Chapter 18: Seventeen

“Right this way, Miss Abigail,” the man in the suit says as he moves to the side of the door and holds it open for you and Abigail. You feel him eyeing you up and down, but his face remains completely impassive.

“Oh, Edmund, this is Dreamer, she’s my familiar. Like Daphne’s Archie. Um. Sorta.” Abigail places a hand on your shoulder and pushes you ahead a little.

“Oh, I doubt she’s as difficult to handle as the Lady’s Archibald,” the man, Edmund says. “Right this way.” With sure steps he walks past you and Abigail and deeper into the house, his flashy shoes clicking on the polished wood floor.

You follow along, only pausing a little to look at the pretty vases on pillars and the big paintings of people on the walls. Some of them even look like Daphne but older and less happy. There are also rooms leading off to the sides, like a big dining room containing a huge table with lots of chairs and a door that leads to a kitchen that smells really yummy.

But it’s not time for food, even if your tummy rumbles a little at the smell. You notice Edmund eyeing you before he pauses next to a closed door and raps his knuckles against it twice. “Miss Daphne, you have guests. Miss Abigail and familiar Dreamer.”

“Let them in, Ed,” Daphne’s voice calls out.

With a firm nod, the man opens the door and invites you in with a bow. “I will fetch the tea,” he declares before walking off.

“Come in, come in,” Daphne says. “Make yourself at home.” She gestures to some chairs planted before a desk that’s as big as Abigail’s entire bed, a huge slab of dark wood on legs carved to look like waves with little fish swimming up the sides. There are two big, plush chairs in front of the desk just waiting for someone to flunce onto them.

Daphne gets up, tossing a pen onto the pile of papers she was writing on. She comes right up to Abigail and gives her a big hug.

You immediately want to spear her through with a tentacle. Abigail’s hugs are your hugs! No one else can have them. But you need Daphne to fix Abigail and ripping her apart would make that more complicated.

The hug ends, but not nearly soon enough. Daphne turns to you with a brilliant smile that bounces off your glare. “Hello Dreamer,” she says. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“You touched Abigail wrong. I don’t like it,” you tell her. “Only I’m allowed to do that. And Abigail when she wants to mate with someone to make smaller Abigails.” You decide not to explain what you understand about mortal breeding methods to Daphne even if it’s obvious that she could stand to learn about them. You wouldn’t want to lose your last meal while describing all the icky details.

“D-Dreamer,” Abigail says. She shakes her head, sighs and then flops onto one of the plush chairs, her bags dropping to her side. “Please don’t talk about that,” she asks.

“Yes,” you say. “Mortal breeding is disgusting, which is why you should never do it unless I’m there.”

She covers her face with her hands so you can’t tell how she feels about that. You chose to assume that she’s smiling, happy that you’re willing to help.

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“So that’s what you’ve been dealing with, huh?” Daphne says as she sits down across from Abigail. Then she has the temerity to pat your summoner on the knee.

You huff, then start looking for your own chair. Problem is, the only one around is on the other side of the desk. The solution is, of course, to use more tentacles. You send a few slithering out the bottom of your dress then over the desk to lift the chair.

Both girls watch with mixed emotions as you bring the chair over and plant it between them, then you plop yourself down. Now Daphne can’t touch Abigail without going over you. It’s a perfect solution. “We came here because Abigail is broken and as a fellow mortal that’s kinda like her you can fix her,” you say.

Daphness blinks at you, then looks over to Abigail. “You know, I was expecting to give you some advice about caring for your familiar. Archibald defecated on one of my favourite dresses in the first week that I had him, but I’m beginning to think that your issues are greater than that.”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Abigail says.

You harrumph. It’s almost as if you’re being ignored here!

The door opens and Edmund comes in with a silver platter covered in stuff. He places it on the desk then pours some smelly water into three cups, puts the cups on tiny little plates, then puts a small cookie on each plate. He hands one to Daphne, then one to Abigail. You’re clever enough to know that the third has to be for you, so you grab the cup and tiny plate with a pair of tentacles.

Edmund watches your extra limbs with no change of expression. “Does the Lady need anything else?” he asks.

You sniff at the cup, then pour it down your mouth. It’s dirty water. You swallow it anyway, then breathe out a plume of steam. Like a dragon, but less prissy. The cookie tastes better. Then you stare at the empty cup and plate and shove those in your mouth too. They’re both very crunchy.

Everyone is watching you as your cheeks puff out to fit the bits of broken porcelain you’re nibbling on.

“I shall find the young miss a new cup, perhaps from the servant’s tea set,” Edmund says before exiting with a bow.

“That was yummy, but now we need to talk,” you say. “Abigail has a lot of problems. I tried putting helpful stuff in her head, but she’s still all confused and silly. Instead of spending the day cuddling and hugging and patting me, she wants to work and do other things, which is boring. I don’t mind that much, because I want my Abigail to be happy, but it’s not as fun as it could be. But maybe mortals are just all silly. She does give very good cuddles, so she should focus on the things she does well.”

“Um,” Daphne says.

You lean onto the edge of your seat and wait for Daphne to tell Abigail that she should listen to you more.

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