Chaos Choreography
Page 55
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“I will,” I said, and let myself out of the apartment.
As was customary on a night following a Sasha rehearsal, the party in the courtyard had devolved into quiet conversation and people working the kinks out of each other’s shoulders, calves, and feet. There was nothing sexual about it. Massage might be an erotic thing for some people, but for dancers, it was a necessity of life, keeping our muscles from rebelling in the middle of the night and reducing us to wobbling knots of pain. No one looked my way as I padded down the stairs and let myself into the apartment that Alice had claimed as her own.
She was gone. The living room was spotless, giving no sign that my grandmother, or her gear, had ever been there. I stopped in the doorway, blinking.
Then I realized I could smell cookies.
“Gra—Elle?” For all I knew, she had company, and I didn’t want to need to explain why I was calling my sister—my apparently younger sister, and don’t think that didn’t make my head hurt—“Grandma.”
“In here, sweetie,” she called, from the direction of the kitchen.
I stuck my head in, and sure enough, she had produced a practical white apron and a pair of oven mitts from her cavernous backpack and was baking chocolate chip cookies. This seemed somehow natural and completely bizarre at the same time. So I asked the most pressing question I could think of:
“Where did you get the eggs?”
“The nice thing about this dimension—apart from the gravity; you should never take gravity for granted, dear, you never know when it’s going to be taken away from you—is the availability of things called ‘grocery stores.’” Alice opened the oven and pulled out a cookie sheet covered in perfect, golden brown cookies. She’d been baking cookies for decades, and had somehow mastered the arcane art of getting the exact right ratio of chocolate chips to dough.
My mouth watered. I swallowed, frowned, and said, “You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile. How is baking cookies keeping a low profile?”
“I’m going to make noise by being in here: it’s inevitable,” she said, beginning to transfer the cookies to a cooling rack with a spatula. I was starting to wonder whether her backpack was so large because she carried a full pastry kitchen with her at all times. “This way, if someone hears the noises coming from the apartment that always smells like cookies, they’ll be more likely to assume that I’m harmless, and not kick the door in. Plus, cookies make excellent bribes. Especially fresh-baked cookies.”
“Some of the dancers are gluten-free and vegan,” I said.
Alice looked at me blankly.
“It’s a whole new world, Grandma,” I said. “Dominic wants to meet you.”
“Dominic—that’s your boyfriend, yes? Your father told me about him. He seemed to think I’d be angry because you’d started dating someone from the Covenant.” Alice shook her head, a small smile painting her lips. “As if I’m in any position to judge? Your grandfather was still officially a member when I fell in love with him.”
“I hope that non-judgment extends a little past ‘boyfriend,’” I said. “I married him.”
Alice blinked. “You did what?”
“I married him. We went to Las Vegas, and got married.” I braced myself for the shouting that was sure to follow.
Instead, she picked up a plate of cookies from the counter and thrust it in my direction. “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful! Congratulations to you both. Have a cookie.”
It was my turn to blink. I picked up a cookie automatically, asking, “You’re not mad?”
“That you eloped? Sweetheart, at your father’s wedding, I punched the mother of the bride in the face so hard that she took out half a row of chairs when she fell over. I wasn’t invited to your aunt’s wedding, but I understand the groom’s side of the family caused more than enough commotion. The last peaceful ceremony in our family was mine, and it was only peaceful because the priest performed it in Thomas’ living room, for an audience of Aeslin mice and spiders.” Alice shook her head. “Marriage is a sacred bond. I think where it gets screwed up is when we try to include everybody else. Did you take his name?”
“He’s taking mine. His family is dead, and the Covenant sort of disowned him.”
“That’s nice.” Alice produced a Ziploc baggie from her baking supplies and began filling it with cookies. “So he’s in town, and he wants to meet me? That’s good. We should probably come up with some sort of plan of attack before the killers show up again.”
As was customary on a night following a Sasha rehearsal, the party in the courtyard had devolved into quiet conversation and people working the kinks out of each other’s shoulders, calves, and feet. There was nothing sexual about it. Massage might be an erotic thing for some people, but for dancers, it was a necessity of life, keeping our muscles from rebelling in the middle of the night and reducing us to wobbling knots of pain. No one looked my way as I padded down the stairs and let myself into the apartment that Alice had claimed as her own.
She was gone. The living room was spotless, giving no sign that my grandmother, or her gear, had ever been there. I stopped in the doorway, blinking.
Then I realized I could smell cookies.
“Gra—Elle?” For all I knew, she had company, and I didn’t want to need to explain why I was calling my sister—my apparently younger sister, and don’t think that didn’t make my head hurt—“Grandma.”
“In here, sweetie,” she called, from the direction of the kitchen.
I stuck my head in, and sure enough, she had produced a practical white apron and a pair of oven mitts from her cavernous backpack and was baking chocolate chip cookies. This seemed somehow natural and completely bizarre at the same time. So I asked the most pressing question I could think of:
“Where did you get the eggs?”
“The nice thing about this dimension—apart from the gravity; you should never take gravity for granted, dear, you never know when it’s going to be taken away from you—is the availability of things called ‘grocery stores.’” Alice opened the oven and pulled out a cookie sheet covered in perfect, golden brown cookies. She’d been baking cookies for decades, and had somehow mastered the arcane art of getting the exact right ratio of chocolate chips to dough.
My mouth watered. I swallowed, frowned, and said, “You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile. How is baking cookies keeping a low profile?”
“I’m going to make noise by being in here: it’s inevitable,” she said, beginning to transfer the cookies to a cooling rack with a spatula. I was starting to wonder whether her backpack was so large because she carried a full pastry kitchen with her at all times. “This way, if someone hears the noises coming from the apartment that always smells like cookies, they’ll be more likely to assume that I’m harmless, and not kick the door in. Plus, cookies make excellent bribes. Especially fresh-baked cookies.”
“Some of the dancers are gluten-free and vegan,” I said.
Alice looked at me blankly.
“It’s a whole new world, Grandma,” I said. “Dominic wants to meet you.”
“Dominic—that’s your boyfriend, yes? Your father told me about him. He seemed to think I’d be angry because you’d started dating someone from the Covenant.” Alice shook her head, a small smile painting her lips. “As if I’m in any position to judge? Your grandfather was still officially a member when I fell in love with him.”
“I hope that non-judgment extends a little past ‘boyfriend,’” I said. “I married him.”
Alice blinked. “You did what?”
“I married him. We went to Las Vegas, and got married.” I braced myself for the shouting that was sure to follow.
Instead, she picked up a plate of cookies from the counter and thrust it in my direction. “Oh, darling, that’s wonderful! Congratulations to you both. Have a cookie.”
It was my turn to blink. I picked up a cookie automatically, asking, “You’re not mad?”
“That you eloped? Sweetheart, at your father’s wedding, I punched the mother of the bride in the face so hard that she took out half a row of chairs when she fell over. I wasn’t invited to your aunt’s wedding, but I understand the groom’s side of the family caused more than enough commotion. The last peaceful ceremony in our family was mine, and it was only peaceful because the priest performed it in Thomas’ living room, for an audience of Aeslin mice and spiders.” Alice shook her head. “Marriage is a sacred bond. I think where it gets screwed up is when we try to include everybody else. Did you take his name?”
“He’s taking mine. His family is dead, and the Covenant sort of disowned him.”
“That’s nice.” Alice produced a Ziploc baggie from her baking supplies and began filling it with cookies. “So he’s in town, and he wants to meet me? That’s good. We should probably come up with some sort of plan of attack before the killers show up again.”
