Chương 6: Exceptional Ladies

The implementation of The Rules brought peace to the cosmic order. Eons passed and all remained good and ruly. Some speculated that it would have remained that way, too, if it were not for the arrival of chaos's most dastardly creation of all—mankind. Like eldritch abominations, mankind possessed an innate ability to bend the fabric of space and time.

Armed with little more than magic, symbols, and the right combination of words, they tore rifts within the very cosmos itself, luring creatures from other dimensions into their own. The practice came to be known as 'summoning' and humans were regrettably good at it. Cosmic order, once more, drafted a third set of rules tailored to curb the destruction of humankind. Whatever name given to the rules was forgotten as mankind discarded it upon delivery. Resolute, cosmic order attempted again.

Order arrived in person, rulebook in hand, with freshly clipped hair and their best velour tracksuit, and demanded to speak with Earth's manager. Awed by the might of the cosmos, mankind reluctantly accepted the handbook. The text went on to become the foundation for multiple religions, all with countless factions, each content to squabble over minutiae rather than abide by the rules themselves.

Fed up, cosmic order shoved Earth's dimension high on the celestial shelf, conveniently out of sight, and pretended it didn't exist. Remarkably, the situation sorted itself out. The religions of Earth misinterpreted the text, declaring that man and the cosmos were two forces not meant to intertwine. Thus, summonings were banned. Over the course of several millennia, the art was nearly lost altogether.

Summonings still happened, as made evident by Gnal's current line of work, but the instances were small-scale in comparison. Present-day summonings were conducted primarily by fringe groups, in isolated settings, lacking both the knowledge and skill to harness the power of an eldritch abomination. The people involved were generally odd, even by Earth standards. They demonstrated a notable affinity for robes, skulls, candles, and leaky basements.

The sacred knowledge of summonings still existed in very small, select circles. But, unlike their unpracticed brethren, these groups realized the magnitude of creating a rift in the fabric of space and time, and did so sparingly. Gnal had only encountered such humans a handful of times. The encounters had been memorable, however.

If asked, she wouldn't have been able to put her nonexistent finger on the exact reason—perhaps it was the stark lack of skulls, robes, and candles, but there had always been a feeling as well. A sort of warm, squirmy sensation that buzzed within her particles like an angry nest of hornets. Had she not been riddled with sleep deprivation, Gnal would have recognized the familiar feeling the moment her incorporeal form drifted through the open portal to their final destination.

Alas, tired, cranky, and longing for an existence void of little grandmas and goblins, the only thing Gnal found noteworthy about the orphanage was its welcomed lack of basements.

"This is more like it," Mop whispered as the pair shuffled down a long hallway. It was barely dawn, too early, thankfully, for even the earliest riser to be up and about. Mop and Gnal wandered from room to room, taking in the sights. Pale sunlight drifted in through the stained glass windows near the entryway, painting the polished floorboards in puddles of red, green, and blue. The walls were lined with ornate green and gold paper.

Dust motes danced along the patches of sunlight, caught in an invisible draft that smelled faintly of belladonna and sage. Mop's footsteps brought her to the sitting area. She came to a full stop below a collection of framed portraits and gazed upwards in awe at the rows of women, all with stiff collars, gray hair, and wizened features. There was not a single smile amongst them.

"Look, Gnal. It's a good sign, see? These must be the former children, all grown up and successful." Gnal's weary gaze drifted to the empty cat bed placed near the unlit hearth. It wasn't a cardboard box, but it would do in a pinch if Mop dallied any longer.

"What's the name of this place again?" Gnal consulted the list.

"Ophelia's Home for Exceptional Young Ladies."

"Well, it's settled then," Mop said with a definitive nod.

"Our Lil Gramma is an exceptional young lady. This is the place for her."

"Great." Gnal was already drifting back towards the hallway.

"Put her down. Let's go."

"We can't put her here!" You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Several eyes drifted upwards and glared at the ceiling. The others closed, with the exception of a single eye that couldn't make up its mind and started to spin circles. Gnal blinked that one out of existence and then whirled back around, tendrils churning.

"Why not?"

"It's got to be done properly," Mop insisted.

"We'll leave Lil Gramma on the front porch, in a basket, with a note."

"Do you have a basket?"

"Well, uh, no. But I suppose we could borrow one. There!" Mop pointed to a black, woven basket near the hearth filled with odds and ends of kindling.

"That'll do nicely."

"Won't that be suspicious if they find her in their own basket?" Not to mention the mess. It didn't seem fair to start Little Grandma off on the wrong foot on her first day. Mop's resulting glare sent a shiver down Gnal's twisting tendrils.

"You wanna portal back to the Void to fetch one?"

"No."

