Chapter Seven #2
“They are especially active,” Pax said. “The tenants’ association.”
“Active,” Josie repeated weakly.
Model Guy poked his head out through the doors. “Is that raspberry or strawberry preserves in the pastries?” he asked in what sounded like an Eastern European accent, brows furrowed, voice resonant and obscenely sexy.
“They’re tawberry jelly,” Amos told him.
Model Guy rolled his eyes and frowned in an expression of disgust.
“There are Bavarian creams in this one,” Josie said, holding up the box in her hand.
Model Guy sniffed. “Bavarians.” He pulled his head back into the room and the doors swung closed behind him.
Silence again.
“This has something to do with the rent being low, doesn’t it?” Josie asked.
Halfway to his head, Pax’s hand stilled, then fell to his side. “They have all had sufficient”—he looked up and to the right—“background checks. Our tenants. You are in no danger from them.”
Pax mentioning danger unprompted didn’t make Josie feel better. Neither did the sinking feeling there weren’t any members of Gloria’s country club in there.
“Please come,” he said, the tiniest lift of his brows and widening of his eyes taking years off his face.
How many years? “They are excited to meet you. The zombie…Zombino family have even composed a welcome song. Joey, the youngest, was inspired by a television program called The Partridge Family.”
Pax trailed off, something in her expression having clued him in that none of the words he’d said made any sense. At all.
Eyebrows lowering, the years crept back into the planes of Pax’s face, and the prickly sting of loss itched Josie’s skin.
Once, a long time ago, Josie had believed in a man. A boy really. He’d been tall and strong and quiet, too. He’d lied to her and left her, and Dan had left, too.
Her brain sucked hard on a damp, lipstick-ringed filter and reminded Josie she was a shit judge of character and shouldn’t try to make friends.
There was too much at stake.
“It’s getting late,” Josie said, grabbing on to a truth so she wouldn’t stutter or blush. “I’ve gotta give Amos his dinner and bath. Why don’t you take the donuts? The Bavarian creams are on the bottom for”—she gestured toward the door—“the guy with the…” She gestured at her face. “The guy.”
“Raphe,” Pax said.
Of course Model Guy’s name was Raphe. Probably Raphe Midnight or Darkmoor or something equally black-velvet-and-red-rose-ish.
“Mom,” Amos whispered, and tugged at her hand. His Spider-Man tuque had fallen off and a hank of sweaty hair stood up in the center of his head like Big Bird’s feathers. “We can go in. I won’t let go your hand the whole time.”
Damn.
If Amos could be courageous enough to stand on top of a cheerleader’s shoulders, Josie should at least have the guts to go to a stupid tenants’ meeting.
“I will—” Pax stopped himself. “Um, that is to say, if you find crowds difficult, I can…we can stand in the back and be the first to leave. If that is of any comfort?”
The concern in Pax’s eyes couldn’t have been faked and the warm pressure in the center of her chest from knowing someone was looking out for her gave Josie the strength to take a risk.
“Okay, buddy,” she whispered to Amos, then glanced up at Pax. “Okay, Mr. Pax. Let’s go eat some donuts and make some friends.”
· · ·
“The laundry room rules are written in large font, Ms. Fate.”
Maddy stood at the lectern and spoke into the superfluous microphone, her voice venturing into nails-on-chalkboard territory.
“I am happy to have a committee meet to agree on standard font size in all building communiques if that’s why you continually violate rule 44 and use a full-load setting on what is obviously a small-to-medium load. However—”
A chorus of voices drowned her out.
“They came!”
“They’re here!”
“More donuts?”
“Should we make up another cheer?”
Pax had hoped to slip Josie and Amos into the back of the room without a lot of fuss. Tiny wrinkles in the shape of question marks had bracketed Josie’s mouth after he’d helped Amos down from Cindy’s shoulders.
He couldn’t assure Josie that the hint of nutmeg in the air meant Cindy was using a faery freeze-fall spell.
The way Josie watched her son while at the same time reacting to everyone else around her—this was the look of a soldier on point, ready for danger, expecting the worst. As evidenced by Number Five’s reaction to Josie’s clock, having the new tenant be a bundle of nerves wasn’t helping the situation get better.
