Once Michaela had finally arrived, there was no one left to save, only full driveways and empty houses. Even in the modern age of surveillance and cameras, the middle of nowhere still existed; small towns could still be picked right off the map before the Switchboard noticed anything, let alone got a Hunter out there.
After finally getting the unknown monster—what Michaela referred to as Critters—burned, and her notes written up, she started checking every building for survivors. As she’d thought, she’d gotten here too late to even save people’s dogs…. Still, procedure was procedure, even for a network of people that were as far from being military as you could get. Hunters weren’t allowed to have been, or be, or want to be, military or police. Usually, they were traumatised survivors from small towns like this, where everyone knew how to hunt, and how to farm or herd.
In her final sweep, she passed the ramshackle Victorian house across from the old church again. The other houses all had clearer evidence of Bad Things, in the form of doors hanging open and cars in the driveway; but this house’s status was… unclear.
It wasn’t as though Michaela was inexperienced in checking for survivors; she’d been a hunter her whole life, and was in her fifties now; but this house… it looked abandoned, with its peeling paint, and all the plants being overgrown… but there was still a sort of clear path to the mailbox, and none of the windows were broken…. The problem was, there was, also, no car in the drive, and she hadn’t noticed any cars even coming through the small network of narrow streets—and this was exurbia, even worse than suburbs for how disconnected from public transit it was. You needed a car, here….
Well, she thought, parking her bus—she lived where she worked, which was on the road. She was one of the half dozen Hunters that could do that perpetually—she would just have to watch the house, and wait. She waited until night, and saw lights turn on and then, in the early hours, off again, which cemented it—there was someone alive in there. In the grey light of dawn, she called the local clean-up crew on the channel of her radio that you could only pick up and broadcast on if one of the Folk had fiddled with the wires.
‘Big Red calling for Ontario Personnel Code 13, I say Big Red calling Ontario with a code 13, over,’ she said, and waited. After a minute, eyes still on the house, she repeated the message. She was just about to click the microphone back on again when a voice crackled through—heavy Northern accent, clear diction, low pitch. That was Thor, she’d be glad to see him again.
‘Come in Big Red, this is Ontario Sparklers, do you copy.’
‘Affirmative, Ontario Sparklers, stage is Gaskill Ontario 4, I need razzle-dazzle, over.’
‘Roger, gonna be able to be there at Nones, repeat gonna be arriving at Nones today, over.’
‘Affirmative, Ontario Sparklers. Ontario Personnel be aware Code 13 still in progress, Code 13 still in progress, stand by, stand by,’ Michaela said, spotting movement in the shadows. She turned off the radio, pulled down her night-vision goggles, watching carefully. This Critter she’d been hunting was the kind there was no information about, and it had already shown it would go after more than just humans—there were no dogs or cats or deer in the area anymore either, and smaller animals like squirrels had fled.
The little animal venturing out was one of the sorts of animal that behaved in a funny way around monsters of any kind, because they were monsters, themselves—benign ones.
Long prehensile tail held high, soft light emitting from the downy fluff at the tip, Michaela watched the tiny, cat-sized clown make its way up to the abandoned-looking house’s side door, looking around and waiting for a long while before batting at something by the door that made a jingling noise, going inside right where a dog-door would be.
And then the kitchen light went on. Michaela pulled off the goggles, got out of her car, figuring if the residents were awake, then she should go talk to them. Clown people always took news like ‘monsters are real and you’re in danger, we have to leave now’ much better than people who didn’t keep clowns. When she got into the glazed porch, she saw the front door had a metal sign above a modern plastic doorbell that said ‘Deliveries Ring Bell’.
Michaela rang the bell, figuring it also included guests, and heard the chime—a very Halloween pipe organ—from somewhere deeper in the house. She couldn’t see in, someone had put privacy film on the large window taking up half the door, but she heard wheels rolling over the floor.
‘Who is it?’
