Cameron To Candy

Dinner was quiet. Not so much tense quiet, just… overwhelmed quiet. The entire mage affair was still being processed by the both of them. Candy stabbed at her vegetables with mild resentment.

“I still don’t understand how steamed carrots became a staple,” she muttered.

Marcus didn’t look up. “They’re healthy and they grow easily.”

“They get all mushy. Like you after a romance movie.” He gave a little snort and kept eating. Candy stood. “I’m getting water.”

She was gone less than a minute. When she came back, her plate looked off. She scanned it. What was different... oh damn it! Her bread was gone!

“…Marcus!”

“What?”

“Did you seriously eat my bread when I was up?”

Marcus paused mid-chew and slowly lowered his fork. “No.”

Candy pointed at her plate. “Then where the hells did it go?”

He leaned over and inspected it. “You probably ate it?”

“No I didn’t. I’d remember.” They stared at each other.

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t secretly steal bread. That’s more your thing. If I wanted your food, Id ask. “

She crossed her arms. “Then where’d it go?”

He opened his mouth, but before he could respond the magic mirror chimed.

“I’ll be right back.”

Candy sat slowly. A moment later, Marcus came back shaking his head. “Who was that?” She asked.

“Greg. For some inexplicable reason, he asked if you’d transformed back today.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know! It’s inexplicable!”

“Right, right. Didn’t he ask that yesterday too?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird, even for him.”

“Yeah, I… seriously? You think I ate your bread so you took the rest of my steak?”

“What in hells are you on about?”

“You know! You ate my steak!”

“I didn’t touch your steak!”

Before they could argue further, Marcus accidentally spilled water on his shirt.

“Oh for…” he cried, setting down his glass and removing his shirt. Candy very purposely kept her eyes up. Damn abs. “So you thought—" Marcus didn’t get past those three words, as all the scry devices in the house went off. Candy to the window. Across the way was a man closing in on a desperate looking woman, her bracelet flashing in emergency colors.

“Marcus!”

“On it!” He yelled, already half out the door. From outside he hollered for her to wait behind the gate.

Not twenty minutes later, they were back in their house. A woman had gotten lost and attacked by a foreign trader staying in the city. Marcus, with some neighborhood assistance, had put a stop to that.

Marcus went to put his boots away and stopped. “Candy.”

“What?”

“My shoe's in the hall.”

“So?”

“It goes by the door.”

Candy looked over. One of Marcus’s shoes sat crooked halfway down the corridor, scuffed along the toe like it had been dragged.

She raised a brow. “Okay.”

“And it’s scratched.”

She squinted. “Barely. You probably kicked a wall or something.”

“I didn't." He turned to her. “Did you move it?”

Candy glared. “Why in all the hells would I touch your shoe?”

“Sometimes you kick things out of the way with your foot.”

“I kick you out of the way. Not your boots.” He frowned. She frowned harder. “You probably messed with it when you ran out the door…” That was when Candy remembered the flash paper. “Marcus,” she said slowly, “the trap?”

His shoulders stiffened. During the Peach Festival in Petalik, he’d left enchanted flash sheets tucked discreetly along the fence line. Cheap security magic. If anything crossed the perimeter, it would flare and leave an image in the snapshot. They’d come home to find one of them had gone off. The paper lay curled in the grass. The image showed… something. Or the absence of something. Now Marcus set the shoe back in place and went straight for the back door.

“I’ll check.”

Candy followed him. They walked the fence line together, lantern in Marcus’ hand. Every flash sheet sat untouched, pale and dormant. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief.

“Probably a raccoon,” Candy said. “It’s that time of year. All the newborns are old enough to explore now.” Marcus didn’t answer.

They watched the night news, which had managed to squeeze in coverage of the attack they’d helped stop, then made their way to bed. A restless hour later, Candy lay awake listening to the house. A myriad of noises went on at night that she took for granted. Now that she was listening, she could hear them everywhere. She told herself it was pipes. Then floorboards. Just the wind. Then something clinked softly downstairs. Marcus sat up instantly. Candy did too. They exchanged a look.

Marcus whispered, “Stay behind me. If something’s here, you call the Ministry Watch.”

Candy bristled. “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile!”

He met her eyes. “This isn’t the time to argue.” She bristled but didn’t talk back. Then she grabbed the emergency whistle and absolutely positioned herself behind him.

They moved down the stairs slowly, Marcus leading with the lantern, Candy padding after in her nightshirt. The kitchen was empty. The sitting room untouched. The hallway quiet. Maybe… maybe they’d imagined it?

Then they heard it. A soft, wet little crunch. Marcus turned toward the pantry. Candy’s stomach tightened. They exchanged a look. Marcus counted back from three, then opened the door. Inside, perched among sacks of grain and preserved jars, was a small scaly creature with shimmering wings and a lemon in its claws.

It froze mid-bite. Yellow juice dripped onto the floor. Marcus raised his axe. The creature hissed and in a blur of motion, it darted forward, zipped between Marcus’ legs, shot up Candy’s nightshirt, and vanished into her cleavage.

Candy screamed and flailed. Marcus spun, then something warm and trembling curled against her chest. Two golden eyes slowly peeked out from the neckline of her nightie, wide and terrified. And a sound like a cross between purring and chittering emanated from between her tits. Candy stopped screaming.

“…Marcus,” she wheezed.

Marcus turned so the blunt side of the ax was out.

“Candy,” he said in a low, steady voice. “Drop your top and stick your chest out when I give you the signal and I’ll belt that thing right off you”

“…Marcus,” she returned, in a low voice, slowly holding out a hand, “put the axe away.”

“No, I can do this.”

“Marcus, look!”

She slowly pulled her nightie forward. He cautiously leaned enough to see down, and to his surprise, a mustached little pseudo-dragon peered back up at him.

“Is that… Niblet???”