Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

Mountain brought up the rear, talking with a wiry older man. Mountain pointed at the house and the two of them approached the new foundation with a tape measure out.

“What are they doing?” Beverley asked.

The phone rang. Nana moved to answer the long-corded kitchen phone.

“Making plans for Nana’s room,” I whispered.

Beverley nodded. “What’s got her so grouchy?”

“Dunno.” I wasn’t going to tell Beverley that Nana was mad at me because I’d kept secrets from her. I didn’t want to be the do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do brand of foster mother. “How’s the math?”

“Easy.” She wrapped her arms around me in a hug. “I’m so glad I’m here, where the unicorns are.”

“Me, too.” I rubbed her back. “How’s the history?”

“Same.”

Seeing how small, innocent, and eager to please she was, my heart ached. How could anyone ever treat a child wrongly? Beverley wasn’t even my child but I couldn’t imagine hitting her or locking her in a room. Sometimes I doubted myself as a parent, but unlike my own mother, I’d never resented the existence of the child in my home, or wished that she weren’t here.

I can’t fess up about Xerxadrea or my mother now. With the snit Nana’s in, that additional information might turn the kitchen into a war zone. Maybe tomorrow.

Behind me, Nana hung up the phone with more force than necessary, and shuffled back to the stove, grumbling. Beverley peered up at me questioningly.

“Must’ve been a sales call,” I whispered.

The buses were leaving. I moved into the bench seat across from Beverley, where I could evaluate Nana.

That was when the sun sank away; I knew it because I felt Menessos awaken screaming in torment, felt him suck down his first breath of this night, felt him whisper my name as he regained control of himself. That sensation of filling up, of being whole, returned. A few deep breaths later, my body felt equalized.

Mountain left his muddy boots at the front door and entered the kitchen in sock feet. He washed up at the sink—he was so tall and thick that he didn’t fit in the little bathroom under the stairs. “Where’s Johnny?” he asked.

“I don’t think he’s going to join us,” I said. “He’s still at the memorial for those lost on the beach.”

“Mountain, you’re in charge of security for now,” Maxine said, coming in from the living room where she’d supervised the Beholders’ departure via the window.

“The head count on the bus was the same for the number that arrived,” he said.

“Noted. We’re going to check the perimeter and then get supplies.”

Nana set the casserole dish she’d just taken from the oven onto the stovetop. “Will you eat?”

That’s my Nana. If she didn’t like someone she could give them the cold shoulder all day, but when dinner was served she’d still expect them to eat. She’d be mightily offended if they snubbed her dinner in retaliation.

“No, thank you. We’re going to make our rounds, and get some supplies. We’ll eat while we’re out. See you in two hours.”

Nana wordlessly transferred the meal onto the plates, but clanking dishes and spoons voiced her irritation for her.

I meant no insult to the sentinels, but some time away from them suited me just fine. Having lived alone for a few years before Nana moved in, sharing meals had developed into a special activity.

Mountain sat in the chair adjacent to Beverley’s. I was in the back corner on the bench. Nana served everyone a plate of salad, crusty bread, and a chunk of her casserole, then slid in beside me. Beverley appraised the food on her plate, dissecting it with her fork to inspect the layers. “It smells good, but I don’t know what it is.”

“My mother called it mousakas kolokythakia. It’s moussaka with zucchini.”

“I like zucchini,” Beverley said. “My mom used to slice it and fry it.”

Nana pointed at her. “She gave you more than a beautiful face and a sweet disposition then, young lady. She gave you variety in taste. Good for her, and good for you.” Nana dug into her food.

I enjoyed taking a meal with a small cozy group, and with these three people in particular, it felt like a satisfyingly domestic exercise. A chance to sit calmly together and have some peaceful conversation … it was a common thing that my hectic life promised to allow less and less. For me, struggling through the balance-driven destiny of the Lustrata was paid back like this, in these quiet moments breaking bread with family. It was right and warm—Nana’s irritation notwithstanding.

Or maybe Nana’s fabulous bechamel sauce with cheese was making me sentimental.

“Are the barns done?” I asked Mountain.

“Almost. The animals are in them, but the roofs and the insides need some final touches.”

“So, Mountain,” Nana began conversationally, but the edge of annoyance in her tone couldn’t stay hidden, “what kind of mess-making can we expect tomorrow?”

He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Here at the house, they’re going to cut through the new house-side foundation panel and into the cellar, to route the electric, plumbing, and heating for your addition. When that’s done they’ll put up the floor joists and subflooring, erect the prefab walls. This is where the Beholders really shine. Once the foundations are set to build on, we’re fast.” He paused. “Out in the field, the water truck is coming tomorrow to fill the dragon’s pool. The well pump will be put in, the electric wired.”

“Did the electric company get the poles in?”

He nodded. “The foundation for my mobile home is in, too. It’ll be delivered and set up. Since the semis have already torn up the yard, I requested that a gravel driveway be put in, running to the barns, but I’m not sure if they’ll do that tomorrow or the next day. And I asked for a truck for myself.”

“You’re so lucky,” Beverley said.

“Because I might get a truck?”

“Because you get to live out there with the unicorns.”

“I’ll technically be closer to the dragons.” He covered his mouth like he was sharing a secret with her. “And let me tell you, they snore like buzz saws.”

She giggled.

“Did Heldridge’s men give you any cause for concern?” I asked.

“They didn’t have any construction sense.” He readied another bite of moussaka. “And they weren’t accustomed to physical labor, either.”

“Didn’t slow you down any,” I put in.

The phone rang again. Nana slammed her fork down and rose to answer it. The rest of us were politely quiet. She glanced fleetingly in my direction before stepping into the living room to talk privately. I tried to listen in, but even with my hearing being amped up by my connection to the vampire, Mountain and Beverley’s discussion of unicorns combined with the clattering dryer kept me from hearing. When Nana reappeared, she was more disgruntled than before.

And I was more curious than ever.

Which is probably the point. She wants me curious so she can deny me some knowledge as payback. So I resolved not to be curious. Outwardly, anyway.

When the meal had been eaten, Mountain headed into the living room. He was on guard duty until the sentinels returned. Beverley and I cleared the table and did the dishes. While we were drying the silverware, Nana took a third call, whispering in the dining room. Again I couldn’t hear. The clanging silverware and the television program that Mountain was watching interfered. The call ended right after Beverley fed Ares and hurried upstairs to run her bathwater.

Nana was usually right behind her, but not tonight. Instead, she joined me in the kitchen. “We need to talk.”