‘Animal Control,’ Michaela said automatically, as that was her usual cover story. Everyone had a persona in some kind of authority, but it was rare that persona was a cop; it was a useless thing for their profession—much more useful to be Animal Control, or Park Ranger, or some kind of medic. Michaela looked like a Animal Control—she was big, but kept her hair long and dyed it henna-red, and wore her red cargo pants tucked into cowgirl boots. She didn’t do uniforms, a woman her size looked awful in them, and she couldn’t fit her maille under them; but she could wear shirts and caps with the right logos. So, Animal Control it always was.
‘What do you want?’ came the answer, a little more hostile and guarded. Too late, Michaela realised they would suspect she was here to take away the clown.
‘There’s a rabid coyote spotted a few houses down, just wanna make sure you’re safe.’
That got the door to open. ‘Come in. I have a clown,’ said the person, letting her in and lightly body-slamming the door shut. Michaela had met enough people to know he was probably some kind of transman, though she wasn’t sure if he was one of the new style that didn’t like being called male titles, so she resolved to keep a damper on her Southern Manners as far as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ went.
The inside of the house had clearly seen better days, but wasn’t tumble-down as the outside indicated yet, and the mess said he was still unpacking.
‘You sure it’s rabid?’ came the first question.
‘Yessir.’ Fuck. Well, she thought, he’d correct her if he wanted, ‘You got any openings, dog doors and that? Oh, what a sweetheart!’ she made sure to say, as she saw the little clown sitting on a dog-bed in the kitchen, a dish of sliced up apple and banana in her lap. ‘I’m glad she’s inside.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ was the answer, so Michaela presumed ‘sir’ was okay. He left his rolling walker and went to the kitchen door, sliding a panel down that locked the dog door. ‘Glad you came when you did, she just came inside.’
‘You let her free-roam?’
‘No, no, it’s not like that. She um, well, when we moved here, everyone said she was an Outside Clown, though of course that’s not a thing. So, we’ve been trying to gain her trust, get her inside so we can give her a home and be her people. Huh, Pippin?’
The little clown looked up at the sound of her name, and gave a beep, before putting another slice of banana in her mouth. Her Mask had always been pretty much the same—black lips, black around her eyes, blue tears under her eyes, black uptilted brows. A very classic Pierrot face, which was why Aix had been so worried about her; blue markings only showed up on wild zanni clowns, and that meant someone was bound to eventually catch her, and then she’d have to be euthanised because they’d expect her to not bite or be wild, and that wasn’t fair to ask of a wild animal. She’d already bitten one of Aix’s housemates, but he didn’t mind, he was a scientist, used to being bitten, and scratched, and all manner of other things, with the scars to prove it… but having Animal Control come to the door had made Aix’s heart jolt, and if he hadn’t been so used to that level of fear, it would have likely rendered him dysfunctional; but the fact was that he had enough PTSD for a whole crowd of people, so fear was an old dragon at his gates, not a new one.
Besides, something about this woman didn’t seem like she meant him harm; it was still hit-or-miss with whether he noticed he was having an instinct that was coming from Apollo, but there was something about her that seemed… well, safe. She was very big, but she moved and spoke very gently, and besides which, Pippin liked her, and Pippin didn’t even like his housemates all that much, so she must be all right. Aix trusted clowns, they were good judges of character.
And she’d called him ‘sir’, he thought happily.
‘There’s a we?’ she was asking.
‘Housemates are in Vermont for a week. One’s a biologist though, so we’re very serious about wildlife safety. We had some trouble with mice this winter, but we got that hole in the attic plugged up, and any of the other little holes are in the eaves—not exactly the kind coyotes can get to.’ He paused. ‘Unless this… isn’t actually about a rabid coyote,’ he said, carefully, as he sat on his rollator, pushing the brakes down and actually taking care to meet eyes with Michaela. ‘Only I saw you in a skoolie that definitely wasn’t animal control, yesterday.’
So, he had been watching her; Michaela changed her entire posture, let a little more of her Appalachian twang come through.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘for starters, I’m here to help keep you safe from something dangerous that is out there. I’m not a cop, but I have some bad news about your neighbours—all of them.’
