Chapter Nine October Thirty-First
Pine Ridge, New York
My room is beautiful. There’s nothing fancy in it, but it’s mine, and I can tell Artie tried to make it look nice.
Laurel is adorable, and she likes me already.
Artie is kind, and even exhausted, he cooks like a god—at least in my opinion.
It’s a day of firsts, but I can’t let on how new all of this is.
The luxury of a shower and hanging up my clothes, feeling a slowly dawning relief that Barton won’t burst in to scream or scold.
To feel warm and safe. To have a baby to cuddle, one that smiles and gurgles at me as though we are old friends.
It’s paradise.
And I still have the money Artie sent to Carol. Five hundred dollars in cash.
I can buy clothes. That tan-colored makeup, like the one I found in my mother’s trunk. I can get a phone. Maybe a laptop so I can go to classes? There’s even a campus in this town, Artie said. Maybe one day...
If the money isn’t enough for a laptop, I bet I can use computers at the library while Laurel sleeps next to me in her carrier, if I’m allowed to leave the house with her.
I get a dreamy feeling thinking about pushing her in her stroller, taking her to see the ordinary things that happen in a town. She’s only an infant—we can share lots of firsts together. First trip to the library. First time in a store.
First solid food, first tooth...
Almost like a real mother and daughter.
I get giddy thinking about giving her the love I never had, love I learned about on glimpses of shows and pages of books.
Oh, reading to her with her in my lap... I hug myself and then pinch both arms.
It’s not a dream.
“UM. HEY. AROUND NOON, there’s a big Halloween parade in town.
The schools are closed. Kids trick-or-treat early around here.
Guess it’s just the way they do it in this town.
Um.” Artie stands in the doorway of the little dining room, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s free. I’ve had a couple hours of sleep. You wanna go?”
“Go?”
Not hide.
“I mean, it’s Halloween. And I—I have to go get some formula.” Artie bites his lip.
There’s a lot that he doesn’t say, and even though I don’t have much experience with others, I think I understand plenty.
Halloween. Laurel and I could be safe in public. He could show me the town. Wants me to see it’s nice—so I won’t leave.
It’s free, because he doesn’t have much. Just says formula, because he probably spent most of his money on getting me here.
I dig in my mother’s old wallet and hold out a bunch of money without counting it. It’s stupid.
I swallow down something sharp in my throat as I push a smile to my lips.
Barton and Sarah barely educated me. They let me have old books to keep me quiet, Sarah let me watch television to shut me up—or maybe to show what small kindnesses she could.
They let me take online college courses after I saw a commercial and started to beg—but I understand now that it was Sarah’s way of trying to keep me distracted and another piece of Barton’s cruelty, expecting me to fail, be crushed by how incapable I was, and then retreat into the shadows, a silent, huddled creature in my room.
What I’m doing is probably foolish and won’t serve me well, but I have to believe in the happy endings I’ve read about, about people landing on their feet if they’re brave enough.
“What?” Artie stares at the money.
“I didn’t need as much as I thought for flying out. I know it must be expensive to suddenly hand over half a thousand dollars. Take some back for the groceries. I’ll keep some. I want to buy a few things for myself. I need... I need a way to get a phone and a laptop.”
“I have an old laptop and phone. I can have up to three lines on my plan, that’s no problem!” Artie says eagerly. “And I’m an IT nerd.”
“It?”
“Information technology. A computer geek. I can fix up old computers and hack into things and— Oh, not that I’d hack in a bad way.”
“Hack? Get papers made up or sent over that people wouldn’t normally have access to?” I clarify cautiously.
“Well, I can try. I’m not sure if I could get into some big corporation’s bank account. I wouldn’t try!” Artie holds out his hands.
He radiates nervousness and an eagerness to please.
I used to feel that way around Barton, too, and it was never met kindly. I was never good enough.
My heart skips a beat, a lightness bubbling in me as I imagine my efforts finally being met with friendship. Maybe more.
But first things first. “C-could you get me a... A birth certificate if I was born at home and never had one filed?”
Artie’s face goes solemn. “We’ll do that. My way or the red tape way. We’ll get what you need, Imogene. I want you to be happy here for as long as you want to stay.”
Forever. I want to say forever.
Instead, I ask, “Should we get Laurel ready?”
“Yes! I made her a costume the other day with a green onesie and a Sharpie. She’s going as a watermelon.”
“Adorable.”
