Cameron To Candy

Candy and her crew had gone to the zoo as part of the package Marcus had bought for Candy's birthday. By the time they finally left the zoo, the sun had dipped toward late-afternoon gold and Candy’s hair smelled faintly of kettle corn and dragon-scented steam. The trip had taken far longer than Vivian or Alyssa expected.

Candy had read every plaque, corrected a docent twice (one of which almost got her a public correction had it not been for the special pass and quick effort to apologize and make up an excuse for her by Alyssa and Vivian), and insisted on seeing every enclosure. She rode the small sleigh that circled the aviary, the spinning crane-ride that lifted children on feathered swings, and even the llama loop near the petting pens.

Cam had always been too heavy for that one; the sign clearly read “Rider limit: Children or petite adult female.” At five-foot-four and light on her feet, Candy had grinned at the keeper’s measuring rod and said, “Technically, that’s me.”

The llama keeper only shrugged. “Technically works.”

Candy had inhaled slowly and exhaled the same when looking at the aviary. The birds were so colorful. Vibrant hues of red and green she’d never been able to fully see before. Riding the llama was yet another silver lining of her predicament, but her new sight was by a wide margin the biggest benefit.

By the time they climbed back into the carriage, Alyssa looked pleasantly exhausted, and Vivian swore she could still hear crane whistles echoing in her ears.

The carriage rolled up a marble drive flanked by lanterns: The Bathhouse, Paddlewick Prime’s pride. Candy’s shoulders relaxed automatically; she came here every Moonday to scrub away Ministry ink and domestic dust. Nice, sure, but hardly special. And unfortunately, she might have to decline using it. She needed a very specific suit to hide her male parts.

Inside, the front-desk clerk looked up, bright smile practiced but genuine.

“Ah, the Elwood party! We’ve been expecting you.”

Candy's eyebrow went up in suspicion. “Expecting us? What do you mean by expecting us?”

The woman’s hands moved with ceremonial ease across a thick logbook.

“Your husband purchased one of our back-suite packages. If you’ll follow me, you’ll have a private spring pool, and each of you is entitled to a full massage. Oh, and your suites are ready as well. Mr. Elwood arranged for new garments to be made for everyone.” She glanced at Candy, smiling knowingly. “Yours was tailored very specifically, Mrs. Elwood.”

Candy breathed out, slow and grateful. Penis problem solved!

The attendants ushered them to the changing screens. The suits were beautiful, and somehow in each woman’s favorite colors. Allysa’s eyes widened, almost unnoticeably, but they did. Vivian just mouthed ‘no way!’

Next they were escorted to padded tables. Candy lay face down, letting the scent of orange salt and cedar fill her lungs. She’d never spent this kind of money on herself, months married, months adjusting, but right now the thought simply melted away under the warm press of skilled hands. Arms, shoulders, back, legs. Nothing too intimate, nothing she’d have to explain later. Just peace.

From the next table Vivian sighed, “Marcus really went all out. I didn’t expect that from that cheapskate.”

Candy exhaled slowly, a half-smile softening her voice.

“Me neither,” she murmured. “But I’m glad he did.”

The heat soaked through muscle and memory alike, until the world became only steam, the slow rhythm of water against stone, and the recent memory of cranes bowing

The ride home wound through the cooling streets of Paddlewick Prime, the lamps flickering on one by one like watchful eyes. The carriage stopped first at Vivian’s house; she thanked Candy for the invitation and stepped out with a contented sigh. Vivian was dropped next, waving lazily from her doorway with a towel still draped around her neck.

“Tell Mr. Elwood thank you from me, please,” she asked as she hugged Candy goodbye.

By the time the carriage pulled up to her own home, the sky had gone indigo. Lanternlight glowed through the windows. Marcus was already back. He opened the door before she could knock, arms folded, a half-smile waiting on his face.

“So,” he said, “how’d it go?”

Candy grinned up at him, hair still damp from the springs.

“I gotta admit,” she said, “it was a great day. I can’t believe you actually spent the money on it.”

