Like every spring since the settling of Tinkerton, it came; a black rippling cloud that followed in the wake of the final frost. Thousands upon thousands of locusts would swarm to feast upon the tender shoots of this year’s harvest.
That’s how Richard Sloan saw it anyway. Like the predictability of the swarm of locusts, he too, was there bright and early the day after the final frost. In all actuality, the whole thing seemed utterly mundane to him. It was the same cycle year after year. When the swarm was close enough to hear, Sloan lifted his flute to his mouth, took a deep breath and began to play.
The warmth of his Talent spread through his body as he played the ancient tune. He urged the feeling of the music towards the mass of insects with all his will. When they were close enough, they followed Sloan’s coaxing towards the barren fields, named for the effect the locusts had on them; but the town had deemed the sacrifice of these few fields worth keeping the farmers’ crops safe. Time trickled on as the bugs kept coming, only to be redirected to their new home, or cage if you wanted to be truthful, where they would live out their lives trapped by Sloan’s Talent…or that was the theory anyway. Sloan was only strong enough to coax the insects rather than properly control them. When the last insect was lured, he stopped playing. With a self-satisfied smile, Sloan slipped his flute back into the holster strapped to his belt. The smile only lasted until he took a step and staggered, landing exhaustedly on his rump in the grass.
“Overdid it again, huh?” Came the gravelly voice of the farmer whose field he was in. Face burning from embarrassment, Sloan didn’t feel the need to look up. In an attempt to save face, he wiped his sweaty black hair off his forehead.
“Here.” The man offered. Sloan tilted his head up to see the weatherworn smiling face of the farmer as he held out a canister of water. Thanking him, Sloan took a sip of the warm water. He must have made a face because the farmer gave a chuckle.
“None of that.” The man chided. Sloan refused to look at him. No one needed to know how truly embarrassed he felt. Another year’s worth of practice for naught again. Out of the twenty-eight years he spent, thirteen years of it was wasted effort. Ever since the day he discovered his Talent he strove to improve but now it seemed like it had all been a futile effort. ‘No use moping about it now.’ Sloan thought as he squared his shoulders. Confident that he wouldn’t faint now, the music Talent dusted off his knees while he stood up. Still finding any excuse not to look at the man, Sloan pulled out his pocket watch to feign that he had a full schedule for today and was not to be held up.
“Now finish off that water, ya hear? The extra minerals will help replace what you lost sweatin'.” Sloan gave a half-hearted nod. Roward knew everything there was to know about water, that’s why his family owned the wealthiest farm for miles around. Makes sense that a Grade A Talent would produce a Grade A farm.
“I have excellent news!” Roward exclaimed. Sloan didn’t reply, instead he got up to head back towards the city. Taking this as a sign to keep talking, Roward proceeded to follow Sloan up the gravel path. Reason number one why Sloan hated talking to people: he loathed small talk, especially when it came down to people bragging about how Talented their offspring were. Or worse, asking when Sloan was going to have children of his own. That last question always stung; he and his wife Phyllis had tried for many years and it seemed that they just weren’t meant to be blessed with a child of their own.
“Me and the Missus have saved up enough money to send Ruby to Amoria,” Roward smirked. Sloan blinked, as he realized that the farmer was still talking and then rolled his eyes as what had been said processed. A tiny, corn spun girl like that would be eaten alive in a large city like Amoria. Ruby may be Talented, but she wasn't a Grade A. She might want to reevaluate even packing. The City of Amoria was Grade A from the walls to the people milling inside. Everyone there took such great pride in themselves in being the most Talented city in the world that they made life miserable for the less Talented. Those not up to Grade eventually left the city. Amoria had a reputation to keep after all.
“Amoria, eh? What? Chef Syria not good enough for yah?” Sloan teased. With a proud smirk and a careless wave of his hand, Roward kept talking.
“She’ll be fine. Besides ya ever heard of the sayin', ‘Shoot for the moon and even if you miss you can catch a falling star’?” Roward asked. Sloan almost vomited at those words.
‘Hokey phrases from hokey people too blind to see the truth.’ he thought bitterly. Life on the bottom of the social totem pole had made Sloan a hardcore realist, though many simply pegged him as a cynic. The cold truth is hard for some to swallow.
‘At least she can come home to daddy and mommy when she fails.’ Sloan thought with equal bitterness. Once Mandatory Basic Learning was completed, Sloan’s family had thrown him to the real world. To this day, he still had the bags his oh so loving father had shoved all his worldly possessions in before tossing them onto the street along with his only son. The bags were one of the only things his father had ever given him.
'Well, that wasn’t entirely true.' he thought as he slid the second-hand flute back in its holster strapped to his leg. That had been the first; even if it was required by the government that parents provide their children with whatever was necessary for them to learn how to harness their Talent.
