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Cerberus

Chapter 7: The Three Sisters

Sneak Peek

Flynn was standing in a shower, the big brass tub tinkling with the droplets of water. He was washing himself clean from the fuck fest with Cerberus. It was odd showering with Damian’s red tinted glasses, but it was that or the muzzle and he needed a break from that.

The room was filled with dark woods and emerald greens. The bathroom wasn’t large, but it also wasn’t small. A brass bath shower combo was against the far wall, the wall made of frosted glass bricks as a window to the outside world, several shelves had been fastened to them to house various oils, hair products, and shampoos.

Flynn was never into those fancy body washes. His four in one was always good enough, but that hare lady had said she picked out some stuff just for him. Cerberus didn’t seem to trust her, but that meant he was more than willing to trust the giggly hare. He was currently lathering up his body with oil that smelled of pine and lavender, and something else florally. It was strong, but as it washed away it left his fur smelling nice and fresh. He washed away the suds, the bubbles accenting his muscles, the flowing water dripping down over his pecs and six pack then dribbling down over his pussy.

The wolf’s foot paws splashed in the shallow puddles of the shower as he adjusted his stance. The man a broad beast by anyone’s standards, but next to Cerberus he looked like a little pup. Flynn finished and pulled himself from the shower, drying off with some of the nicest towels he had ever felt. He wrapped the towel around his waist and looked himself in the mirror, swiping a paw over the fog and revealing his weathered face.

“You look like shit,” Flynn said to his own reflection. He sighed, the rings of exhaustion around his eyes making it very apparent how little sleep he actually had over the past couple days. He ran his hand over the bite mark, the smell of burning cedar and brimstone kissed the air, adding a sweet sourness to the oils he had just bathed in.

Flynn found some clothes set out for him on the counter. It wasn’t his style at all, but he also didn’t have anything else. He dawned the shirt that was more of a long flowing top. The rust colored shirt had almost a black mesh over it that made it shimmer and waft in the slightest breeze. He felt like this was some shirt for the guru of a sex cult. The pants were capris, only going down just below the knee and leaving the rest of his legs exposed.

“All I need is some crazy medallion and some rings and I’ll be a regular wiccan,” Flynn rolled his eyes at his own reflection before bringing his hands together as though he were praying, the baggy sleeves rolling down to expose his forearms. “Namaste,” the wolf mocked himself with a bow.

Flynn didn’t want to complain so he figured this was the best he was going to get and he went to join Tiahna outside. The Hare was sitting there in a crop top and shorts, so many necklaces and charms, bracelets and rings that it made up for her lack of clothing.

“Oh, you do look cute,” the Hare smirked. “You know, if you weren’t my brother, I’d make you a very happy man.”

“I…thanks?” Flynn blushed, his shoulders tensing up. “But…are we really related?”

“In the only way that matters,” Tiahna giggled and took Flynn’s hands, guiding him along by the wrists. “Come on. Your sisters are dying to meet you.”

“Y-You didn’t answer my question though,” Flynn felt like a quark being thrown down the river. Even if Tiahna was gentle, he felt like he was being swept up in some rapids and about to be dashed against some rocks.

“I’m never good at explaining it. Our older sisters are so much better at it than I am. Come on,” Tiahna urged. Flynn pulled the shirt closed with one hand while she guided him with his other.

They came downstairs into a parlor that had been renovated into some sort of crystal magic shop. It was the kind of place that Flynn scoffed at for selling fake magic crap that the non-magically gifted couldn’t hope to achieve. Sure, certain crystals and rocks had innate magic in them, but it’s simply because they channel magic, not create it. Not like you’re going to find a storm focus that can channel hurricanes at a shop the sells mixed bags of crystals.

Aaron would love this place, the wolf thought of the little sand owl.

Flynn was brushed past the display cases, the front desk, and back around into the house built off the back. There was a sunken living room and an old TV set with bookshelves overflowing with old VHS tapes and DVD’s. There was even an old, faded, Block Buster Video poster that read “Be Kind, Rewind,” plastered to the side of the bookshelf. The mossy green carpet had treads in it, trenches where years of people had walked, almost like it were a forest path. Along the one wall was a four legged credenza, one of the sliding doors open to show various records filed away neatly. A record player and an old-time radio set atop it along with a glass bowl of peanut M&M’s.

“Just through here,” Tiahna paused for just a moment before grabbing a fist full of the candy and tossing them into her mouth. “They’re waiting in the breakfast nook.”

“Breakfast nook?” Flynn echoed Tiahna and felt a strange sense of calm wash over him as he passed through the bead divider to the kitchen. Flynn didn’t know what to expect, but he had never felt so…at home?

