Chapter 5
The first time I tried to bathe Elias, I almost died.
Not literally. But emotionally, spiritually, and possibly legally.
"Get in," I said, pointing to the tub. "It's warm. I added lavender oil. Fancy."
He stared at it like I'd filled it with acid.
"Why?"
"Because hygiene prevents disease and I refuse to raise a grimy apocalypse gremlin."
Still staring.
"It's a bath, Elias. Normal children take them."
"I'm not normal."
"Congratulations, neither am I. In."
Ten minutes of negotiations, two bribes, and one bluff about mana lice later, he got in.
I stepped out to get clean towels.
When I came back—he was gone.
Bathwater dripping on the window ledge.
I opened the curtain. He was crouched on the outside, dripping wet, clinging to the frame like a spy.
I blinked. "...Why."
He said, "Backup escape route."
This child was five.
I was going to need a therapist.
.
.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 5