The Tiff Singularity (A Collection of Lake Wonder Fiction)

This Godless Endeavor #3: Kansas

After everything in April, she decided to at least try to act normally. That treated her just as well as the house arrest did. On the bright side, Tiff is excellent at putting on an act. Right now, the facade is that she's totally rational and doesn't personally know angels, werewolves, fae, and ghosts. At least it's better than before, when she pretended to be crazier and more conspiratorial than she really was. Look where that got her.

In a slump.

Under house arrest.

At the end of the summer.

Technically, her house arrest has been lifted. She's a free man now.

The issue is, she has nowhere to go and nobody to see. Kepler is dozing at her side, and her aunt is working on something in her room, and there isn't anyone outside these walls that she could go and see if she wanted to.

Or-- she could. Eliza is probably back in town at this point. Eddy is still at the Arcane Lab, like he always is. Darius is still in the state. She could go find someone, or she could go hang out at the gas station like she used to, or she could go to the library. None of it sounds particularly appetizing. There isn't an ounce of motivation in her body at the moment.

Laying on the couch in the living room isn't helping her to soak up the meager AC, but it's better than being in the shed. A fan whirrs gently on the kitchen table, stirring up an apron on a hook but not much else. She holds a book high above her head for the sake of comfort, marveling at how hard it is to read. If she weren't so determined to be unlike him, she might suspect that her vision is going the way of her father's.

It isn't like she cares about the words on the page, but being normal necessitates this act. Normal people have read The Aetherium. Normal people weren't raised in households like hers; normal people didn't read exclusively about her specific interests in folklore, science, and monsters for two years. Normal people read normal things, like fiction about teenage wizards and comics about park rangers and corrupt superheroes. If she's normal now, then she has a huge pile of required reading to work through.

Just at the point where she is reading about Innie the three-tailed mongoose eating a stolen bologna sandwich (god, this book is stupid), there comes a knock at the door.

From the bedroom, her aunt calls, "Tiff, could you get that?"

"Sure thing!" Tiff sits up, sets the book face-down on the couch next to her, and shuffles over to wrench the door open against the summer heat.

She likes summer-- the way the humidity presses down on her, the way the sun shines harsh through wool-thick clouds. What she doesn't like is knowing that it has to end, and that she spent most of it indoors, feeling totally numb and listening to music she doesn't even like.

Standing there, backlit by the sun, is a familiar sight. Sure, she's wearing a hat, her hair is a little shorter now, there is a new piercing in her right ear, and her cutoff denim shorts are stained with an odd color of paint, but Tiff would know Denny anywhere. Anyone would; the woman is six-foot-three and built like a shit brickhouse. In one hand, she holds a can of paint. In the other, she holds a cleaned and dried rollerbrush.

"Ah. Hey, Tiff," Denny chuckles awkwardly. "I'm just here to drop off this brush. Is Drew home?"

"Uh..." Tiff wracks her brain and cranes her neck toward his room, trying to remember. "I don't think so. I think he went out? I don't know."

Denny nods, holds out the can of paint. "Would you mind giving this to him?"

Tiff doesn't get it. She doesn't get a lot of things anymore. "Why are you giving him paint?"