The Eight-Year-Old Sailor (126)

PSI-3

They were sitting beside each other on the back stairs. Erik had an empanada in a foil wrapper resting on a paper plate in his lap. He wasn’t eating. Maggie had a few crumbs and a balled up piece of foil left and she also wasn’t eating. The snow had dusted the alley and covered most of the trash, and the gray sky was blushing pink from the sunset. Erik was wearing his striped hat over his metal socket, which did not improve the absurdity of the situation in the least.

“Are you enjoying your glorified meat pie?” she asked him. “I mean, artistically? Since you’re not gonna put it in your mouth or anything. Maybe we can hang it on Calliope’s wall.”

He looked away. “I don’t… feel… good.”

She softened somewhat, “Still hung over?”

He shook his head.

“Well, then what?” she snapped. “You don’t even have extra homework!”

He sighed and tried to switch over from apprehension to plain misery so he could get the words out a little better. He didn’t want to sing about this. He couldn’t think of any lyrics, anyway. “Maggie… You ever mess up something so… bad everyone was afraid to punish you?”

“Is that a real thing that can happen? Because I will make it a life goal.” She had papers for weeks, starting with a breakdown of what she had done and every mistake she had made along the way that led to this result. And then an analysis of the result. Only when she had generated sufficient knowledge from her screw-ups was she allowed the freedom to go out and screw up again. It was probably gonna be a month. And then she still had to design a spell to iron out the textbook she ruined!

Erik sighed again. He set his plate aside on the stairs and put his face in his hands. He spared one hand to hold up two fingers, “I’ve done it… twice now.”

“Nuh-uh!” Maggie said. “How?”

“The… bird and my… head.”

She swatted him. “Of course no one was going to punish you for your head! You almost died! And the bird thing, your uncle almost…” She trailed off, “Oh, uh-huh,” and offered him a nod. “Yeah, maybe I don’t want to do that.”

They were quiet for a time. Maggie investigated Erik’s ice cold empanada with a finger. “Maybe I can…”

“Maggie, does your… mom ever get… hurt when you… mess up?”

“Hurt?” The brown girl snorted. “My mom doesn’t ever get hurt, period. I’m not even totally sure she gets mad about it, she just talks louder so I know it’s serious. It’s like she’s doing an educational radio program. I think she likes it when I mess up.” She shook her head. “It’s weird as hell. My life is weird as hell, Erik. You have no idea.”

“What about when you turned out a magpie?” Erik said.

“Oh, that? Yeah, she was mad about that because there wasn’t anything anyone could do. There wasn’t anyone to teach or anything to fix. She wanted it to be my Daddy’s fault, but she knew it wasn’t even when she threw the shoes at him…”

He put up both hands to stop her. “No… but…” He had to stop and sort out what he was trying to say before he went looking for how to say it. “Like… scared you were going to be a little bird forever and… worried and, and… not just not-liking it. Hurt.”

“Oh, we’re talking about your uncle,” Maggie said.

Erik shrugged.

Maggie leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head. “Boy, you are asking the wrong person if you’re trying to get a handle on whether that’s normal. But I do think it’s super unfair how you always have to watch out for his feelings, if you wanna talk about that.”

Erik screwed up his face like he’d just bitten into a lemon. It was a combination of offense and there just not being adequate music for this subject. “Feelings… aren’t… fair. They… just… are!”

“Okay,” she said, “but this thing where it’s on you to walk a tightrope and never mess up instead of on him not to scare the hell out of you every time you do is not fair. You’re eight. You’ve got, like, so much messing up left to do. I’d be scared out of my mind if I were you, it’s like living every day waiting to be shot.”

Erik dropped his head and silently examined the tips of his shoes. “I… scare… him.”

“Not on purpose.”

“He’s… not… on… purpose… too.”

Maggie sighed. “Well, that’s why I said ‘not fair’ instead of ‘evil.’”

Erik was quiet a little longer, with his cheek mushed disconsolately against his fist. “I… guess… not fair,” he allowed. He shook his head. “I… almost did this… three times. Except… Cin… hit me after… Auntie Enora.”

Maggie curled both hands around the edge of the step and scooted forward. “She hit you? Like, in the face?”

Instead of explaining, Erik pulled his hand back like he was really going to let her have it, then he slowed down and patted her cheek once with his open palm.

