There was an unanticipated logistical problem with the chairs. There were plenty of chairs, such as they were, just not enough flat surface at the correct height to sit in them while eating. Noting the state of things, with plate in hand, Mordecai peeled off to eat with the kids. It wasn’t like he had, you know, a friend at the table to sit with.

The General thought that was quite appropriate for him, but when she expressed her intention of having her meal standing up in the kitchen, Calliope got upset, and then further solutions needed to be discussed.

Meanwhile, Hyacinth sat down at the table and ate shredded turkey with a bent fork. It wasn’t like anyone was gonna say grace, or whatever. They’d already left out porridge for Iron John, and cereal for Violet. The gods knew people in this house were practical.

Most of the time.

Calliope went after her art table, and both Chris and Ann went after Calliope. “It’s all right, sweetheart, sit with Lucy, we’ve got it.”

“Uh,” Chris said. Calliope’s art table had changed since he’d seen it. There were demonic-looking symbols etched into the underside of it, black like they’d been burned with a cauter. Also, this room was completely mental, worse than Calliope’s apartment with the beanbag chairs and the three-legged table. There were lighted paper lanterns hanging on nothing.

The table actually said “fold here” (literally, the material_wood folds_90° here_{specified vertical axis}) in magical notation. Milo carved it out and Calliope coloured it in with a permanent marker so it would look “cool.”

Ann picked up the table and “folded there,” then tucked it under her arm.

“Uh,” Chris said, backing away. The large woman in the lavender dress and red high heels looked about as mental as the room.

“Chris, do you mind if I ask you something?” Ann said softly.

“Uh… uh…”

She drew a step nearer. “A friend of mine was wondering…” She didn’t know how much Calliope had told Chris about Milo and she didn’t like to emphasize about being two people around strangers. It made them uncomfortable. More uncomfortable. “If… If you’re sad it didn’t work out with you and Calliope.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking. He turned away slightly and nodded in the general direction of the floor. “Yeah. I mean… Yeah. It’s not… I didn’t want…” He sighed and shook his head. “I couldn’t make her, and… and it probably wouldn’t have been good. You know?” He glanced up at her.

Ann nodded warily.

You better have a reason and it better not be anything about Calliope being less than awesome because she’s not.

Milo, I can’t listen to both of you at the same time. Please.

“…If she wants to be friends it’s okay,” he said. He laughed. “I’m scared because I don’t know what she wants half the time… But she’s really great, you know? I missed her. Yeah.” He nodded to himself. “She sees things, you know? We’re just better like friends — if she wants,” he added quickly.

Ann nodded again and smiled. “Milo would like to try eating chocolate cake near you for dessert,” she said.

Chris staggered back a pace. “Oh, you’re… That’s you. I thought you were that pink guy.”

Ann sniffed and picked up the table again. “Cerise is a woman, Milo and I are not. Do try to keep up.” She nudged him aside. “But it would be polite of you to call me a girl because I am wearing a dress and I don’t like getting punched in the face or my hair cut off.”

“Oh, my gods, I’m sorry,” Chris said.

“Don’t make too much of it.” She smiled again and shrugged. “It’s easy to get confused. I don’t mind, and I don’t think Cerise does, either, if it’s honest confusion. But I’d think Calliope would’ve mentioned if Milo and I were pink.”

“Did she mention I was blue?”

“That is a fair point, Chris, dear. Thank you. Will you help me straighten this table out once it’s in a good place? It’s missing the hinges and it sticks dreadfully…”

When they had negotiated the table into the front room, it turned out the damn thing didn’t quite do “flat” anymore, despite the optimistic “90°” in the magical notation.

The General reiterated her intention to eat in the kitchen. Calliope got more upset and began issuing demands. The General ended up picnicking in the children’s area with Mordecai, as well as Calliope, Chris, and Lucy.

Florian, who had been eyeing one of the upholstered chairs with the idea of either putting his plate on the end table or eating out of his lap, decided to go ahead and join the crowd in the too-small dining room. Technically he was Hyacinth’s guest, and if he sat on the floor with the kids he’d end up staring at Erik’s eye the whole time and that wasn’t okay.

That left Flo, Ann and Cerise, Sean and Ivan at the table when Hyacinth got up and edged past all of them to dish herself seconds.

This was all well and good for the sociable crowd at the table, slightly less so for the kids who now had to cope with adult supervision, and for Chris, whom everyone seemed to be staring at for whatever reason.

Lucy was thrilled to have a flat surface and a blanket to lie on, and Calliope gave her some of her toys, even if she couldn’t do much playing yet. She looked like a child sacrifice with a half-circle of soft worshippers sitting around her. She smiled and cooed.

