by Kat Quinn
“Monty’s fine,” Zeke comments.
“Yup. Fine. All fine here!” Monty’s normally honey-smooth, deep voice is stretched with high-pitched squeaks he tries to hop, skip, and jump over quickly so we don’t notice. It doesn’t work, despite the verbal sprinting. Guiltily, I try to let go and slip my hand away, but Monty refuses, clasping his own more tightly around mine. Clearing his throat, “Completely fine,” he says, much more convincingly. “And I believe you asked for the best recipe of the best thing, yes? It’s impossible to choose, though I’d be happy to tell you a list, but even happier to show you.” Just slightly, he loosens his grip, point proven that I’m not to let go simply because I’m the strongest business wrestler in the land. He can handle it. “When this is all over, cook with me?”
Eyes still closed, my smile stretches to meet them as I nod. “Spending time doing fun stuff together AND getting a tasty reward out of it? Yes, please!” Warmth tingles through my body, making me feel all full and happy on the inside.
Unsure of when it stopped, I suddenly notice the absence of mechanical buzzing. Cautiously, I crack one eye open and dart an exploratory glance at—and then away from—my own wrist.
Coast clear, cap’n! Open the curtains, let in the light!
With glee, I hold my newly-inked skin up for inspection. In a ring around my wrist are maybe a dozen small, dark brown diamond shapes with plus-sign cutouts in negative space, my own caramel skin tone crossing their centers. They make their way completely around my arm in a loop, with one notable exception. On the inside of my wrist, right where the guys have their circle-and-line thingies that bound us together, I’ve got one of my own. Sort of. Theirs are two overlapping circles with a line going through them, then a bigger circle containing the whole thing. Mine are six overlapping circles basically forming a flower, with lines crossing through the center of any opposite each other, like an asterisk right in the middle. All contained within that bigger circle.
“Le gasp!” I exclaim, “I’ve got one now, too!” Gently, I run my finger over the design, shocked to find it isn’t even remotely tender. Then I remember that Monty’s power always feels warm and tingly and realized he must’ve healed me while I was distracted. Sneaky, sneaky.
“That should connect us further, so long as we all bare the mark,” Zeke explains. “Just need to apply one to Kieran,” he pauses. “And Connor.”
The mood threatens to be immediately dour, but a part of me is really sick of moping. Last night, practically grieving myself into a puddle was more than enough. It’s time to be certain and get shit done.
Changing the subject, “Hey, where is Kieran, anyway?” I ask. “He better not have gone to the movies without us!”
Lin sputters, shaking his head with a laugh. Monty’s brow furrows in confusion, Zeke’s head tilts in curiosity.
“Kieran is scouring the property for metals to be infused within his tattoos. While shifting removes any adornments he has upon his person, we’ve had success with depositing metal-based tattoos directly into his dermis without incurring harm. It likely is an advantage of his alchemical capabilities,” Zeke explains.
“Yes, Love, I very much doubt our burly wolf would spend his time attending the cinema at this precise juncture,” Lin humors.
“Good!” I croon, “Because at least one of you hunks owes me dinner and a movie like some kind of normal date and, it would totally be unfair if you were watching all those premiers without me!” Flipping a chunk of purple curls over my shoulder like the boss ass sassy bitch I totally am, “I’ve earned it.”
Lin rolls his eyes, but he knows I’m right. I totally deserve to be pampered and shit. Plus, they’re all way happier in the presence of my goofy ass self, and I’m glad to see not a one of them frowning or grumpy.
But also, for real, they better be planning some excellent activities for when the gang’s all here.
57. Monty
After much debate, we decide it might be best to go in quick and quiet, but prepared for explosions if things don’t go our way. With a sigh, I run my hand through my dreadlocks for what isn’t even close to the first time. If Connor were here, we could just cast an illusion and go in undetected. Heck, if the shop hadn’t gotten smashed up we could scrounge around for a bottled illusion and use one close enough to what we need. But if Connor were here, we wouldn’t be going out there to get him anyway and this thought train wouldn’t have had steam to leave the station.
The gentle tug at my wrist from Zeke’s hag stone bracelets is reassuring, in it’s annoying, somewhat demanding way.