From his back pocket, Sloan fished out his workbook. In place of gold or paper money, the government issued a book to record his jobs. Everyone was issued one, filled with blank ledger pages for people to write down jobs they were commissioned for. Once the job was completed, the person who had contracted them for it stamped over the hand-written request of services. Once a month people would approach City Hall for their fair share of earnings. After housing payments and other taxes were deducted, people could receive a credit to spend on other purchases.
This month Sloan’s book was looking depressingly bare. Again.
“So you and the Missus going to be expecting soon?” Roward asked, nosing about in business that wasn’t his, as usual. Quickly finding Roward's request on page three Sloan was eager to end this conversation.
“When it happens. Stamp here please.” Sloan instructed, holding open the book for stamping. Roward made a show of patting himself down before admitting he left his stamp inside. Sloan’s eyes narrowed as the farmer went to go retrieve the stamp from the house. Slightly annoyed at the fact he would not get home as quickly as he had promised Phyllis, he followed the Water Talent towards the house. Sloan waited outside while Roward went to get his stamp. While waiting, he looked up at the town he lived in; Rowan’s farm was nestled in a little valley just north of the hustle and bustle of the city.
“Here ya go.” Rowan greeted, holding up the stamp to show Sloan. With a smile, he stamped the book so Sloan could be on his way. “I’ll contact you again if any more of those buggers try to eat the crops." Sloan gave a wordless wave before climbing the steep incline into the city.
Right hand dipped into his right pocket, Sloan ran his fingers over his pocket watch. It was a small plated pocket watch covered in minuscule dents and various scratches. His heart sank a little, it may have been a cheaply made piece of machinery but it was passed down to him when he finally discovered his Talent. His father decided he would get a hand-me-down rather than buying Sloan a new one. Still warm from his body heat, Sloan popped open the lid to read the time. Annoyed, he read nine forty-three under the lightly scratched surface. Not even lunchtime and he was already exhausted. Taking some frustration out on the watch, he snapped it closed before shoving it back into his pocket. Upon seeing the midmorning rush of people, Sloan chose not to bother taking his hands out of his pockets. Walking through Grade D sector always made him nervous. There were a lot of...desperate types loitered around the lower Sectors.
Whether Tinkerton was originally built to physically separate the different Grades of Talent, Sloan would never know. What he did know was the town was carved out of the very bedrock of a mountain. Sandy brownstone echoed the sounds of people making their way about their daily business. Squaring his shoulders, Sloan joined the crowd headed towards the market. Several Mineral Talents mended cracks along the roads and walls of dwellings. There were no houses in this part of town, not by the typical definition of the word anyway. The dwellings on this level were simply one large room that you would squeeze your entire family inside whether it was a family of two or ten. Closer to the highest point in Tinkerton, the elitist Grade Bs and As dwelled. Free to touch the sky while the majority shuffled through the dirt.
‘Just like rats.’ thought Sloan, as he turned down the lane towards the market sector where his family’s store/home was.
Not that anyone in Tinkerton knew how rats lived, or any other animal for that matter. All animals, even pets, were barred from the city. 'Anyone actually living with an animal inside their house might as well live in a barn.' Was a common answer when asked why that is. So why would a Music Talent whose specialty was influencing only animals living in a city where they were forbidden? The answer was a dirty secret. Even the nicest, cleanest town still needed pest control occasionally. Besides, Sloan never had a reason to leave the only place he’d ever known.
With skills that only someone who had lived in close spaces for years could possess, Sloan dodged through the crowd towards the Marketplace. A small smile flitted across this face as his beloved wife came into view.
Near the entrance of a six foot by six-foot market place stall, perched on a stool, was Phyllis Sloan. Phyllis Sloan, who’s kind and sweet nature was only matched by the fierceness of her Sewing Talent. Though meeting her you'd think she was a bit of doormat. On more than one occasion, Sloan had received accusing looks when Phyllis turned to him for every little thing. It wasn't his fault too many choices flustered the poor woman. She was currently sitting in the middle of a mass of fabric and half-made outfits in a rainbow of colors. Her freckles that browned her cheeks were flushed pink by the warmth of the day. She gazed listlessly out into the crowd whilst directing some small modicum of airflow towards her with a handheld fan. When she stopped fanning, the loose auburn strands that were dancing in the breeze settled around her face softly.
“How goes saving the town going around naked?” Sloan asked, leaning against one of the poles holding up the awning. Phyllis gave a light chuckle before replying.
“Oh hush. Mr. Save-the-town-from-starvation.” she shot back, grinning. Sloan gave a hardier laugh.
“Only you can make pest control sound like the most important job in the world.” The Music Talent sighed while shaking his head. They shared a chuckle that petered off into a companionable silence between them. Pretending to knock nonexistent mud off his boots Sloan counted to three before asking,
“So…uh… anything come for me?” Sloan asked, not looking at his wife. He heard Phyllis give a sad noise of her own as an answer.
“It’s fine.” Shrugged off Sloan, even though he knew that was not how he felt.
