P. N. Elrod, page 1
The Tea Room Beasts
by P.N. Elrod
Originally published in Creature Fantastic, DAW Books, 2002, Edited by Denise Little
Ellen stared in disbelief at yet another letter from her future ex-husband. She wanted to tear the thing to shreds and make its threat go away, but it would have to go into the growing legal folder she’d begun since he’d filed for divorce. When she was calm enough, Ellen called her lawyer. Marissa had gotten her copy of the letter that morning.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do,” Marissa said in a cheerfully sympathetic, but ultimately unhelpful, tone. “His name’s on the ownership papers, so he has rights to half your business. And then there’s community property, you know.”
“He doesn’t need my tea room. This is pure greed and spite.” Ten years ago it had been necessary to have her brand-new husband Randall in on the contract. The idea had been if anything happened to her, he could inherit without any trouble. Ten years ago Ellen had been utterly besotted with him, quite blind to his faults. Everyone had faults, but nothing that enough love couldn’t cure, and she had oceans of love for him.
Except that she’d finally, unbelievably, run out. He’d sucked her dry, then mocked the remaining husk. Gradually the abuses, mental and physical, the daily, sometimes hourly fights, had done it. She used to forgive, supplied him with excuses so he wouldn’t leave her, and he was so sweet afterwards with his apologies. Each fight was to always going to be their last, after all. Later, in therapy, she’d learned the ins and outs of things called “co-dependency,” “enabling,” and “battered wife syndrome” and could have kicked herself for being so naive, but that would have been self-destructive, which was also a no-no.
“But what can I do?” she demanded of Marissa. “He’ll sell his half or insist I sell to him or the bank at a loss or something. He knows I don’t have the money to fight him on this.”
Marissa made comforting noises, but the papers, signed ten years ago in a fit of cupid-inspired sentiment, were iron-clad.
Sick in heart, Ellen hung up and considered her options. Even if she burned the place down he’d take half the insurance—after finding a way of proving arson and throwing her in jail. He had all the money; he had all the power. He had the whole town on his side, for God’s sake.
Randall had apparently planned his divorce strategy long in advance. As a lawyer himself, he knew just how to do it. He’d hidden his own money very well and signed his major properties over to an old and trusted friend to hold for him until after the settlement. Community property laws would not benefit her, only him. He only wanted her little tea room just to heap more insult onto injury.
She discovered he’d been spreading rumors about her through the small seaside town she had called home. Bit by bit, Ellen learned to her shock that she was a rapacious man-eater who had betrayed her marriage vows to poor, long-suffering Randall again and again. People she’d thought of as friends were now too busy to speak to her, though they were more than happy to gossip. Everyone was firmly on injured Randall’s side, especially all his old cronies in the legal system. She suspected her own lawyer was on his side as well, with only the high fees keeping Marissa on the case.
Ellen quit her tiny office and went out front to look with new eyes on the little tea room she had made for herself. Randall couldn’t want it for the money, for business wasn’t that good. In fact, it was terribly marginal. She ran the place as a labor of love. It had always been her one joyful escape from her ’til-death-us-do-part tormentor.
She thought glumly of selling the fixtures and fittings, then lying about the amount of money she got for them, but those would not net her much of anything. Her cozy little refuge with its cucumber sandwiches, consignment souvenirs, and occasional antique sales was worth more open than closed. Maybe I could paint a line down the middle and give him the less profitable half.
“Maybe I could strangle him.”
She hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She’d wanted to scream it. Wonderfully violent images came to her: Randall squirming on a roasting spit, Randall plummeting into a bottomless gorge, Randall being audited by the IRS…
But no, he’d get away with it. He’d stolen ten of her best years, would steal or control her tea room haven, and leave her scratching for pennies. He’d laugh his head off. Look at how he’d originally served her notice—the divorce papers had been in the gift box he’d presented to her on their tenth anniversary. How he’d hooted at the shattered look on her face as she ran screaming to the bedroom to weep over this last violation of trust.
How could she have ever fallen in love with such a cruel bastard?
The answer to that would have to wait. Well-to-do women, craving her shop’s quaint, ladies-only charm, were beginning to wander in for lunch. They deliberated over what to eat and what to drink and debated hotly over the shortcomings of their neighbors. Ellen knew from the looks sometimes directed her way that she was one of the topics, but she endured with a brave smile and made sure everyone got free refills so they would keep coming back.
Thanks to Randall’s propaganda campaign, Ellen had no one to whom she could truly confide her troubles. She felt the isolation keenly in the crowded room, yet almost savored it. This might be the last time she would ever be here. The thought of losing it made even the bitterness a precious thing.
She stared bleakly at the shop she’d built up. It wasn’t much, but her devotion to its success shone from every corner. She had found the right location, had decorated it, made the gourmet delectables, and smiled at the customers with the sincerity of fulfillment. Randall had visited it perhaps twice during their marriage, and until now had dismissed all her work. It was rightfully hers. How dare he take it away?
“Because he’s a bastard.”
