Movie stars and famous people are usually excellent at public relations. Even if they are painfully shy and reclusive in their personal lives, they learn how to manage their outsized influence as a matter of self-defence. They can turn it on like a faucet — even after a decades-long hiatus, one assumes.
Carolina Bow — late of Miramar, dozens of schlock horrors and melodramas, and a few inconveniently segregated awards ceremonies — had both taps on full blast, but it didn’t seem to be making much difference. Mordecai would’ve followed her off a cliff, but his enthralled state was preventing him from making any noises that might’ve convinced the others to do so, or any human language at all.
Miss Mila, who needed no convincing, had departed to make one last international call and pack a bag from her apartment. The spy was still in the desk chair, with a set of headphones turned to the most annoying station they could find on the radio, and a sock taped in his mouth. Hyacinth had scurried off to one side, to count the bribe money and guess what sort of first-class experience it might buy them, leaving the negotiations up to Maggie and the General.
Ann was occupying a point position, hands clasped below a wide, innocent smile like a cartoon princess. One expected a bird with unnervingly large eyes to alight on her shoulder and sing a song about friendship at any moment. She, of course, thought they ought to depart for the Rainbow Alliance headquarters forthwith, and say “hi” to John. Miss Bow wanted them to come back with her, but even she was suspicious of it.
Maggie and the General were suspicious of everything, but willing to allow Ann and Milo’s yen for revenge as irrelevant background noise. If a murder attempt came from their side, they’d deal with it. Ann, Milo, and the rest of the family were known quantities. The Rainbow Alliance had an unknown quantity of four new kinds of human being, some of whom, like Marc, could still call gods. Strategically, Maggie was willing to admit, sending him along was a flex, and the Rainbows must’ve known that.
Also, they’d had access to Mordecai’s encyclopedic knowledge of Invisibles, via Erik, for over a year. They hadn’t had much time to put together a plan of attack, but the longer Miss Bow kept the enemy occupied, the more opportunity they had to put together something incredibly brilliant, incredibly stupid, or both.
Maggie and her mother were united in their unspoken desire to get rid of Marc and Miss Bow as quickly as possible, even if that meant throwing them out the window from four stories up. They were only hampered by a similar shared knowledge that their current plan of escape — trying to wrangle Erik and his damaged intellect through hostile foreign territory for over a week on a train — was also pretty darn likely to get them injured or killed.
They had already rejected transport to the Apparent Cult down the street for multiple reasons, the least of which was that they’d scare the hell out of the kids. Miss Bow was now trying to ascertain the location of any other cats or animals they might visit, hoping for someplace strategically appetizing to both sides.
“…Well, what about that husband of yours, with the boat? He must have a cat! And a radio, or something… We can call ahead so you’re expected!”
Maggie and the General exchanged a heavy glance, and Maggie deferred to her mother’s clear desire not to mention that they had a foolproof method of contacting Sanaam ahead of any prospective journey, or as a rescue in the event of a betrayal.
“I’m afraid, Miss Bow,” said the General, “that being expected is not assurance enough. While he might retaliate and do untold damage to your organization and various people you care about, that would not undo whatever you might do to us while he is sailing to our help.”
Miss Bow clawed at the air with her well-manicured hands. “For gods’ sakes, we can’t afford to send a man on a murder spree — we don’t have the resources to deal with that! We’re not suicidal!”
Maggie shook her head. “There are plenty of gods who’d rip up our minds so we can’t even remember what you did to us. You are dealing with the damage one of them caused right now!” She flung a gesture towards Marc, then blinked and peered at him. Erik was creeping nearer to him and the cat — which made perfect sense, now that she thought of it. That kid avoided conflict like a champion, she just wasn’t positive that accosting the unknown quantity with a god on board was such a hot idea either…
Erik was not only used to avoiding conflict, he had also grown accustomed to letting other people make decisions he was too impaired to understand while busying himself with Greg and Potato or a nap of indeterminate length, as needed. He had only the vaguest idea why he wanted to do anything these days, but he did think he’d prefer the company of the cat. It had only taken him this long to approach because he was afraid of the young man with the cracked complexion.
