Domestic Life

October 2018

“Could you pass the orange juice?” Gwendolyn yawned, twisting her fingers and weaving them through the air. An oil-sheen of colors drifted between her hands, lingering in the space behind them. The pan shook itself awake and lifted itself to the stove, which sparked to life as if it was a bright blue eye springing open at the start of the morning. The refrigerator stretched open its door, and the eggs rolled themselves out of their cardboard carton and onto the heat of the stove.

She looked on with an appraising eye, the kind that years of spell-casting classes had trained. She watched the tumble of the eggs for wobbles or the flames for the shimmering green flickers that would betray the need to reweave a strand of the spell. Her hands, done with the casting, refused to sit still, instead digging themselves into the pockets of her bathrobe, fiddling with the knot she had tied in the belt, tracing the lines of chalky markings that meandered across her dark skin, left over from the larger casting she had done the night before.

Felix glanced up from the script he was reading. Peering through the tawny hair falling in his face he pushed the carton of orange juice toward her across the small, jumbled table. The small booklet was tucked next to a Marseilles deck—haphazardly leaning like the Tower in Pisa—and a cup of old tea leaves that he had been mulling over the night before. There was an omen of fire in the dried shreds, mixed with a sign of darkness, and at the heart of it all something very old. He had been staring at it all night, with no further luck in identifying what it was telling him.

The script was handwritten in the delicately curving letters of Ezekiel Frost, the owner of the theater at which he worked. Frost was the kind of man with coffers old and large enough that a flamboyant suit was his idea of casual Friday, the kind of man who could do nothing all day except lounge around writing scripts in a different wing of his house each day and not even see the whole building by the end of a week.

The scraps of paper that littered the table—marked with unfinished prophecies, half composed spells, bills to be paid, and skimmed newspapers—shuffled and shifted themselves into a slightly neater pile, clearing a space for Gwendolyn as she carried a plate over to the table.

“Is that a new play?” Gwendolyn asked, pointing with her fork.

“A Frost-original,” Felix agreed. “He asked for my feedback, I think he wants to show it at his theater soon.”

“Is it any good?”

Felix only shrugged. It was some sort of story that took place in a world without magic. It was an absurd concept, but there was something intriguing in the idea of a story that explored what someone would do if they couldn’t weave the fabric of reality to match what they wanted.

The wail of Sirens shrieked past the apartment. Two of the scaly beasts, with long lanky limbs, spines matted with dripping seaweed, and mouths thrown wide in terrifying parodies of a grin, led a police car down the packed street in the direction of the Common.

“Did you hear about the new political chaos yesterday?” Felix asked. “You’d think they’d work out some new spells to fact check these things, it seems like there are more and more every week.”

“It’s trouble, for sure,” Gwendolyn sighed. “Speaking of trouble, where’s Isaac? He’s going to be late for work if he doesn’t get up soon.” She glanced down the small hallway before standing with a sigh. Felix could hear her calling into Isaac’s room.

“I am not your mother. I shouldn’t have to wake you up every morning.” Felix heard Isaac’s groans as Gwendolyn threw the blinds open with a twitch of her fingers. “But you have to pay your share of the rent as much as any of us, so you’re not allowed to get yourself fired.”

Felix did his best to hide his grin behind the script as Isaac sheepishly followed Gwendolyn back into the room.

“You know, Gwen, he can’t pay his rent if you make him die of shame first.”

“Good morning to you too,” Isaac grumbled. “And I’m not dying of anything, least of all shame. You want to know about shame, then you should have seen me in senior year—”

“—we did see you in senior year—” Gwendolyn said, returning to her eggs.

“—when I had to go up during the homecoming pep rally because that troll, Timothy, said I had tarnished his honor with that joke about the troll walking into the bar.”

“Honestly, Isaac, is there anyone you weren’t rude to in high school?” Gwendolyn sighed.

“Hey, I was very nice to you,” he retorted.

“You were only nice to me because Felix’s older brother dared you to try to get a date with me. Something Felix was kind enough to tell me about during freshman orientation.” She replied.

“Fine. I was nice to Felix though,” he replied. “You can’t say I wasn’t nice to Felix.”

“That’s true,” Gwendolyn conceded, “Though, there is something to be said for the fact that you had known Felix for years.”