‘I mean, if you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already,’ he said, evenly, but Michaela could tell he was a bit scared, by the look of his pupils.
‘It’s not me doin’ the killin’, boyo, it’s the monsters been pickin’ people off for a while now. I’ve got one of them, but I’m not clear on if there’s more, and you’re the last one standing in this whole township.’
‘What about the outer provinces?’ he asked, paused. ‘Sorry, I mean, the farms? What about the animals?’
‘Got them first, I reckon. Worked fast, because word didn’t get around. Then again… well, nobody talks to nobody anymore, ‘specially up north.’
‘What kind of monster?’ he asked, resisting the urge to jokingly ask if her last name was Winchester.
‘Kind that don’t have a name,’ she said, ‘some of them don’t. You don’t leave the house much, do you?’
‘Oh, well-spotted,’ came the sarcastic reply, as he tapped the handles of his walker, ‘what tipped you off?’ He sighed. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
‘No worries. I got lots of friends that are English,’ she said with a smile, leaning back on his kitchen counter.
‘Okay, so, let’s try again… you’re a monster hunter and you’re here to protect the last survivor.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I have seen ten seasons of Supernatural,’ he said, mostly to himself. She laughed, and it was a nice laugh, that shook her belly a little beneath her layers, one of which was likely some kind of armour.
‘What do I call you?’ he asked.
‘Mike.’
‘Call me Aix, my pronouns are he, though I never argue with strangers I’m not gonna see again, so please don’t correct people.’ It was a rehearsed speech by now, Aix had been trans for more than ten years without really being able to get people to use the right pronouns.
Still, he thought happily, Mike had called him sir. And any lady her age that went by ‘Mike’ was a little more trans than most.
‘She-her. I’m butch, but not butch enough to be like my lesbian friends that go by “he”. If you don’t mind me askin’, for the sake of cover stories: you closeted to your housemates?’
‘No, I’m not closeted, they’re queer too—I’m just tired of correcting the outside world, or handing them weapons to hurt me with,’ he said in a weary voice. ‘I’ve been fighting the world on my pronouns for over a decade, you know? I got tired.’
‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘but I understand not advertisin’ a weakness, believe me.’
‘Thanks.’ He pushed to his feet again, slowly going over to where Pippin was trying to put her dish on the counter, but she was too small to reach.
‘Good girl,’ he said, gently lifting her up under the arms and letting her put it on the tidy stack of them by the sink. He set her on the counter and turned on the warm water, leaning on the counter while he waited for it. ‘You wanna play in the water?’ he asked her. She beeped excitedly, kicking her feet, tail swishing, and hopped into one side of the empty basin.
Michaela wondered what his relationship with these housemates was, but no matter what it was, he had to leave, permanently… ‘You’re not safe here, anymore. Are you open to leaving?’
‘What about my housemates?’
‘By the time they get back, we’ll have people to meet them with a cover story. You attached enough to let them know you’re still alive?’
Michaela expected him to protest, to tell her all the reasons his housemates would keep the secret—and she had rebuttals for every single argument, she’d heard them all before. Rules were rules—and the rules of the Mummery were very clear. Modernised to account for modern science and tech, but still very clear: survivors were allowed to know, but only if they were the last, or had direct contact with a Critter. Keeping someone’s high-tech communications controlled was stupidly easy, much more than watching their mail. Giving the illusion of choice was a litmus test for how careful Michaela had to be; would he panic, would he cling to the normal yesterday had been, or would he adapt?
As he scrubbed out a side of the sink, put in a stopper after checking the temperature, Aix thought it over—all of it. There was a monster that had killed off everyone in town, presumably over the past few days, and he hadn’t noticed. Well, he’d noticed that it was quieter, and that he could sleep a little better, but the infrasound that kept him awake had no pattern, so he hadn’t connected the dots. His housemates… well, one of them was his best friend, which was why he was even living here; but said best friend’s partner was just an acquaintance, and acquaintances were—in an emergency—somewhat disposable.