“Only take what you can carry, less if you can spare it,” Kieran instructs. “You need to be prepared for the idea that at some point, all you’ll have is yourself and none of the extra shit you’re trying to rely on. We don’t know what they have in store for us, and I’d bet my left leg they know we’re coming eventually. Be on alert for anything, and don’t keep quiet about a goddamned thing, even if you think it’s stupid or small. We stick together, we watch each other’s backs, and we don’t let these bastards get the fucking jump on us ever again. Understood?”
Lin gives a jaunty salute, “Aye aye, cap’n.”
“Understood,” I confirm.
With a look of determination, Dizzy clasps her hands together, nodding once. “Got it!”
Zeke nods wordlessly.
“Alright then you youngins, time to get this show on the road!” Miss Fern twirls a jewel-topped cane cheerfully, pale yellow light refracting through its chiseled planes. “Pile on in to the ol’ grandma mobile, they’ll never suspect a trendy group of derelicts like you’ll come stormin’ in from a wood-paneled minivan!” She jabs the tip of her cane into the ground with a loud thunk, both hands weighing down on its jeweled top. “Plus, she’s got a fair few shields and things I like to take with me for just such occasions. Never know when you won’t want someone to know what you know!” Cackling to herself like she’s made some great joke, Miss Fern toddles the few steps over to her granddaughter, who’s none too pleased with the plan.
“Grams…” Lilly says, arms crossed, pouting through a scowl.
“Now don’t you start up with me again, Lilly Pad, you wish your grams a good trip and get the place ready for our special guests. This family has a duty and you know it, dear!” Reaching one dark-skinned hand up, she taps Lilly’s cheek gently, brightly-colored costume jewelry clinking together merrily with the gesture. “I love ya, girlie, now do us proud. Try not to get up to anything I couldn’t get away with.” She winks cheekily.
Scoffing, “Grams, you could kill a man and nobody would blink an eye,” Lilly retorts.
“And I have!” Miss Fern exclaims gleefully, “So it looks like that bar has pretty much been blasted to smithereens!”
Rolling her eyes, “Yeah, Grams, you’re the real wild one in this line. Don’t think there’s much chance I’ll get into too much trouble without you.” Peeved attitude aside, Lilly still stoops down low to give her grandmother a quick hug. “Keep these idiots safe, will ya, Grams?”
Miss Fern winks again, “Anything for you, Lilly Pad.”
With a few scant inches between the beaming old woman and mildly cranky younger one, Dizzy leaps, tackling Lilly in a fierce hug. “We’ll be back before you know it, snackin’ on brownies and gossiping about boys, and daring rescues, and where we’re headed off to next!” They spin around, Lilly’s long, shimmering-silver ponytail trailing behind. “Muah!” Dizzy exaggerates a kiss on Lilly’s cheek before pushing back and leaping away from the hug.
“Alright, everybody ready?” I ask. “Lil, you sure you’re okay to watch Stubbs while we’re out?”
Lilly flicks her hand dismissively, “This cutie-pie?” She eyes the little white Frenchie, currently panting happily at my feet, “He’s probably got better manners than half of us, Monty. I’m sure we’ll be fine. No promises I won’t spoil him rotten and win his loyalty by the end of the night, though!”
Squatting down to give the excitabl
e pup some vigorous head scritchens, “You be good now, Stubbs. No crazy puppy parties while we’re gone, okay?” He responds with a cheerful yip, flopping over onto his side for some farewell belly rubs.
“Hey! Where’re you goin’?!” Dizzy yelps. Looking up, I just catch the end of Aria having leapt from Dizzy’s shoulder, onto Lilly’s. “You little fuzzbucket, we’re a team, whaddaya mean you’re sticking with them?”
Aria chitters a response, something that decidedly seems to be telling Dizzy to shut up and just accept it because the “little fuzzbucket” is going to do what she damned well pleases, and what she pleases is staying behind.
Harrumphing, “Fine, you’re the boss, obviously,” Dizzy accepts. “But I don’t know how long it’ll take us to get wherever we’re going, so… I’m gonna miss you… is all.”