“Don’t worry Richie,” Phyllis assured in a kind tone. Sloan could see his wife trying to lean into his sight out of the corner of his eye. “Watch, there will be a huge flock of bats that take up residence in the clock bell.” Sloan chuckled more at Phyllis’s wild arm waving than her actual statement.
“That does sound wonderful,” Sloan smiled before stretching his arms over his head. “I think I should head in then. You know, get some more practicing in.” Since his eyes were closed, he did not see Phyllis giving him a sad look of knowing. She knew that this time out in the field wasn’t any easier than the others despite her husband’s non-stop practicing. Neither one of them knew what he was doing wrong.
“Ok. If that’s what you want.” She smiled.
“Yeah, so what do you want for dinner?” Whoever got home from work first oversaw dinner. That duty typically fell to Sloan.
“Let’s see…” Phyllis paused, tapping her fan against her chin as she thought. “How about- “
“Dinner at the Remington’s.” A voice interjected just to Phyllis’s left. Both Sloan and Phyllis jumped at the sound of the voice. Standing in front of the stall was the most sophisticated looking woman Sloan had ever seen. She looked as out of place as a sunflower in a thistle field. Dressed in crisp bold colors she was picking through Phyllis’s wares with great interest. Sloan gave the woman a once over. Nice shoes, painted nails with the fancy white tips all topped with a neat blond bun. Not a hair out of place it seemed, despite the heat of the day.
“Excuse me Miss; may I help you?” Phyllis asked, giving the woman her undivided attention.
“You made these?” the woman asked, not even looking up. As the Sloan family watched, the woman turned through the various articles of clothing as if she were reading a book. It was impressive that her nails were so smooth that not one of them snagged even on some of the cheaper fabrics.
“Yes.” Phyllis sheepishly admitted. The woman gave a pause in her examination of the clothing to give Phyllis a calculating look. Phyllis looked away at the intensity of the woman’s scrutiny. Even though she was a Sewing Talent, she kept her own attire rather plain. 'Easier to work in without all those frills getting in your way.' she’d claim in a simple worn out sundress she'd just toss on in the morning.
“Excellent. I have a business proposition for you.” the woman claimed, standing up straight.
“Ok,” Phyllis replied weakly.
“My name is Jezebel Whit by the way.” smiled the now named woman, but Sloan stopped listening out of shock. Jezebel Whit was more famous and more powerful than the Mayor of Tinkerton! The fact that she was now shaking hands with Phyllis caused his brain to momentarily shut down. Wait, Phyllis didn’t look too happy. Pay attention!
“What she wants to say is yes.” Sloan interjected as he slithered up next to his wife. “But Richard, what about the shop?” Phyllis asked, half curious, half trying to get out of talking to Jezebel. Sloan gave his wife a look hoping it conveyed just how much of an opportunity she was just about to throw away.
“I’ll pack up at closing time, don’t worry. I can sell socks. Now go on!” Sloan insisted, almost pushing his wife away. Jezebel gave Sloan a toothy grin that was more predatory than pleasant.
“Alright. If you think you can handle it.” Phyllis conceded, slowly walking away.
“Your clothes practically sell themselves!” Sloan assured his wife, sensing Jezebel’s impatience. "Now go on. I got this. Take all the time you need."
“Wonderful, now we can discuss my commission as thoroughly as possible,” Jezebel physically grabbed onto Phyllis’s arm to drag her away. Sloan waved right up until the market crowd swallowed the two of them.
The very second his wife was out of sight, Sloan’s smile faded. With a resigned sigh, he plopped down on the stool Phyllis had occupied not minutes before. It was going to be a long day; the market did not officially close until the sun went down. Remembering that sometimes Phyllis squirreled away a book for slow days Sloan began to search the stall. Under the table, he found a wooden apple crate filled with…stuff. Three pens, a stack of clothing ideas all piled on top of a half-finished project. Curious as to what outfit would require the softest wool yarn available, he pulled it out into the sunlight.
His heart sank when he recognized the soft yellow creation for a baby blanket. Sloan tossed the blanket back into the crate as if it burned him. It was clearly not for a commission or for regular sale. Sloan pressed his palms over his eyes, he couldn't deal with this right now. He closed shop much earlier than was originally planned that night.
Sloan wiped his sweating brow with his sleeve after he set down the last box of clothing. Thankfully, the front of the shop was their front entrance to their dwelling. There was not a single ray of natural light filtering into the room except through the door. He left the door open so he could see the lantern hanging from the ceiling. He took it down to add sugar from the mantle to the fluorescent yeast living inside the lantern. The creatures digested the sugar causing them to glow brightly. So brightly, that Sloan could see even after closing the door.
Once the lantern was placed back onto its hook, Sloan surveyed the room. Grade C housing allowed for a large bed, a tub for bathing and cleaning clothes, and built in the wall was a lovely wood burning oven. With a lazy gaze, Sloan eyed the cold oven, knowing he'd have to stoke a fire to make himself a hot meal. Too tired to make a proper meal, he decided that a roll of bread stuffed with a sausage link would do. Relaxing in his favorite chair, Sloan fell asleep before his wife came home.
