Kandaki closed the window with a sigh

Kandaki closed the window with a sigh. Listening intently for any movement in the house, she ran a casual eye over her closet. A red sweatshirt and faded jeans called to her from their place near the door. She always hung pants and shirts together. Doing this made an already quick morning preparation even more efficient, and going through most days on little or no sleep as she did, Kandaki needed all the shortcuts on time she could get.

Padding to the bathroom, Kandaki blew a kiss to each of the two demonic looking gargoyles that flanked the door. They were obviously meant to be yard sculptures, but Mother said they were guardian spirits and more useful inside. Why Mother needed anything guarding her in the bathroom was beyond her, but Kandaki had stopped questioning Mother’s actions years ago. There was no reasoning with the insane. Besides, though disturbing, the gargoyles afforded Kandaki a degree of bathroom privacy she never before experienced. Many were the times Mother had walked in on Kandaki in the shower, and with a creaking of bones and a protesting of feathers, the girl had hidden her wings away not a moment too soon. Now, Mother had to say a creepy incantation before entering or exiting the bathroom, so Kandaki had a good three minutes to hide her strange deformity from Mother’s prying eyes.

A blast of warm water hid her full in the face, and Kandaki closed her eyes, standing perfectly still for a moment as wave after wave of blissful heat washed over her. The warmth eased away the tension in her tired muscles. She was always so sore after her night flights, but the pain was its own pleasure, telling her that she was growing stronger, better, faster. Kandaki dreamed of flying far far away, leaving the life and the people she’d known far behind her.

Only three things kept her from attempting escape. The first was that she simply was not strong enough. If she flew away tonight and never looked back, Kandaki knew she could fly far and long, but eventually, she would fall. Eventually, dawn would come and the people who would have seen a winged girl the night before and dismissed her as a lovely dream would take pictures and hunt her down. Then, they would lock her in a place where the only visitors would be people who paid to gawk in horror at the absurdity of her appearance.

The second thing that kept her earthbound was her old uncle Wyatt. At thirty-seven, he was not in fact old at all, but Kandaki had known him since she was a baby, and to her, that made him as old as Methuselah. He had a quick whit and a violent temper. Years ago, Kandaki had appointed herself his personal tea maker. A hot cup of slightly-sweetened spice tea always seemed to calm even the stormiest of Uncle Wyatt’s rages.

With his boyish good looks, Uncle Wyatt could have any woman in town, but for reasons unknown to his niece, he stayed on with Mother despite the fact that he blatantly loathed her. He loudly insulted everyone, but with Mother, Uncle Wyatt’s rage was soft and acidic, crackling in his eyes and threatening to burst from him in a shower of molten hot fury. If Kandaki left, she was afraid Uncle Wyatt would put an end to Mother once and for all. While she cared little if Mother lived or died, Kandaki did not want to think of her uncle spending the rest of his life in prison. It would kill him. Uncle Wyatt needed room to run, to take care of his animals and watch his sunsets in peace. She would not leave him to the hatred of Mother that, she was sure, would be his undoing.

The third chain upon her restless heart was one Adrian Alverez. How could she leave knowing she would never see him again? Besides, if a person as strong as he was could not escape the clutches of a thing as weak as Nora, what chance did Kandaki have of loosing Mother’s hold on her? She was no longer a child. Where once she believed in happy endings, she now knew them to be as rare and far between as rainbows in winter. Sometimes, the prisoners stayed captive. Sometimes, the villains won and all that was wrong prevailed over all that was right. For the losers, there was only one goal: to survive, and survive she would. She was not going to fade. She was not going to be pushed into the shadows forever where she would wilt away for want of sunlight. There were in life small pleasures, pleasures that would sustain her, and though survival was a minimal victory at best, it was still a victory none the less.

When the last of the suds had rolled off her hair and down the drain, Kandaki reached for her favorite body scrub and began the task of washing her body and wings. Sometimes, she wished she could cover herself with her wings, hiding from the world her small and insignificant form. She hated her body. Little breasts, little waist, little wrists and ankles all made her look like a child, fragile and easily overlooked. People were always mistaking her for a twelve-year-old when she was nearly eighteen. She hated being ugly. Wasn’t it bad enough that she was cursed with freakishly large wings? Why had the universe cursed her with an ugly body as well? She shrugged. There was no point in questioning it, no point in raging at the tapestry of injustices fate had seen fit to weave into her life.

