The Dessert (122)

PSI-1

Ann excused herself ahead of the dessert and asked them not to wait for her if it took her too long to get changed. Milo was only theoretically going to eat with everyone, anyway. He might prefer just to sit awkwardly for a few minutes and then go back upstairs — for which she apologized in advance.

Everyone was very supportive — save the General, who did not offer opinions on other people’s mental health problems, and Chris, who was having some mental health problems of his own — but it did mean that once they had picked up the subject of Milo, they had difficulty putting it down. They were still talking about him over liquor and coffee when he came down half an hour later.

“It’s… It’s like he’s an outfit Annie likes to wear sometimes,” Cerise was explaining to Chris — while Hyacinth did her best to explain to Ivan and breach the language barrier at the same time. “An incredibly uncomfortable outfit.” She laughed. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, but sometimes I wonder why she bothers…”

“Milo isn’t clothes, he’s a person,” Calliope opined from one of the big chairs where she was allowing Lucy to get a meal in. “He has different clothes, that’s where you’re mixed up. They change back and forth because that’s fair. They like to do stuff. Sometimes different stuff, but sometimes the same. It’s harder for Milo to do stuff, so if it’s something they both like Ann usually gets it. But she wants him to have more things.”

Cerise tipped up her nose. “I’m sorry, but I’ve known them longer than you have and I don’t believe I need you to interpret my friend for me. Didn’t you break up with them, Miss Otis?”

Chris blinked and sat back with a puzzled expression. What? Calliope had another boyfriend? Already?

“I’ve known them longer than both of you put together, and I don’t think there’s any point interpreting them,” Hyacinth broke in. “I’m just trying to get it across to Ivan how to operate them. If he pats Milo on the head like that, he’ll die.”

Standing near the kitchen doorway, somewhat removed, Florian and Sean were drinking coffee and having a related conversation in low tones, “No, no, I’m not trying to spare your feelings. It’s just embarrassing for me, okay?”

Sean nodded warily.

“The bottom line is, I like touching things when I’m high. And I don’t care about context. So… I’ve gotten into some situations.”

“What kind of situation did you get into with Milo?” Sean said.

“I wanted to pet his hair,” Florian said. He backed off a pace and put up both hands. “And he was very gracious about it and he recommended me a conditioner, but that’s all.”

Sean burst out laughing and slapped a hand over his eyes. “Oh, is that all?”

Florian grinned. “Yeah, well, this extremely eager young lady cornered me in the shop where the drugstore guy told me I could find ‘Barclay’s Conditioner with Palm Oil,’ and I ended up going home with two bags of ‘product.’ Do you know what ‘product’ is? Because I don’t! Apparently it comes in twenty different tiny bottles and all of them need to be applied with different rituals. These days, I’m up three hours before I need to go to work, drawing pentagrams in the bathroom mirror. Learning to be a medic wasn’t this hard.” He patted his hair. “But it’s much nicer now. I’m thinking of growing it out like Milo.”

“It is not possible to grow one’s hair out like Milo,” Sean said. “He is wired to produce gorgeous, silken, naturally wavy auburn hair, unattainable to the mortal man. We had a hell of a time finding a wig that matched when I needed to scalp Ann.”

“You did what now?” Florian said.

“Oh, I killed Ann with an ice pick. I thought everybody knew. I think she still has a program…”

Fake like he’s very very hot and you’ll burn, Hyacinth advised Ivan. Even not-look at him. Like the sun!

“I don’t think we broke up on purpose,” Calliope said uncomfortably.

Cerise stood up. “Now, listen, I saw what Annie looked like after…”

Milo, who was quiet by habit and necessity, paused halfway down the stairs and knocked on the banister, so they’d all know he was in the room now and they should say nice things. He was wearing the silver flower and his shirt and pants were still dusted with glitter, although he did try to shake them out. He didn’t have time to fix the shirt and pants, he had to fix the flowers — and then do all the cards! He fanned these in front of him like a poker hand as explanation. A sheepish smile pulled his mouth sideways, unnoticed.

Sean clasped both hands around his coffee mug and cried, “Milo! Look at you! You need a spotlight and a microphone!”

Milo lost the smile and shook his head, horrified. He also dropped all his cards down the stairs as if he’d botched a complicated shuffle.