Maggie reached up a hand and touched her cheek. It was cold, almost numb. “But not nice like that, right?”

Erik shook his head, looking down.

Maggie pushed down both hands and stood up. “Well, you’re not supposed to do that. My mom hates stuff like that. She says you can’t bludgeon someone into learning,” she was slipping somewhat into her lesson voice and she began to pace rapidly back and forth as if pontificating in front of a chalkboard, “that’s just a sign of a weak teacher! Learning is hard and painful already, making it worse is teaching a fake lesson. Teaching your student to be afraid of you and obedient without question is lazy! Children have brains and they need to think! She should’ve given you a paper about what you did wrong and helped you fix it in the analysis, that’s what! Then you’d get it right next time!” She had ended by shaking a finger in his face. She pocketed her hand and turned away, embarrassed. “I mean, I guess. That’s better. That works better.”

Erik had angled his body away from her and ironed himself out on the stairs. He sat up only cautiously, regarding her out of the corner of his eye. When the lecture did not recommence, he hazarded, “I could’ve… died but I didn’t get hurt at all, so she hurt me so I’d… remember.”

“That’s like you put your hand on the stove but it wasn’t on and you didn’t get burned so she burned you! Geez, Erik, you don’t do things like that to a kid! Or… or anyone!”

“It was way more than that,” Erik said. “It was too… dangerous to let me really get… hurt doing that… so she hurt me… safe.”

Maggie considered that with a frown. “Like when my mom’s sparring with me and she pulls her punches?”

Erik shrugged and nodded.

“I’m still not buying it,” Maggie said. “What’d your uncle say? Did you spill that to him like everything else?”

He shook his head.

Maggie planted both hands on her hips and leaned forward, “I’m kinda getting this feeling like you care more about the mean lady who hit you than your nice friends who stole a car with you.”

He shook his head again and put up his hand for some time. “She… didn’t… know… what… else… do.”

Maggie groaned and clapped a hand over her eyes. “Erik, will you please sing something? It doesn’t have to make sense, just snake out the clog in your drain.”

Erik groped for a few moments, trying to come up with a song called ‘Why is Everything My Responsibility?’ Lacking that, he eventually came out with the opening of ‘We Can Work It Out.’

Maggie soured as if he were scolding her. “Oh, fine.”

Erik kept on for a few lyrics more, but Maggie interrupted just as he was about to ask her once again and repeat the chorus, “Erik, I am not going to heat up your empanada no matter how nicely you ask.” She grinned at him.

He snickered, “Okay,” and then sighed. “They’re talking about what to do about me in there.”

Maggie sat down next to him again. “Are the Invisibles bugging you about it? You getting a play-by-play?”

He shook his head. “I’m just not dumb. Why else would they trust us out here alone?” Violet did smugly inform him that Hyacinth wanted to break his legs, but he didn’t think Maggie needed to know that right now.

“I dunno, maybe they were hoping to turn us against each other.” She gave him a playful bump with her shoulder. “Like two prisoners in solitary. Tell Miss Hyacinth I tried to shiv you.”

“Uh-uh. That’s not funny after today. With my uncle in there.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said wearily. “Your uncle’s a problem, you know?”

“I am too,” Erik said.

“Yeah, I guess,” Maggie said. She nodded to the paper plate with the foil-wrapped pastry on it. “Do you want me to warm it up, though?”

“Sure,” he said with a smile.

———

Erik was cautiously consuming his slightly-exploded empanada when Hyacinth peeked out of the back door and said, “Hey, kid, how would you like to have a tattoo?”

———

Erik had already nodded his approval ages ago and now he was dancing sideways around the chairs in the kitchen, following Hyacinth. “Anchors aweigh!” he sang happily.

Hyacinth did not look up from the drawer she was examining. She was certain she had a piece of gold in here somewhere. The thing in the basement didn’t need any gold. “I‘m gonna need some context on that before I comment, kiddo,” she said. She looked up from the door with a sigh and closed it reflexively. “Damn it. Now I’ve got a guy who communicates with out-of-context song lyrics and a guy who communicates with out-of-context drawings. My life is a goddamn game show.”

Milo looked up from the art pad on the kitchen table with a frown.

“Milo does his own context,” Calliope said, from an observant distance behind him.

Erik undid his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. He tapped his mid forearm and said, “There! Like Sanaam!”