He was pretty sure he knew that kid. He even thought he remembered a name. But he was also positive he’d never met that person before in his life. He thought whoever that was in there with Greg might recognize him too. Maybe he’d be sad if Erik didn’t seem to know or remember him. Erik didn’t like to upset anyone, and he thought that kid had already been hurt and upset enough.
The cracks hardly even registered. That didn’t seem out of the ordinary. That seemed like a perfectly reasonable way for a person to be, like he had a metal eye and Lola had a metal arm. Stuff happened. Real bad stuff that people didn’t like you to stare at or make them talk about.
“Hi, Greg,” he offered, with a small wave. “Hi, um… Hi, Marc. Do you…” His intended, polite salvo of “do you have a rollercoaster in your room?” evaporated from his brain, leaving him wordless. Marc’s head had come up with a glare and a frown, things Greg never did unless animal abuse was involved.
Erik drew back with a puzzled frown of his own. He glanced at the floor, looking for a mouse or cockroach he might’ve carelessly injured. “Uh-uh-uh… Sorry…?”
Greg laughed and touched a hand to Marc’s chest. “Oh, we’re just a little upset. Don’t worry! I won’t get hurt if I fall. And my pwecious little snowflake just loves helping out so much!” He hugged the cat and rocked back and forth with it, doing the same to Marc by proxy. “We must have our adorable social needs met, mustn’t we?”
“Um, I guess…”
Marc dumped the cat on the bed with a handful of treats and approached Erik with a smile. “And are you going to have a nice widdle vacation with your family-wamily?”
“Vacation?” Erik took another step backwards, shaking his head. “Mm… Mm… Mm-mm. No.”
The frown and glare returned, but only for an instant. Greg stroked Marc’s chest with his own hand. “Oh, all right, all right.” He beamed at Erik. “So sowwy. You haven’t had any time to make fwiends, and this one is just a bit skittish. You can run around outside together all you like after I go! You like movies, don’t you, greenie baby? This one loves movies! You won’t even need tickets!”
“Uh…” Erik glanced aside, towards the obviously fruitless negotiation in progress. “Yeeeah.” He laughed weakly. “I don’t think we’re going to the same place, Greg. Sorry.”
“Aw,” Greg said. “That’s too…”
(You traitor,) Marc said. (Just give me an excuse — I’ll take you to the verdammt CIRCUS!)
Erik covered a gasp with a shaking hand and sat down. On the bed, as it happened, but he would’ve collapsed on the floor otherwise. (If only he had, Maggie would’ve noticed he needed help right now, instead of edging closer towards him in case he might need help in a minute.)
He couldn’t read minds. He could, but he couldn’t, not for the longest time, and that made everything so much easier. Everything was simple and flat, like a movie set. None of the houses had people in them, that wasn’t even what they were for.
But that wasn’t how it really was, and he was getting better.
Marc had pushed that at him… No, Marc had fired it at him, like a crazy bank robber with no trigger discipline who was going to crash the whole heist plot. But a lot more had come with it, things he knew Marc couldn’t possibly have been trying to tell him. He couldn’t have known Erik had the ability to grab him and push back — even Erik hadn’t known that, it just happened.
Erik saw Marc wasn’t observing the situation from a safe room inside of his head; nobody had ever bothered to teach him to do that. But neither was he watching Greg drive his body around while he was locked in the trunk. He was looking out the front window of a bus, sitting right behind the driver, with his thumb pressed to the tape that would ring the bell and request a stop. If he did that, the driver was going to get out, no pause or brakes or protest, just gone, like a rocket-powered ejection seat.
