Hospitals are their own sort of crossroads. Loaded with the struggle for one more breath, the despair of those too late, and the calm acceptance of people who have good reason to court the Reaper, the potential for exploitation by those of ill intent is high in the Days After reunification. There are guardians in place and wards kept running smooth- not all divine, and certainly not all of Heaven. A peace is kept by sheer force of will of those who work there.
This peace was preserved in the face of Suits (repelled by gimlet-eyed nurses and a few of the upper ward gargoyles recruited as muscle), media frenzy (a cordon of security guards, including Siegfried the auroch minotaur), and the vanguard of the Mother’s Mafia (a quick conference call to Sharon and they scatter, some to organize who was a possible witness, some to canvas the neighborhood, some to coordinate logistics and supplies.) (Though the general is weakened she is not without strength, and this is what she can do well. This is what she tells herself as she crumbles in private call to Steve, wrapped in Hellwife’s arms as she fights not to vomit again. She isn’t sure who is shaking worse, herself, Hellwife, or Steve’s hands as he holds the phone.)
In the face of Beatrice’s grief, the peace is uneasy. It lightens a little when Steve arrives, because he is a past master of acting as ambassador to those beyond, whether beyond human understanding or beyond the depths of grief. His hope, too, lies in Millie’s tiny limp hands, and this is something that he can do, for her, for Beatrice, for Timmy, for Son. He can sort through pleasantries and accept a dinner tray. He can gently encourage Beatrice to eat a little, and listen to the doctors while watching the nurses. And he can hold back the terrible gnawing fear because this, this is something that he can do. He can do this. He can.
Beatrice is not lost. This is not her first time, watching the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest, willing it to continue. Millie’s father nearly killed her, beating Beatrice into early labor. The first month of Millie’s life was spent in an incubator with her mother watching, watching. They were all alone, her and Millie, until an awkward, goofy man brought a huge house-trained cabbage just to keep her daughter safe, until the leader of the neighborhood stay-at-home spouses absorbed her into their web, until a family of Halloween decoration rejects that her mother would have run screaming from were the kindest beings she ever met. (Steve told her what Antler Guy had done to the peeping tom. She admits to herself that she considered asking him to visit Millie’s father in a similar way.)
Even now she watched how these people- her new family- drew together, holding each other up through their own overwhelming pain to help hold her too. She spared a moment to be grateful that at least Millie was here, not lost and possibly hurt, before returning to her thoughts. She had given a thorough report to the police, of course, and combed through every bit that she could remember with obsessive detail. She simply could not remember. This is suspicious, in itself. Beatrice does not forget small detail. Her life has taught her that the tiniest change can be incredibly significant: Millie’s untimely birth started with a dangerous silence she reacted to too late. So she knows when the children have a secret, often before Sharon. She knew the day before Miss Cravandish’s eggs hatched, just from the way the peeping changed tone. She watches, and she hides in plain sight. An unwed black mother is not always seen and she uses this to her advantage, another weapon in an unkind world.
As Steve sleeps under a thin blanket with exhaustion etched in deep under his eyes, Beatrice thinks. She thinks about all the snippets she has picked up from Hellwife, the frantic research into eldritch protections that she did when Millie first became friends with Son, the feeling in the air when she walks through a ward-line. She thinks about her daughter, the way she smiles, how happy the boys make her, how their lives have changed so much.
She thinks about how she has never seen a birthmark on her daughter’s bicep before.
Steve makes a call to the Suits when Millie wakes up. Not to ask for help but merely to inform them that yes, she is awake and no, she will not answer any questions from Suits or police. The hospital administration tries half-heartedly to keep Millie for observation, but other than a reluctance to talk she is in perfect health. Her mother insists on going home, for recuperation in a friendly environment. No one sees the fist in her pocket, or the wad of Kleenex wrapped with precision around a dark-brown smear.
The car ride is uneventful- Steve drives while mother and daughter cuddle in the back, and whisper. They turn onto a ghost-street- no one is out, not even at midmorning. There are signs of life, though, and care- the pets have been fed and watered, Auberguine’s leaves are neatly bundled for the composting pickup. Bella’s skateboard is propped against the Abomination’s porch, next to a fresh delivery of soup and casserole. (Bella herself is currently curled up deep in the depths of Auberguine, having cried herself to sleep. Mr. Paws and Puggles keep her company.) Fluffy and Clifford are asleep in the front yard, having spent most of the night searching for scents with the help of Mr. Manzo, Peabody, and Brutus.