“Oh,” said Hyacinth. She had moved onto another drawer. “Sure. Milo, can you draw the kid an anchor while you’re at it?”

Milo nodded and returned to the pad.

Mordecai stood up and removed the pencil from his fingers. “No!” he informed Hyacinth. “No,” he told Milo, more gently, before returning the pencil and returning to Hyacinth, “You will not permanently alter my child for reasons other than safety! He does not need to look like a… like a forty-year-old sailor!”

“That was the best way you could’ve finished that,” Maggie opined, dropping her hand. She was still sore about him dragging her across the dining room, even if she did almost kill Erik.

Hyacinth looked up. “Hey, it’s already gonna hurt like a son of a gun, we might as well make it fun for the little guy.”

Milo’s pencil stuttered a jagged line on the pad, and Milo winced back from it. He had done ‘tartar emetic will kill me’ in clear, concise script at the center of Erik’s traced hand, as asked, and he had been bordering it in a decorative vine pattern with a simple version of Erik’s toy elephant at the bottom, pending approval. He had also done another mockup with interlocking gears. Wait, this is going to hurt him? He tore the page from the pad, crumpled it and pushed back from the table. He put up both hands and shook his head. Nope. Not doing it. I’m out.

“Aw, I liked that one,” Calliope said.

“Milo…” Hyacinth approached sideways, looking slightly away. She held her hands at shoulder height like she was surrendering. “You know we’re labeling him to help him, right?”

Milo nodded weakly.

“You’re very sure you’re not just hurting him because we messed up?” Maggie said. Erik swatted her shoulder.

Hyacinth rolled her head sideways. “Maggie, do you have a problem?”

“Later,” Maggie said, regarding Erik’s uncle.

Hyacinth returned to Milo with an irritated click of her tongue. She made herself smile. “Anyway, we need to do this and my printing is ugly. You know that.”

Milo nodded.

“Okay, so, please?”

Milo took the art pad back to the basement and returned with ‘TEWKM’ (“Milo, nobody knows what that means! This is for strangers!”) followed by ‘tartar emetic will kill me’ in tiny letters that looked like they were done by a mouse.

Hyacinth sighed and tore the sheet off the pad. “Okay, Milo’s out. Calliope, what about you?”

“I don’t really do ad copy,” she reiterated.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really do legible and Milo’s having an argument with reality…”

Milo frowned.

“Can you give it a shot?”

She shrugged. “I guess. Hey, Erik, come over here and gimme some more blanks.”

Erik obligingly allowed her to trace his left hand a few more times.

Calliope produced ‘tartar emetic will kill me’ in three different fonts of varying boldness and complexity, with two more she wasn’t very happy with and scribbled out. Milo drew a little picture of a magazine on the kitchen pad while he was watching her, put a blank box as a header over the blank-faced but fashionable woman on the cover, scribbled in it and indicated that with a sharp line. He showed it and pointed at Calliope. You’re good at ad copy!

She smiled. “Aw, thanks, babe. I dunno if they just freehand it like that for magazines, though. I think they have layout guys… Erik, you like any of these?”

Erik pointed excitedly at the typewriter font Calliope had used for his uncle’s funny sandwich picture. It was gonna look like somebody rolled his hand into a machine! It even had a jumpy ‘e!’

Hyacinth was considering the options with a frown. “This one is easiest for me to hook up.” She indicated Calliope’s approximation of the script from the header on the Pan Encyclopedia ad. Milo had considerately done all his in cursive — he knew her limits. “If I try to do individual letters like that it’s gonna look like a mouthful of bad teeth. I have to hook everything up or I won’t get the spaces right when I take it over to Erik’s hand.” She drew out a fine gold wire, which she had considerately produced from the remnants of a bracelet while Calliope was working, and laid it on top of the penciled script. “I’m going to trace you, it takes me too long to learn how to forge.”

“What if I just put that one on Erik’s hand?” Calliope asked her, tapping the typewriter font. “In ink? Then you can trace it there.”

Erik nodded eagerly.

Hyacinth frowned. “Non-toxic. I’m burning it into his skin, Calliope.”

Mordecai groaned and thudded his head on the table.

“I got squid ink,” Calliope said. “You can eat that. I saw it in a restaurant down on SoHo. That do ya?”

Milo brightened. Ooh, squid! Like at the Natural History Museum!

