Chapter 36: The Penderghast Family Problem
The Penderghast estate had always been beautiful.
Not the type of beautiful that happened by accident, either. Nothing about the Penderghast family's home had ever been left to chance. The trees were trimmed on a schedule. The flowerbeds were changed with the seasons. The grass was cut so evenly that it looked less like something grown from the earth and more like a very expensive green carpet rolled out across the property.
Their private backyard was one of Priscilla Penderghast's greatest accomplishments.
She had spent years designing it.
Tall trees formed a natural wall around the outer edge of the estate, thick enough to keep curious neighbors, photographers, and ambitious criminals from seeing much of anything. Stone paths curved between rows of roses, lilies, tulips, and flowering bushes that had been imported from several countries because Priscilla had decided ordinary flowers were not quite special enough.
A polished patio rested behind the main house, complete with an outdoor kitchen, several shaded sitting areas, and a television large enough to be seen clearly from the pool. The pool itself was wide, clean, and heated, its pale blue water reflecting the afternoon sun. A small waterfall had been built into one end, flowing over carefully placed rocks beside a row of decorative shrubs.
Or at least, that was how the backyard had looked a few days ago.
Now, it looked as though a very large, winged animal had declared war on landscaping.
Which, as far as Priscilla was concerned, was exactly what had happened.
One of the pool chairs had been crushed beneath a hoof. A flowerpot lay shattered near the patio steps, dirt and broken ceramic scattered across the stone. Several sections of the lawn had been dug into deep hoofprints, and the beautiful row of rosebushes along the eastern wall had been reduced to stems, thorns, and a few half-chewed petals.
The vegetable garden was gone.
Not damaged.
Gone.
Every carrot had been pulled from the soil. Every tomato plant had been stripped. The lettuce had been eaten down to the dirt, and the little wooden sign reading PENDERGHAST ORGANIC GARDEN had a large bite missing from one corner.
At the center of this destruction sat Priscilla Penderghast, drinking red wine like she had personally declared war on sobriety and intended to win.
She sat beneath the patio canopy in a silk robe over an expensive daytime dress, one shoe missing and her blonde hair tied into what had started as a neat bun before stress pulled half of it loose. Her face was still carefully made up, though mascara had begun gathering faintly beneath her eyes from a mixture of tears, exhaustion, anger, and the fact that nobody in her house seemed to appreciate the scale of what had been done to her garden.
A large, fluffy white cat rested across her lap.
The cat's name was Snowflake.
Snowflake had arrived two days ago and had immediately been declared perfect.
Priscilla stroked the cat's soft fur with one hand while gripping a nearly empty wine bottle in the other. Her phone had been propped against a silver ice bucket on the patio table, its screen showing a waiting video call.
The caller's name appeared across the top.
PETTER.
Priscilla stared at it.
It rang.
Then rang again.
She had called her husband eleven times in the last two days.
He had returned none of them until now.
Priscilla answered the call and immediately turned the phone toward the ruined backyard instead of her own face.
Thousands of miles away, in a private office in Russia, Petter Penderghast appeared on the screen.
Petter was a broad, very chubby man with a round, pleasant face, soft cheeks, and the naturally jolly appearance of someone who usually made strangers feel welcome before he even opened his mouth. He wore a dark suit tailored well enough to hide some of his size, though not enough to hide the fact that he had recently been eating very well during his business trip.
His dark hair had been neatly combed, and his tie remained perfectly straight despite the late hour on his side of the world. Usually, he looked relaxed even during serious meetings. His employees often joked that Petter could discuss a million-dollar loss while offering everyone pastries and drinks.
That relaxed expression disappeared when the video connected.
Instead of his wife's face, he saw a demolished garden, a damaged patio, one crushed lounge chair, and something large moving behind the trees.
"Priscilla?" he asked.
No answer. The camera shook slightly.
"Priscilla, darling?"
Still nothing. Petter leaned closer to his laptop. "Sweetheart, can you hear me?"
Priscilla finally turned the phone around.
She looked directly at him. Her eyes narrowed. Then she lifted the wine bottle, tipped her head back, and finished what remained inside.
Petter watched his wife drink with an expression of growing concern.
He had seen her do that before. Mostly during college and A few times during pregnancy. And once after discovering that a contractor had used the wrong shade of marble in the downstairs bathroom, but this was worse.