Somehow, Pax and the rest of the guests had to convince the young mother of Amos’s safety without using magic.
Raphe flicked his eyes at Josie, then at Pax, his opinion easy to read. The king-in-waiting was restless and wanting blood.
Time moved according to the tides of magic, which meant one day on this world might equal ten on another. Without fuel, Number Five’s universal clock was frozen and none of them knew how much time had passed since they came here.
Raphe had checked in expecting a journey of two weeks. Three at the most. A month could have gone by on his world, and he’d never know it.
Few had expected Raphe’s father, the vampire king, would perish in a coup while his son was on an extended diplomatic visit to the Gnoman Empire.
When Raphe got word of the king’s death he’d rushed to the closest Wayside stop, frantic with both panic and rage.
Rumors swirled around Number Five about who had been responsible for the coup, but Raphe said little on the subject, only that he was returning home to claim his rightful throne.
Raphe’s initial panic had since subsided, but his rage kept building the longer he was forced to wait for retribution.
Not every guest had stakes as high as Raphe’s, but that didn’t mean they enjoyed sitting around and waiting.
Not to mention, the guests on the sixth floor wouldn’t stay asleep forever.
“As I was saying…” Maddy’s voice flattened and slapped at the air like a pancake spatula, indicating she was losing patience. Mindful, the crowd’s exclamations dampened and most of them turned back to face her. Like normal humans.
Speaking of which, Pax would have to tell the owl shifter in 4B to stop turning his head all the way around.
“Item number two on our agenda is an etiquette reminder. I have received more than a few complaints about some of you leaving strong spells—”
“Derp!” Joey, the youngest Zombino, shot up out of his chair, eyes bugging out of his face. Hopefully, they wouldn’t fall out while the humans were here. “Strong smells, you say?”
“Ahem.” Maddy caught herself. “Leaving strong smells behind in the elevator. Kindly think of others who must endure the vestiges of those…smells…in a small, confined space. Now, on to item number three—”
“That’s an ableist take, Maddy.” Denis stood on the seat of his folding chair, arms across his chest, beard quivering—the model of an outraged gnome. Not that they were usually anything else.
Pax’s head dropped.
He should reconsider the blood sacrifice and put Denis’s name up for consideration.
“I challenge you to find any evidence of the tenants’ association discriminating in any way, shape, or form,” Maddy snapped. “Our guidelines are both inclusive and holistic, Denis.”
“Those of us who suffer chronic conditions cannot control their symptoms on cue. If I am in the elevator after a meal and happen to—”
“She means smells,” Joey said. “You know. Smells. Smeeeeelllss??” His pale, spindly fingers wiggled like spiders in Denis’s direction.
Denis did not get the hint. Denis was impervious to hints unless they were in the shape of an anvil and fell on his head.
“What I wanna know is who stole the e’s from the Scrabble letter bags,” demanded Future Fate, the youngest of the Fate siblings.
They crossed their arms over the front of their purple velvet tracksuit jacket.
“Bunch of sore losers. Just because xinczrthyn isn’t spelled with a c where you come from, doesn’t mean it’s not a word. ”
“It’s not a word,” muttered Denis.
“I have to get Amos his supper,” Josie whispered to Pax, her eyebrows so furrowed they looked like a confused caterpillar marching across her forehead. “We should go.”
“When are we gonna talk about the pile of dirt out there?” the owl shifter piped up, his glasses slipping down his nose when he thrust a pointer finger at the window facing the courtyard. “The new tenant needs to tell us what it’s for.”
Every single head not already on backward now turned toward Josie. The air around her chilled.
“Right.” Maddy grabbed for control of the meeting. “Item number three. Our new neighbors in our apartment building here on this delightful Earth. Everyone welcome Josephine LaChiusa and Amos LaChiusa.”
“Hi!” Amos, unmoved by the same anxiety that had turned his mother to ice, waved happily at the dozens of folks who examined him intently.
Some more intently than others.
“Well?” the owl shifter asked, arms still crossed. “What’s the deal with the dirt?”