“Yeah, a lot of good it’s done me,” Felix chuckled, “with this idiot getting me into trouble every twenty minutes.”

“Sorry, I think I must have misheard you,” Isaac interrupted, pushing his long dark hair out of his face. “See, I thought I heard you say ‘trouble,’ but I’m pretty sure it’s pronounced ‘fun.’”

“I don’t think that’s quite...”

“What do the tea leaves say? Can you ask them if it’s going to rain later?” Isaac asked, picking up the cup.

“I can’t ask them anything,” Felix replied, scooping the cup out of his hands, “they just show symbols to tell omens of what might come. And right now, they’re just telling me nonsense.” He picked up the mug and twisted it a few times, scanning the patterns again, from handle down to the bottom. “At least I hope it’s nonsense.”

“What’s the point,” Isaac sighed, “of knowing the future if you don’t get any useful info out of it?”

“Look up a weather forecast?” He suggested in reply.

“Wait!” Gwendolyn cried, her eyes pressed tightly shut, her hands raised as if casting. Her fingers shimmered with oil sheen. The light in the room dimmed, even the sunlight from the window seemed to become overcast. “I think I see something...”

“What are you talking about?” Isaac scoffed. “You don’t do divination.” Then he added as an afterthought: “do you?”

“I see... I see the skies.” Her voice was growing deep and gravelly, a look suited to a funeral was stationed on her face. “I see that which you seek to know.” A green smoke began to sift out of the oven and across the floor. “There is a fifty percent chance of rain,” she intoned soberly. “Either it will, or it won’t.” Felix couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter that bubbled to his lips.

“Oh, shut up,” Isaac grumbled, his shoulders slumping as the expectation left him. “I thought I was seeing something cool, but instead you were just messing with me.”

“Come on, that was funny,” Gwendolyn grinned.

“Sure,” Isaac said sarcastically. “On the bright side, you might be able to get a job with Felix now.” Shaking his head with mock disdain, he began to twist his fingers through the air. The colors knitted across his palms as the bread elbowed its way out of the bag and marched to the toaster. From down the hall, they could hear the sound as his dresser began shuddering open and closed, spitting clothes out for him to wear. Isaac, meanwhile, was busy pouring himself a cup of coffee. “I heard about this party at a club happening tonight,” he offered. “It’s some sort of Red Sox thing.”

“I have work tonight,” Felix shrugged apologetically, “otherwise I’d love to go.”

“What about it, Gwen,” Isaac wiggled an eyebrow, “let’s go celebrate sportball? I know it’s your favorite.”

“Ok, first of all,” Gwendolyn replied, “You know that I couldn’t care less about baseball. Red Sox, Green Sox, Polka Dot Sox, it’d all be the same to me. Secondly, one of us has to be up in the morning to make sure you get to work on time, and if you’re going to be spending the night at a club, then I guess I have to be the one to do it.”

“Suit yourself.” He set down his mug and started toward his room. “Let me know when the toast’s done.” He added, swiping his color-clad fingers across the air in front of the appliance.

“Let yourself know,” Gwendolyn retorted.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” His voice bounded down the hallway.

“He was talkin’ to me, sweetheart.” The toaster had developed a set of shiny tin lips and teeth, and a gruff voice to match.

Felix set the script aside, and glancing in the teacup one more time, began to shuffle the Marseilles deck. There was a tingling feeling in it, in the cards and in his fingers. A vaguely metallic, vaguely electric smell began to jolt through the room as he laid the cards out in a familiar pattern. Gwendolyn didn’t notice, her eyes had caught on the mouth of the toaster—which was chewing slowly as if gnawing on the end of an invisible cigar—and then proceeded to sift into the middle distance.

As her eyes glazed over, her hands began to shimmer, and the coffee cup she was holding shimmered with them. The porcelain seemed to turn to glass, the coffee, the color of fresh soil, showing more and more. Then the mug, which had been catching the glint of light, seemed to turn into light itself. There was a moment where it glowed as if a torch had been lit within it or someone had turned on a floodlight in the midst of the inky coffee, then the drink, still steaming, seeped—and then flooded—out the bottom and onto the table.

