A Second Generation Whateley Holiday Tale

Best of Show

by

Wasamon

 

Part Three

 

Christmas Eve, close to midnight

It had been a long while since Deborah Browning had done more than merely observe the holidays from a distance. Little ski resort towns in the Middle Rockies of Idaho could be counted on to have all the decorations, all the proper appearances of the Christmas spirit, but she'd found that many people personally lacked the parts that made the season an important one. For many of the preachers and church leaders in the state, the difference between them and someone like the Reverend Barkus was merely one of degree.

Instead of Christmas Eve Mass, she usually made cookies. That particular evening, she and Daniel had raided the local supermarkets for the finest ingredients and then gone to town with the snozzberry syrup and fresh berries, experimenting to see just how many recipes they could substitute the stuff into. The results were cooling overnight, to be shared tomorrow.

Daniel and Cookie were long since in bed. The two of them'd had a busy day. John and Cordelia hadn't stayed up much longer. The old couple just didn't have the stamina to spare.

Debbie Browning was wide awake and free to do as she pleased. She just wasn't sure what to do with that freedom.

Down on the beach and towards the bigger condominium complexes, people were still out and about, enjoying the cooling sands and warm ocean breezes. From the window of her second-story bedroom, Debbie could see the bright lights of a cabana down the way.

That'd do. After a bit of thought, she changed into the nicer bikini she'd picked up the other day, dark blue with pink florets, wrapped a skirt around her hips, and put on an open linen shirt. She'd never describe herself as much of a looker, but she did like what she saw in the mirror.

A small stack of gryphon bills went in her handbag, and the tourist visa dongle on its lanyard went around her neck. Then she was ready for whatever.

Cookie raised one head to squint at her from the sofa cushion fortress of puppitude as she made her way out. An ear-skritch and a promise to be back soon soothed the pup back to whatever happy dreams pup had.

The beach sandals stayed in her hands for most of the way. The feeling of sand between her toes was simply too nice. Once she'd arrived at the cabana, Debbie wiped the grit off and then put the sandals on. There were no posted signs vis-à-vis the presence or absence of footwear and clothing, but prudence told her she probably did not want to step barefoot into a bar.

The man taking orders recognized her from a few nights back. He nodded as she made her request, but otherwise said about as much as he ever did, which was as little as possible. A moment later, with snozzberry daiquiri in hand, she took an open seat at the far end of the bar and watched.

It was an odd bunch out and about that evening. The beaches of Karedonia were touted as a fabulous holiday destination, and she knew full well how that pulled in a certain class of tourons--but even so, this place was special. She might well have been the only customer that evening who was not actively engaged in villainy as a profession.

Entry-level henchmen had a certain look, she'd realized that first night. Generally fit, generally clean-shaven, often with buzz-cuts or even cleanly bald. Professional in all the odd ways. They might not be in uniform, but they seemed like they were anyway. The group there that evening kept to one corner, where they'd found--or more likely hired--an equal and opposite group of friendly young women to sit and be sociable with. Debbie wasn't going to judge; it was nice to have someone to be with on Christmas.

"Hey, baby..." That didn't mean that she wanted that, specifically, but the guy sidling up to her was a special case. Probably a henchman, but not a grunt. The hairstyle was too wild and unkempt for that, and he wore his attitude like a outfit. "You come here often?" The question ended on a drunken hiccup.

"Sorry," she told him. "Not tonight." Not with him, at any rate. Island paradise romance fantasy notwithstanding, a girl needed standards.

"Aw, but tonight's when we're both here!"

"I'm waiting for someone," she lied.

"Well, I'm someone!" The man laughed like he'd just made a funny. "So, who d'you work for? Guys and I've got bets going on. Lady Metalanta? The Jade Ogress? The Dragon Queen? It's the Dragon Queen, isn't it. She's always got ladies coming and going."

"D: None of the above."

"Huh?" It was so well-lubricated up in there that something must've slipped a gear.

"Give it up, Lazlo," called one of the man's presumed friends. "She ain't interested."

"Why the hell not?" The confusion sounded genuine and sincere. "We're all henching here--maybe not you," he said to the bartender. "But the rest of us 've earned our vacation time and this is Karedonia, for chrissake! Let's live a little and party!" The words, and the man's leer, were aimed her way.

A sip of the daiquiri and a shake of the head. "I'm waiting for someone," she repeated.

"Who?" he demanded.

"That is none of your business." The words were frigid, the delivery pitch-perfect. Debbie wished she had the ice in the veins to say it. A hand blacker than shadow reached in to press two nails, pointer and middle, to the man's neck, and then the so-called Lazlo went rigid. "Binary venom," the cold voice noted. "Either finger is enough on its own, but both together, and now you can't move at all for five minutes. But your ears still work. And, you know what? Her Highness never does a thing by halves. If I add the venom from my ring finger here, your paralysis will be nothing but a world of agony. And the pinky? Add that in and... I don't know, actually. She never said exactly what would happen, only that it would be so amusing."

Lazlo's eyes twitched, and a vague grunt sounded. There was a growing dark spot around his crotch.

"Come get your friend," the drow woman ordered, and the rest of his little group of mid-level henchmen obeyed. "It should wear off in five minutes," she told them. "Get him a plate of noodles and make sure he's got enough in him to soak off the booze."

Debbie waited till they'd dragged the special henchman away before saying "Thank you" to her surprise savior.

"Don't mention it. I've got a table by the veranda if you feel like relocating. Which you should." The drow glanced at the floor in distaste.

Her daiquiri was still more than half full and she had nowhere better to go. The veranda sounded nice.

"I'd offer to shake hands," the drow said as they moved over, "only my fingers are going to be pretty sore on that hand for a while."

"Good thing I'm left-handed then," she said. "Debbie Browning."

One silver eyebrow rose as the drow gave an off-handed shake. "Madrigal Sharpe."

There was a name she recognized, even if the moment was a surprise. "Heh, I told him I was waiting for someone," she said as she slid into the empty chair. "But maybe it was the other way around?"

"More like it was me seeing an opportunity and getting lucky," Roxie's mother admitted. "Public security feeds can be viewed by anyone willing to fill out a form of record, and I was curious. Saw you heading out and I decided to say hello." The smile was blinding against the backdrop. "So, hello?"

Debbie saluted with the remainder of her daiquiri in hand. "Hello. Sorry about your fingertips."

"They'll heal up soon enough. Part of the basic design."

"Along with binary venom?"

"Oh, that was mostly a fib," Madrigal admitted. "Extra fingers just means extra dosage. Not that Her Highness couldn't make something like that, but it'd be too much hassle, I'm sure. And it was worth it to see that moron piss his pants."

They could share a laugh at that. Debbie was the first to continue. "So, you got me. What do you wanna know? More about Daniel?"

Madrigal chuckled some more. "There's been plenty of tea spilled on that topic. Roxie won't stop talking about him."

"And vice-versa," she said. "The plan for tomorrow, then?"

"Not sure there's much else to say. Get to the church at least half an hour early, dress as best you're able, bring something for the community bruncheon afterwards--"

"Daniel and I spent the evening making snozzberry tarts. Tried a few different recipes, substituting for the syrup and whole berries."

"...that sounds marvelous," said Madrigal. "Truly."

She could only shrug. "It's kinda my vocation, bakery stuff. Brings in a decent amount of cash on top of the stipend I get for assisting Cordelia. We picked one or two simple recipes to show Roxie tomorrow, too."

"Oh, will she love that..."

"I'm looking forward to meeting her," said Debbie.

"So what about you?"

"Me?"

"Sure. How're you enjoying Karedonia? The lady asks, in her capacity as tourism ministry agent and occasional cultural envoy." Madrigal paused to take a sip of her almond-flavored kahlua.

Debbie pondered for a moment. "Can't complain, mostly. Weather's perfect, water's nice. Shopping's nice, too. I might wish for more out of the nightlife..." A glance to the other side of the cabana told her that the unfortunate Lazlo was once again up and about, if not particularly steady on his feet. "The goods are odd, to say the least."

"True, it's got its quirks. Comes with being famous as a henchman's paradise. Though what would you... a-ha." The grin was back. "I'm guessing we're about the same age, so... Did you watch How Stella Got Her Groove Back in college, too?"

"Did I ever." Another laugh was shared. "Though I suppose it'd be a different sort of movie if Stella was working for... I dunno. Who were the villains he mentioned?"

