It could have been any of those things, really. Only the gods would know.
Maybe the people should also write a song about how Mal liked to call people while they were in the tub, ask if they were naked, tell them they were in danger, and then insist they call their boss using magic that collided so badly with Mal’s that it ended up blowing Clayton clean out of his boat, giving it yet another hole it didn’t need.
Even with spell patches, Clayton was going to be tender for days. He’d been unable to bear wearing anything other than hisrobe against his skin since the explosion. Even his abundant supply of spell patches had taken a hit due to last night's incident.
“I still think we should check and make sure Mal is okay,” Merry insisted. “If Grampy kills a superhero, he might go to jail.”
Clayton snorted. “Grampy isn’t going to jail.”
He was fairly certain that if Grampy killed Mal, the Guard would give the old man a medal. He didn’t know what Mal was, but he doubted the man was a member of the Beloved. And while it wasn’t against the law to be Benighted, the Guard didn’t generally like it when one of them was powerful and did whatever the fuck they wanted.
Their society was pretty fucked up if one looked at it too closely. Anyone who passed as a norm was free to roam around the Real as they pleased. As long as they didn’t touch the Guard’s bottom line, the Guard didn’t get involved with their activities unless asked.
The Guard wasn’t like the norm version of the law, but they were as close as the Other had to it. The Guard’s main purpose was to maintain the balance of the Real and the Dreamscape. Both relied on one another to survive, but if the veil between the two became too thin or was breached, everything would go straight to shit.
In theory, anyway. As far as Clayton knew, it never had.
So the Guard didn’t care about the little things their citizens got up to. Some guardians did, *coughcoughFirecough*, but they were a small minority.
This left the Benighted—members of the Other who couldn’t blend in well enough to avoid being noticed by norms—to be snubbed and brushed under the rug of society. What could they do? If they fought back too hard, they could be exposed to the norms, and then the Guard would get involved. And if theydidn’t have the money and connections most of the Beloved had, then they got the business end of Guard justice.
Certain assholes from the Beloved had been known to purposely frame Benighted for fun, so the Benighted went underground and stayed as far from the Beloved as they could get, and none of them crossed the Guard.
Except for Mal.
So, no, Mal wasn’t breaking Guard law by helping the Benighted with their problems, but from what Clayton had managed to gather from his discreet inquiries, he’d pissed off many of the Beloved who had members of the Guard in their pocket. It was only a matter of time before Mal popped onto the Guard’s radar.
Clayton conveniently ignored that he was a member of the Guard and that if he put forth a significant bit of effort, he had a tiny chance of becoming a guardian himself. He wasn’t sure what team he’d be a part of. Team Trash Fire, maybe. He and his team could be hero support for Fire by causing massive distractions when they needed one.
Clayton’s personal issues aside, he wasn’t bringing Mal to the Guard’s attention because everyone knew that snitches got stitches.
And maybe it wasn’t the worst thing ever that the Benighted had a champion to help them when something went pear-shaped, and they couldn’t handle it.
So why was Malhere?
Clayton stormed into the kitchen, brushing off Eira’s irritated demand that he “stop being a dumbass and sit the fuck down.”
He took in the towering monster standing in his kitchen, holding a slice of Grampy’s beetle pie in one hand and a bowl of something terrifyingly green in the other.
Apparently, Grampy had been busy today.
Clayton slapped the pie out of Mal’s hand and snapped, “Why did you come here? Did you think I couldn’t handle taking care of two children? It’s not like I don’t have help.”
Not only did Clayton have Grampy and Eira, but he also had Samantha and her companion, plus the chapter house brownie who kept sneaking nutritious meals into his bag every day before he went home. Not to mention the rest of the members of the chapter house. Every chance they got, someone was coming over to triple-check wards or give away unnecessary toys.
Clayton was doing just fine.
Mal stared at the pie on the floor with a look akin to shocked betrayal and a touch of mourning. “My pie…”
“Don’t worry, my boy, here’s another slice,” Grampy said, putting a small plate in Mal’s hand with a massive slice of pie on it.
It had little beetle legs sticking out of it, and Clayton could swear at least one of them was still kicking.
“Mfanks,” Mal said as he stuffed half of it into his mouth.
Clayton thought he saw a flash of light flicker in Mal’s eyes as he swallowed. He wasn’t curious about what Mal was. Hewasn’t.Mal could be a seven-foot-tall shapeshifting rooster for all Clayton cared.
As long as Mal wasn’t a nightmare or a demon, whatever species he was was his own business.
