47 Mobile Goat Farm
Mobile Goat Farm
I’m in Alaska, in the magical basement of my Winnebago with several extraterrestrials and a pair of werewolves, getting the galactic coordinates of an alien star system tattooed on my arm.
Calvin is interviewing the first of the alien children we’ve tracked down—a Chupacabra child who wears the disguise of a human girl of about ten.
She’s borrowed the precise shade of the blond hair of one of her fathers, but the wide green eyes and winning smile of her other father.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to pick and choose my features like that.
Her name is Wren, and she stumbled her way into the perfect family for a stranded alien.
We weren’t sure where to look for the rest of Orion’s and Eldi’s lost escape pods.
They’ve been dubbed “the Seventy-Four,” and we have our work cut out for us, tracking a bunch of resourceful and resilient chameleons with a knack for endearing themselves to people.
“I found her digging in a dumpster behind the tattoo parlor a few years back,” Calvin’s cousin Archer says.
Archer called Calvin after the whole mess at Agency 51 and the release of the now superviral video of Calvin and Orion calling for an Agency 51 raid.
He finally told Calvin the true story of his daughter’s supposed adoption.
Wren’s other dad, Theo, pipes up. “Anyway, out of the blue, Archer brings this only vaguely human, totally feral little monster to my work one evening and asks me to investigate.” Theo investigates missing people for a living and works real-life X-files as a side hobby.
It only takes me about five seconds after meeting Theo to decide that I adore him.
When they pulled up to our campsite and I opened the Winnebago door to greet them, Theo came bursting out of the car well ahead of Archer and Wren and stomped right up to me.
I’d only had the impression of curly hair as unruly as mine and a sweet baby face that belied his age before he was rapid-fire talking.
“So I need you to know, if you hurt Wren in any way, I’ll make you disappear.
I’ll hide your bones so deep in the forest, they’ll never find any trace of you.
Poof, no more you, got it? I investigate missing people, and that means I know how to make problems disappear and—hey, sweet shoes.
Oh shit, how many pairs of Converse do you have?
I haven’t ever seen a pair in that color before—”
He said this all without waiting for me to answer and then slid right past me and started digging around in my disorderly pile of shoes, leaving me reeling from death threats and compliments in the same sentence.
Archer had been close at Theo’s heels with a sigh, a fond wry grin, and a “He tends to do this, sorry,” while tugging Wren along by the hand. Archer is model pretty, perfect bone structure and carefully styled blond hair, and even more tattoos than me.
Theo is thrilled to get a tour of the Winnebago, and Archer has brought along his tattoo kit, so we settle in to listen to Wren’s story.
Eldi and Wren shyly stare at each other while Orion watches more subtly.
Luca sits unobtrusively, petting Bandit, who loves all the new company regularly trooping through the Winnebago.
Zara and Meredith and our various allies at Agency 51 and in the Whistlemen (I’m still pestering Zara to change the name to something less gendered, but baby steps) are all in Nevada, cleaning up messes and restructuring things, but this interview is being recorded for them.
“And then before we knew it, she kind of lived in our house and was a part of our lives,” Archer says with a shrug, raising his eyebrows at Theo meaningfully. Theo only gives him a wry smile in return, before Archer turns back to his work on my arm.
“Couldn’t find a thing about a missing person even remotely matching her description, but since we already had an idea that Wren was different, it wasn’t surprising,” Theo explains.
“I dug up some strange stories about an odd creature in the woods. Strange lights in the sky, little things that no one could explain, but none of it really told me anything about what or who Wren might be. It isn’t .
. . unheard of . . . for strange things to happen in those particular woods.
Eventually, we decided it didn’t matter. ”
“Wren learned to communicate and blend in better,” Archer says.
“We figured out how to feed her safely; she likes raw food, but we went for fresher than dumpster fare like she was finding on her own. Alaska’s a great spot for fresh game meat.
She particularly likes moose. We named her Wren, made up a backstory, forged some paperwork, and here we are. ”
“Up until recently, only a few of our immediate family members knew,” Theo says.
“But they all took it in stride too. My sister said it’s the monsters who don’t look like monsters that you have to watch out for.
The ones who actually look like monsters are usually misunderstood or very specifically genetically adapted.
Plus, Wren never really seemed dangerous—a little wild maybe, but what kid isn’t?
We figured what was the harm in letting her stay as long as she needed. ” He shrugs.
“Dad watched me sleep the whole first night to make sure I wasn’t going to eat them all,” Wren cheerfully adds as Theo scoffs.
“But then he spent the next five years straight checking every night while you slept to make sure you were breathing, like you were some delicate newborn,” Archer says.
Theo blushes and mutters to himself but doesn’t dispute this.
Wren and her family hang out all afternoon.
She gleefully plays with Eldi and follows Orion around with ill-disguised hero worship.
Orion’s working on his own projects full time now.
Besides the obvious, traveling with Luca, Calvin, Eldi, and me, tracking down more lost Chupacabras, Meredith and Zara have given him a remote position as liaison.
He was already the obvious choice, but now it’s official—paperwork and salary and all.
Orion’s other pet project is our new pets—the goats.
Much to my dismay, I’m now the proud owner of a goat farm—a mobile goat farm.
It’s every bit as chaotic as it sounds. Luckily, the Winnebago is roomy—Winnie even rustled us up barnlike sleeping quarters for them—but the next goat that chews on my shoes is going to become a hamburger with a side of bacon.
Or whatever the equivalent is in goat terms.