Seam winced but he did not rush over to help. “Oh, damn, I really should know better by now… I’m very sorry, darling!” he called over, but not too loud. “Doesn’t he look fabulous, though?” he asked the others. “Like the tree!”

“It’s in their hair,” Florian noted with a snicker. “That’s where it came from.”

“I put too much,” Calliope said. She shook her head to herself. “It took forever to dry.”

Erik approached shyly, looking sideways, and offered Milo one of the cards that had landed near him on the floor. Milo sidled a little closer and took it, then offered one back.

Erik grinned and nodded. “Yeah! I’d…” He snickered and ducked his head. “I wanna thank you for letting me be myself, again!” He danced an embarrassed little twist on the lowest step of the staircase and took a bow, then looked up with a smile.

Milo nodded back and signed him a thumbs up. He dealt Calliope a card and placed it gently on the threadbare arm of the upholstered chair. He wrote it extra big and dark for her, but she could get it when she was done with Lucy and had spare hands for her glasses.

“Babe, I need my glasses,” she said, which he should have expected because he couldn’t really tell her he understood about the glasses without her wearing the glasses. Damn. He broadly shook his head, crossing his hands in front of him, then he flicked a gesture at Lucy and signed a great big sweeping OK!

Hey, I used to be ‘babe,’ Chris thought glumly. ‘Babe, hand me that paintbrush, yeah?’ He slumped at the table and rested his cheek in his hand. A small white card was delicately deposited on the surface in front of him, next to a cold cup of coffee which he had not touched, by Ann-with-glasses-and-no-longer-in-a-dress, who edged rapidly away and regarded him with a shyness that was nothing like her.

I thought we were gonna order a pizza, Chris thought. He picked up the card and adjusted his fashion frames to read it.

The blue kid with the fashion frames took them off and blinked at the card. He looked up. Milo looked away.

“Hey, um… Why didn’t you say this when you could talk?” Chris said.

“Milo doesn’t do ‘why,’” Cerise and Hyacinth and Calliope all said on top of each other with slightly different inflections. Calliope finished last. Cerise laughed.

“Well, he doesn’t,” Calliope added, frowning. She shifted Lucy into the crook of her arm, put on her glasses and read:

“Cin, is your last name Al?” Calliope asked.

Both Hyacinth and Mordecai walked over to read the card. Hyacinth because she knew her last name was not ‘Al,’ Mordecai because he wanted to see if it was.

Cerise had also digested the contents of her card. She laughed again and shook her head. “Milo, if I minded about Annie rescuing people all the time, we wouldn’t still be friends. She can hand feed Christoph like a baby bird if she wants to, and then we can talk nonsense later at the club. It’s cute, really.”

Milo nodded. He hazarded waving a brief greeting at Ivan (“Hello, Mister Solnechnyy Svet!” Ivan boomed, causing him to swerve into the wall) on his way to deliver cards for Florian and Sean.

“In your eyes?” Mordecai spoke up from across the room, Calliope’s card in hand. “Milo, you’re overselling it,” he warned gently.

“Milo wants everyone to know he liked all his presents,” Hyacinth announced for him. “Milo” says ‘thank you’ for flowers, she added for Ivan. Don’t say ‘you’re welcome,’ only smile, please.

Ivan beamed.

Sean read: Sean, I did not metaphorically cheat on you… and then broke off laughing. He hid his face in his hand, which was still holding the card. “Oh, gods, Milo. I know. Okay? I know. Flo was a dear and he explained it to me…”

Florian was also regarding his card and he grinned and touched his hair again. “I do like it, actually. It’s complicating my morning routine and all my roomies hate me because I’m beautiful,” he snickered, “and because I’m in the toilet for hours on end. But I’m never going back, Milo!” He tipped his head up and adopted a haughty expression. “As god is my witness, I’ll never have split ends again!”

Sean seized him by the shoulders and declared, “We shall burn down the city of Peachtree for the honor of our haircare products!”

Milo nodded… and then he gave them a thumbs up because it seemed like something else was required and he was all out of cards. When he turned to go into the kitchen and gain access to the chocolate cake, Maggie was standing in his way with her hands over her eyes, peeking through the fingers. She smiled.

