shhh! i think my unicorn is making beignets!

It happened once before...

Wryth, the flora godhead, waded through her sacred field of waist-high lavender. Entering Wryth’s fields without her blessing was forbidden. Even Ordan, the almighty king of the Godlands, would not dare trespass there. All obeyed her. All but one.

Bayu-the Stormshaper, Steward of Currents, Lord of Tides—emerged from the roiling sea and dropped into the sand to watch a storm unfold. The clouds hung low and dark over the troubled water. The wind steered ships into cliffs, and mammoth waves wrapped vessels in their own demise. All Bayu did was smile.  

Wryth’s laughter reached him by stirring breeze, and he followed the melodious sound to the edge a garden hidden deep in a forest. Bayu bent the oaks’ trunks and peered inside to see Wryth—her arms outstretched—surfing the breeze. With crops of lavender and roses, and sunflowers reaching out for her attention.  

Bayu had traveled the currents deep and vast but never had he laid eyes on a beauty such as the scene before him. Swaddled in tickling flower petals with bees gathered on her shoulders, Wryth’s yellow dress shimmered and collected the many different patterns of the falling flora. Each plant sunk gently into the fabric and bloomed across her body in remarkable color. He lingered among the whispering trees and watched Wryth dance and sing until she tripped over a stubborn branch and tumbled into the dirt.

Bayu’s bellowing laugh shook the silvae from their trees and he watched the frightened tree spirits disappear into the distant wood. Bayu turned his attention to the field once more, and Wryth was gone. She commanded her intruder to reveal themselves, but Bayu did not move.

The oak trees sprung to life. They ensnared his arms with their branches and marched him, stumbling, into Wryth’s pastures. Wryth descended upon him. She slapped him hard across his face.  

Bayu did not retaliate. By the oldest truth of the Godlands, no godhead could slay another. The oak trees released him, and he tumbled to the ground. Bayu quickly moved to one knee with his head bowed. He yielded. He offered his remorse and pledged himself to any request she might name.

Wryth demanded a companion—a piece of him left behind. Bayu smashed his fist into the dirt and shaped a lake at her feet. The pool culminated in a rock form topped with cascading water. Petals from neighboring plants jumped into the water. They grew fins and dove deep beneath the pristine surface.

Wryth was not impressed.

Bayu, them, reached up and plucked a cloud from the rose pink sky. He shaped into a magnificent steed with a coat of impossible black and four tails whipping the air. Four golden eyes blinked at Wryth. Still, she found it incomplete.

Bayu ran his fingers through his locs and listened to the tinkering ivory shells until an idea struck him. He removed an obsidian crystal from his crown and fashioned a spiraling horn which he fixed between the creature’s eyes.

Wryth was pleased. She named him Moncel after her beloved sky. Wryth blessed Bayu with an invitation to her fields as long as he brought wonders equal to the gifts, he’d aleady given.

He obliged.

godtheory by J.D. JACOB

Read the first chapter of my new story at the link. Happy holidays and be safe!

Jonas Richard turned an ancient cassette player into a time machine, he never expected to come face to face with himself. Now, he has to decide to change the past or live the same hell over and over again.

“I can’t.” Absolut said. “I think we know going in there would have catastrophic consequences to our timelines, but you want one more hug. One more laugh. One more day as things were before life got difficult and I became the adult we are trying to be, but what happens next—for her—as destined. It cannot be changed.” 

“My indecision created his place—this facet.” Jonas surmised. “I’m stuck.” 

“That you are. The facets are a prison of your own making—free to leave whenever I decide to undo the design of a maker far more cunning that I ever will be.” 

A tight smile stretched begrudgingly, below Absolut’s wrinkled nose and they stood in silence. The two of them peered in at their matriarch as she dipped a ladle into a glass pitcher of dark liquid and smiled.  

“What now?” Jonas asked. “I mean, there must be a way back. I—I didn’t invent a time machine to just sit here. This isn’t my hell. It’s yours!” 

“Mine or yours. Cassette player, compact disc player, boombox, or mp3 player, I always end up here, Jonas. The only way out is through this door.” Absolut explained. “And I don’t think I can relive this.” 

Jonas moved to the window above Absolut’s tidy workstation. His name was written in crooked letters across a piece of silver duct tape which lay off center under the windowsill. Jonas peered through the window at the mirror image of himself clad in a tall white tee and headband. He and his reflection moved in perfect synchronization and the image made him squirm. 

“There must be something I haven’t thought of! There must be something I can do!” Jonas moaned. 