Someone had wired the electricity wrong — among many other terrifyingly wrong things that should’ve kept the bus from working at all. Marc had to keep his thumb jammed against the tape as hard as he could to prevent the bell from ringing.
And he wanted to let go. He wanted to dropkick Greg to the curb and come at Erik and his whole family with clawed hands and some unpredictable magic that would leave them harmlessly waiting in a small room with patient smiles forever. Or kill them, he wasn’t above that. All he needed was an excuse.
Erik whimpered and began rubbing the edge of his patch. That was a great big gift basket of pain and confusion sitting on the other bed with the cat, and he did not want to open it. Something like that would slap the words out of his mouth and the memories out of his head and then the gods alone knew what would happen. Everyone might get upset, and he could feel them.
Uh-uh, he thought. Don’t need that. Why’s a raven like a writing — No, damn it, they both make flat notes. Who wrote the Book of Love? Yeah. How many demons can we clean in the dishwasher? Pin angels. Pin angels…
Marc was glaring at him. (Was ist ‘pin angels’? Who the hell is Barnaby? What are you DOING?)
“Nothing,” Erik muttered, aloud. He shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry. Nothing.”
“Well, that’s fine!” Greg said, smiling. He knocked a hand on the side of Marc’s head. “Now, don’t be silly. Don’t fight. It’s fine.” He lifted the cat. “We’re just going to go home nicely, without hurting anyone — and see Zoe and Vita again! Yee-ess…” He dropped the cat into his lap with a frown. “Misha, we must be patient with the people-kittens. No, they’re still kittens, they’ll be kittens for a long time. Look, I’ll explain about the baby carriage. And the booties. Yes, of course the nice lady can come play, too…”
“Zoe and Vita?” Erik said. He peered at the blue collar and the metal tag. His mouth drew into a heartbroken little bow. “Misha isn’t ours?”
“Ohh.” Marc held Misha up again and turned him towards Erik. “Thank you so much for finding me and taking care of me! But, no. No. We must go back to our families.” He leaned forward and patted Erik on the head. “That’s just how it…”
“But we need a kitty!” Erik cried.
And now Maggie was on her way over, but not fast enough.
“…We’re sneaking out of a scary country with fake papers and if something goes wrong, we need a kitty so you can come help us! And… And he has a messed-up eye like me and I love…” He had grabbed Marc by the wrist, pulling the hand from his head. But now he froze, his grip tightened painfully, and his eye lost its focus.
Marc heard screaming, he felt screaming. He gave a gasp and Greg was gone, like he’d never been there at all. He pulled back, but he couldn’t pull away. Erik was holding him.
He was in the grip of a panicked, screaming wild animal and — oh, gods — he could feel how big and strong it was. It was stronger than anything he’d ever felt. It was like an elephant.
And, like an elephant, he could look into its eye and know that it was a thinking, feeling creature, just like him, and he was hurting it.
He cried out, just a panicked sound, “Uh!” and he knew what Erik was trying to say. It wasn’t meant for anyone to hear, it was an expression of sheer horror: It’s killing itself to live! It’s killing itself to live! It’s killing itself to live!…
Erik saw, felt, and intimately understood a broken machine that should not function. The gears didn’t mesh together anymore, they were grinding each other to pieces. The wires were shorted and the coils had sprung. The fuel was leaking and the electricity had set everything on fire. It ought to be shut off and mercifully silent.
But there was a hand, a person, a whole human being turning a crank with every ounce of his strength like a demented organ grinder. He wanted it to work and he was forcing it to do so, though the wires were burning and the gears were screaming. Mixed blood and oil were leaking out of the carnage — because this was a living thing that could love, and hope, and feel pain — and the machine was begging to be allowed to stop, but he wouldn’t let it. If it stopped, he would die.
But, that’s me, Marc thought. That… That’s just me. Am I that bad?
It occurred to him that he’d never felt this sort of thing from anyone who wasn’t cracked and broken like him.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached towards the huge, terrified creature that could definitely kill him.
