Page 25 of Moon Tamed

Having met the vet, an older man who lived to help animals, I could imagine some of the horrible names leveled my father’s way. “Angel of Birds?” I guessed.

“Close. The Heavenly Provider of All Bird Kind. It was hard not to laugh at him. I swear, we shouldn’t have taken you to the vets to see how pet care works at an impressionable age. You learned to give pets weird names from him.”

As I couldn’t dispute his claim, I shrugged. “I can be sensible about naming my pets. I changed Lucky’s name once I realized why he was here and not on Earth.”

“It is rare for you to show such common sense,” my father teased.

I suspected the pens had been already ready to roll except for linking them together, as Peter returned and said, “I’ve been told I need to grovel for forgiveness for wagering your freedom.”

I loved my family, but they needed to be put in time out. Was he seriously implying I wanted an apology for having been sold out? “Calden, please tell my brother I want to go camping, gear is being provided, and I’m getting a whole week to hunt, read, and cook.”

Maybe he could talk sense into my family.

“I think she wants you to play me for a second week of camping, reading, and cooking with a side of hunting at her leisure.”

I engaged my brother in staring contest, pressed a finger to his chest, and ordered, “Lose.”

My parents observed with raised brows. Heaving a sigh, Peter bowed his head and held out his hand. While Calden struck with the speed of a snake, he gave my brother’s bruised knuckles a light tap. “We’ll pretend that was a fierce battle, as we wouldn’t want to annoy Coraline.”

“Annoying Coraline is never wise,” my brother agreed.

I rolled my eyes. “When don’t you annoy me?”

“When I’m sacrificing my pride so you can go camping. Dad’s going to kill me.”

Our father, who’d witnessed the whole thing, said, “There are three children in the same room, and it’s quiet. What are you doing? Coraline, you go first.”

Why was my father using the absent parent approach when he’d witnessed the entire exchange? I would never understand my parents, as my mother had joined him in shooting disapproving looks our way. But if they wanted us to play at being naughty children, I would enjoy my part more than I should. “Peter lost another game of knuckle slap against Calden. He tried to buy back my freedom, but it looks like I need to go camping for two weeks now. Calden took Peter out like a broken-legged doe.” I faked a sniff. “It was just shameful.”

“Peter?”

“It’s true. I lost horribly.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself, Calden?”

The Hunter shrugged. “I’m good at this game, she likes to hunt rabbit, and I have an unlimited license this year. Can we play again? I could use good company at home cooking rabbit with me. I hunt at least three times a week.”

As we were playing the game where the absent parents were catching children in the midst of causing trouble, I faked calling out, “Mom, Peter’s about to break his hand.”

My mother rolled my eyes. “All right. I’ll referee.”

With my future happiness secured, I handed Marigold off to my mother, pleased I’d escaped any messes, and went to handle dinner, pausing in the hallway to say, “Don’t forget to make sure all the babies are put away in their appropriate places before you play.”

With a little luck, the kittens would help distract everyone, too. The longer they remained occupied, the longer I would have alone in the kitchen.

I lacked the time to properly brine the turkey, and as I wanted to serve dinner sometime that night, I needed to use every trick I had, including one stolen from a witch. I raided my mother’s spices, stole a shameful amount of butter, and mixed everything together with some salt. Rather than shove my hands under the turkey’s skin, I’d use a hint of magic to do the work for me. Arming myself with a toothpick, I dotted the mixture onto the bird, slid the bowl closer, and braced for the ridiculousness of the incantation, which married magic and intent in culinary matrimony.

It worked, which was all that mattered.

“You shall be delicious.”

One day, someone might learn how or why magic often generated light when used, but within a golden luminescence, the bowl emptied, the mixture coated the entire bird, and a thick layer manifested between skin and meat. With the critical work accomplished without having to take the slimy, hands-on approach, I began the next phase of my preparations.

I stole from my mother’s root vegetable box, cleaned enough to feed the entire horde, and tossed as much as would fit into the bottom of the pan. The rest would roast later in a second dish. An orange and a lemon, cut into quarters, went into the turkey’s cavity along with an onion and some garlic.

The whole lot went on an adventure into the oven with an aluminum tent to cook. I set the temperature and timer before cleaning up the evidence of my mischief.

As hoped for, my family waged a knuckle slap war against the Stephans. My brother’s hand would never be the same. They’d released the kittens into their pens, but all of them slept.

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