He’d had enough of the specific kinds of trauma by now that doing this would be shockingly easy, Aix thought; but he knew, from a few years ago when he’d ended up hospitalised from abuse and had to flee with zero resources, that human connections were extremely important to any person’s mental stability. He had to think through what disappearing would mean—think all the way through. The water and the task of helping Pippin finally have a proper bath helped him think, as did the fact that Mike’s presence was quiet and did not feel at all impatient. He heard her move, coming back and sitting down on a chair she’d gotten from the next room.
His feet hurt.
‘Can you watch her a sec? I need to sit down.’
Mike lowered the little paperback she’d pulled out to read while she let him think things over, reached over and slid the rollator, which was across the small kitchen, over to him. ‘How ‘bout that?’
‘Oh, thank you.’ He sat down again, Pippin splashing busily as she washed herself. He handed the little clown a woven pot-holder to use as a scrubbing aid.
‘I guess moving suddenly would be more suspicious than dying,’ he mused quietly, as he moved things away from the edges of the sink that might fall in, like the soap dispenser, and the handful of dirty dishes, and the jar of soapy water that had several dirty silverware handles sticking out of it, ‘but I don’t think I could take never speaking to anybody again. That would be too much like what happened when I fled my ex-husband. And I’m suicidal, so that’s what they’d think would have happened, and they’d look for a body or something like that. So I need to give them a reason I’m gone, something that allays suspicion enough for them to stop looking and asking questions.’
He was clever enough to trust, then, Michaela thought, as she marked her place and put the book back in one of her pockets; and cool-headed enough to be safe in a crisis. She wondered how many he’d already had, you didn’t react like that without being practised, and he was clearly not in any kind of emergency profession, or he wouldn’t have been so trusting of her.
‘There is a chemical plant out here,’ Michaela said, ‘you could say there was a hazardous spill, somethin’ that required evacuation.’
‘Yeah, this used to be a superfund site, that’s why the house was so cheap. It would be easy if you had a few grifters in authority personas say there’d been a dangerous leak, and I had been evacuated…. Still, it would be safest if I got out of here permanently, and I can’t think of what kind of reason for a sudden, permanent move would seem reasonable to anybody.’
He lapsed into a silence that was starting to look more tense than anything, and Michaela could tell he was going to think himself into a freeze, so she said, ‘Just answer me a simple question, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Do you want to leave?’ she asked, and saw the answer, but only gently pressed, ‘Don’t think about your friends for a second. Think about you.’
‘Yes,’ he said, instantly. ‘I like my friends, but I hate it here. It’s too wet, there’s no ramps in this house (as I’m sure you’ve noticed), the weather makes me more disabled than I was in the desert, and I’m only living here because I can’t afford to live anywhere on my own. I would rather be living somewhere in LA, by myself, with some staff; but I can’t earn my own money because my stupid disabilities,’ he said, frustrated almost to tears.
Pippin stopped and cooed softly, patting his hands. He smiled at her, leaning his head down so she could touch her little forehead to his.
‘I’m a city bird,’ he said, in a calmer voice.
‘Oh, then you should meet my gal, Victoria. She’s in a chair, herself,’ Michaela said. ‘Lives down in Manhattan. Her building’s accessible. ‘Tain’t a desert, but it’s the best I can offer.’ Victoria would be able to connect him to resources better than this house and the mass-produced walker he had now, that was certain.
‘I used to live in New York,’ Aix said, brightening, ‘I didn’t want to move away, really.’
Michaela knew she could get him out of here, now, and breathed a little easier. She was garbage at convincing people of things, too used to emergencies where the most decisive person won.
‘What’s Victoria like?’ Aix asked.
‘She’s a goth from a family of ‘em. Well-connected, Jewish, mighty helpful if you’re still gettin’ used to bein’ disabled. Crochets like a fiend. Talks like Katharine Hepburn.’
