I Never Thought We'd Grow Up So Fast....

After Natalie had washed off all the dirt and the blood, she barged into Ian’s room.

“I saw a mouse in my room,” she claimed, very matter-of-fact. “The exterminators can’t come until tomorrow. And the only vermin I’m willing to share space with is you, so I’ll have to stay here for the night.”

It was an obvious lie. They both knew it.

The Kabra Estate was cleaned top-to-bottom so often Ian doubted there was a speck of dust, let alone a rodent. If they had needed an exterminator in the dead of night then one would have materialized at the servant’s entrance (although whether that was because they knew how much the Kabras would pay or because Isabel terrified them was anyone’s guess.) In the near impossible event that there was both a mouse and an exterminator who made them adhere to normal business hours like peasants, there was no reason that Natalie would have to share Ian’s bed instead of relocating to one of the many guest rooms. But Ian didn’t point this out.

“Fine. You can stay. But I’m not sharing my blanket with you, you always hog it.”

“Do not!” She protested.

Ian rolled his eyes, grabbed a woven blanket from the top shelf of his closet, and shoved it into her arms. “It’s not up for debate. I’m not sharing.”

“I bet Amy shares her blanket with Dan.”

“Well she has no choice, they’re poor. They can only afford one blanket.”

Natalie snickered and hopped onto the bed. “The last time we went to Boston, Mum told me to stay close to Dan, see if I could get any information out of him. Complete waste of time.”

“I take it the metaphorical cat stayed very much in the bag, as the Americans say.” He paused, then added. “I’d love to put Grace’s cat in a bag. Or better yet, I’d love to put him down.”

“Not this again.”

“I have trauma, I’m traumatized for life.”

“You provoked him.”

“I did not! You saw Amy’s outfit. That shirt with those shoes? It was just dreadful. Someone had to intervene. I was trying to help. It’s not my fault she can’t take constructive criticism.”

“And let’s see if I can remember the rest of the story, seeing as you’ve only told it the one time -”

“Fuck off.”

“Yes, I believe that’s exactly what she told you to do, isn’t it? Right before she started crying. And the second the first tear fell -”

“That damned cat jumped me! Flew from atop a cabinet like some sort of demon. Landed on my head. Scratched my face up, tore my Louis Vuitton suit to shreds. It was horrid. The worst part was that the airport misplaced my luggage so I had nothing to change into. I had to borrow a t-shirt that Amy got at the Boston Tea Party Museum, I thought for sure they wouldn’t let me back into England. I’d be stranded in the colonies, not a decent cup of tea in sight, only diet Snapple and hamburgers and -”

“As interesting as your near death experience is.” Natalie said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was trying to tell you about the torture that I endured.”

“Oh. Sorry. Continue.”

“I got stuck watching this dreadful show with Dan and one of the Starling boys. It was about these penniless twins who lived in a hotel suite. They shared the bedroom and their mother slept in the living room on a couch that transformed into a bed.”

“How does watching a television show with Dan constitute torture?”

“I watched it with Dan.”

“I was maimed - actually maimed - by Grace’s attack cat! And you’re telling me that -” He stopped. “Wait. Was that the same trip you bludgeoned him with your Prada bag and Amy and I had to pull you off of him?”

“He said that London Tipton was more fashionable than me!”

“Who’s London Tipton?”

“Her father owned the hotel.”

“On the show?”

“Yes.”

“Are you actually telling me that you almost broke Dan’s nose because he said that a fictional character on a television show was better dressed than you?”

“Talk shit. Get hit.”

Ian looked at her incredulously for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“The girl who worked at the candy counter on the show was even poorer than the twins. Her bed folded down from the wall.” Then she asked, “Do you think Amy and Dan’s beds fold down from the walls?”

Ian pondered this for a moment. “Dan’s does. It explains why he’s so stupid, he must hit his head constantly. Amy’s a bit smarter so she probably sleeps on a couch that transforms into a bed.”

“A bit smarter? I once saw her pair black with navy blue.”