“You all done talking?” she asked him.

He nodded. He fake-wiped the sweat from his brow (there was some there, but it didn’t need wiping) and slumped with a sigh.

“You mind if Soup and Erik and I have dessert in the basement with the radio on?”

Milo had not even gotten through one entire shake of his head before the General clicked her tongue and spoke, “Excuse me, Magnificent, by what demented train of logic are you trying to go over my head to Mr. Rose for permission to eat in the basement like an emotionally maladjusted man?” Both Mr. Rose and Mr. Zusman ate in the basement. It was an apt comparison.

Maggie pointed at Milo, “It’s his radio.”

Milo rapidly shook his head. No it’s not! It’s not like Lucy! I made it for the house!

Erik had a phrase from ‘Please Please Me,’ on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare sing it. That would be like trying to defeat a dragon by playing violin at it — that kinda thing only worked in stories for little kids where no one died.

Mordecai interposed himself between the children and the General and put his hand up, “No, no. These poor stifled devils have been coping with supervision breathing down their necks all night, General D’Iver. Let them listen to the serials and be emotionally maladjusted. Even a soldier gets leave now and again.”

“Thank you very much, Uncle Mordecai,” Maggie said sweetly.

Meanwhile, Sean read the rest of his card, …Flo isn’t my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m sorry you also kind of don’t have a boyfriend, but maybe you can learn how to talk to Ivan and be real friends if you try.

The consummate actor sighed and shook his head with a sad smile. Well, maybe I can. He approached the table to see if he could discern whether Ivan wanted cake or pie through the art of mime!

(He wasn’t anywhere near as good at it as Milo.)

Mordecai marched into the kitchen ahead of the victorious children, to operate the sharp objects and make sure things were dished out fairly. He paused in the doorway and peeked out in Milo’s direction, but not right at him. “Hey, Milo? Three options.” He held up one finger, “Cherry pie…”

Milo shook his head.

Cerise stood up, “Ooh, it’s cherry? But they’re not in season!”

“They’re canned, Miss Cerise,” he told her, aside. “But I’ve done my best.” He held up a second finger, “Apple…”

Now Chris stood up, “He wants chocolate cake. He told me when he was, uh, being the other person. In the dress.” He glanced around to see how this landed and when nobody frowned or screamed at him he went on, “I’ll get it. I want that too. Is that okay?” he asked of Milo’s direction.

Milo nodded.

“Mars? Apple? It’s got the crumblies on top.”

“Yeah, babe, thanks,” Calliope said. “Gimme a sec and I’ll put the princess away…”

Chris made a weak smile and departed for the kitchen.

———

Desserts were easier to juggle, even with hot chocolate or coffee included, and conversations became decentralized. Milo ate at the table. He was not able to do chocolate cake and talking or looking at people at the same time, so he picked a relatively safe place to call his own and let whoever wanted to exist near him do that while he poked at his plate with a fork and his hot chocolate got cold. It turned out Chris wanted to sit nearby, and Calliope, and Sean. Hyacinth considerately led loud Ivan away towards the tree and engaged him in a discussion of Yuletide traditions and sheep.

Mordecai availed himself of one of the nice chairs. Cerise took the other one and sat with her legs demurely crossed. Florian was splitting the difference between the tree people and the chair people and making an intermittent attempt to talk to one of the premier generals of the Marselline Army, who did not want any dessert and was standing bravely against the wall as if awaiting the order to fire.

The less-than-festive sound of dramatic narration and demonic giggling drifted up from the basement. It was too late for The Silver Streak, but StarQuest was on, and Answered Prayers with the ironic curses and spooky music was next — if the anarchic society of troglodytes managed to last that long without a collapse and nobody was asked to go home or to bed.

Outside, the snow was falling in long billows like white muslin and the wind was gusting around the eves and rattling the patch in the roof. Inside, it was serviceably warm, due to a combination of magic and scrap wood. The flames in the terracotta brazier crackled. They smelled faintly of varnish. The tree, though dry and practically gray and shellacked all over with magic to keep the needles on, glowed with multicolored lights and shiny baubles. The bottle lights on the windowsills twinkled. It was hard to remember that multiple people on very limited budgets were going to have to make their excuses before the buses quit running and walk to the stop in this weather, and then home. Hyacinth half-dreamed that they might have one of those multi-day celebrations she remembered from when she was a kid — where every guest got their own bedroom and a servant and they were invited to park their horses in the stable. At the very least she was going to keep Soup on a cot in the basement, even if she had to have Milo do something to the stairs again.