Five-fifteen. The innards of Wyatt’s unworthy opponent lay strewn across his bedroom floor. He didn’t need to continue swinging his hammer, smashing the unrecognizable bits into dust, but it felt good to destroy something. Such an act so early in the morning almost made up for the clock’s deliberate insult of waking him up fifteen minutes late. Never mind the fact that he had more important things to do. Never mind that the racket of metal against cheep plastic would probably earn him a visit from Els. He hated that woman, hated her with the ferocity of thunder ripping through a night sky in summer. She was poison, that woman, poison to everything she touched, and worst of all, poison to that little girl she had kidnapped almost eighteen years ago. Kandaki was a blessing. She was the only goddamn thing keeping Wyatt from doing to Els what he had just done to that damned alarm clock.

Five-twenty. A loud knock jolted Wyatt from his homicidal reverie. It was Kandaki, he knew. Els always did everything so daintily, as though doing so would make him forget the disgusting lump of a woman she truly was. Oh he knew Els, knew every wrinkle and curve of her putrescent body. He had the power to make her weep, make her beg, and though he hated it, he took a twisted delight in tormenting her before spilling his seed into her as she required of him. There was no turning back, no walking away, not while Elsbeth knew his secret. He was as much her prisoner as though she had bound him in iron chains. There were some secrets worth protecting, some secrets worth giving everything for. Kandaki believed that Wyatt was her uncle. Never mind the fact that he had raised her. Els did not count him worthy of being called Father, and so the child believed he was her mother’s younger brother, too young in his mind, too dangerous to live away from the firm hand of his older and wiser sister. He had his suspicions Kandaki hated her mother as much as he did, but he could not ask her, could not risk Elsbeth overhearing such a conversation. Such indiscressions would go badly for him and even worse for her. “Yeah what,” he muttered, setting aside the hammer.

“And good morning to you, Uncle Wyatt,” Kandaki said, opening the door as its hinges creaked in protest. “Oh nooooooo,” she groaned, surveying the carpet with its contents of minced clock “not another one. What did this one do?”

“Goddamn thing woke me up late,” he said shortly.

The girl laughed, placing his tea on the night table and a kiss on his forehead. “Now, oh clock-slayer,” she said in that musical lilt that made his heart swell with pride “will you be joining us for breakfast?”

“Yeah,” he muttered into his tea cup “jus’ as soon as I take care of that stupid bird.”

The bird had been Wyatt’s long standing obsession since Kandaki was five years old. He could’ve left the stupid bird alone, could’ve gotten an hour more of sleep each night if the damned thing wasn’t always shedding all over the place. At first sight, Els had hated the bright feathers littering her perfectly manicured lawn, laying soft against the pavement and hanging precariously from the trees. She had ordered Wyatt to set a trap for the defiler of her perfect property, and he had done so half-heartedly, hoping against hope that the bird would somehow miss it. The next morning, Wyatt had taken down the trap, collecting from everywhere the beautiful plumage shed by the bird. And so it was that morning and every morning from then on.

Even in winter, Wyatt could be found collecting the feathers from the snowy landscape. Any sane person would have thought that a bird of that size would have sense enough to travel south when the weather got cold. Not this one though. Just lately, the bird had taken to leaving presents for Wyatt under the large Spruce tree at the edge of Elsbeth’s land. A shiny rock one morning, a cake of soap another. The man had no idea where the bird got half the things it was giving him, but one thing was for sure. It was like no other bird he had ever seen before, and Wyatt meant to protect it.

Taking his leave of Kandaki, Wyatt slipped out the back door. Elsbeth almost never bothered him this early in the morning, preferring instead to fill her face with all manner of pies and pastries. Wyatt hoped one day her heart would burst, but, as of yet, he had not been so fortunate. The bigger Els became, the more all-encompassing grew her powers of persuasion and intimidation. Wyatt sighed, picking feathers out of the green grass and absently tossing them in to a large burlap sack slung over one shoulder. Jumping at the low-hanging Spruce trees, Wyatt gathered still more feathers. The roof and driveway came next, and Wyatt sang softly to himself as he worked to gather the bits of beauty from their dreary backdrop.

“I want my money back! I want my money back!” Shiny things had always pleased him. As a kid, the world used to fill him with never-ending wonder. There was so much to see, so many shiny things to collect, so many solitary places he could lose himself in. Then there was school where nothing made sense and all the teachers hated him, home where his mother was drunk and his father was always gone. When Mr. John Gage did spend time at home, he never had anything but beatings and insults for his odd son with the compulsive need to collect things and the far-away eyes.