Priscilla lowered the bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of one hand. Snowflake gave a soft, supportive meow from her lap.
Petter attempted a careful smile. "Hello, my love."
Priscilla stared.
He cleared his throat. "You look beautiful."
She continued staring.
"I am very sorry I missed your calls."
Priscilla's face changed. Her free hand shot into the air. "Now you call!"
Petter leaned backward.
Snowflake remained perfectly calm.
"Darling, I know, and I apologize. The time difference has been difficult, and we have been in meetings nearly every hour. I did not realize something serious had happened."
"Something serious?" Priscilla laughed, and it was not a happy laugh. Then she grabbed the phone and turned it toward the backyard again. "Look at my garden, Petter. Look at it!"
The camera swept past the broken pots, torn bushes, and ruined vegetables.
Petter watched in confusion. "What happened?"
"What happened?" she repeated. "What happened is that our daughter brought home a beast from the zoo."
Petter's concern deepened. "A beast?"
Before Priscilla could answer, a shadow passed over the patio.
A horse flew across the backyard. Petter went silent. It was an actual horse. Large, white, and very much airborne.
Its powerful wings spread wide on either side of its body, feathers shining beneath the afternoon sun. Its hooves moved as though it were galloping through invisible ground several feet above the pool.
Penelope sat near the front of the saddle, her blonde hair streaming behind her and a crooked gold crown still somehow pinned to her head. Preston sat behind his sister, holding tightly around her waist as the Pegasus circled the yard.
Both children screamed with delight. Priscilla twisted in her chair and pointed one furious finger toward the sky. "Not so high! I have told you both about this. This is your last warning!"
Penelope looked down. "Sorry, Mother!" Preston added, "We are only six feet up!"
"That is six feet too high!"
Nimbus tilted his wings and sailed over the pool. His rear hoof clipped the decorative waterfall, knocking one of the carefully placed rocks loose.
Priscilla made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a growl.
Petter stared at the screen while His wife turned back toward him. The flying horse passed behind her again. Petter opened his mouth. Closed it. Then tried once more. "Priscilla."
"Yes?"
"Was that a flying horse?"
Priscilla leaned back in her chair and folded one arm around Snowflake protectively. "No, Petter. It was a duck. Of course it was a flying horse!!!"
"I was only making sure."
"Well, now you are sure!"
"How did our children get a flying horse?"
Priscilla looked at him as though he had asked her to explain the mathematics behind the universe. "Where do I begin?"
Petter adjusted his laptop and sat back more carefully. An older man standing behind him, his personal assistant, quietly moved a chair closer as if sensing that this story would take time.
Priscilla placed the empty wine bottle on the table.
It tipped over, and she happily left it there. "Our little girl's birthday," she began. "Our sweet, innocent, carefully organized birthday party at the Gotham Zoo. The one I spent three months planning. The one with the custom decorations, the private animal exhibits, and the catering company that charged more for finger sandwiches than some people pay for their homes."
"I remember."
"The Mad Hatter attacked it."
Petter blinked. "The Mad Hatter?"
"Yes."
"Our Penelope's birthday party?"
"Yes, Petter."
"Why?"
"I do not know! Maybe he does not like cake. Maybe he woke up and decided children were not traumatized enough in Gotham. I did not stop to ask him about his motivation."
Petter's face went pale. "Were the children hurt?"
Priscilla's anger softened for a moment, "They are alive."
"That is not what I asked."
"I know." She looked toward the sky, watching Penelope and Preston circle the property again.
"There were mind-control devices hidden in the party hats. Most of us were controlled. The children were trapped. There was a psychic girl. Rebecca Langstrom turned into a giant bat creature. I believe Mad Hatter was carried into the air. There was some kind of visible dome around the zoo. Several things exploded. One of the decorative tables went through a tree."
Petter stared.
Priscilla continued with the exhausted rhythm of a woman who had repeated the facts so often that they no longer sounded real even to her. "Kairo Wakati moved faster than anyone could see. Penelope summoned a flying horse. Or the horse summoned itself. Apparently that detail matters to the magic people. The children survived. Batman arrived. Police arrived. Doctors arrived. Nobody told me anything useful for several hours."
Petter rubbed both hands over his face. "Why was I not told immediately?"
She gave him a face. "I called you!"
"Yes. You did."
"Eleven times."
"I understand."