———

After a short time spent chatting with Lucy and the General, Calliope returned with an ink pot and a cigar box of paintbrushes. “Okay, I want the green one. I know you’re in here, you little sucker…” She pawed through the clicking wooden handles.

“Hey, are those good metal?” Hyacinth inquired of the shiny ferrules below the bristles on each one.

“Nooo,” Calliope hedged. “Aha! There’s my huckleberry!” She triumphantly hauled out the green-handled brush with the finest tip. “Okay, Erik, lemme borrow your hand!”

Milo was examining the ink pot, hoping for information on the squid. ‘Sepia?’ Is that a species? I thought it meant ‘brown…’

“Why is everything in this house a production?” Mordecai muttered, face in his hands. “Can’t we just damage him and be done?”

Erik patted him encouragingly with his free hand. “It won’t hurt as much as the other thing, Uncle.”

“That is a very high bar to clear!” Mordecai said.

“This part isn’t going to hurt, you ninny,” said Hyacinth. “It’s not like when I had to flay you in the alley to get you back to the house. It’s external. He’s already rearranged himself to accept metalwork, and this is only a tiny piece of it. He’ll feel crummy for a couple days with a sore hand. He’ll probably be more bored than anything.”

“I want the radio,” Erik said, nodding. He paused. “Not in the… basement.”

“It doesn’t plug in, you’re fine anywhere in the house,” Hyacinth said.

“Don’t wiggle, hon,” Calliope put in.

“Tickles,” Erik said apologetically. “Auntie Hyacinth, if I can only have metal forever, what about when Juh…” He caught himself. “When that… man had splinters merged to him?” He glanced at his uncle, who was still staring at the table top, fortunately. “In the serial. On the radio. Shouldn’t they have killed him trying to fix him with stuff that wasn’t a tree?”

Hyacinth also glanced at Mordecai, who was still very fortunately staring at the table top. “Oh, that? Uh. Any plant matter, not just a tree. But that wasn’t done well, you know. It was a plot point. And it was a really excellent metalworker who knew what they were doing. You wouldn’t let just anyone do that. How unfortunate they canceled that after only one episode. I would’ve loved to make your uncle listen to something where the really excellent metalworker is the hero.”

Mordecai sat up. “Things in serials don’t have to make sense, dear one. They don’t check for continuity half the time, let alone science. I’m sure your Auntie Hyacinth wouldn’t do anything stupid like that in real life.”

“…Yes,” said Hyacinth.

Erik snickered.

“Sorry, almost got it,” Calliope said. She painted one final flourish and then blew on his hand to dry it. “There ya go.”

Erik examined the back of his hand and made an open grin that no words came out of. He waved his hand happily over his head and finally managed, “…Awesomesauce!”

Hyacinth snatched him, examined the design and laughed. “Yeah, okay. I’ve got enough.”

Now Mordecai got up and grabbed Erik’s hand. “Calliope, no! No anchor!” He licked his thumb and rubbed it away, leaving only the words. “Erik, you are eight years old and I am still in charge of keeping unnecessary holes out of you… No matter how bad I am at it!”

Erik sighed. Well, if he was gonna put it like that… “Okay.”

Calliope patted his hand. “There’s room for it when you’re older,” she said with a smile.

Milo had done a squid on the art pad with the second-finest brush, the blue one. He held it up and showed Calliope. Sepia!

“Or Milo says you can have a squid,” Calliope added, smiling.

Milo set down the pad and turned his head aside. He covered his mouth so Calliope wouldn’t catch him smiling wrong. She’s so funny, Ann.

And you’re very sure she doesn’t actually think you want Erik to have a squid, Milo?

Yeah. He blinked. What, you mean you’re not?

Hyacinth pulled down her goggles. “Okay, everyone needs to shut their eyes and look away — no matter how interested they are,” she added, glaring at Calliope. She crouched nearer to Erik. “Your eye’s still bitched up, right? Okay…”

Erik frowned. “Milo… fixed it but it’s in the… bedroom.”

“That’s what I meant. Close the other one and put your hand over it.” She pulled his fingers and guided it. “Okay, bright lights!”

Through her amber lenses, she watched the fine gold wire melting gently into Calliope’s dark printing and guided the edges of each puddle. Erik had seemed awfully attached to this design, so she went slow to get it right. This wasn’t like ink that would break up or fade, especially in bendy places like the hands. This was a permanent alteration; more in line with scarification than a real tattoo. There’d be a place here that wanted fourteen karat gold for the rest of his life. If he was cut there or torn it wouldn’t even heal without more metal. Which was why she had to destroy pieces of John Green-Tara’s face around the merged pieces of Mordecai’s ‘cello and fill them in again.