“What about love? It’s defective – it’s always breaking in half! What about sex? It’s defective – it’s never built to really last!” And then there was Lana. With her soft words and gentle ways, Lana Meran had stolen his heart completely. They had dated for two years, but when she learned she was to have his child, Lana ran from him. Six months later, Wyatt received a postcard from some tropical place telling him that the baby had been born healthy and a girl, not to worry, and not to try contacting Lana again. He had been devastated, but what the fuck could he do about it?

“What about your family? It’s defective - all the batteries are shot. What about your friends? They’re defective – all the parts are out of stock!” Els had been his friend, or so he thought back then. Short, plump, motherly Elsbeth had been the first person to show him kindness after Lana’s strange disappearance. She had cooked and cleaned for him, and he had given her the books of magic passed down to him by his grandmother. He had no use for such things, but they fascinated Els. Wyatt used to sit for hours just watching her read. After Six days into their friendship, the two had agreed to live together as a way to share expenses. She was to Wyatt the mother God had denied him growing up, and Wyatt loved her fiercely.

“What about hope? It’s defective – it’s corroded and decayed! What about faith? It’s defective – it’s tattered and it’s frayed!” One night, when the moon was full and red, Els had come to him wearing nothing but a sleeveless sheath of black silk over her plump body. The garment bore strange symbols painted thickly on the silk as if by a very small child. At first, Wyatt had laughed, thinking Els was drunk and would forget this awkward incident in the morning, but when she flew into a rage, Wyatt knew he was in more trouble now than he had ever been before. He shuddered at the memory. She had destroyed him that night, breaking his spirit and leaving his body bruised and bleeding on the bed. Els knew everything now, everything that Wyatt had only told two people in the entire world, and if he did not submit to her every demand, Elsbeth promised to use that knowledge to destroy him.

Five thirty-one. Straightening, Wyatt left the peaceful outdoors and entered once again the house of his nightmares. The air smelled of coffee, pastries and moldy towels. Wyatt hid the bag of feathers deep in his closet before making his way to the kitchen. Later, when Elsbeth’s daily demands for him had been met, Wyatt would make fans out of them. A well-crafted feather fan could be sold in town for a little over fifteen dollars, and Wyatt was grateful for the extra income. Els had him on such a tight allowance as it was.

“Good morning baby brother!” Els chirped.

“Mornin’,” he muttered, trying not to watch the woman eating what looked like half a pie. There was something strangely fascinating, he mused. Watching the massive column of chins bobbing up and down was like watching a boa constrictor eating a poor defenseless rabbit on the discovery channel. But weren’t they both just rabbits in a trap? He and that distraught little girl standing at the window were as powerless to leave as though she really was planning to eat them.

“But Mama!” Kandaki said in a plaintive little voice that pulled at his reluctant heartstrings. “I’ll fail! I spent two hours making that pie, and now I have nothing to show Miss Williams!”

“Whine whine whine!” Els said irritably between bites. “So Little Miss Overachiever gets one widdle biddy bad grade. It’s not the end of the world, you know.”

“Mama…” the girl began.

“Honestly, Kandaki!” Els cut her off. “You go on and on acting like the world owes you something, and people like me, people who love you, are gonna set you up for a little fall now and again.”

“All I need is a note, Mama,” Kandaki said, turning from the window to face her mother. “Miss Williams says…”

“Miss Williams says, Miss Williams says,” Els mocked in a high-pitched singsong voice. “Well I’ll tell you something, little miss perfect! I don’t give a flying fuck what Miss Williams says! And another thing…”

CRASH!! A large crystal teardrop separated its self from the gaudy chandelier, falling to shatter on the mahogany tabletop. The pie plate soared in to the air, capsizing on the top of Elsbeth’s long graying mass of hair. Wyatt dropped the box of cereal he was holding, falling with it to the floor as fits of laughter took him. There she was, the all-mighty fat queen with her crown of cherry pie.

If Wyatt was some kind of hotshot historical painter, he would have captured Els just this way. Whipped cream fell down her hair in great tears that oddly matched what remained of the chandelier. The large serving fork, still poised n her hand, could pass as a scepter, and the faded pink bathrobe she wore could pass as her royal garment. At her feet, Cresceda sat lapping up what pie fragments fell to the cheap linoleum. Being pregnant with her third litter of kittens, Cresceda was as engorged as her mistress. Her beady green eyes were always slanted in a way that seemed to Wyatt both malicious and calculating. Until Cresceda, Wyatt had never met an animal he didn’t like. Now though, with pie clinging to the whiskers of both cat and woman, he couldn’t help but be glad the black feline was there to complete the absurd picture.

