Aiden’s chatter lasts for the next ten minutes while I mix and stir the various ingredients I can find scattered around. I have no idea what country their brown sugar is from, and I had to taste-test it on my finger to make sure it actually was brown sugar, but it was delicious. Other than that, I didn’t have much issue finding the ingredients.

                I pour the mixture into a nine-by-thirteen and slide it into the oven.

                “Gah!” I yank my hand back, taking a step away from the oven. “Goddammit.”

                “Hmm?” Aiden looks up from the newspaper he’s taken to reading, telling me about all the current events going on. “Oh, here.” He stands up, pushing away from the countertop. The legs of his stool create a screech that hurts my ears more than the oven did.

                Walking over to me past the kitchen island, he pulls a roll of gauze out of… somewhere, with one hand, the other producing a tube of bacitracin.

                “Be more careful,” he scolds me lightly as he applies the bacitracin to my palm. “Ovens are hot, I thought you would have known this.”
                I just blush, not saying anything as he delicately handles my burnt palm.

                “Aaand… there we go.” He finishes wrapping my burn with a flourish, and my palm already feels remarkably cooler as I stand there in marvel. This is a dude with many skills.

                “Now tell me,” he says with a shake of his head “What are you making that requires you burn yourself?”

                “Uh,” I take a moment. “Well, the oven is hot. I can burn myself with anything in it.”

                “Yes,” his voice is somewhere between sarcastic and impatient. “But you don’t need to like you did here.”

                I don’t answer, choosing instead to stand there, flexing my hand. I close my eyes and ignore him, the coolness of the bandage on my hand a heavensend.

                And by the gods, does he smell good. Like a meadow after it rains.

                “Boys!” A shout comes down from upstairs. “Come up here!”

                I open my eyes. Aiden’s head is cocked, listening to the voice yelling from upstairs.

                “Set the timer,” he nods at the stovetop. “There’s a timer on it, you’ll figure it out.” He turns and walks up the stairs without another word. I’m left holding my freshly bandaged hand, staring at the stove top.

                Thankfully, it only takes a moment to get a timer going for another forty-five minutes. Hopefully the Grannies don’t talk for that long.

                I head upstairs and brace myself for whatever list of rules or chores the Grannies have prepared for me – A new family and new house is always filled with new rules and new chore lists. I feel like the “chores” are often pointless and more of a way to keep me busy while they try and figure me out.

                I make it to the top of the stairs and glance at the room – Aiden is sitting on the couch, legs crossed with his phone out, ignoring the world as only a teenager knows how. Of the three Grannies, only two are present – Ms Little is sitting at the desk, the chair swiveled around to look at the couch. I suspect that is her spot, and where she makes her announcements. Hong stands by the window, eating a bowl of what looks to be pudding, ignoring the world in a way only an old person knows how.

                “Markus,” Ms Little’s smoker’s voice greets me with a rasp as I enter the living room. At the sound of my name, Aiden pats the couch next to him, his attention still on his phone screen.

                “Hi,” I say weakly, with an equally unimpressive smile. I clear my voice, then speak again. “Hello, Ms Little.”

                Ms Little doesn’t smile.

                On the other hand, Aiden does, so not a lost cause. I take a seat next to him, his shoulder touching mine.

                Ms Little starts with no preamble.

                “Diana has expressed her wish that you begin schooling as soon as possible, in order to prevent any lapse in education. Why she thinks you’d experience a lapse in education under this roof is lost to me, but I have been told to inform you that classes start in…” she looks down at her watch, her eyes squinting. Her glasses remain nestled in her hair. “Four days, at 9 AM, Monday morning.” She looks up, and her sharp eyes meet mine. I wither inwardly, but try and keep my spine straight. It really doesn’t work.

                “Whether you ultimately attend public or are homeschooled is irrelevant to me – I leave the choice up to you, as does Diana, although she has expressed explicit desire that you be homeschooled for at least a month prior to attempted integration into public school.”

                I swallow once, bile in the back of throat as nerves begin to bubble in my stomach. Attempted integration – Diana has told them all about my last attempt at public school.

                “In other news,” she continues without hint of any knowledge she may have on me, “Veronica and Black Feather have agreed to interview you for a position at the Jubilee.” She holds a finger up sharply, looking at me square in the eye. I don’t even bother trying to sit up straight this time. “Mind you, this is only an interview. If you don’t impress Veronica in the interview, the job will not be yours.” She waggles her finger at me. “This family is not in the habit of granting favors and boons for the simple act of living under this roof – you must prove yourself before we can help you.”