Ivan’s booming laughter reminded her of one of those cool uncles who never seemed to stay long enough and Cerise’s sardonic tones reminded her of one particular aunt who had never been without a glass of iced vodka in her hand. Auntie Victoria. Aunt Vic. Aunt Vic had always been trying to get her to smoke a cigarette and tiny Hyacinth always demurred, shyly.

I’m not much like I used to be, she thought, regarding the patch in the roof.

She also recalled that Aunt Vic had traveled with a succession of female riding instructors, even though she was quite good at riding — astride, never sidesaddle.

Must run in my family, Hyacinth thought with a shrug. “Hey, Ivan,” you ever get bored and decorate a sheep for Yule?

Ivan laughed.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Chris admitted, nearly inaudible at the table. “Do… Do we just talk about him like he’s not here?” He was observing Milo, who had cut his square of cake into twelve careful pieces and was studying them with a concerned expression. “Does he need help?” He thought he remembered Ann trying to feed him a forkful of mashed potatoes earlier, but he’d been pretty fixated on all the loud people and the bright lights and he didn’t think he took her up on the offer. Was that why she… Why Milo…? “Does he know where cake goes?”

Milo went bright red, set down his fork, folded his hands in his lap and looked away.

Sean made a shooing motion in Chris’s direction and then addressed Milo sideways, “That’s all right, dear. He’s not making fun,” he glanced sharply at Chris to make certain of this. “He’s just showing he cares.”

Milo nodded limply.

“I think it would be best to talk about something other than Milo like Milo isn’t here,” Sean went on. “At least while food is in play. He can join in if he likes.”

“What’re you doing at the studio, Chris?” Calliope asked eagerly, not looking at Milo.

“Oh, this fertility idol,” the blue man said. He paused for one bite of cake. “But she’s got a great big vein of calcite running through her. I don’t know if I can hide it.”

Florian wandered over, “Hey, maybe I can help you out with that! Where is this studio?”

Chris dropped his fork on his plate and winced at the noise. Milo looked up and urgently covered his mouth so they couldn’t see him smiling wrong. Sean touched a finger on the side of his nose and spoke softly to Milo, “Miss Otis has a type, doesn’t she?”

Milo nodded.

Cerise took advantage of Flo’s absence and leaned forward conspiratorially, “So if you don’t mind my asking, Mordecai, what was all that business in the kitchen earlier?” She tented her fingers against her pointed chin and waited with a smile.

Mordecai sighed. He knew a prying female when he saw one. Cathy was like that. Hyacinth, less so — she just flat out demanded the information she wanted and didn’t tease. “I didn’t know Calliope’s ex-boyfriend, that is the man that got her pregnant and then broke up with her, was colored. There could’ve been an issue at the hospital, but of course she didn’t know that — you see how she is.” He flicked a subtle gesture, at once dismissive and controlled so that no one else would see. “But everybody thinks…”

“Oh, that irresponsible little shit!” Cerise broke in.

(Chris dropped his fork again, so did Milo.)

She caught herself and lowered her voice to a snarl, “You don’t fool around with white girls! That’s like an international law!”

Mordecai smiled at her. He straightened his sleeves and sat forward, “Miss Cerise, you are tall and beautiful with a dancer’s legs…”

“I am a dancer,” she sniffed.

“…but I love you for your mind.”

Cerise smiled as well, though a bit sharply. “Mr. Eidel, I appreciate the compliment, but if you get within one inch of my dancer’s legs I shall prune you like an unruly hedge.”

He sat back and raised both his hands. “I don’t go in gardens where I’m not wanted, Miss Cerise. Consider me no more than an interested party walking by on the opposite side of the street.”

“Then we understand each other and we shall be friends,” Cerise said. She offered her hand to shake — palm firmly sideways, not palm down like Ann did. Mordecai accepted.

“Don’t let her give you any cigarettes, little boy,” Hyacinth said with a smirk.