An eerie quiet pressed on his ears and he whirled around to the empty garage. He was alone. The screen door, where Absolut stood, swayed gently as the door pressed closed and Jonas sat down hard on the stool. He unclipped the belt around his waist and set the cassette player down on the prickly wooden tabletop. Jonas laced his fingers together and listened to her angelic hums wafting in from beyond the screen door. The savory smell of a home cooked meal teased him as the smell congregated under his running nose. 

Suddenly, the garage brightened. A stale wind moved the fabric of his denim jacket, and he squeezed his watering eyes shut against the flickering overhead bulb. When the light quelled, Jonas looked up and into a pair of bright, brown eyes wearing his own freckles—wrinkling his own nose—and the corners of his full smiling lips turning downward as he took in the scene. Clad in a brown tank top, baggy corduroy pants, and thick white sneakers, he popped his cordless white headphones from his ears. 

He paused the song on his sleek phone with a touch of the screen and looked up at the stolid figure on the stool. 

“Is that...” Jonas said. 

“That’s grandma.” Absolut laughed. “She always cooks on Sundays.” 

Jonas Richard turned an ancient cassette player into a time machine, he never expected to come face to face with himself. Now, he has to decide to change the past or live the same hell over and over again.

“That’s grandma.” he croaked. “She always cooks on Sundays.” 

Jonas Richard stood across from an ageless face with freckles identical to his own. The wide set nose, dark and thick lips covered with a smattering of coarse hair, and round brown eyes made the stranger’s face a perfect replica. His chin dropped to his chest. Seconds ago, he stood in his tiny lab and pushed the rewind button on an ancient cassette player. He, now, stood in a recreation of his own garage, but the noon day light did not stream through the cracked window above his cluttered workstation. His favorite wrench was replaced with an older model with a worn yellow handle. A navy toolbox with rounded corners and sloping lid stood ajar and a cigar poked out from the opening. 

The window’s-streaked pane held an indistinguishable garage with two short, round chested men staring at each other. One stood with his hand wrapped around a compact disc player, the other sat rubbing his temple on a low iron stool. The garage door, rolled to the ceiling, revealed the same scene. Another Jonas dressed in wide leg pants and flowing shirt, stood fiddling with the 8-track player slung across his chest by a tattered gray strap. Every door—every exit—was an endless loop of the peculiar encounter. 

Each iteration was dressed in garments of eras past. The appliances of their garage were packed with artifacts rendered obsolete by modernity. 

“That’s you.” And that’s you. And that’s you.” said Absolut. “You always end up right here and you never go back. You can’t move past this moment.” 

“How?” Jonas asked. 

“The how,” Absolut smiled. “Is never important. The ‘why’ should concern you more. I did the same work. Took the same steps. Visited the same days—scenes—over and over and over; and without fail, I end up...you end up here.” 

“I just wanted to see her—my grandma, I mean.” Jonas breathed. 

“I know.” 

Absolut crossed to the screen door behind Jonas. He carefully peeled it open and nodded inside. Jonas tipped over to him. 

“She’s in there.” Absolut said wistfully. “Like always, she’s throwing down.” 

Jonas looked at the parallel scenario unfolding beyond the threshold of the garage door. He pointed at that iteration of himself. 

“What about them?” Jonas saw the iteration pointing back at him. 

“Them?” Absolut leaned his head against the door. “They are us. In every decade, in every lifetime, I end up here; and I always make the same choice—ask the same questions—work the same problems until...” 

“Until what?” Jonas pressed. 

“Until I sit on that stool and wait for the next stupid, nostalgic Jonas to blink into my garage. I sit here and wait to talk him through what’s next. He is you. You are me. And I...am.” 

“How lang have I been here?” Jonas asked. 

“A couple minutes. A few days. A lifetime. It's hard to say. My device is in here somewhere. My clothes are remarkably plain. Maybe I’m the original.” Absolut popped his head up. “Does that answer your question?” 

“No.” Jonas said. “Why not go in?” 

Absolut’s forlorn gaze was transfixed upon the silver haired woman shuffling around her sunlit kitchen as steam curled into the golden light from large bespeckled pots. A white apron tied around the waist of her chiffon dress and a ribbon of shining pearls around her neck, she hummed. Her warm tune resounded through the thin wooden walls and pulled on Jonas’ heart. 

to everyone who read the new crossover short! It truly was one of the best experiences to write this! I love Oswin and Livingston. They are my babies. I spent a lot of time with them and loved telling one of their stories! If you haven't read it, CLICK THE FIRST HASHTAG TO CATCH UP. We're going somewhere fast!

-JDJ

Livingston dropped his gaze to the ground where his toes danced in his slides. He bent and scraped the water from his legs before he answered but found it lost somewhere in his chest. Oswin beckoned him closer, and the doctor walked into his open arms. He settled in Oswin’s embrace and the unicorn closed a blanket around them two of them. They gazed off into the distance and time slipped by. Oswin rested his chin on the crown of Livingston head and hummed a short tune. 