                Her wording is strong, and my stomach is not. I nod once, not willing to speak. Either she doesn’t care if I hear or she sees more than she lets on, because she nods once and gets up from her chair.

                Contrary to how she sits, Ms Little does not have a weak back. She stands up tall, her back straight as a board. Throwing her quilting over a shoulder, she shuffles to the small hallway on the landing and presses her hand against the wall – after a moment, a quiet ding! sounds and the wall opens.

                My eyebrows raise in surprise as I see the elevator open in the far wall, hidden cleverly as nothing more than a piece of blank wall. Ms Little steps in, quilting already in hand, then disappears into the depths of the house. Likely going upstairs, to whatever may be up there. I haven’t actually seen a staircase going up there yet.

                “Three days, twenty two hours, fifteen minutes… and counting,” Hong says suddenly from her corner. Aiden bursts out laughing, dropping his phone without a care.

                I look at them, bewildered.

                Aiden puts his hand on my shoulder (which immediately lights up like a fire as he touches me) and pokes my forehead. “Ms Little asked if any of us had seen her reading glasses a few days ago,” he gasps out in-between spurts of laughter. “Hong and I said nothing and apparently Black Feather didn’t either, so Ms Little has been looking for her reading glasses for days.”

                He leans back against the couch, the echo of his merriment going on far longer than it should in the confines of the house. His hand slides down my arm, clutching my forearm as he laughs.

                Hong looks at me over the top of her glasses, a smile playing around her wrinkled cheeks. I smile, unsure of what to say or do, but she just breaks out into a great big grin and chortles.

                “The cats really do got your face tongue, Markus!” She booms out, and I feel my cheeks burn as I smile at her merriment.

                I don’t say anything, but I don’t have to. Aiden grabs my arm and stands, pulling me with. “Markus was making something in the kitchen, so we’re going back there,” he announces to Hong. She nods, then turns back towards the wide windows of the living room wall, her smile vanishing as she turns, replaced by a deep look of thought.

                Aiden pulls me downstairs, not letting go of my arm as he races downstairs. “I don’t know what the hell you’re making,” he says as go downstairs. “But it smells like cinnamon and sugar!”

                “There’s still a good half hour left on the timer,” I protest as he pulls me down the stairs. “What’d’ya want to do, sniff the air and sit here?”

                He pulls me over to the dining room bar, pushing me down into one of the barstools. “It smells incredible,” he sighs with an air of contentedness. “I don’t know what it is, but I already want some.”

                “Oatmeal, mostly,” I answer his somewhat-unspoken question. “Do you have vanilla ice cream?”

                He shakes his head. “Nah, but there’s some down at the Jubilee if you wanna go get some.”

                I cock my head at that. “Will that be ok?”

                He gives me a blank look. “Why wouldn’t it?”

                “I…” I don’t answer, trailing off instead.

                “I’m guessing you have a history of running away?” Aiden questions with remarkably less gusto than a few moments before.

                “I…” I stumble. “Yeah.”

                He shakes his head. “Most guys who end up here have a history of running away, but they come here for a reason.”

                “What’s that?”

                “To put it bluntly, running away from here would nearly be a death sentence.” His face gives me a grimace. “We’re at least an hour away from the nearest large city, and there’s a lot of unexplored forest surrounding us. Even the Grannies don’t go further into the forest than they have to.”

                “Has anyone ever… tried?”

                He frowns outright. “I’m not supposed to say, but if it keeps you close by, I’ll tell you.” He leans closer to me, his voice quieter. “There was a kid who ran away when the Grannies first started taking in foster kids – Far as I heard, he didn’t make it far. He was found shivering, half dead, down by the river.”

                “That sounds awful.”

                “Yeah,” he agrees. “But the Grannies don’t talk about him. I barely got Hong to tell me about him.”

                “Why?”

                He shakes his head. “Black Feather is the reason on this one, and she doesn’t talk to anyone. She took him herself to the hospital and never spoke of him again.”

                “Black Feather?”

                “Oh, right, you haven’t met her yet,” he voice has mild surprise in it. “Usually she introduces herself and then kids never see her again, but she hasn’t made an appearance for you yet. Weird.”

                “Huh,” is all I say.

                He’s quiet for a few minutes after this, apparently not sure what to say. I can’t help but agree – I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, and I’ve never been a talkative person.

                More of a doer, honestly.

                “You said you needed ice cream, right?”

                I startle at his question, surprised by the sudden break in the silence. “Ye-yeah.”

                He stands up, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me out of my seat. “Come on,” he says. “If you try and run, I’ll push you over.”

                I raise an eyebrow at him; He smirks, then turns up the stairs.