Words unspoken and laden with inarticulate emotion, almost delirious with desperation: Find you… Pull you out of there… Help you… Make it stop… Make it…
Marc reached past them: (Hey-hey. No. Shhh. Alles wird gut! I’m okay, just…)
(DON’T TOUCH ME. GET AWAY FROM ME. I’LL KILL YOU!)
Marc blinked and breathed a nervous little laugh. That was like nothing. This animal that could crush him had batted his hand away like a kitten, with a loud hiss that signified nothing. No desire to cause harm, only a frantic need to prevent a helpless child from falling face-first against a hot stove — and the stove wasn’t even hot! Why…?
In an instant, he had it. He wasn’t wrong about the size, or the strength, but there was something wrong with the animal. It was lying on the ground, covered in cuts and bruises, with obvious marks from ropes and chains, too weak to stand. Someone had left a few ropes and chains in place, trying to keep it from standing, and they were cutting in as it struggled to pull away from the hideous thing that was tormenting it.
(Who hurt you?) Marc said, without speaking. (Who did this? Who HURT…)
It came in a flash, a series of flashes that stuttered like a telegraph. Someone grabbed his hand — a green hand, but still his hand — and forced it down on top of a battery. Again and again. There was a taste of acid, and a giddy sense of acceleration, then everything went white.
(No. It tastes like rubber and it’s purple.)
The field of white became a field of screaming, bluish-purple — they both saw it — then it snapped back to white again.
(I DON’T REMEMBER THAT!)
(No, I…)
Marc gasped and saw a medium-brown girl — like Nellie but definitely not like Nellie — holding him by the arm, so tight it hurt. It felt like she’d given him a rope burn while she was at it.
“You’re hurting him,” she said. “Back off!”
Erik’s metal eye made a noise like a coffee grinder. He lifted a hand to adjust it, but stopped halfway. He shook his head. He drew his knees to his chest, fell sideways on the bed and began to weep.
That snapped Mordecai out of his fugue state, but he was lacking all context and painfully slow. “What…?”
Mark stood up and tried to push past the girl. “He can’t remember and he’s scared…”
She wouldn’t let him past, or let go of his arm. She dragged him nearer to her and backed him away from Erik, like they were dancing a tango. “I don’t know who or what you are, but you need to get out of his head and stay out!”
“Did that guy just evict a god?” Hyacinth said, from what could’ve been miles away.
“I don’t care!” snapped Mordecai. He thumped down on the bed beside Erik and put a hand on the boy’s back. “That’s all right, dear one. Shh. You’re all right…”
Marc regarded it with a wobbly frown. Then he drew another gasp and clawed at Maggie with both hands. “You let him hurt himself! You can’t do that! You’re not taking care of him right!”
Miss Bow grabbed him and dragged him all the way to the other side of the room. He tried to get past her, too, but not with any violence. He’d pull to one side or the other and when she wouldn’t let him go, he’d stop and try another direction. “He hurt his hand,” he said quickly. “I’m not making it up! He hurt his hand, you can see it… You can’t let him do that! You have to help him… You have to take care of him!”
Marc’s adoptive grandmother held him by both shoulders and put herself between him and the others. “I’m sorry, baby. What’s going on? Where are you? What are we doing?”
“I…” He glanced around. “I-I…” He dropped his head with an exhausted sigh…
…And picked it up with a smile. “Oh! We are helping the new guy get settled, yes?” He looked over her shoulder, at Erik and Mordecai. “New guys,” he said. “Real?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You got upset and I didn’t fix it fast enough, so you did it yourself. That’s not real. This isn’t our home and we don’t know these people.”
“I know him.” Marc pointed. “That’s Erik!” He frowned. “No?”
Miss Bow nodded. “That’s Erik, but you know him because you’ve heard of him, baby.” She winced. “He can’t help us anymore and about five minutes ago, you wanted to kill him.” She put up both hands. “But if you don’t want that anymore, that’s fine. I think you were trying to remember it like you were never mad at him at all.”