“I am deeply sorry for your mom’s departure. Your demeanor and attitude towards your abnormality now makes sense. You ran from your fight because the person who helped you cultivate it is no longer with us. I trust you know the God Black will grant her bright passage. She sounds like a remarkable woman. 

“How many are there?” Livingston asked. “Overall, I mean.” 

“I wager there are more gods in existence than stars in Estrelle’s dark garden. There is Ordan, King of the Godlands. Bae, His Queen, The Magic Godhead. Bayu, the mighty lord of the Seven Seas. His longtime lover, Wryth, whose blessing we experienced tonight. Also, Usa, the Proud Patron of War and Battle, the child of The Great Conflict. Choi, the Etern of Love, The God Black--” 

“--you mentioned the God Black earlier. I don’t remember that one.” Livingston interjected. 

“The God Black is the oldest god in existence. She oversees all transformations and the passage of souls. The Godlands as a neutral sanctuary to host her warring siblings and eventually retreated to her own domain. The Ultimate Impartial, sees all but chooses only to dwell in what is.” 

Oswin pressed his chin into the crown of Livingston’s head and let his cool breath wash over him. He ran his fingers along Livingston's damp skin and the doctor squirmed under his touch. 

“She is the being your mom met when she passed on. She councils the deceased as they move through the afterlife. She is in excellent care. All those who are capable of transitioning from this life are.” 

“Everyone doesn’t transition?” Livingston asked. 

“Not everyone. Some souls are incapable of making the necessary journey into the next stage of life. They may owe a debt to vengeful deity or are cursed by tradition or cultural ignorance. The entirety of Homoambrogus Cotardum adopted her as their patron.” 

“Homoabrogus Cotardum...” Livingston mused. “The Living Dead?” 

“The Ambiguous Dead.” Oswin corrected. “Those who have departed this life but find their souls immovable.” 

“Hold up. Vampires?! The Ambiguous Dead are vampires, right?” 

Oswin held his breathe. He drummed his fingers on Livingston’s thigh and the doctor nudged him in the ribs. Oswin exhaled his laughter in throaty coils. 

“The Vamir are an exceptionally reclusive and territorial branch of Abnormalkind, Livingston. We don’t deal with them as most suffer from insatiable hunger. Some adapt modern conventions but there are the stolid few who do their best to instill their hatred in their...offspring.” 

“That. Is. Wicked!” Livingston exclaimed. 

He lurched forward. His mind reeled with the new information. Livingston thought of the infinite possibilities immortality could offer to his research when he turned to Oswin’s stern face. 

“Dangerous, of course. We’d never, like, play with them if we saw them in public. We’re responsible adults, but that is cool.” 

“It’s curious Liliana never told you about them. They are a favorite bedtime story for parents with unruly children as I am certain you were a handful.” Oswin joked. 

“...Liliana.” Livingston repeated. “I never said my mom’s name, Oswin. 

Silence enveloped them. Livingston moved to his feet and loosened the coil at the base of his spine. The decadent scent of magnolias filled the air and a twisted branches grew from the windowsill. They wrapped around Oswin’s sinewy limbs and hoisted him into the air. Roots arranged themselves into steps and Livingston climbed toward the Oswin’s shocked face. Another branch slithered around Oswin’s neck at Livingston’s command, and he held his everchanging gaze. A clap of thunder illuminated is navy irises as spoke. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Livingston breathed. “I will not ask again.” 

Livingston’s eyes snapped open. Oswin’s heavy arm coiled around his waist. His ancient, dark body filled every empty space created by the shape of his body. Livingston smiled when Oswin’s snores reached his ears, and he listened to his many mumblings of gods. 

Livingston’s own internal ramblings set him motion and he soon untangled himself and navigated the intricate root system sprawled across his floors. He moved quietly up the stairs. He was cautious of the creaking fourth and ninth stairs as he crept into his room.  

He shut the door, turned the lock, and fell face first onto his bed with a muffled grunt. The silence pounded on his ears, and he did his best to sink into memory foam mattress. His pristine white sheets bore green stains, and he brushed the dirt off a pillow before he tucked it behind his head. 

Incredible flowers dominated his bedroom with their electrifying shades. They secured their spooling limbs around his nightstand; and the mirror in the corner lay in shards on the floor as a bulbous magnolia tree bore a hole through its frame. Livingston shook his head. He was never this fluent in his abnormality and this new expansion frightened him after so long away from the craft. 

“Canaan is going to love this.” he grumbled. 