Cerise had a smile like a piranha. “I do needle drugs, Hyacinth. Cigarettes are bad for your teeth.”

Hyacinth laughed but broke off abruptly. Oh, gods, does she remind me of David? Or did David remind me of Aunt Vic…?

“Milo draws?” Chris cried out, audible even in the basement. Milo damn near coughed up the piece of cake he’d just managed to swallow.

“Can I see something he’s done?” Chris went on, oblivious.

“Well, he’s done Mister Hellmouth, Version Two,” Hyacinth said. “But he’s not a drawing…”

Erik peeked his head out of the basement doorway, clutching a sheaf of drafting papers against his chest. He handed them to Hyacinth with an impatient sigh. Milo hid them behind the shrine, because Mister Hellmouth, Version Two was a present. Stupid shrine. Maybe now Violet would let him get back to StarQuest.

Hyacinth examined the designs. “Oh, I guess he is a drawing.”

Chris and Calliope abandoned the table. Milo set down his fork once again and put his face in his hands, pushing his glasses up to his forehead out of habit as he did so.

Sean did not pat Milo. He patted the table near Milo. “The cake will still be there when everyone stops paying attention to you, dear heart. You can have it for a midnight snack if you like.”

Milo nodded.

“Wow! These are photorealistic!” Chris said.

“Check out the circles!” Calliope said.

“But it’s sort of nice to have friends who appreciate one’s craft, anyway,” Sean said with a smile.

Milo nodded.

Hyacinth blew past them to the kitchen, “Hang on, I’ll get the real one. He breathes fire and plays ‘Send in the Clowns!’” she called back.

Everyone stood around the table, staring and shoveling various deserts into their mouths (except Milo, who couldn’t eat, and the General, who was examining the schematics and had no care for the physical object) and watched the modified toy monkey clink his cymbals together, tinkle an annoying snippet of music, and produce regular bursts of orange flame from his grinning mouth.

“He is the best thing I have ever seen,” Chris said, pointing with his fork.

“Chris, I don’t care if nobody likes you,” Hyacinth said.

He shriveled, but she laid a hand on his back anyway.

“I like you,” she said.

Calliope poked her, “Hey, I like him too.”

Milo nodded and touched a hand on his own chest.

“There’s just no accounting for taste,” Cerise said, but she was examining the monkey so she might’ve meant him.

———

Hyacinth found herself requiring a coffee refill not too long after Cerise had excused herself to the downstairs bathroom. She was also able to busy herself with the sugar bowl long enough to catch Cerise coming out again, flicking her damp hands in front of her.

She made that piranha smile again. “I do appreciate the bucket occupying your broken sink, but some guest towels would be nice.”

“So do you go standing up or sitting down?” Hyacinth said.

Cerise flung down both hands and rolled her head back to the ceiling. “Oh, my gods! Were you waiting all night to ask that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Miss Hyacinth,” the pink woman declared. “I am a real human being, the whole package, not just a few extra inches that I don’t know what to do with. I have a brain and a heart and two whole careers. I am a classically trained dancer. I began ballet lessons at the age of six, although I was not allowed pointe shoes. I also know flamenco and tap. My perfect night out is dinner, drinks, a vintage Music Vox film and a long walk on the beach in the moonlight. I like candy apples, tacky shag carpeting, and soft kittens with cute little pink toes. Now why don’t you ask me about any of that?”

“Because I already know how kittens pee,” Hyacinth said.

Cerise brayed laughter. Hyacinth smirked.

“Oh, all right,” Cerise said. “Annie taught me how to cope with your no-toilets household during the magic storm, and she hitches up her skirts and does it standing, so I do too. I hope never to be caught here needing to do the other thing. Will that do?”

Hyacinth scratched her shaggy head, right where the steel plate was. “You know, there must be something seriously wrong with me because I never thought to ask how Ann does it.” She felt vaguely uncomfortable now that she knew, like she’d accidentally peeked in on a relative dressing.

“Annie doesn’t mind being a boy, so of course she goes like one,” Cerise said. “I do try to sit when I’m in skirts and it’s a normal bathroom. But when I’m in trousers… Well, you know, men’s restrooms…” She cocked her head. “Maybe you don’t.”

“I go through whatever door’s closest. You’re talking about those crazy trough situations.”