Marcus shrugged, that particular mix of pride and embarrassment that looked so him.

“Hey, you know what they say. This is why we save, so we can actually enjoy it once in a while.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Okay, man.”

“Oh, wait. There’s more.”

He reached to the side of the coach and pulled up a package, wrapped in brown paper. He handed it over to her, gesturing with his eyes to the card strapped under the string holding the paper on. She pulled it out. It read: To Cameron, Happy Birthday.

“I thought we should celebrate your real birthday too, but if you want to open it tonight, that’s fine too. You’re call.”

She was too stunned to say anything at first. Then, after a moment, a smile crept onto her face.

“I’ll wait.”

***

Five days later, on Cameron’s birthday…

She cut the twine and pulled the wrapping off. It revealed a box. The wood was old, the ink slightly faded, but the emblem printed across it was unmistakable: The Seven Seals, a vintage copy of the old card-and-board game where demons tried to crack the locks and escape the demon realm. The same one Cameron, Marcus, and Greg had played until the cards were soft at the corners.

Candy gasped, then burst into laughter.

“Where did you even find this?”

“It took some hunting. There are newer editions, sure, but I had to dig through a vintage shop to get this one.”

“I love it.”

She lifted the lid. Inside, the cards still smelled faintly of varnish and dust. She thumbed through the old villains:

Blight the White, the binder.

Bondage the Snake-Tongued, whose effect was so confusing that half their matches had ended in argument.

Patrissa the Culler “Illness doesn’t touch anyone fighting for me. Trust me.”

VancGrim the Eater of Feces, who, she remembered, enhanced the abilities of GildenFat if played atop it.

“Oh my gods,” she murmured, half laughing. “We could stack his power. You remember that?”

Marcus grinned. “Greg always said the rules were crazy.”

“They were,” Candy said. “That’s what made it fun.”

She turned the cards over in her hands, feeling the old rhythm of their edges and the strange warmth of memory creeping in. The last time she’d held this deck, her hands had been larger, heavier. She had never imagined she’d touch it again.

She looked up, smiling softly. “Thank you, for all of it. The zoo, the springs, the game. You really came through.”

He shrugged again, gentler this time. “You needed it.”

“What I need is to kick your butt in seals. I’m the demons!”

“You’re on.”

They cleared the table, set the board, and drew their opening hands. For a while, conversation faded into the shuffle of cards and the easy silence of two people who had found, for once, no power imbalance, just shared activity. Every few rounds, Candy caught herself drifting back to the old nights with Greg and Marcus, laughter and rivalry and the smell of cheap cider, but the memories didn’t ache this time. They simply flowed.

***

The crystal mirrors chimed, their gilt frames warming to a soft glow as the broadcast wound down.

“And that,” The Gilded Gaggle theme shimmered faintly beneath her voice, “wraps our top ten magical weapons in the Cone,” Sylvie declared, flicking one fuzzy ear with finality. “Sharp, cursed, questionably legal… and all dangerous, obviously.”

Marionette gasped theatrically, a jeweled hand to her chest. “Obvious? Darling, I am still offended on behalf of Travis Tithe that he’s not on the list.”

Fiona didn’t even look up from her scry-tablet. “Once again, people are not weapons.”

Marionette leaned toward her, smiling like a cat that had found a loose thread. “You kidding? With everything that man’s packing? He’s more dangerous than any of the enchanted swords on that list.”

Sylvie snapped her fingers. “Marionette, do not de-sticharize people.”

Marjean slid a small plate of honey biscuits onto the desk like a peace offering. “Now Sugs, we only got five minutes left and we still gotta do this month’s birthdays.”

Sylvie exhaled, shoulders dropping back into host mode. “Right. Birthdays. Thank you, Marjean.”

She tapped the mirror with one manicured nail and smiled into the glow. “From Cleavendale, we’d like to recognize Duchess Wimbly, Sussie Sheepish, and Captain Katie Stitchwell.”

After Marjeane had read the Plumpudding birthday shoutouts and Marionette the same for Bellefemme, Sylive turned, gesturing grandly. “Take it away, Penny.”

