Cameron To Candy

The letter had arrived with the morning frost, resting atop the day's curtsy logs and wellness scrolls. Marcus tapped it twice on the edge of the table before setting it down next to Candy's bowl of Ministry-Approved porridge.

“I told her yes,” he said without looking up.

Candy blinked. “Told who what?”

“My cousin. Penny. She wants to take you to lunch.”

Candy frowned. “You told her yes? Without even asking me?”

Marcus exhaled slowly. “If I’d said no, it would’ve raised questions. She’s my cousin, Candy. You’re my wife. It would look... bad.”

Candy set down her spoon. “So the solution is to volunteer me for luncheon duty like I’m a decorative parasol?”

He ignored that. “It’s good optics. Besides, she’s harmless. And this is the first time she’s been back from Cleavendale in weeks.”

“I’m not worried about her. I’m worried about me.” Candy rubbed at her temples. “She doesn’t know who I really am. Doesn’t know I used to—”

Marcus gave her a look. Not a cruel one, just flat.

“She doesn’t know you used to be her cousin’s idiot friend with a hopeless crush? Right. So maybe don’t lead with that.”

Candy scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one expected to coo and sip tea like a demure little... wife.”

“Candy.” His voice dipped slightly. “Just get through it.” He paused, then softer, “I think it might even be good for you.”

She stared at him. “Good for me?”

Marcus shrugged. “You’ve been cooped up. You could use a few more friends and allies. Plus, she wants to take you dress shopping. Veridicus knows you could use something other than the brown numbers the ministry gave you. And she already likes you, well, likes Cam, so she should like you as Candy. It wouldn’t kill you to enjoy it.”

Candy muttered something under her breath involving the phrase “gender betrayal,” but Marcus had already turned back to his morning reports.

Of course, Marcus didn’t tell her that Penny had initially been intimidated by her, that is, by Candy’s “trouble girl” status. Lady Elenor had had to explain to Penny that she was only placed there because she was orphaned with no male to claim her, and the foster system had been full. She wasn’t placed there because of violent or disobedient behavior like some of the other women. That was the cover story anyway, as Marcus had explained to his mom, who had no reason to disbelieve it. After that, Penny had felt so bad for Candy she insisted on taking her out for a girls' day.

***

That had been over a week ago, but enough had happened to make it feel like a lifetime. Since then, she’d been forced into oral devotion training by her mother in law, instructed by a wooden training dummy named Sircumsalot, blown her best friend, made him feel awkward about his mom’s involvement in her training, felt up Mona and Marilyn’s boobs, nearly gotten run over by a reckless rider on horseback, and had her allowance set by her cheapskate husband at a meager one point eight silver.

Now the day had finally come. Candy bit her lip. Penny. Sweet, stammering, utterly good Penny. The girl Cameron had once had a ridiculous crush on; the girl Marcus had firmly declared “too gentle for your sarcastic ass.” And now?

Now Candy had to play womanly companion while secretly grappling with memories of youthful infatuation and the bitter twinge of her own forced femininity.

“She’s not taking a break from the scrycast, is she?” Candy asked, trying to sound casual. “With the... hucow?”

“Sylvie Caprine-Moo,” Marcus confirmed. “Penny says she’s terrifying and wonderful. And no, she is just required to return every couple of months. She wanted to stop by last time she was back, but she ended up spending all her time helping Lennie pack for the academy.”

“Gods,” Candy thought, “what I’d give to live somewhere you could wear a jacket and have a tail out of your trousers and no one think anything of it at all.” But out loud, all she said was, “Oh yeah, little Lennie is nineteen now. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

***

Penny arrived via carriage just after the first bells, pink parasol in hand, pink hat on her head, and her compliance bracelet gently twinkling from a full round of affirmations given during the drive.

“Oh! Um, hi!” she squeaked when Candy opened the door. “You must be Candy! You look, uh… wow, so pretty! And so proper! I love the, um, shoulder...puff.”

“Thanks,” Candy deadpanned. “It’s called Ministry-Issue Humiliation Grey.”

Penny giggled. “You’re funny, just like Cameron.”

“You look nice,” Candy said. “The hat suits you. I didn’t know women could wear things that vibrant.”

“Oh, um, thanks. I got it in Velvet Tailwind. And Sergeant Hardtock actually did stop me at the gate. I thought he was going to, like, make me take it off, but then a purple tree next to the gate cited a regulation, and uh, the Sergeant started arguing with it about policy versus laws, so the driver just went through. I hope that was okay, but the driver said it would be fine,” she concluded with a shrug and a worried look on her face. “And, er, why is there a talking tree there now? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there last time I came.”