“The deal with the…?” Josie twisted around and looked at Pax. Looked at him to save her. That’s what knights were supposed to do for ladies in distress.
How, though? He could cut someone’s head off, but Pax couldn’t work out how that would help her. It would probably do the opposite. Plus, he’d have to clean it up.
Amos pulled his hand from Josie’s and clonked over to the window, then mashed his face against the glass.
That couldn’t be hygienic.
“Mom, the backyard got ruined,” he cried.
Pax, praying to the gods he wasn’t fucking everything up, squeezed Josie’s shoulder once. He joined Amos at the window and the rest of the tenants followed at a small distance, still observing the newcomers.
“What happened there?” Josie asked him, her eyes wide with surprise.
The courtyard was no more. The cracked cement and rotting benches were gone, replaced with a towering pile of rich, black soil.
“That’s what I want to know,” said Denis. “If I have to sit through these meetings to get one little thing fixed, so do you. You can’t go wishing for dirt piles without asking the tenants’ association first.”
Josie gaped, her astonishment and discomfort so strong the air vibrated with it. Pax stepped forward, putting himself between Josie and the tenants.
“Number Five decided on the dirt,” Pax said, gesturing to the courtyard.
Amos frowned, and Pax quickly followed up. “I mean to say, the dirt is for a building project. Our building needed dirt, so I bought some.”
“You bought dirt?” Josie asked.
Shit. How else did one acquire dirt?
“Is it a unique blend of soil that cannot be found anywhere else, perhaps?” Raphe inquired, his eyes wide and brows lifted to his forehead, overenunciating as though speaking to a child.
Dick.
“Yes,” Pax snapped. “Yes. I ordered special soil to…” What had Josie said the other day in the courtyard? “…to create some green space.”
“A garden?” Josie asked.
Was there a note of hope in her voice?
“A garden,” Denis hissed in horror. “With statues?”
“Will we be burying anyone, er, anything in there?” Raphe asked, true interest shining in his eyes.
“This is exciting,” Princess Naliti piped up. “We can grow flowers.”
“Oooohh.” The princesses made a collective sound of appreciation. After loud music and shiny things, faery princesses loved flowers most of all.
Before they could break into a cheer, Maddy strode to the window. She glared at the enormous pile of dirt, glared at Denis, then at Pax, at the cheerleaders, and finally at Josie, who turned a little green.
“If Number Five is to have a garden, there needs to be a garden committee,” she announced. “The committee will meet once a week and report back at the biweekly tenants’ association meeting.”
“There will be night-blooming flowers,” Raphe demanded.
“And hellebore,” Joey added.
“Peppermint,” Denis offered.
“When do we start?” Naliti asked while her sisters did a few cartwheels with typical faery excitement.
Josie, however, had turned from green to gray when everyone in the room stared at her in expectation. Except for the owl shifter, who had turned his head around to leer at Maddy’s legs.
Pax was going to kick that guy’s ass.
“We?” Josie echoed, sounding nauseous.
“Mom,” Amos said, bouncing on his toes. “Mom, you always say you wished you could put your hands in dirt. You said so, Mom.”
Put her hands in the dirt? Pax waited for Josie to deny it, but she opened her mouth, then closed it, a stricken look in her eyes.
“We can help dig, right, Mom?” Amos asked.
One of the fluorescent light bulbs sizzled then dimmed, and the smell of burnt popcorn mingled with the fumes of the ugly brown carpet beneath their feet.
“Mom?” Amos asked quietly.
Josie lifted her head and examined the tenants with her steady gaze, a hint she knew this moment was important, even if she didn’t know why.
“A garden committee.” She looked at Pax quickly, then at the pile of dirt out back. “What a wonderful way to get to know our new neighbors. I would love to join.”
Maddy rolled her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears as the faeries cheered and backflipped the length of the room. Denis designated himself vice president in charge of decorative objects, Joey Z. whistled, and Raphe left the room with the box of Bavarian creams under his arm.
Josie didn’t see any of this. Her attention was on Amos, who twirled around in his snow boots and laughed as though he could hear someone whispering something silly in his ear.