He crossed into his bathroom and slid the shower door open. He spun the knob for hot water, hopped out of his boxers, and stepped into the scalding stream. Livingston breathed out a hiss under the biting water and he focused on growing a plant with oval shaped leaves in long, straight around the shower head. Moments later a crop of eucalyptus dangled from the faucet, and he inhaled the scented steam while he let his mind wander. 

His eyes shot open. Moments before, a bright flash touched his eyelids and, after the day he had, he grew curious. Livingston climbed out of the shower and padded into the light of the bathroom mirror wrapped in a towel. He looked down at its white and green stripes and his mind flitted to the man downstairs muttering in his sleep. The doctor dashed the steam from his mirror with a swipe of his pruned hand. 

The wild vapors stormed his bedroom when he opened the door. He followed their current across the floor until he noticed Oswin’s shadow jutting out of the shadows. He froze. The full moonlight highlighted the taut skin of his chest. It shaped around his muscles like a loving embrace as he gazed out the window lost in thought. 

“You scared the hell out of me!” Livingston growled. 

“I thought you absconded into the night.” Oswin flashed a bright smile. 

He turned his head back to the night sky and the once inviting light now placed his luminous face in darkness. Livingston found it impossible to discern the shadows from Oswin’s skin. He bit down on his lip. Oswin was a still from a movie he could not rewind. 

“I have not seen a night like this since the birth of the Virgo one lost September in ‘84. I can only marvel a Estrelle’s ornate work. My gods, what a tapestry!” 

“Estrelle?” Livingston asked. 

“The Star Maker? Lost child of The Void? She wanders through her mother’s vast black expanse and weaves her echoing cries into galaxies. Are you not acquainted with The Great Tales?” Oswin aimed at him. 

“I’m familiar.” Livingston moaned. “I just put the godtheory and The Great Tales to rest long, long ago. All that was behind me.” 

His energetic breeze rustled through the endless jungle of flora borne of Wryth’s blessing. He knelt beside the floral able and stared at Oswin whose twinkling eyes beamed a warm pink. His hooded expression made Livingston squirm. 

“I should—ummm—get you a blanket or something.” said Livingston. 

Oswin grabbed his hand and Livingston froze. He stood rooted to the spot like of the many stems growing from the cracks in the concrete. 

“Don’t.” Oswin plead. “Go, I mean. Don’t go. That was jarring. I’m not sure—it—I—it is fascinating. For the first time in five hundred thirty-seven years, I do not want to be alone.” 

The unicorn slid his fingers over Livingston’s palm and a tantalizing prickle raced up his knees. Livingston cleared the lump from his throat before he responded. 

“Oswin, you should rest.” he said. 

“I know.” Oswin replied. “But I fear I will not get much rest in your absence.” 

He closed his hand around Livingston’s wrist and pulled him down. Livingston stumbled backward and tumbled into Oswin’s waiting grasp. His shallow breaths moved the wispy hair at Oswin’s chin.  

Oswin slid his husky, stubbled arm around Livingston’s waist and tipped his chin toward the shimmering golden glow of the overhead light to read his expression. 

“I can stop...if you want.” Oswin breathed. 

Livingston pressed his lips into a fine line. The blush pink energy behind Oswin’s lattice like corneas pulsed in rhythmic schemes and Livingston slowly shook his head. 

“I think I know why I was led here.” Oswin continued. “I believed it was solely for protection. Then, I believed my responsibility was to remind you of your many gifts. Now, with certainty, I know I am here to unlock far more than your mind.” 

Oswin’s raspy tone reverberated through Livingston’s bones and buried itself deep in the pit of his stomach. His baritone growls clawed at Livingston’s lungs and filled the tears with scorching thirst. It blossomed up through his throat and covered his tongue in saliva. His skin tingled and the smattering of hair on his lithe arms stood erect when Oswin’s cool breath skated over the fragile veins in his neck. The gleaming light dipped to shades of lustrous peach and enormous petals of the same color unfurled around the swaying light. The velvet petals throbbed as they consumed the ceiling fixture; and their monstrous maw shrouded the room in mystery. 

“You saved me.” Oswin explained. “Now allow me to show you my purpose.” 

Oswin pressed his sumptuous lips to Livingston’s open mouth. Livingston closed his eyes, and the living energy knotted around his spine unfurled. It slithered up his vertebrae, spread through his ribs, and his new garden burst to life. 

Livingston laced his fingers through Oswin’s hair as did his collection of creepers. Mammoth chrysanthemums sprouted from climbing roots in fiery shades. The crunch of budding bark crackled the rustling air and the beige, paint-chipped corners of Livingston’s sparse home split at the seams. Spindly branches matured into sturdy appendages. Soothing pink blossoms uncurled their trumpet shaped petals in winding arcs of color. 