Candy laughed at that one. “Ah, yeah. That was a whole thing. It’s a magic birch. It grew up overnight. No one knows how or why, I mean, it should be impossible in the anti-magic field, but yet somehow it found a way, so the Sergeant got it a special writ to assist Paddlewick. Like the Whanderwack. My friend Vivian and I were there that first day. It’s actually hilarious watching him argue with a tree.”

“Huh… well, okay. Um, shopping then?” Penny asked.

The carriage ride was mercifully short. They chatted about mutual acquaintances, the heat, and the restrictive nature of Paddlewickian sashes.

“So,” Penny said as they passed the Justice Fountains, “you’re really Cameron’s cousin? I mean, I can see it in your eyes. You definitely have the same eyes.”

Candy stiffened. Of course, it made sense that family would look alike. Still, pretending not to know the girl Cameron had mooned over for years was hard enough, but Penny looking into her face and seeing his eyes… that was painful in a way she couldn’t describe. “But, uh, we’ve known him a long time,” Penny went on. “He never mentioned a cousin. I was, well, I was, like, surprised when I heard about you. That my cousin married Cameron’s cousin!”

“Yeah, we, well, we weren’t close. I only met him three times in my life, but with both of our parents being gone, we are all each other has left. And I haven’t even seen him since the wedding because of his long-term deployment.” Candy explained, leaning heavily into the cover story. “But we’ve been exchanging some letters lately.”

“Oh!” Penny exclaimed. “That’s so sad! But, so nice you’re getting to know each other now!” Candy’s only response was a forced smile. “Um, “ Penny continued. “Is it true that since you’re from the trouble girl program, you’re watched extra, like, your correction crystal even logs your, um… your mood too?”

“Not technically, but it notes it if I sigh too hard. Then it counts as disobedience adjacent.”

Penny giggled again, genuinely appalled and delighted. “I swear, Candy. You should be on the show. Sylvie would lose it.”

Candy arched an eyebrow. “Do variants, you know, different types of stichari, really live out in the open there?”

“Oh, um, yeah! Especially in Velvet Tailwind. I mean, it’s kind of, like, the BIG city of Cleavendale. It's a therian city, but so many types go there. Sylvie says, um, we’re all just magical oddities in our own way.”

Candy allowed herself a real smile at that. She thought for a moment. She’d been through Cleavendale a few times, as Cameron. But it was only ever with the military joint missions, never as a civilian. She really hadn’t seen much of it as a result.

“What’s Cleavendale really like?” she asked, as casually as she could manage.

Penny stopped a moment. “Oh! Um... it’s, uh... well, loud. And, um, messy. And colorful! And no one really cares what you wear. I mean, people do because it’s all about clothes there, but not judgy. And, well, Sylvie cares, but she’s got, like, fashion anxiety. Um... It’s kind of a melting pot? Like, you see all kinds of people. Like, there’s the little people called the Lilikith, oh, and there was a boob fairy swarm once at the inn I stay at, and we all had to hide. A girl there didn’t hide in time and now she has G cup breasts and neon nipples that glow when drums are played too loud!"

"That's terrible!"

"I know! But she was very popular afterward at this dance thingy they called dave... no, sorry, a rave. Oh, and there are therians all over. Sylvie dated a moose-man once who got his antlers stuck in the door. They had to saw them off! Oh! I met a girl last week who had vines instead of hair and a boyfriend who was technically a chair.”

Candy tilted her head. “Technically?”

“Um, yeah,” Penny answered. “But they, like, made it work. Sort of.”

“So… what part of the chair was his face?” Candy asked, already regretting it.

Penny’s own face turned red. “Uh, well, I, er-“

“You know what, never mind,” Candy cut in. “I don’t think I want to know.” Penny breathed a sigh of relief.

They rode in silence for a moment. After a while Candy leaned in just slightly. “If someone were... not quite fitting in here. Would they stand out there?”

Penny tapped her thumbs again, thinking. “Oh, um... no? I mean, you might still, like, stand out, but people there kind of, um, like that? It’s, like, cool if you’re weird. Or... shaped funny. Or, um, talk fast.”

“Good to know,” Candy said, looking out the window.

“Are you thinking of moving?” Penny asked.

Candy shook her head too quickly. “No. Just curious. For a segment. Maybe. ‘Cultural Integration Across the Cone'. You know. Maybe, how different nations go about courting or what have you.”

