Page 101 of Trick Knot Treat

I point.

Harry is wearing a lycra bodysuit, and it’s showing off every cake, fish stick, and coffee he’s ever had. He does not have the body of a young man any longer, but he holds himself confidently, head up, and a smile on his face. He’s got a bicycle beside him and is wearing a helmet with thin pieces of strong plastic that are about twenty centimeters long sticking straight up. The helmet looks like an echidna. Beside him is another helmet with giant googly eyes.

“Good morning, Sunshine Cove!” Betty says loudly.

Half a dozen smart asses chirp back at her. “Morning, Betty!”

“It’s afternoon, ladies,” I call out, reminding everyone.

A dozen heads whip towards me and glare.

“Ah, Clint. How delightful of you to join us! I wasn’t sure you got an invitation,” she says, trailing off and glancing around as if she’s trying to work out who betrayed her.

“Lucky for you, I am here, ready to prepare for the season’s festivities.”

She purses her lips, startled. “Um, yes, well, good. Okay, as everyone knows, it’s spring, and while spring is lovely, there is one thing that it does bring that is already causing problems for people.”

“What’s that, Betty?”

She glances at me, away, then back. I fight back laughter.

“Well, Clint, it’s breeding season.”

“Breeding season? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I turn my head slowly towards my omega. “Time to breed. Omegas, get nekid.”

Khione leans against Zaire, laughing, while Felix just slaps my shoulder.

“What’s breeding season?” Harvest asks.

“It’s when two people come together, and they start doing the horizontal mambo-”

“CLINT!”

I wince. “Ow, my ears, Betty. Why you gotta be so mean to me?”

“Breeding season is the time of year when our resident magpies breed.”

Harvest’s expression gets wary. “Oh.”

Everyone who lives in Australia knows about magpie breeding season. They are the scourge of the skies, the deadly and terrifying clack followed by a wildly aggressive hit to the head or shoulders. The relentless attack will continue until you move away from their nest.

And yet. They will pick and choose whom they attack.

“Magpies know who their friends are,” I say confidently.

“I am so glad you are volunteering to test that theory!” Betty snaps.

I raise an eyebrow, not at all scared.

“Okay, I’m going to go first,” Harry booms. “This is what we advise people to wear, especially cyclists. It is the magpie deterrent.” He holds up the spiky helmet. “This deters magpies. We hope,” he says under his breath.

“Pretty sure that’s a people deterrent!” I say loudly.

Khione grabs my hand, laughing silently. “Ow, my side. Stop, please.”

Zaire looks faint. “I’m not wearing one of those. Ever.”

Harry gets on the bike; it wobbles; the bike seat disappears between his hefty buttocks, and then he’s pedaling like a younger man, straight down the street. Five black and white blurs come out of nowhere, singing war songs and diving.