"You declined twice."
"I was in a meeting."
"Our daughter was inside a psychic dome with a supervillain and a giant bat!"
"I did not know that at the time."
"That is why people answer their wives!"
Petter wisely did not argue.
Priscilla reached beneath the patio table and pulled out another bottle of wine.
Petter's eyes widened. "Is that your second bottle?"
"It is none of your business."
"You are drinking on camera."
"I am under pressure." Snowflake meowed. Priscilla looked down at the cat. "Thank you. Someone understands."
Petter leaned closer. "And the children are truly all right?"
"Penelope has some scratches. Preston was not at the party when it happened, thank God. He has only joined the chaos afterward. Penelope has nightmares, but she says they are exciting dreams and gets offended when I call them nightmares. She keeps telling everyone that her party was 'the greatest adventure of her life.'"
"That sounds like her."
"It does."
A wingtip passed behind Priscilla.
She flinched. "And then there is that thing. Nimbus," she said, her voice full of venom.
He asked. "Nimbus?"
Priscilla's eyes narrowed. "Do not use its name like you are friends."
"I have never met him."
"Good. Protect your peace."
Petter looked toward the ruined garden again. "You said Penelope summoned him?"
"Apparently."
"And that he is a Pegasus."
Priscilla gave a sharp snort.
"Pegasus. What a lovely word. Very magical. Very noble. Very easy to say when you are not the one cleaning horse manure off imported stone."
"He does that on the patio?"
"He does it wherever evil guides him."
"Priscilla."
"That creature hates me."
"I doubt the horse hates you."
"It only eats my things."
"Perhaps it likes the plants."
"It ignored the gardener's flowers."
"The gardener has flowers?"
"He keeps a small patch near the staff cottage. Nimbus walked right past them, came to my private rose garden, looked me directly in the eyes, and ate the first-prize rosebush."
Petter tried not to smile.
Priscilla saw it. "Do not laugh."
"I am not."
"You are thinking about it."
"I am simply picturing the situation."
"Do not picture it happily."
The horse landed near the far end of the yard. Penelope and Preston climbed down while two members of staff rushed over, smiling and carrying brushes, apples, and a bucket of water.
Priscilla pointed furiously.
"Look at them. All of them fooled."
"The staff?"
"The children. The staff. The security team. Even my mother likes him, and she hates every animal larger than a handbag."
Nimbus spread his wings proudly while Preston brushed one side of his neck. Penelope fed him an apple.
The horse accepted it. Then turned his head toward Priscilla. He stared across the yard. Priscilla stared back. Nimbus slowly reached toward the nearest flowering shrub and bit off a branch. Priscilla rose halfway from her chair. "You see!"
Petter could not deny that the timing looked personal. "That might be a coincidence."
"That thing has no understanding of coincidence. It understands destruction."
"What has he damaged?"
Priscilla looked offended by the question, as though Petter had asked her to count every grain of sand on a beach.
"My roses. My vegetable garden. The eastern hedge. Four patio chairs. The dining-room window. The greenhouse door. One fountain. Two statues. The little stone bridge over the koi pond. He did not break the bridge fully, but it is leaning."
"How did he damage the window?"
"He put his head through it."
"Why?"
"Because Penelope was eating waffles."
Petter nodded slowly. "That does sound difficult."
"He also ate the fruit centerpiece during dinner."
"Horses like fruit."
"He ate the centerpiece bowl."
Petter paused. "The bowl?"
"The bowl."
"What was it made of?"
"Edible sugar glass, but he did not know that!"
Nimbus made a pleased sound from across the lawn.
Priscilla pointed. "He heard me."
Petter's assistant quietly turned away to hide his expression.
Petter cleared his throat. "You still have not explained how we are keeping a Pegasus."
"I tried to have him taken somewhere else."
Penelope's head turned at once, as though the magical bond allowed her to detect the sentence from across the yard. "Mother!"
Priscilla shouted back, "I said tried!"
Penelope crossed her arms. Nimbus copied her somehow, lifting his wings and holding them stiffly at his sides.
Petter smiled faintly at the sight.
Priscilla turned the phone away from them. "Dr. Elias Wakati explained that Nimbus is bonded to Penelope. The horse refuses to leave her, and when we tried moving him to a secure magical facility, he returned before the transport vehicle reached the outer gate."