The kitchen had terracotta tile that was worn and well used, the counters made of a similar tile and overflowing with brass pots and pans, mismatched dishware, and freshly made cookies. The window behind the brass tub sink had a small trough filled with herbs and spices that practically blocked out the sunlight filtering through their leaves, but a duo of sliding doors in the back revealed a garden and a plastic greenhouse outback, letting in enough natural light. The room smelled of fresh baked bread and sweet sugars. On the table was a stack of steaming pancakes, one of the women at the table was using a butter knife to scoop a healthy dollop of it atop the stack to let it melt and weep into the layers while a small silver pitcher was steaming with warm syrup and a glass pot with a honey stick glowed with amber honey in the sunlight.

“Oh good, you’re up and ready,” the woman with the butter spoke in a sing song voice, a slight British accent peeking through her peppy tone. She was a petite little thing, brown feathers and yellow colored beak with dark kind eyes. She was a nightingale, her feathers atop her head pruned into a tight pixy cut. She wore an apron covered in cherries with a yellow sundress. She almost reminded Flynn of a sixty’s house wife, despite her various tattoos and nose ring. “I made some pancakes for you. Just a little something to welcome you into the family. Go on, sit, sit!”

“Don’t mind Hemala,” Tiahna said plopping down onto the seat next to where the pancakes were stacked. “She bakes when she’s nervous.”

“Oh hush you,” She said throwing a hot pad at her sister, the thing smacking the hare square in her giggling face. She then turned to Flynn. “Yes, I’m Hemala. I’m so glad we finally get to meet you!”

“I…You finally get to meet me? Were you expecting me?”

“Oh, where are my manners,” Hemala pulled out the chair for Flynn, the wolf scooped up by that oak chair and seated in front of the pancakes. “I’m Hemala, as my sister said,” the nightingale paused before walking back to the kitchen and grabbing a plate. Just as she did, the toaster popped and she caught the bread on the plate and brought it over with a tray of freshly baked cookies. “And I’m the middle of our sisters. The eldest will be back shortly.”

“The eldest?” Flynn felt overwhelmed immediately, he was hugging his shirt closed over his chest. “I’m sorry, um…I um…what am I supposed to do here?”

“I mean, if you won’t eat them, I will,” Tiahna smirked, taking a fork and going in to stab the top hot cake. She was countered by a spatula, Hemala not even taking her eyes away from Flynn.

“Come now sister, let our brother enjoy his meal,” Hemala perked back up, as she sat down, scooting in her seat with a beaming smile. “I’ve always wanted a brother to talk about girls with.”

“I’m actually into guys…um…shouldn’t we wait until we’re all here or something?”

“No, go ahead and eat,” Hemala waived him on.

“If you don’t like her cooking, I pray that our mother saves you,” Tiahna smirked, snagging the toast and spreading some jam on it.

“Never mind her, try a bite,” Hemala urged him. “This kind of stuff always goes over better on a full stomach.”

“I…okay,” Flynn picked up his silverware and pressed his knife at the pancake before blinking and putting them back down. “Sorry,” he smirked and gripped the syrup first and poured a little drizzle to be sure there was plenty for everyone else.

“Don’t worry about the amount you use, it’s bottomless,” Hemala smirked. “Go on, I know you’ll like it with more homemade syrup.”

“Homemade?”

“Yeah, everything is from scratch. Except the flower, that’s store bought. Don’t have the fields to grow grain and grind it myself.”

“Oh…Okay…um…” Flynn typed the syrup again, the pancakes soaking it up. Sure enough, the silver pitcher was still full when he finished. He then took the knife and fork again and got to cutting. The perfectly browned stack bended around that fork, the fluffy cakes pending down, syrup welling up around that knife, before parting and fluffing outward with a puff of steam. Flynn’s mouth was already watering before he took his first bite.

Nothing had ever felt so soft and tender against his tongue. The sweetness of the syrup welled out of those cakes, the fluffy, spongy pancakes unfolding like buttery clouds. But there was something else in there, it was something so flavorful and yet it was more of a feeling that danced in his chest.

“Oh my god,” Flynn had to put his fork and knife down, his fingers going to his lips as though he needed to anchor his senses in reality and not on cloud nine where they wanted to go and above.

“I threw in a little essence of motherly love too,” Hemala smiled. “Just a pinch goes a long way.”

“Motherly what now?” Flynn spoke, a bit of pancake flying out and smacking his fingers before he blushed and swallowed before continuing. “What now?”

“It’s extracted from dried afterbirth,” Tiahna smirked as she bit onto her toast.

“Excuse me?” Flynn was about to take another bite when he felt his tongue recoil.

“Oh shut it you absolute heathen,” Hemala threw a blueberry at her sister. “Motherly love is extracted from pink carnations.”

“Pink carnations that were brushed on afterbirth fresh from the womb,” Tiahna added.

“Seriously, not at the dinner table,” Hemala held up a wooden spoon.

“Whatever it is, it’s amazing,” Flynn decided that Tiahna was fucking with him and just kept eating his pancakes.

“I knew you’d love it,” Hemala smiled. “Like something you’ve never had and yet still so familiar.”

