Paxwood

“Have a good night, ladies.”
A good night did not start in the city hall parking lot, face to face with a massive bipedal crocodile-wolf hybrid, my only defense the chosen demon slayer Rowen Hayward, but here I was.

You’re here to learn about the people who broke the world and the people who saved it, not the minutiae of a city council meeting to discuss a property sale—especially a closed-door meeting where everyone said and did what you’d expect them to say and do. Rowen made her case; Anholts and Hugh made theirs. City council members asked a variety of questions that ranged from incredibly dumb to piercingly insightful, and the final vote would occur during the next public meeting on Tuesday, May 28th. Closed-door as it was, there were no quirky Paxwood personalities arguing that local parks should sell ham and mayonnaise sandwiches at the refreshment stands during summer little league games.

I tried not to pay too much attention to who, exactly, Char spent her time with the next day at school. (Nick, Marylee, and TJ—three scholar-athletes who somehow had the time to get straight A’s, compete dependably for their teams, and participate in the class student council. Their names were regular fixtures in the school newspaper and social media feeds. If she wanted to grow up, she could admittedly do worse.)

“I think that dog is following us.”

Char and I were meandering around the main paved loop trail in one of Paxwood’s many neighborhood parks, a perfect place for a picnic. She had a literal picnic basket. I just had a plastic grocery bag with some snacks, sodas, and a blanket.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me that there is an entire, what, plane of existence that we can experience in our dreams, and the ghosts dragged you into their literal nightmare?” Sly asked as I finished my bizarre account of the day’s experiences.

Within the dream, time had a way of blurring whenever the conversation with Bast lulled. However much time passed, my muscles didn’t grow tired, and my feet didn’t get sore. I desperately wanted to ask my mysterious dance partner a thousand questions about who he was and how he knew so much about this place, and I was running out of casual comic book material, so I asked.

While I was busy dancing in dreams in a haunted house, Rowen went to visit the Silphium Resort.

One moment, I was screaming as incorporeal forces dragged me forward, sneakers squealing on hardwood.

The next, I was standing on the threshold of a grand ball.

The voice I most wanted to hear flowed through Mx. Cardoso’s door and into my ears. I paused at the threshold, out of sight. Was Char back to school today, or was I imagining it?

The bed-and-breakfast Mx. Cardoso recommended to Rowen was on my way to school, more or less, so I swung by Tuesday morning to check on her. I wouldn’t be driving over to pick up Char—still no car—or riding my bike to Char’s to ride along with her to school, so I had to fill the time up with something.