Petter's eyebrows rose. "You met Dr. Wakati?"
"Yes."
"Elias Wakati?"
"That is what I said."
"The temporal physicist?"
Priscilla waved one hand. "Petter, that is not even the impressive part."
"Meeting one of the most secretive scientists alive is not the impressive part?"
"No. I have met Batman five times in the past few days."
Petter stared. "Five?"
"Once at the zoo, twice here, once at Dr. Wakati's mansion, and once on the roof."
"Why was he on our roof?"
"He said he was checking the property."
"Did you invite him?"
"Does anyone invite Batman?"
Petter thought about that. "No."
"Exactly."
Priscilla reached for a wineglass, discovered it was empty, and poured from the second bottle. "And then," she said, lowering her voice, "I met that woman."
Petter waited.
Priscilla took a drink. "Madame Xanadu."
Petter frowned. "Who?"
Priscilla stared at him. "Madame Xanadu."
"Yes, I heard the name. Who is she?"
Priscilla shook her head slowly. "Madame Xanadu."
Petter raised both hands. "Repeating the name is not explaining the woman."
"It is the best explanation I have!"
Snowflake lifted her head at the rising voices. Priscilla stroked the cat until she settled again.
Petter spoke more gently. "What was she like?"
Priscilla thought about the question.
She remembered the woman arriving without any normal warning, dressed with the elegance of someone who belonged to another century but had decided modern life was temporarily acceptable. She remembered the deep green eyes that seemed to look through people's excuses and directly into everything they did not want to admit.
"She was beautiful," Priscilla said finally.
Petter waited. "And?"
"Too beautiful."
"That sounds threatening when you say it."
"It was. Her hair was perfect. Nobody's hair should look that good without a full staff. I would know. She spoke like she had known me longer than I have been alive. She touched one of Penelope's toys and told me my family had 'old doors sleeping in the blood.' Then she drank tea and somehow made me feel rude for not owning the correct kind."
Petter looked more confused than before. "What does 'old doors sleeping in the blood' mean?"
"I do not know."
"Did you ask?"
"Of course I asked."
"What did she say?"
"That some answers are seeds and should not be pulled from the soil before they have roots."
Petter stared.
Priscilla drank again. "You see my problem."
"I am beginning to."
"Apparently, my side of the family has magic."
Petter's face changed. "Your family?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"Something involving familiars."
Petter leaned forward. "What does that mean?"
Priscilla grabbed the phone with both hands, bringing her face close enough to fill the entire screen. "I do not know!"
Petter leaned back again.
She set the phone down with slightly more force than necessary.
"Madame Xanadu said Penelope has inherited a natural talent for calling, bonding with, or awakening magical companions. Nimbus is her familiar."
Petter glanced toward the flying horse.
"And Preston?"
Priscilla laughed again. The laugh frightened him more this time. "Your son has been walking around the estate trying to awaken his own familiar."
Petter looked toward the yard. Preston had crouched beside Nimbus and appeared to be holding a serious conversation with a beetle.
"What has he tried?"
"Everything."
"Everything?"
"He has offered friendship to birds, squirrels, frogs, garden snakes, and a raccoon that security removed from the garage. He spent half an hour staring at a koi fish and chanting something he found online."
Petter rubbed his temple.
Priscilla continued. "We now have five new dogs."
"Five?"
"Three lizards."
"What kind?"
"I do not know. Lizard kind."
"And the cats?"
Priscilla glanced toward the patio doors. Several pairs of eyes watched from inside. "Too many."
"How many is too many?"
"I stopped counting at nine."
Petter stared in disbelief. "You allowed him to keep nine cats?"
"I did not allow anything. The animals keep appearing, and Preston says he needs time to determine which one feels magical."
"What if none of them are?"
"Then I suppose we own a small zoo."
Snowflake stretched across Priscilla's lap. She carefully lifted the cat with both hands, holding the fluffy white creature toward the camera. "But not Snowflake. Snowflake is perfect."
Snowflake looked directly at Petter. Then licked Priscilla's chin. Priscilla smiled for the first time during the call. "See? Perfect."
Petter studied the cat. "Where did she come from?"
"She was sitting on my chair yesterday."
"Inside the house?"
"Yes."
"How did she get in?"
"She is perfect. Do not question her."
Petter's assistant quietly said, "Sir, the cat may be Mrs. Penderghast's familiar."