Penny nodded, very seriously. “Oh, that would be a good one. Especially since, like, Padaleckian wives like, um, a man who’s really... firm? Like," she dropped into her best deep voice impression, "you’ll count your swats, young lady, you know?”

Candy huffed. “Do I.”

“But in Cleavendale, women want a man who’ll, like, go on a quest for them! Like, fight a bear or steal a flower from a time vortex or something.”

“That... sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Penny whispered, shaking her head. “So many bears.”

Candy laughed despite herself.

They eventually arrived in the main plaza and began their shopping in the clothing district, with Penny clutching a list that Lady Elanor had sent.

“I mean, I don’t think anyone wears formal-collar frocks on a weekday,” Penny muttered, eyes scanning the page, “but Aunt Elenor does want me to get you at least one formal ball gown. And she sent money for extra dresses too, so that’s nice?”

Candy grabbed the list and crumpled it. “It’s annoying.”

“Oh. Um, sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Candy sighed. “It’s this whole ‘public decorum’ thing. Can’t show ankle. Can’t show sarcasm.”

“You show sarcasm all the time,” Penny said, giggling.

Candy couldn’t help but smirk. “Yes, but I usually get fined for it.”

They stopped at a boutique called The Virtuous Hanger, where the mannequins had been magically animated to posture in demure poses, and some did a curtsy routine. Candy tried on three different dresses before Penny insisted on a fourth.

“Oh, um, this one’s nice!” she chirped, holding up a soft mint number with a fitted bodice and enchantment-ready waistband. “It’s got those, like, obedience hem weights? The sash glows if you get a compliment!”

Candy stared at it like it might bite. “Perfect. Clothing that announces praise.” Still, she tried it on. In the mirror, she looked… presentable. Paddlewickian. The kind of wife who might actually earn a praise pin and not throw it down a wishing well out of spite.

“You look lovely,” Penny exclaimed, a little awestruck.

Candy rolled her eyes. “Thanks, I hate it.”

Penny giggled again. “You’re so funny.”

They were just finishing up, Candy begrudgingly wearing the mint dress out of the shop, when things went wrong.

It started with a ribbon stall. Penny stopped to look at a display of enchanted lace that shimmered based on your mood. It was overly indulgent. The kind of material that was only allowed to be worn on special occasions. Candy, trying to be helpful, pointed out that one strip was cursed, stitched with a minor defiance hex meant for pranksters. Unfortunately, touching it triggered the hex, not on Candy, but Penny.

In the blink of an eye, the nearest vendor’s table collapsed. A barrel rolled into a guard post. A nearby scry orb cracked. Two street urchins started chanting, “Uh-oh! Correction zone!” And within seconds, a Paddlewick Discipline Marshal was bearing down on them.

“You two!” he barked. “Explanation. Now.”

Candy froze. Penny stammered. “Um, I. I didn’t mean to, sir, I just, um, she pointed, I picked it up and, and I think maybe there was some kind of spellwork, and oh, my gosh, is that glitter coming out of my bracelet?!”

The guard narrowed his eyes. There was indeed glitter coming out of her bracelet. Then he groaned.

“Ugh, sounds like the Paddlwick poppers. Kids reverse-engineered some Gormouth Confederacy prank items; they go off, startle people, shatter glass and crystal, and yeah, sometimes cause weird glitter effects.” He sighed. “We’ll need a magic sweep of the area. Corporal!” he yelled to his subordinate across the lane, who’d been talking to the vendor whose table had collapsed. "Get the mage team to sweep the area for traps pronto!”

“Right away sir!” The corporal ran off to get the mages.

The Marshal turned his attention back to Penny. “Compliance gem. Present.” She lifted her wrist. The Marshal touched a rune-etched rod to her compliance bracelet. The gem pulsed pink. His brows went up. “Huh. That’s the truest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.” He gave her a look, incredulous, almost impressed even. “No infractions? Not a single one? You’ve NEVER received any formal correction in your entire adult life?" he asked, dubiously.

“Uh, no, sir, uh, not that I remember. I’m, I’m, I’m… I’m a good girl!”

His mouth twitched, just shy of a smile. “Well, I’d hate to be the man who ruined your perfect record…” The Marshal tapped his quill against his lip, pad in hand like he was about to write up a ticket. “Full name?”

“Penelope Spankswell, sir.”

"Penelope Spankswell. P. Spankswell. Hmm.” He squinted, leaning in a little closer to her. “Wait a minute… Penny Spankswell?”