Felix jumped in surprise, doing his best to scoop the deck of cards up out of the way. Gwendolyn started too, and as her fingers—still coated with the colorful sheen—twitched, the papers on the table gave an involuntary hop and the plates clattered on their rims.

She quickly snapped her fingers, calling a squadron dish rags out of the barracks in the drawer beside the sink and to action. Meanwhile, with her other hand, she did her best to siphon the coffee off the bills and spells and prophecies, as well as Ezekiel Frost’s script.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she worked.

“Is everything alright?”

“I just got distracted.”

“Is it work?” Felix guided gently.

“There’s a presentation today.” She nodded. “It’s a big one.” She was still moving her hand as if weaving a spell to clean up the coffee, but it was all in back in the mug already, which looked no worse for wear, even if it did seem a little more translucent than before. He caught it and held it steady.

“Gwen,” he smiled reassuringly at her, “you’ll do great.”

“Hey, loser!” the toaster called suddenly, letting out a piercing, tinny whistle, “your toast is ready!”

“I didn’t enchant you to be rude,” Isaac grumbled, returning from his room as he pulled a shirt over his head.

“Apparently you did,” it replied, the two slices toast shooting out the top and landing neatly on a plate that shuffled around to catch them. “Anything else you need, boss? No, then I’m going back to sleep.” The toaster took the opportunity to blow a solid raspberry at them, with the metallic chime of tin tongue on tin lips echoing loudly in the room, before closing up and popping into non-being. Still distracted and running her hands through the tumbling curls of her dark hair, Gwendolyn excused herself to go change for work. The last of the dishrags was wringing itself out above the sink and neatly folding itself to drape to dry.

“Is she ok?” Isaac asked sincerely, sitting back down. The toast had a crunch that filled the room.

“I think she’s worried,” Felix admitted.

“About work?”

“And about her family, they’ve been getting on her about coming back home. I don’t think they trust her to be out here on her own.”

“What are we? Chopped liver?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Hey, Isaac?” Gwendolyn's voice was coming back down the hall, “Do you think you can stop at the grocery store today? I have a presentation this afternoon, and Felix has rehearsal straight through until he goes to work at the restaurant tonight.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Felix, as if trying to ask permission or advice, then turned back to her. “Gwen, what if we went and did something fun tonight?”

“Let’s think: When was the last time you got me to go to a party?” She sounded doubtful.

“It was probably that time we went to the goblin bar. I’m not trying to get you to go to a party.”

“And I’m definitely not going to a baseball party,” she said warningly.

“Sure thing,” Isaac nodded. “We can go get dinner, or we can go see a movie, or we can even go,” he paused to give a dramatic shudder, “to the theater.”

“You do know your best friend works as an actor, right?”

“Somehow I find it in my heart to forgive him,” he patted Felix on the back consolingly. “So, what do you say?” She watched him carefully, scanned him up and down.

“This isn’t you still trying to get that date with me, right?”

“Why do you always ask that whenever it’s the two of us doing something?” His sigh was long and dramatic.

“Because you, of all people, would be the type to hold onto a dare for this long.”

“While I do love a good dare, this doesn’t have anything to do with it. Scouts’ honor.”

“Fine,” she grinned. “Let’s do something fun tonight.”

“Felix,” Isaac sighed, “you’d be invited too, but it would seem that you’re too busy being an adult.” He punctuated his words with the crunch of toast. “Speaking of being an adult, any idea when the next train is arriving?” Felix pulled out his phone and glanced at a star chart.

“Judging by the alignment of the moon and the North Star, along with the fact that Mercury is in retrograde there’s going to be a delay at Downtown Crossing; the next train won’t be getting to Park Street for another fifteenish minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” Isaac glanced at his phone to check the time. “I better start heading out then.” As he stood, the dishes began cleaning themselves with the shimmer of oil sheen in the air.

“You’re sure tonight’s not a date?” Gwendolyn said again, as they all crowded toward the door.

“For the final time!” Isaac groaned.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Felix said with a grin. “Have a good day, you two.” Gwendolyn followed behind.

As he stepped out onto the pavement, sieged with a mass of pedestrians on their ways to work, Isaac nearly was trampled by an ogre with his nose buried in his phone, as well as an elf who was skimming a book of spells. He turned to head to the T stop and the wards on the door clicked shut behind him with a spark of light.