Author's note: slightly shorter chappy today, since I've been pretty busy.

Enjoy, and thanks for reading ^^

Palms are like cockroaches, they were here long before us, and they’ll be here long after us. They’re the only things standing after a hurricane.

Robert Irwin

Big, fat drops of water started crashing on the ground, the dusty scent of rain on warm ground hanging heavily in the air.

Visibility was bad, restricted by the darkness due to the thick blanket of storm clouds and the late hour both, only the intermittent lightning bolts offering giving a modicum of light.

It didn’t hide the paleness of Storm, though, or the trickle of blood slowly trailing along his arm.

My father’s voice rose, covering the howling winds.

“Abby, we can’t stay here, hurry him up!”

I hissed, annoyed at the comment. As if I didn’t know that we were running out of time. Problem was Storm was as unmoving as a boulder, and completely lost in his own world. He didn’t even flinch when I snapped my fingers in front of his face, his glowing cat eyes staring unblinkingly at something ony he could see.

I traced back the blood up to the broken cue stick part planted in his back slightly above the shoulder blade. It was by no means a life threatening wound, but I guess over seventy years with XXL ever bleeding piercings in his body left him with a bad case of stabby things phobia.

As he started trembling, folding on himself, the elements around us picked up, menacing to transform into a hurricane. Twigs and small objects started joining the mad dance of leaves and papers in the air. I couldn’t even hear Uriel’s voice anymore even though he was only a few meters away.

I waved to my father, asking him to come back. When he did, I pointed to the broken wood sticking out of Storm’s shoulder. He yelled near my ear:

“Son of a…I didn’t see this, must have happened in the rush. Try to calm him down and prevent him from snapping at me, I’ll take this out and heal him. He didn’t change form yet, so he’s not completely out of it for now.”

Calm him down? How was I supposed to do that when he didn’t even see me?

Recalling the memories of the beast in the clearing, I whistled softly as I did that time, lightly stroking his face. Since he didn’t hurt me then, he probably wouldn’t now.

I don’t know who was the most surprised, of my father or me, when Storm buried his face in my arms, his whole body shaking.

A spurt of blood splashed one the ground, soon washed away by the rain when Uriel removed the cue stick. I could see my father’s mouth moving although his song didn’t travel far enough for me to hear.

The painful grip on my upper arms slowly relaxed as the shoulder injury’s borders knitted back together under my father’s ministrations. Soon enough, both the wind and rain abated, turning into a light drizzle whereas I could tell Storm was coming back to himself judging by the tensing of his body and the slow reddening of his ears and neck.

“We need to go kids, the police will be here soon, cuddle later!”

I tugged on Storm’s big hand, dragging the still dazed man back to our car. I threw the keys to Uriel, deciding to go in the back to keep an eye on Storm, braving the “unique” driving skills of my father. With some luck we might even make it to the pub without a new dent on the fender.

We were half-way back to our family’s pub when the big oaf finally raised his head.

“I’m sorry. I let my emotions control me, and I brought a disaster. I’ll move out of the house by this evening.”

And then what? Lurk in the garbage again around the neighborhood? As if we’d let him do that. I searched for my notepad, frustrated at the soggy mess it had become in the hurricane.

My father made a sharp turn, pursued by the irate honking of the other drivers, parking the car along the road. He turned around to look at us:

“Kid, everybody fails at one point or another.

Now you’ve got a choice to make, you can either run away like you want to, try to live a human life, knowing you’ll remember that failure, or you can stick with us and try to overcome your fear.

By the way, if you try to run I’m not betting on your chances of evasion. You’ll have three very pissed off women on your case, and I won’t lift a finger to hinder them.”

I smiled at my father, patting his hand.

“Can you translate for me?”

“Go ahead.”

“If you try to make a break for it, we’ll put our brand new P.I on your case, and drag you home as many times as necessary. Nobody was hurt, we found the problem, and now we can try to fix it. Unless you lied when you said you’d protect me?”

He sighed, defeated.

“How can I help if I freak out in battle? I could get all of us killed.”

