Chapter Ten
The following morning, David slept late.
Around eight, drawn by the scent of freshly brewed coffee, he pulled on his favorite tartan bathrobe and shuffled in the direction of the kitchen.
He emerged from the hallway, only to be greeted by the unwelcome sight of Meredith dancing about the living room with Bianca in his arms, singing a song about—as far as he could make out—rabid dogs and monsters from space and other things David didn’t care to know about.
David massaged his temples. “Would you stop singing.”
In all fairness, though one would never guess it from Meredith’s speaking voice, he was actually a rather good baritone. That annoyed David as well, even if he couldn’t explain why.
Meredith, of course, paid no heed to David’s admonition. Instead, he held up Bianca to face height, and when she nuzzled at his throat, he gave an exaggerated cry of distress and collapsed dramatically onto the sofa cushions. “You’ve done it, you’ve slain me!”
She celebrated her victory by licking his face, prompting him to break into laughter and kiss her atop the head.
“It’s far too early for all this racket,” grumbled David.
“But, David, it’s Bianca’s favorite song.”
“Is it.”
“Yeah! She loves acting it out—she’s the mad dog, and I’m the blue-eyed heroine.”
“Heroine?” David repeated, wiping a hand over his face. It was too early for Meredith in general, he decided, not that one ever did feel quite prepared for him at any hour of the day.
“It is in the lyrics, David.” He released Bianca, who wasted no time making her escape.
“Some people change them to suit, you know.”
“Yeah, well, that’s where I’ve got an advantage, isn’t it?
” Meredith said brightly, taking up his coffee cup from its precarious position on the arm of the sofa.
The earthenware mug, glazed in a gradient of sea green, had been a gift from Mrs. Jupiter that had somehow survived two years of Meredith’s careless handling.
(David suspected she’d had the foresight to add a charm against accidental breakage.) “I made coffee, by the way, if you want any.”
“Tea it is, then.” David made his way to the kitchen. He did indeed want coffee and wasn’t going to waste time making tea when the percolator was still going on the stovetop, but that wouldn’t stop him complaining about it.
#70: He makes the worst coffee in the world.
Meredith, unfortunately, followed. “Oh! You’re so mean to me.”
“I am, I’m hideously cruel,” agreed David. He poured himself a cup of coffee and diluted it with a splash of hot water from the tap. “I don’t know what else you expect when your coffee’s like tar.”
“You just don’t know how to appreciate a bold cup.”
David paused in the act of reaching for the sugar bowl. “A bold cup? You could pave the streets with this.” He turned to find Meredith with his own empty cup in hand.
“You done, then? I’m having seconds.”
After adding enough sugar and cream to make the beverage drinkable, if not palatable, David ventured a sip and sank into his seat at the table. “You’re up early,” he remarked. “For you, I mean.”
Meredith took a drink of his undiluted coffee, appearing, against all probability, to enjoy it, and drifted past David into the living room. “Genevieve called a bit ago and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“Oh, yes? Any news?” He hoped there might be some new details on the wedding front, but he’d resolved to tread lightly on that topic.
“There’s news.” Meredith sounded put out. “She and Jayceon went away for the weekend, and it seems they’re engaged now.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
He waved a hand. “Oh, for them, I suppose. Only now she expects me to be in her wedding, too.” Taking up his usual spot in the window, he confided, “We’ll see what Jayceon has to say about that. He doesn’t like me, you know.”
“No?” That, David had to admit, was a surprise. In his experience, nearly everybody liked Meredith, even if that did call their judgment into question. “You’re quite sure?”
“Well, Genevieve says”—here Meredith slipped into an uncanny imitation of his cousin—“You misunderstand. He’s just quiet. You should get to know him better.”
“Perhaps you should get to know him better,” suggested David.
“Are you joking? The man doesn’t speak, David. It’s like talking to a—a microwave oven. Not even, because that at least lights up and goes ding every once in a while.”
“I believe the usual comparison is talking to a brick wall.”
“Well, that’s daft, who’d go talking to a brick wall?”
“Who’d talk to a micro—” David gave up. “Never mind.”