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Over the next few days, when Sloan wasn’t working on his sporadic workload, he was manning the storefront. Phyllis would sometimes sketch out designs in the sunlight. Each one looked more complex and over the top than the one before it. Jezebel came by once a day to reject the concepts before making a vague suggestion of what she wanted.
How saying ‘You’re giving me what I am asking for. But it’s still not elegant enough.”, was supposed to help anyone was beyond Sloan’s understanding. Nevertheless, Sloan kept his tongue in cheek when the woman would morph out of the crowd. On day three Sloan didn’t bother to lift his head from his hand when Jezebel came for her morning critique.
“Philly,” Sloan called out in his most bored tone. Phyllis came out of the living quarters looking as if she just ran a marathon, hair out of place and clothing looking unkempt. The rings around her eyes were turning a deeper shade of purple by the day.
“Come in. Come in.” Phyllis ushered the high-class woman inside. Jezebel ignored Sloan as she passed him, who was happy to return the favor. The door blocked out any peep of conversation. Bored out of his mind, Sloan felt his concentration slipping when Jezebel came out again.
“Marvelous. I knew you would figure it out eventually. Now the party is in three weeks so I must have my dress by then” the woman reminded her as she straightened her blouse. "You have my address, and the time you are to arrive. Remember, this party may be the only opportunity you will ever receive so make it count."
“Yes. Of course,” Phyllis smiled weakly. Jezebel gave a nod of approval before taking off. She barely gave a glance at Sloan before disappearing again. Ignoring the brush off, Sloan turned back to his wife.
“Is it the most difficult convoluted design in the existence of everything?” Sloan inquired. Phyllis gave a genuine smile at that.
"You know it.” The redhead agreed to hold out the design sketch. The paper was almost completely covered in lines and the occasional note like, 'Must be Bell Blue, not Cornflower Blue'.
“Is this even physically possible?” Sloan asked looking over the sketch. There were more trim and ribbons on the dress than a May Pole! “Do you think you’ll be able to make it in time?”
“That’s not the issue. I’m concerned about supplies.” Phyllis admitted as she worried her lip. Slightly unsteady, Phyllis went back inside the dwelling.
“Didn’t she already pay you?” Sloan asked, staring at his wife.
“Sorta. She wanted to give my own dwelling just to use as a studio but I talked her into a new dwelling instead.” admitted Phyllis, already walking over to her supply corner.
“Wait, what?”
“See, Jezebel agreed to help me get more clients if I had a nicer shop in a nicer part of the city. I've seen it, Richard, it's on the Grade B sector! It has three rooms! Three! Two are just for sleeping! And as a bonus, she even threw in people to help us cart all our things up there." Phyllis was almost shouting with how excited she was. Looking down at the sketch sobered her up, though. “So, I agreed to let her pay our rent on our new place for six months instead of actual credit. I was ok with it until she rejected all my previous ideas. Oh, Richie! Where are going to get the money?”
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“Take what you need from the account.” Sloan insisted, handing back the drawing to his wife. Phyllis looked stunned for a moment.
“Richard!” Phyllis admonished loudly. She looked around quickly before leaning closer. “That is all the money we have to our name.” she whispered. In response, Sloan gently cupped his wife’s face in his left hand.
“Philli. I love you. But you need to stop worrying about money so much. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to really show everyone just how Talented you really are!” he reassured calmly. Even though in the back of his own mind Sloan was slightly worried, he knew he had to be strong for the both of them. Phyllis nodded and agreed.
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Phyllis woke up from a fitful sleep. If she was being completely honest, she felt like throwing up every time she even thought about her newest commission. Sure, she had done things like wedding dresses before but never for anyone so socially influential. Before sliding out of bed, Phyllis placed a kiss on Richard’s nose. He wrinkled his nose and gave a sleepy noise from the back of his throat before rolling over to face the wall. With a smile, Phyllis padded over to her workstation.
She pulled out her pattern ideas with a list of what supplies she would need to make this almost physically impossible project.
“So many buttons,” Phyllis muttered under her breath. With a scowl, she got up from her nest of supplies to the cold hearth to retrieve their account book. The amount carefully penned in was not as much as she would have liked period. Closing the book, she clutched it to her chest realizing that with their limited funds she had to do something she dreaded doing on a normal project. Haggle with her supplier.
Going through the motions of her morning routine, Phyllis mulled over the potential conversation she would be having with her fabric supplier. Right up until she was making her way down the most industrial portion of town. Groaning, she gripped the strap of her bag as the smell from the dyes filled her nose. A wooden plaque next to the door merely stated, "Fabrics and Dyes". Knocking, Phyllis waited to be assaulted. In an instant, the door flew open to reveal a pleasantly plump woman, entirely too happy to see Phyllis filling the doorway.
The woman, or Rebecca as she insists on being called, pulled Phyllis inside.
