Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

“The repeat-y’ bird kind of looked like this, but more scarlet.”

Cadence turned her phone to show Dorian a Googled photo of a lyrebird.

“And that’s the one that gave you this?”

Dorian scooted the marbled pebble across the desktop toward Cadence.

“Yep.”

“And the peacock made out of red velvet cake gave you this one.”

Dorian repeated the scooting action with the feather.

“It looked like it was made of red velvet cake and it was actually stuck to the dog. Are you even listening to me?” Cadence sighed.

“You have to admit, there’s a lot to take in with that story,” Dorian replied, “But the story does make the gifts even better. Thanks!”

“Thanks for covering for me.” Cadence leaned across the desk and kissed Dorian’s forehead.

Dorian yawned.

“Thanks a lot!” Cadence chuckled.

“It’s not you!” Dorian spoke through another yawn. “I’ve been awake since yesterday morning. I need sleep.”

“Go take a nap. I’ll watch the desk until the night watch gets here.” Cadence urged him to move along.

“You realize that I am the ‘night watch’ you speak of,” Dorian talk-yawned, again.

“All the more reason to get moving!”

Cadence put the pebble into his left hand and the feather into his right. She patted his butt as he slumped his way out the back of the office.

Dorian crossed the play yard and walked the perimeter of the pool as he made his way to the motel room he called home. Granny said she allowed him to stay there rent-free because she needed a man around the place “just in case”. That puzzled Dorian because he viewed himself as highly unskilled. Unless she needed a drain unclogged or a mixtape created at a moment’s notice, she would have to call a handyman.

Despite his self-acknowledged DIY shortcomings, Dorian had modified his room to be more along the lines of a recording studio with a bed rather than a dorm room or apartment. The pair of queen-sized beds that you would find in any of the other rooms in the motel was replaced with a recording booth of Dorian’s own design. It was fashioned from a twin-sized Murphy bed he had found at a resale shop and an old sliding glass shower door from one of the other rooms. Ironically, it had been replaced by a hired handyman. Dorian figured the mattress would work well as a sound suppressor. He simply liked the looks of the shower door. The dresser and kitchenette remained the only untouched and original features in the room.

In one fluid, zombie-like movement Dorian entered his room, placed his treasures given to him by Cadence onto the dresser, cracked open the window, folded down his bed, and rolled into it. He was asleep as soon as he hit the sheets.

A gentle breeze filtered through the sheer curtains, caressing Dorian on its way into the room. It wasn’t a strong enough breeze to disturb the post-it note ideas stuck to the side of the recording booth, but it was exactly the strength necessary to move the Pheacock feather along the top of the dresser. It slid effortlessly until it bumped into the variegated pebble, ending its very short journey.

Instinctively, the long, silky plume curled around the pebble, again and again, creating what could best be described as a nest. The lush, tapered end emblazoned with the flame-like eye scintillated as it folded over the top, surrounding the pebble.

The twisted crimson puff ball pulsed with light. The glowing heartbeat quickened and intensified with each pulse until the entire nest became a red-orange smoldering orb in the center of the dresser. The orb shuddered as white-hot fissures crackled across its surface. The fractures split wide, splashing the walls with a spray of light and specks of ash. The orb imploded into an ebony nothingness with deafening silence, leaving behind a red chrome scarab and tiny fragments of the pebble encircled by the coiled feather.

An almost inaudible metallic buzz accompanied the first flexing of the scarab’s minute wings as it shook free the dust-fine ash from its back. The pitch rose higher as the beetle, no larger than the nail on the average pinkie finger, took flight from the dresser top.

Despite its robotic, metal-clad appearance, the scarab flew in loose, organic loops, as if a leaf wafting on a gentle breeze. It spiraled slowly upward, making slight dips and bends as it ascended. It pirouetted in whimsical circles as it descended over Dorian’s head. Each exhale redirected the beetle’s fight pattern, causing the little bug to drift about like a fluff of down.

Dorian shifted position. He adjusted the pillow beneath his head and inhaled deeply. The scarab took advantage of the air stream and rocketed into the open mouth, banking slightly down and to the right to avoid contact with the uvula. It contracted its legs and curled into a shiny red ball just before impacting the back of the throat. It kicked hard upon impact, propelling itself into the larynx. Barbs extended from the perimeter of its shell and anchored it to a spot adjacent to the vocal cords.

Dorian coughed quietly and continued with his slumber.