I grind my teeth together, ripping the note in half, then in half again before I dump it in the trash. Then I stomp awaydown the hall to the den, where I slam the door and lock myself inside. I fall into my chair in front of the fire as my hope fully dissolves, evaporating into nothing.
I drop my head into my big, clawed hands, cutting into my own flesh.
I will not attend her stupid dinner. I will not be humored or mocked or pitied. I have nothing if not my dignity, and dignity may be all I have left.
peony
All my nerves are on high alert even though I barely slept. After the creature that I assumed to be Mr. Edgewood vanished, I used the phone in my room to call Kellen, waking him up from a dead sleep. I’d apologized profusely, trying to explain with my shaking voice what had happened.
“Fuck,” was all Kellen said before he hung up. I met him in the kitchen, the plate still smashed on the floor. He just shook his head.
“That was Mr. Edgewood, wasn’t it?” I’d asked him, just to be sure my suspicion was right.
He nodded slowly as he crouched to pick up one of the broken pieces of the plate. “Yes. Now you understand, don’t you?”
After we cleaned the kitchen together in silence, Kellen went back to bed with no sage words, no wisdom or advice. He did not comment on how I had reacted, but I could sense the disapproval rolling off him.
I’d screwed up. I’d frightened an already skittish animal, and by the hunch of his shoulders as he shut his door, Kellen didn’t seem to think there was any saving it.
But I won’t give up. Not after I saw what I saw last night.
Kellen’s right. I do understand now why Mr. Edgewood is the way he is, why he would hide a body so strange and foreign. I’d only seen parts of him, those highlighted by the light streaming out of the fridge, but it was enough.
His face was certainly not human. He had a snout of sorts, a wide one that reminded me of a lion, but scaled, like a lizard. At his throat, hair took over in a billowing mane, and the rest of his huge body was covered in thick, brown fur.
That explains the rugs.
His hands were clawed, and his feet too, with high ankles so he walked on his toes. His extremities also appeared scaled—as did his long tail.
His very,verylong tail.
I saw no more detail than that, but I didn’t need to. Everything is crystal clear now.
Mr. Edgewood hides because he is an amalgamation, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. And whatever this form is? It’s not what he’s always been. No, I get the sense from talking to Kellen about Mr. Edgewood’s past that whenever this happened to him, he became a recluse soon after.
But how did a man become a monster? I have so many questions and no answers.
When Kellen drops off Mr. Edgewood’s breakfast plate, there is no note, and the note that I left for him is gone.
I bite my lip, wondering what it means. I hope he’ll still come to dinner tonight. Perhaps now that I’ve seen him, the worst of it is over.
To distract myself, I put all my focus on making the best meal possible. My prep work last night paid off and my savory custard set perfectly. I’ll serve that before the entree—the whole fish, which I’ve already begun cooking so that I canscoop it out and make a mousse to go inside the cavity, which I’ll top with fried fish skin. Soon, I set about making my cakes, using the specialized tin we purchased yesterday, and fill each one of them with love, hoping it will make Mr. Edgewood happy after my fumble last night.
The hours pass quickly as I work, squaring away each element of the meal. I plan to bring out the appetizer in a glass dome, which I’ll fill with wood smoke before serving it.
I pause partway through the day to make lunch, a plate which also returns with no note. Perhaps Mr. Edgewood’s simply saving his words for later, when we’ll get to meet properly. No need to communicate in notes any longer.
Finally, it’s six o’clock, the time we agreed dinner was scheduled to start. I stand at the foot of the table, where three places are set—one at the head for Mr. Edgewood, one for me, and one for Kellen halfway down. I drew up a menu and set one at each plate, so they’ll know what’s in each course.
Kellen is here now, seated and waiting. Neither of us speaks.
We wait. And wait. Eventually I go back into the kitchen to turn off the smoker so it doesn’t overheat, and then I return to the dining room, hoping Mr. Edgewood will come.
Minutes tick by until it’s almost 6:30. Kellen checks his watch, then sighs and looks up at me with a pitying expression.
“He’s not going to come.”
Kellen’s words sound so final, but I don’t want them to be. I glare at him, willing him to take them back so I can still hope.