Hellwife welcomes them home with open arms and ushers them into her home. An oilslick bubble keeps Sharon’s sickness from spreading to the human contingent. In a nest of blankets and a sad-looking bucket rests Sharon, looking worse than the projectile vomiting episode that triggered her quarantine. Hellwife settles in next to her, taking comfort as much as she gives it. Steve starts for his wife, and is stopped by Beatrice.
“Wait Steve. We need to talk.”
The smear on the tissue, carefully tasted by Hellwife, is some sort of suppressant. At her request, Hellwife checks both mother and child for magical interference. Hellwife’s brow-twigs furrow.
“tHEre Is SomeThIng, BuT iT hiDEs. SliThery WretChed thinG-”
“But there is something, right? Something that is designed to make you not look?” Beatrice’s eyes gleam.
“YeS….bUT I CannoT caTch it. mY HusbaND is BeTTer at SucH TWisTy casTiNG.” Hellwife sighs, and she droops. “i worRy thAT i CannOt rEacH Him, noR fEEl Son. ThIs tasTes Of ConSPiRaCy.”
No one looks surprised. Steve looks almost as sickly as his wife, who has regained some color from sheer rage. Beatrice holds Millie in her lap, eyes faraway and thinking. Millie tugs on her mother’s shirt, and whispers in her ear. Beatrice nods.
The neighborhood is quiet, but eyes are watching.
The bond between the children allows Millie to zero in on the boys’ position with relative ease. (It does not help the feeling of conspiracy to find them so close to home.) Information flies through phones warded against wire-tapping and via Hellwife’s Interhouse Begonia Mail system- who lives there, what do we know about him, recent movements- reports are sparse. No one in the neighborhood offers to call the police, not even the retired cop Mr. B. Clive on the corner. Police couldn’t help.
But these, these are the people in the neighborhood. These are the Manzos, the Hendersons, the Fitz-Simmons, Mrs. Giotto, Mr. Clive, and all the other humans that have accepted and welcomed the Abominations (even if somewhat reluctantly, at first), that paved the way for other eldritch to come and have a home, a community. And that community, made of grumpy ex-cops and the gorgon hatchlings that he baby-sits, of timid gardeners and tentacle-kin, will not tolerate what was done to three innocent children, what may still be happening to two of them.
As the sun sets, they gather. A solid line of beings surrounds the house. Fences are bridged with hands and arms, but no one touches the fence or grounds of Robert’s lot. Dead center in the front, in an arc that goes into the street, is Hellwife, and Beatrice, and Steve. (Millie is in the Anderson home, behind layers of Auberguine and the very protective pets. Sharon is still in her bubble, but her subcommanders keep her supplied with information and warm soup.) An old man steps up, and unfolds a very long letter. This is Mr. Krupnik, the elderly lawyer friend of Antler Guy, and the current elected representative of the Home Owners Association of the area.
Midway through the reading of grievances, the house begins to creak. A few paragraphs more and it sways alarmingly. With the words “lein for non-payment of fines” it shrieks like a dying thing, and spits out three beings in a flood of house furnishings and occult paraphernalia. The two small shapes are plucked from the flood by their parents.
The third watches in pants-shitting terror as the father of one of the boys, no longer held in check by the possible murder of his child and in no mood for the blackmail “Ri'Lethiel” had attempted, materializes in front of him. Mr. Krupnik clears his throat, hands Antler Guy the letter gravely, and lets his fellow member of the HOA finish the eviction in his own special way.
By unanimous consent the empty house is sold to Beatrice, who pays in full (for the Suits kept their word, and her savings account is plump) and remodels extensively. The fences separating the three properties are removed- it is less three families in three houses, and more one family with extensive yardage. The grounds are, by neighborhood agreement, an unofficial playground supervised by Auberguine and deathshade vines. (Auberguine at her adult size cannot be contained in a house, but monitoring a playground of screaming children keeps her occupied and happy. The deathshade vines like eating the shed goldfish crackers, and stealing the occasional pacifier.) The Abomination’s home is invite-only for safety concerns, as it obeys mortal physics only loosely. The Anderson’s home is wide-open, a community hub of interaction and information. Beatrice’s home is the quiet place, the still pool in an often-turbulent extended family. But it is their family, one that they have made. And whether quiet or raucous, together or far-flung, it remains their family, their neighborhood, their community.
And they embrace it, and defend it, and hold it open for others seeking home.
If you are interested in further Antler Guy news, please go to this post for some info and handy links ^_^