"Aaron's discovered your water closet," Wyn said, leaning on the back of the chair.
I blinked and nearly chopped the end of my finger off with mom’s chef knife. "The wha -- oh, the shower." I looked up. "Is he actually using it?"
“No. He’s just trying to figure out where that water comes from.”
A clunk from the bathroom made me wince. “He’d better not break it.”
Iri snorted and sprawled in the chair by the window. “Are you kidding? That’s what he’s best at.”
I sighed. The knife slipped again. Wyn stepped forward. “Let me do that.”
Raising an eyebrow, I handed her the knife and watched in astonishment as the carrot under the blade’s edge flew past within ten seconds. She reached for another. I shook my head and headed for the ‘water closet’.
Aaron hadn’t, in fact, broken it, at least not yet. I explained about the pipes in the wall. He asked where they went. I told him the water tower. His face showed a blank. “It’s a tower,” I said, slowly. “A tall one. With water in it. When I turn this” – I yanked the faucet around – “the water rushes down from the tower, through the pipes, and out that hole. I think.”
Aaron looked out the window. “Where’s the tower? And how do you heat it?”
I closed my eyes. “I have to go cook supper.”
Aaron tagged along behind me, barely restraining his other questions. I didn’t know how I could tell, but I did.
Strangely, I found Wyn in complete control of the supper preparations. Mom stood back, looking dazed. I watched the vegetables seem to mince themselves under her hand, then leaned over to whisper, “She grew up in an inn, working for food. Of course she’s a good cook. You’re taking this awfully well.”
Mom looked at me blankly. “I’m either dead or dreaming. You pick.”
I grimaced, yet another hope of help falling from my hands. “Dreaming, most likely,” I said, patting her comfortingly. “You’ll wake up soon.”
“I can’t wait to tell you about it tomorrow morning,” she sighed, wringing the dishcloth in her hand. I groaned.
Something clanked at the other end of the kitchen. I whirled to see Aaron standing on a chair, investigating the light fixture. “Why don’t your torches smoke?”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him down. “You’d have to talk to my dad about that one. Try not to break anything, please?”
Aaron shrugged and wandered into the living room.
“By the way,” Iri said lazily, trying too hard to look casual, “you still haven’t explained this author business.”
I forced a laugh. “There’s really not that much to explain. You all are basically my imaginary friends.”
Wyn’s knife paused. “Your what?”
“My only friends, actually.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Do you want to show them? I can take over.”
“Do,” Iri said, levering himself out of the chair. “It might clear up a lot of things.” He followed me out of the kitchen. Wyn trailed along behind. I dragged Aaron out of conversation on my way to my room, promising that this wouldn’t take long. I should have known that the technologically-minded elf would find a friend in my engineer dad.
“They’re over here,” I said, flipping on the light. The others peered around my room. I knew it was a mess, but there wasn’t much I could do about the multiple stacks of papers, books and clothes at the moment. I pulled the notebooks off my desk and passed one to each of them, keeping the last one for an example should they need one.
It turned out we didn’t need one. Aaron flipped open to the first page, read a line or two, and dropped it onto my bed, rubbing his temples. Iri reacted similarly; opening to a random page, skimming over it, then setting it down carefully with a grimace of what looked like pain. Wyn just stared blankly. I cocked an eyebrow.
“Headache,” Aaron grunted. Iri nodded and sat slowly, blinking hard.
I took the third notebook from Wyn’s unresisting hands. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“What, the writing?” Aaron squinted up at me. “The writing’s good. But I can’t … it’s …”
“Too much,” Iri groaned.
I glanced at Wyn. She looked ready to faint. I hurriedly piled the notebooks back on my desk and tossed a sweatshirt over them. “Better?”
“A little.” Aaron shook his head. “I think you’ve proven yourself, Author.”
Wyn nodded reverently.
“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, feeling guilty for everything; Aaron’s scars, Wyn’s past, Iri’s discomfort. This was one time that guilt was accurate. “It makes me feel important. Here.” I pulled my camera down from the top of my bookshelf. “Look at this.”
Aaron examined it, his pained expression fading. “What is it?”
Iri and Wyn gathered around to look. “A camera – that is, a painter, of sorts.”
“Painter.”
“It makes pictures.” I pushed the power button. Aaron jumped as the lens shot out. I grinned. “Say cheese.”
All three of them puzzledly said cheese, then jumped back when the flash fired. I sighed and turned it off. “Let’s try that again. One, two three …” This time, the picture was slightly blurry, but recognizable. I tried again, separating the three and putting them back together again in different shots from every angle. Grinning, I hit the playback button. “Wait’ll I post these!”
“How does it do that?” Wyn bent over a picture of herself, mouth open in wonder.
“There’s a … device inside, that paints pictures.”
“It’s awfully fast. How does it not run out of paint?”
“It’s digital,” I answered, then remembered that my modern descriptions didn’t do anything for them. Earth to Carseld. Elaya, we have a problem… “Listen, you’ll have to trust me.”
“The last time you said that, it got messy,” Iri grumbled.