Marc shook his head warily. “Show me.”
She sighed. “I can’t. We didn’t record anything, this was an emergency. But I’m not lying to you. Granny doesn’t tease about that stuff.” She offered a smile. “Please don’t make me into the bad guy. That’s only fun in movies.”
Marc slumped and lowered his voice to a chastened mutter, “I don’t like you as the bad guy. I didn’t even buy that when I saw that vampire movie, I fixed it so you got to be good.” He looked past her again. “I want to help him now. I made up a story where we get to help him. How do we do that for real?”
She turned and regarded the tiny family, gathered around their weakest member like a circle of musk oxen. “I think we have to leave them and let them go home.”
“Home isn’t with us?” Marc said, blinking.
“No, baby.” She shook her head. “We borrowed him for a while, but he needs to go back.”
“He’s tired,” Marc said softly.
Erik’s eye whirred and adjusted — he choked and sobbed.
There was a crunch of broken glass, and that whole half of the room warped into an enormous fish-eye. Marc yelped and Miss Bow gasped and staggered back against him.
“I told you to stay out of his head, you freakshow!” Maggie cried, unseen.
Marc’s expression cratered and Miss Bow scowled. “Now, there’s no need to be insulting! The boy has a radar array in his head and it is not his fault that he can’t turn it off! He just reset his whole reality trying to help you, I’d appreciate it if you could show him half as much consideration as he’s giving you.”
The blinding fish-eye wobbled slightly to one side, as if someone were adjusting a projector. Maggie peeked around the edge with a murderous frown. She pointed at Marc with her left hand — the right one was holding up the shield — and addressed Miss Bow, “Do you have any more like him at home?”
The movie star reluctantly nodded. “Oh, yes. Lots.”
“We are not going with you,” Maggie said. “We are not getting anywhere near you. As soon as Miss Mila gets back, you are going to leave — however you need to do that, I don’t care if you need to take a taxi all the way to Ansalem. We’re done.” She vanished back behind the shield spell and straightened it out.
Miss Bow turned back to Marc. “Sweetie, can you pick Greg up or do you need to go get him?”
“He’s still here,” Marc said, frowning. “He knows how it is.” He shook his head. “But I’m not letting him in until you say the kitty can stay, Granny. Misha doesn’t even like Zoe and Vita anyway — he said so himself, and Greg will tell you too. He likes the lady with the loud flower dresses who smells like coffee and vodka, but Greg can explain she’ll be okay. He can go visit her later, and Zoe and Vita and whoever else. Erik needs a friend now. He’s hurt and scared and he needs a friend.”
“He has his whole family with him, baby.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Marc smirked. “And you can’t pet them. They’re not cute.” He wandered over to the hall door and pulled it open, waiting beside it. “If they have a kitty and a smart paper, they can call us if they get in trouble…”
“Marc, honey, they’re not going to do that…”
“Yes, they will,” he said firmly. “If it’s bad enough, they will. And that’s really all that matters. Misha stays.”
Miss Mila peeked uncertainly through the open door, holding her flower-print cloth suitcase in front of her with both hands. She had her coat on, a set of snow boots, and a nice hat, seemingly hedging her bets against whatever the weather might be like where they were going. She offered Marc a slight bow.
He swept back a hand in a gesture that was vaguely reminiscent of a curtsy with a full skirt and bowed lower. “I’m sorry. I only sort of remember what we’re doing, but you seem nice and I hope you’re well.”
“Ty v poryadke?” she asked, with a worried frown.
He bowed again, more subtly, and said, “Mne zhal’. YA i moi druz’ya ne govorim po-prokovuski,” in a flawless accent that left Miss Mila looking rather flummoxed. He put up a hand with a sheepish smile. “Just a sec.” He extended the hand towards the empty space just off Miss Mila’s right and inclined his head as if asking a prospective partner for a dance. “Come on, Greg. You speak everything and your memory works. You explain. Please…?”