Aria hums in response, sitting up tall on Lilly’s shoulder, spreading her leathery, black wings wide. In a way, it seems like an admission of love and the utmost confidence in her human counterpart.
One knee popping audibly as I stand, “Well then, we’d better get on the road before we start coming up with more excuses to lose time.” Looking to the older woman, already waiting patiently by the door with a warm smile while resting both hands on her cane, “Miss Fern, if it’s okay with you, I’d be happy to take the first shift driving.”
“Oooh, I just knew you were gonna ask that, and let me tell you, Monty, boy am I relieved not to be the one piloting that old clunker!” Snatching up the keys from inside her purse, “She pulls a little to the left, but I know you’ll do just fine,” Miss Fern advises while tossing them over.
As we pile into the slightly battered, deep-green minivan with wooden side panels, Lilly waves us off with a slight tightness between her brows, despite the almost steady smile on her face.
58. Lin
Miss Fern and Dizzy yammer on to each other excitedly from the backseat, both exuberant in their wild hand gestures. Kieran sits alert in the middle row, eyes catching every single movement teasing him from outside the windows. The entire van is vibrating with how forcefully he’s stamping his foot against the floor, an aggressive pace which has only increased over time.
Beside him, Zeke scrutinizes his existing jewelry, plucking and un-plucking glittering stones and bands from all around his person, some more than once.
Unsettled, I flick through the radio, no station holding my interest for longer than a song or two at maximum. There’s a storm inside my gut that requires a blend of hardcore metal and strenuous classical music to be expressed, but no such magical creation seems to come forth from the speakers. The only thing that settles my nerves is the pulling sensation from one of the bracelets on my wrist. Between all these tattoos, bracelets, and necklace, I’m starting to think Zeke’s made an unintentional claim on me, the sly dog.
Untucking it from beneath my collar, I flick at the milky stone around my neck, letting a small smile curve my lips.
“You worried?” Monty asks, eyes still firmly on the road.
“Nope!” I cheerfully reply, popping the “P” loudly. The radio dial click-click-click-click-clicks as I turn it back and forth.
“Of course not,” he concedes. “Why would you be worried, after all? We’re a bunch of kick-butt heroes off to save the day, nothing could possibly stand in our way.”
“Precisely,” I agree, growling slightly at the radio before slapping its digital display and slamming my back against the seat in defeat. It’s ridiculous that radio even still exists with how poorly every station seems to be curated! How can they possibly keep suckering sponsors into keeping them alive?
“Hey, now!” Miss Fern scolds from the back seat, “Don’t you go hittin’ my sweet ride just because you got your panties all in a bunch!”
“Sorry,” I mumble, sulking. The old woman lets out a high-pitched hmph of victory, having thoroughly scolded me into submission.
“Biggest thing I’m worried about is that he’s hurt or dead,” Monty says offhandedly. “He’s my little brother, I’m always gonna worry about him. But I also know he’s survived more pain and torture than most of us could ever imagine, and you know that better than most. Connor’s stronger than we give him credit for, I think. I hope.” He almost whispers the last part before clearing his throat. “And we know he’s not dead because we wouldn’t feel the tug if he was, would we?”
“Bah,” I dismiss. “Why should I possibly have thoughts to the contrary? Like you said, we’re a quite capable group, and he’s a quite capable young man. The odds are invariably in our favor.”
Peeking at me slyly out the corner of his eye for just a moment, “I can’t help but worry about the people I love, even if it doesn’t make much sense. Their health and happiness matter to me, sometimes more than I’m willing to admit.”
Scoffing, “Well, that sounds like a terrible problem for you, now doesn’t it?” I pull the crisp white sleeve of my shirt down, fingers surreptitiously grazing against the hag stone bracelet whose effect tugs at a thread woven through my soul. Jostling it twangs the thread, its unnerving and steady presence a comfort. “I’ve none of the same concerns, of course.”
“Of course not,” Monty agrees, returning his focus to the road ahead.
