Higher Mythology by Jody Lynn Nye

Author:Jody Lynn Nye [Nye, Jody Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2015-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I ain’t happy about this, and I don’t care who knows it,” Pilton said moodily. He sat in the orange chair, elbows propped on his knees, and stared at the ground. “I’m not supposed to have to work Saturdays. I ain’t on this shift.”

“Nor do I want to be here,” Dola said, without looking up. “If we weren’t you wouldn’t have to.” She was diapering Asrai, who had decided to throw a fit of the wiggles. The infant would not stay in the middle of the clean pad, but as soon as her small bottom touched the cold desktop she let out a wail of protest. Dola took Asrai’s ankles between her fingers and plumped her firmly down, and fastened the tapes before she could move again.

“I know.” Pilton sighed. “But Boss-lady won’t let you go yet.”

“Why?” Dola demanded. With a flourish, she swaddled the baby in her blanket and sat down on the floor on her borrowed sleeping bag. Asrai was now willing to take formula from the bottle without the subterfuge of illusionary disguise, for which Dola was grateful. She took the warmed bottle out of the coffeemaker carafe, tested it, and offered the nipple to Asrai, who accepted it avidly.

“Dunno. Don’t ask me anymore. I can’t tell you.”

“You’ll be here Sunday as well,” Dola said warningly.

“Dammit to hell,” Pilton swore, throwing up his hands. “Well, I can’t do anything about it now. Hey, I brought you some egg salad sandwiches for lunch. Got some carrot sticks, and a slice of cake.”

Dola nodded. She hunched over Asrai. The baby suckled, making happy noises deep in her throat. “I’m bored!” Dola announced. “At home I’d have games and toys, and tasks to do, and there’d be all my friends.”

Pilton sat up. “Well, what do you want to do?”

The elf girl could stand it no longer. The imprisonment, the discomfort, the annoyance of not being able to wash her clothes nor having any clean ones to change into, the lumpy sleeping bag that smelled as if it had been wet in a hundred times and washed in orange juice—the stupidity of her jailers. She burst into tears. “I want to go home.”

Pilton dropped to his knees next to her. “Oh, come on, little girl, don’t cry. Please. I’ll do just about anything to keep you from feeling sad.”

“She wants what?” Mona Gilbreth demanded. “Craft supplies? No. Simply no. I’m not running a nursery. Tell her if she doesn’t knock it off I’m shutting both of them in an empty tank.”

“I can’t do that, ma’am,” Pilton said, shocked. “What would her folks say?”

Mona went white. H. Doyle again. “All right. But don’t get too elaborate. I’m getting rid of her as soon as I can.” She opened her desk drawer and took out the petty cash box. Resenting every last penny, she counted out ten dollars.

“Any more than this is on you,” she said. “I didn’t want them here, and I don’t want to subsidize their entertainment.”

Accepting the money happily, Pilton went off to find embroidery floss and the fixings that went with it for the little girl.

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