Mordecai swallowed a doubtful mouthful of mashed potatoes and said, “There is no glass in those glasses.”

“They’re kind of a fashion statement, Em,” Calliope said.

“I’m not quite picking up what they’re saying,” Mordecai said.

Calliope shrugged. “It looks different.”

“You gotta have a gimmick!” Soup volunteered. “I have a hat, personally. And the bow tie.” He adjusted it. It got grease on his hands — which he had washed at Maggie’s request — when he did so. She rolled her eyes.

“…Gypsy,” Erik managed, just a bit too late to be coherent. He sighed and ate cranberry sauce. Yeah, talking is not happening. Just smile and nod.

Chris glanced uncomfortably at Erik. “Uh…” He pushed up the fake glasses, not that it did any good. “Mars, did they let you do that to the outside of the house?”

“Which house?” Calliope said.

“Our home is painted up like some kind of avant-garde nursery school because,” the General said.

“Oh, I went to one of those,” Calliope said, nodding. “They taught me to play silent piano!”

“…as I was saying,” said the General. She was sitting cross-legged like a corpulent god, but not one of the nice ones, and somewhat out of breath due to her stiff clothing and the restrictive position. “The odd decorative choice resulted from an attempt by a very irresponsible young man, whom Hyacinth repaired, to make some kind of restitution.” She frowned at Chris. “His incompetence is manifest. This occurred before Miss Otis came to live with us, as a result of a situation you no doubt recall.”

“I could, uh,” he said. He looked away. “Glue some furniture to it, I guess…”

“That would be awesome!” Calliope said, spraying crumbs of buttered crescent roll. She snickered and covered her mouth. “Sorry. It’s good.”

“I don’t think that would accomplish much, do you?” the General said, almost sweetly. “At least the young man with the paint was able to rid us of the graffiti on our wall.”

“Alimony,” Mordecai said in a low voice.

“He has a cough,” the General said. “It is incurable.”

“You guys can’t get married, Em,” Calliope said. “You don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“You kinda have my kid, Mars,” Chris said softly. He glanced sideways at Lucy. She didn’t seem coloured, not even like one of those pale pink ones who could pass. But that didn’t mean… It never occurred to Calliope to lie about anything, so it wasn’t that. They just got lucky, that was all. He sighed.

“No I don’t,” Calliope said. She put down her plate and picked up Lucy. “I have my kid. We already talked about that. It’s like the Little Red Hen. I made it, it’s mine.” She frowned and looked over Lucy’s shoulder. “Are you sad ’cos she’s cute?”

He shook his head. “I… I’m glad she looks like you.”

“Happy,” Mordecai said. “The original meaning of the word ‘happy,’ is to be lucky. This is why we say unlucky people are hapless.”

“Happy,” Chris said.

Calliope spared an arm from Lucy and slung it around Chris’s shoulders. “Em, if you wanna beat up on somebody’s Anglais, go talk to Ivan, he won’t understand you. Is there something you need?”

“More crescent rolls,” Mordecai said. He stood with no more than the usual amount of creaking. “Christoph? Come with me. They’re… heavy.”

Erik got up. Quickly. He had less leg and more cartilage to work with.

“No, no, dear one. Christoph is… taller.”

Soup nudged Erik, “That thing with the words runs in your family, doesn’t it, Eyeball?”

“Soup, I swear to the gods,” Maggie snarled. “I invited you!”

“Joint effort, Mags,” Soup said. “Erik’s idea. Deny everything, stick with your lie.”

“Stop teaching my daughter your crippled, scabrous version of ethics, please, Master Rinaldi,” the General said. “I’ve told you once.”

Soup shuddered.

“My… uncle isn’t my… dad,” Erik said, as privately as possible, and while looking annoyed.

“Coulda fooled me,” Soup said.

“Form follows function,” Calliope said with a smile. “Maggie, are you gonna eat that turkey skin?”

Ivan exploded in raucous laughter as Chris and Mordecai edged past on their way to the kitchen. He slapped a large hand on his lap. It sounded like a shotgun blast. You are so funny, Cin-ya, is it exactly like that!

“Goddamn it, Hyacinth, give me back my boyfriend!” Sean cried, laughing. But his eyes were pained.

“Sean, honestly,” Hyacinth said. “I’m not doing it on purpose, but he’s lonesome. Go to a bookstore and pick up a phrasebook so you can talk to your boyfriend. Otherwise it’s like he’s going out with a pet monkey… A cute one!” she added, just in the nick of time. As if that helped. “But, a pet. The pet part. With a silly hat.”

“The writing in those is all backwards,” Sean said glumly. “I didn’t know he liked talking. What’s he saying?”

