in charge
Miss Trang’s departure lifted the dark clouds of worry from the household. As she strode purposefully away up the street with only a small black bag in hand, the old folks relaxed into smiles. The house itself seemed to heave a sigh of relief. Willa watched Miss Trang until she was just a black dot in the distance. She felt Horace’s hand on her shoulder.
“No need to worry now. Miss Trang will know what to do.” His voice was warm and reassuring.
“But where is she going?”
Horace gestured vaguely. “She’s meeting with the others. They’ll ... they’ll take care of things.”
“What others? Who?”
“Oh, beings who are much more important and powerful than this sad group you see here.”
He turned to look at the others settling in for tea, chattering away and rattling cups without a care in the world. Mab sat on the mantle swinging her feet and whistling cheerfully. Robert was telling knock-knock jokes and Belle was rolling her eyes good-naturedly. Baz appeared with a plate of scones fresh from the oven and Horace hurried over to get his share.
Willa sank into a chair and watched them. She was glad that whatever was going on was being taken care of, supposedly, somewhere and by someone, but she still had her own worries. First there was the “being in charge” assignment which sat cold and anxious in the pit of her stomach. Looking after this crew seemed far beyond her capabilities. Miss Trang had advised her not to let Robert get his hands on any alcohol, and to take especially good care of Mab. Other than that, “you’re in charge” was all she had to say on the matter. But how could Willa be in charge if she had no idea what was going on? Almost as worrying was Miss Trang’s insistence that Willa move in until she got back. What was her mom going to say about that?
“Oh, I don’t think so, honey. I mean, you’re only twelve.”
In the past, Willa would have taken this as the final word and gone off to sulk in her room. But now, buoyed by the urgency of the situation and Miss Trang’s surprising confidence in her, she actually argued back.
“It means more pay. It’s just so Miss Trang won’t worry about them. They’re old, they need help, and what if there’s an emergency in the middle of the night? It’s only for a few days, and it’s not far away. I’ll call you right away if I need help.” Her mom said nothing, thinking. Willa pressed on. “Miss Trang is really depending on me. Please can I stay there? Please?”
Then, to her great surprise, her mom relented ... with one condition. She wanted to visit the house and meet everyone. Case the joint with a mother’s suspicious eye. Just what Willa was afraid of.
Nobody else shared her fear.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. We can have both your parents over for dinner,” suggested Horace.
“Will there actually be food?” Willa turned to Baz, who rolled her eyes.
“Ha-ha. Very funny. Of course there will be food. I’ll make my roast duck with mashed garlic potatoes and all the trimmings.”
Horace nodded. “It’s very good.”
The next afternoon Willa picked up the items on Baz’s grocery list and rushed about “parent-proofing” the house. She hid away the weird, supernatural knick-knacks. She was extra sweet to Mab before shutting her away in her dollhouse. She begged Tengu not to challenge her dad to any manner of combat, suggesting that remarks about the weather might be a better icebreaker. She elicited solemn promises from Belle and Horace to behave themselves and not throw things at each other. She enticed Robert to stay in his room for the evening with a bucket of fried chicken. And she made Baz promise again that she would serve actual, real food. When the doorbell finally rang that evening, delicious smells were issuing from the kitchen. Belle, Horace, and Tengu sat prim and proper in the parlour, and Willa was beginning to think this evening might go very well indeed.
On the way to the door her eye caught Fadiyah in her cage in the corner. Her presence might cause difficulties. Willa’s dad was an avid bird watcher. One look at this glittering, exotic creature and he’d be all keen to identify it, and who knew where that might lead. Willa decided it would be safest to put her out of sight. She asked Horace to take Fadi upstairs and went to let her parents in.
They were bearing gifts. Dad had a bottle of Scotch and Mom had brought some homemade cookies and a catnip toy.
“You told me there was a cat,” she explained when Willa looked blankly at the toy.
“Oh ... yeah ... right.” Willa mumbled her way through the introductions.
Tengu bowed and shook her dad’s hand vigorously. “A pleasure, really a pleasure, I have to say. How’s the latest weather system been treating you, sir?”
Belle sat sullenly in the corner. She grunted in greeting and stared rather rudely at Willa’s mom, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. Luckily, Horace rejoined them just in time to carry the small talk, and Willa hurried into the kitchen to check on Baz.
Everything seemed to be under control. The duck was almost done and everything smelled absolutely amazing.
“You can leave that here.” Baz nodded toward the cat toy in Willa’s hand.
In the parlour Tengu was wolfing down cookies. Well, at least that will keep him from saying anything too weird, thought Willa. Horace and Dad were chatting about gardening like they were old friends. Mom and Belle eyed each other silently from across the room. Willa was just trying to think of something to say when there was a loud stomping from upstairs. Her heart sank. Robert!
Horace leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have put the bird in his room.”
“Is there someone else here?” asked Mom, looking up at the ceiling.
Willa fidgeted nervously in her chair. “Uh, yeah, that’s Robert. He’s ... sick in bed. The flu. Highly contagious. Didn’t want to infect everybody.”
Her dad smiled sympathetically. “Poor guy, that’s tough.” There was another hoof stomp from upstairs. The chandelier rattled.
“Maybe you should look in on him, dear,” suggested her mother, but at that moment there was another crash, from the kitchen this time.
Willa jumped to her feet. “I’d better check on Baz first,” she said as calmly as she could, then turned and fled into the kitchen.
The oven door was open. The roasting pan was upended on the floor. A greasy trail led to Baz, also on the floor, smiling blissfully with the duck in her lap. She was picking from the carcass and shoving the bits into her full mouth. Her eyes were mere slits and her head lolled drunkenly. Her free hand clutched the catnip toy.
Willa leaned against the counter, taking in the scene. It was all very simple, actually, once she put the pieces together. She frowned at Baz.
“So you’re the cat!”
Baz stopped licking her fingers and grinned for a moment before