“So fashion isn’t her strong suit.” Ian admitted. “But she’s quite knowledgeable about history, she wants to study it at Harvard. The last time I saw her she was reading this book about the French Revolution and she was telling me about Napoleon’s role in it. I swear she knew more about him than I did, and I consider myself something of a Napoleon expert. Like did you know that he was once swarmed by three-thousand bunnies? He also wrote a romance novella and…. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Natalie smirked. “I can’t believe you like Amy, that’s so embarrassing.”

“I do not like her!”

“Oh, Amy!” Natalie imitated. “You’re so smart! And you know so much about Napoleon! Let’s run away together, we can get an apartment in the colonies with beds that fold down from the walls, and we can shop at Wal-Mart, and -”

Ian threw a pillow at her. “I do not like her. The very thought is absolutely disgusting. Preposterous. Her closet looks like it was put together by a blind nun. She has the social skills of a rock. And -”

“And you like her!” Natalie sing-songed.

Ian grabbed a pink brush from his nightstand. “Keep implying that I have a crush on the likes of Amy Cahill and I’ll throw this at you. And I won’t braid your hair.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to save all my best material for your wedding reception.” She said, slipping a pink scrunchie off of her wrist and handing it to him. “I want a French braid.”

Ian brushed her hair and Natalie spread the blanket out on her lap, noticing its design for the first time. “The Spice Girls?”

“That’s your favorite band, isn’t it?” Ian said, separating the hair at the top of her head into three even sections.

“It is.”

For a few minutes they sat in a comfortable silence. Then Natalie pulled out her phone. “I’m going to give you a quiz.”

“What kind of quiz?”

“It’s a surprise. Okay. First question. What’s your favorite spice? Cumin, paprika, cinnamon, ginger, catnip, or old?”

“Cumin.” He said, then added. “They must’ve put catnip as an option to weed out all the riffraff, no one with an IQ over 5 would pick that.”

“I bet Dan would, he loves Grace’s wretched old cat.”

“You’re proving my point.” He said. “Though I highly doubt Dan’s heard of half of those spices, let alone tried them. Remember when we took him and Amy to that Indian restaurant?”

“Yes! I pointed out the mildest thing on the menu and he still ended up chugging four glasses of water. Pathetic.” She laughed. “Okay. Second question. Choose a city in Europe. The options are Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Madrid, Prague, or Rome.”

“Rome.”

She asked a few more questions. Ian barely managed to resist the urge to ask her why they were all so ridiculous.

“Last question.” Natalie said. “Which would you want as a pet? A pig, a golden lab, a tiger, a rabbit, or a rooster.”

“A golden lab. I’ve heard that labradors are supposed to be good search and rescue dogs and if tonight’s anything to go by, the homing poodles could use the extra help. Speaking of, is your head feeling any better?”

“Yes. It still hurts a bit, but not as much as it did. I should be alright. Oh! I have your results!”

“What’s it say? Am I superior to the entirety of the human race or is the quiz wrong?”

“It says you’re most like Baby Spice.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s one of the Spice Girls.”

“Oh.” Ian said. “Which one is your favorite?”

“I like Posh Spice.”

“Why? Baby Spice is obviously the superior one, she’s the most like me.”

“Add that to the list of reasons why I prefer Posh Spice.” Natalie went quiet for a moment, then asked. “Do you think Marilyn will sell Mum her land?”

“I don’t know. Mum can be….” he paused, trying to think of the kindest way to finish that sentence. “very convincing. But, aside from Grace Cahill, Marilyn is the most stubborn old woman I’ve ever met. I don’t think she’ll part with it easily.”

Natalie’s voice got very small. She knew what happened when other people didn’t bow down to her mum’s every whim. “It’s going to be a bad week, isn’t it?”

Ian looped the scrunchie around her finished French braid. “It’ll be alright. We’ll get through it together. Just try and get some sleep, okay?”

Natalie nodded and laid down, pulling the Spice Girls blanket tight around her.