Kandaki stood frozen in horror. Her wide eyes scanned the damage in disbelief, holding Wyatt’s gaze as he looked at her through streaming eyes. He breathed deeply, stemming at last the tide of mirth.

‘I’ll write you a damn note,” he said, rising to his feet. “Jus’ go ‘n git your school stuff and meet me in the truck in twenty-three minutes, will you?”

Kandaki nodded, walking mechanically back to her room. The kid was devastated. Any idiot could see that. “Didja have to go and do that?” he asked once Kandaki was out of earshot.

“I, didn’t, do, it!” Elsbeth spat at him, pronouncing every word like a sharp spike against his ears. “It was Them again. Wyatt, the spirits of this house are displeased. You were here! You saw them!”

“I, wasn’t, talkin’, ‘bout, that, Elsbeth,” Wyatt replied slowly. “What I meant was, why’dja go and eat her home economics project? That was a shitty thing to do.”

“I was hungry,” she said petulantly. “It was food. I ate it.”

Wyatt sighed. There was no getting through to her, but god damn it if he wouldn’t try to make up to Kandaki her mother’s mistakes.

The ever-brewing pot of tea was one of the many small luxuries Jenny Revara afforded herself. Pouring a large cup to brimming with the already sweetened tea, she smiled to herself, looking around the small bakery she had helped to open and now ran. How she loved this place. With its homey atmosphere and upbeat staff, it seemed to her a little piece cut from the fabric of heaven itself. Baking was one of her four greatest passions in life, and here, she reveled in the love she felt for pastries and customers alike. They were always coming to her, these people with their empty stomachs and bored expressions, but when they left, they too seemed as relaxed and content with life as she.

Who could ask for more than what had been given to Jenny Revara? With her loving husband and two adorable wee ones, she was the luckiest woman who ever danced among flowers or gazed at the setting sun. Richard was a piano instructor, his passion for his music and his students equaling hers for baking. He did not like conducting lessons from home, but someone had to stay home with the baerns, to nurture them and guide their little feet until they were of an age for school. To live in a manner the silly man was accustomed to, the Revaras needed two steady incomes, and so it was he of extravagant tastes, not her with simple ones, whose job it was to watch those beautiful babes till work was done and Mama came home to help him.

He was a good man, a wonderful father and so good with his hands. She shuddered with pleasure at the memory of those hands caressing her body. Last night had been beautiful and full of deep love. He had rolled over her like waves over the shore, and she had clung to him, greedily taking in all of him until shuddering in exquisite pleasure, they lay replete in each other’s arms.

One of her many timers jangled, gently pulling Jenny from sweet recollections. She sighed, pulling on her oven mitts and bending to pluck the steaming cherry pies from the heat. Setting pie after pie to cool on a large rack, Jenny walked to another counter where a row of bunt cakes waited for their turn in the large shining oven. The oven was Jenny’s pride and joy. It could hold ten pies at a time and, being as light of foot and nimble of finger as she, this suited her perfectly.

Twin bolts of agony shot down the length of her spine, and Jenny fell to her knees. Rising shakily, she reached her hands to the ceiling, stretching her back as long as it would allow. It hurt her so, and Jenny could not imagine what had caused such an injury. Richard said she had not suffered any injuries in her schooldays, or in the five years of their marriage lost to Jenny by the fog of amnesia that clouded her mind. It was strange having no concept of her past. Jenny had a large capacity for patience and love, and according to a book she’d read somewhere, this meant her childhood had been a happy one.

Richard said they had dated all through high school, that their wedding had been spectacular, and that their first child had been still-born. Jenny guessed that would be enough to send anyone into hysterical amnesia. She could not imagine losing Jamie or Cassie in that way. Even as they grew inside her, Jenny’s heart soared with love for them. They were perfect, two living, breathing miracles conceived by love and endowed with souls. Hysterical amnesia. That’s what the doctors called it. Hysterical, memory loss caused by trauma or an extreme mental breakdown.