‘She sounds amazing,’ Aix said, a little starry-eyed—Michaela was glad for it. ‘And she’d put me up for… indefinitely?’ he added, hesitantly. ‘I can’t work,’ he added, with the twitchy bluntness that said he was used to people offering charity rather than kindness.
‘She owns a whole apartment building, she’s got room. And if she don’t, there’s always the Wollstonecroft. That’s my gal Gin, she’ll surely have room. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t know what I was offerin’, son,’ she added, giving him her best Southern Hospitality smile and thickening her accent up to make sure he understood what kind of hospitality she would offer.
Aix took a deep breath, let it out.
‘…Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s start packing. How much room do I have?’
Michaela was relieved to finally have him get moving so practically. Those lessons Victoria gave her on diplomacy were starting to pay off. ‘I’ve got a gal owns a truckin’ company, she’s got somebody in range—hang on a second…’ She turned her radio up again, ‘Big Red calling Ontario Camels, Ontario Camels do you copy, over.’
It took a minute, and a repeat of the message, before there was the crackle that meant a truck radio was responding.
‘Big Red this is Billie Bones. Affirm I have a clipper for you, what’s your 20. Repeat: Ontario Clipper available, over.’
Aix had always been fascinated by ciphers, particularly all forms of radio; listening to Mike use one was a treat. He listened to her give very clear directions, noticing how carefully everyone was avoiding saying specific names, using code words. He understood the code words, some of them—he’d learned Ontario was an Anglicization of the local Indigenous word, and he knew what ‘clipper’ meant—fast ships carrying cargo. The word ‘camel’ was probably more clear over radio compared to other words like ‘horse’ or ‘ship’…. So a small truck, perhaps, rather than a big eighteen-wheeler? This wasn’t at all like the standard radio procedure for any type of radio communication he’d ever looked up. Which might have been the point. He would have guessed Billie was a trucker even without Mike telling him—Billie used CB codes, but Mike didn’t.
‘Ten-four Big Red, I’m on that road right now, arrival one hour, repeat arrival one hour, over.’
‘Thanks Billie. Watch for bear trap from south side, over.’
‘Affirmative, Big Red, thanks for the warning, over and out.’
‘Ontario Personnel, Code 13 in Gaskill. Stand by, stand by, Code 13 in Gaskill, stand by, stand by, out.’
‘Is a code thirteen an unknown monster?’ Aix guessed. ‘I figured out the rest, I think, but…’
‘It means I’ve got a worst case scenario and have no confirmation all the Critters are dead. By now, everyone listenin’ will know there’s some kind of survivor situation too. You’ve got a good voice for radio,’ she commented, to see how it would land. She didn’t mind him listening—you couldn’t help hearing, and he was proving observant.
‘I do, yes,’ Aix said, straightening up in his seat and preening a little; his voice was something he was very proud of, and radio had been one of his dream jobs. He liked to read aloud, liked to just use his voice in any way, singing or talking. Still, maybe it sounded arrogant, or rude, so he changed the subject, refocused on Mike. ‘I like the fact that you know women truckers.’
Michaela smiled. ‘Amber’s our logistics gal, and she only hires women. Billie Bones is expert at city streets, drives a smaller rig. ‘Twixt the two of us we’ll get your gear packed up, don’t you worry none.’
‘It’s been so long since I’ve experienced southern hospitality,’ Aix said, draining the sink basin and helping Pippin rinse off. ‘Could you please grab me that towel hanging on the coat rack inside that room there,’ he said, pointing toward the open swing door, and the room beyond, which may have started life as a dining room, but was now set up as a bedroom. Michaela found the towel in question, and handed it over, watching as Aix dried off the little clown carefully, eventually standing up, wrapping her up gently, and lifting her down to sit on the seat of his rolling walker, going into the bedroom with it while she made ‘whee’ noises, but sat still. He really liked that little gal, it was good to see how gentle he was with strange critters; monsters weren’t always the kind that should be shot first, times were different now, and they needed people that would see a monster and try to understand first, sometimes…. Well, she’d have plenty of time to observe him on the trip, fill him in, see what he brought to the table. Everybody had something to add to a community.