“Well, we know you’re ok with slashing and hitting. Only stabby things are a big no no so far. So as long as you don’t get stabbed you should be fine.”

Uriel turned pensive.

“I might be able to help with this. I don’t like messing with people’s psyches usually since it can have unsuspected developments, but in this case I don’t think it would create problems to put some distance between your memories and your self.

It won’t be a panacea, but it should dim your emotional responses to those memories.”

“When can you do it?”

“When you’ll be more serene, so not today, and probably not tomorrow either. I’ll fetch you when it’ll be good to try.”

He restarted the car, driving us to the pub. By the time we got there, the last remnants of the hurricane had vanished as if it never happened in the first place, leaving the sky as clear as in a mid-summer day.

The din of the crowd assailed our ears even before we entered the place, attesting to the success of our business.

I donned an apron to help delivering the orders while gently pushing Storm towards the back rooms where Kate was. He wouldn't be muchhelp in his brooding state anyway.

I silently laughed when I noticed a well-known bluish head bobbing in a corner. Looks like Mrs. Dross hadn’t given up on the gossip session.

My mother’s smile was radiant when I signaled for her to take a break, and she immediately went to Mrs. Dross’ table, soon followed by Uriel. Soon peals of laughter rose from their table, drowning the noise around. One crisis avoided. I dived back into the race from hell known as "waiting on tables", the pub's attendance showing no signs of slowing down.

It was full night when we could finally extricate ourselves from the pub, the second shift taking over from us.

We all piled up in the Twingo, with the imp ending sitting in my lap since the car was a five seater, and we were not going to let an old lady go back alone in the public transports at night.

I had refused the alternative solution said old lady proposed, which consisted of having me sitting in Storm’s lap “since he’s so big anyway”.

Matchmaking services still in full swing I see.

Mrs. Dross only left us for a few minutes when we parked at our home, to retrieve a medium-sized metal box from her own house.

“Now let me see the little pantry robbers in their natural habitat!”

With her presence dinner was a light hearted affair, bantering remarks fusing over the table. She was as much of a rascal as my father, if not more, and I wondered more than once if letting them meet was not a huge mistake.

Her true motives were revealed after dinner though, when we decided to stargaze over tea and coffee in the backyard.

She was like a little kid in a Christmas store as she looked at the light ballet of the pixies around the lilac tree, her eyes huge and brimming with unshed tears.

“So magic does exist in the world. Maybe there is still hope for us all…”

I patted her shoulder, pointing the box she was clutching questioningly.

“Oh, that’s for the little faes, I almost forgot!”

Littles noses went up to sniff the air when she opened what would soon be known amongst the tribe as the holy box of the heavenly pastries.

The tiny stomachs with wings fluttered around the box, initiating weird victory dances when duos or trios of pixies managed to lift a full cookie from the box to transport it to the portal.

“I think you just became the cookie priestess. Maybe even the cookie goddess!”

“Pshh, as long as they leave the rest of the food alone I’m good with anything.”

I smirked.

“You offered them cookies. At this rate you’ll have your own tribe soon I’m sure. And then you’ll run after your make up like the rest of us.”

We stayed in the garden long after the neighbor said her goodbye, just enjoying each other’s company under the starry sky. Uriel and the imp were busy excitedly sketching things on the paper tablecloth, chattering like a couple of magpies, and I had doomsday visions of uber potato launchers and broken windows.

Seeing this I exchanged a weary smile with mom. Sometimes it was hard to know who was the kid, and who was supposed to be an adult.

We all went to bed much later than we should have, even the imp. I promised myself to make sure she’d have enough sleep before classes from now on, since we had been far too lax with this, resulting on her having dark circles around her eyes more often than not.

It wouldn’t do for her school results to drop because she couldn’t focus in class due to tiredness.

All the exhaustion of the day hit me at once as I snuck under the covers of my bed, sending me straight into a deep sleep.

I barely had time to register the cloying, almost too sweet smell carried by the light breeze lingering around the slightly ajar window.

I wonder what flower smells like that? I never noticed it here before…