“He’s either telling me how he grew up on a farm in the Carcosa Mountains or it’s a very involved joke about sheep that hasn’t had a punchline yet. I keep trying to tell you, I am not good at this, I’m just better than you! You want me to get Barnaby down here?” She threw up a hand to stop herself. “No, you do not. He’ll have some kind of conversation we’re due to have a week from now and he’ll be annoyed you can’t keep up. Then he’ll put gravy on your hat and try to convince you to wear it. Or eat it.”

Cerise leaned forward. She dabbed her mouth with a folded paper towel which was meant to pass as a napkin before speaking, “Hyacinth is he really… un-unwell? He seemed so… so vibrant, you know? So full of life.”

“He’s full of something,” Hyacinth said.

“Like somebody’s sweet old grandfather!” Cerise said pertly. “Like that!”

“You dress in drag and trim plants, right?” said Hyacinth.

“Alas,” said the part-time dancer. She patted her wig.

“Barnaby’s brain has gone like kudzu. The only thing that knocks it back is a magic storm, which is when you and Flo were here. Otherwise it sprawls everywhere and strangles things. Or makes you want to strangle him. About fifty-fifty, really.”

“He was an augur, wasn’t he?” Florian said. He had been gifted a leg of the Bird from 20,000 Fathoms and was negotiating it as politely as possible. The explosion had centred on the stuffing, the legs were okay. (Maggie had the other one. Erik didn’t like meat with bones in it and Soup didn’t care.) “In the war?” he said, nibbling.

“In a couple wars,” said Hyacinth. “And professionally. He knew the risks. Hell, he probably knew he was going to go nuts but he figured it was inevitable and he went ahead anyway.” She shrugged. “And he liked money and going to shows, so there’s that. After Veronica left him, he had to send her a cheque every month, but David left us everything when he died…”

Ivan reached forward and touched her hand, Cin-ya, what are you saying?

My friend who lives up attic is nuts, said Hyacinth.

“Oh,” Ivan said. Is he happy?

He is miserable but he likes it that way.

“Oh, how nice!” Ivan said.

Sean pointed excitedly. “I taught him how to say that! Well done, Ivan! What’s nice?”

Ivan patted him on the head.

Sean shook his head with a pained smile. “Damn it, Ivan. You know, Milo manages to get himself across without talking. Maybe he can teach you.”

“I don’t think Milo would like that very much, Sean, dear,” Ann said. “Ivan is so…”

Terrifying.

“…big!” She smiled. “And he simply adores you, but I think he’ll have quite enough to do with the chocolate cake and Calliope’s old boyfriend. Oh.” She covered her mouth with a hand.

“No, no, I quite understand,” he said. “Calliope has this habit of summoning things out of the sky, doesn’t she? It’s not your fault she dropped a piano on you. You deal with that and help Milo out.” Sean beamed hopefully and leaned over the table. “Cerise and Florian will be my friends, won’t you, my darlings? One of you has to like cute boys!”

Cerise tipped back her head and laughed. “No,” she replied.

“Uh,” Florian said. He dropped the turkey leg and leaned back from the table. “I don’t know what Milo’s told you, but that’s sort of a limited time thing during magic storms when my brain isn’t working…”

“Milo?” Sean said.

“Oh, dear, it’s not what you think…” Ann said.

I would’ve if he wanted to…

Milo, please do not talk over me when I’m trying to convince Sean you didn’t cheat on him!

What?

…Metaphorically! Oh, gods, I don’t even know…

Sean was grinning like a man with a toothache. “Florian, I wonder if we might open that bottle of wine?”

Hyacinth tipped back comfortably in her chair. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, Flo. None of the cabinets have got doors, you’ll work it out.”

Florian cautiously approached the kitchen. Mordecai lived in the kitchen during magic season — so, always, in Florian’s experience — lying in wait to pounce on people with ludicrous amounts of weird food. He was already getting rather full. Evidently there was a chocolate cake hiding in here in addition to the two kinds of pie he’d already noticed, so he wanted to leave room for that too.

There were, indeed, no doors on the cabinets, or even twee little curtains like some places had. Just gape-mouthed spaces with holes and splintered wood at the edges. He supposed he might clean those up for Hyacinth, but he further supposed she wouldn’t care. It was no trouble locating the gin and tonic and the wine bottle.

There did not seem to be wine glasses. He selected a warm roll off a baking sheet and had a contemplative bite of it while he tried to decide if it was worth asking Hyacinth, and if this was really a stemware kind of establishment he was patronizing.

Someone on the back stairs behind the closed door screamed, “What the hell were you thinking?”

