Page 153 of The Pansy Paradox
The steam bathed his face and cleared his sinuses. “You added something?”
“Yes.”
He sucked it down, greedy for his mind to return even as the liquid scorched his throat, the tincture soured his tongue, and the last fragments of fantasy fractured for good. He’d had everything he’d ever wanted, but nothing about that made sense. Better to face this reality than lose himself in what was nothing more than a castle in the air, held together with delusion and desire.
He exhaled, his breath rough, as the events of the last several hours clicked into place. Pansy poured more tea without his even asking, and he noticed she also had a thermos of her own.
“The construction company,” she said. “Left behind, I guess.” Maybe it was his expression, but she added, “Don’t worry. I washed them out.”
Would it matter if she hadn’t? “Pansy, I want to apolo?—”
“No time for that,” a voice said.
Henry glanced up and into the sharp and assessing gaze of Max Monroe.
Damn. He’d hoped that had been part of the illusion as well. The disapproving father-in-law because why not? It made things interesting.
“Yeah, I know,” Max said. “I’d rather not be here, either.”
“Can you at least shed some actual light on this situation?” Henry swallowed more tea and cringed, but clarity, and cynicism, shot through him. “Or do you plan on talking in riddles and assuming I’m smart enough to figure it all out?”
Max laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Your boy’s got some teeth,” he said to Pansy, whose gathering frown did not bode well for either Henry or Max. She looked ready to storm from the house.
Not that there was anywhere to go. Above them, the skylight was shrouded in that persistent gray. Nothing about their situation had changed except for the fact that they were in real danger of living out an eternal delusion.
Then something lit Pansy’s eyes, clearing the clouds from her expression. She leaned toward Max, almost conciliatory. “Can you talk about it?”
Oh, of course. Henry should’ve thought of that. If he hadn’t been so irrationally angry at Max Monroe, he might have.
“I can talk about some of it. I’ll tell you what I know and help as best I can.” Max spared Henry a glance. “Even you, Darnelle.”
Henry let the gibe wash over him. But Pansy made a noise that sounded like an actual growl. She sat back, arms crossed over her chest, that frown blooming once again.
And though she be but little, she is fierce.
“Start talking, Monroe,” Henry said, “or I’ll start dreaming up a whole new scenario, one that doesn’t include you.”
“Promises, promises,” Max muttered, but he pulled a dining chair toward the coffee table and sat. He cleared his throat dramatically and began in the way all fairy tales begin.
“Once upon a time, three Enclave field agents believed they could change the world. Or rather, two believed. One simply wanted to rule it. I’ll let you figure out which one.” Max turned to Pansy. “Your mother had, still has, I suppose, an extraordinary talent. For lack of a better way to describe it, she could bend Screamers, calm them, and then redirect them.”
“It’s why King’s End is so delightful,” Henry said. Even now, even with Rose gone, the vestiges of her work remained. “Extraordinary.”
“It was, and is, and persists, despite the fact that King’s End is sitting on top of a juncture. Rose only realized this ability after the Enclave forced her into a sabbatical after her time in the desert.”
“Yes, that sounds familiar,” Henry said.
“She spent several months watching the town transform around her. Then she located the juncture and realized it was feeding her ability. But without the prolonged break? Who knows? King’s End would’ve continued to crumble, and Rose most likely would have taken a desk job once the field became too much.”
“It’s easier to burn through your field agents rather than let them develop,” Henry observed.
“Had the Enclave known?” Max raised his hands, palms toward the ceiling. “They would’ve left her a husk, and gladly so. She decided to retire from fieldwork and settle in King’s End.” Max shook his head. The chuckle that accompanied it was warm. “According to Enclave rumor, Rose Little had lost her nerve after her time in the desert.” He turned to Pansy. “Your mother never minded the gossip, not about herself, anyway.”
“I’m assuming she brought in my father and Reginald Botten at some point?”
“See? I knew you were clever.”
Henry made a colossal effort not to roll his eyes. They needed Max. Despite his obvious love for Rose and affection for Pansy, a river of spite ran through the man. Possible jealousy of Henry’s father? A deep-seated resentment for years lost? Whatever it was, Max Monroe wore it with pride, like armor. Perhaps it hurt less that way.