Madrigal counted off her fingers. "One, Lady Metalanta. Cybernetics and prosthetic enhancements specialist. Runs a clinic on the island. You're too all-natural to be one of hers. Her henchfolk are all satisfied customers working off their debt, and they tend to show their upgrades with pride.

"Second, the Jade Ogress. Less a villainess and more a victim of circumstance. Applied for asylum last year. She doesn't have henchfolk; she's got worshippers who are closer to being addicts, and they're far more of a nuisance for that. Last I heard, she's taken up residence in an undisclosed upcountry location while the fanatics can't get a visa permit outside of the tourist zones.

"Third, the Dragon Queen. She's a magical type, a schemer. Manages her henchladies as a multi-level marketing system."

"The horror," said Debbie. "My mama sold Avon for a few years, and when she died we found uncleared product in her closet from God knows how long back. Think I'll stick to my current line of work."

"Probably for the best," Madrigal agreed. "I can't say whether there's any merit to the rumors about what that lady does to underperforming sales associates, but I wouldn't risk it. Shall I order another drink for you?"

Her daiquiri was unfortunately empty, but... "I should probably be getting back soon. It must be almost midnight."

"Which is why you should wait. Look at the sky."

The Caribbean Christmas Eve was lit by the lingering sparkle of the Tree in the sky, and against that backdrop, Debbie could see drones rushing around. "Er, what're those supposed to be?"

"They're the little helpers," Madrigal told her. "Sent by the Troll Office on behalf of Karedonia's very own seasonal gift-giver, Carol the Ancient Yuletide Troll."

"Oh dear, I thought Daniel was joking about that. It just sounded so silly."

"That's His Majesty for you. Amazing ideas, kooky follow-through. Anyway, it's bad form to interrupt them while they're on the job. Give them half an hour to drop everything off and then you can go back."

"But they wouldn't be..." She stopped herself in mid-sentence to stare at the carefully practiced look of innocence on the drow's face. "Anything you would care to tell me?"

"Well..." Madrigal made a show of clasping her hands together as she began. "Roxie mentioned that she didn't think Daniel had gotten anything from Santa Claus in perhaps ever..."

"Sadly true. Hardly any birthday presents, either."

"Poor boy. But it makes me feel better about ringing up a friend in the Troll Office earlier this evening and getting a few last-minute additions made to the Extra Super Very Nice list."

"Oh, you didn't..."

"Him and Cookie both," Madrigal confirmed. "There's no telling what the algorithm will make of pup's details, but a young man like Daniel at the upper age range is likely going to get something occupational. His Majesty designed the Troll Office as a vocational guidance program in disguise, on top of everything else. Younger children get educational toys, and the system monitors both their academic performance and social reporting from family or community. As they age up, they get kits and materials geared towards realizing their interests into useful occupations."

"And for kids on the naughty list?"

"That would be the future henchmen track." The drow slugged down her last ounce of almond kahlua in one gulp. "Though I dare say whatever they get is still more educational than whatever's popular in the States right now. Oh, and allow me." Her fingers on the right hand had apparently healed up enough to make use of the discreet little ordering tablet. A moment later, they had refills to enjoy and a further quiet moment to sit back and enjoy them.

Only those moments, however.

"What're those things!?" The voice was raucous and drunk. Poor old Lazlo, unlucky in love, had apparently spurned the well-meaning embrace of the noodle plate on his sloshing stomach in favor of one last fling with Lady Rum. He was staggering out onto the sands of the beach, and none of his fellows seemed interested in retrieving him this time. "Look 't'em," he slurred. "Flyin' all over, doin' wha'ever. Like, um, sittin' turkeys but flyin'." A faint outline of sparkles gathered around him, giving a hint to how special this specialist henchman might be. "Well! Well... well... um, fuck it!" he shouted. "Let's light up a turkey for Christmas!"

"Oh Lord..." she heard Madrigal mutter. "Ah, let's get away from the windows, shall we?"

Debbie didn't need to ask why. The sparkles around Lazlo had intensified to an aura, like a living amorphous thing draped over him, and it stretched a pseudopod up to swat at a little helper as it flew on past. Drunk as he was, the man whiffed it, missing the drone completely.

The machine was undamaged; the action went not unnoticed. With a loud beep, the drone stopped to hover in place, then aimed a miniature spotlight at the man's position. Answering beeps sounded from further up the beach, and then there was the sound of... jingle bells?

"Well, now he's gone and done it," sighed Madrigal.

The prompt arrival of a Gizmapolitan Police unit was heralded by flashing red lights, but the jingle bells continued instead of a siren. The law enforcement drone was tall and imposing on its own, a menacing, dome-topped presence in the night. Somehow, the addition of a festive red coat, hat, and beard made it terrifying. From the middle of the robot model's head analog, a cyclopean red eye sent out a beam to scan the drunken henchman.

ID CONFIRMED. HENCHMAN VISA HOLDER H3T121Z, [LAZLO SANZ]. YOU HAVE BEEN A VERY NAUGHTY BOY.

"What the fuck?" The unfortunate Lazlo hadn't cottoned to the situation just yet. "What're you talkin' about, you piece of junk?"

CHARGES INCLUDE PUBLIC INTOXICATION, RECKLESS USE OF SUPERHUMAN ABILITIES, ATTEMPTED FIRST DEGREE ASSAULT UPON A LITTLE HELPER, AND VERBALLY ABUSING AN OFFICER DROID OF THE COURT. HOW DO YOU PLEAD?

"Bite me, you fuckin' toaster oven!"

ADDITION TO EXTRA DOUBLE-SPECIAL NAUGHTY LIST CONFIRMED. REMANDING TO TROLL OFFICE FOR PROPER PENANCE. HO-HO-HO.

ho-ho-ho, came the echo, from all directions at once.

ho-ho-ho, announced the appearance of dozens of smaller droid models, most of them utility types. All of them were wearing festive little red hats.

ho-ho-ho, prompted confusion and panic in the unfortunate Lazlo. He tried to push through them and escape.

ho-ho-ho, blocked his way at every turn.

ho-ho-ho, drowned out the sound of screaming.

ho-ho-ho, faded into the distance as the droids carried him away.

WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE DISTURBANCE, CITIZENS AND GUESTS, said the Santa Security Droid as it vanished into the night. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.

Back on the veranda, Debbie looked askance at her second daiquiri and gave it a quick sniff test. The tang of alcohol stung her nose, but that was all. "So... that just happened," she said.

"Yup," confirmed Madrigal. "The ladies in Security must be laughing their asses off right now. They only get to pull crap like this one night of the year, and they just love it when someone gives them the excuse. Anyway, you should be clear to go back now."

"I, um, think I'll finish this drink first..." said Debbie. "Tell me, are there any other disturbingly odd local traditions that I should be aware of?"

Madrigal Sharpe settled back into her seat with a chuckle. "Since you asked..."

It would be a while before Debbie made the short walk back to the rental, frightfully sober in spite of a third daiquiri. All those romantic island adventure novels of her youth paled against the reality, and she needed more than one night's sleep to cope. But she just had half a morning left before they left for Christmas Mass.

She set the coffee-maker dial to 11 before getting herself to bed. There was no way she was getting through the next day without it.

Sunday, Dec. 25th, 2016, Christmas Day
Daniel

The best gift the Sun could give him that morning was an extra hour or two till sunrise. He wasn't lucky enough to be on the Sun's gifting list, so Daniel did the next best thing and buried his head under a pillow. He could treat himself, at least.

"Aroof!" Pup had other ideas, of course. Some of those involved happy barking, another involved pulling all the covers off the bed so Daniel had nowhere to hide. The last one was to sit a canine behind on the edge of the mattress and tilt the entire thing so Daniel'd fall into the pup.

"I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled. "What's the... er, what're you wearing?"

The answer was obviously 'festive party hats', so perhaps a better question might've been "Why?" or even "How'd they get 'em in that size?" A little down below, two broad and doggy grins were as merry as the hats on top.

"Warroof!" Pup plopped off the bed and patted the floor twice in the 'follow me' signal. Nothing for a boy to do but stumble along after. So...

'twas the morning of Christmas, and all through the house,
the pounding of pup's paws saw fit to rouse
the adults who'd slept in, all snuggled in bed--
except for Miz Debbie, with eyes slightly red.
She sat at the table, drinking it black,
and all she would do was to nod at the sack.
Its fabric was festive, bright red and deep green,
and the light of the morning granted it a sheen
so fair and so lovely, like nothing he'd seen.

Said the boy, "Er, ma'am?
What does this mean?"