(You can see them?) a shaky whisper asked, as Marc ceded control over his own body and Greg began to address people in his voice.
He wanted to laugh and he did, a little, but Greg was always doing that anyway. The shield spell was enough to block him, but the huge animal hiding behind it wasn’t constrained; it was stronger and smarter than that. It could just go around, or, if it really wanted, through.
He responded silently, anything more and he’d lose the god again, (I can’t see. I have a radar. Gods go ‘ping,’ just like real people. Greg is here, and before the girl put up the shield, I ‘ping’ David on the ledge outside the window, and Cousin Violet hiding under the bed. I could pick either of them up if I wanted, but I don’t. I don’t need to see. You can see them?)
The shaky whisper was scared to get close enough to be understood. (Hurt.) It wasn’t asking for help or offering, it was trying to explain with as little contact as possible: You are hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you more, because that will hurt me.
Marc shook his head. It was just a reflex, he couldn’t help it. (I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how scary I must look. This is damage, and it does hurt a little. I get scared and confused a lot, and I’m missing so many things I can’t get back. That hurts. But it’s not like a car crash, Erik. This is just me. All the broken pieces, all of it. It’s me. It works for me. You’re not hurting me — only a little because now I know I’m scary. That’s not your fault.)
With sudden cold anguish that made Marc gasp: (I’m sor — )
There was a whirr, and a similar gasp from behind the shield. Now the tentative contact was scared, pained and confused, but uncertain of how to withdraw.
(It’s okay!) Marc replied brightly. (We were just having a talk about how I look scary but I’m not, and you were super nice to me and cool with it!)
(Lying…)
(Nope! Sometimes I say things that aren’t real, but I’m just telling the truth sideways. You can read it easy if you turn your head and squint! Hey, you lose your memories super fast like me, but you push back like Freder. That sucks like a vacuum cleaner, you need some way to fill in the blank!)
(…Who hurt you?)
(Can’t remember! I hope they figure it out so they can help more people, but it probably won’t make any difference to me. Hey, if I don’t hafta know that, I don’t need it on my plate, ya know? And, who hurt YOU?)
(I didn’t want it on my plate but now it’s there anyway.) A moment’s pause. (You put it there. Did you just tell me the truth sideways?)
(Sorry, frere. Every time I do that, you kick my brain in the groin like a reflex. I asked for it and you coughed up a memory, but I didn’t understand it. Whatever that is, it came out of you. I only got a couple minutes, but you wanna talk about it? I promise I won’t tell! I won’t even remember it, probably!)
(No…) With mild puzzlement, (Thank you…?)
(No problem! We can talk on the smart paper later, I’m sure Nellie will let me. We’re HELLO MOVIELAND okay? All one word like that.)
(I’m sorry… frere. Heh. I probably won’t remember that either. Or this. I… I’m a mess.)
(That’s okay! My best friends forget me all the time! It’s nice while you’re here!)
(You can’t be like this. You can’t be this hurt and this okay. It’s a fake. It’s a shield. I hurt you.)
(A little, but you didn’t mean it and I’ll probably pitch it out when we’re done talking. I need the part about how I might scare someone, I’ll have to tell Granny, but I don’t need to feel hurt. I’ll get rid of that for sure!)
(You’re so much stronger than me.)
Marc doubled over cackling and shaking his head. “Oh… Oh, oh, sorry. That’s my fault. All me. So sorry, ladies. That was too funny! Hang on…”
He straightened up with a smile. “All set?” Greg said. “Is the problem animal safe and secure and in minimal stress?” He spun the spy in the desk chair towards him with one hand. “Do we want a blindfold, little man? Or a tranquilizer?” He patted Andrej on his bruised cheek, above the tape. “Just nod your cute widdle heady-weady!”
