Mythfits

32- Ella

"Here you are." I grunt, dropping my load onto the table. I had gathered up all the ingredients previously, and had stored them in a box under my bed. For the silver and the fur, the two ingredients that were the easiest to get, I just grabbed an old pair of silver stud earrings that I hadn't been able to wear comfortably since I had been turned. While cleaning my room, I had discovered that I shed while in coywolf form, which may have been the reason behind my seemingly constantly running nose of late. So the earrings had gone into the box, and the fur had gotten vacuumed up and sealed in a plastic bag so I didn't start sneezing again.

"Is this all of what's on the list?" Christine asks, rummaging through the supplies

"It had better be." I reply, looking over them again, making sure I hadn't left anything out, "Can you make it?"

"This?" Christine scoffs, "This is simple. I could probably make this in my sleep."

Dubiously, I peer at the translated version, which went on for several pages, each step explained in excruciating detail, "Seriously?" I ask, flipping through the pages, not understanding barely a word, "This is so simple you could do it in your sleep?" I eyed her appraisingly, "I'd hate to see complicated. Where'd you learn to do this anyway? You're a siren, not a witch."

She laughs, "Yeah, but my godmother is a witch, she lives in Chicago. I spend a month with her each summer."

"Oh, well okay then." I reply, standing awkwardly beside the kitchen counter as Christine mixes, pours, grinds, strains, and boils. Shifting my feet uncomfortably, I open my mouth to say something, but shut it with a snap immediately, thinking better of it. Instead, I lean casually on the counter, "Um, do you want me to do anything?" I ask, "I could... No? Yeah, I'll just stand. Over here. By myself."

Making my way to the living room, I flop onto the couch with a sigh. Yeah, Ella. Really nice- your social skills are definitely up to par with the average high school student. The ringing landline (which is more accurately named lame home phone) startles me out of my woeful lamentations. I just stare at the phone- no one ever calls. Never ever.

Christine waves from the doorway to the kitchen, "Um, are you going to answer that?"

I look from her to the phone, it's slightly scary how I was more freaked out about a ringing phone than anything else at the moment. Gathering my courage, I pick up the phone, "Hello? Who is this?" I ask tentatively

"Hey, wassup?" a familiar unreasonably cheery voice greets from the other side of the line, "Is this Ella Mason's house?"

"Steve." I frown in confusion, "How did you-"

"It's nice to talk to you too, Ella. I'm wonderful, thanks for asking. Really, being left in the middle of the woods, locked in a cage, no big deal." Steve drawls, sarcasm practically dripping from his voice.

"Well as wonderful as it is to hear that, I'm going to assume that you're not just calling to grace me with your voice. What do you want?" I deadpan- two can play this game.

Steve gasps, feigning a wounded air of mock sensitivity, "You wound me, mademoiselle. I can't just call to say good afternoon?" When I don't respond, he sighs dramatically, defeated, "You caught me, I wanted to ask- about that idea I proposed, where you help me with my grandfather...." He trails off hopefully.

"You mean where I pretend to lose to you in a fight?" I say, my lack of inflection making it clear how willing I am to go through with this, "Not a chance. Have a good rest of the day."

"No, wait!" Steve says, sounding panicked, his voice growing fainter as I place the phone back on it's stand, "Ella, wait for just a minute!" and he is finally silenced with the satisfying click of the phone.