Chapter 7

7

Darcy is denser than he looks. He looks like he might weigh a hundred pounds, and while that’s heavy, it’s not too heavy for me to lift, but when I get him into my arms, I swear he’s twice that weight, like his shoes are made of gold. Maybe he’s the one made of gold—who knows? He’s not human and could be made of anything, couldn’t he?

Well, maybe not anything . Probably limited to things fleshy flesh can be made out of. IDK. I don’t think my molecular biology class covered what alien life would be made from.

I put him on the floor because I don’t want coffee stains on my couch and I don’t want a wet spot on my bed, and there aren’t any other options besides the table where he fell unconscious and the floor. I don’t want the coffee to stain my table either, so I move him to the floor onto the throw I used earlier (no coffee stains for my carpet), and then I clean up my table.

I checked his breathing and his other vitals, in case you were worried. He’s fine. Asleep because of the brightness, and if that isn’t a magic thing, I don’t know what is. If he doesn’t wake up in a few hours, I’ll call Chet. He’ll at least be able to point me in the right direction for getting Darcy some help.

Having cleaned up the table, I take care of myself next. I absolutely hate that I have to change my pants. It’s the worst thing ever. It’s hard to do because of my prosthesis. The pant legs get caught on my foot, and it takes time and energy to get them off around it, and it’s so annoying unless I take my foot off, which also takes time and energy and is really annoying to do after I’ve put it on for the day.

The osseointegrated prosthetic is a damn sight easier to get on and off than the socket prosthetic I lived with for most of my life, but I still hate detaching it for a simple task. It’s probably an attitude fostered over my socket prosthetic days, and I could probably stand to work on that.

No matter how much I dislike detaching my limb, I’m not walking around with a coffee stain on my crotch all day. I do have some standards. Not looking like I peed myself is basic, I think.

So I change my pants, and then, because I’m nice, I dab Darcy’s black graphic T shirt. I bet he’d be ok with me taking it off and laundering it, but we haven’t actually seen each other naked yet, and I’m not going to mess with his clothes until that happens. I mean, it would have to happen fairly regularly for me to be comfortable taking his clothes off him while he’s unconscious. That’s kind of the thing nurses do to unconscious people, and everyone understands that it’s their job and not a matter of consent, but everyone else has to have consent before removing clothes. I’m not a nurse—although, I probably could be if I put off graduating one more year…

No, no. I can’t do that. I already said I would graduate this spring, and I’m sticking to that plan.

After Darcy is about as dry as I can reasonably get him, I don’t know what else to do, so I go back to my lappy (it was not on the side of the table that got spilled on) and start making a shopping list of all the books and supplies I need for the next semester. Thankfully, I already have some things. I dig a little into the online marketplaces and find a couple of people selling the textbooks I need for less than I’d have to pay for them from a bookstore (the campus bookstore is the worst and last resort of those who don’t plan ahead), so I make arrangements to meet up with the sellers.

After that, I text my grandmother.

Me: Hey MawMaw, I have an approximate cost of books this semester.

MawMaw: How much do you need, sweetie?

Me: It’s going to be around $450 for books and supplies. That ok still?

MawMaw: Of course, sweetie pie. I’ll move the money into your account and tell your mother to send you some too.

Me: Thanks, MawMaw. I appreciate you.

MawMaw: I appreciate you too, sweetie. Love you.

Me: Love you too.

MawMaw and I both immediately delete the chat. She’s paranoid about that, so every text exchange is deleted, and if I don’t adhere to her rules, I’ll get an earful about it. I’m all about respectful communication, so I do as I’m told.

A moment later, I get an incoming call from my father, Ford Penn, who’s going to ask me how to pay for this semester’s classes like he does every semester, as if the online portal has changed since the last time we did this. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t.

“Hey, Pops! It’s Elijah.” Even though he’s the one who pays for my phone, he wants me to identify myself when I answer it, because “You never know who’s going to pick up the line.”

“Hello, son. It’s your dad here. MawMaw just told me that you signed up for classes. I’m ready to pay, but you’ll have to walk me through it.” His deep voice makes me long for home again. Not enough to turn around and go back, since I just got done visiting, but I do miss them when I’m not there.

“Oh Pops, thanks, but I won’t have a bill for them for a couple of days. How about if I call you on Friday after work? You get off at two still?”

“I do, and that would be fine. I’ll look forward to hearing from you. Proud of you, son.”

“Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

We end the call, and I check my bank accounts. MawMaw sent me twice the amount I told her and my mom sent me enough to pay rent for the next six months, which is good because I like to have all my stuff paid up so I don’t have to concentrate on adulting while I’m studying.

Since I have the money, I schedule a billpay to the management company that takes the payments for the apartments for rent through December. It won’t go out for another month, but now I don’t have to think about it. I add credit to my internet provider and update any subscriptions I have because my card number has changed since the last time I paid any of them. I like to overpay on my monthly bills so if I forget to pay them I don’t wind up having to pay late fees, and I always pay a year in advance for my subscriptions.

Once that’s done, I check on Darcy again—still asleep or in a coma—and grab my things, heading out to go forage.

Ok, I’m getting curry from the food truck a couple blocks away. (Yes, it is breakfast time. Yes, I am about to have curry for breakfast; it’s delicious and an excellent hangover remedy.) I’ll get enough to share if Darcy wakes up, and maybe I’ll call Chet on the way and find out if his sudden unconsciousness is something I should worry about.

When I hit the sidewalk, I dial Chet’s number. (That folded piece of paper ended up in my back pocket—that was a lucky bit of fidgeting on my part, wasn’t it?)

The phone rings twice and goes to voicemail.

I try a text.

