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“I…”The way my words trailed off as I studied the girl’s shoes was deliberate.
She’d responded exactly how I wanted her to, with outrage and denial. “Ask her again. Maybe she didn’t hear you.”
“Lucy, we must respect people’s choices.”
“But she likes you! I know it! Look at all that stuff on her face! I –”
“I’m just so sorry you heard. I was hoping we could be in each other’s lives forever.”I almost didn’t say it, but I needed to drive home the fact that her ship was sailing. “I know if Felicity could adopt you, she would.”
“But she can adopt me! You both can."
“Don’t give her a hard time, okay?”I’d said, leading her back to her friends. It’s a basic manipulation tactic, a little reverse psychology particularly effective on children. As soon as you preface anything with the word ‘don’t,’ you nearly guarantee the opposite result.
It seems, however, that it did not work. I heave a sigh as I pace the length of my second-story living room. It could have been bigger, but I wanted a view. And more than two master baths. Located on a generous six acres, my own private piece of riverfront land makes settling for no pool nothing but a trifle.
Perhaps soon I’ll have a good reason to celebrate and then I can revisit the idea of a pool. Lucy would deserve a reward for her help, after all. I’m determined that she’ll earn herself thatpool soon. The girl’s cooperation can’t stop here. She's the key to a happy wife, which is the key to a life Topside.
A dog and his satyr owner walk along the opposite shore facing my property. I watch the pair play a tense game of fetch the stick before a car pulls up. A satyr woman hops out, followed by what I assume is their youngling crawling out of the driver’s seat backward.
She’s a little girl by the look of the child’s pigtails. She rushes toward the dog as her father blocks her path. He bends down, grabs a stick, and coaches her through a quick fetch tutorial. The girl nods enthusiastically and grabs the stick, heaving it into the river.
I chuckle as the dog bolts toward the water, the parents waving their arms and calling to the canine. They hadn’t expected their little one to throw so far. Underestimation is a classic human trait. The dog paddles up to his chest in water, snatches his floating prize, and heads back to the family.
I take note of my own grin in the reflection of the bay window, then watch it grow as the dog shakes off as soon as he gets on shore. The satyr youngling hops up and down in glee, no doubt screaming at the top of her lungs. Before the parents can get the stick from their daughter, she hurls it into the water in an impressive arc.
The dog, her partner in crime now, fetches the stick and returns to douse his owners in a second spray of river water. I let out a laugh despite my mood.
“Once more, little one,” I whisper. “Once more for good measure.”
As if the child heard me, she lets go of the stick her mother is trying to wrangle from her, and then spins out of her father’s grasp. She takes another stick, encouraged by her barking companion, and chucks it even further into the river.
Chaos descends after this. She’s scooped up and placed in the car by the time the dog returns. Mom and Dad flee from the sopping wet beast, who shakes off a deluge of river water that still manages to splash their backs. By the time the dog is wrangled into the car, Mother Satyr’s blouse is soaked and Father Satyr’s given up on keeping his glasses clean.
My phone vibrates twice in my pocket, reminding me to pull it out and toss it on the couch. An email notification is hardly exciting.Did Lucy even talk to her?I wonder, watching the family drive off.
I’m left with nothing else to do but stress over my other plan, the one I’m calling Cyella’s End. Not because I plan on ending anything about her, except for the notion that she can boss me around or threaten me without consequences. That’s ending.
Just as soon as I figure out how to do it. It’s not like the pixie to be vague with Greiko unless she’s hiding something. So what about her out-of-town trip is she hiding? And why? What for?
I have half a mind to bribe a gifted mage, one whose voodoo work is both immaculate and unknown to the authorities of Briarwood. But I don’t need to go that far if I can dig up a nice secret. I just need something stronger against her than she has against me. Anytime Cyella decides Greiko needs saving, I can whip a little blackmail out and beg her to test me.
I could humiliate her with it on a low scale first, just to even the playing field. She’s a hard learner and might need a demonstration or two.
“More than impractical,” I grumble aloud, willing to burst my own bubble.
No demon has managed to crush an enemy with their head in the clouds. I don’t have time to search, vet, or barter. Something like this calls for extreme measures, and with it, extreme sacrifices. My midnight flight won’t be nearly as fun because of it. But I’ll make sure it’s twice as productive.
“So isit always this cold up here?” Steve’s shrill voice unfortunately cuts through the howling wind.
I’m tempted to drop him somewhere along the outskirts of Briarwood forest, maybe somewhere up near the waterfalls, which will give the man plenty of time to contemplate his choice of flying attire. But I know I can’t, not if I want any chance of finding out where Cyella’s work sent her.
“Is it?” I ask, not even feeling the weight of my groundskeeper’s sunburned dad-bod on my wings. So at least I have that going for me.
Steve’s the proud father of two children and never stops talking about them. And if I didn’t have a property that needs constant attention and upkeep, I wouldn’t tolerate the jack of all trades shivering in my grasp more than one opportunity to think I care.
He’s asked more than once to come along on my nighttime flights, curious to experience it for himself. I’ve had no interest in stooping to that level of pandering, even if I do need help with my property.
That is, until now. A little bribe to grease the wheels never hurt.