‘Billie’s a mover, she’ll have some stuff in the back—and if she don’t, she’ll know where to pick it up,’ Michaela said, tapping out a list to send to Billie, based on what she saw in this room and the kitchen. ‘Let’s get the stuff you’ll need right away packed up—you got suitcases anyplace?’
‘Yeah, living room. Luckily, my makeup is already packed. I haven’t had the energy to use it since I moved here.’ He picked up an old-fashioned train case. ‘I wanted to get into drag and cosplay, but… well, like I said, the weather does a number on me.’
‘Victoria’s got lots of queens in her building, they’ll surely help you out. Wait here, I’ll get the Moonie backed into the drive and then get your luggage. Billie’s gonna use that mansion next door’s circle court, when she arrives.’
‘Well,’ Aix said, philosophically, ‘it’s not like they’re using it anymore, I guess. Go out the kitchen door, it’s easier to open and close,’ he said, and Michaela gave a little salute, before heading out—closing the door a lot quieter than people typically did, moving a lot quieter; Aix liked her for that alone. Most people moved so loudly, so carelessly, through the world….
He looked over at Pippin, wondering what she was making of all this, her big dark eyes looking at him with such sweet inquisition. She beeped, and he beeped back, though his voice was much lower than hers.
She watched him shut his computer down, and hopped down off the bed when he started winding cords, curious.
‘Uu?’ she noised, which was the little inquisitive noise she used, and gently patted the colourful cable he was winding. He looked down at her.
‘Are you helpin’?’ he asked, and she beeped, nodding. ‘Okay,’ he said, and handed her a coiled cable. ‘Can you put that on the floor nice?’ he said, miming a little to give her the idea. She nodded, beeping, took it, turned around, and set it with great care right down in front of the old—but not as old as the house—wardrobe. ‘Good girl!’ Aix said, and started winding another.
Pippin had always seemed to like Aix the best, he thought; and not just because he was home all the time. It was when he was home alone that she most often was jingling the little bells he’d hung out there to ask to come in, knowing the noise of the sliding lock to the dog door sliding up—because even after they’d first coaxed her inside, the dog door was kept closed, which was why he had the bells hung up for her.
Pippin had liked Aix best from the start, Aix cluing in to Pippin being a rare Pierrette much faster than anybody Pippin had met before, and Pippin had noticed that Aix needed her, even if he didn’t notice; she had always stayed with Neighbourhoods and Villages, before, not single Friends; but she felt strongly that Aix needed her, needed her specifically.
When the Monster had come, Pippin had been worried—she wasn’t Big and Scary like a Guardian clown, or Tricksy like a Harlequin, or Brave and Loud like a Mommy. She couldn’t make the Monster go away, she didn’t even know where it was; but she hadn’t been able to get to the house until now, and hadn’t known what she would find. It was a relief when she heard him dreaming, and kept hearing him dreaming, and finally, when the Big Red Lady came and made the Monster go away, she could go up and ring the bells without risking teaching the Monster a Bad Trick. Finding Aix alive and well, Pippin never wanted to leave Aix’s side again, not after coming so close to losing him before they’d really become Friends.
The Big Red Lady was Rescuing them, so Pippin would go too. She helped Aix, and made him sit down, and even did some things clowns were not supposed to do, because those things were Work; but it was not Work if you were Helping. She didn’t mind Helping her Friend; he wasn’t making her do it. She helped him reach things and get things mostly, so he could stay sitting down and not hurt his feets. His feets were very hurty all the time, she knew that by now. That was why he had the Rolly Sit.
Pippin wondered what kind of adventure they were going to have; she liked to travel with people, it was much more fun to travel in a House than to travel by herself. And she’d never really liked the sort of House that stood still; Houses without wheels felt dead. All of the Children like her travelled, that was the Way of Things.