Heavy branches curved against the ceiling—reached across with sinewy fingers—and showered the room in a rain of leaves. Oswin tucked his under Livingston’s shirt. He slipped it over his head and tossed it aside. He lifted his borrowed sweater over his head. Livingston ran a finger over his muscled chest as Oswin let his shirt fall to the floor. The unicorn repositioned Livingston on his thighs and flipped over, so Livingston lay in their floral bed. 

Oswin pulled on Livingston’s sweatpants until they pooled around his ankles. Livingston kicked them into a corner as Oswin untied the loose knot of linen at his waist and moved his pants to his ankles. Livingston’s abnormality pulsed, from his waist, like a beacon and his new garden responded with crinkling sighs. The garden filled the air with dense smog and filtered the dusky light into pillars. 

“You’re going to make it rain.” Oswin teased. 

“I live in Louisiana. That’s normal.” Livingston smiled. 

Oswin lowered himself onto Livingston and enveloped in with a squeeze of his arms. He consumed Livingston’s lips with his own once more and the doctor responded in kind. He nipped at Oswin’s neck until he released a primal moan. The room sagged with palpable humidity and a bulbous clap of thunder echoed through his house.  

“Told you.” Oswin chided. 

“Hush.” 

The gargantuan corolla of a mammoth rose loomed over the odd pair. The doctor pumped the unicorn’s chest with skilled hands. His voice swaddled in tears; the flora responded to Livingston’s thoughts. The rose’s root system created a small dais upon which Oswin rested. Each of his labored breaths was a rattling wheeze and copper blood poured from his nose. The corners of his void eyes wept with the same bronze tears while his cracked Black lips spoiled in uneven, milky white patches. Oswin’s infinite skin gave his unique blood a venomous gleam as his lifeforce leaked from every orifice of his magnificent body. 

He shook Oswin’s shoulder then tapped his cheeks with the back of his hand before he cocked his right hand back and slapped him hard across the face. Livingston muttered his apologies. Green stems coiled underneath him in response and pushed him closer to the table. They sprouted tiny, shimmering bronze bulb which opened around glowing pistils. 

“Check his pulse, Liv. You’re a doctor!” 

He scolded himself. He touched two fingers to Oswin’s neck and the faint throb of blood pumped against his fingertips. Livingston breathed out a deep sigh and shifted to his knees. 

“Subject over five hundred years old. Hybrid species? Aconite poisoning. Quantity undetermined. Potency, however, is at its max as the aconite was infused with several medical grade chemicals. Symptoms are blood hemorrhage, unconsciousness, and irregular heartbeat. The aconite cannot be working alone. It must be reacting to something!” 

Livingston rubbed his palms together and a ginger aura enveloped his hands. He moved them along Oswin’s body and, as he passed his shaking hands across the unicorn’s broad chest, his stomach turned. A metallic taste coasted his tongue. Doctor Crane touched deftly at his chest and a sharp pain gripped his flank. 

“Pariche venom!” Livingston cried. “Not just wolfsbane, but a venom! Okay, think! The Pariche is a nocturnal arachnid whose venom targets the nervous system. Combine that with the aconite fibers and we have a the most potent toxin in the Abnormal world. No need for that, right?” 

Livingston laughs as he rechecks Oswin’s vitals. The unicorn’s breathing slowed to an imperceptible huff and the doctor rubbed his temples. 

“I injected him with a sample of trial forty-seven which contains metallic honey, Dragon’s Blood, Asper’s Cashmere, a neutralized aconite extract and twenty-seven milligrams of Euphorium!” 

Livingston dashed into his laboratory and frantically rummaged through a small refrigerator until he found a beaker stoppered with a spherical stone cork. The liquid inside, and its thick fibers, clung to the neck of its container. The beige concoction hung like a spiderweb. He jammed the beaker into his lab coat pocket and spun around to the luxuriant belladonna plant. 

Its bruised violet blooms opened and closed when it grumbled at him. Livingston’s narrow laboratory vibrated with the acidic echoes of the voluminous plant's primal tones. 

“Bella, love, I need some bulbs. Please.” cooed Livingston. “I need your help to save my—my friend.” 

Belladonna softened. Thin green stalks dipped into his cupped hands and sprouted spiraling double-sided bulbs in decadent aubergine and glowing white hues. The soft, snowy floweret sizzled in his ungloved hand. Livington used the hem of his shirt as a napkin between the acidulous flower and his skin. The violet bloom, however, cozied up again his shaking thumb. 

“I owe you one, Bella!” The doctor exclaimed!  

He yanked the mortar and pestle from its perch on a high shelf and raced back to Oswin’s side where the unicorn thrashed wildly. Livingston instructed a set of creeper plants to hold Oswin in place and they slid over his muscles. They hugged him tightly around the middle and Oswin’s writhing body stilled. 