The yellow man sauntered over, still holding the roll. It was a medic thing, screaming people belonged to him — and Hyacinth, presumably, but he was nearer. That was a response-time thing, and also a medic thing.

He opened the door on Chris, who was pressed up against the railing and leaning so far back he was about to do a half gainer over the side, and Mordecai, who was pointing a finger with a rather more vicious expression than Florian was used to seeing on him.

Oh, we’re the primary colours. It’s funny how that works out, the yellow gentleman had time to think, before the red one turned away and began coughing obvious blood into his white sleeve.

Florian bundled him in both arms and began dragging him back inside. “Okay, I don’t know what this is, but can we do it indoors? With the metal lungs and all…”

Mordecai twisted away. He cleared his throat and suppressed an urge to spit. “I can’t have this conversation inside, Calliope will hear!” He shut the door behind Florian.

“Screaming and coughing up blood isn’t much of a conversation,” the yellow man noted. “Nor is having medical repairs in the middle of dinner.” He tried a smile. “Damn it, I wanted to have cake.”

No, Mordecai was not wired to prefer feeding people to all other things at the moment, it seemed. It was too bad he wasn’t really all that familiar with this person he knew.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” said the blue… well, he was hardly more than a kid. With fashion frames. He was in shirtsleeves, too, and he hugged his own shoulders as the snow dusted his clothing and hair. “It wasn’t on purpose. We fixed it as best we could and I don’t like that all of it is on her, but I can’t fix that part, and it was what she wanted to do!”

“I appreciate that this doesn’t seem like a matter for the table, or lack thereof,” Florian said. “But if you won’t come inside I’m going to have to set one of you on fire for warmth.”

“Calliope doesn’t know what the hell she wants to do!” said Mordecai. He coughed into his sleeve again and drew a ragged breath. “She doesn’t think about things! And if you had any kind of relationship with her — and I certainly hope so! — you know that! She doesn’t think they’re going to throw her out of the hospital without even any stitches if she pops out a coloured kid — she doesn’t think people are that shitty!

“You were born this way and you grew up this way and you know better! You had no intention of sticking with her and helping her raise whatever weird kid that she doesn’t understand how to operate that you might saddle her with. You don’t have flings with white girls, there is no room for discussion on that!”

“…I’m leaning towards the one who won’t stop screaming,” Florian said dryly. “Might as well.”

“I wasn’t trying to knock her up!” Chris said. “We were doing that thing with the calendar…”

“There is a pamphlet about contraceptive charms waiting under the sink that I would like to introduce you to, as well as a large bowl of ninety-nine-point-nine-percent effective charms which, you will notice, do not have calendar dates on them!”

“That sounds very informative and I don’t know why I wouldn’t want one of those!” Chris said.

Mordecai clapped both hands over his face and screamed into them, not even words. “What is it with Calliope Marshmallow Otis and weird people?”

“I dunno, but she’s living here now, and you guys had the house like that before she moved in!”

Florian opened the door and called in, “Hyacinth, do you have any chloral hydrate?”

“The gin’s in there somewhere, Flo!” she replied without getting up.

“I suppose I could hit them with the bottle,” Florian said.

“What?”

Hyacinth did not run into the kitchen. Calliope ran into the kitchen. She shoved past Florian, grabbed Mordecai by the arm and spun him around.

“Where’s the crescent rolls?” she said.

“Oh, I have one,” Florian said. He smiled in a manner he hoped was disarming. “It’s cold now.”

Calliope wheeled on him, “You’re irrelevant, you go inside!”

“…Alrighty.”

“Don’t yell at my friends, Em!” Calliope snarled. “They don’t belong to you! I don’t want to hit people anymore, so you can just stay out here and be quiet until you’re ready to act like a human being!” She collected Chris and went inside with Flo, closing the door behind her.

“I became redundant and she fired me from the conversation,” Florian was explaining to Hyacinth. “But your friend is coughing up blood so you might want to do something about that.”

“Well, he should’ve thought of that before he decided to hurt people on purpose!” Calliope cried. She pushed Chris into the front room.

Chris recovered from tripping over the kitchen step and considered the front room. It seemed unusually loud, with all the people. And the tree. He walked into the basement and peeked out from the doorway to monitor the situation. That seemed safer.

Ann popped up like a slice of toast to deal with the scared person hiding in the basement. Those people belonged to her. Although up until this moment she had never expected to meet another one. I suppose Calliope likes basement-people. That must be it.

Calliope sat down on the blanket with a huff and put her face in her hands. She did not remove them before she spoke, “Glorie, I don’t actually want him to die, could you go get him?”