Ian got up to turn the light off but decided on his way there that perhaps one blanket wasn’t enough. So he went to the closet instead, took down a Sleeping Beauty blanket and tucked it around Natalie’s shoulders. If she made fun of him in the morning for going soft then so be it.

“We hated growing up there,” Ian replied. “Every year one of us would get lost on the lush grounds, and they would have to send the homing poodles after us.”

“The what?” Dan said.

Natalie sighed ruefully. “Some say it was an abusive childhood, but we didn’t know any better.”

- The Sword Thief, Peter Lerangis

Ian would never admit it - all his life it had been instilled in him that the Kabras deserved the biggest and the best of things - but he thought his mother was insane for trying to bully Marilyn Mason, their nearest neighbor, into selling her land.

If there was one thing Ian didn’t want, it was more land. More land just meant more places to get lost.

Case in point: Natalie had gotten turned around out there in training. It was long past nightfall now and the homing poodles still hadn’t located her, still hadn’t brought her back safely. And Natalie would never admit it but Ian knew she was afraid of the dark.

Ian was pacing back and forth, wearing a hole in the kitchen floor, racking his brain for the most likely places that his baby sister might be. “The statues and the fountains and topiaries, they’re all tall, they could be disorienting in the dark. Or there’s a stream about halfway through the forest, it’s very slippery there, maybe she hit her head. I should -”

“You should stop muttering, it’s giving me a headache.” Isabel cut him off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If she is hurt then maybe she’ll learn something from it, how not to be an idiot, for starters -”

Before Ian could think of something to say to that, the doorknob turned and Natalie finally, finally stepped back into the relative safety of the Kabra Estate.

It was obvious from the look on her face that she’d caught the tailend of Isabel’s last comment. She was soaked and shivering. But, for the first time in the past few hours she was grateful to have fallen in the stream, the water helped disguise the few tears that managed to slip out.

Ian rushed over to her. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it tight around her shoulders, before ushering her towards the kitchen table. “Are you alright? Where were you? What happened? Is that blood?” He turned and yelled over his shoulder. “Bickerduff! Bring me the first aid kit!”

“I’m fine. I slipped.”

“The blood?”

“Cut myself on some of the rocks near the stream.”

“Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“Bumped it.”

“Where?”

Natalie pointed to the side of her head, some of her hair was matted with blood.

Ian gently tilted her head so he could get a better look. “It doesn’t look too bad, but still. I think we should take you to the ER, get it checked out. Just in case. Better safe than sorry and all that.”

Before Natalie could say anything, Isabel cut in. “Oh honestly, Ian. Stop fussing over her. You heard her, she’s fine.”

“But Mum, she -”

“She’s fine.”

“You’re not a doctor, you don’t -”

“Ian.” Isabel’s tone was like a scalpel, it cut you open and left you bleeding. “You and I still need to do some preparation for our meeting with Marilyn Mason tomorrow, that old bat is going to sell us her land if it’s the last thing she does. And it might be if she doesn’t know what’s good for her. So stop the dramatics unless you plan on defecting to the Janus, the Lucians have no room for such antics.” Then she whirled on Natalie. “Go take a shower before you get blood on the Versace tablecloth. It’s silk.”

“Yes, Mum.” Natalie said, heading towards the stairs.

“Mum!” Ian tried one last time. “At least have her wait for Bickerduff to bring the first aid kit.”

Isabel waved him off. “You can tell him to leave it outside her door. Now about our strategy. I was thinking we…”

When Ian was much smaller, Irina Spasky had pulled him aside after a meeting he’d sat in on at the Lucian stronghold in Paris. She knelt down and pointed to the bruises on his arm, the ones that all the other agents had ignored. “Did Isabel do that? Did she hurt you?” The anger in her voice was palpable, barely contained.