Livingston dumped all the ingredients into this stone bowl and pushed his weight against the handle until the bulbs turned to pulp.  

“Perhaps if I make a universal antibody, it’ll catch whatever venom this is on a molecular level. These herbs should intersect the toxin. I just need a carrier with a serious kick!” He mused. 

A lengthy, long-stemmed plant budded to an appetizing green under his nose. Tiny chutes sprouted at oblong angles and produced a crop of dome-shaped petals with thick antennae jutting from its center. The petals quickly matured to brilliant white and crimson tones. The bulb snapped from the stem and careened into Livingston’s bowl. 

“Perfect!” Livingston called. “Enchanter’s Herb is just what I needed! 

He crushed the plants until a dark liquid swirled in the stone basin. The pungent odor reached his nose long before the heady pink steam curled from the antidote. Livingston thrust the bowl to Oswin’s quivering lips and his body seized as the simmering elixir passed down his throat. His body relaxed and his everchanging eyes open. His emerald, green gaze found Livingston as he sat up and he coughed as the last of the antidote passed into his system. 

“Gods, that’s terrible.” Oswin winced. “Next time let me die. Ugh, magic be damned.” 

“That was science, Oswin.” Livingston said. “And I’m sure you’ve had worse. 

Oswin squeezed his hand and Livingston blanched. He was unsure when he laced his shaking fingers through Oswin’s cold grip, but he withdrew it and let his shaking hand fall to his side. 

“I am grateful for you...and your science.” Oswin said. “It, and you, saved my lives.” 

“Lives?” Livingston questioned. “Whatever. I’m happy you’re alive.” 

“As am I.” Oswin laughed. “I owe you a great deal, Doctor. It was your voice which held me to this existence even in the presence of the God Black. I will not forget what you have done for me, Doctor Crane.” 

A snug breeze set the room aflutter. The mellow light of Livingston’s townhouse brightened to an impossible golden hue. A trickle of condensation slipped down his spine and the scent of other fresh flowers blossomed under his widened nostrils. He inhaled the sweet spring airs now tinged with notes of peonies, freesias, and rose as the floor began to rumble. 

He and Oswin jumped out of their chairs as the thick vines cracked the concrete foundation of his home. They burst through the floorboards with their reaching green limbs. The succulent green vines cascaded through his rooms and wrapped themselves around his furniture. They climbed the walls. They burrowed themselves deep into the ceiling of the first floor and coiled around his tricky stairs as they claimed the patched wooden railing as their lattice. Rich and reaching plants ensnared the wooden rods into their winding schemes and disappeared upstairs. 

The amber light adopted a lush viridescent tint and pulsed against his suffocating walls. Vines writhed in ceremonial concord and flowered colossal petals from a haze of coruscated dew which seeped into the air ducts. The humid air wicked Livingston’s skin and brought him to life. He felt the hum of every petal growing in his house. The trunks of climbing inflorescences whispered to him while they slurped the moisture from the air and the same familiar breeze sheathed his form like an additional layer of skin. It hugged him around the middle and tickled his spine. 

“What happening?” Livingston’s voice echoed. 

“You offered sanctuary to one of her sacred creatures.” Oswin answered. “There is no greater honor than to protect her chosen symbol. Wryth—flora godhead, Mother of Growth, and Protector of Unicorns—has expanded your abnormalities as reward.” 

“I feel everything!” Livingston moaned. “I can feel the wisteria blooming from the rafters upstairs in my room. I even feel the rose climbers winding around my chimney outside; and the air...it’s so full. I feel like I can...” 

His second skin tightened around his body and the doctor’s feet left the ground. He gasped and floated to the ceiling without a second thought. 

“You can fly.” Oswin smiled. “I’ve not seen a Naturalist do that in some time.” 

“But I stopped using my powers earlier this year. I thought they were gone!” Livingston wheezed. 

His head pressed into the ceiling and his power blossomed through his veins. He focused on collapsing his power into a small knot and descended. His feet touched the floor, and Oswin grabbed him around the waist as he stumbled over the rippling foliage growing too fast from his foundation. 

“I can fly.” Livingston exclaimed. 

“Your astonishment tells me this is a new development.” Oswin suspected. 

“My mom taught me to levitate when I was younger. She always told me gravity was a mortal chain, but I never thought I could fly!” Livingston celebrated. 

“Perhaps your abnormality—your magic—grew as you did.” Oswin said. “Perhaps you can use them again.” 

“Why?” Livingston asked. 

Livingston pressed his lips into a fine line and Oswin’s playful gaze tickled his skin. The unicorn saw through him, and the feeling was not entirely unpleasant. He lowered a steel grate over his emotions after his mother’s death and it alienated him from his family and friends. He hated it, but it was necessary. He, now, sat before one of the only people who dared call him out on his behavior. Oswin’s eyes pierced his fortress—raised the gate high into the sky and allowed the unicorn to witness the tempestuous ochres of his emotional storm. 

