Chapter 62.5: This Is Not A Joke
Marcus came in from tilling the backyard’s garden patch. He took a moment to down a glass of water and wipe his brow with his shirt, exposing his Paddlewick military sculpted abs. They glistened with sweat in a way that would have sent a wave of giggles and nudges through the Literary Society.
He stopped and stared at the mail Candy had left out on the table, then shook his head. Gods damn it, Candy, learn to put things away! A moment later, he sat and began sorting it. He liked to sort the mail the way he did everything else in life, quick and neat.
There were a few bills, one folded neighborhood announcement about hedge-trimming inspections, and a notice about upcoming bench-polish volunteer slots, written in the cheery tone of a veiled threat. Then he saw it. The Ministry envelope. His shoulders tightened before he even touched it. The wax stamp was plain, not royal. It was addressed to Candy.
He stared at her name for a second longer than necessary, then opened it. As her husband, her mail was his to open unless stamped with the Queen's seal. The paper inside was stiff and official, the ink dark and crisp, the kind of lettering that felt intimidating.
He read it once. Then again. Then a third time, slower, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something sane if he gave them enough time.
CLEAVENDALE HAS ANSWERED.
THEIR RESTORATION SPELL WILL BE SENT.
SPEND YOUR TIME UNTIL THEN DETERMINING YOUR SPIRIT ANIMAL.
Marcus lowered the letter to the table, staring off for a moment. Then he read it again anyway, because that was what you did when reality started acting like it had been enchanted by someone with poor impulse control or a bizarre sense of humor.
“What the hells does that mean?” he muttered.
He read the line again, slower. Restoration, meaning it would restore Cam’s body? So, it was, what? A detransformation spell? Like, it would undo the spell stuck inside Candy?
Was this even real? He turned it over and saw it in larger print:
“THIS IS NOT A JOKE.”
“Huh… okay then.” Cleavendale; it would seem they were the first, and so far as he knew, only nation to respond to the inquiries the Ministry had discreetly sent out in search of a cure for her.
He folded the letter carefully along its existing crease, slid it back into the envelope, and set it on the table. Candy would need to see it. He stood there for another moment, palms braced against the wood, staring at nothing. Why a spirit animal? Gods damn Cleavendale. They never did anything normal. He went back to sorting the mail. When he'd finished, he got up and stepped toward the doorway, and as he did, a single name surfaced in his mind:
Velvet Tailwind.