiny droplets darken his pastel purple sweater vest.
Tossing over a lobster claw potholder, I jut my chin towards the oven, “Pull the quiche for me?”
He does, even making sure to set up a trivet first so the dish doesn’t burn or warp our countertops. Meanwhile, I snag some greek yogurt and heavy cream from the fridge to whip together as a topping for the fruit. Connor sets the kettle to boil, arranging mugs filled with different tea blends according to each person. Stubbs and Aria diligently keep the floors clean. We work in companionable silence, aside from the occasional moans and yells that work their way down the stairs.
Just as my bicep begins to burn and scream for relief, the whipped yogurt finally finishes coming together. Dizzy shouts something in the throes of passion, and I let out another controlled breath; clearly handling things well.
“She’s your soulmate too, you know,” Connor states, offering up a cup of tea.
“Yeah,” I mumble, “but that doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Why not?”
I busy myself opening drawers and cabinets, getting out utensils and plates to set around the island. Connor places a hand on my arm, grabbing the attention I was trying to avoid giving him.
“Monty. Why not?”
Walking around, not looking him in the eye, I place the settings in front of each bar stool. “I don’t know; I don’t know how to do any of this. What if I waited too long to make a real move and there isn’t any room left for me? What kind of move was I even supposed to make?”
Somehow, after the night we captured David, Dizzy and I drifted awkwardly apart. Me, too worried with keeping the household running smoothly, and her with plenty of... alternative company. The distance between us grew wider; no needs left for me to fill. It’s gotten easy enough to fall into the platonic routine of supportive caretaker, as always.
Connor huffs a small chuckle, smiling ever so slightly. “You’re an idiot,” he says, while grabbing some of the silverware.
My eyes widen at his uncharacteristically bold declaration, “Say what, now?”
“You’re an idiot,” Connor repeats evenly. “You think I knew how to do any of this? Still know how to do any of this? Doesn’t seem to have been a problem at all. And you’re an idiot if you think she doesn’t like you, or are we just pretending you two have never kissed? Haven’t had your moments where you’ve gotten all wrapped up in each other? Thrown puppy dog eyes each other’s way when you think nobody’s looking?”
I heave a sigh, “Yeah, but… Not… since. And I don’t want to risk things going wrong.”
“Monty. What could go wrong? We know about the links she has with the rest of you guys, it’s not like we’ll be blindsided again because the two of you get a little frisky while Lin loses his mind and I get stabbed a second time. Relax. It’s okay. We’re all learning here.”
“It’s not just that… What if I mess it up and things go wrong between all of us? It makes me so happy to know you’ve got a good thing with her, no way I’d put that in jeopardy. Would rather have her, have all of you, in my life in whatever amount possible than risk our family falling apart. The way things are, they’re better than fine; no need to rock the boat.” Even though I feel like a sixth wheel sometimes.
Quirking his head to the side, Connor catches my eye. “Have you bothered to ask her what she wants?”
I run my hand through my dreadlocks and sigh, “No.” He knows full well I’ve spent barely any time alone with Dizzy over the last few weeks. Ironic, considering neither of us can physically be too far apart before the bond drags us back together, sometimes kicking and screaming.
Connor motions with his hand, cooled quiche levitating from the counter to place itself expertly in the proud center of our serving area. “Maybe you should.”
“What do I even say? ‘Hey Diz, I like you, do you like me too? Want to go bang in the shower to prove it?’ Pretty sure that’ll go down just swell.” I shake my head.
“Probably not,” Connor deadpans. “But whatever you say, I’m sure she’ll understand the feeling behind it. She’s got a big enough heart that it doesn’t really matter to her if you fumble here and there. Plus, you’re both clearly into each other.”
“Yeah. You’re right, bro; should man up.” But I won’t; I know myself well enough by now. Change is hard and there’s no reason to fix something that ain’t broke. I smile warmly at Connor, hoping it reassures him and hides the terrified patter in my heart at the mere thought of taking that kind of risk.
4. Connor
“Interviews this morning?” Zeke directs at Monty, settling into a stool at the end of the counter. His shaggy brown hair is pulled back into a bun, a few loose pieces framing his tanned, angular face. The man’s cheekbones are sharper than the razor he refuses to use.
“A few,” Monty responds. “Garrett and Emmaline have been working out well enough, so it’s time to see about possibly easing even more responsibility off of ourselves. Might as well if we’re getting serious about all this shadow shenanigans.”
Zeke shrugs. “That would be helpful.”
“Why a blank slate like Garrett would be ballsy enough to work at a shop focused on magic is beyond me, but I simply adore his scrumptious get-up-and-go attitude!” Lin plucks a glistening grape from the bowl of fruit and pops it into his mouth as he slinks into a seat. “Emmaline, though, that charming empath of ours, may just about be ready to fly free to find us more charity cases on her own. She possesses a true talent for sussing out the most interesting characters that stop on by.”