Orion is working on a fully synthetic version of goat’s blood to sustain himself and his brethren without all the goat murders.
But it means he needs a lot of test subjects and an excess of donor blood to make do while he gets production up and running.
Plus, Eldi likes the goats, and what Eldi wants, she gets.
It started out with just one. But then it turns out goats need friends.
And suddenly it’s like they were appearing out of the woodwork.
I’ve got Captain Kidd, Scapegoat, Goatee, Billy, Goatzilla, Vincent van Goat, and Eldi’s personal favorite and my new archnemesis, Baaa-thazar.
That one’s named after a demon for a reason.
I’ve made it clear when I run out of good goat names, we aren’t getting any more.
Calvin tried to float the idea of sheep.
But come on, a werewolf-owned sheep farm?
Talk about on the nose. Luckily, Doug and Dave do most of the farm upkeep and goat herding.
They even picked up a new friend, a stray robotic mower of all things. I named it Mowsus immediately.
My sisters are once again a staple presence in my life.
I wouldn’t say we have perfected the dynamic, but we’re getting there.
Meredith still sends me cryptic emails rather than face me in person when she’s mad, and Zara still asks too many questions.
Wolff, too, is underfoot far too often, and Zara’s grown rather attached to him.
I know she bribes him to spy on me. I tolerate it and only send him on the occasional wild-goose chase now.
Gemma says we should probably work on healthy boundaries instead.
Gemma was peeved, to say the least, at Zara and me for everything she handled alone while we were busy at Agency 51 and visiting the Mothership, from official business to comforting a very concerned Wolff.
I’m not quite clear on the details, but somehow, our business meetings morphed into a casual waffles-and-sushi get-together every couple weeks.
It’s the new normal to have a friend like Gemma who knows nearly all of my secrets and flaws and has chosen to stick around anyway.
Luca is essentially running an online magic school with Calvin now.
They’ve found common ground far more easily than I expected.
They’ve ganged up on me regarding the “adults communicate and form healthy relationships” bullshit.
We communicate in this household now, for better or worse.
Calvin’s podcasting/streaming channel is doing quite well.
It helps the podcast ratings and our relationship dynamics that they’re both pretty.
It’s like a two-for-one deal, and I’m a sucker for a bargain.
Now I have someone to man the lifeboats and someone to throw me a rope. I’m no longer sailing alone.
We recovered Calvin’s Airstream unscathed.
Sometimes he stays there; sometimes he doesn’t.
Luca has a high-tech backpacking tent when he isn’t staying in one of our campers.
I would be lying if I said all three of us didn’t end up together in the Airstream more often than not.
Now that we know for a fact Winnie really is sentient, we do our best to be respectful about our extracurricular activities.
Not to mention, it’s a mood killer, knowing your elders are watching and judging.
Luca’s in the market for a more permanent addition to our little camper caravan but is being extraordinarily picky about it.
I think he just likes riding his motorcycle while we travel, but one more good hailstorm or the first snow of the season and my money says he’ll cave.
We can always get a bike rack. I’ve got my eye on an old school bus I think would be fun to renovate.
Winnie still won’t let me redecorate. Orion prefers to sleep under the open sky.
Eldi often joins him, and I feel that paradoxical tug of loss and happiness in my heart when she does.
I am not the only one who loves her. Someday, her life won’t include me anymore.
Eldi is learning how to grow. She still struggles more than most with her transformations, according to Orion.
But she could pass for a three-year-old now.
With the attitude to boot. Fuck me, I guess.
Some phases are universal across the galaxy.
Three-nagers, I tell you. Parenthood. It’s not at all what I expected, but it isn’t half-bad.
As night falls, the stars emerge. Eldi appears at my feet, lifting her arms to be picked up. The September night air is peaceful and cool as I sway with Eldi in my arms and watch the barest hint of aurora light up the sky.
“Orion,” Eldi says, pointing up.
“He’s not in the sky tonight,” I say softly. “He’s here, home with us.”
Here, home, here, a little voice chimes inside my mind. A warm weight on my shoulder tucks closer to Eldi, melting cloudlike around her.
Sister, the little voice whispers in my mind as Eldi whispers the word aloud.
“Good night, Buoy,” Eldi says sleepily, snuggling Goat and her new sister, eyes drifting shut.
Sleep well, sleep tight, bedbug. Right?
Close enough.
She didn’t have a name to give me when I asked.
Names are a fluid concept for their kind, our kind, who find it so hard to untether enough to necessitate the distinction.
But both of us are a little unconventional.
Plus, it’s tradition to name any permanent addition to Winnie’s crew.
I chose Buoy. Afloat but not unmoored, a marker to cling to in a stormy sea.
The rest of my motley crew of family is gathered around the campfire.
Orion has his phone out on a video chat with my sisters.
Luca is absentmindedly petting one of the goats as he reads by the firelight.
Doug and Dave are practicing the standard English alphabet in the dirt.
Calvin is returning from the Airstream, carrying something behind his back.
Orion expertly dodges Calvin’s free hand as he reaches out to ruffle his hair.
Luca catches Calvin by the hand and pulls him down for a kiss as he passes by.
I roll my eyes fondly at the wink Luca gives me when he sees me watching.
Calvin pulls Manny back from the fire out of habit as he walks my way.
Manny has only nine fingers now—turns out he’s a bit of a pyromaniac.
“Hey, I got you a present,” Calvin whispers, holding something out as he approaches. “Sorry, it’s not wrapped. The goats got into the wrapping paper.”
It’s a new pair of sunny yellow Chuck Taylors.