Ellen jumped as though she’d gotten a static shock, for someone had spoken her own answer aloud. She found herself eye-to-eye with another forty-ish, slightly plump woman, a total stranger.
“I beg your pardon?” said Ellen.
The woman had large sad eyes, no…they were more compassionate than sad. She possessed an air of having seen a lot of life’s sorrows, not unlike Ellen’s therapist, but in less trendy clothes.
“My name is Phylis,” said the woman. “I apologize for intruding, but your thoughts were so loud I couldn’t help but hear you.”
“My thoughts?”
“About that man who’s trying to take this sweet place away from you—oh, there I go again. I’m sorry. I’d like a pot of jasmine tea and one of those really large chocolate éclairs, please.”
The switch threw Ellen slightly off balance, but she had presence of mind to ring up the sale.
“Oh, that’s awful what’s he’s doing to you,” said Phylis.
“What?”
Phylis grimaced. “Drat, did it again. I should shut it off, but when I get low blood sugar it takes more concentration than I can spare. On the other hand, maybe I’m supposed to be here and eavesdropping on your mind. I’ll be at that nice little corner booth. I love the flower picture you have there.”
Dazed, Ellen took the money and hurried to fill the order. The woman’s a crazy, but looks harmless.
Phylis smiled benignly from the booth. Ellen wondered if there was a distance limit for telepathy. Why am I even believing in this? And inside she shrugged and answered, Why not? You need the distraction. A little lunacy can’t hurt.
She delivered the tray herself, turning cash register duty over to her part-time helper.
“Are you a witch?” Ellen asked, half-jokingly. Her shop was near the local college and some of the students there wore pentacles. Ellen had overheard things from them about spells and ceremonies, but fobbed it off as nothing more than youthful experimentation.
Phylis snickered. “Oh, no, that takes years of study, I don’t have the discipline for it, I just dabble a little for myself. Nothing weighty.”
“You’re serious?”
“Hardly ever, if I can help it.”
Ellen smiled in spite of herself.
“You need to talk, don’t you?” Phylis motioned to the opposite side of the booth, inviting her to sit.
“I pay my therapist for that. No need to burden you with my problems.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m a very good listener, I never judge, and I never repeat what I’m told.”
Ellen found herself fighting tears. How she wanted to talk to someone, anyone. Even a stranger who would be gone as soon as she finished her meal.
“I’ll stick around,” Phylis promised. “I’m an artist, you know. I’m in town for awhile to paint some of the sights and enjoy the quiet. You deal with this lunch rush, then we’ll sit down like we’re old friends, and you can tell me all about it.”
Ellen did just that. While her part-timer cleaned up, Ellen quietly poured her heart out to Phylis, who nodded and tsked as needed and handed over bushels of paper napkins for nose-blowing and tear-wiping.
“You have every right to be angry and afraid with that man,” said Phylis, shaking her head. “I had one like him myself. Any little thing would set him off into screaming and hitting me, then he’d say he was sorry and make it up in some nice way to get me back. I finally wised up that I’d married a two-year-old. Divorce was the best thing that ever happened to me.
“Why does he hate me so?” It was the one question Ellen could not answer. She had been a good wife, always loving, always forgiving. Too much so, it seemed.
“Oh, it nothing to do with you, he’s the one with the problem. He’s a sadist
Ellen’s heart sank. “How much will it cost?”
Phylis blinked. “Cost?”
“Half my bank account or my immortal soul?”
Phylis giggled. “Sorry, I don’t need either one. I’m helping you for my own selfish purposes. I like this place, it’s got lovely energy. I don’t want to see it shut down. If I can help you save it, I will.”
“Is it some sort of witchcraft?” Ellen whispered the last word.
“Well, it does involve a spell, but that’s pretty much like saying a prayer.”
Ellen liked the sound of that. “What will you do?”
“It’s what we will do. Nothing harmful to us, though. Have you a quiet place where we won’t be disturbed?”
“I’ve a storage room in the back.”
“Great. Let’s start now while I’m still full of righteous anger.”
In the back room Phylis lighted four of the shop’s decorative candles, placing them on a small table. She linked hands with Ellen across the table. Phylis shut her eyes and hummed a bit to herself, then asked for help to be sent to restore Ellen’s “balance.” Ellen felt nothing happening, but she didn’t know what to expect. Her experience with magic was limited to TV shows. No special effects took place for her.
What if…what if Randall had sent this woman? How awful, how humiliating. If some newspaper person with a camera burst in on them just now—
Ellen shook her hands free.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Phylis said, chagrined.
“I’m sorry, this is just—I mean, it’s—”
“Silly? I think not.” Phylis pointed.
In spite of her sudden flash of distrust Ellen turned to look and saw…
Them.
She stifled a shriek of abject horror and flung herself backwards, upsetting the table and candles.
“Oh, dear. You shouldn’t have done that,” said Phylis, ducking out of the way.
“Eeeee!” screamed Ellen. She fled to the broom closet and shut herself in.
“Now don’t be like that, you’ll hurt their feelings,” chided Phylis.
“What. Are. Those. Things?!?” Ellen shoved a folding chair under the doorknob and hoped it would hold.