Andrej just stared at him, bleary and utterly baffled.
“Aww! Somebody’s whooole widdle paradigm just shifted. That’s okay!” He reached behind his back and plopped a pint of ice cream into the spy’s lap. “For your twauma!” He turned back to the others and patted both hands on his thighs as if summoning a pack of golden retrievers. “Okay! Ne boysya, rybka!” He cupped both hands around his mouth and shouted towards the shielded side of the room, “We’re all set! Take good care of baby Misha and have fun on your migration! I’ll see you later! I hope most of you survive!”
There was a bright flash, and the tearing sound of air filling a sudden space.
Maggie peeked out from behind the shield again, suspiciously, and decided to drop the whole thing. She checked the closet first, then the hall.
Erik sat up and the white cat leapt into his lap. “Aw.” He patted the cat on the head. Misha smashed his entire face into the palm, until his eyelids pulled up and showed the veiny whites at the corners and his mouth stretched into a fanged, drooling grin.
“Cuuuute,” Erik said.
Maggie had detected no hidden observers, no bugs, and no optical magic. Miss Mila, Miss Bow, Marc, the spy, the desk chair, and the stuffed bear had all gone. David’s coat was folded on the desktop, next to the smart paper, a novelty pen, a set of headphones, a plate of crustless sandwiches, half a dozen bottled sodas, and a sticky note with Prokovian writing. Maggie pointed a stern finger at the comestibles, “Do not eat the food or drink the drinks. I am warning you idiots, these people have good reasons to kill us.”
Mordecai stood with a cry, clutching both hands to his head. “Oh, gods, where is she? Where did she go?”
“The big cat shelter in the mountains near Ansalem, one assumes,” the General said mildly. “It is a logical place — multiple acres, difficult to access, and not on any maps that I am aware of. The Green-Taras have an association with it through our family, via Calliope’s brother Oz, who is Miss Bow’s accountant.”
“Which is yet another reason to kill us!” Maggie snapped. She picked up the sandwiches and wandered off, in search of a convenient trash can.
“Why aren’t WE at the big cat shelter in the mountains near Ansalem?” cried Mordecai. “What happened?”
“I am demoting you from ‘the smart one,’” Maggie told him, in passing. “You’re ‘team cook’ until further notice.” She pitched the sandwiches in the wastebasket near the bed, along with the plate they’d been on.
“Are you all right, dear?” Ann asked Erik, softly.
He smiled at her. “Yeah. I’m a little mixed up, but I’m on the trolley. I get why we can’t go with them, and I’m sorry I was mad at you for being mad.” He hefted a weary sigh, but he managed to put back the smile in reasonably good condition. “But I’m okay. Let Milo fix the elevator, it’s okay. He promised.”
Ann paused, briefly puzzled, but she, too, regained her smile. “All right, dear.”
“Oh, gods,” said Mordecai. “I didn’t ask her to marry me!… Did I say anything?” He was glancing desperately at his surrounding family, but none of them seemed to understand the nature of the disaster — as usual. “Jungle Vampire!” He clutched a hand to his mouth. “Was that it? Was that all?”
“Yes,” said Hyacinth, with a smirk.
He turned to her. “How did I sound?”
“Racist and stupid,” Maggie put in. Now she was holding a bottle of grape soda, uncertain what to do with it so Erik wouldn’t grab it and drink it.
As she walked past, he saw it and stopped her with a touch, “Can I have…?”
“No.”
Erik pouted. “You don’t even like grape flavour.”
And Mordecai grabbed the soda bottle. “For gods’ sakes.” He opened it. “Greg won’t work with people who hurt animals. We are animals! He was here the whole time, and they need him — they’re not going to kill us!” He gave Erik the soda and stood. “Where’s the paper? I’ll call them back!”
The General snatched it and folded it on its existing creases. “No.” She stuffed it down the front of her dress.