Meredith got to his feet and abandoned his coffee mug on the window seat, where it was likely to stay until he knocked it over or David picked it up.
#71: Dishes appear to wink out of existence in his mind the moment they leave his hands.
“Just as well, I suppose,” mused Meredith.
“What, that Jayceon’s a kitchen appliance?”
“No, that I couldn’t get back to sleep.” Meredith collected his sketchbook and pen from the coffee table. “I’ve got things to do before I go in to the shop.”
“Oh, you’re working?” At Meredith’s quizzical look, David pointed out, “It is a federal holiday.”
“Yeah, only I ain’t a government entity, am I?”
“Language.”
Meredith flopped down onto the sofa and made an obscene gesture at him.
“Lovely,” said David. “Truly, a man of refined and genteel nature.”
“I am, thanks.” Meredith flipped open his sketch pad to a fresh page and spent a moment in apparent thought, twirling his pen between his fingers.
“Anyway, Thao said a couple guys came in asking after me for a consult yesterday. Of course I wasn’t there, so she told them to come back today.
Which, normally, I only see people by appointment, but I suppose one ought to accommodate if they’ve gone to the trouble. ”
“Is that so?” David tried, without much success, to ignore the rambling monologue. Ordinarily he’d reach for the morning paper and Meredith would get the hint, sooner or later, but of course he hadn’t bothered to go out and fetch it from the mailbox.
“—and before that, I promised I’d help Kinley collect his last batch of signatures this morning. Did you know he’s petitioning Senator Guzzledown to get the Midnight Wood on the National Register of Magical Places? Oh, you are coming to his party on Saturday, aren’t you?”
A hint of unease crept into David’s mind. “I thought you were going shopping with Adalynn on Saturday.”
“In the morning, David. You can do more than one thing in a day, honestly. But you will come?”
“We’ll see,” said David, who did not approve of McKinley Hendricks and had no intention of doing any such thing.
At last they fell into a period of silence, punctuated only by the scratch of pen on paper, but it turned out to be all too brief.
“David?”
David sipped his coffee. “Hmm?”
“What if there was a porcupine made of forks?”
#72: This is the exact sort of nonsense he always comes out with if allowed to think too hard.
Unconcerned at the lack of response, Meredith turned his sketch pad toward David. “Lookit. I call him the Forkupine!”
—
By the time David emerged from the shower, Meredith was gone. The plumber came not long after, made short work of the necessary repairs upstairs, and sought out David where he sat at the kitchen table, absorbed in online house listings.
“Pretty bad buildup of timescale you had there,” she told him. “No wonder the last guy was in over his head.”
“Limescale?” echoed David absently, not looking up from his laptop screen.
“Timescale,” she corrected. “Happens sometimes with exposure to temporal anomalies. Little bit of reverse rust, too. That’s where your leak was coming from.” She hefted a short length of corroded metal pipe for his inspection. “You’re lucky you caught it before it spread.”
At David’s blank look, she launched into a highly technical explanation of metallurgy and alchemical processes that went well over his head. He nodded along, made vague sounds of dismay at what he hoped were the appropriate intervals, and accepted her invoice to pass on to Bednarek.
At one o’clock, David met Leonard Flood for the first of their scheduled house viewings.
It was an older farmhouse on the opposite side of town, just a bit too far to comfortably walk, which was a point against it.
The house itself had been modernized in a utilitarian fashion, and an effort had been made at what David characterized as rustic decor.
The flooring was easy to clean, he noted with approval, as the current homeowner trailed after Mr. Flood with a mop and a grim expression, wiping away the residue from his tentacles.
David had an hour to kill before the second showing, so he parked his van in the empty staff lot behind the Corner Store and took a slow stroll through downtown.
The Corner Café, too, was closed today, so he made his way past Two Way Tattoo, Kinley’s shop; past the Lost past the trio of heavily tattooed, rough-looking types who were likely coming or going from one or the other, without paying them much mind.
There was Mr. Flood’s office, in between the ice cream parlor and the pet shop.
(We carry exotics and familiars, proclaimed the sign in the window.) Continuing down Main Street, he passed by the potions dispensary, the antiques shop (Professor Cyrus Sandoval, Purveyor of Cursed Artifacts), and the post office, closed for the holiday.