“So then her training is going well?” Monty asks.
“Absolutely splendidly, darling. We’ll make a devious criminal of that cutie-pie yet!” Lin makes to swipe another piece of fruit from the bowl, but Monty smacks the back of his hand with a wooden serving spoon. The overly-dramatic man pouts, rubbing his barely pinkened flesh tenderly; as though it were even remotely wounded.
“Even the animals have better manners than you!” Monty scolds, plunking his wooden weapon into the fragrant mountain of sliced produce. Tiny droplets of sweet nectar leap skyward, begging to be set free from their half-dome of captivity.
At the praise, Aria, on the counter, stands on her back feet, black wings tucked in tight as she puffs out her tiny chest in pride. Victorious warrior receiving honorable medals. The brav
ado only lasts as long as it takes for Monty to turn his back just slightly, giving the curious creature a perfect opening to quickly pilfer her own glistening treasure from the fruit bowl. I throw a wink her way. These past few weeks have made me the sole witness to a number of her harmless crimes. She often takes to moving small objects around, or depositing them into the pockets of Dizzy’s black jacket; with or without the vibrant woman’s knowledge.
Lin grumbles wordlessly while scooping a rainbow of fruit onto his plate, which he then consumes piece-by-piece with well-manicured fingertips, licking any stray droplets of sweet nectar with a sensuous tongue. Automatically, the man pulls a phone from a back pocket of his crisp, black dress pants and begins to scroll through it; gentle taps from the tips of his fingernails composing a barely-audible rhythm. He starts to nod and make small hums of agreement with whatever text is displayed on the brightly glowing screen, lighting his devilish features from below in an almost sinister display.
Two distinctly different entrances occur almost one after the other. From above, Dizzy’s gentle humming floats down in a cheerful melody and dances along our senses, flitting from one chipper note to the next with the excitement of a new day. Aria launches herself from the counter and pumps her bat-like wings until she lands in a well-practiced way on Dizzy’s shoulder. The creature curls herself into the hood of the sunny woman’s jacket; long, voluminous, black tail curling possessively around Dizzy’s gold-toned neck. Skipping the rest of the distance from the stairs, Dizzy greets each of us with a tender touch and kiss to the cheek, reactions varying from almost distracted acceptance to enthusiastic welcome.
Surprisingly, Lin, the eternal flirt, lands himself firmly in the former category; phone in hand taking greater precedence over the woman settling herself into the seat between us. Her drenched purple curls slap heavily against my arm as she rests her head on my shoulder. I return a kiss, gently depositing it on the crown of her head as our fingers automatically intertwine themselves like vines twirling together around a home.
Behind us, the glass door screeches open painfully as it slides along its metal track with greater force than intended, repeating the sharp noise as it’s slammed back into place hard enough to reverberate through the entire house. Kieran storms up to us, footfalls heavy enough to crush anything in his path. Once he reaches the kitchen island, he swivels on the balls of his feet, nostrils flaring widely, scowl firmly in place. His enormous arms are crossed, heaving breaths making them rise and fall against his broad chest.
“I’m sorry.” Kieran huffs out gruffly, not at all convincingly, especially given the magma boiling behind his glare as his laser focus burns a hole through Dizzy’s forehead. Her eyes barely have time to lock with his before he reaches his hand directly into Monty’s ornately-layered quiche, crudely scooping out a fistful of the tender, eggy mixture and shoving it into his face as he pivots, storming off. This time, Kieran’s thunderous footfalls rising up the stairs are followed by the booming clap of a door slamming shut. He is a thunderstorm working its way up to a tornado; swirling and fierce and destructive, not particularly caring what damage it leaves in its wake.
“He is not okay,” Zeke states plainly.
Mouth agape, eyebrows pinched together highly in the center, Monty is crestfallen as he looks at the enormous crater in his perfectly set, pastry-cradled masterpiece. “My quiche,” he whispers despondently.
Wisely, the majority of the meal is spent in careful silence as we politely use our utensils to properly and delicately consume what hadn’t been damaged in the drive-by cyclone. The most prominent noises small gasps and hums from Lin as he furiously tends to the contents of his cell phone.
5. Lin
At first glance, every crackpot is just some loon who hit the crazy sauce a little too hard. It’s easy to lump them together and take for granted that it’s all noise worth filtering out.
Except what if it isn’t?
Weeks ago, while trying to identify the shadow we now know is David, a former… acquaintance, as it were, of our most delicious dumpling Dizzy, I stumbled onto some more ‘obscure’ sections of the internet. Parts where the weirdos and conspiracy theorists seem to cluster and let their often absurd conclusions stew into something truly abominable and ridiculous.