Maggie, who had been focused on Erik and Erik’s increasingly obvious dismay, turned around like victim number two in a murder mystery and shook her head with wide eyes. No, no. Not the ice pick. No. “Mom…”

The General was already hauling to her feet and heading for the kitchen.

“Mom…” but there wasn’t any way to stop it now. Like a runaway chemical reaction. “Calliope… You know how bleach and vinegar don’t go together…?”

“I like yams on my turkey, Maggie,” Calliope said absently. “You don’t have to have any. Where did Chris go?”

Soup pushed forward onto his knees and leaned in, “Erik, say something. Your head’s gonna explode.”

“…STENCIL!” Erik shrieked.

Maggie got up to get the stencil. It lived on the bookshelf with the coloured paper for drawing, except when it was vacationing in the kitchen or Room 102. She’d check the bookshelf first.

“No stencil,” Soup said reasonably. “Words with mouth. It’s faster. Drop the ones you don’t need.”

“Don’t… like… stupid!” Erik sputtered.

“Yeah, nobody like stupid,” Soup said. He waved Maggie away. “Stupid incredibly humiliating. Stupid is situation Mr. Weitz stuck with in emergency, so get used.”

“I don’t know who you’re even trying to sound like,” Maggie said, staring.

“Disadvantaged movie monster with bolts in neck take correspondence course!” Soup said.

With Maggie, the smart remarks were on automatic: “Don’t give Seth any ideas, François Stein.”

Erik broke down laughing, or crying, or both, and fell backwards onto the floor. He piled both arms on top of his head and curled up, hiding.

“Chris, dear, is there anything I can get you?” Ann said, with careful hands on his shoulders. “What about tea?”

“There’s something in your kitchen I’m supposed to read but I’m scared to go in there,” he replied flatly.

“I think we’ll just leave that, then. Would you like to sit down?”

“Why is your tree still up?”

“Well, we all caught colds on account of the poor man we had trapped in our basement, and nobody felt much like celebrating on real Twelfth Night, so we held it over a week. Like a show.” She smiled. “But I’m thinking Calliope didn’t mention anything about that or about a dozen people being here when she called you, did she?”

He stared at her. “A man in your basement?”

Ann increased the wattage of her smile. She laughed airily. “Oh, he’s fine, dear. We let him go. He lives under the bridge. That’s why we had to shut him in the basement, but we’re all very lucky the house didn’t burn down. Calliope drew him a butterfly.”

“Are you gonna put me in the basement?”

“Oh, no, dear. No. No, no, no.” Her smile dimmed as she considered. “Unless you should feel it necessary to hide under the worktable for reasons of emotional security.”

“…No thank you.”

“Well, that’s fine!”

Hyacinth had already dragged Mordecai into the kitchen and she was putting together yet another burner for tea.

“…You do realize there are special circumstances with coloured people that Calliope is not aware of?” he was saying. “I’m not losing my goddamn mind, am I? If Lucy came out like her father those idiots at the hospital might’ve called the cops… On me!” he realized, upstarting. “Oh, my gods…”

“Oh, I see,” said the General from the doorway. “You are racist. I find that surprising, but it goes along with your demonstrated lack of character.”

“I’m not racist, everybody else is!” Mordecai cried. “Doesn’t anyone else in this room get that?” He gazed hopefully at Florian.

“I’m a registered non-combatant, sir.” the yellow man said. “Do you want gin and tonic or wine?” 

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” the General said.

Florian nodded gravely, “How true. How true. I think we also have chloral hydrate…”

“You’re pissed off at him for what he did to her too!” said Mordecai. “You’re not racist, you can’t be. You’re like an electric kettle that kills things.”

“Indiscriminate,” the General agreed. “I am disappointed with the young man for his total lack of responsibility and common sense. The information on contraceptive charms is freely available to anyone with any intellectual curiosity.” She glanced sideways. “And in my estimation he is better in that respect than Calliope, so he bears a higher percentage of the blame and a lower percentage of the consequences. This frustrates me.” She frowned at Mordecai. “However, these imagined insurmountable differences you profess do not enter into the matter.”

“The hospital…”

“She went to the hospital because, for some equally inexplicable reason, you thought it was safer.”

“I… I didn’t know that about Lucy… and I didn’t know it was going to be so stupid. I don’t go to hospitals…”

“Is it possible you assumed they must be better because coloured people are often not allowed in them?” the General asked sweetly.

“Would you please be aware that this ‘racism’ you’ve so gleefully discovered in me is not the only thing impairing my intellect?” Mordecai said. “I’m happy you’ve found a Yule present you like, but it’s time to put it away and be serious.”

