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I pulled the minivan into the driveway and hopped out. It had been one of our recent investments. Nothing is more forgettable than a nondescript vehicle in a nondescript color with tinted windows so you can't see a fugitive elf or wanted World Walker inside. Plus, plenty of seat belts for when Father Killarney, Xiaoming, Lacy, and Graham joined us. And the seats folded down for when you needed to roll an unconscious body into the back.
"Hello!" I shouted as I opened the door to my sister Mindy's house. "We're here!"
Killian and I needed to go drop off the gems with Trovac, but when faced with the wrath of an underground elfin mob boss vs. the wrath of my mom, I knew which fire needed to be put out first.
My twin sister, Mindy, and her husband, Austin, live in a gorgeous old Victorian in Pasadena. I don't know which was fancier – the gingerbread architectural details on the outside or the shabby-chic decor on the inside. If I had to describe my sister's aesthetic, it would be "poufy." Poufy chairs that you could sink into, vintage dolls and teddy bears in frothy lace, high-end antiques and high-end antique knockoffs. If décor design was food, Mindy's house would be a confectionery shop.
They have a goofy red Irish setter who was dancing around the foyer with excitement, his nails clacking on the hardwood floors. He didn't settle down until Killian gave him the proper attention. Elves and dogs have a lot in common.
That said, I'm not sure who was more excited to see us, the dog or our brownie friend, Pipistrelle.
"The great Maggie MacKay has returned! Triumphant in her victory!" Pipistrelle squeaked as his round little body skipped into the hallway with great leaps and bounds, but then pulled to a stop and narrowed his eyes at Killian. "And are you the same elf of the MacKay legends or a doppelganger come to destroy us?"
Killian held up the locket. "I am still Killian of Greenwold."
"Hip hip, hooray!" shouted Pipistrelle, jumping up to punch the sky. "All have survived the day!" The little brownie looked up at me, pleading as he clasped his hands together over his heart. "Please, may I be of assistance to the heroes of Earth and the Other Side?"
I thought quick. Not having a task for a brownie is like showing up after a business trip without a present for the kids. "My shoes sure could use a good polish," I said, pulling off my black Doc Martens.
He got so excited he forgot to breathe. If you think Khloé Kardashian has a thing for shoes, you've never seen a brownie. Their dream was to find a nice cobbler to settle down with and spend the rest of their days swimming through a pile of leather soles like Scrooge McDuck.
Pipistrelle reached out with grabby hands and clutched the dirty, worn leather to his chest like a two-year-old hauling around his favorite blanket. "Thank you. Perhaps someday I may accompany you on an adventure."
I looked at Killian. I had a tough enough time keeping the elf on the DL. Hauling around a brownie was just looking for trouble. "Um... sure?"
Killian knelt to get to eye-ish level with Pipistrelle. He gave the little brownie's baldhead a brotherly rub. Pipistrelle melted like a pug getting his ears scratched. "We would be honored to be accompanied by you anytime, my little friend."
Mindy came wobbling in from the kitchen. "Are you serious? If you steal my brownie during my third trimester, I am done with you."
Killian drew closer to Pipistrelle and lowered his voice. "But your mistress is in great need and your greatest service to Maggie and myself would be to continue to protect her when we must be away."
"Damn straight," Mindy said, giving us both the side-eye before waddling into the living room.
Killian and I exchanged a glance, both knowing how narrowly we escaped that trap.
"Good to see you, Mindy!" I shouted.
"I swear to all that is holy, if something wicked this way comes I'll feed you to the monsters myself! And take off those elf boots, too, Killian," said Mindy, coming back to wave her finger at him. "Just because they're silent doesn't mean I can't smell them. Don't go tracking ghoul guts onto my carpet. Pipistrelle just shampooed it."
"I would be happy to clean it again!" Pipistrelle piped up as he ran back from the other room, arms outstretched to take Killian's shoes in this footwear BOGO bonanza.