Mordecai veered away, pale. “Did I sound pathetic?” he asked the room at large. “Women like pathetic! General D’Iver, I’m begging you, stop interfering in my love life!”
“They have a spell that’ll make us hang out and wait to go to the circus forever,” Erik said. He took a swig of the soda. “Greg let them do that. And you already know he let John kidnap me and zap me with a car battery — that guy has a real warped idea of ‘hurting animals.’”
They all stopped — barring Ann, who was changing in the other room — and stared at him.
Maggie smiled, small and hopeful. “Hey. The brain octopus is working again, huh?”
“Define ‘working,’” Erik said with a smirk.
“Eek,” said Mordecai. He neatened his mind, shuffling all the garbage to the back and focusing on the most obvious positive thing — in this case, that was delight at Erik’s improvement, not worry about what all that unwanted interference would do to him. “That’s amazing, dear one. Are you, um, handling it okay?”
Erik waggled a hand. “Not really, but at least I can kinda figure out what’s going on when my brain runs outta gas.” He wandered over to the window, opened it and yelled out, “Elton John sucks!” He shut the window, thought about that for a moment, and took another sip of soda with a shrug.
Hyacinth looked startled, but oddly pleased.
Maggie frowned. “You like Elton John.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged again. “I dunno, seemed like a good idea at the time… Aw, who threw sandwiches away?”
Maggie edged nearer to Mordecai. “That thing you know how to do, so you don’t puke your thoughts all over him… Please tell me that’s magic and you can do it to all of us right now.”
“It’s sheer discipline,” he muttered, behind a hand. “I learned it by not wanting to hurt my girlfriend. If you can’t manage it, put some distance between you and don’t touch him.”
“Don’t touch my boyfriend?” Maggie cried.
“No-no, please touch your boyfriend,” Erik said, smiling. He was eating a sandwich.
“Erik, that was in the trash!”
“It’s still good…”
Maggie snatched it out of his hand and threw it back in the trash. Misha crammed his whole upper body into the wastebasket, knocked it over, and feasted on liverwurst.
Hyacinth held up the sticky note, “This says we can have all the coffee and cookies we want from downstairs, and whatever else is in the kitchen. And we can make all the phone calls we want, but the line’s tapped.”
“Ooh, cookies,” Erik said. He headed towards the hall door and Maggie planted herself in front of him.
“You don’t have pants!”
“Oh, shoot,” said Hyacinth. She picked up David’s coat with a pained smile. “Kid…”
Erik turned away. “No.”
“…we only have one set of clothes in your size…”
“I already said no!”
“…and at the very least, you are gonna need this coat.”
“Knock me out and put me in the suitcase.”
“No!” cried Mordecai. “Mm.” He neatened his thoughts again. “No-no-no. No magic-induced comas for Erik, please. We don’t need that. Dear one,” he took the coat from Hyacinth and offered it, “it’s just a coat. It can be your coat, like from the second-hand store!”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in that shit.”
“Then fix it!” Maggie said. She pulled out a desk drawer and held up a scissors with a grin. “He’ll see it. If he’s not hanging around now, he will be later. Fuck his shit up. Make him watch.”
Erik leaned nearer, also grinning. “You got any matches?”
She frowned at him and offered the scissors again. “Fix it in a way that still allows it to function as a coat — so I don’t have to put an obvious heating charm on you and freak out all the squares. You’re still operating with fake papers, don’t give ‘em a reason to look twice.”
Erik sighed and took the scissors. “Oh, fine.”
“I gotta help Milo with the elevator anyway,” Hyacinth added.
“And I need a moment to call your father,” the General told Maggie. She held up her left hand and indicated the dark band that was definitely not a wedding ring. It bore a simple inscription in ornate script: 3 Turns. Call My Name. As she spun the ring on her finger, she added, “And if he’s unable to collect us, we may use the tapped phone to make our perfectly ordinary and non-suspicious travel arrangements.”