59. Kieran
How fucking long are we going to be stuck in this goddamned minivan? Smells like baby powder, and moth balls, and fake flowers in this rickety-ass piece of shit. Miss Fern doesn’t smell like an old lady, but her ride sure as fuck does—enough so I’m ready to report it to the police for assault. Doesn’t help that means one of my senses is practically useless if we’re being tracked.
Maybe I’m imagining it, maybe it’s not nearly that bad and being cooped up in this metal box for a whole damned day has got me blowing things out of proportion. Or, maybe the scent’s so thick it’s permanently stained the inside of my nostrils and I’ll never be able to shake it. Maybe everything smells like an old lady now.
Maybe I smell like an old lady now.
I’ve got to get out of this fucking van.
“Up for another pit stop?” Monty calls over his shoulder. “I could use a break.”
“Yes. Fuck, yes!” I practically shout, rabid at the opportunity.
Based on everyone else’s responses, looks like I’m not the only one with steam to blow off.
The next few minutes pass like an eternity, my eyes no longer scanning for threats but for the sweet promise of a rest stop, or at least a particularly roomy shoulder on the side of the road. I’m about ten more good huffs of this granny scent away from just jumping out of the moving van and letting the rest of them figure out the car shit without me.
Eighth huff, and a rest stop rolls into view; a beautiful, wonderful, grunge-crusted oasis come to give us sanctuary on this long, torturous road. The overflowing trash cans, sticky soda spills, rainbow oil slicks, unattended bathrooms, and questionably functional gas pumps have never been a more welcome fucking sight. And smell.
Monty rolls us up to a pump, one of the lights overhead flickering irritatedly; a poor defense against the pitch-black night. “Let’s take 20, stretch, grab a snack, drop the kids off at the pool. Whatever we need.”
I’ve already launched myself out the door before he’s finished, running fast as far as I can towards the trees the small rest stop carved itself a place between. Each step further away becomes a breath that’s easier to inhale. Surprisingly, it takes less than 20 seconds to shake the scent that’s been driving me crazy on top of everything else, oppressive odor all but nonexistent as soon as I’m a few paces away.
Doesn’t matter, I still need to move. Being shoved into such a small space for so long makes my skin itch. Need to shake off the feeling of being trapped; I fucking hate that feeling. And even if my nose isn’t being pummeled by that fucking scent, it’s still rattling around in my brain, throwing me off my game and making a mess off the stress ball being squeezed in my gut.
The only available plan, I shove my whole damned face str
aight into a fucking shrub, relishing the putrid scent of dog urine and a partially decomposed squirrel. If it were up to me, I’d rub my whole damned body in the shit just to beat back the very idea that I’ll be trapped inside old lady hell for all eternity. Even I know that would be pretty fuckin’ rude considering it would just take my problem and force it on everyone else. Plus, we don’t know how much longer we’re going to be in that hellbox for and I don’t want to risk being ripe enough to become a liability, especially if it means they ditch me and continue on mission with one man down.
For good measure, though, I do yank up a fistful of nearly-mummified grass and rub my cheek against it. And the other. Back and forth, back and forth, as though my muzzle were digging hard into the ground, swapping scents. It’s soothing, enough so that I lose myself in the act, slowly hunkering further and further down while giving myself over to the instinct.
“Uhh… You havin’ yourself a little crazy time there, Beefcake?” My head snaps up, sights lasering in on Dizzy, thumbs hooked into the pockets of her black jacket, leaning slightly forward to peer at me curiously. “You bolted out of there like your ass was on fire. Thinking about it now, that could have made following you one heck of a big, charcoal-y, blazing BBQ of mistakes, and boy am I glad that’s not it at all! Uh, but… Y’know, what’s… uh… Going on here? Should I leave you two alone?” Dizzy asks, indicating the thoroughly abused strands of grass nearly ground into my hands.
Swiftly, I drop them, standing up straight and clasping my hands behind my back; a school child caught sneaking treats before dinner. “Nope.”
There’s a long pause as I watch her watching me, watching her. “Oh, okay then. Well… uh… You good?” She cocks her head to the side even further.
Subconsciously, I rub at my nose with the back of a hand. “Just trying to get away from that fucking smell,” I say. “It was covering everything else up, fucking hated how deep that shit went.”