"It means that someone at the Troll Office thought you were a very good boy this year," she replied. "And that Cookie was the best of pups. As if there were ever any doubt."

"Woof!" One tail wagged as two tongues lolled. "Waroof!"

Mr. Carlyle and Miz Cody had made it down the stairs by now. "It looks quite impressive," said the older lady. "But what's inside?"

"How should I know? It's theirs. Trust me; I am not about to break any Karedonian Christmas traditions on this trip."

Daniel nudged Cookie. "Been waiting for me, pup?"

"Aroo!"

"For maybe thirty seconds before they ran to your room," Miz Debbie informed. "Merry Christmas, both of you."

The festive sack was tied with a a lovely knot that required fingers to manipulate. Snuffly pup noses did nothing but get in the way, but Daniel shared their excitement as the strings fell away and the sack was drawn back to reveal a set of perfectly wrapped Christmas presents with ribbons in the imperial colors.

And a dog biscuit large enough to need registration as a personal weapon. "Woof!" Cookie claimed it immediately, then settled back to chew it contentedly from both ends at once.

The boxes had name tags, most of them with his name on them. One had 'Cookie' on it, but since pup was presently occupied, they saved that for later. The first box that said 'Daniel' turned out to be full of kitchen tools: a whisk, icing spatula, a variety of knives, measuring spoons, and levelers, strainers and shape molds, and a box of disposable piping bags. From what he could tell, it might all be higher quality than the set he used in the culinary arts class at school.

The second one he picked up was a wrapped package with a familiar sort of shape. Unwrapped, it proved to be a book--or rather, the One True Authorized and Expansive Tome of Recipes from the Grand Isle of Karedonia with a foreword by the Ministry of Tourism and a copy of Her Imperial Highness's mess of a signature. Leafing through it, Daniel couldn't say he knew what half of the ingredients were, much less the spices.

His eyes fell on the third and final package for himself. Now that he thought about it, the thing seemed about the right size and shape to be...

Yup. Spice rack: properly wooden frame with fitted holes for two dozen glass bottles of colorful powders and raw seeds, with tools for pounding and grinding set into the base. The labels on the first row were all familiar names: ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, cloves, rosemary, bay leaf, paprika. The second row row were all less common, but at least he'd heard of most of them: maze, saffron, sumac--though he hadn't realized that was a spice--sour mango powder, and a few others. Along the bottom were several he'd never even heard of, like tinka bean, Nigella sativa, and kokum fruit.

And then there was the one in the bottom-right corner that could only have been a Karedonian specialty. He could tell by the bright yellow warning sign that doubled as the imperial seal, not to mention triple layers of bottle packaging. There'd be no opening that one by accident, nossiree. Best to leave it for later.

All that was left was Cookie's other package. It was medium-sized and boxy. When unwrapped, it proved to be a medium-sized box, a computer-looking thing with candy-pink plastic casing at the corners, a bunch of disk slots in front, and even more plug options on the back. On the top, a slick logo proclaimed it to be an OMNI.

He had no idea what that meant. The doc just shook his head at it as well. "Let us take it all with us," the old man suggested. "Roxie and her father should have a better idea."

Oh, yeah. They had Mass in an hour or two. One of the few perks of waking up so early, he re-discovered, was that there was always enough time for breakfast. Waffles with snozzberry syrup made any morning feel like Christmas, so this particular Christmas morning was even more so.

Roxie

La Iglesia de Santa Monica was lit up and filled to capacity as the entire market neighborhood turned out for one of the most important days of observance in any Christian liturgy. She and her parents knew a lot of the folks gathered that day, and were known by many more, and the hour leading up to Mass was a series of greetings, well-wishings, and polite confusions. For a lot of them, she and Mom might've been the only drow they'd ever met, at least socially, and Dad was so obviously not a local that ears skipped over his fluent Spanish in the assumption that he didn't speak any.

And of course, Crumpette got lots of stares. But she was being a good owlbear, sitting on a patch of lawn in front of the church but well away from the nativity scene. The occasional hungry glance at the kid goats and lambs was sternly tutted. It was a tough job, just sitting there, but Crumpette was a good owlbear.

Due to the holiday crowd, the church was doing overflow seating, so they'd brought folding chairs from home to sit next to the birbo. All they had to do was wait, wait, wait...

Twenty minutes before the start of Mass, Daniel and Cookie arrived with their odd little sorta-family. Roxie was out of her chair, across the lawn and street, and barreling into him at Hug Force Five before he even knew she was there. "You came, you came, you came!" she squee'd.

"Said I would? Um, careful on the threads. They ain't that sturdy."

"Oh." She realized he wasn't in a polo and cargo pants that day. His outfit could be called a suit, more or less. "Where'd you get that?"

Daniel adjusted his collar and grimaced. "Renting a former villain time-share, right? Place's got, what's the word, amenities for folks who bring henchfolk with 'em."

"There was a uniform fabricator left in the basement lab space," Dr. Carlyle explained. His own suit looked much like the young man's, made of a light, almost papery material in neutral colors. "I can't argue with the tailoring, however. For an emergency ensemble, it works quite well."

"As if you ever spent that much time in a suit, John," said the old woman on the doctor's arm. "But you must be Roxie. Debbie and I have heard so much about you."

"Ain't that the truth," snorted a younger older woman walking alongside them. Daniel's legal guardian looked about her mom's age. "I like your dress."

Roxie giggled and twirled, letting the ruffled skirts drift around her. Drow tended towards brighter, bolder colors, but that day she was in more of a pastel mood, with pale pink and light blue merging into a striking purple along the edges. "Thank you! Yours is nice, too!"

The woman laughed and waved it off. "It's just a sun dress. I wasn't planning to attend any services, but it suffices."

"You do look lovely, Debbie," said Mrs. Carlyle.

Church bells rang a ten-minute warning to all stragglers. "Oops, we better get seated," Roxie told them all. "Oh, Cookie? There's a spot for you next to Crumpette. We cleared things with Padre Ramón, but you need to sit still and be a good pup for an hour, okay?"

Quadruple puppy eyes looked hurt at the implication that pup was ever not a good doggo, but the double grin went wide as the owlbear greeted her big buddy with a "Ghu-hu!"

"Aroof!"

"We have several boxes of tarts with us," said Debbie. "Back in the car, at least. "Where should we put them?"

"There's a big table in the vestibule. After Mass is okay. Mom! They're here!"

"So I noticed." Her mother rose from her seat to greet the new arrivals. "Nice to finally meet you. Madrigal Sharpe."

"John Carlyle," said the doc. "And my wife, Cordelia."

"Cody is fine," said the older woman.

"You must be Roxie's dad." The younger older woman shook her father's hand. "Debbie Browning."

"Axel, and it's a pleasure," he said. "Oh, Madrigal?" He tapped one ear.

"Right. Mass is said in Spanish. Do any of you... I thought not," she said to their shaking heads. "The main liturgy and sermon are broadcast, even on not so busy Sundays, and it's recorded for English, Spanish, French, and various creoles of the islands. We got some earphones for you, so just select a language and stick it in. English is the first setting," she added.

"Thanks, ma'am," said Daniel.

"You really are a polite one, aren't you." Her mother's smile was well-polished, but her laugh was roughly genuine. "Go on, sit next to your critters. Leave us old folks be."

It was the best invitation a mom could provide, and the seating was the best her dad could pull from storage: a broad folding chair, meant for sporting events, and made to accommodate the widest of the USian fanbase. It sat two teenagers comfortably, as long as they didn't mind getting in a little close.

She did not mind at all. Daniel gave it a funny look for just a moment, then the boy shrugged and sat down with her. His left arm soon found the perfect route around her waist to hold her hand on the other side, and she none-too-subtly leaned into him with a happy sigh.

Up towards where the lawn met the church building, a projection screen was set up to give a view of Padre Ramón giving the sermon as they heard it over loudspeakers or headphones, but first the priest had to get there. The opening processional took the padre, the deacon, the readers, the altar servers, and assorted other churchfolk on a circuit around the church and its lawn as music played. She did not imagine a smile on the padre's face as he saw the two of them together, nor the blink of surprise at Cookie and Crumpette sitting calmly right beyond. Seeing really was believing, even for a man of faith.

Roxie did worry about the owlbear. Noise was still noise, and a crowd was still a crowd, but the birbo needed the experience. A couple of times, feathers ruffled and hackles rose, only for a soft paw to bump and a softer 'woof' to reassure. Good pup, she wanted to say, only the service was going on and on, through the readings and the sermon and the songs. For that last one, she pulled the lyrics up on her phone for her and Daniel to sing along to. Mostly her, but he tried.