Petter turned toward him.
Priscilla heard. Her expression changed. She looked down at Snowflake. Snowflake looked up at her. "No," Priscilla said. "She is just perfect."
A distant rushing sound moved across the backyard.
Nimbus had taken flight again.
His hooves pounded against the grass before his wings caught the air. Penelope and Preston were once more on his back, though neither child had been given permission to remount.
Priscilla's eyes widened.
The horse circled the property at increasing speed.
The wind from his wings lifted napkins from the patio table. One blew into the pool. Another slapped against Priscilla's face.
She removed it slowly.
The sound grew louder.
The Pegasus was heading toward the patio. Priscilla grabbed Snowflake and held her close to her chest. "Children!"
Nimbus continued approaching.
"Not the television!" Priscilla shouted. "We just bought this one!"
Penelope's voice came from the air. "He is turning!"
Preston shouted, "He is trying!"
Petter's screen filled with white feathers. There was a crash. The phone spun.
For one second, Petter saw the sky.
Then the pool. Then Priscilla's missing shoe. Then the screen turned black. The call disconnected. Petter sat frozen in his office.
His laptop displayed a small message.
CONNECTION LOST.
Silence settled over the room.
His assistant, Mr. Hawthorne, stood beside the desk. He had worked for Petter's father before working for Petter himself, and he possessed the calm expression of a man who had survived decades of wealthy-family emergencies without being surprised by much.
He adjusted his glasses.
"Sir."
Petter continued staring at the black screen.
"Yes?"
"I believe returning home earlier than planned may be wise."
Petter slowly nodded.
Mr. Hawthorne continued with great care. "I have a slight feeling that your family requires support."
Petter looked toward him.
The older man corrected himself.
"That you are needed at home."
Petter reached for his phone.
He unlocked it, scrolled through several contacts, and selected the person responsible for coordinating the remainder of his Russian meetings.
The call connected.
Petter stood from his chair.
"I am very sorry," he said, already loosening his tie, "but I need to cancel everything."
A confused voice responded from the phone.
Petter looked at the blank laptop.
"My family has experienced an emergency."
Mr. Hawthorne raised one eyebrow.
Petter considered the phrase.
"Several emergencies."
The voice asked whether anyone had been injured.
Petter remembered his children flying past the camera, his wife holding an unexplained cat, and a Pegasus charging toward a new television.
"Not yet," he answered. "I would like to return before that changes."
Mr. Hawthorne collected the nearby documents and began organizing their departure without needing further instruction.
Petter ended the call and immediately dialed another number to arrange transportation.
Outside his office window, snow drifted over the Russian city.
Thousands of miles away, in the ruined backyard of the Penderghast estate, Priscilla sat on the grass with Snowflake held safely against her chest.
The new television had fallen backward into the flowerbed.
Nimbus stood beside it, wings folded, looking deeply apologetic.
Penelope and Preston remained on his back.
Nobody moved.
Priscilla slowly turned her head toward the Pegasus.
Nimbus took one cautious step backward.
"You," she whispered.
The horse lowered his head.
Penelope slid down and approached her mother carefully. "It was an accident."
Priscilla looked at the broken television. Then at the ruined flowerbed and Then at her daughter's worried face.
She took a deep breath. For several seconds, it looked as though she might scream.
Instead, she held out one hand. "Come here."
Penelope moved closer.
Priscilla pulled her daughter into a tight embrace, careful not to crush Snowflake between them. Preston climbed down from Nimbus and joined the hug from the other side.
Priscilla held both children.
Her anger did not disappear.
Neither did the stress, the confusion, or the knowledge that her quiet family had somehow become part of a magical disaster she did not understand.
But they were alive. They were home. The garden could be replanted. The television could be replaced. Even the roses could grow again.
Priscilla pressed a kiss against Penelope's hair.
Then she looked over her daughter's shoulder at Nimbus.
The Pegasus gave her a hopeful look.
Her eyes narrowed. "This changes nothing between us."
Nimbus lowered his head and took another step backward.
Snowflake purred.
Far away, Petter Penderghast prepared to return home to his family, unaware that by the time he arrived, Preston would have found two more rabbits, Penelope would have attempted to bring Nimbus upstairs, and Snowflake would be sleeping on his side of the bed.
The Penderghast family had survived one birthday party.
Now they only had to survive what followed it.