“I…yeah. You took the words right out of my mouth,” Flynn paused.

“You’re doing it again,” Tiahna smirked at her sister as she took another bite of her toast.

“Sorry, Love,” Hemala bopped her forehead with the butt of her palm. “I usually try not to divine the future so willy-nilly, but I’m so excited that I can’t really contain it. I’ve been putting all that energy into my baking and sometimes it just sort of happens.”

“So you…can see the future?”

“The near future,” Hemala put a hand on the table in Flynns direction, like she wanted to put it on his hand, but she didn’t want to disturb his meal.

“Very near future,” Tiahna added.

“Yes, sister,” Hemala sighed. “I can divine further, but there is so much that is unwritten until after it happens. Think of it like those Star Wars word scrollers but in reverse. You can see it coming in the distance, but the further you look, the less it makes sense. Now imagine there were hundreds of other words overlapping, different possibilities that bundle into a sea of realities. It’s like that.”

Flynn had paused mid bite, a mouth full of pancake as he listened to that explanation. He gave a hard swallow before continuing.

“Is…Is that why you said you were kind of expecting me or something?”

“Of course dear,” Hemala smiled. “We were destined to find you. Our little blue moon brother.”

“So you’ve been waiting for me for how long?”

“Just a couple centuries or so,” Hemala shrugged. “Oh yeah, sorry, didn’t mean to spoil the surprise, but you’ll live a much longer life than anyone you know.”

“What?” Flynn decided to put his fork and knife down.

“Yes,” Hemala smiled. “We don’t age much after a while.”

This bitch was saying she’s hundreds of years old without batting an eye!

“How…How old are you?”

“Don’t you know it’s uncouth to ask a lady’s age,” Tiahna flicked the last bit of toast into her maw.

“Age is just a number,” Hemala shrugged. “Let’s just say my most famous work was immortalized as a carving on a fort somewhere.”

“I still haven’t gotten her to tell me what Croatoan means,” Tiahna shrugged.

“Wait…I know that word,” Flynn didn’t have to think long as a chilling realization hit him. Croatoan was the word carved into the palisade walls of a fort back in colonial times. The place was a settlement that just vanished with no explanation. He looked at the cute nightingale with whole new light. He imagined her setting out a Thanksgiving dinner and carving it with a chainsaw.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about that,” Hemala smiled warmly. “Just eat up, and enjoy yourself. We have much to talk about.”

“I…I think I’m full,” Flynn lied and Hemala shook her head.

“You’re our brother, I assure you this is the safest place in the world for you,” Hemala smiled. “Now eat, you’re a growing boy.”

“I’m twenty five,” Flynn furrowed his brow.

“Oh, you have plenty of growing yet to do. You’ve barely the strength to open your eyes.”

Flynn didn’t quite understand what she meant by that, but it struck him in his soul. He knew someone said that to him. But who?

“I’m back,” the door to the backyard slid open, a woman with long braided silvery hair walked in. Her large face was framed with wind whipped hair, her cane a knotted old oak branch, and in her other hand was a basket full of herbs. Despite the cane, she walked with a grace that made Flynn think the cane was more for show. Sure enough he was proven true. She arched her back, cracking it into place as her shawl flew to the ground.

She was a barn owl, tall and majestic, yet silver with age. Her glorious markings looked like the spackling of light through a forest canopy, her face was like a glowing moon with its pale beauty and her brown feathers swept down her form. She walked in with a dignified gait like she was royalty, her head tilting out of the way of several terrariums as she strode forward.

Her shawl was in a heap by the floor, but it fluttered up and hung itself. It was covered in feathers and beads, but was very different from the simple top and jeans she wore beneath. She was older than her sisters, for sure, but she still had a powerful gleam in her brown eyes. She was almost more beast than woman, but still her feathers flowed into a figure befitting a goddess. Curves and gentle wafting lines, frills on her feathers that accentuated her curves.

“I got the herbs for the tea—oh, you’re awake,” the barn owl said as though it were an accusation rather than an observation, her head tilting inquisitively. “Kamila of the three sisters.” She bowed before straitening up again. “I’ll get a pot going and we can get down to business.”

She snapped her fingers, the oven coming alight as she went to the sink and filled a black-iron kettle with water.

“I…I’m sorry, should I have bowed back?” Flynn asked the two at the table. The two simply giggled.

“Heaven’s no,” Hemala answered. “She’s reached that age where she doesn’t care much for pleasantries anymore.”

“Don’t talk like I’m not in the room,” Kamila said as she set the kettle down. “As for you,” she motioned to Flynn. “We have much to discuss my young brother.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you or anything,” Flynn started, but Kamila waived him off.

“Don’t apologize, we’re family,” Kamila said.

“She always sounds like that,” Tiahna shrugged. “She’s just got resting bitch face…and voice.”

“Better than simply being one,” Kamila said without missing a beat, filling a teapot with her herbs and something from a tin.

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