♫ Ángeles cantando están, tan dulcísima canción...♬
              ♫ Los montañas su eco dan, como fiel contestación...♬

The song must have existed in so many languages, with so many different ways of saying, but the chorus always started the same: ♫ Glo～o～o～ria... a Dios en lo alto...♬

          And Cookie picked up on that. The pup must have heard the song in English before, and when the chorus came around for the second time, it went, ♫ Warr～rrar～rrar～arroof! ♬ at the top of a pair of barreled lungs. Crumpette added a quiet "Ghu-hu" to the end. Then the two critters waited patiently through the third verse for their next chance to join in the chorus.

If pup hadn't kept the howl to that one line of the song, or done anything but sit there like a good doggo for the rest of the time, Roxie felt there might have been trouble. As it was, amusement seemed to have won out over annoyance among most of the church crowd as the song finished up with the fourth and final chorus.

When it came time for Holy Communion, church members were delegated to provide the sacrament. They gathered at the altar inside, received the Eucharist and the padre's blessing, and then carried plates of the sacred bread out to their stations at the ends of certain rows. The churchgoers formed lines and shuffled along. Since they were out towards the edge, Roxie and Daniel could wait a while and let the critters see what was up before their handlers joined the throng. They could trust in Cookie and Crumpette to sit still.

"Um, anything special I need to do?" asked Daniel.

"Well, how'd they do it at your church?" she asked back.

"Stand still, open mouth, place wafer, leave."

"That'll do. Keep your hands folded in prayer and watch what everyone else is doing. You'll be fine."

He did and he was. It certainly wasn't proper--Daniel was baptized, but not in a Catholic church--but it was easier to go with the flow and not worry. Any errors he made could be explained by him being a USian who didn't speak Spanish. And in any case, the woman administering the Eucharist for their line saved all her glaring for Roxie herself.

Whatever the woman thought the holy wafer might do to a drow, it didn't. She and Daniel both forewent the sips of wine, just to be safe.

At the end of the hour, Mass concluded with the bouncing notes of ♫ Alégrese el mundo, que ha llegado el Señor...! ♬ Padre Ramón led the recessional parade out the front of the church and back around the lawn, pausing only a moment in front of Cookie to compliment pup's singing and make a little sign of the cross on each canine forehead. A beat later, Crumpette was begging for equal attention and got a blessing of her own.

Roxie had rarely seen the birbo looking so pleased, or so social. Pup was setting a good example.

Space was soon cleared on the lawn for some tables, piled high with as many cakes and sweets as was structurally safe for them to hold. Possibly more than that, seeing as how the legs wobbled slightly. People brought some, people took some, and like the loaves and the fishes, no one went away wanting. Dr. Carlyle and Miss Debbie popped away for a moment, returning shortly with a big box full of snozzberry tarts. This new addition to the snack table was met with cheers of surprise, coming as they did from the obvious tourist friends of la doñelfascura y la doñita.

She already had a tart in her hand, provided by Daniel's hand, in which it had magically appeared a moment earlier. He assured her it was just as delicious, but she disagreed. It was even better.

Daniel

It was hard to say what he expected Roxie's house to look like. After the time-share mini-mansion of a rental and a good look at different parts of the city, he knew that pretty much anything was possible. He had time to ponder as the ugly green Gizmobile followed the Sharpe family van back across the industrial zone and up along the belt of highrise apartment buildings and condominiums overlooking the coast. West Beach Heights wasn't terribly far from the rental house, a mile or two down the beach at most, but they hadn't even considered meeting there the other day. He hadn't wondered why but, as they came up to the parking level of the place, he thought maybe she hadn't wanted to scare him off.

The building climbed up the side of a natural ridge, each floor anchored to a level of strata. It was tall enough and wide enough to have a pair of elevators to serve the residents, but Roxie and her family had a third lift all to themselves, big enough for a pup and a birbo with room for the humans. It required a key to access, and it went to only one floor: the top.

"A perk of working in Her Highness's Service?" asked Miz Debbie.

Miz Madrigal laughed. "Hardly. Though I suppose seniority does play a part. There aren't many drow who pre-date Roxie or the third formulation of the drow serum. But as a former test subject, frequent lab assistant, and current royal owlbear wrangler, she has a unique spot in the island peerage."

"MO～OM!" And maybe this was something else the girl hadn't wanted to mention just yet, looking at the way she was blushing vaguely purple.

"Oh, let a mother boast," said Miz Madrigal. "They were going to hear about it soon eventually."

"But I'm not a peer..."

"Only because of lower age limits. Ah, here we are," said the lady as the elevator reached the top. "The residence of the future Baroness West-Beach-Heights."

"It's not a big deal, really," the girl whispered to him. "I wish she wouldn't bring it up."

The residence was the entire top of the building. Even with only the one story, it was larger than the rental house by about half again. The elevator let out to a pavilion with a covered walkway around a garden lawn. There was a little house to the side of it that was certainly Crumpette's The owlbear led her pupper friend over to the grass for a happy lounging while the humans headed on. There wasn't really a front door, but more of a big sliding window that opened to everything else.

"C'mon!" Roxie had him by the hand and was pulling him forward through a foyer, left past the living room, and right by a restroom.

"Dinner's in fifteen to twenty!" her mother called.

"Okay!" Roxie shouted back, even as she pushed him over the threshold to what could only be one place, out of all the rooms in the penthouse. "So, um, this is my room," she admitted shyly. "It's, um, a bit messy, but..."

Daniel'd lived the dorm life long enough to recognize a rush tidy-up job, and this'd been a good one. He wasn't about to open the closet to see why its door bulged out slightly, but the rest was mostly neat and trim. The curtains were open wide, letting in sunlight to brighten a space dominated by a rainbow of magenta, blue, and purple. The colors matched Roxie's holiday dress perfectly. There was a well-stocked bookshelf, a computer desk, and a fancy wardrobe in the corners, and a plush carpet underfoot that made him want to take his shoes off.

The bed was recently made, and it had a bit of bounce to it as he sat. "Looks nice," he offered as he shucked his footwear.

"You think so? You're not just saying that? Oh, but I know it's a mess..."

"All 'bout perspective," he offered. "Y'ain't ever gonna win a messiness contest with a teenage boy. I know a couple 'a guys who should have their dorm rooms condemned. This?" He nodded his head around. "This is nice."

"Oh, thank goodness." Roxie plopped down next to him, and then flopped back onto the mattress with a groan. "Wish my mom would be quiet sometimes."

"About the peerage stuff?"

"Yeah..." Her eyes squeezed shut for a second, then opened to glance his way. "I, um, don't have people over very often," she admitted.

"Didn't feel like it. No school friends?"

"Not much school." She pointed to the big desk in the corner with the computer setup. "I'm in the teleschooling system. It's interesting, and it goes as fast as I can follow, but it's mainly so Her Highness can monitor my development. Youngest of the drow and all that. Gotta make sure I'm growing up normal, whatever that means."

"Normal is overrated," he agreed. "Should 'a brought my tablet so I could show you photos and stuff from Whateley."

"I'd like to see that."

"Maybe Her Highness will let you go there? She's a graduate, right?"

The girl's laugh was short and sharp, much like herself. "When pigs fly--which might be next year, if she gets the splicing done right, so maybe not even then... meh." Blue eyes squeezed tight, and the vaguely violet lips drew into a pout. "Her Highness can be a little protective at times."

"So I hear." Daniel looked around the room for other things to talk about. There was some sort of musical instrument in one corner, the study desk in another, homemade artwork on shelves and posters on walls... "Who're they?" he asked, pointing to that last one.

"Hm? Oh! That's Her Highness and friends," Roxie told him. "When they were just out of high school. She's the one in the middle, looking awesome and bored, and you might recognize Lady Bova on the left."

"Yeah, I do." The lady hadn't changed too much in the past six years or so since the poster was made, and the biggest difference might've been the wardrobe and hairstyle.

"The really tall one is Lady Freight Train." Roxie giggled. "Her real name's Angie, but she insists on the code name. And next to Her Highness is Lady Belphoebe."

He peered at the poster. The main different between the royal personage and this fourth drow seemed to be mainly in the expression. Lady Belphoebe looked smug instead of bored.

"Anyway, they're all awesome," said the girl. "They've been like big sisters or aunties or something to me for like eight years now. Even Her Highness, sometimes."