“Phyllis darling, how are you? Care for a coffee? Tea? Here, sit. We have some lovely linen just woven and ready for dyeing.” Rebecca waved her youngest daughter to pour a cup of bitter coffee for Phyllis. At this point, the Sewing Talent was quite used to this over the top treatment. The walls were draped in swatches of various colors/fabric combinations. Not a price tag in sight, just how they liked it. Cheap fabrics mixed with the heavier price tagged fabrics. Phyllis readjusted the steaming mug in her hand so she could ignore it better. To an outsider, this looked like a casual tea time between two women prattling on about fabrics. This was a battle of will and wit.
“I actually need this for a commission.” Phyllis handed Rebecca the supply list to watch the other woman’s eyes widen. Those very eyes iced over to business mode as she set down the list.
“Let’s talk bulk.” Rebecca knitted her fingers together. Phyllis took a bracing gulp as she gripped the saucer of her drink to help calm her nerves.
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Phyllis’s workstation began to consume the living space as the dress began to take form. Time ticked on slowly, without mercy, for the next three weeks. Phyllis spent what seemed like every waking moment on that mess of fabric, barely doing anything for herself. Sloan would literally run back to and from job sites so that his wife could go back to her project that much faster. Phyllis would lie down to sleep after Sloan, only to awaken before he did.
He even stopped practicing so that he wouldn’t break her concentration. Not that anything really could once she was in the zone. He knew it was for work but it kind of hurt to be living with someone in such a close space only for them not to even acknowledge you. In short, Sloan wanted his wife back.
Finally, it was the day of the party.
There were not bats in any belfry but there was an outbreak of rats at Town Hall. Some goods brought in from out of town had enough stowaways to cause a lot of panic. Sloan had to lead them individually to the carefully placed traps. Since a few rats were much smarter than a swarm of locust, the job took more time and energy to complete. After three hours of solid work, Sloan just felt tired. The looks he received when the people found out he could only control one at a time really cut into his already low self-esteem.
After the Mayor’s Assistant grudgingly stamped his book Sloan left for home. Planning on a simple supper for himself while Phyllis was at her party, Sloan opened the door to his home.
As usual, Phyllis was sitting in the middle of a mass of fabrics, buttons, and whatever else you could think of, to sew onto a dress. Careful not to tread on any of the rainbow-colored mess, Sloan made his way towards the tub.
“Another job well done?” Phyllis asked. She was straightening up the pile, trying to finish her latest project.
“Yep. Maybe next time they will check the goods more thoroughly.” Sloan called out.
“That’s wonderful honey.” She smiled, looking up from the ribbon she was comparing to the dress. “Now hurry up with that shower. The party is in a few hours.”
“Yeah I know when the party is. You’ve only been slaving over that dress for three weeks now.” Sloan complained under his breath. He unbuckled his flute holster before a thought struck him. “And why do you need me to shower anyway? I mean, I was going to anyway but still.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Phyllis asked, jerking her head towards the bed. Laid out neatly on top of the quilt was a lovely dress for Phyllis and a quite dashing suit that could only be there for Sloan.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” There was no way he was going to dress up just so that the snotty elitists could laugh at how ridiculous a Grade C Music Talent looked in a suit. Just the way Jezebel Whit looked at him screamed that he was not adequate enough to be married to a Grade A such as Phyllis.
“And why not?” his wife asked, getting up. She was several inches smaller, yet he felt a stab of fear at her steely resolve.
“Well, for one thing, I wasn’t invited. Anyway, I don’t really think I will fit in there, they aren’t my kind of people.” Sloan pointed out.
“Oh. I just thought we were going to go together is all.” Phyllis sighed, looking away. She was picking through the piles with much less spirit now. “You never know, maybe someone has a bat or mouse problem that needs taking care of.” Sloan sighed with resignation because he now knew exactly what he was doing tonight.
"I hate it when you do that." Sloan conceded, much to Phyllis's delight.
When it came time to leave, Sloan shouldered the pack with a quick nod from his wife as they departed. The trek was silent for the most part, Phyllis being entirely too nervous about the Gala to say too much. Mercifully, they finally reached the manor, only to be immediately swept up to the dressing room. Once the dress was unpacked, Sloan was shooed from the room to mingle with the guests.
Officially, the party started at seven on the hour. Guests would file in right up until the hostess would unveil herself to the rest of the partygoers. She would be the last one to arrive and be the center of all’s attention. Just the way she liked it. Jezebel Whit was the wealthiest woman in Tinkerton, with the eyes of a hawk. Her Talent was spotting Talent. So, Sloan wasn’t surprised that she’d spotted Phyllis, though she didn’t frequent their humble market.
Sloan was now leaning against the wall furthest from the grand staircase, where Miss Jezebel would arrive. To his left bustled the caterers for the event. A flash of strawberry blond caught his attention. To his surprise, little Ruby Roward was placing little hors d’oeuvres in an artistic array on a silver platter. With a smirk, Sloan reached down to pluck one of the delightful looking treats right off her perfect set up.