"Then grab the basket and meet me out front." Gnal stifled her sigh, fearing the depths of her displeasure would shake the house. She dumped the kindling into a pile as neatly as possible before rejoining Mop outside on the front steps. As Gnal could pass through solid matter, the bolted door wasn't an issue whatsoever. A cursory glance of the front stoop told her Mop had made do with an open window. Mop tucked Little Grandma into the basket along with the note, detailing her name and need for a big, loving family.

It was then that Gnal realized her pen was still clutched in the slumbering infant's chubby hand.

'Like stealing candy from a baby' was a popular Earth expression. Gnal considered it horribly inaccurate. There was no death grip in existence as strong as that of a determined child. It made the act of stealing quite difficult. Judging from the severity of Little Grandma's clenched fingers, Gnal knew she wouldn't be able to retrieve her pen without a fight. Overcome with loss, Gnal's particles manifested the necessary glands with which to cry.

Wet, fat tears fell through her incorporeal body and moistened the ground.

"Don't you start," Mop said, wiping a clawed hand beneath her eyes with a sniff.

"Else you're going to get me going too." Gnal suddenly felt like an overdramatic raincloud. The puddle pooling beneath her incorporeal form wasn't helping.

"I'm going to miss it."

"Me too."

"It was such a lovely pen." Mop's ears shot in the air.

"Pen?"

"The grip was just right. I'll never find another like it."

"Oh float off, you overgrown baby." Mop shook her head as her stomping steps carried her to the front door.

"Go duck behind those bushes, yeah? It'll be just our luck if someone sees you." Trailing tiny rivers of tears, Gnal tucked herself behind the neat row of lilac bushes that encircled the flagstone driveway and waited. Mop rang the doorbell. The sound clanged like a church bell, rattling the black house from the foundations all the way to the lightning rod on the very tippy top of its steeply pitched roof. A colony of bats startled from the attic window, taking to the air in the shape of a frenzied storm cloud.

Mop dove headfirst into the shrubbery seconds before the heavy front door creaked open. An elderly woman in a long cotton nightgown poked her grizzled head out the doorway, blinking in the early morning light.

"Go away! We don't want any." Little Grandma, stirred from her slumber by the clang of the bell, gave a yelping cry. The woman's gaze dropped to the basket near her slippered feet.

"Dagnabbit." She whipped her head over her thin shoulder, hollering, "Thelma, it happened again!" A melodic voice called from within the house.

"What did?" The old woman nudged the basket further away with her slipped foot, scowling.

"Someone left a baby at the door."

"What's that, Ursula? I can't hear you, dear. You're mumbling again."

"I said there's a baby at the door!"

"Rabies? Oh, no, no. That can't be right. That bats have been inoculated," Thelma replied, her singsong voice growing notably louder.

"You just wait there. I'm on my way." Ursula's spindly arms dropped to her sides in defeat, glaring at the pale sky.

"How's this keep happening? It's been thirteen years! The agent swore they'd update the property records."

"Stop yelling at the clouds, you old bat." A short, round woman in a floral frock bounced out the front door and jerked to a stop. She peered down at the yowling basket, holding a delicate hand to her mouth.

"Oh my. Ursula, look, it's a baby."

"You don't say."

"Come here, you precious lamb." Thelma bent and collected Little Grandma from the basket. She swayed the babe in the crook of her arm and read the note pinned to her clothes.

"It says her name is…" She squinted at the handwriting.

"Lil Gemma?"

"Terrible name." Ursula turned swiftly back around.

"Best put it back where you found it, Thelma. I'll call the authorities."

"Ursula, wait. Look!" Little Grandma was so happy, she floated, pulling Thelma with her. The pair hovered several inches in the air above the front step. Thelma and Ursula exchanged astonished glances.

"Bah! Parlor tricks," Ursula spat.

"Any witch worth their salt could do that."

"She's a baby."

"All the more reason to put her back in the basket." Ursula's hairline brows furrowed over her blue-gray eyes.

"Hold the phone, that's my basket!"

"We're not putting her back. Whoever left her on our step obviously knew what they were doing." Thelma regained her sense of gravity and then, cradling Little Grandma firmly within her arms, strode back into the house with dead set purpose.

"We're getting on in our years, you know. It's high time we trained an apprentice."

"Must it be a baby? Why can't we start with something simpler? Like a goldfish. Those are easy to replace." Still scowling, Ursula grudgingly collected the basket and slammed the door. Gnal picked several of her mouths up from the ground. She fiddled with the crumpled list, stammering, "Mop, I'm... I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. There's still time. We can fix it."

"What are you talking about?" Mop clasped her hands together dreamily.

"I told you I had a feeling about this place, didn't I? They've accepted Lil Gramma as one of their own already."

"You realize these women are—""Yes, yes, I know." Mop waved Gnal's concerns away.

"They're exceptional ladies, obviously."