IMOGENE IS QUIET IN the car. In the store. She sits forward, eyes wide, and her mouth opens slightly when she sees the park, the library, the shopping center.
I find myself dreaming about taking her out to the nice little Italian place next to the Fresh Market. I dream about ordering pizza with her and eating it on the couch. About doing anything with her.
Heck, I’m even excited to go to the store. I’ve been ordering everything online or getting deliveries, afraid to take Laurel out in public unless she’s hidden under the hood of her stroller and protected by blankets.
By the way she reacts, I’m also realizing that her friend Lesha lied. No one ogles a small mountain town like Pine Ridge like they’re on an alien planet if they’ve been to New York City.
I don’t know the full details of what she escaped, but I know she was desperate—maybe more desperate than me.
I don’t care about the lies, as long as she doesn’t hurt Laurel.
“I need makeup. To hide this.” Imogene points to her pink hands, pulling on her gloves as we park.
“Okay. Maybe we could try that on Laurel. I don’t know... I feel like that’s bad for babies.”
“It probably is. But—” Imogene stops, hand on the door, lips parted in surprise. “I... That’s not a costume. Is it?”
I follow her gaze. There’s a cute brunette woman walking arm-in-arm with a tall figure covered in scales. His tail twitches and waves, winds around her waist. His wings flare and then fold down over his shoulders as they go into the store’s automatic door.
“That’s one hell of a costume,” I breathe out, wondering about how expensive it must be to have the articulated wings, the tail that moved so seamlessly and fluidly.
Like it was real.
“Are you getting out?”
I gasp when a deep voice, the kind of deep double bass voice that you associate with Russian opera, is suddenly at my window.
A huge man with a bull’s head and a baby carrier over one arm is waiting politely next to my car.
“You have a baby, too. It’s still hard for me to get the carrier in and out without waking him. If you’re going to get out, I’ll wait to open the door,” the man explains.
Man.
Minotaur. That’s a half-man, half-bull, right?
I find myself reaching blindly for Imogene’s arm. Why? I don’t know. Like if I hold her arm, she’ll be safe from the guy with huge horns coming out of his head. And a baby on his arm.
From this angle—me down in my seat, him towering above, I can see that this isn’t a mask. The mouth moves. There are big, square white teeth. A huge pink tongue. Huge everything.
I risk a look past him, down into the carrier, and see—an adorable little boy. Sleeping. Pale peach in a blue footie suit—and he’s got horns. And a soft brown tail twitching next to his toes.
“I’m getting out,” I grunt, and I do, so fast that the minotaur dad steps back.
Something is burning in my chest. Imogene is scrambling out next to me, a faint cry of my name drifting past me in the cinnamon-scented air. I pull open the rear door and lift the carrier out. Without saying anything, I hold my daughter next to his son.
“Aw. Cutie! Oh, my gosh, a watermelon. Adorable, and perfect with her coloring!” The big minotaur croons over Laurel, who looks at him with unblinking eyes.
“This is Laurel,” I croak.
“Ilias.” He gestures toward his son. “I’m Milo, by the way. You guys must be new in town. Glad you found your way here.” He waves at Imogene and then extends his huge hand to engulf mine in a handshake that leaves me worrying if you can powder knuckles.
“You’re a—”
“Minotaur. Taurosapien is the preferred term, but I’m not fussy. My wife says minotaur all the time. And you are—” he squints at Laurel, then Imogene, and I hold my breath.
Monsters are real. I think they’re real.
That explains a lot.
And this huge, horned man might be about to give me the most important explanation of all—what is Laurel?
THERE ARE OTHER MONSTERS. A minotaur. Maybe something like a dragon-man? They’re not humans in costume. I can tell up close.
But there are people all over the parking lot at the shopping center, humans pushing carts right past us, parking their cars right beside us, ignoring us like they don’t see anything unusual.
What does that mean?
I don’t know what to feel. Scared? Not alone?
Fear wins out when I realize the being called Milo is about to reveal my identity. Demon. Half or whole, if it’s true, Artie won’t want me near his precious child. Demons are evil. I don’t know them personally—unless I am one, I guess, but I know the word demonic. It’s not a good thing.
“Krampus? Am I right?”
“Krampus,” I whisper slowly.
“Oh, gosh, if I’m wrong, forgive me. This little dude isn’t sleeping through the night, and I’m running on coffee and prayers. I don’t think there’s been a krampus living in Pine Ridge for—well, not since my parents moved here.”