“Yes, sir. I do go by that. It’s, um… a short name, or like, a nickname? I think? Sorry, I um, don’t know what it’s called.”

"Diminutive," Candy said under her breath. It was the scribe in her. She couldn't help correcting people's language.

The Marshal leaned back, eyes narrowing further. “Are you the Penny Spankswell… from that scrycast thing? Gilded Gaggle?”

Penny’s cheeks flamed pink. “Yes, sir. You’ve heard of it?”

“Oh, yeah. I got a teenage daughter at home. She's obsessed! She made her mother watch that whole Cleavage Culture versus Corsets episode with her two or three times.” He actually chuckled. “Gods above, that was awkward.”

Penny giggled nervously. “Oh, my, yes. Honestly, sir, I uh, spent most of that one hiding behind my book!”

“And rightly so! A good Paddlewick woman wouldn’t wallow in that sort of… dirty talk.” He coughed into his hand. “But I’ll say this much: I was glad to see a proper girl on the panel. Someone to balance the rest.”

“Thank you, sir,” Penny said quickly. “I really… I, I try.”

“And you do well from what I’ve seen.” He tapped the quill again. “Look, this wasn’t really your fault. Those prank-poppers are a nuisance. I’ll leave it at an informal warning. Next time try to be more aware and minimize the damage by calling a guard for a sweep.”

“Oh, I will, sir! Thank you.”

“One more thing.” His voice lowered as if to guard some precious secret. “My daughter’s birthday is coming up. I’d be quite the hero if I was able to gift her your autograph,” he said, tearing out a sheet from his ticket book and handing it to her. “Make it out to Sadie Thorne, S-A-D-I-E, Thorne with an E.” He slid the back of his pad toward her.

Penny starred in disbelief for a moment, then took the quill. “Of course, sir.” She signed with a neat flourish and handed it back.

The Marshal tucked it into his coat, nodding like a man who’d just secured a month of peace in his household. He glanced at Candy. “You. Keep her out of trouble, will you?”

Candy smirked slightly and gave the smallest nod. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

The Marshal smiled, then barked a few orders as he rejoined his partner, who’d returned with a mage team. They began the sweep across the block to flush out more prank poppers.

Candy turned to Penny, incredulous. “Wow. You got us out of a ticket with your celebrity giggle powers!”

Penny covered her mouth, embarrassed and flattered all at once. "Oh, um, no I... I think he was just, a nice man?"

Candy stared at her a moment longer, her thoughts darker than her tone. For a moment, Candy felt something unfamiliar. Not envy. Not bitterness. She had the quiet ache of a person who used to be someone else, watching another girl become something she never expected. The situation was funny, not ha-ha funny, but bitter funny. Here she was, a man trapped in a feminine frame and role, stripped of any power she once had, next to Penny, whose quiet grace and rising fame afforded her a power she did not understand, nor would ever intentionally wield. The juxtaposition was almost comical. Almost.

They finished their shopping and ducked into a little place off Market Street. It was small but quaint, and the only patrons there were women, which always made for a more relaxing atmosphere.

Penny studied the menu with her usual furrowed focus before pointing at a club sandwich. Candy ordered soup and salad. The soup was thick, almost gumbo-like, steeped with imported corset crabs. Fresh ones, too, from the northern kingdom of Floatsome, instead of the usual salted barrels shipped up from Cleavendale’s Brassiere Bay.

They picked at bread rolls and slipped into small talk. At one point, Penny covered her face with both hands.

“Wait,” Candy said, “you actually asked a Cleavendale noblewoman how she’d get maintenance spankings?!”

“Yeah.”

Candy stared, then barked a laugh. “Penny… you didn’t. You did not.”

Penny groaned. “I know, I know how bad it sounds now! But I didn’t know that some nations don’t do them.”

“Some?” Candy leaned in. “No, Penny, no others do.Only Paddlewick. Only here. Everyone else thinks we’re nuts!”

Penny laughed, but it was a mortified little squeak. Candy just smirked, shaking her head. After a moment, Penny leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Can I tell you something? You can’t tell your cousin.”

Candy’s stomach dropped. “…Cameron?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Sure,” Candy said carefully.

Penny twisted her napkin. “I’ve always kind of… liked him. I mean, like-liked him. He’s funny, and smart, and, well, cute!"

Candy’s jaw fell open. “Wait… what?”

Penny shrugged helplessly. “I kinda thought he liked me, too. Like, when we were younger, I thought maybe he’d claim me, but he didn't, and then later I thought he might ask my father for permission to court me. Father likes him well enough; he’d probably say yes, but still he didn't. I guess I was wrong.”