"Yeesh. Your chain mail is in a bunch," I said to Mindy, only half-joking.
She turned to me, a stiff smile plastered on her face. "Because you weren't here, Mom and Pipistrelle have been working hard on my baby shower. I explained to Pipistrelle the rain machine wasn't necessary, but he insisted!"
"Rain machine?"
"For the SHOWER!" Pipistrelle shouted.
Mindy looked at me like her head was going to explode.
I got the drift. I leaned over. "Maybe Pipistrelle and I can sit down and he can tell me allll the great things he has planned—"
Pipistrelle looked up at me with big watery eyes and whispered, "It would be an honor."
"—and you can go upstairs and put your feet up, Mindy," I finished, pointing toward her bedroom. Girl needed a time-out.
Mindy looked like she was going to cry. "I'm just so tired..."
"There, there..." said Killian, taking her gently around the shoulders and steering her to the stairs. "Maggie and I are on the job."
Mindy paused halfway up and turned back to us. "Maggie, Pipistrelle has already pulled together some of the decorations. Could you bring them up from the basement?"
I didn't even want to contemplate the mountain of crepe paper Pipistrelle had probably stockpiled. "I'm a dainty flower." I motioned to the oh-so-helpful Killian. "Get the big, strong elf to do it."
Killian shook his head. "I am a guest."
"Your days of being a guest are done."
Mom suddenly came into the room. Her muumuu was a swirl of fall colors and autumnal leaves that matched her orange perm.
"Maggie!" Mom chided. "Go get the box for that poor brownie. Don't make him feel bad about needing help. He has been talking all day about how much it means to him to have the Mighty Maggie carry a box up for him."
Game. Set. Match. Mom had found my kryptonite.
"Sure," I said. I pointed at Killian, "But you and me are gonna have words later, you lazy elf."
He touched his now healed ribs and winced. "Ow."
"Baby."
"Don't give that partner of yours a hard time!" Mom piled on. "He's mortal and obviously injured." She leaned in and whispered. "I can sense these things."
"Faker," I said, giving a parting shot.
"Now, why don't you come with me, dear," Mom said, herding Killian in the general direction of the dining room. "Pipistrelle has baked us a Bundt cake."
"You're gonna love it!" Pipistrelle shouted, dashing into the kitchen, dragging Killian's boots behind him like a little kid with a cape.
I sighed as they all marched forward to partake in his culinary genius.
"The faster you get those boxes, Maggie," Mom nagged, "the faster you get your treat."
Mom plays dirty.
I walked down the unfinished wooden steps and pulled on the chain to light the bare bulb. There was a washer and dryer, and tidy shelves with carefully labeled plastic bins for each of the holidays. I could hear Pipistrelle distantly exclaim something about ice cream and then footsteps as he and my mom clomped outside. Guess regular, old, naked cake wasn't good enough for Killian of Greenwold or something.
Grumbling, I could spot Pipistrelle's project from across the room. There were probably ten boxes of decor. And then he had painted a Raphaelite mural on six-feet of plywood with my sister and Austin sitting beatifically on a rocky shore as waves and a rainstorm floated in a baby in an upside-down umbrella. I realized that we probably needed to sit down and have a good talk about how babies don't come from flash floods.
But as I picked up the first box, I stopped. It felt like someone hit a drum and I was standing in the middle of it. The reverberation caused the entire room to warp and rebound. My heart caught in my throat as I ran up the stairs, tossed the décor in the living room, and tore up the steps.
Killian was fast behind me.
"What is it, Maggie?" he called.
"Mindy," I said, running two at a time.
I slid to a stop in front of the nursery, my heart pounding out of my chest. It was shut. The handle was cold. I opened the door.
Mindy stood, frozen.
She was trapped in a pool of silver light. Her hands were pressing on the bubble like Marcel Marceau doing his best mime-trapped-in-a-box gag.
"Help me," she squeaked.