“I know why he wanted her in the hospital and we don’t need to get into that,” Hyacinth put in.

“If she hadn’t met us, if we weren’t there to take care of her,” Mordecai said, “she would’ve had to go to that place anyway. She was planning to. If she had a coloured kid, they could’ve punted her out on the street. No stitches. No medicine. No recovery. And she had no idea that might happen. Do you get that, Brigadier General D’Iver, with the easily offended sense of justice?”

The General briefly considered the image of Calliope cradling a blue newborn and bleeding on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.

She dismissed it: “No. If I had not found Calliope after her eviction, she would have gone home to her family in Ansalem. She may have spent a few nights in a doss house or a shelter, but I doubt she would have put up with the realities of either situation once the novelty wore off. She would have been unhappy to lose her paintings and had difficulty using the small toilet on the train. She would not have been homeless and wounded with an infant to mind.”

“Are you so sure her family would have been okay with a coloured kid?”

“Reasonably. Evidence suggests they are loving, financially stable and unconventional. If having the baby out of wedlock did not faze them, I doubt any superficial features of the child would make much difference.”

“Being coloured is not superficial!” Mordecai said. “Our bodies don’t work the same! Our brains don’t. Lucy would’ve attracted magic strikes and gotten attacked by dogs and been able to call gods whenever she wanted and Calliope wouldn’t know how to deal with any of that!”

“I experienced difficulty in learning to care for my daughter’s hair,” the General said evenly. “I was causing her pain,” she allowed, with a sideways glance which might have been ashamed. She discarded it like the idea of Calliope alone with no one to help her, and tipped up her chin. “But I was able to adapt and correct my behaviour. Calliope shows no deficiency in this ability. I would hazard to say she is more perceptive of the needs of others than I am.”

“This isn’t learning how to tie a new kind of braid, this is learning how to keep your kid from getting their head kicked in by a horse! And that’s…”

“…Something that would appear to be difficult for coloured parents as well,” the General said.

Mordecai quieted and turned away. He coughed weakly into his sleeve and said nothing.

Hyacinth set a cup of tea with the bag still floating in it on the counter near him. “I don’t know why we’re in here making difficult decisions about Calliope’s life which she’s already made for herself instead of out there eating the delicious food which is getting cold.”

“I’m only in here because you demanded a gin and tonic and now I can’t make my way past all the awkward conversation to the door,” Florian said.

“You work in a pub, don’t you?” she said.

“I wash dishes! They don’t let me out to tend bar!”

“Mordecai’s inability to regulate his emotional responses has diverted our evening from more pleasurable activities,” the General opined. “Even if I return to my cold food, I will no longer be able to continue needling Mister…” She paused and frowned. “‘Toph’ for the rest of the meal without Calliope noticing. I was enjoying the challenge.”

“Oh, please,” Hyacinth said. She sipped her gin and tonic. “Not bad for a dishwasher, Flo.” She toasted him and continued, “I’ve been at parties where David dumped an entire punch bowl down an opera singer’s décolletage. I’ve been at parties where he blew up a piano. I’ve been at parties where we had to get him down from the roof with a fireman’s ladder — while he was kicking. What’s a little blood and screaming? The police didn’t even show up. And we’ve still got pie.”

“I might as well have that now,” Mordecai said. “I can’t go back out there and eat. Calliope banished me until I can act like a human being.” He waved an irritated gesture. “Whatever the hell that means.”

“Maybe you’d better ask her if you’re allowed pie,” Hyacinth said, smiling.

“Since she only requested I prevent you from dying and you seem to be out of danger,” the General said, “I will depart.” She tipped them a bow before so doing.

“Who is this David?” Florian said.

◈◈◈

In the front room, Erik was sitting up and shaking his head with Maggie and Soup attending him. “It’s… so… hard,” he said. He pressed both hands over his eyes. “Everybody… right. Everybody… wrong.”

“Battle lines, et cetera,” Soup said, nodding. “A guy with a gun over…” He waved a hand and unintentionally indicated the General emerging from the kitchen. “Oh, my gods. Maggie, why’d you hafta teach me to summon things?”

“That’s not you, that’s Violet,” Maggie said. “She thinks she’s funny.”

“Stop, hey, what’s that sound,” Erik sang weakly. “Buffalo Springfield.”

Soup blinked at him. “Is he live or is he Music Vox? Erik, sing something else.”

He closed his mouth and shook his head. He was embarrassed and he didn’t get it.

“You can’t talk but you can sing,” Maggie told him. She snickered and continued with the melody, the words had the right rhythm for it: “Parlez-vous…”

Soup joined in, nodding, “Erik can talk when he can sing, parlez-vous!”