Candy’s brain short-circuited. The part of her that was all Cameron stirred more than usual. For a second, she, no, HE spaced out. Here, his dream girl had just said she would have accepted his advances. He could have held her hand, had her on his lap, kissed her even! But no. He’d never experience any of that. HE was now SHE, and SHE was stuck on Marcus’ lap, calling him sir, sucking his gods damn dick! Her fists slammed against the table. “THAT SON OF A BITCH!!!”

Every head in the restaurant turned. Conversation froze. A horrified waitress clapped her hand over her mouth, then pointed at the sigil over the door, now simmering red. Candy’s compliance gem had gone black.

Two matrons passing outside glanced in at the sound. She raised both hands quickly. “Sorry! Sorry, everyone.”

Penny fumbled an apology, too, stammering to the waitress. The sigil dimmed. Thankfully, the matrons moved on, but Candy was definitely going to need to do extra acts of contrition this week to balance out her plummeting scores if she was going to avoid ministry-issued correction.

Penny turned back, eyes wide. “I’m sorry! Did I say something wrong?”

Candy groaned. “No, Penny. You didn’t. It’s just I always liked—” she caught herself, almost misspeaking, “I mean, I always knew he liked you.”

Penny blinked. “Really? Then... then why didn’t he ever try? I think my father would’ve given permission.”

Inside, Candy screamed. Marcus. Always Marcus! Denying Cameron the one thing he’d wanted most. And Cameron never moved further because of the guy code. You don’t date your best friend's family without permission.

“Because, Marcus said he wasn’t right for you. That he’d be too much.”

Penny’s brows furrowed. Her small hands clenched the edge of the table. “Marcus always did act like a brother to me and Lennie.” She sighed. “It’s not my place to question a male of our family, but… well, sugar! I rather wish he hadn’t done that.”

Candy pressed her lips tight, already imagining a dozen ways she’d make Marcus pay for it. “Me too, Penny,” she said darkly. “Me too.”

They finished their meal and eventually boarded the carriage for home. It rocked gently on the way back, Penny humming under her breath and Candy staring out the window, still entertaining delicious thoughts of how to make Marcus suffer for what she’d learned.

“By the way,” Penny said suddenly, reaching into her bag. “I brought you this. Marcus said you kind of like the show.”

She unfolded a parchment poster, the Gilded Gaggle cast lined across it, each face sketched in lively ink. There was Sylvie with her dramatic grin, cow horns gleaming, Marionette in her shiny dress striking a sexy pose, Fiona looking severe as ever, and Marjean holding out a tray of sweets. Penny was in the middle with her ever-awkward smile and plain brown dress. Every corner was crowded with little flourishes, swirls of ribbon and a tiny goose doodled near the margin. Across the top, all four of the other hosts had scrawled signatures, each one in their own hand.

Candy took it carefully, fingers smoothing the parchment. “Penny… this is… this is really kind of you. I love it!” And she meant it. Of all the absurd, heavy things she’d been carrying lately, this simple thoughtfulness hit her square in the chest.

She tilted the poster and frowned slightly. “Hey, wait. Why didn’t you sign yours?”

Penny’s cheeks went pink. “Oh, I just didn’t think you’d want that. I mean, we’re family now, and I’m just… you know, a uh, Paddlewick girl, nothing glamorous like the others.”

Candy let out a soft laugh. “Penny, I’d really love it if you signed it. Please.”

Shy but smiling, Penny took the quill Candy offered and added her name in a neat, looping script. Then, without warning, she leaned in and hugged her. Candy stiffened, startled; hugging still felt foreign, girlish, something she hadn’t learned the rhythm of. And this was Penny, of all people, the girl Cameron had once crushed on. But after a second, she exhaled and leaned into it. It wasn’t so bad.

When Penny drew back, she pulled another rolled parchment from her bag. “Oh, and this one’s for Marcus.”

Candy unrolled it and stared. It wasn’t another group painting. Rather, it was a tall, single-panel portrait of Sylvie Caprine-Moo herself, wink sharp, neckline lower than necessary, signature bold across the bottom: To my Paddlewick fan, Marcus - keep your horns up! Mooooch love, Sylvie.

Candy stared. “Wait, why is this one just Sylvie?”

Penny shrugged. “I don’t know. Marcus asked for it specifically.”

“Uh-huh,” Candy muttered, rolling it back up.