She could have killed him, she guessed. Theoretically. If his body had converted over to plant matter already, she could’ve rotted him from the mergers out. But the fix was obvious, she knew she could do it and she wanted to.

She was aware this was David’s exact motivation for fixing her when she got shot at the garden party and it unsettled her to think about it.

She frowned and continued to coax the hot metal into Erik’s burning skin, destroying cells and replacing them before there was a chance for the vanished nerves to protest. They’d register their indignation later, as his body started to heal and adapt.

Erik felt a heat that was large but not painful, radiating into his palm and fingers and all the way up to his elbow. He trusted Auntie Hyacinth about it not hurting, but he couldn’t remember about it from when she fixed him before. Also, he didn’t want to think too much about that in case somebody told him. Probably it hurt a lot anyway, because he was really messed up. He remembered how it hurt after… That was pretty much all he could remember until Maggie came in with the grape soda. It seemed like a long time. They…

She used metal to draw the skull fragments out of your brain, Erik!

He sighed and rubbed his eye with his hand. Piss off, Violet.

Hyacinth stopped halfway through ‘Emetic,’ “I’m not hurting you, am I, kiddo?” She’d never done this over ink, or so deep. Just to the outer layer of her palm so she could swipe things when necessary, and a couple times for temporary decoration.

“No,” Erik muttered. “Dumb… Violet.”

Mordecai sat forward and opened his eyes. “Erik, do you see her?”

Erik turned with his closed and covered eye obvious and acidly regarded his uncle.

“Calliope, I think Erik would appreciate it if you take some time to label me an idiot when Hyacinth is done,” Mordecai said.

“Cool,” said Calliope, with hands over her eyes. “I can do it in henna. I’ve got black. It’ll go a couple weeks.”

“Give me a few minutes to figure out if I’m feeling that level of stupid, please, dear.”

“‘Kay.”

Erik giggled.

“Close ‘em or lose ‘em,” Hyacinth said.

Mordecai covered his eyes and turned away.

“I guess we’ll get you some ice cream for breakfast,” Hyacinth said absently, continuing to work.

“Will I still taste metal?” Erik asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Awhile. Sorry.”

Erik shook his head. “Then I don’t want anything I like to eat. I want breakfast too yucky to ruin.”

“My mom’s got a box of bran flakes for when she can’t find a pigeon,” Maggie said. “She thinks she’s hiding it. I guess she eats it dry.”

“Ew, raw cereal,” Calliope said.

Erik nodded. “That, then. That.”

“Hold still, kiddo,” Hyacinth said. “Be patient.”

“Please cultivate patience, Erik,” Mordecai said. “I think I’m going to make ‘pushing too fast’ a monster but I’m not sure what to call him yet.”

“Excuse me, it’s January,” Maggie said. “If we were dumb like that we would’ve run out and done it right when Erik found out about the brownies. We planned this!”

Milo lifted his head and almost opened his eyes, then didn’t. Were there brownies? He thought there might’ve been brownies this morning, but he looked and he couldn’t find any.

That is not brownies, Milo. That is something incredibly irresponsible that Calliope and Mordecai like to do sometimes, it does not involve us.

What, are they day-drinking chocolate liqueur in Calliope’s room ?

…Yes, essentially.

A brandy alexander tastes good, but I don’t like how you are after.

I know, Milo. That is why we avoid them when they’re doing that.

You like brandy alexanders, Ann.

I don’t want to drink brandy alexanders with Calliope and Mordecai, Milo. I don’t want to encourage them.

You drank champagne with Hyacinth…

Hyacinth doesn’t have kids! Milo, will you stop poking me about this?

Milo winced and rocked slightly backwards in his chair. Okay. Geez.

…Mordecai can’t take care of Erik when he’s like that.

Ann, now you’re poking.

It bothers me, that’s all.

We’re all supposed to take care of each other. Sometimes somebody can’t, then we all help out. We’re doing that now, to fix it so nobody hurts Erik on accident ever again. It’s good Mordecai messed up here where we could catch it and it’s safe. It’s good Erik messed up here too, because Hyacinth knew how to fix it. I don’t like how it’s gonna hurt later, but it’s good.