Penny straightened, papers rustling. “Oh, um, okay. From Paddlewick, we wish a very happy birthday to Elsie Crimp, Beline Cropwhistle, and… um…” She hesitated, then smiled, just a little too brightly. “Special to me, my cousin-in-law Candy Elwood, and her cousin,” she giggled, “Cameron Alister. Happy birthday Cam!”

Marionette’s eyes lit up instantly. “Oooh. Sooo. This Cameron, he gets a special shout-out, does he?”

Penny froze, her face white, then pink. Then somehow both. “No. I mean, yes. I mean— no. I just, he’s an old friend! My cousin's best friend!”

Fiona finally looked up. “Statistically speaking, that explanation made it worse.”

Sylvie laughed, her cow ears twitching, waving a hand as the mirror began to dim. “And on that note, we’ll see you next week. Behave yourselves. Or don’t. Just don’t blame us!”

The crystal chimes rang once more, the light faded, and somewhere in Paddlewick Prime, Cameron Alister, watching through Candy Elwood’s enhanced eyes, received a birthday wish from a minor celebrity, seen by people across half the cone.

The tea house on Ribbonfold Lane was full in that polite, murmuring way that meant everyone was listening to everyone else while pretending not to. Two women sat near the window, porcelain cups steaming between them, skirts carefully arranged. One leaned in, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel private.

“Did you see that Gilded Gaggle episode last night?” she asked. “The one where Penny gave a special birthday shout-out.”

Her friend’s eyes widened. “Oh yes. Very special. Did you see how her face turned pink when Marionette called her on it?”

“She must be crushing,” the first woman said, nodding knowingly. “Lucky fellow, whoever he is.”

“What was his name again?”

“I think it was Cameron something.”

At the neighboring table, a man had been laughing quietly to himself over the evening paper. He folded it once, stood, and stepped over with an apologetic smile.

“Excuse me, ladies. Please pardon the intrusion,” he said. “But would that be Cameron Alister, by chance?”

Both women turned, surprised. “Yes,” one said. “That sounds right.”

The man held up the paper and tapped the bottom corner of a cartoon panel with one finger. The drawing showed two soldiers at the canteen, a chef and a man in the queue. The waiting man asked the chef, what are we drinking tonight? The chef replied, ‘The blood of our enemies!” The first soldier groans. “Aw, again? We had that last night!”

“Same chap,” he said. “He does these funny cartoons. See the signature?” he pointed to the bottom of the last panel.

“Cameron Alister,” the other woman read aloud. “Oh.”

They leaned closer, suddenly very interested.

“Well,” the first woman said, fanning herself slightly, “imagine that. The darling of the scrycasts and a gem of the funny papers, an item!”

“What a match,” her friend added, smiling. “If she noticed him, he must be something special. I bet he’s got a very firm hand.”

“No, a darling like Penny would want someone witty and of high station. I bet he’s a Lord with a high degree!”

The man chuckled. “Well, I’d never heard of him until a few weeks ago, but clearly he’s quite funny.”

“I know I like a funny man,” the second woman said.

“Oh, you should have seen his first cartoon,” The man went on to describe it. They all shared a quiet laugh, the kind that came from feeling briefly connected to something charming and harmless. The man asked to join the ladies at their table, and they coyly agreed. The conversation drifted to other topics: pastries, ministry rumors, a new etiquette pamphlet that no one liked. In the end, the man even arranged a date with the second lady. But the name lingered, floating through the tea house like steam:

Cameron Alister.

Across the Cone, from Cleavendale to Plumpudding, from EverGrim to Drapeville, the same scene played out, with women, men, and miscellaneous speculating on what kind of man this Cameron Alister could be that he’d earned the interest of shy good-girl Penny.

Somewhere in Paddlewick Prime, the person who used to answer to Cameron (and still would in that rare event it came up) had no idea she was being mentally paired, praised, and quietly romanticized throughout the cone, over warm cups of tea.

And deeper still, certain ministry officials took notice of the spike in interest in a man they were meant to quietly erase, and shook their heads.