Cerise shifted uncomfortably. “Anything that isn’t a stall with a door.” She sighed. “It must be so much easier for you, Hyacinth. I know we’re the same… about girls, but…” She flung a gesture. “Well, my gods, look at you!”

“I try not to,” Hyacinth said acidly. “If there’s a mirror in the room I put a bag over my head, to be safe.”

Cerise shook her head. “I’m sorry. I envy you, really. I wish I could go around like…” She gestured at Hyacinth instead of going into detail about the no-corset, no-makeup, no-hairstyle look. “This…” Now she waved a hand at herself. “I’ve seen lots of women, you know,” she said. “Women can look like anything. Flat, or great big chests. Curvy or straight up and down like a stick. Long hair, short hair… Don’t even get me started on vaginas!”

“Heaven forfend,” said Hyacinth. Though the words were dry her expression was more puzzled.

“But I look more like a man,” Cerise said. “In every way,” she allowed. “If I don’t do… all this… people don’t treat me like who I am. And sometimes even when I do.” She sighed. “I dread the thought of fifty.” She eyed Hyacinth up and down. “Or however old you are.”

“I’m forty-six, you flatterer,” Hyacinth said with a grin. “I’m not about to advise you on how to age gracefully, but have you given any thought to some magic? I mean, there are gods…” She took an abrupt slug of coffee to stop her mouth from going on about the two Auntie Enora had mentioned to Erik. They didn’t seem very nice.

Cerise shuddered. “I-I don’t trust them. They… They hurt people. I wouldn’t like to… to hurt anyone…” But she wasn’t thinking of Mad Peter or all those other stories about gods tearing whole villages up when they weren’t happy, she was thinking of Pierre’s scarred chest, which she had glimpsed in dressing rooms back at the club. She wouldn’t like to hurt anyone, but she also wouldn’t like to be hurt. Scarred. Forever. She rubbed her chest through the fabric of her padded corset. “Pierre thinks I’m an impostor and I want to stay this way to fool girls,” she found herself saying.

“Pierre sounds like an asshole,” Hyacinth said.

Cerise laughed. “Yes! I like you, Hyacinth.”

Hyacinth took a step back, “Okay, but I promised Ann I wouldn’t hit on you, so…”

Cerise pouted. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“She asked.”

Cerise emitted a low growl and shook her head. “You know, I love her. I do. But sometimes it’s like I’m partnered up with her for a game of mixed doubles and she’s convinced every shot is going to nail me right in the face. I’d like to be allowed to return service once in a while.”

“I’m not going to say this is the weirdest way I’ve even been picked up, but it’s right up there,” Hyacinth said.

Cerise waved a hand. “No, no, no. You’re like the vicious dyke mommy I never had. I wouldn’t want to lose that. Lalage and Barbara are just too nice…” She lifted her head suddenly and made that wicked smile. “But how do you feel about annoying Annie in a good-natured way?”

Hyacinth and Cerise departed the kitchen after a suspiciously long conversation, arm and arm and with the fingers of their opposite hands twined intimately together.

“Hyacinth and I are to be wed in the spring!” Cerise declared. (“I want to say it, Hyacinth,” she’d demanded. “A woman threw coffee at me today, you have to let me say it!”)

And Milo, who had just managed another bite of cake, clamped down and bit two tines off of his fragile tin fork. But that was only because Ann was screaming at him.

He began to cough and Ivan, with the best of intentions, whacked him on the back with a large hand.

Milo abandoned cake and ran upstairs to get changed.

“That went even better than expected!” Cerise said, straightening her dress.

Hyacinth gazed after Milo, “I feel bad about it…”

“He did really well, though,” Calliope said of the half-finished cake.

———

Post-dessert, with the leftovers going cold in the kitchen and the dishes piled in and around the sink for whoever might be willing to tackle them later (probably Ann, when she was done being irritated with Hyacinth and Cerise), there was a little time for some music. The last bus towards SoHo was at 10:17, and Florian needed the southbound one twelve minutes before.

Erik reluctantly abandoned Answered Prayers and the tale of an evil clown figurine (“I don’t know what it is about a little shop that wasn’t there yesterday that makes people want to buy freaky shit,” Maggie said.) to listen from the top of the basement stairs. He didn’t want to interrupt the adults having fun.