…I don’t know, Milo. I suppose it’s nice of you to think of it that way.

Mordecai and Maggie were having a snarling argument with hands over their eyes.

“…Well, I know what to call a monster who’s just smart enough to help people do dumb things they couldn’t do on their own! It’s named Magnificent D’Iver and I’m not entirely sure it’s just a helper and not an instigator!”

“You think I started this? You don’t know half the shit I tell him we can’t do! He wanted me to turn into a dragon!”

Mordecai dropped his hands and looked up but did not open his eyes. “Can you actually…?”

“Calliope, you don’t need to label him,” Maggie said.

“Aw,” Calliope said.

…I just wish I could help them not fight, Milo thought.

“Come on, you guys,” Calliope said. She rocked back in her chair with both palms pressed over her eyes. “Seriously. You love each other.”

“Wha-a-at?” Maggie said. A laugh broke up the word like radio static.

“Erik needs you, anyway,” Calliope said. “He needs someone to have fun with and someone to keep him safe… And that’s both of you, and all of us too, ‘cos he doesn’t have a regular mom and dad and we’ve all gotta wear the hats. We screwed up the hats today. We’ll get it better tomorrow. Don’t yell about who dropped what and why it rolled under the couch where we didn’t see it. Let’s just pick it up and keep going.”

“Calliope, why is it always hats with you?” Mordecai said. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but why hats?”

“I dunno. Why not hats?”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have bought them the absinthe and done drawings of Erik as a bird,” Hyacinth said wonderingly.

“Aw, man, that sucks,” Calliope said. “I didn’t even get to see him. Maggie, was he neat looking? What kind of bird?”

“A green sparrow with a teeny-tiny metal eye,” Maggie said.

“Bitchin’,” Calliope said.

Milo stood urgently and attempted to feel his way to a kitchen doorway with one hand outstretched. The weird god shrank Erik’s eye? I need to check it!

“You can look, Milo, I’ve done it,” Hyacinth said. She lifted the goggles to her forehead and blinked, clearing her vision of white lines. “What do you think, kid?”

“It’s okay,” Erik managed, considering his family around him. He’d like there to be less yelling altogether, and he was still sorry he messed up, but it was okay. He held up his hand and smiled at the gold writing. It was upside-down from where he could read it. No anchor, but there was a jumpy ‘e,’ for ‘Erik.’ “This is good too, but I’m dizzy.”

“Welcome to Fever Town, Population: You,” Hyacinth said. She stood up and stretched. “Come on, let’s get you an ice bag and bed. Maybe you can sleep it off.”

Mordecai picked him up and carried him, not that he really needed that. Milo blew past them carrying Erik’s dripping eye and a tiny screwdriver. Calliope and Hyacinth helped tuck him in. Hyacinth put a pillow under his left hand specifically, “Try not to move too much. I’ll see about moving the radio tomorrow.”

“I’ll bring you that box of bran flakes,” Maggie said. “You want milk?”

“Nah,” Erik said.

“Our little sinner is good as gold,” Hyacinth remarked to Calliope.

“Fourteen karat,” Calliope said, nodding. She didn’t know about tin being ‘Sn’ in magical notation, which Hyacinth thought was a shame. Milo would’ve got it, she’d have to try it again when he was around.

When they were gone and he heard his uncle working the crank to turn out the lamp, the ‘Snner’ said, “I’m… sorry,” very soft.

“I know, dear one,” said Mordecai. “We all are. But let’s pick it up like Calliope said and try to keep going.”

“You still… love me?” Erik asked.

Mordecai abandoned his new lamp and knelt down to hug him — very carefully. “Yes, dear one, more than anything. Nothing you can do is ever going to change that. It’s bigger than you, and it’s stronger than both of us.”

“Maybe you should put it in the monster book.”

“Maybe. I guess we need some good monsters.” Mordecai kissed the boy on the forehead, which was already too warm, but if he thought about that too much he was going to grind his gears again and Hyacinth would start whacking him on the case. I will just do my best to stab this very small monster to death while you’re sleeping, dear one, but I suppose if it’s still like that in the morning I’ll ask Hyacinth or Calliope for a hand. “Try to rest now. We’ll be up awhile if you need anything.”

“Goodnight.”

Mordecai departed to drink tea and discuss hats with Erik’s other parents in the kitchen.