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excerpt from Henry & Priscilla by Annika Sage Ellis

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“I don’t like you spending so much time with that man.”

Priscilla powdered her nose in her compact mirror, hardly glancing at the driver’s seat. “He’s my husband, Mama.”

“Husband or not, he’s a bad influence.”

“You always say that, but every time I come home, I’m right as rain.”

Donna huffed. “You might be, but somebody’s got to keep the city running for six damn months while you’re gone.” She took one hand off the steering wheel to gesture to the graying bun on her head. “My hair’s falling out while you’re out here with that mongrel.”

“You’re beautiful, Mama. And you run the city just fine.”

“Why does he even need you for so long anyway? If he’s perfectly happy off in the middle of nowhere with his dogs and his birds, I say let him have it.”

“Our dogs and our birds.” Priscilla put the pouf down and checked every angle she could think of. “I know you don’t like him, but that doesn’t change that I do.”

“It’s not just him I don’t like. His whole damn family’s a disaster—and don’t lie, you’ve met his brothers. Peter thinks he’s a pirate baron, Zachariah thinks he’s king of the world, I don’t even want to meet the parents. All three of them are so stuffed up with their own importance it’s a wonder they can move.”

“Well, Henry’s stayed a lot longer than Papa ever did.”

“Priscilla Gardner!”

She shut the mirror with a click. “It’s true.”

Donna scowled. “I’ll not hear you saying a single ill word about your father, he left because he had to.”

Priscilla didn’t believe that for a moment, but she’d had a lot of practice pretending like she did. “I know, Mama.”

The Model-A Roadster rumbling down the bumpy country road was the only sound for a few tense minutes. A familiar tradition as the occasion itself, there wasn’t a single trip to or from the city that wasn’t marred by repeated arguments and stubborn quiet. Priscilla made herself busy arranging the contents of her purse and adjusting the scarf over her head as the tall grasses and far-away homesteads flew by. Donna sighed, dejected, and just as familiar as her rage.

“Just be careful, sweetheart,” she implored. “There aren’t any of our goons out here, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t anyone else’s.”

“How many years have I been coming down here?” Priscilla reminded her. “And you know I always have a piece.”

“It doesn’t mean there’s no chance.” Donna wagged a finger. “Patterns are dangerous, and there are more foxes waiting to get into the henhouse than just the ones out here.”

“Whatever you say, Mama.”

At last, they made that fateful turn down the long, narrow path that made up the driveway. Faded yellow-orange grasses grew shorter and shorter until the homestead was visible from the road. Thin trees and shrubs bursting with color lined the porch, the building itself a two-story palace of wood and shuttered windows. It was elaborate in its simplicity, a common man’s luxury.

Priscilla couldn’t help an eager grin as the house came into view, wanting nothing more than to run through the grasses and into the trees. Matronly disappointment be damned, she was happy to be back.

When the car slowed to a stop, she nearly leapt out the window to skip opening the door. Obviously, she had dignity, and kept composure as she exited the car and collected the bulky leather suitcase in the backseat. She circled around the side of the car to wave from the path up to front porch.

“Have a nice winter,” she said.

Donna rubbed her brow, but smiled warmly out the window. “I’ll do my best.”

Priscilla watched the car pull away, all the way back down the driveway, until it was merely a speck among the country grasses, until it was nothing. Finally, she relaxed.

She picked at the knot under her chin until the scarf fell away, and her long brown hair cascaded after it. Tying the scarf around the handle of the suitcase, she breathed in the clean air of the countryside and started up the path to the door.

The short trees and shrubs were both bursting with the last blossoms of the summertime, the first tendrils of autumn not quite stealing their vibrance yet. She stopped to admire the scarlet blooms on the branches of the trees, pleased to see them coming in so well. Henry had remembered to water them properly this time. With any luck, they’d have a bounty of pomegranates to harvest this year.

She ran a hand across various leaves and petals, shaking hands with her seasonal friends. She greeted the house, too, running a familiar hand along the railing of the porch steps. The house greeted her back—single step and a creaking wooden board was all it took for the barking to start.

“Are those my babies?” Priscilla called, voice carrying easily through the thin screen door.

The barking increased in both volume and sources. Excited yelping and the scattering of claws on wood raced closer. She’d hardly reached the door before three Dobermans with bright colored collars pressed against screen, barking, whining, and scrambling over each other.

“Those are my babies!” she cried. “Hello, darlings, let me open up and say hello!”

Priscilla opened the door an inch and it was promptly shoved open by a flurry of dark fur and flying paws. All three dogs leapt onto the porch, jumping up to drag her down to their level—and she soon did. She dropped to her knees and let herself be jumped on and smothered by their tongues, laughing all the while.