I’ll admit that at first, I kept an eye on them out of desperation for any answers whatsoever, but stuck around for the sometimes fantastical and hilarious tales. Such amusements as one poster who claims an entire bog in the south is completely overrun with footwear that croaks and swims and hops about but has been largely hidden from humanity for years. Then it became almost an addiction, keeping up with the discordant symphony of chatter and buzz.
Being a musician at heart, though, I didn’t filter out all the noise. Every now and then, I found a tune buried deep inside the chatter; one that rang a little truer than the others. Beneath ridiculous, superficial rantings accusing swaths of the West coast of concealing underground bases built by alien armies, constructed so cosmic scientists may observe us on our own turf, more realistic notions began to peek through.
Things like the curious, unnoticed, and increased disappearances of multiple people in both our area and beyond, particularly non-magical blank slates. Curiously, there are similar accounts noting swaths of previously missing people suddenly reappearing, but returning wholly changed; entirely devoid of former thoughts and emotions.
There’s even one poster, who calls themselves Whisper, claiming they have proof of a sinister network that branches farther than any we’ve seen before. They report power-increasing drugs being tested on the streets, responsible for large swaths of fatalities among vagrants and junkies that nobody cared for anyway. Whisper also indicates that a respected community leader is at the core of multiple of these plots, being the catalyst for quite a few seemingly-unrelated incidents.
They even claim that the network they’re tracking works in the shadows, in more ways than one.
The thing is, this Whisper character is the least crack-potty of the crackpot’s I’ve come across, and their theories are always somewhat more believable than most. Somewhat. I’m not sure if this makes them more or less dangerous for presenting their conspiracies with a generous dollop of validity. More dangerous, I’d wager.
As we climb into the SUV and make our way to The Tea Kettle and Cauldron, I take a chance and message Whisper directly. If they really do have proof of some nefarious shadow-based organization, it’s possible such information could give us an advantage if it’s related. And if not? If I’m inviting inquiry from one of the more manipulative crackpots in the deep dark conspiracy tunnels? Worst case scenario, I chase rabbits down a hole for a bit.
I hear they’re all mad down there. Sounds perfectly homely, to be honest.
6. Dizzy
I’ve really come to love working at The Tea Kettle and Cauldron with the guys, even if sometimes the questions we get are dumber than a third generation, inbred brick from The Sack of Dumb Bricks Corporation. That’s when the dumbness really reaches its richest density.
Most days, I start off helping Connor bake some tasty treats for the tea counter, then pop out for a run with Kieran and Monty, help Lin mix teas for the drink rush, and flit between the bits and bobs or Monty’s clinic. It’s kind of weird to almost have a stable rhythm to the day, when up until recently, it was essentially the nonstop chaos of Aria and I fleeing scene after scene of our latest crimes. Well, and by “crimes” I mean “accidents we couldn’t easily solve or apologize for so had to get the heck out of dodge before the coppers caught up with us.”
I wonder why they’re called coppers? And the top brass? Were all police people originally steam-powered robots made of different metals, tasked with keeping citizens both in line and protected via their iron fists? Did they also have iron fists?!?!? Woah! Bet I just cracked the code on police force origins right there. If their fists are real iron, then it totally makes sense why it’s a police FORCE and not a gentle police suggestion. No, n
o need to look it up and fact check, this is clearly the real truth buried under whatever other truth is advertised. Don’t prove me wrong! Robo-cop’s on the lookout!
What was I thinking about?
Realizing I’d sort of zoned out for a bit there, and that my tongue was most definitely sticking out of my mouth… I look up. Oh boy. Yeah, great first impression there, Dizzy.
“You’re fine,” Zeke whispers at me.
“Is she, though?” Asks the person in front of us, dressed to the nines in fancy business wear.
Where did dressing to the nines come from? Wouldn’t you want to dress to the tens? It’s a better number. Or the millions! The zillions! The infinities! Beyond! Dressing to the nines isn’t nearly big enough to describe what fancy looks like. Not in this universe or any other! ...Oops. Off track again.
“No, really, are you sure she’s not broken?” They ask again. I realize it’s not exactly professional to zone out while you’re supposed to be conducting a job interview, but I’m like infinity and beyond percent sure it’s super rude to imply your interviewer is malfunctioning! ….Right?
“Yes, you are correct,” Zeke replies to my thoughts, crossing his arms with a scowl. “This interview is done. You are not hired. Goodbye.”
My hero.
The snooty-snoot nines-dresser scoffs, “Fine. Wouldn’t want to work with a bunch of lowlife cretins like yourselves anyway.” They get up, swiping a printed resume off our table and somewhat indelicately stamping away.
Watching with my head cocked to one side, “What? I wasn’t doing anything too weird, was I?” This is our like billionty-zillionth interview this morning and because I’m a bonus body in the shop, they’ve had me sit in on a bunch of them. Much to my delight and slight embarrassment, Aria’s tormented a couple of the people who’ve set themselves before us, helpfully ending a few of the meetings early! She’s also my hero.