“Erik, you live here,” Soup said. “He does that all the time. He’s not even taking requests.”

Florian and Hyacinth kept loudly demanding ‘MacArthur Park.’ Soup could hear it from where he was sitting, and no bombastic brass section or rainy-day cake yet.

“I like it when he’s happy,” Erik said, observing with a smile.

“Soup’s taking bets on whether Floppo the Clown’s gonna kill the crazy lady or her abusive husband!” Maggie called over.

“No I’m not!” Soup hissed.

Erik didn’t look over. “I bet you a Carrie’s Gold Bar she kills the husband herself.”

Maggie frowned, “Did they just tell you how it ends?”

“…No?”

Maggie groaned and switched off the radio. They all went upstairs to listen.

It was only a few songs. The poor can have a bank holiday whenever they want it, but they have things they need to get done if they want to eat and stay warm. Guests began to disentangle themselves and make their excuses.

Cerise issued a half-assed apology to Ann and hugged her stiff body, laughing. “Oh, you’re too serious. You’re too serious, sweetheart! You know that, don’t you? I’ll see you on Frig’s Day. I’ll bring doughnuts!”

“I’m not speaking to you,” Ann said tightly. “Jelly-filled.”

“Right!” Cerise said. She caught Chris at the front door, hugging Calliope, turned him around and stuffed a folded pamphlet and a contraceptive charm into his shirt pocket. “That’s from Mr. Eidel, because Calliope will be annoyed if he comes near you,” she said. “And this is from me.” She removed his fashion frames and tucked them in the pocket with the pamphlet and the charm. “Instead of wearing fake glasses and changing your silly name around, why don’t you try developing a personality and a spine?”

“Okay,” Chris said weakly.

Calliope frowned. “You’re a mean lady, aren’t you?”

“It’s a mean world,” Cerise said. She shoved the blue gentleman out the door, “Come along, ‘Toph.’ I want to discuss race relations with you on the bus…”

Chris glanced longingly back and Calliope and the warm house, but nevertheless staggered out onto the porch.

Florian hugged Hyacinth and then Ann. She was markedly less stiff for him.“Say bye to Milo for me, won’t you?”

“Oh, for all of us,” Sean said. He hugged her too. And Ivan did. And then they hugged each other. “He did really well, don’t let him think he didn’t.”

“I’ll do my best, dear,” Ann said. “But it always helps to hear it from someone else. Thank you.”

Florian offered a handshake to the General. When she looked up from the book she had been reading and did not offer one back, he turned it into a salute. “Thank you for your service, General D’Iver.”

She nodded to him. “And you, yours, Mr. de la Fontaine.” She closed the book and held her place with a finger. “Are you drawing a pension, Mr. de la Fontaine?” She wanted to be certain she wasn’t remiss in not returning that salute.

“No, sir. I never killed anybody.”

“A shame.” She returned to her book and turned a page.

“We’ll drop by the club on Sigur’day,”  Sean said. He smiled. “I’m going to spend the rest of the week learning Prokovian!”

“Good luck,” Hyacinth said. She wasn’t sure if talking to your huge boyfriend was any better motivation than making an irritating little man scream, but it had still taken her a few months before Barnaby started understanding her. She clapped her hands. “Soup! You’re staying in the basement with the leftovers! Soup?” She spun a confused circle. “Damn it, he was just here!”

“He ran out the back while you were saying goodbye to Flo,” Maggie told her. “He’s like the wind, Miss Hyacinth.” She shook her head. “A filthy, filthy wind.”

“He stole the rest of the apple pie,” Erik said.

“Aw, man,” said Calliope.

Mordecai latched up his violin case. “I’ll make another one, Calliope. We don’t even need apples.”

Erik hugged him. “You were really good.”

The red man made a weak smile. “No, dear one. Not really.”

“Good enough,” Erik said.

It was, but it was over now. Company was gone, and voices were tired. They put out the tree first, and then all the bottle lights. Later, when no one was moving around in the front room anymore, the mage lights on the ceiling went out. They came on once more, when Ann finished the dishes and went upstairs to bed. The fire in the brazier had burnt itself out hours ago and she did not relight it. Everyone was back in their rooms, and the household slept.