penny over the legal limit, the cheapskates. They know we could’ve cooked the books. There’s a note for you, Evan. On the hall table.”
He went to collect it. From within a sealed envelope he drew a note scrawled on dove gray stationery left over from Nick’s bookstore days.
Dear Evan:
Alec orders me to mention at the outset that we were only a little drunk at the time. A day or two ago we had the gemstones and teacups out, practicing for our biennial Election Prediction Ritual, and something curious came up. The gist of it is that at some point in early September one of your children will be at risk. At risk for what, of what, why, exactly when, and which one, we have no idea. These things can be maddeningly vague. Alec (who insists that we weren’t really that drunk) is asking if perhaps you’d send along a few strands of hair from our niece and nephew so that we can get a clearer read. You probably won’t want to mention this to Holly or Lulah.
As ever, with love to all,Nicholas
Lachlan chewed his lower lip for a moment. Had Nick and Alec been really worried, they would have sped down here from Connecticut. But had they felt it nothing more than an oddity produced by mild inebriation, the letter would never have been sent. So he’d raid the kids’ hairbrushes tomorrow, and not tell Holly or Lulah.
“Anything interesting?”
He slid the envelope into his breast pocket and turned to his wife with an easy smile. “They want to know if I want the next check drawn on Simon’s account or Kate’s. I’m wondering if I’d have a better chance of winning by outspending my esteemed opponent or doing it the way everybody’s gonna suspect me of anyway.”
“Physical intimidation?” she suggested. “Parking tickets?”
“Magic.” He grinned.
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. “There’s not a single person in this county who ever thought Jesse McNichol ever won a single election any way other than merit. We have rules. We stick to them.”
“Hey, relax! I was just kidding.”
“It’s not funny, Evan. I thought by now you’d understand.”
“I was kidding!” he repeated. “Geeze, Holly, downshift it from fifth gear, would you? I wouldn’t want to get elected for any reason other than that the county wants me as sheriff.”
“I know. So let’s go to this thing and make sure everybody knows what a prize you are.” She went back into the parlor to say goodnight to the children—who ignored her, too busy helping Lulah construct a watering hole out of a saucer and some sphagnum moss. The triceratops family looked interested.
On the short drive back to the main house, Evan brought out his olive branch. “Y’know, being a mother agrees with you.”
She picked at some of the dried chocolate on her skirt. “Kirby and Bella agree with me. Mothering as an abstract concept, however—let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m raising Kirby and Bella, and not abstract concepts.”
“I forgot to ask—are we getting anything besides nibbles at this thing?”
“You’re getting free booze. What more do you want out of life?”
“A great-looking girl to bring home and fuck through the floorboards.” He paused. “Oh, and world peace.”
Holly gave up and laughed.
THE STEGOSAURUS THAT HAD infinitesimally wounded Bella wandered off unnoticed out a slight gap in the screen door. Being very tiny, it took the creature all night to traverse the porch, drawn by the scent of flowers in the lavishly planted beds surrounding the house. Sometime around dawn, the steg tumbled off the porch and broke its neck.
Thereby was possible ecological disaster averted when a real dinosaur— a real dinosaur —might have found its way to the nest of a snake or a lizard or a bird (though this would be unlikely; stegosaurs were not known for climbing trees), fertilized its eggs or had its eggs fertilized (it was unclear whether the formerly plastic animal had been male or female), and all genetic hell would
He went to collect it. From within a sealed envelope he drew a note scrawled on dove gray stationery left over from Nick’s bookstore days.
Dear Evan:
Alec orders me to mention at the outset that we were only a little drunk at the time. A day or two ago we had the gemstones and teacups out, practicing for our biennial Election Prediction Ritual, and something curious came up. The gist of it is that at some point in early September one of your children will be at risk. At risk for what, of what, why, exactly when, and which one, we have no idea. These things can be maddeningly vague. Alec (who insists that we weren’t really that drunk) is asking if perhaps you’d send along a few strands of hair from our niece and nephew so that we can get a clearer read. You probably won’t want to mention this to Holly or Lulah.
As ever, with love to all,Nicholas
Lachlan chewed his lower lip for a moment. Had Nick and Alec been really worried, they would have sped down here from Connecticut. But had they felt it nothing more than an oddity produced by mild inebriation, the letter would never have been sent. So he’d raid the kids’ hairbrushes tomorrow, and not tell Holly or Lulah.
“Anything interesting?”
He slid the envelope into his breast pocket and turned to his wife with an easy smile. “They want to know if I want the next check drawn on Simon’s account or Kate’s. I’m wondering if I’d have a better chance of winning by outspending my esteemed opponent or doing it the way everybody’s gonna suspect me of anyway.”
“Physical intimidation?” she suggested. “Parking tickets?”
“Magic.” He grinned.
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile. “There’s not a single person in this county who ever thought Jesse McNichol ever won a single election any way other than merit. We have rules. We stick to them.”
“Hey, relax! I was just kidding.”
“It’s not funny, Evan. I thought by now you’d understand.”
“I was kidding!” he repeated. “Geeze, Holly, downshift it from fifth gear, would you? I wouldn’t want to get elected for any reason other than that the county wants me as sheriff.”
“I know. So let’s go to this thing and make sure everybody knows what a prize you are.” She went back into the parlor to say goodnight to the children—who ignored her, too busy helping Lulah construct a watering hole out of a saucer and some sphagnum moss. The triceratops family looked interested.
On the short drive back to the main house, Evan brought out his olive branch. “Y’know, being a mother agrees with you.”
She picked at some of the dried chocolate on her skirt. “Kirby and Bella agree with me. Mothering as an abstract concept, however—let’s just say it’s a good thing I’m raising Kirby and Bella, and not abstract concepts.”
“I forgot to ask—are we getting anything besides nibbles at this thing?”
“You’re getting free booze. What more do you want out of life?”
“A great-looking girl to bring home and fuck through the floorboards.” He paused. “Oh, and world peace.”
Holly gave up and laughed.
THE STEGOSAURUS THAT HAD infinitesimally wounded Bella wandered off unnoticed out a slight gap in the screen door. Being very tiny, it took the creature all night to traverse the porch, drawn by the scent of flowers in the lavishly planted beds surrounding the house. Sometime around dawn, the steg tumbled off the porch and broke its neck.
Thereby was possible ecological disaster averted when a real dinosaur— a real dinosaur —might have found its way to the nest of a snake or a lizard or a bird (though this would be unlikely; stegosaurs were not known for climbing trees), fertilized its eggs or had its eggs fertilized (it was unclear whether the formerly plastic animal had been male or female), and all genetic hell would