"Must be nice."

"It has its moments."

He flopped back onto the mattress beside her and sighed. "Moments are nice, too."

"Yeah... um, Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you, um... well... I don't know what... but... um... well..."

From out in the hallway, loud and clear: "Dinnertime!"

The look on Roxie's face either spoke of great relief or greater annoyance at her mother just then. But life was complicated; it could be both ways. Daniel hopped to his feet and offered a hand to help her up. She didn't need it, but they both enjoyed how he could pull her up and into his arms for a breathless moment before they had to return to the living room.

Together. Hand in hand. He just hoped his nerves settled down soon so he could enjoy the food.

The Imperial Dressing Rooms

Belphoebe sometimes found it humorously ironic that, for all they were both devisors with the social graces of a socket wrench and a fashion sense that often forgot to change labcoats for days at a time, Their Imperial Highnesses had latched onto the concept of pageantry and dress-up, quite independently of one another, as a means of competition--and that the results were about as one might expect. Not that she herself was one to talk, the nut never falling too far from the tree and all that, but at least she had the good fortune of friends in her early formative months who had helped her progress from her baseline petty and opportunistic self to become the new and improved, fabulous and opportunistic self she was today.

Her Highness had no such good fortune. Nor had she any grounds for complaint, as everything happening now was by royal decision. This did not keep Jobe Ann from whining as the fitting machine did its work.

"Of all the stupid, idiotic indignities..."

"It's coming along nicely," Belphoebe noted. "And it shall be nicer still. You could stand to have started dressing sooner, though."

"Yes, but then I'd have to stand in this mess even longer." Even through the perfect, puffy-lipped pout, it was easy to see the Wilkins in Her Highness's emotional make-up. His Highness was likely making an identical expression elsewhere in the palace, only thin-lipped and with his chin in permanent recession.

The problem was the material, but Jobe Ann couldn't say too much about that without admitting her mistake in choosing it as the showcase item of the ensemble. A full ballroom gown woven in Arachnaean silk, blended of all colors and of none, was the next new thing from the Imperial Ministry of Zoology. It would be a testament to the skill, grace, and ingenuity of Karedonia, not to mention a new source of export revenue. That assumed Her Highness made it through the fitting process, however.

"I could have worn it for you, parent dearest," said Belphoebe.

"Yes, but then it'd be you that the cog-brained wrench monkey would see looking fabulous in it, instead of me," Jobe Ann replied. "And that's no news at all. Whereas I... I..." A heavy sigh sent the ends of the darkly iridescent silk to fluttering.

"We do happen to be nearly identical," Belphoebe noted. "Put me in a wig and I'm sure we could fool everyone for a while."

"Until you open your fat mouth," Her Highness agreed. "Just hate..." mumble mumble "...so fucking frilly."

It was, and the crown princess and co-ruler looked fabulous in it. The problem lay not in the frills, but rather the feels. "You do remember that we hired the best team of psychologists Whateley's medical service could recommend specifically to talk about these things, yes? And not just to manage the mental health ministry or monitor the ever-evolving drow condition?"

"And when was the last time you went to see a shrink?" the princess demanded.

"Last Wednesday with Dr. Schloss for my regularly scheduled session. Jobe Ann..."

"No, no, we both know what you're going to say, so say nothing right now. Save it for after the show."

"Right. So what shall we discuss while we wait?" She eyed the winding silk as the dress continued to be constructed upon the royal frame, and checked the time readout on the machine. "We've at least ten more minutes."

"Show preparations?"

"All habitat exhibits complete, specimens are moved in with minimal casualties reported amongst the staff."

"The HAET'M protests?"

"Loud, obnoxious, but minding the letter of their visa conditions. They've been joined by Jade Cultists protesting the fact that we won't let them harass their goddess. Neither group seems to be enjoying the company, but tough titties to them. Freight Train and her team are monitoring the situation."

"I need to get her a nice present," Her Highness muttered. "What about that hit squad? Did they ever make a move?"

"Eventually." Belphoebe allowed a grimace to slip out. "Well after the target's insurance policy kicked in to give them fair warning. Ammosexual amateurs with the good sense God gave a radish. Their operation caused an entire section of the South Ridge condominium complex to black out. The Baroness South-Ridge is still handling damage control with her tenants."

And, as much as they both tried to talk around it, this led the mind back to another young baroness in training. "How is Roxie doing?" asked Jobe.

"Swimmingly, I would say. Even more so if she can get that young man down to the beach to see her in a bikini."

"Not what I was asking," growled Her Highness.

"Well, Madrigal checked in last night to place an order for whatever the kitchens could spare on short notice, so they, the boy, and the Carlyles should be enjoying a decent Christmas dinner together any time now. What more could you want?"

"A reprieve from this torture of my own device," grumbled the princess.

"Pish and tosh, as they say. Upstage His Highness for a few hours, let him and everyone else see how you outshine the world, and then we can order proper pizzas from the kitchens. How does that sound?"

"Like a bribe."

"No need to be so crude, parent dearest. It's merely a carrot. Now, as I see that the fitting machine's winding things up, shall I get your shoes?" The royal pout at this reminder of yet one more indignation kept Belphoebe in her own personal happy place for the next hour or more.

Dinner at the Sharpe Residence

Of all the various Christmas traditions, Daniel was most familiar with big dinners. At Reverend Barkus's community, everyone helped out with the feast, which mostly meant that the dads cut wood and moved things while the moms did all the cooking. Older children had to assist the adults, while the middling kids watched over the little ones. The end result was a grand, expansive table, with more good food all at once than he might see for the rest of the year. There'd been turkeys and hams, fresh-baked bread, any number of veggies, mashed taters, and oh so many cakes, cookies, and pies.

The Sharpe family Christmas table was absolutely none of that, and yet so much more--and in a completely different direction. There was an enormous haunch of roast beast, what looked kind of like pork but tasted nothing like it. There were all the vegetables he'd seen the other day, plus some: stuff like friend plantains and chipped jicama, little tomatillos and a huge bowl of jackfruit, shredded and pulled and tasting more like pork than the animal matter on the table. There were white, wheat, rye, and sourdough rolls, each as distinct to his nose as to his fingers as he pulled them apart for buttering. In the middle of it all, the big bowl of mashed taters and gravy looked pretty normal, even with the cup of snozzberry sauce next to it. A bean salad with sapote vinaigrette sauce completed the meal.

"We called the imperial catering service," Miz Madrigal admitted. "They always overstock when there's a big event at the palace, and I know just who to bribe."

"It smells heavenly," Miz Cordelia assured her. The older lady was already seated with Mr. Carlyle on her left. Roxie's parents took the seats directly across from them, while Miz Debbie squeezed in along the end between Miz Madrigal and Miz Cordelia.

That left the open end with two chairs and an obvious setup. Daniel made sure to pull the seat out for Roxie, who took her place and smoothed her skirts nervously as he pushed her back in.

Her mother looked pleased as punch. "Right, so we don't say grace nearly as often as we should in this house, but now seems like a good moment. That said..." She cleared her throat and clasped hands with her husband and her neighbor to the left. Miz Debbie took Miz Cordelia's hand, and the old lady took the doc's. Daniel and Roxie completed the circle. "...ahem. Thank you, Lord, for Christmas surprises, and for this wonderful meal we share together. Happy Birthday to you. Amen."

"Amen," echoed the rest of the table.

Time to eat, and what a wonderful time it was. So much food, so much of it good, and the tastes were all so different. He took pictures with his phone to make sure he remembered what all he had, and then a few more pictures of Roxie, then of Roxie with her parents, Roxie posing with a snozzberry tart, and more Roxie.

"So, Daniel," said Miz Madrigal as the dinner wound down. "Did you have a routine in mind for the show tomorrow?"

"Hmrphl?" The question caught him in mid-swallow. "Er, what?"

"Well, Roxie's got this dance number she's been teaching Crumpette. It's so adorable."

"MO～OM!"

"Just thought we'd be walkin' across, showin' a few commands, and that's all." He hadn't put much thought into it, and now he regretted that. "Um, do you happen to have any suggestions?"

Roxie gave it a think. "The panel of judges is all baronesses and countesses. Her Highness will be sitting above them all and have final say, but they score first. Not that there's much point to the score, to be honest. Most categories barely have enough entrants for there to be a first, second, and last place, so the real competition's to see what honorary awards they hand out. You know, like 'Longest Jump' or 'Fastest Sprint' or 'Most Impressive Bite Mark on the Assistant.' Stuff like that. It's more important to be interesting and entertaining. And to not get devoured by your own critters," she added. "That's, um, well, in the past now. Cookie's too good a pup to worry about that sort of thing."