“Why aren’t people pointing? Or staring? Do they think we’re in Halloween costumes? And we only come out this time of year? I ask in a tense whisper.
“Uh... Well, I mean, the ones that can see us probably don’t care, and 99 percent of humans can’t pick up the supernatural.
I don’t know what they see instead. Probably just a little family with a baby.
For me—dude, I don’t know how they miss the horns and the hubcap hooves,” he lifts one hoof and chuckles, “but that’s just how it is. ”
“But—but I can see that my daughter and—my Imogene are pink. And lovely! But they have little horns,” Artie protests.
Milo looks puzzled, and his eyes stop at the top of my head. A look of puzzled pity comes over his face, and I quickly adjust my hood to make sure what’s left of my horns are covered.
“Well, yeah. When humans are exposed to the supernatural in a shocking or forceful way, their eyes are opened. Until that happens, most of them are just minding their own business, thinking I’m a bodybuilder with huge feet and your wife and daughter have rosy complexions.”
“I don’t have to hide? I grew up—”
“Oh, believe me, that’s all too common. If you grow up always thinking you have to hide, you’re shocked when you realize you don’t have to. It happens a lot if your parents didn’t raise you in a paranormal community.”
All my life, I’ve been urged to speak as little as possible, shouted into silence, and insulted for thinking aloud. Right now, some of my newfound freedom asserts itself. “Laurel and I could go to the park? And the library?”
“Yep. If you want glamours just in case, the magic shop sells them.”
Artie and I exchange glances. “Glamour?”
“Something you wear, like a pendant that keeps people from seeing your ‘true form.’”
Artie jumps in, “But I did see Laurel. And Imogene. I’m a good guy, but what if bad guys were to—”
Milo’s kindly face turns into something fierce.
He picks up the baby carrier hanging over his arm and holds it closer to his massive chest. “That’s why there’s a Night Watch in Pine Ridge.
That’s why we look out for each other here.
There are bad people in the world, men who look human and have the hearts of monsters.
They don’t get to exist in Pine Ridge for long. ”
Artie looks stunned. Then satisfied. “Good. H-how do I sign up for this thing?”
Is it normal to feel your tummy full of wriggling, fluttering heat when you see a guy hint he’ll dispatch bad men and evil monsters to protect his baby?
“Well...”
“I know I’m not big or buff like you or that scaly guy who just walked into the store, but I’m not going to sit on my ass and let someone else protect my family without at least offering to help.”
The fluttering spreads. My cheeks feel hot. Am I blushing?
Someone just offered to protect me, too. Kind of. That’s never happened. Barton would tell me that’s not what Artie meant, but I don’t care. I’m in his family. At least, we’re pretending.
I hardly allowed myself to venture into pretend or make-believe as a child, and daydreams always ended in harsh warnings and bad realities as a teenager and young adult. I don’t want this game to end. I’m already dreading it, even though it’s only just started.
Milo’s big grin is back when Artie makes his speech. “Give me your number? We can talk. And Imogene, I’m sure my wife would love to talk to you, too. New mom commiseration and venting. Our little guy looks like he’s about the same age as your daughter.”
“Three months?” I say in a shaky voice, trying to smooth it out and look calm. Confident.
“Yep! Born in July.”
Milo and Arti exchange numbers. I take my gloves off. Lower my hood.
No one stares. Points. Screams.
“I like it here,” I whisper to Artie when we finally strap Laurel’s carrier into the cart and walk inside.
“I do, too. I never... I mean, not until I saw Laurel...” Artie’s head swivels, and so does mine.
Most people are perfectly normal-looking. But there’s the man who might be some kind of demon, or maybe a half-dragon, and a pale green woman with long, gorgeous hair.
People smile at me.
I learn how to smile back without my chin trembling and looking down fast. I almost scream when Artie taps my arm.
“Do I call you my wife?” he hisses in an undertone.
“Yes.” Absolutely. Let me play in my happy world for a little longer. Maybe a year, or two, or ten. Make up for all the years where there was nothing but longing and emptiness, knowing this wasn’t how life was supposed to be.
“I don’t have a ring.”
“That’s okay. We have each other,” I say staunchly.
Artie beams at me and puts his hand up on the top of the cart handle. Palm up.
I place mine inside it.
“I see a lot of couples holding hands when they run errands,” he explains.
But a little part of me leaps in excitement. He could just be trying to create the right picture for the public, in case someone is watching. Or he could be looking for an excuse to hold my hand, because he has the fluttering in his chest, too.