“I think they’re elementals. I know they look a little strange, but they can really be quite helpful if you give them half a chance.
“Strange?! They’re awful! I can’t stand them! Make them go away!”
“But you broke the circle I made. We’re sort of stuck with them for the time being.”
One of the creatures, the goat-sized, slimy one with a lower jaw better suited to a gorilla, appeared in the closet next to Ellen. Though it was pitch dark within, she could see its glowing blue eyes and skin. It showed a mouthful of needle teeth and reached for her with a web-fingered appendage.
Ellen screamed and clawed her way out, nearly running Phylis over. Phylis caught her and held her in place, showing surprising strength. “Calm down! They won’t hurt you! They’re here to help you.”
Ellen gulped back her panic. The slimy one ambled from the closet, walking through a stack of plastic crates, and rejoined its companions. It sat on its haunches and began licking its front paws just like a cat. The others, both bipedal in contrast, squatted down and stared at her. She hoped they weren’t hungry.
“Not for food as you know it,” said Phylis, picking up the thought. “They live off energy. You’re giving them a feast with all the fear you’re projecting. That’s why Water went after you. Like a pet begging for scraps at the table.”
“W-w-water?”
“Yes, it looks like you are in real need; we’ve got a fine assortment: Water, Earth, and Fire. Wonder what happened to Air?”
One of the plastic crates jumped from the stack and crashed to the floor. Ellen jumped. She heard the whoosh of a strong gust of wind, but felt nothing.
Phylis clapped her hands. “Good, there you are. Would you please make yourself more visible to us? That’s better, thank you. This is much more than I expected. I think you had something to do with that, Ellen. I’ll bet you have some latent powers in your genes that gave the spell some extra oomph. You could be a natural witch, you know. That would explain all the positive energy you put into the tea room. It could be a sub-conscious thing.”
Ellen barely heard her, staring. Air was only slightly less repulsive than the other three, but only because its outlines were very vague. Ellen shivered, but tried quell her fear. She didn’t want those monstrosities coming any closer for snacks. “W-w-what do we do with them?”
“Well, they’re here to do things for us, nearly any kind of thing that involves working with the four elements. We send them back when we’re done. Simple as that.”
“Send them now!”
“Oh, I’m too tired for now. Look, as long as they’re here, let’s have some fun.”
But Ellen was in no mood for recreational activities. Regaining some measure of inner control, she demanded an explanation from Phylis about the creatures. Phylis was forthcoming with confusing information about different planes and dimensions, interlaced with reassurances that however ugly the things might be, they were harmless.
“At least to us. Now if we sent them to visit your husband, that’s another matter…”
Ellen paused and considered. “They’d scare him half to death.”
“They can do more than that, I’m sure. Don’t you want to get him off your back?”
“Yes! But won’t it return onto me in some way?” Ellen had overheard enough conversations between the pentacle-adorned students to understand that revenge magic wasn’t a wise or constructive thing to attempt.
“Not if it involves a restoration of your balance. He would be getting repaid what he dished out to you over the years. From what you said I think he deserves whatever he gets. Don’t you?”
Ellen bit her lip, staring at three—four—of the absolutely ugliest things she’d ever seen or ever hoped to see. Then she measured them against her ten years of isolated, secret abuse and the prospect of a poverty-stricken future. Should there be consequences to her for siccing these monsters on Randall… well, they’d be worth it.
“Okay,” she said. “How do we start?”
#
Ellen left her part-timer in charge and went off with Phylis, elementals invisibly in tow. “You’re sure they’re still here?”
“Oh, yes. No one will see them but us, and we’ll only see them when we want to. I had to make them understand that.”
“Why are they so ugly?”
“I’m not sure, it’s atypical as I understand things. Take Water, for example—it should be quite nice-looking. I’m thinking that these turned up looking just this bad because whatever purpose is ahead required them to be like this. Isn’t it wonderful how the universe provides? They’re smart like dogs and loyal, too. I think this bunch really likes you.”
Ellen found herself strangely touched. She loved dogs, but, along with a child, Randall forbade her to have one, citing his allergies as the reason. He’d used his allergies to squirm out of everything from the joys of a pet to mowing the lawn or even going to the movies. She felt herself getting steamed again for those wasted years of isolation.
“Take it easy,” Phylis warned. You can feed them on a nice roast of anger after the job is done.”
She and Phylis walked to the town marina, only a few blocks from the tea room. Randall kept his forty-foot boat there. Somehow his allergies were very forgiving of sea air. Ellen had only ever seen the boat from the dock. Randall had convinced her she would break something on it or fall overboard. He also maintained that he needed a “private space” to call his own. “You have your hen parties at that shop, I have my boat,” he’d sniffed.
And she’d swallowed it, telling herself that he knew best, and besides, she was too busy with business to go on weekend fishing trips with him. Too late she came to learn his ‘trips’ always involved other women. She suspected her lawyer might even be one of them. He had suspended philandering for the time being. He was smart enough to play the injured husband role to the hilt right now.
“What a nice big boat,” said Phylis.