Erik began uncertainly with both hands over his face, but he hesitantly took them down as he managed the phrase without pausing, “I can talk if I can sing.” He laughed and finished the lyric, “With music I’ll say anything!”

Soup and Maggie joined him for the last bit, “Hinky-dinky parlez-vous!”

Hyacinth peeked out of the kitchen and smirked. “Chantez-vous, monsieur,” she muttered against her drink.

Ann stood up from the table where she was trying to coax dinner into a reluctant Chris and sang out in full voice, still holding a fork with mashed potatoes on it, “Oh, Mademoiselle from San Rosille, parlez-vous! Mademoiselle from San Rosille, parlez-vous! The hardest working girl in town, she makes her living upside down!”

She blushed bright pink, but before she could apologize for herself the rest of the table replied, “Hinky-dinky parlez-vous!” They’d all been through the war. The lyrics were so old they were practically quaint. Only the General had the nerve to look disapproving.

“Oh, you might forget the gas and shell, you’ll ne’er forget the Mademoiselle,” Cerise added supportively.

“Hinky-dinky parlez-vous!” said most of the room, laughing.

Ivan began to clap his hands. He added a verse with a completely different melody, “Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya! V sadu yagoda malinka, malinka moya!” Then he stopped and beamed expectantly around the table.

Hyacinth prodded them after an awkward moment, “What he said!” and lifted her hands to conduct them.

“Hinky-dinky parlez-vous!”

Sean took a quick verse and clapped along, “I don’t understand a word he said, parlez-vous. Oh, I don’t understand a word he said, parlez-vous. I don’t understand a word he said,” he grinned and nudged the larger man, “but damned if he’s not good in bed.”

“Hinky-dinky parlez-vous!”

“Mademoiselle from Ansalem, parlez-vous,” Calliope sang, dancing the baby in her lap. “Mademoiselle from San Rosille too! Parlez-vous!” she added, for Lucy’s benefit. The baby giggled. “Erik can talk if he can sing, and Lucy can be lots of things!”

“Hinky-dinky parlez-vous!”

Ann picked up the lyrics, conducting with her fork, “Erik can talk if he can sing!”

Hyacinth hushed her with a waved hand and added conversationally, “He might as well sing everything,” then leaned back with an approving smile.

“Hinky-dinky parlez-vous!”

The mashed potatoes fell off the fork and into Ivan’s flowers at the centre of the table.

“Oh, no, my dear, I’m so sorry!” Ann said. She dove after them with both hands.

Ivan laughed. Pretty much everybody laughed. The General was still looking irritated with the bawdy song. Chris looked bewildered. Ann beamed at all of them. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t make much difference.” She sat down.

Chris spoke out of the corner of his mouth in Cerise’s direction, “Do you people do this sort of thing a lot?”

“I have no idea!” Cerise said with a grin.

“Mordecai, for god’s sakes, your child is having medical breakthroughs out here!” Hyacinth called over her shoulder.

“Good for him!” came the faint reply, but he did not emerge from the kitchen.

Erik sighed. He hung his head and spoke into his lap, “It’s because of the baby. My uncle is mad at Chris because if Lucy was coloured, they could’ve thrown Calliope out of the hospital.”

“Wow,” Maggie said. Not so much about the racist hospital, more the conspicuous lack of slowing. They sang it out of him!

Calliope blinked and turned around. “Huh? Why would they do that?”

“They don’t take coloured people at Our Merciful Lord, Miss Otis,” Soup said. “It’s a charity joint, they don’t have any anti-magic stuff.”

“Ooh, I cut my hand open on a pair of pruning shears while I was doing the hedges in their goddamn courtyard and I still had to hook all the way uptown to Sol Invictus in a taxi,” Cerise volunteered, raising the hand. She pouted. “The driver was not thrilled.”

“Oh, angel, Cin would’ve fixed you,” Ann said.

“I didn’t know that then, Annie.”

Calliope blew a piece of dark hair out of her face with a huff and then raked it all back with her hand. “I am getting real sick of guys riding in on white horses to rescue me and not noticing when they run me over. At least Chris didn’t do that.” She stood and handed Lucy to the General. “Glorie, watch her a second, okay?”

“Calliope, I’ll hold her!” Ann called out, too late.

“No,” said the General. She sat down on the floor with the children. The food was, of course, cold.

“…I do not want gin in my tea and I am not going to play ‘MacArthur Park’ no matter how nicely you ask!” Mordecai was saying. “I don’t want an excuse, I just…”

“So you’re not yelling because you need something, you’re yelling because I need something,” Calliope said. She leaned one hip against the counter and folded her arms.

“What?” Mordecai said.

