V. H. King's Ink

“Oh, I didn’t know Marla had been expecting!  Congratulations!”

“What?”

“Henry told me about the baby!”

“What ba—oh, yes!  Thanks!”

I duck my head, embarrassed that I can’t tell the truth.  Or that I can’t lie so easily.  I’m supposed to be a trickster, but I’m new at this.  Like, really new.  Vern pats my shoulder.

“Hey, it’s a big step, okay?  Take it one day at a time.”

“Thanks, Vern.”

This I say with more sincerity, because I definitely needed that advice.  I think everything is about sincerity.  Sincerely meaning what you say, regardless of what other people think you mean.  That’s where things get tricky. 

I blink as a realization strikes me.  See, I said I would take this woman’s baby in exchange for eternal youth.  But I never said I wouldn’t give the baby back.  Genius!  My grin widens, and I turn back down the hall.

It’s too late to ask what I should do with the little one.  The young woman didn’t want to be a mother, but I never thought to ask what she would need an eternity of youthful looks for.  Maybe that’s none of my business, motivation and such.  It’s her choice, after all. 

In my apartment, I go to where the little one is bundled in blankets.  Their little legs kick and they wriggle against the fabric, but they’re smiling.  I think that’s a smile?  It’s hard to tell, when their eyes are glowing red.  Those weren’t like that last night. Hm. 

“Are you allergic to something?” I ask.  “Are you itchy?”

“Who are you talking to?”

The door creaks open and then shuts.  I freeze, scooping the baby into my arms and holding the bundle to my chest. 

“What?” 

I’m bad at lying, remember?  This time it doesn’t matter though, because Marla keeps talking.

“I saw Vern just now and he said I looked good—which is weird, because I’m pretty sure I look the same as I always do?  And why would he say that anyway?  Like, does that mean I normally look not good?  I have questions.”

“I always have questions with Vern.”

Like how he manages to know so much about everyone’s business.  He has a knack for the absolute worst timing too.  I was hoping I would figure out what to do with the baby before Marla got back from her own deal.  She’d said it would take her three days, and it’s only been two. 

“You’re back early,” I say, still standing with a bundle strapped to my chest like a bomb.  “How were things?”

“Henry said there was an emergency and SOS’d me back here, ASAP.  So what’s up?”

Oh. 

“Um—“  I blink, looking down at the bundle and back at Marla.  “We have a baby.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know?”

“Is this like a temporary custody thing, an every-other-weekend thing, what?”

“You’re not mad?”

“It was part of a deal, right?”

“Yes?”

“You were doing your job.”

“I guess this is a whole new meaning of taking work home with you, huh?”

“Everyone does it sometimes.”