That may be true, but they still needed a game plan. "Cookie!" he called.

Pup came a-running. Pup was having a hard time not looking at the yummy meat on the table, but one head stayed mostly focused on their boy.

"Listen up and you get a treat."

Pup was all ears forward.

"We need a trick for tomorrow, and I'm thinkin' an old trick'll do. Remember the catering job a few weeks back?"

"Waroof!" Cookie bounded back to the veranda lawn and returned a moment later with their food tray, carried with confidence by both heads in concert.

"So... is a little bit 'a bribery allowed? Or do we call it something else when the judges get treats?"

Roxie giggled and her mom smiled. "This is Karedonia," said Miz Madrigal. "There will be a form to fill out, but I can handle that side of things for you. Just figure out what treat, and go for it."

"Did you have anything in mind?" asked Mr. Carlyle.

"Snozzberry tarts?" suggested Miz Debbie.

"Maybe?" Daniel was thinking hard here. "We brought that spice rack to show, right? Might be there's something in there we can use to make something really Karedonian?"

One round trip down and up the elevator brought the sack of surprise Christmas presents of that morning to the broad glass sliding doors of the living room.

Roxie's eyes lit up when she saw it all. "Oh! You got something from Carol's little helpers, too? That's so nice!" she squealed. "Did you get anything awesome? Carol got me an addition to my self-defense course." The girl hiked up her holiday dress on one side to show off a garter-belt knife holster, its strap a pure white against the drow black skin of her thigh. "Isn't it cool?"

If he'd been eating anything just then, Daniel would've choked on it. He wasn't, so he choked on nothing, instead. A moment later, a low cough from her mother helped the girl realize how things looked right then, and with a squawk of embarrassment, Roxie vaulted in a flurry of frills over the back of the couch and hid.

"S-s-sorry!" she cried.

"Don't think he minded any."

"DA～AD!"

 "Um, it's okay," said Daniel, neither confirming nor denying that 'not minding' part. "It looked really, um, nice? And sharp? Perfect for you. Er... wanna see what me and Cookie got?"

"Yeah!" And the girl was up and over the couch again, the frills of her dress slapping on the carpet as she landed in a crouch beside him. "Show me, show me!"

Mr. Carlyle leaned in. "If we might start with Cookie's mystery box?" the old man suggested. "It's been tickling my curiosity all morning."

"John..." his wife chided. The doc merely grinned in response.

Mr. Sharpe took the gift box in his hands and gave it a once-over. "Whoa, someone must've been a good pup. That or the Troll Office got its algorithms in a knot. This is an OMNI."

"So we could tell from the logo," said Mr. Carlyle dryly. "But what does it do?"

"It's a multimedia player," Roxie's dad explained. "And as for what media, well..." He tapped the top of the box. "You can tell from the logo. This thing can handle any disc format ever invented, plus a couple of cartridge and cassette formats, not to mention any output option imaginable. If you sync it to a computer, it'll let you copy or transfer across media types like nothing else. The ultimate media piracy machine. Um, also, it's technically illegal for export," the man added. "It breaks about half the articles of the international copyright and trademark agreements."

"Guess we can use it to watch your shows, pup."

"Woof!" The thick, stubby tail wagged at the thought.

Miz Madrigal wandered back over from the kitchen with fresh glasses of wine for herself and Miz Debbie.  "So what did Carol's little helpers bring you, Daniel?" she asked.

"Nice set of baking and patisserie tools, for a start," he told her.  "And a Karedonian cookbook. But that's all back at the rental. This thing's what got us wondering." He pulled the spice rack out of the bag and showed it to her and Roxie.  "See, some 'a these, I barely know by name, and a couple I've never seen before. Had to search 'em up to see, but still not sure what to do with 'em.  But this last thing--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said Mr. Sharpe as Daniel held up the triple-sealed mystery spice jar.  "Do not wave that around! Even a pinch gets out at the wrong time and we'll be regretting it for the rest of the day."

"So you know what it is?" asked Daniel.

"Unfortunately, yeah. That's ground cave troll. Specially engineered chili pepper varietal," the man explained.  "One of Her Highness's little culinary experiments that didn't quite go as planned."

"It makes a wonderful sauce," said Miz Madrigal.

"Only if you're a drow," her husband complained.  "HFH Sauce, letters left unexplained, but Her Highness has a biomedical background, so the current money's on it standing for 'heart failure hospitalization.'  Me? I think it's something simpler like 'Holy Fucking Hell'. Never even been discussed for export, probably because of the Geneva Convention."

Daniel held the bottle at arm's length and stared at it for a few seconds more.  The triple seal was still intact, and the contents shifted as he tilted it this way and that.  "So... it's something drow like, and only drow?  And a hundred percent Karedonian? Um, Miz Debbie? We never got 'round to tryin' those chili pepper chocolate recipes, did we?"

"No, we did not."  The senior baker sipped her glass of wine and considered the options.  "In theory, one pepper's as good as another.  We'd need to adjust the proportions, but I know I've got a ghost chili chocolate recipe on file.  I was saving it for a dull afternoon, but we could give it a try."

"Not in my kitchen," said Mr. Sharpe. "Trust me, you'll want full PPE for this stuff.  Or a lab."

"One came with the rental," said Mr. Carlyle.  "Ah, Cody banned me from using it, but I don't suppose...?"

The old lady sighed.  "We can make an exception for this."

"Super!"  The bio-devisor clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly.  "Oh, this should be fun.  Shall we meet back at the rental in an hour and a half?  That gives us time to set up things while Debbie and Daniel do basic prepwork, and then Roxie can assist if she'd like."

Mr. Sharpe nodded. "I'll follow you over now and help with the electronics."

"And while it's baking," said Miz Debbie. "We can hit the beach."

The drow girl bounced to her feet.  "Yay!  Oh, but I need to pick out a swimsuit!"

The idea sent all sorts of fun and confusing shivers through Daniel, starting with the brain but certainly not ending there.  He managed a "Sure, you do that," and a "See you there" as he processed how suddenly the prospects of baking experiments had turned into an afterthought.

About an hour later, Roxie

Christmas Day in Karedonia was a wonderful time to hit the beach.  The water was warm, the sand was warmer, but the breeze was nice and cool.  Roxie  and her mom weren't the only ones strolling along in beachwear--diaphonous blouses and skirts that hardly obscured the bikinis underneath--but most of the attention their way was stolen by Crumpette, who trotted along happily on her leash.  The long strip of leather was for other people's peace of mind; it wasn't a snap-off, but that wouldn't make a lick of difference if the owlbear didn't want it on.

The mile or two down the beach to Dr. Carlyle's rental made for a nice afternoon stroll, plus a chance to talk.  "Um, Mom?" she ventured.

"Yes, honey?"

"I'm not being, um, too... forward?  Coming on too strong?  With Daniel?  I... I don't want to scare him off or..."

A motherly pat on the head reassured her.  "I would say... yes, a little strong but no, he's not going to be scared off so easily.  Which is good," said Mom.  "There's going to be a lot more to take in, after all."

"I just feel so... so... blargh!" she yelled into the open air.  "This is so confusing!"

"That's part of growing up drow, Roxie.  Or at least, I expect it is.  You're writing the book on the experience right now, so we can say with certainty that one hundred percent of teenage dark elves feel exactly like you do right now."

"...thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome as always, honey.  Be sure to talk about it with Dr. Pinder at your next session.  This Thursday," her mother reminded.

Her smile was small but authentic. "Thanks, Mom."

"So, on the subject of feelings," her mother continued. "If Daniel were here and you knew he wouldn't be scared and so you had no constraints, what would you do?"

That question deserved a blink or three as she considered what she was comfortable with saying in front of a parent.  But Mom had asked, so... "I think... I'd grab him by the ears, flip off those sunglasses, look him straight in the eyes, and then kiss him till we both pass out."

"Nice..." A motherly nod of approval was forthcoming.  "I shall admit, when I see your father, I feel much the same way."

"You do?"

"Oh yes, and it is so difficult to hold that impulse in check at times.  Though we don't kiss ourselves unconscious."  The smirk was devilish.  "I would rip off his clothes way before then."

"MOM!"

"Which is why I must hold myself back.  If I gave into the urges every time, I'd never get any work done and your father would likely be dead of exhaustion."

