Wonder Made

Twenty-Eight, Part Two

She looked up. Her dad smiled, though it wasn't one that reached his eyes. "Not everything," he said, before releasing a sigh into the air. "They won't remember me. Since I'm still an active member of the Council." He took a seat on the curb. Peneloper followed suit and folded her hands in her lap.

Her father side-eyed her before nudging her in the shoulder. "Where's Crispen?"

"Watching Gideon." She looked down. "He'll be sent back to prison, won't he?"

After a moment of Rayburn examining the ginormous skyline around them, that was so out of place for Potter Oaks, he nodded. "Yeah. He perverted the town, tried," he glanced down at her, "tried to pervert you."

"I think he was influenced by The Fourth."

Her dad shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back. "Yeah, I wouldn't put it past Never. Hey," he glanced at her hands, "How'd you get rid of him?"

"It's a very long," she shook her head, "and embarrassing story."

He chuckled. "I'll just glean the details from your thoughts later."

It was her turn to shove her dad and though it was playful, she did put more effort into it than she ought to. He swayed and had to put a hand down to stabilize himself. She looked out on Melbourne Way, across to Chestnut. Where Miss Laddie's garden was, now stood a multi-level parking garage giant. She sighed.

"Don't worry. They'll clean it up."

Peneloper blinked. "Who's they?"

"The Council."

At this, she burst into laughter. The Council? The most absurd people she'd ever encountered? Who hired PR firms to clean up their image? Who locked away a child, who severed his magic who wanted to do the same to another child and would have had it not been for her father? That Council? The one with the child, creepy lizard woman, and British fellow who's accent wasn't quite British but wasn't bad enough to be considered anything else?

Her father's forehead crinkled and Peneloper slowed her thoughts.

"Once you get going, they really avalanche out of that skull of yours, don't they?"

She shrugged. "If you wanted quiet, you should visit me in school. Not a thought in there." She hefted a fist and lightly pounded her head.

Rayburn nodded. "Despite how they appear, the Council's frightfully powerful. Usually, they don't like getting involved in what they consider 'tiffs.'"

Peneloper spread her arms wide, trying to encompass the gravity of her little town now being a city so gigantic it could dwarf New York. "This is a tiff?"

"To them? Those who recline in their Laz-E-boys when the weekly apocalypse rolls around and watch it unfold while eating movie-popcorn and sipping overpriced sodas?" He nodded. "Yeah. But, considering this happened in Reason, and we magical folk like to keep our existence under wraps, they'll have no choice but to put their recliners into their upright positions, get off their asses and do something."

"What about Genesis? And Chant?"

Rayburn raised an eyebrow. "They get perverted too?"

She nodded. "Genesis turned into a raven and flew off. And Chant's—"

As though the cat was waiting for the chance to make its debut, he sauntered out from the porch, tail hoisted in the air like a sail, and joined them. He hopped onto Peneloper's lap and prodded her hands with a wet nose. A universal sign for, "rub."

Peneloper obliged. "My, you're getting spoiled."

He meowed and nestled himself into her hoodie, his little heart racing as a low purr rumbled from his throat. Rayburn reached to pet the cat, but Chant hissed. Her father frowned. "So you only want my daughter touching you?" He threw his hands behind his back. "I bet in this city there's a veterinarian who'd neuter you no questions asked."

Chant gulped and then scooted away. Peneloper snorted. "I made that jest earlier."

Chant continued to scoot back, his back paws stepping on the page of Stormholden's story, Peneloper forgot she'd been holding.

"So will they fix everything that's been perverted?" Chant's ears twitched, him just as eager for the answer as she was.

"Honestly, I don't know," he said. "They're pretty inconsequential in the whole scheme of things."

"That's bleak," Peneloper pouted. "And horrible." She shook her head. "Just when I thought they could be useful, they remain the worst—"

"Hey," her dad's hand pressed down on her shoulder. "I'm sure they'll use it as some sort of lesson." Peneloper gritted her teeth audibly as she tensed. All manner of alarm blared inside her.

Rayburn eased his hand off her. "I'm honestly just guessing here, Nep. No need to—" He stopped, looked up at the sky, swallowed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to call you that. It's just—" he shrugged. "Habit."

Peneloper relaxed her shoulders, blew out. A breeze, colder this time, speaking of autumn, whistled between them, rustling the page of Stormholden's story she'd forgotten she had. Chant coiled tighter on her lap and gave her fingers a quick lick. She exhaled. "If the Council wants to teach me," the words were barely audible as they were squeezed through teeth so tight, they could turn coal into diamonds, "fine. But do you think, I have enough pull to ask for a favor?

"Nells, you're going to be the next Council member when I retire. You can ask for pretty much whatever you want and they'll give it to you."

She nodded, taking everything in. Overhead, though the sky was blue and cloudless, a streak of purple lightning skirted the sky. No thunder followed. Obviously, it wasn't natural. "They're here." Rayburn sighed and got to his feet.

His profile light by the sun, the Auttsley Patriarch, looked as dead as he'd pretended to be for all those years: sallow, unkempt, dirt under his nails, the shadow of his beard shading his face, making him almost skeletal. Filled with regret. His legs only moving because they had to, not because he had anything to look forward to.

"When will you retire?"

He patted her had and gave her a gentle smile before walking away, shoulders rounded by the weight of a curse he'd inherited. One he seemed reluctant to pass on to her. One he'd carried alone for all these years. In the silence he left in his wake, Peneloper decided two things. She would try, emphasis on try, to be kinder to the man that had given up his family. Because, in his time away from them, she'd realized he had been mourning them just as they'd been mourning him.

Secondly, she would alleviate that burden, and do something only she could do. Though her conviction wavered, as what she was about to do was offer herself up as a sacrifice to the dumbest people she'd ever met, her an antelope about to walk into and lay down the stupidest den of lions to exist, it eventually solidified as more and more of her fear turned into resolve. She'd defeated a King. She'd done the impossible. She could weather whatever came next alone. Though, as Chant needed his paws into her thigh, she remembered she wouldn't be alone. That she never was, and never would be.

"Well, Chant," she shooed her cat best friend off her so she could get to her feet. "Let's go greet those Council loons," Chant released a protracted sigh and slapped his tail against the sidewalk, "and then, let's give them my list of demands." Chant cocked his head. "Oh yes, dear friend, I have demands. Loads of them they'll agree to if they want to keep the next member of their organization happy." She leaned over conspiratorially, "And they'll want to since an unhappy me will think so many thoughts they won't be able to down enough Advil to keep the migraines at bay. I might just make a head or two explode."

She walked back toward the lawn where her father had joined Chant and Gideon. Chant, eclipsed by her shadow, walked at her heels. Peneloper walked toward -- and with -- the people she loved, the father she'd lost, the friend she'd forgotten, the friend who'd always been and always would be at her side, the new boy in town who had upended everything she knew and sent her town spiraling into chaos, knowing she would weather whatever came next just fine. Just fine indeed.