“Ow.” Sloan yelped, snatching his hand back. She hit him! The little brat outright hit his hand. There was even a little red mark and everything.
“You can wait just like the rest of them, Mister.” the girl chided, not even glancing up as she dusted one of the Deviled Eggs with a little paprika.
“Well, that’s a real how-do-you-do.” Sloan snapped. Ruby looked up at the sound of his voice. Looking up from her masterpieces her eyes grew wide at the sight of him.
“Mr. Sloan? What are you doing here?” She asked. Ignoring the sting from the implication that he didn’t belong at a party like this he smiled. As true as it may be, it still stung.
“Believe it or not the Missus and I got invited here.” Sloan tried to look as dignified as possible.
“Where is Mrs. S anyway?” Ruby asked, scanning the rest of the guests. While the brat was distracted, Sloan stole an egg.
“She’s putting the finishing touches on her own pet project,” Sloan replied as he shoved the whole egg in his mouth. Ruby titled her head to the side in confusion. She took a breath to ask her obvious follow-up question as to what sort of project Sloan was talking about but it was cut short by the hired band going silent.
Automatically, every head turned towards the very top of the grand staircase. Stepping out into the limelight was Jezebel, decked out in the fanciest dress Sloan had ever seen. It was adorned with lace, ribbons, and bows, plus a puffy under-slip to flair the whole dress out more.
“Welcome once again to my little annual get-together.” Jezebel announced with a show of spreading her arms as if to welcome the whole party in a hug. She waited for the three second round of applause before continuing. “This year we have several newly sprouted Talents that I have been dying to show you. So, go forth and mingle,” ordered Jezebel. The chatter started up once again as if it had never stopped.
“Well, at least she is to the point,” Phyllis commented. Sloan jumped at the sound of his wife’s voice. Sending her a half-hearted glare, Sloan reminded his wife how much he disliked when she snuck up on him. Phyllis normally just giggled and told him he needed to stop making it fun for her to scare him but their usual banter was interrupted by the sound of Jezebel’s voice.
“Phyllis, my dear, why on earth are you hiding in the corner?” The voice of the Talent Scout cut through their conversation. There was that judgmental look on her face again.
“Well, you see my husband-” Phyllis started, before she was rudely cut off. Jezebel gave Sloan a cruel fleeting look before snapping her attention back to Phyllis.
“I’m sure your loving and supportive husband does not wish for his partner to waste an ideal opportunity like this hidden away in a corner.” Sloan did not like the way she stressed the words ‘supportive’ and ‘partner’. Inside his thoughts, Sloan was calling the elitist all the worst insults he could think of.
“Go on, dear.” Sloan urged with a forced smile. She needed this. He was stuck in his career but she wasn’t. Jezebel gave him one last, brief glance look before carting his wife away. Then, just like that, he was alone.
“Would you like a drink, Mr. Sloan?” asked Ruby, holding out a fresh glass filled with chilled cider. Thanking her quietly, he downed the drink quickly before handing it back to her.
“I need some air.” He announced to her as he walked away. Sloan did not wait to see Ruby’s reaction before leaving. People ignored him as he made his way through the crowd. It was as if they were moving around a piece of furniture. Despite the cold shoulder, Sloan kept his eyes level with the double glass doors leading to the garden. The doors were wide open to allow the perfume from the blooming flowers to wash over the party. He stopped at the door to spot Phyllis one more time, then disappeared into the night.
The crescent moon hung high amongst the countless stars in the sky. If it wasn’t for the fairies lighting the pathway as they fluttered around, Sloan wouldn’t have known where he was going.
‘Fairies.” thought Sloan, with a roll of his eyes, iridescent night dragonflies really. Where people got the idea that these mindless creatures were miniature sentient beings, Sloan would never know. A smile tugged at his frown; these were the insects that he had used during his and Phyllis’s first date to woo her. The further he pressed on the more Fairies fluttered to and fro across the path. He didn’t know how far he had walked when he arrived at a clearing with a mid-sized fountain. The moon cast poor enough light that night that if it hadn’t been for the fairies he would not have been able to make out the design of the stone structure.
Perched in the middle was a stone carved statue of a woman dressed in ancient clothing, shouldering a vase where the water was cascading. Her face was sad: eyes closed and chin tucked; as if holding that vase was a form of punishment. Sloan walked up to give a closer inspection of the woman’s face. The details were amazing, right down to the tiny beads woven into her clothing. He studied the weave in her hair all the way down to the rock she was standing on. One of the fairies skimmed the surface close enough for the light from its body to reflect off something lying at the bottom of the pool.
Makes sense that there would be coins at the bottom; many used such fountains as wishing wells, hoping for a good favor from the gods. Sloan felt inside his pocket for the spare coins he always carried. Yes, coins were phased out, but sometimes Sloan found them randomly in the crawl spaces of people's homes. Fiddling with the circular object instead of twisting his fingers helped calm his nerves while saving his hands.