“Oh, my gods, I’ve left the cake in the rain,” Florian said. He edged past them and finally made good his escape, clutching multiple jelly-glasses half full of wine.

“It’s snowing,” Calliope said, frowning.

“Calliope, what happened to Chris?” Mordecai said.

“Ann adopted him,” she said. “He’ll be okay. I wanna say something about you trying to rescue me all the damn time.”

He blinked. “Yes?”

She hugged him and then set him back gently with a smile, “Thank you, please stop.”

Mordecai shook his head. He twisted out of her grasp. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can.”

She sighed. “Yeah. Okay. But could you check with me first? If you’re worried about me, could you talk to me instead of yell at the guy I broke up with seven months before I got anywhere near a hospital?”

“Calliope, he should’ve known…”

“Yeah. I should’ve too. And Lucy’s mine,” she added firmly. “I’m dumb. Do you want to yell at the dumb person?”

He shook his head, wide-eyed, “No…”

“You’re not mad, you’re scared,” she said. “I got scared too. But the scary thing didn’t happen. So it’s okay.” She smiled and snatched him by the hand, “So come finish dinner and get used to it being okay.”

“I don’t think Chris…”

“Ann’s got him at the table, you’re fine,” Calliope said. She dragged him.

“…I think we’ve got a work-around for your word problem, Eyeball,” Soup was saying. “I just don’t know if we need a chorus line following you around to sing backup.”

“I’m looking through you!” Erik sang happily. He turned his back and inquired of Maggie, “Where did he go?”

“You’re screwed now, Soup,” Maggie said. “He’s too good at music.”

“Magnificent, we do not use crude language at the table,” the General said. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “…Although there is no table, and we appear to be having some kind of semiformal indoor picnic, so we are in uncharted territory and making our manners up as we go along.”

“I’m improvising as best I can, sir,” Maggie said with a smile.

Erik put up a hand and waved in Soup’s face, “Hello, goodbye!”

“Oh, gods, Erik, don’t get them started again,” Hyacinth said. She had decided to join the children with her gin and tonic. Chris was in her seat, anyway. “Ann is not a jukebox. You don’t need to put a sol in and there’s no limit. I was hoping she’d let Milo out for dessert.”

“Hello, goodbye, hello, goodbye,” Erik sang, but much softer. He stood up quite suddenly, “Hello!” and hugged his uncle around the waist.

“Hello, dear one,” Mordecai said. “What on earth is going on out here?”

Hyacinth tipped her glass at him. “Erik found a loophole in his brain. Then we did a musical number to celebrate and you missed it. I’ve seen it work that way for stutterers, but the only experience I have with long-term brain damage is personal.” She shrugged. “If it works, it works.”

Over at the table, Sean decided that made an excellent toast, and raised his glass, “If it works, it works!”

“If it works, it works!” the others at the table answered.

“Parlez-vous,” Cerise giggled.

“Za nashu druzjbu!” Ivan agreed.

“And also that!” Sean said.

“Also that!” said the table. “Parlez-vous!”

They only sipped. Everyone in the children’s area was abstaining, but there still wasn’t much more than a glass for everyone who wanted some. If they wanted to get smashed they were going to have to switch over to Hyacinth’s discount liquor.

“And any excuse to drink with friends!” Florian said.

“Any excuse!” said the others, including Hyacinth. “Parlez-vous!”

Ann politely lifted her glass and drank, even though it was just water. It was a little too near the chocolate cake and pie for alcohol. Milo didn’t like that sort of thing.

“To hell with Our Merciful Lord!” Cerise proposed.

“Straight to hell!” Hyacinth answered, before anyone else could decide how.

“Parlez-vous?” Ivan added.

They drank.

“You know,” Ann said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, “Cin and…” She cleared her throat and cast her eyes aside. “And that woman and Mordecai made quite a lot of informative pamphlets that screamed at people for Our Merciful Lord. Sometimes I do wonder if they’re still there…”

“Do the ones in the kitchen scream at people?” Chris asked. He hadn’t had anything to drink yet, though there was a glass sitting near him.

“No, dear,” Ann said gently. “These were made especially. We were stuck in the waiting room while Calliope had Lucy, and I suppose Cin came up with an activity to pass the time. Of course, Milo was under the table with the chewing gum and the little booklet about the devil inventing paleontology at the time so I don’t know all of it…”

Cerise detected the beginning of one of Ann’s patented stories that made no sense to anyone but Ann, and she scooted to the edge of her seat with a grin. “Oh, do tell us, Annie. Spare no details.”

“Well!” Ann said.

“Well!” Florian echoed.

“Parlez-vous!”

They all drank.