Ian flinched. He knew what to do when an adult was angry, the same way his lungs knew to exhale carbon dioxide. Agree with any and all accusations made against you, no matter how unfair. Then apologize profusely. He began to recite the script, the one he’d had memorized since he learned to speak. “I deserved it. I -”

Irina cut him off. “You did not deserve it. It does not matter what you did. You are a child. Your mother is an adult, she is perfectly capable of handling a child without resorting to violence, the fact that she refuses to is reprehensible. My son misbehaved many times and I never hit him. Not once.”

He didn’t know what to do with that. For a moment, he just stared at her. “She’s been under a lot of stress, many of the agents she oversees are incompetent fools. I shouldn’t have -”

“You did nothing. Your mother is a -” she started before cutting herself off. “A word that I shouldn’t say around children. The point is that you understand that not only is your mother’s anger not your fault, you must also understand that you did not deserve to be on the receiving end of it. You are a child. You do not deserve to be treated like this. Do you understand?”

Ian nodded.

She gave him a curt nod in return and what he thought was meant to be a reassuring smile. Then she turned to leave.

“I’m sorry about your son.” Ian said before she could go.

He remembered, a long time ago, how his mother had mocked Irina behind her back. “She needs to get it together.” Isabel had said. “She used to show such promise and now look at her, unable to get out of bed in the morning. It’s pitiful. People die everyday. She needs to get on with it.”

Ian remembered wondering how quickly Isabel would be able to “get on with it” if he died in the field. It wouldn’t take her long, he’d decided.

Irina turned back to him. “I’m sorry that your mother is not more grateful that she still has you. She should be.”

He remembers this so vividly. For a long time he hadn’t understood why, but then, eventually he’d realized. It was the first time an adult had taken his side, the first time he’d felt safe around one.

“I pick When You Were Mine by Rebecca Serle.” said Jonah.

Ian pulled out his phone, typed something in, and then looked up a moment later. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean we’re not reading that.”

“Yes, we are. It’s my turn to pick. That’s what I pick. That’s what we’re reading.”

“No. Not happening.”

“Ian, it is his turn.” Amy said.

“It’s a Romeo and Juliet retelling.” Ian argued.

“Jonah, we said no more Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare didn’t write it.”

Amy had not looked this exasperated since the last meeting between the branches ended in a screaming match. “It’s a retelling, he came up with all the major beats. He might as well be a coauthor.”

“You only explicitly banned Shakespeare. You said nothing about retellings.”

“It’s implied.” Ian snapped.

“It is not.”

“I told you three weeks ago that if you picked Shakespeare again, then you’d be forfeiting your turn. So. Amy, what do you want to read?”

“This is such bullshit. It’s my turn. We’re reading what I picked.”

“No. We are not.” Ian said. “You made me suffer through Hamlet, The Tempest, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and The Taming of the Shrew. Shakespeare is banned from this book club until the end of next year. Majority decided, majority rules. We are not reading Romeo and Juliet.”

“It’s not even about them, it’s about Rosaline. The girl Romeo was supposed to marry before he met Juliet.”

“Oh, my mistake. It’s about Rosaline. That changes everything.” Ian said sarcastically. “Look. I’m giving you one last chance to pick a book or play for us to read that wasn’t written by Shakespere or inspired by one of his works.”

“Fine. I pick Contested Will by James S. Shapiro.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “Is Will short for William? As in William Shakespeare?”

“It’s not about him. It’s about how someone else might’ve written his plays. It’s a loophole.”

Amy put her arm in front of Ian to keep him from strangling Jonah.

“Okay.” She said, “Consider your turn forfeited. Our next book is The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins; the movie is coming out in a few months. We can see it together after our next meeting.”

“Brilliant.”

“Hmm.” Jonah said, considering. “I guess that’s chill. I’ve been meaning to read Hunger Games for a while now anyway. Miss Pluderbottom said it’s mad popular with her students.”

“Who?” Ian said.

“She’s kind of like my grandma.” Jonah smiled. “I met her after that whole fiasco at the Globe, towards the end of the clue hunt. Maybe I can get her to read Shakespeare with me. The Globe’s doing a hip-hop production of Othello in a few months, she’d love that.”