“How does that song go again?” Sloan asked aloud.
‘Wishing well. Wishing well.
How you cast your magic spell?
Take a coin, make your wish
Then toss it in with a mighty splish.
It was an obnoxiously simple rhyme but it was a tradition taught to all children for as long as anyone cared to remember. He clasped the golden coin close to his mouth to whisper his wish.
“I wish to be the greatest Flute Talent ever.” he wished before dropping the coin in the fountain. It gave a plunk before slipping to the bottom. He waited for a second to chuckle at the nostalgia of it all before heading back. His journey was stopped short by a sharply dressed man.
“Hello, Richard.” Pale as death itself yet strangely handsome, the man had come out of nowhere. It was the stranger's gaze that seemed to put Sloan off. If the eyes were windows to the soul, then this man was a walking corpse.
“Geez, anyone tell you that is just creepy?” Sloan asked, taking a step back away from the man.
“I heard your wish.” The man replied, ignoring Sloan’s rhetorical question.
“That’s nice,” Sloan smiled before turning away from the new arrival. Embarrassed about being caught making a wish like a small child.
“I can make your wish come true.” continued the man to Sloan’s retreating back. The sheer audacity of the comment made his blood hot. Turning back to the man, Sloan finally gave the stranger a long hard look. He was dressed sharp enough that if he didn’t know better he could have sworn his wife had crafted the outfit herself. The black of his hair plus the shade of black of his outfit seemed to be taken from darkness itself.
“Oh yeah?” Asked Sloan in the most condescending manner he could muster. “How could you possibly do that?”
“Quite easily really. See, I am what your kind calls a divine being. I have powers far beyond your realm of comprehension.” The words oozed out of the man’s throat like oil.
“Divine being?”
“That is correct.” The so-called Divine Being smiled.
“Ok then. Goodbye.” Dismissing him, thinking the man was mad or just plain cruel, Sloan turned to flee back down the path he came. His trip was stopped short by the Divine Being standing directly in his path.
“How did you…?” asked Sloan. He was glancing behind his back to make sure that there wasn’t another person screwing around with him. Seeing no one, panic took firm hold in his chest as he turned towards the Divine Being.
“So ah…so ah…you got a name or something?” Sloan sputtered.
“Djinn. Keeper of Wishes and Dreams.” bowed the Being, with a hand on his chest.
“Well then, um Djinn. What do you want from me?” Sloan gave a hard swallow. The Being gave a small pleasant smile.
“Calm yourself. I do not wish to harm you.” Sloan could have sworn the Djinn’s eyes turned blue for the briefest of seconds before turning back to the dark brown from before.
“Oh…ok then.” Sloan trailed off, feeling instantly relaxed.
“It’s quite simple actually.” the Djinn answered, walking past Sloan towards the fountain. “You see, I need the emotions of man to survive. The want, the need, and the sheer power of emotion that only your kind possesses. Understand?”
“Not really.”
“To put it plainly, only those who possess the brightest burning desire can summon me. Otherwise, any fourteen-year-old girl with a crush and gold coin could call me.”
“So if you’re here to grant my wish why haven’t you done it yet?” Curiosity, along with that curious calmness won over and made him trust the man. If what the Divine Being was saying was true, then this could be the answer to his prayers. The Djinn gave a perfect smile.
“Now that's the spirit. I can and will make your deepest wishes come true. For a price.” admitted the Being as it stood in front of the fountain. Reaching out, the Djinn brushed the dirt off the woman's carved skirt.
‘Of course.’ Sloan thought bitterly. ‘Nothing is free.’
“Like what exactly?” the Flute Talent asked, naturally skeptical.
“Oh, just your greatest treasure.” The Djinn shrugged nonchalantly. Sloan’s brows knit as he thought of what his greatest treasure was exactly. He shoved his hands into his pockets to think about it and felt the warm surface of his pocket watch against his hand. Steeling his reserve, the Flutist looked back at the Divine Being patiently waiting for him to make his decision.
“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” At the question, the Djinn tilted his head slightly to the side in thought.
“I shall grant your wish first then, if it is exactly as you wanted then I shall take my payment.” he offered.
“Sounds fair.” nodded Sloan, trying not to sound too excited. With another quirked smile, the Divine Being clapped his hands together once.
“Is that it?” Sloan had a feeling that the whole ordeal was a giant trick.
“Are you going to try out your new gift or complain about my lack of grandeur?”he said as he waved towards the flute strapped securely to Sloan’s leg. Eyes never leaving the supposed granter of wishes to pull out his flute, he brought the instrument to his lips like he had done countless times before and like countless times before he played the Song of Hearts.
Instantly his Talent felt different, like he could control anything. Snagging as many Fairies as he could see, he collected them into a brightly colored glowing swarm. Pleased, he gathered more Fairies he felt but couldn’t see. When he gathered a large enough following, he split the cloud into two equal parts to make them dance around in patterns completely independent from one another. Confidence growing, he urged the two swarms higher. Splitting them into fours, he made each cloud fly a separate pattern from the others. Smiling, he stopped playing allowing the Fairies to scatter back into the night.