The carriage pulled up in front of the Elwood home. Marcus was still at work, but Penny pressed Candy’s hand warmly. “Thank you for today. Lunch was really nice.”

“Are you sure I can’t pay you back for it?” Candy asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Penny said quickly. “My father’s been generous. He lets me keep most of what I earn from the Gilded Gaggle. Honestly, it’s more than I like, ever dreamed.”

Candy smiled faintly. “In that case, yes, you can definitely be the one to pay for lunch. Thank you, Penny.”

They laughed, hugged once more, and Penny climbed back into the carriage. Candy stood watching until the wheels rattled away down the lane, then turned and went inside, both posters tucked safely under her arm.

The warmth lingered, but so did the fresh anger. Marcus had some explaining to do.

***

Marcus came in late, boots soft against the floorboards, shoulders heavy from work. He pulled his coat off and set his satchel by the door. “Sorry I missed Penny. How was your outing?”

Candy was waiting at the table, hands folded too neatly in her lap. “Interesting,” she said. “We bought a couple of dresses. Apparently, your mother decided my ministry greys were so hideous she needed to give Penny money to upgrade my wardrobe. It was annoying but I actually don’t blame her. They were quite drab. We also almost got written up thanks to one of those Garmonth prank-poppers, but Penny’s spotless record and her celebrity autograph of all things got us out of it.”

Marcus paused mid-stride. “Her autograph?”

“Mm-hmm,” Candy said, reaching under the table. “Apparently, people are starting to take note of the Gilded Gaggle cast. Which brings me to this.” She laid out the long parchment.

Marcus froze at the sight of Sylvie Caprine-Moo’s solo poster, the therian’s signature bold across the bottom: To my Paddlewick fan, Marcus - keep your horns up, Mooooch love, Sylvie.

Candy arched a brow. “Why only Sylvie?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… I like her feistiness.”

“I’m feisty.”

“You’re my feminized best friend. Not the same thing. I just… like her as a host.”

“Uh-huh.” Candy drummed her fingers against the wood, expression unreadable. She let the silence stretch until Marcus’s brow furrowed, waiting for the next shoe. Then she slammed her palm down. “PENNY WAS INTO ME?! Penny had a thing for Cameron, and you knew, and you still didn’t let me date her, you bastard!”

Marcus flinched at the volume. “Hey, hey, don’t, er, look, it didn’t matter whether she liked you back or not. You’re my best friend. She’s my cousin. She’s the closest thing I’ve got to a sister.”

Candy’s eyes narrowed. “What about Lennie?”

“She’s the closest too!” he shot back, exasperated. “Both my cousins are the closest thing I have to sisters, all right? But it doesn’t change the rule. You don’t date your best friend’s family. It’s guy code.”

Candy leaned back, fingers still drumming, anger simmering into something sharper. She considered this for a moment. “Fine. Guy code. But you’d better believe you’re still going to pay for this one, Marcus Elwood.”

***

Marcus crossed the back lawn in the chill, lantern swinging at his side. Five acres of hedges and pasture muffled the sounds of the lane. At the far fence line sat the old shed, leaning just enough to be overlooked. He slipped inside, set the lantern on a hook, and pried up a false board in the back wall.

Stone steps descended to a space not much bigger than a pantry. His “second bunker.” Candy thought there was only the large storm shelter near the orchard. This one was his alone.

It wasn’t much: one chair, worn to the shape of his shoulders. A narrow bookshelf stuffed with dog-eared volumes and slim, brightly-illustrated bindings; therian adventure tales, though no one in Paddlewick would call them respectable reading. On the wall hung a newly tacked parchment: Sylvie Caprine-Moo smiling with her sharp grin, gleaming horns and adorable fuzzy cow ears, the signature ink still wet enough to gleam.

Opposite it sat a shoebox-sized altar, dedicated to the patron saint of exasperated husbands. It included just a cracked mug, a candle stub, and a small wooden plaque scratched with the name Hevalar. He murmured the invocation under his breath, the one he always used: “I’m doing my best.” The candle flickered obligingly, though there was no draft.

He knew Candy was still furious, knew the passive-aggression would simmer for days. But beneath it she’d come around. She’d accept the guy code, however much it stung her pride. On some level, she already knew he was right.

Marcus eased into the chair, exhaling long. He reached for the side table, pulled a magazine from a short stack, and flipped it open across his lap. The pages glowed faintly in the lantern light, glossy, illustrated, and full of something that held his eyes. The steady turn of pages was the only sound in the little bunker. For the first time all day, Marcus felt the weight ease from his shoulders.