He picked at the vegetables on the north side of his plate and Oswin searched for his gaze. He wrapped his dark knuckles on the table and Livingston’s dark expression sent Oswin’s eyebrows high onto his forehead. 

“So, what is it?” 

Livingston’s tone mirrored his hardened face. His analytical mask fell into place, and he used his shrewd intellect to dissect Oswin’s intentions. He wanted answers to his question. Why had all this happened?” 

“Pardon me?” Oswin inserted. 

“You show up in an Abnormal man’s garden and get off an herb I know you’ve encountered before. I would hope after five hundred years, you have the ability to know wolfsbane when you see it! You stated you were here for a purpose. I would like to know what it is...” 

Oswin’s face turned to stone. His bushy eyebrows descended over his luminous eyes which withered to a mercurial silver; and his pronounced jaw locked into place. 

“You misunderstand. What I told you was true.” said the unicorn. 

“You magical ass liar.” Livingston grunted. “You mean to tell me you’ve been—this—for five hundred of them thangs and you can’t identify wolfsbane?! That’s Abnormal 101. I learned it in my mom’s garden at age seven. Who are you and what do you want?!” 

Oswin ran his tongue across his bottom lip. He rubbed the index fingers of both hands against their respective thumbs and his silver eyes darted up and down Livingston’s heated expression. 

“I am Oswin.” the unicorn began. 

His tone was somber. It sounded as if the truth pained him. A cold sensation ran up the backs of Livingston’s knees and he suppressed a shudder as Oswin continued. 

“Fifth tier witch. Mystic pillar of Abnormalkind. And I need your protection.” 

“From what? Unicorns have no natural enemies.” Livingston explained. 

“True, but much like us our enemies are not normal. They are evil—sinistre, in fact. We have highly coveted properties. Our hair, teeth, hooves, nails, bones, our—umm—specimen. Nonetheless, it is common for us to be the subject of The Hunt though it is illegal.” 

“That’s right. Unicorns are on the Endangered being list.” Livingston remembered. 

“Indeed.” Oswin corroborated. “My species was hunted to near extinction during the seventeen hundreds, and it is not an era we wish to revisit. We often seek sanctuary with naturalists such as yourself. There is a great Abnormal rescue shelter here in Morgan run by an Abnormal family with the last name St. James. It’s where most of my kind reside now.” 

Oswin’s voice trailed off and so did Livingston’s restless mind. His skin prickled and he sat up a little straighter. He took a deep breath and reached for Oswin’s hand. His fingers slipped into the unicorn’s rough, shaking fingers and Oswin gently closed his hand around Livingston’s palm. 

“I’m sorry. I had no idea your kind was still being hunted.” Livingston said.  

“Thank you for your sympathy. As I said, my kind are drawn to naturalists. I assume you are a Naturalist under this analytical facade.” Oswin chided. “May you offer me sanctuary that I may be safe from those who wish me harm? 

A familiar sensation descended onto Livingston’s shoulders and the feeling drew a gasp from his lips. He felt his mother’s hands on his shoulders softly kneading his high and tense shoulders with her soft touch. The scent of her jasmine perfume drifted under his nose and a whisper of her laughter ran the length of the room. The wooden table inflated, and the air filled to the brim with anticipation. Livingston closed his eyes against the pooling tears and gave his answer. 

“Sure. Yeah, sure.” Livingston whispered. “No! I mean, no! Clothes are not optional!” 

He cleared his throat and sidled into the hall. His back scraped against the wall as he inched by Oswin and he jogged up the hallway. He ducked through the narrow door of his laundry room and grabbed the first items on top of the heap of clean clothes. 

He tucked a faded blue Brimmens Multiversity sweatshirt and a pair of white linen pants under his arm and dashed back to Oswin. The unicorn now stood on his toes while he rummaged through the high kitchen cabinets. His towel dipped at the small of his back and Livingston prayed for Oswin’s deep exhalation. 

“You know, unicorns may not have any active abnormalities, but we know when someone is staring at us.” Oswin teased. 

“Sorry.” Livingston muttered. “Here you go.” 

“Why do I need those?” Oswin smirked. “We both prefer me like this. Perhaps you are overdressed.” 

His eyes shimmered a fiery orange, and he folded his arms across his sculpted chest. The green and white striped towel teased the doctor from his midsection, and he trained his eyes on Oswin’s face which broke into a huge smile. 

“I just.” Oswin said. “Thank you. Your generosity is appreciated.” 