“Satisfied?” The Djinn was grinning from ear to ear. Sloan didn’t even care that the Divine Being was now standing over his shoulder.
“Yes.” Sloan laughed. For the first time in his life, using Talent made him happy instead of exhausted. With a smile, the Djinn merely nodded his head in reply, content with Sloan’s answer.
“So I will now be taking my payment.” The Djinn stated in a firm tone.
“Right. Right. Yeah just give me second to get this thing off here.” Sloan agreed as he began fiddling with the chain connecting his watch to his belt.
“There is no need.” The now cold voice of the Djinn spoke.
“Richard? What’s going on?” The voice of Phyllis joined in. Sloan’s neck gave a twinge with how fast he straightened up to look in horror at his beloved wife, now standing next to the Djinn. His whole body froze as he attempted to make sense of why she was suddenly there. Right before his eyes, the Djinn hovered his hand near the confused Phyllis and she disappeared into the shadows.
The sound Sloan made wasn’t human. As he screamed, the Djinn smirked at Sloan’s misery before disappearing into the shadows as well, leaving behind the thought ‘they always think it will be an easy price.’
Blinking as fast as his eyes would allow, Sloan tried to will the dread that was closing in upon him to just go away. The shock morphed into a full-blown panic attack. His lungs refused to hold air as the world began to spin. In the end, the world faded to black.
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Phyllis staggered as her senses returned to her. Was she having a nightmare? It seemed like a nightmare, first she was at a terrible party full of horribly shallow people. Second, she fell through the floor to the garden in front of her husband and some shady man in a suit. Now she was standing in the center of a tiled room with only four pillars holding up a vaulted ceiling. Looking around, Phyllis saw a deep black void all around her.
“This is the strangest dream I have ever had.” Phyllis tentatively took a step forward towards the edge of the room. Most dreams she’d ever had up until now involved sentient yarn. Carefully, she leaned against the pillars for support to peer over the edge of the floor. The black void stretched just as far below with a cream-colored pinprick that was getting larger the longer Phyllis stared at it. Unable to look away, she watched the cream-colored object come close enough for her to make out that it was the top of a vaulted roof. Still rooted in fascination, she noticed that the roof appeared to be attached to another wall-less room like the one she was standing in.
The room kept floating in an upward right until it was level with Phyllis. A woman large enough to crush a carriage, draped in finery befitting a queen, sat in the center of the room. Where a human's legs should have been a large mottled fish tail took their place. Phyllis’ eyes grew wide as she noticed that the large woman was suspended in water that seemed to magically keep inside the space of the room. The creature noticed Phyllis staring at her and turned to give the much smaller woman a soundless snarl, revealing a large gaping hole where teeth or even a tongue should have been.
Phyllis screamed, backpedaling away from the creature so fast her high-heeled shoe caught her dress. Phyllis’s shoe flew off as an audible ripping noise was drowned out by her screaming. Breath caught in her throat as Phyllis stared up at the ceiling, completely unhurt yet not even touching anything.
“Aw. You ripped your dress. Tsk tsk we cannot have that.” The face of the man Richard was talking to not even five minutes ago invaded her vision. Phyllis’ yelp caught in her throat. With a brisk two finger wave from the man, Phyllis was upright again. With two more hand waves, Phyllis’ dress was repaired with her shoe placed firmly back on her foot.
By this point, Phyllis was almost hyperventilating from panic. She had so many questions that she couldn’t even make a sound. Noticing his prize’s state, the mysterious man began to speak.
“Ugh. Introductions. I do hate them so. Here is the short version, I am the Djinn, Mythical Being, and granter of Human Kind’s desires. Your husband sold you to me so you get to live here now. As long as you reside here you will not need to eat or drink. You shall never suffer physical pain nor grow old. Oh, and don’t think you can escape.” The Djinn grabbed Phyllis’ arm to spin her around until she was almost falling off the edge of the platform. Terror seized her breath as she realized there was no coming back from a fall like that. “For you see, there is nowhere for you to go.” With a harsh jerk of her arm, Phyllis was now back to standing in the center of the floating platform again. Almost sobbing, Phyllis gripped her arm as some way to comfort herself.
“Shh. None of that, none of that. Fear not my little treasure. This is not where you'll be staying.” Said the Djinn trying to comfort her. Phyllis was finally managing to calm her breath enough to look at the Mythical Being.
“Then where?” Phyllis couldn’t quite ask if where she would be confined to was in this nightmare.
“Why the treasure room of course.” The man then pressed his index finger firmly on her forehead. An icy chill ran down her from the top of her head to her toes. He managed to push Phyllis back so hard with just his finger that she fell backward. Instead of hitting the floor like she thought she would, Phyllis fell inside of a treasure chest so deep all she could see was darkness.