"MO～OM!" Oh, she did not want to hear this... Even if it was weirdly reassuring and affirming and...

"But you've got your heart set on him."

"...yeah," she admitted.  That wasn't how she'd thought of it, but it was the truth.

"Definitely discuss this with Dr. Pinder," her mother told her.  "And if you're this keyed up, we might need to order a bloodwork sample for Her Highness's testing as well.  You're living the truest drow experience, and anything they can learn from you will go to helping figure out what's wrong with all of us, somehow."  The older drow stopped and made a pose that practically invited whistles from passing beachgoers.  "Though some of us are doing more right than others. Far more than certain others."

"Her Highness?" Roxie guessed.

"Oh, they could write volumes..."

They giggled the rest of the way to the rental.

Mrs. Carlyle met them at the front door, beckoning them in with a wave and a smile.  When Crumpette bobbed her head and hooted, the old lady provided a skillful skritch between the ear-tufts.  "Cookie is resting here in the front hall with some toys and their videos," she told them.

"You're surprisingly comfortable with them," her mom noted.

"John and I have been together for longer than you've been alive, I would wager.  I'm long since resigned to his idea of a proper pet."  Mrs. Carlyle ruffled some fluff playfully.  "And Crumpette's a sweetie. Yes, you are..." the grandmother cooed to the birbo.

"Ghu-hu!" The owlbear nuzzled her hand for a moment longer and then ambled over to join the two-headed Boston terrier in its den of sofa cushions and blankets. Cookie greeted her with a doubled woof.  On the wall, a projector screen was showing an episode of Curious George.

"Debbie's idea, originally," the old lady explained.  "Pup is smart for, well, a non-human genetic construct, so we picked shows that are supposed to help instruct young children through entertainment."

"It seems to be working swell," said Roxie.  "We should try that with Crumpette some.  So..."  She was trying not to show her impatience, but her cute, nearly transparent skirt would not hide the toe-tapping or knee-knocking.  "Where's Daniel?"

"Down the stairs, to the left, the lab entrance is by the laundry.  Now, if you'd excuse me..." said the old woman as she returned to a plushly upholstered chair, "I have some pet-sitting to do."

Mom took the next chair over.  "Think I'll join you. Roxie, you run along now."

She did not need to be told twice.  Her skirt fluttered in her wake as she took the steps three or four at a time.  The entrance to the lab space was right where Mrs. Carlyle had said, and the door was wide open.  The space between the last step of the stairs and the first step into the laboratory was covered in a single leap.

"Perfect timing!" Ms. Debbie said as she floated in.  "We've just finished the pie crust."

The first table in the lab space was stainless steel, as was all the other furniture, but that particular piece was covered in a wet, gloopy mixture of flour and water.  On the next table over, an oven had been set up.  Her dad was monitoring the less-than-compliant collection of power strips connecting to it.

She pouted. "Aww, you're baking already?" 

"Only the crust," Daniel assured her.  "See inside?  Ain't nothing in that pan but the crust dough, a baking sheet on top, and a weighted stone on top 'a that to help keep it in the right shape.  Any temperature that's good for the crust is gonna be too much for the filling, after all, so we gotta get that part done first."

"Why don't you just magic up the crust?" she asked.

The boy shook his head.  "Wouldn't work.  I can't do ingredients or basic components, just the final product.  Like, I can't magic up a fried egg by itself, but a croque madame with the egg on top?  No problem."

"Right. So, um..."  She looked around.  Everyone, even her dad, was wearing a mass-produced white labcoat from the henchman fabricators.  Ms. Debbie handed her one for herself, and she shrugged on the papery material before continuing.  "What do I help with?"

Some of it, she soon found, was like a practical chemistry lesson with Her Highness.  A lot of it was, actually.  There was a thing called a bain marie, which was basically just a pot inside another pot, but the big pot was full of simmering water and the small pot held heavy cream and milk.  She stood in front of it, with Daniel comfortably, wonderfully close behind her to guide her hands as they stirred pieces of chocolate into the lightly steaming mix. Together, they folded the other ingredients, the sugar and vanilla and salt at a controlled temperature without the risk of scorching, and the heat from the water spread around the inner pot to keep things lightly molten as they moved on to the next component to make.  In a mixing bowl, they lightly beat the eggs, whisking in spoonfuls of the warm chocolate to help temper them. 

"Time to add the secret weapon!" Ms. Debbie announced. "Realistically, we should've put it in at the same time as the salt and vanilla, but we can't take any chances right now. Suit up, everyone."  The non-drow in the room all donned the standard lab kit gas masks, which must have come with the rental space as an essential supply item.  Then Daniel cracked the seal on the jar of ground cave troll pepper, and the air filled with a subtly sweet and spicy tang.

She sighed happily.  Her Highness had really outdone herself with this.

"Recipe calls for a 1/4 teaspoon," said Ms. Debbie.  "Ghost pepper powder, that is, and I think whoever wrote the recipe is insane, but let's go with that.  We can do my second attempt over here with a 1/8 teaspoon."  Over on her side of the stainless steel table, the baker had been doing all the same steps as the two of them, only a bit faster.  It was Roxie's job to add the secret weapon to both batches, though, sprinkling the carnelian powder into the molten chocolate and folding it together.  With great care, Daniel helped her add the egg mixture back into the pot with the rest of the ingredients.  A few minutes later, the chocolate mixture had been poured into the pie crusts, which were then set to bake at 190°C for the next twenty-some minutes.

No one took off their masks till they were well outside the lab, with the door shut tight and a ventilation sequence ordered.  It was all rather silly, in her opinion, but she was a drow.

"Once they're done baking," said Ms. Debbie, "they'll need another hour or two to properly cool, and then we can see how we did."

"That long..."  She didn't want to sound whiny, but being patient about so many other things at the moment only made waiting for this one little thing all the harder.

But then she got distracted by the sight of Daniel taking off his temporary labcoat to reveal an open vest and swimming shorts underneath.  There was just a bit of muscle visible, and a bit more belly. The teen boy was no body-builder, and Roxie found that she didn't even care, because he was perfectly himself in a way that made herself want to hold and be held and do chocolate stuff all over and...

"Wanna hit the beach?" he asked.

"YES!"  Good things did come to those who waited.

Daniel

He tried not to let his eyes linger on the lines of Roxie's bikini under the flimsy blouse and skirt.  He tried not to stare at her butt as she hopped up the stairs ahead of him.  He tried not to think about how nice it'd felt to have his arms around her while they mixed the chocolate, a little earlier.  That he failed at all these trials didn't bother him too badly.  As Reverend Barkus had said before and would probably say again, mutants like him were all bound for hell anyhow--but that didn't mean Daniel was going to stop trying his best to be his best.  And here, being his best meant complimenting his new girlfriend on her outfit, letting her know he thought she was particularly beautiful without specifying which parts, and appreciating just how lucky he was.

Then he got to the front hall where Miz Cordelia and Miz Madrigal were watching the critters watch a show.  The resemblance between mother and daughter was impossible to ignore when they had on pretty much the same outfit in different colors, and his imagination could plot the trajectory of Roxie's future pretty easily. His girlfriend was built on the same model as Mom, and that model was 'super'.

A tap on the shoulder broke him out of an accidental daydream.  Mr. Sharpe had an understanding grin on his face as they hung back and watched the ladies chat about chocolatiering.  "To quote a famous comic book line," said the man, "Face it, tiger. You just hit the jackpot."

"Can't disagree," he mumbled.

A friendly hand clapped him on the shoulder, then continued in to push him forward. "So go get her."

Easier said than done, but for the life of him, Daniel couldn't say why, exactly.  All the nerves of a first date fluttered in his stomach, despite it not being a first date at all, but really, when was the last time he'd initiated a date-date?  He wasn't even sure, but he needed to act sure, to act confident as his feet took him the last few steps forward and his arm offered itself and somehow his mouth formed the words, "Shall we go? Um, after we wash up a bit?"

Not much of an invitation, but definitely a date-starter.

By the time he'd washed his hands three times and used the toilet, the adults all had found sofas or seats.  Mr. Carlyle and Mr. Sharpe were discussing something electrical while Miz Cordelia leaned in with the occasional comment to explain why they were wrong, and the solution was something else entirely.  Miz Debbie and Roxie's mom were laughing about another thing entirely on the sofa.  Cookie and Crumpette were in the middle of an episode of Clifford and Friends.  Pup gave him a sniff, whined at whatever smell the baking had left on him, and then turned that head back to join the other in enjoying the show.

