Page 39 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

“Zahra,” he states, pulling me from my wicked thoughts. “I am quite serious, angel. It is among my purposes to assist you where Ash is concerned, so you don’t wear yourself out. How do we do this?”

For a guy in a tailcoat sprawled across my bedroom floor, he’s saying remarkably stable things. So, I sigh and release the doorknob. “I’ll go out and get a baby monitor tomorrow, before LARP. You can set it up so you’ll hear Ash in your room.”

“An excellent solution. May I propose implementing ittonight?”

“It’s a little late to go out right now, isn’t it? We wouldn’t be back from the twenty-four-hour Walmart until, like, one. And I just told myself I would not be ruining my sleep schedule by staying up that late.”

“I’ll pop through a trod to California. It’s still within usual operating hours out there.” He jolts upright, tosses his braid back, and stands as he pockets his phone. “Allow me ten minutes, snowflake.”

Oh, right, yeah. Magic. And magical convenience.

I keep forgetting about that stuff.

“Do you have money?” I ask.

“I have a card connected to Ollie’s bank account, courtesy of Willow. I’ll text her to let her know I’m making a VPP business-related purchase. She’s probably still up. Very bad at going to bed, that one.”

“Right-o, then. See you in a bit…”

After a surreal handful of minutes, Xios returns, sets up the monitor, kisses Ash’s forehead, and goes back to his room with a smile.

Lying in the dark, replaying the entire interaction in my brain, I decide not to cancel LARP.

Chapter 10

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Even extroverts may prefer not to deal with unexpected guests.

Despite my most estimable intentions, the Good Lord persists in His efforts to test me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such relentless attacks on my mental well-being, but here I stand, facing down yet another trial.

I am dressed as a rogue elf in a hooded cloak ready to assist a group of ne’er-do-wells in the downfall of the evil king of Ragonia.

I am holding a cheese castle I was bringing out to the obligatory snack table set up in the shade by one of the encampments in my backyard.

I am regretting all of my existence, forever and ever, amen.

Sir.

Hi, yes.

Me again, Your loving child, Zahra?

Right, yeah. You know who I am.

Even with the cloak and the boots and the face paint. You see right past the fake ears, purple contacts, and half dozen daggers. You’re cool like that.

Ha ha. Guess what Idon’tthink is cool?

This refining fire.

Something my mother never taught me growing up was toask questions. I gotWhat Would Jesus Do?The end. ’Twas the only acceptable question in the world. Beyond that, in most situations, curiosity was considered rude, but in her religious context, it was considered blasphemy. You donotquestion God. Doing so depicts an absence of faith. My mother expected my beliefs to be her beliefs—justbecause.

To her, they wereright.

Anything that didn’t align perfectly waswrong.

And wrong things?

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