Pippin helped when Big Red Lady and other friendly people came back, and helped pack things away into big crates, and move them out, with Aix directing. She watched as they even moved the whole mattress out of the house, and got things out from the Scary Downstairs, and then everything was done and everyone sat down to eat together, and she heard how happy Aix was, happier than she’d ever seen him; he was so lonely, all by himself all the time in this big House!
Pippin sat and rode on Friend’s Rolly Sit as he left the house, Big Red Lady locking and checking the windows and doors. But when they got outside, Pippin saw Pigs, which were a very different kind of Monster—one her time in Boston had taught her to not be afraid of, but mad at. Pippin leapt up, and flared, hissing and showing her little fangs, making her Lights and her Skin go into Scary Face. Big bright lights to make sure the Pigs couldn’t see them right, couldn’t aim their Bad Things at Aix to hurt him more.
Aix saw Pippin suddenly go from her normal self to full Clown Threat Display Mode, her fluffy downy plumage fluffing up as she arched her back like a cat and hissed like one too, the bioluminescent Flash all clowns had going bright like the magnesium Aix’s science teacher had set on fire for them once. He had to turn his head, closing his eyes wasn’t enough—especially with how sensitive he was to light, agony lancing through the left half of his brain, even with tight-closed eyes.
And then Pippin was honking like the angriest goose in the world.
‘Oh, hey, bud, hey,’ said Thor, the leader of the team of grifters that had rocked up after Billie; he had gotten changed into his fake uniform after dinner. He got down low, sitting down on the sidewalk outside the house, taking off his highway patrolman’s hat and letting his long blond hair down again from where he’d tucked it up. ‘Hey, it’s me, bud, it’s Thor from a few minutes ago. We’re doin’ a bit, little bud.’
He couldn’t see, had his eyes closed; but he could tell the lights were dimming.
‘They’re not real, Pippin,’ Aix said gently, his face still turned away. ‘It’s okay, they’re just playing cops, so the real ones won’t chase us. It’s okay, we’re playing. Thor’s our friend.’
Pippin dimmed entirely, and immediately felt bad for hurting her Friend, who was Sensitive to bright light, so much that he kept all his windows closed all the time. When he turned back, she held her hands up, and mewed to be picked up. He stood up and picked her up, and she hugged him.
‘Aw, sweetheart, it’s okay, that was a good thing to do for real cops. But Thor and his friends are fake ones, they are like Sophie and Nate and Eliot and Parker and Hardison, yeah? They’re just putting on a scary Mask so the real cops won’t follow us.’
Pippin beeped, and he set her down again on the porch floor, starting to take apart his walker and tuck the bolts for the handles into the little zip pouch he’d superglued on the bottom of the seat. ‘Oh, thanks,’ he said, as Michaela came forward to get the unwieldy thing down the steps. Frank, the big Australian who was playing Thor’s partner, came up to help give Aix something to lean on down the side steps, while Michaela secured the rollator in her Moonbus (as she had named her converted schoolbus). There were only four steps down to the ground, Pippin scampering down them and waiting for Aix at the bottom.
‘I’m good now,’ Aix said, patting Frank’s arm when he got both feet on the ground. ‘Thank you.’
‘Too easy,’ he said, a phrase Aix had learned was the same as ‘no problem’.
As Michaela pulled the lever to make the bus kneel, then flip out a ramp, Aix and Pippin watched. To Aix, it was fun to see what was obviously a very cool retrofit meant to accommodate him while working around the school bus’ height; to Pippin, it was just a Space Ship, because she’d never seen a House do any of that before, making Robot Noises and moving by itself, and all.
‘I’d say safe trip, but you’re safer with Mike than you’d be with anyone else,’ Frank said, as he stood by and saw Aix up the ramp, ready to help if he started to lose his balance.
‘I’m not a goddess, Frank,’ Michaela said, rolling her eyes.
‘No, Mike,’ Frank said, grinning, ‘you’re far more reliable than that: you’re a Van Helsing.’