"Guess it's just the two of us?" he said to Roxie.

"Guess so?" She didn't sound too sure, either, but she had a hold on his arm like she was never letting go.  He didn't want her to let go.  More weird realizations blossomed in his brain as they walked down the porch steps to the beachfront, and he did not have time to unpack them all, but the basic thing was that this felt... comfortable.  Right.  Things were as they ought to be.

"Race you!"  And then his girlfriend was running off towards the water.  Nothing to do but chase after.  Didn't even need to worry about catching her, cuz she was already caught.  And so was he.  How, why, when did not matter, cuz this was now and they were running, they were laughing, they were splashing through the surf and the water was almost as warm as her laughter.

He caught up to her and they tumbled through a wave.  Her blouse and skirt clung in all the best ways, visible as a silver sheen across drow-black skin and the sapphire blue of her swimsuit.

Later, they found a beachball, abandoned after a night or a day of enjoyment, and for an hour they made it their own, tossing it back and forth or spiking it into the air.  A stray breeze off the water sent it flying far, and they raced after.  The prodigal ball was caught, and then they collapsed onto the soft sand, holding it between them and laughing even more.

"You... ha-ha, I haven't had this much fun at the beach in ages," wheezed Roxie.

"Most fun ever," agreed Daniel.  "Hah, not really any beaches in Idaho or New Hampshire.  Lakes're too cold."

Roxie peekaboo'd over the top of the beachball.  "That's a shame. You'll just have to enjoy it as much as you can while you're here."

"Already enjoying it lots."

His girlfriend had a dreamy look on her face. "You could always enjoy it more... uh..." She spluttered to a halt with the vaguely purple tint of a blush on her face.  When Miz Debbie called from the veranda to let them know the pies were ready, they were both kind of relieved.  And disappointed, somehow, at the same time.  Life was complicated.

Cooked, cooled, and properly set, the chili chocolate tart was as near to a perfect circle as could be.  Daniel could probably show it in his math class as an example of pie-r². Its surface was smooth, with only a few ridges, waves, and bubbles to mar it, and those were soon enough hidden beneath a layer of whipped topping.  Set on the veranda table in the early evening breeze, the baked good looked as cute as a button--a big, red button attached to something unfortunately nuclear, but cute, nonetheless.

"It looks fantastic," said Roxie.

"That it does," said Miz Debbie.  "But that's only part of the whole.  The proof of the pudding is in the eating. You can't judge quality without trying it first."

"Is that how it's supposed to go?"  The drow girl had a thinking look on her face.  "Huh.  Makes more sense that way."

Her mother came over with two plates, two forks, and a pie server.  "I guess that's our cue.  Unless anyone else would like a taste?"

"Respectfully, hon?  Hell no," said Mr. Sharpe.

"Suit yourself."  Miz Madrigal cut away two-eighths of the pie with perfect precision, placing one slice on a plate for herself, and the other for her daughter.  Forks removed dainty portions for a first taste, then larger portions as mother and daughter quickly finished.  Roxie looked about ready to lick the plate.  His girlfriend then went for a second slice.

"So, er, it passes inspection?" he asked them.

"Definitely."  A sniff wriggled from Miz Madrigal's nose.  "A fine chocolate flavor with a spicy floral bouquet that hits just right.  Wouldn't you agree, Roxie?"

"Mhmhmhm!"

"Good to hear."  Daniel steeled himself for the next part.  "Now it's my turn to try a bite."

"Are you sure about this?" asked Miz Debbie.

"Can't magic something up if I don't know it well enough," he replied.  "And that includes knowin' its flavor profile.  Proof of the pudding, right?"

From the kitchen, Mr. Carlyle yelled, "Just a moment!"  That moment later, the old man and Mr. Sharpe returned with a large milkshake glass and a larger beaker filled with chilled white stuff.

"Went ahead and mixed this up for you," Roxie's dad explained as the mixture slowly glipped and glopped into the glass.  "Milk, yogurt, vanilla ice cream, antacid tablets, and a handful of fresh snozzberries, put in the blender on frappe setting and then chilled in the freezer. We'll have it on standby for when you need it."

"Um, thanks."  He eyed the slice of tart that Roxie's mom was now offering him on a plate.  "Well, er..."

"Let me!" said Roxie. She scooped up an equal amount of chocolate filling and fluffy cream topping on a tablespoon.  "Say, 'Ah...'"

"Ah...?" And his girlfriend popped an exquisitely flavorful dollop of hellfire into his mouth.

The first thing he noted was the chocolate.  He and Miz Debbie'd gotten the best they could find on their shopping trip the night before, and it lived up to its scientific name meaning 'Food of the Gods.'  The fluffiness of the topping was like angel feathers on his tongue, tickling and then melting away to blissful nothingness.  Under it all, there was a fragrant, almost fruity scent, starting out warm and then getting warmer and never stopping warming up but it really should've been and yet it wasn't and oh God this was too hot and it still wasn't stopping and...

"Get the milkshake!" he heard Mr. Sharpe yell. He was pretty sure he drank it before he blacked out.

What time was it?  Daniel couldn't tell, not with his eyes shut, but his gut was telling him that some time had passed since all hell had passed through it. He was feeling well enough to groan, at least.

"Oh, you're awake!"  From somewhere nearby, Roxie's voice moved in closer.  "How're you feeling?"

"Been better," he admitted.

"Yeah, cave troll can do that to people.  Here, I got you some water."  A straw found his lips, and he took a careful drink.

"Um, how long?"

"About half an hour.  Maybe a little longer.  I haven't been counting.  That was, er, kind of a dumb thing to do."

"I'm realizin' that, yeah."

"Daniel..."  That got him to open his eyes.  Roxie's own baby-blues glimmered in the dimming light through the window of his bedroom, and her hair was backlit by the warm illumination of the half-open hallway door.  He was on his bed.  She was on his bed.  She was wearing a terrycloth bathrobe, and his brain couldn't help but notice how nicely it fit her.  "Daniel..." she repeated.  "You didn't... you didn't have to do that for me.  For us.  You could make more tarts on your own even without your power, but you... and then you..."

"I'll be fine," he promised. Various parts of his digestive tract still weren't on polite terms with his brain, but his mouth and tongue enjoyed a lingering memory of the fragrance of the pepper from before it'd clobbered him.  He held onto that memory, focused for a heartbeat, and knew that he could produce it again on command. They could test that later, though. 

She didn't say anything for a while, just curled up on the bed beside him with her head against his chest and one hand holding his.  Outside, sunset continued, but her eyes still caught every glint.

Finally, "How many dates have we been on?"

"Hm? Come again?"

"How many dates?  Do you think?"

Considering they'd only been out doing stuff for two days, and barely known one another for three, the answer was more complicated than he'd expect.  "Well... between the market, and the gardens, and the church service, and the dinner, and the cooking, and the beach... Three?  Maybe four?  Why do you ask?"

He felt a giggle through his chest.  "Mom and I had a talk, Saturday night, when I told her I really liked you and wanted to go on a date like... like a regular girl.  She told me to take things slow, which obviously has not been happening, and not to get too serious about anything till after the third date.  But... but..."  She lifted her head, and the reflective glow of her eyes in the evening became his world.  "I don't know if you feel the same way, or if I'm just being crazy, but I really..."

His free hand caressed her neck, from the cleft of the collar bone up to the curve of the chin, inviting her and guiding her up into a kiss.  The kiss.

It wasn't his first, though it might as well have been.  With Erica, it'd felt like neither of them'd known what the heck they were doing.  With Whirlibird, neither of them'd known what they wanted.  Here and now, Roxie knew exactly what she was doing, and she knew what she wanted, and he knew that he wanted what she wanted, and what they both wanted was to hold on tight and keep kissing and kissing and kissing till they both blacked out.

A little while later, Daniel woke up to Roxie still curled up beside him, still resting her head on his chest, still smiling serenely as she dreamed.  He stroked the silver-silk crown of hair and wondered what he was doing here and how life had come together in such a way.

And then his girlfriend woke up, her smile never changing, and the kisses started all over again.

Elsewhere, late in the evening

A phone receiver buzzed.

No ringtone.

No call identification.

No need.

Picked up at the third buzz.

No sooner; no later.

Listening.

"Understood."

...

"Yes."

...

"Still in custody."

...

"No."

...

"Will clean up later if necessary."

...

"Understood."

...

"All is prepared."

...

"All is prepared."

...

"Understood."

...

"Thank you."

...

"Sic semper."

 

To Be Continued