The elastic band holding her high bun in place snapped, and Jenny reached frantically to keep the cascading curls from tumbling down, but to no avail. Richard used to love it when she would wear her hair down, but now he preferred it up, and she did so hate to disappoint him. She wondered if Richard was disappointed by her failure to remember. She tried every day to remember something, a phrase, an image, but it had been twelve years, and so far, the fog was as prevalent as ever. Richard said she had changed after the baby died. She had been happy, but now she seemed lost and somehow older. She didn’t know whether the absence of memory was to blame or if upon its death, the wee one had taken a piece of her soul, her happiness with it.

The little bell hanging from the door knob tinkled merrily, and Jenny spun to face her first customer of the day. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, hoping he would not notice her unruly mass of hair.

“Mornin’,” the man replied. “Got any cherry pies?”

The man was tall and heavily muscled with intelligent eyes of deep brown that seemed to bore into her. His hair was black and windblown, falling just past his broad shoulders in a thick curtain. Seeing him alone on the street would have been unnerving, but here, in the sanctity of this safe-haven, Jenny was ashamed to admit to herself, the man intrigued her.

“Well now,” she said smiling “you happened to come at an excellent time. I just baked a batch of pies.” Walking to the rack, Jenny selected a particularly decedent confection before spinning back to lay it in the man’s waiting hands. Her untidy hair spun with her, rapping itself around her body like a red serpent. Jenny blushed, her creamy complexion turning as crimson as her hair. She brushed it away hurriedly.

“How much’ll that be?” he asked.

“Fifteen dollars,” she replied. “Will there be anything else?”

The man looked thoughtful. “Yeah. Pack up two maple bars and two hot cocoas to go.?

She nodded, bagging the pastries and pouring the steaming drinks into insulated paper cups. “Another eight dollars,” she said brightly.

He paid her the money in exact cash, gathered his things and disappeared back out the door. That was strange. Every other customer Jenny had ever served had always said goodbye. She waved at him through the window, and he turned, waving back in kind before jumping in to his badly beat-up vehicle and rumbling away. Fleetingly, she wondered if she would ever see again the handsome stranger with his love for maple bars and cherry pie. She could place him, couldn’t explain why, but the man seemed oddly familiar to Jenny, like they were longtime friends reunited after years away. It was nothing, and her decision to forget it was punctuated by the tinkling of the little bell announcing her next customer.

Kassy rolled from bed with a sigh. She had been having the most incredible dream about making love to Richard in an Italian villa, but her alarm clock was immune to such things. It didn’t care about beautiful men with silken hair and soft gray eyes. It cared nothing for the romance of Italian luxury or the pleasures shared by man and woman in the dark.

Irritably, she turned the clock off before stocking to her wardrobe. The girl in the mirror looked tired and sleep rumpled with large rings beneath her bright green eyes. Kassy smiled at her reflection, swaying slightly to an imaginary beat. Lazily, she began sliding the nightgown off her left shoulder, a strip tease coppied exactly by herself reflected. She flipped her hair, pouted her lips, half-closed her eyes, all the time swaying, twisting, gliding the material down her luscious form. She loved her body, shapely thighs, ample curves, small perky breasts, perfect.

Stepping from the puddle of French silk at her feet, Kassy entered the wardrobe, selecting from it a pale pink gown embroidered by finely stitched little stars. Exiting the wardrobe, Kassy shut the double doors softly behind her. Next, she walked to her large dresser, selecting from the top drawer her favorite bra and panties. They had been a present from her grandma last year on just this day. Grandma didn’t know she had given the girl such extravagant pieces of underclothing, but that was the beauty of expensive gift cards. After all, what was the point of looking her best if she didn’t feel her best.

The two piece set was the sexiest of its kind Kassy had ever seen. Embroidered with roses and country hearts, the red silk with lace accents almost shimmered when the light caught it. She twirled, raising her arms above her head to better admire the way the bra and panties looked on her. The red looked good against her skin, as pale and delicate as the petal of a rose, and the eyes of the girl in the mirror flashed with the light of mischief. How deliciously naughty she felt in her scant garments! But there was no more time for dawdling. Father expected her down for breakfast in an hour, and there was still hair and make-up to be done. She slipped the dress over her head just as her cell phone rang from its place on the night table. Kassy caught it, flipping it open. Since Father decided who had access to Kassy’s private number, the girl knew her morning caller could be one of five people. It was either father calling to say he had gone early to the office, Mr. Wiggleby, her tutor, Catherine, his annoying daughter, Grandma, or, hope of all hopes, Richard.