um . . .” Her eyes slitted as she thought. “Maybe half a million of us on the planet?”
He thought of Pot, the triplets, the night mare. “What kind of magic can you do?”
She smiled. “No kind. We’re pretty boring. The only thing interesting about us is our life span—the average mial lives to be about twelve.”
“Twelve?” he almost shrieked. “How old are you now?”
“I’m old,” she said wistfully. “Old to be having a baby. Four next month. Don’t worry,” she added, “it’s not creepy or anything that we did it. We reach maturity at ten months.”
“Wh—but—wh—”
“But Cole, listen!” She grabbed his forearms. “Listen to this! If I have a baby with a human or a human hybrid—like a werewolf or a witch or whatever—he or she will have an
Definitely the weirdest day ever. And this from a man who routinely turned into a wolf and ate cows. “You want to take over the planet?”
She looked shocked, as if he had slapped her. “Heck, no. We just want to have a chance. We can’t get a chance, you know, because—but my baby will have a chance. My line, my name.”
“Your baby won’t know anything about anything,” he said, almost shouting. “He’ll be stronger and faster than everybody, live longer than his mother’s people, be alone, die alone. You want
“He’ll have the world! He’ll be able to do whatever he wants!” she shrilled back. “He’ll have more than ten years to live, and that opens up anything you can think of.”
“You’re cursed. I’ve cursed you. And the baby.”
“We’re blessed,” she snapped back, “and you’re a moron. You’ve given the baby great gifts and you don’t even realize. The life span alone is the birthright of practically everyone else here; my child deserves it, too. And she’ll be strong—able to defend herself and stay safe. And
“You are,” he said carefully, “a crazy person.”
“Yeah, well, it takes one to know one.”
“And I’m not having anything to do with this.”
“Who asked you to?”
“If I walk out this door . . . ,” he threatened.
She threw the empty milk glass at him; he ducked easily. “Bye!”
He walked out that door.
Twelve
“And then you left?”
“Well. Yes. I said . . . you know . . . If I walked out that door I was never coming back, and then—”
“She threw the glass at you and good-bye.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve been in town—what? Less than a week?”
He almost groaned; the full moon was a few hours away. He had actually forgotten about the moon, that’s how crazy Charlene was making him. Forgotten! Christ, what next? Forgetting to eat?
“Are you sure you won’t have a piece?” Pot asked, tapping the box with a bony finger.
“No.”
“It’s goat,” she wheedled.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That,” Rae announced, “is seriously screwed up.”
“Hush, ghost. You’re not helping.”
“Come on, Potty. There isn’t one part of that story that isn’t weird. Charlene’s a mial? Whatever that is. And pregnant? All part of her plan? And she’s dying?”
At Cole’s fresh look of alarm, Pot quickly said, “She’s dying as we all are, Rae. Everyone has a time limit. You’re just too silly to acknowledge yours.”
“She can talk,” Rae said as if Pot wasn’t sitting right there at Cole’s kitchen counter. “Her people live for a zillion years. Poor Charlene! Just think, she could be dead before Bush is out of office.”
“I’m going to puke,” Cole said, and went to the bathroom, and did. When he came back after brushing his teeth, Pot was still there. So, presumably, was Rae.
“What are you going to do?” the queen asked.
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“Boy oh boy,” Rae observed. “Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
“Enough, Rae. Well, Cole? Are you going to stay here with Charlene, raise the baby? See to its upbringing after Charlene—ah, after? Or leave them and find your people?”
“Door number two,” Rae added, “makes you a gigantic loser.”
“That’s not true,” the queen interrupted. “You have no obligation to her; she admitted she tricked you.”
“Which doesn’t sound like it took much effort on her part.”
“Rae!”
“All I’m saying is, Einstein he’s not.”
“As I was saying,” the queen continued, sending looks of irritation to all corners of the kitchen, “you’re not mates, she has what she needs of you, she has in fact released you from any obligation.”
“Yep, she’s totally fine living a life alone, being a single mom, dying young, and leaving your kid an orphan. Don’t give it another thought.”
Cole leaned over far enough to rest his forehead on the counter. It felt smooth and cool. “Why did you come over?” he asked the Formica.
“Well . . .” The queen paused. “I don’t want you to read anything into this, but—”
His front door was thrown open. “My queen, your kingdom awaits!” several people shouted in unison, which was a good trick.
“—I’m leaving town,” she finished.
Thirteen
“Holy Christ on a cracker with Cheez Whiz,” Rae gasped, while Cole stared at the naiads—he assumed they were naiads—milling around in his living room.
“Forgive us, Queen Potameides,” one of them said, and the group—there were seventeen, severely straining his living room space—went into a deep bow. “We have been from you so long, we could not remain in the front yard a moment longer knowing you were not far away, and so we—”
The queen waved the explanation away, and the guard or whoever it was instantly shut up. “Yes, yes, that’s fine.”
“What’s going on?” Rae demanded.
“Probably the ones loyal to her overthrew the ones not loyal to her,” Cole said. At the queen’s unguarded look of surprise, he added, “Violence I understand.”
“Yes. Ah. Yes. My cousin is dead—”
“Long live the queen!” another one interrupted. They all, Cole noticed, looked a great deal like the queen, the same long stringy hair and watery eyes, the same damp smell and long, spidery limbs.
“Right,” the queen finished. “So, I go.”
