Page 8 of Chaos and Crowns

Antony looked up from his fiddling. Apparently, he had done some snooping, as he held a screwdriver that Odelle didn’t even know she owned. Seeing her exasperation, he reddened. The blush traveled all the way to the exposed patch of his chest. Odelle turned her gaze back to the takeout in front of her as he spoke.

“To be fair, this looked small enough that I thought I would have it back together by the time you got back,” he defended.

“Well, I’d say you owe me a new toaster, but I don’t think you have any modern money.” She pulled a container of soup out of the bag of takeout.

Antony frowned at the bits and bobs in front of him. He picked up a small spring and examined it, not looking at Odelle as he spoke.

“I’ll get it working again,” he retorted, “It’s just very shoddy craftsmanship.”

Odelle shrugged as she sat down on the couch with her soup.

“That’s probably because I bought it for twenty dollars when I got my first apartment in grad school.”

Antony didn’t respond, squinting at the spring in his hand as he fit it into a slotted metal piece. The pink tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips as he concentrated. Odelle filled the silence so she wouldn’t stare.

“I got ahold of the archeologist from the dig. She was not happy to hear from me, but I did some schmoozing.”

“Schmoozing?” Antony repeated.

“You know, using a little bit of flattery to get your way,” Odelle explained.

Antony’s concentration softened as he smiled slightly. “You would be good at that.”

Odelle bristled. She prided herself on being good with people but commenting on her schmoozing capabilities didn’t feel like a compliment. At least not from Antony. Everything he said had a way of getting under her skin, as if his very existence as a powerful immortal sorcerer accentuated her shortcomings. Her normally robust confidence seemed hollow under his gentle, perceptive gaze.

“Anyway.” Odelle brushed away her annoyance. “She gave me the name of a few private collectors.”

She relayed the information to him, along with her suspicions that Frederick Whitehall’s wife was the woman who had worn the crown to the gala. Antony turned to her when she finished. He said something, but Odelle didn’t register his words, as she was too busy gawking at the fully built toaster he held out to her. She couldn’t have been talking for more than two minutes. Dumbly, she took the appliance from him and turned it over in her hands a few times. It looked just like it had when she had pulled her bagel out of it this morning, except with fewer crumbs.

“…food?”

Odelle’s hearing finally cut in again as Antony finished repeating his question.

“Oh— lunch. Yeah, the food on the counter is for you.”

Antony made his way to the kitchen, peeking inside the Styrofoam box and brown paper bakery bag. A smile lit his face as he snatched up the bag, skipping over the turkey sandwich in favor of the brownie. His eyes virtually rolled back in his head as he popped a bite into his mouth, chewing slowly.

“Of all the amazing things humans have come up with in the past two thousand years, I might have to argue that chocolate is the best,” Antony declared. He brought the treat back out into the living room, ignoring the furniture in favor of resuming his place on the floor.

“I’m pretty sure that nature is responsible for chocolate.”

“True,” Antony agreed after swallowing another bite. “Even though it grows on trees, people didn’t really figure out how to eat it well until recently.”

“Recently?” Odelle questioned.

“Well, relatively recently,” Antony amended. “Sure, the Aztecs and Mayans were using cocoa beans as currency in the 1500s, but Adam didn’t bring a chocolate bar to the Sanctuary until less than a hundred and fifty years ago. I lived too much of my life without chocolate. I plan on making up for it now that we’re spending more time outside of the Sanctuary.”

She was tempted to argue that most people didn’t consider one hundred years ago recent, but she reminded herself that Antony’s view of time was relative. She probably seemed as naïve and inexperienced as a child to him. Her stomach churned at the thought.

“So, you know who has the crown?” Antony prompted.

“Right.” Odelle shook herself. “I think so, but I’m not sure it’s the crown.”

“But you do know he bought something,” Antony pointed out.

“Yes, although I’m not sure how that helps us.”

“Well, you said you told the archeologist you wanted to do a special interest piece and feature the artifacts some private collectors bought. You could keep up the ruse—use it to see their collections and confirm he has it.”