The furniture store, however, remained open, and the raven perched on the signpost out front cawed in greeting.
David nodded. “Afternoon, Ralph.”
“You in need of any furniture, Mr. C? Home decor?” He waved a wing to indicate the window display. “We got your top-quality purple curtains, genuine antique busts of Pallas, whatever you’re looking for to make your house a home.”
David doubted whether anything sold here—or in any shop, for that matter—could make him feel truly at home in Midnight Cottage. “I think I’m all right for now, thanks.”
“We’re running a sale on office furniture,” added Ralph with a touch of desperation. “Writing desks on clearance!”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
David hastened down the sidewalk. He had no intention of joining the early crowd at any of the pubs, and though a newly opened Austrian bistro looked promising, he’d had the vague idea of keeping that one back for a special occasion.
In the end, he went to the unimaginatively named Downtown Diner, where he took up residence in a corner booth, had a cup of mediocre tea, and sent photos of both houses pulled from their online listings to Harriet for her opinion.
You want me to be totally honest?
Please.
The first one is a little tacky
Like they went too far with the retro look
I haven’t seen it in person yet. I think it might not be intentionally retro, just dated.
The second one is WAY too country
So not you
I’m inclined to agree.
Do you want me to keep an eye out for listings around here too?
David considered. It wouldn’t be an unreasonable commute. In fact, the location would be all the more advantageous if he did get the job at Cartier’s headquarters. Not to mention he’d be closer to Harriet; he’d begun to keenly feel the dwindling frequency of their once-weekly coffee dates.
Yes, let me know if you come across anything suitable.
Will do
By the way, I finally managed to score an invite to the Corner Store auction this year
Congratulations.
What did Corner manage to get out of you?
I commissioned a couple pairs of mittens from my grandma
Which gives me an excuse to go visit next weekend
I don’t suppose that was enough to make it onto the VIP list?
Me?
Not a chance
I’m sorry.
I’d get you in if I could.
I know
No luck on your end either, then?
Afraid not.
It’s the least he could do when he’s making you plan the whole thing
Any news on Contreras?
Nothing official yet
Just whispers
Heard she’s been looking at retirement condos down south
Anyway, got to go
About to go meet up with my date
But I’ll see you at the auction, okay?
And keep me posted on the house hunting!
As David took another sip of tea, a new message popped up on his screen. An afterthought from Harriet?
No. This one was from Meredith.
can we go to the rat cellar tonight
please
David sighed. He supposed he oughtn’t to refuse two nights in a row.
Who’s playing?
the estranged swedes
actually did a touch up on their bass player last time they were in town
wouldn’t mind seeing how it healed
but mostly just really need a drink
just about had it with these mf nazis
#73: He makes even less sense in writing than he does in person.
What are you talking about? What happened?
nothing major
just had to throw some guys out of the shop
tell you about it later
at the rat cellar???
Yes, all right. What time?
I’ve got a long session booked that’ll probably run late
let’s say 9:30 and I’ll let you know if it goes over
meet me at the shop?
All right.
thank you <3
David rolled his eyes at the heart.
That, unfortunately, was not the end of that.
Meredith continued texting him whatever half-formed thoughts drifted through the barren landscape of his mind.
At least David assumed it to be barren; he didn’t want to spend much time contemplating exactly what the inside of Meredith’s head looked like.
btw you think these are good for steve?
This was followed by photos of several drawings.
David spared them no more than a cursory glance as he scrolled past, just enough to catch sight of the usual angular scribbles in black ink.
In any case, Steve Corner was hardly a discerning patron of the arts; the important thing was to see that Meredith followed through on his promised donation.
Yes, those should be fine.
thought you’d be pleased
to see them go
David didn’t know what he meant by that, either, and chose not to respond. It was nearly time for his second appointment. As he paid his bill, his phone buzzed yet again.
also, do we have any riesling at home?
a dry one
not a sweet one
think that’s part of where I went wrong last year
David had reached his limit with the irritating notifications, and without replying, he set his phone to silent.