“I’m not that generous.” Livingston answered. “They belonged to my ex.” 

Oswin slipped the linen pants under his flapping towel and hiked them up around his bulging thighs. The towel fell away, and he pulled the drawstrings into a strong knot.  

Livingston watched Oswin’s pectoral muscles flex when he lowered the sweatshirt over his head. He pushed his arms through the sleeves, swept his hair out of the collar, and dusted himself off for good measure. 

“Better.” Oswin said. “Though clearly a man of lower intelligence, your ex must have been a man of grand stature.” 

“How old are you?” Livingston inquired. 

“Heh! Let’s just say I got my driver’s permit on Dragon back.” Oswin laughed. 

“Dragon back? You were serious about the five hundred years...” Livingston asked. 

“Yes. And the magic—uh, abnormal bits as well, being complicated.” Oswin sighed. “I assure you I mean no harm. My kind are passive. We spend most of our lives in mythic form searching for kindness—for gentility...” 

Oswin answered, not his words, but the fear in the doctor’s eyes and Livingston was grateful. He feared he did not have the words to form any coherent questions. 

“You think I’m a genuine person?” Livingston chuckled. 

“You must be!” Oswin exclaimed. “Purity seeks purity. Something about you is genuine enough for my abnormality—as you call it—to reveal my truest natures. Quite misguided, but genuine nonetheless.” 

“Thank you?” Livingston answered. “Ummm...The food is ready.” 

.... 

Livingston’s knee knocked against the underside of his small wooden table. He stared at Oswin who sat across the table with his attention transfixed on the burger in front of him. 

“This is food now?” he admonished. 

“Shit. Are you vegan or something?” Livingston asked.  

“What? No. I am a carnivore. I can smell the chemicals in this. Did you make this? Is this your regular diet?” 

“Nope. And it's your regular diet when you don’t cook. Bonne appetite.” Livingston chided. “I’m a doctor. I don’t really have time to cook like a normal person. It’s already cost me a relationship.” 

“The normalcy or the lack of kitchen prowess?” Oswin asked. 

“Pick one.” Livingston scoffed. 

“I thought normalcy was your desire...” Oswin prodded. 

“I don’t want to be normal. I just don’t want to be Abnormal anymore. After my mom, I—i just can’t.” Livingston stammered. 

“I did not mean to dredge old memories.” Oswin murmured. “My apologies. 

The unicorn’s eye brightened to an earnest blue. The collar of his navy Brimmens sweatshirt sagged around his neck. He swept his locs out of the neckline and they clapped against his skin back with a heavy thud.  

“It’s okay. Can we change the subject though?” I have questions if you’re up for it.” Livingston nudged. 

“Anything for you. Ask away.” Oswin encouraged. 

“I’m sort of out of touch with the Abnormal—umm, magical—community aside from a few friends. So, forgive me if some of these are insensitive. How do you identify?” Livingston started. 

“How do you mean ‘identify?’” Oswin asked. 

“Do you identify as a man? An animal?” Livingston clarified. 

“I can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought. For as long as I can remember I have embraced my many journeys and lessons and can only refer to myself as Oswin.” he mused. “To answer your question, however, I am very much a man. I am also an Abnormal creature. I am also a witch. I’m not sure that clarifies anything.” 

Oswin filled the silence with a shy chuckle. Livingston dropped his gaze to his plate of vegetables. He focused on the steam curling high above his head and swallowed the lump in his throat as a thought struck him. 

“You contradict yourself. Those are three separate things!” 

The floor beneath Livingston’s feet rumbled with mighty reverberations as Oswin’s shoulders shook. Livingston’s confused expression melted as Oswin found the breath for speech. 

“You are quite deliberately ignorant, Doctor Crane!” Oswin snickered. “And so judgmental—as are most of you humans.” 

“But you just told me you were human!” Livingston countered. 

“No, I said I was Abnormal. I never said I was human, and it is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot be. Or anyone for that matter. Your science clouds your sight. You delve into the world your experiments in search of explanation for a magical world.” Oswin declared. “I am all. I am each one. I exist in these forms simultaneously.” 

“That...is fair.” Livingston conceded. 

“Live a few more centuries and the world you love will reveal itself to you.” 

Livingston jerked his hand away from Oswin as he reached for him and cradled his hand to his chest. 

“You are afraid.” Oswin surmised. 

“After the year I’ve had, sha, I’m not afraid of anything. I did let a unicorn into my house after all.” Livingston teased. 

“Then why can I sense your fear, Doctor.” Oswin asked. “Fear of being touched...being understood. Is that why you bury yourself in the world of human logic?” 

“Hey, I’m not going to read your mind. So, please don’t read mine. I don’t need a psychoanalysis. I’m the doctor.” Livingston chirped.