 “Hello, Caesar,” she said, patting each dog in turn, “and hello Chimera, and hello Cassius. I missed you so much. Yes, I missed my special boys.”

Caesar licked every inch of her face and then some. Cassius did his best to climb over both of his brothers to get the most attention. Chimera was the first to get curious about her luggage, abandoning his affections to sniff and scratch at the leather.

Priscilla shooed him off as best she could. “Not for you, precious, not for you.”

She dragged the suitcase back and struggled to her feet. Cassius jumped up to try and drag her down.

“Sit!” she ordered. All three dogs sat obediently at her feet. “Good boys. Why don’t you go find your papa?” She gestured into the house. “Go on, go find him.”

One by one, the dogs retreated into the house. She readjusted her rumpled clothes and joined them, kicking the screen shut.

The house was cozy and bright, light streaming in through the windows and casting a warm  glow on everything it touched. Mahogany tables and chairs, deep red couch and chairs, beautiful woven carpets, elegant wallpaper decorated with roses. It was everything exactly as she remembered it.

It was also empty. Except for the dogs, the house looked hardly lived in at all. She pursed her lips. If Henry wasn’t here, she didn’t have to guess where he was hiding.

She took her suitcase upstairs to the bedroom and left it at the foot of the bed. At the end of the hall sat all three dogs, waiting at a closed door. The poor things had done exactly as she asked.

“Good boys,” she said, nudging past them. “I’ll get you all a treat later.”

It was a mighty feat to crack open the door wide enough to slip inside and still not let the dogs through, but Priscilla had a lot of practice. Even if they had managed it, all three of them knew they weren’t allowed in this room. Not ever.

Priscilla pressed the door closed with her back and cut back the greeting she meant to give.

“—and the deal you made with us states that very clearly,” Henry finished into the receiver of the rotary telephone on his desk. He had one big hand tangled in his dark hair, eyes pinched shut in irritation.

Priscilla padded across the room, careful not to disturb the call. She sidled up next to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He startled at her touch, but relaxed as soon as he saw her. The hand in his hair left, engulfing hers as he took it on squeezed. She gave him a bright smile, and he got halfway through returning it before rolling his eyes and hunkering back down on his desk.

“Well, I’m damn sorry to hear that,” he continued, not sincere in the slightest, “but if you delay this shipment any longer, we will pull protection—from you and your business. That was what you agreed to when you signed the contract with our organization.”

He looked up at her again and mouthed Sorry. She shook her head and mouthed It’s okay in return, but her smile quickly faded. Her lips pressed into a thin line. It was always that damn phone.

“Like hell it isn’t,” Henry spat. He opened a drawer of the desk, full of papers, and started digging around. “And even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be in your best interests to—”

Priscilla yanked the phone out of his hand. “If you don’t do what he says, I’ll have every pig from here to Seattle on your behind before you can say hoosegow.”

Satisfied, she slammed it back down onto the base. Henry held his recently empty hand out, confused.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

She leaned a hip on the desk. “Thank you, dear, I’m happy to see you, too.”

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Of course I’m happy to see you, but that was an important supplier for—”

“I don’t care what he’s supplying, he doesn’t get to go back on his word.”

“I was handling it.”

“I heard how you were handling it, and I improved your technique.” She smoothed a hand over his shoulder again. “Come on, darling, I missed you.”

Henry slid the paper-stuffed drawer shut, turning to face her head on. “These people need to be handed delicately, sweetheart. Especially folks like Dennis Eng—”

”Dennis English is a weasel who tries to wiggle out of every deal we settle.” Priscilla jabbed a finger at the phone. “He needs to know who’s in charge around here, and if you keep letting him talk, he’s going to think it’s him.”

“If we let him think he’s in charge while controlling every aspect of his company, we’ll have a real happy partner who thinks he’s getting more than he is.”

“Or we’ll have a partner who thinks he can get whatever he wants by dropping a dime and whining about it. He needs to learn that I’m not a weak sister, and neither are you.”

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re in the city to run the turf, I’m out here to run the business. Are you going to let me run the business?”

Priscilla pushed off the desk and folded her arms. “Fine. I’ll be downstairs.”

She turned to go. The ­flick of the rotary phone grated against her ears as she left.

“I’ll be down soon,” Henry told her. “I just—Hello operator…”

She lingered at the door, listening to him talk. She didn’t believe him, but said, “I know.”

“Hello, Mister English. Yes, it’s me, I’m sorry about the disconnect.”

Priscilla opened the door, not wanting to hear any more of this than she already had. Before she closed the door, she caught the tail end of another reply.

“Yes, that was her. It appears Persephone is back in the Underworld.”