Me: Hey Chet, this is Elijah from the apartment with the broken chain lock this morning (thank you for fixing it). I just had some questions about some things happening rn.

The message delivers, and then somehow undelivers. I’ve never seen that happen before. “I didn’t even know it was possible.”

As I’m pondering this, the message delivers again.

Skeptical that it’s not fucking with me, I stare at it.

Undeliverable.

“Rude.”

I’m not going to fight with a text message app, so I turn my phone off to give it a rest. I’ll try again after food.

As I walk, church bells start chiming all over the place. “I wonder if there’s a city event or something.”

I’ve never heard church bells on a weekday on this route, and I walk for curry at least once a week. It’s a beautiful accompaniment to my walk, though.

My foot unexpectedly hits something, and I fall flat on my face, hitting the sidewalk hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs. I gawp, trying to gasp, to inhale, and a stressful second later, I manage the whole breathing thing again.

I get up on my hands and knees and then get myself back to my feet, looking for the thing that tripped me. Disappointment in myself falls on me as I eye a knee high statue of a hideously cute gargoyle thing in the middle of the sidewalk. Everyone else is managing to walk around it. But me? The guy with one foot? I didn’t even see it.

“God, I’m a dumpster fire.”

I turn around to keep walking and immediately hit the pavement again.

“Ouch.”

A guy in a Willy Wonka-esque purple and green suit he matched with a cute bow tie and a complimentary top hat bends next to me. “Oh, he got you twice didn’t he?” the guy says, helping me up.

I look down and the statue is there, just not in the same place it was before. “Did you move it?” I ask the guy, confused why I’m being attacked.

His laughter is delightful but has an undercurrent of stone scraping against stone. I have a feeling this guy isn’t human in the same way Darcy isn’t human. “Oh no, I call that one Harry; he moves all on his own. I think he wants your attention.”

I squat down in front of Harry, reaching out to make sure he’s stone like I thought. He is, so I use his shoulder to keep my balance. “What’s up, dude? You need something?”

The church bells I thought were coming from some city event start chiming out of the little statue. “Huh. Sorry my guy, but I don’t speak Church Bell.”

The guy who helped me snickers. “Lucky for you, Harry and I have known each other for ages. He wants an update on his friend. He heard they took you on an adventure yesterday.”

Must be the baby flink. “Oh, sure. They’re back with their parents now. Darcy, uh, Hell-something helped us get back to the space station.”

The statue chimes, and it sounds happy.

“Yeah, I was relieved they went to their parents too. Never been forced to be a perch by galactic law or whatever. It was alright, but I wouldn’t want to do that long term, ya know?”

The guy laughs again. “I’m glad Darcy found you. The flinks should be relieved to have their baby back. Flinks so rarely ever have babies that they’ve become one of the most protected species in the known universe. That’s why it’s illegal to move a baby flink from their perch. The stress of removal could cause their hearts to fail.”

“Did you know pandas would be extinct if it wasn’t for humans? We think they’re cute so we keep breeding them, but if we didn’t, they’d have bred themselves out of existence by now. Funny how nature isn’t all that good at keeping its kids alive, right?”

The guy chuckles, holding out his hand. “I’m Maxime.”

“Elijah, nice to meet you,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the interpretation services.”

Maxime smiles kindly. “Oh, it’s no problem at all.”

Harry chimes something, and Maxime turns his smile down to the little guy. “He says we should accompany you to breakfast.”

I nod, because company is always nice and my breakfast companion was going to be the guy unconscious on my living room floor.

Oh hey…

“Sure, but I probably should get back to my apartment. Darcy is currently unconscious, and it’s probably not the best idea to leave him alone too long in case something happens.”

Maxime waves his hand. “Pff, he’d be awake already if he wasn’t so stubborn, but what do you expect from a fire-dancing hedge witch with blood magic flowing through his djinn veins?”

I shrug as Maxime offers me his arm. I loop my arm through his, walking with him arm in arm. “I wouldn’t expect anything. It’s my first time with magic.”

Maxime eyebrows shoot up in surprise as we start walking again. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Well, I figure the universe is mighty big and there’s a lot about it I don’t know, so why not teleportation and magic and shit? I went to Hell yesterday. That was interesting. There was an orgy happening in a closet.”

Maxime laughs like the world is as delightful as he is. I love that about him. “They were probably continuing the celebration of the deaths of their monarchs. Lilith and Bacchus were assassinated not too long ago, and Hell is still trying to figure out who to put on the throne. Some of them are just happy there’s going to be a change in leadership. Those two have ruled Hell for longer than historical records.”

“So probably not the best time for foreign visitors, then.” I bet that was why the demon was going to turn me in for a bounty.

Maxime pats my hand. “Probably not.”

A phone rings, and Maxime withdraws his from his inner jacket pocket, glancing at the caller ID before answering it. “Hello, Thoren.” He stops and listens long enough that we arrive at the food truck. I get in line behind a group of clearly hungover frat guys before Maxime says, “Delightful. I’ll be home as soon as I can, but I’ll send Harry ahead.” After another pause he adds, “Of course, my boy. See you soon.” He ends the call and smiles up at me. “I suppose breakfast isn’t in our cards today. Tell Darcy to bring you to Chez Gargouille some time. I’ll treat you to the best food you’ve ever had, and you can see my train room. It’s magnificent, and I love showing off my collection.”

“Sounds good. I’ll tell him. Thanks for the invite.” He seems like a kind person, and it’s nice of him to invite me over.

Maxime pats my hand, kisses my cheek, and claps my back harder than I expect. I trip forward, but he catches me and pats my back more gently before heading off with his little statue friend following by blipping in and out of existence at his heels.

“Weird.”