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Warlock had not signed up to be a babysitter. Of all the ways he might have picked to spend the evening, being stuck looking after a two-year-old cousin he’d never met before was absolutely not it. And yet, here he was: stuck.
If he’d known, when his parents had asked if he wanted to come along to the fancy family dinner out, that saying no would mean childcare instead of video games, Warlock would have chosen dinner with the adults. Even the most boring of ritzy American restaurants couldn’t be worse than
this.
How in the world had his childhood nanny managed to do it full-time? Warlock couldn't even stand one evening.
But his aunt had brushed off his dismay, and his parents had given him the Look that meant he was thirteen, old enough to handle things, and he had better not embarrass them. Cousin Chrysanthemum had an early bedtime, they all told him. She was a sweetheart, she would be no trouble at all, and he could do what he wanted once she was asleep… as long as he stayed quiet.
Hah. It was now half an hour past that scheduled early bedtime, and as far as Warlock could tell Chryssie was no closer to sleep than when he'd first started trying to wrangle her to bed.
He’d tried ordering, pleading, threatening, bribing. Warlock was usually pretty good at manipulating people into doing what he wanted (unless, apparently, what he wanted was to get out of babysitting). But the trouble was, he hadn’t spent enough time around two-year-olds to know what would be effective.
Should he bribe her with toys, or candy, or something else? Should he threaten to tell her mommy, or to crush her under his heels? Was she even old enough to understand any of the things he was saying in the first place, or was he just wasting his breath?
Whatever the case, the wasting his breath part was definitely accurate. Chrysanthemum Dowling seemed utterly set on being anywhere but in bed, doing anything other than closing her eyes, and generally speaking taking every step possible to prevent her older cousin from ever, ever getting to play the games that were calling his name.
Finally, in desperation, Warlock pulled out his phone and set to work Googling while his little cousin danced around the bedroom in her pajamas.
Establish a consistent bedtime routine, Google suggested. Warlock made a face. That might have been helpful if he was going to be taking care of his cousin every night (Satan forbid, as his nanny used to say)… but since this was (fortunately) supposed to be a one-time thing, it was completely useless advice.
Turn the lights off. Not a chance. He’d tried that already, and Chrysanthemum had screamed in the ensuing dark, until Warlock had switched the lights back on, all but in a panic himself. His ears had only recently stopped ringing. That technique was definitely off the table as far as making a repeat attempt.
Read a bedtime story. Hm. That one might have been worth a shot… if he’d had any fitting books available. Warlock had a vague recollection of some picture books from when he was little — funnily enough, it had been the family gardener, of all people, who most often read to him — but he was pretty sure his parents had gotten rid of that corner of the library when they moved back to America. Either that, or the books were packed away somewhere that Warlock would never be able to dig them out before the grownups came home. He briefly contemplated the idea of getting out one of his comics and reading from that, but even he had to admit that the abundance of Booms! and Pows! and colorful confrontations might backfire when it came to priming a toddler for sleep.
He scrolled with increasing hopelessness through several more suggestions, all of which were either impracticable or had already been attempted and failed to produce the desired effect. Or, in some cases, both.
This was a disaster. Chrysanthemum was going to be up all night. His parents and aunt were going to come home and find her still bouncing off the walls. He’d be in trouble, and he’d never get to play his games.
He was just about to give up in disgust and despair when one last phrase on the screen caught his eye. Sing a song.
A… song?
Warlock paused with his finger hovering over the button to close the tab. A song.
Unbidden, a memory rose. A distant memory, one he hadn’t thought of in a long time. Himself, tucked into bed, listening sleepily as a hand stroked across his hair and a familiar voice and accent lilted a lullaby…
He didn’t realize he was humming out loud until he saw his cousin staring at him — for once looking more interested than simply rebelliously energetic. Self-consciously, he stopped.
Chryssie jumped up and down. “More!”
Warlock blinked. “What?”
“More more more more…”
Tentatively, he started humming again. His cousin fell silent, eyes wide.
When he paused, she pouted again.
Huh. Warlock reached for Chrysanthemum’s hand. This time, she took it and allowed him — still humming — to lead her back to her bed.
“Now,” he said firmly when that destination had been reached, “if you’ll get into bed I’ll sing you the whole song.”
She looked at him, head cocked as if weighing the pros and cons of doing as she was told versus continuing to cause chaos… and then, to Warlock’s shock, yawned, acquiesced, and let him lift her into bed without even a struggle. He tucked her in, clumsily, trying to remember how Nanny Ashtoreth used to do it years ago.
And then, Warlock sang, the lyrics and melody he’d thought he’d forgotten coming to life again on his tongue with astonishing ease.
Go to sleep and dream of pain, doom and darkness, blood and brains. Sleep so sweet…
By the time he finished the final chorus, soft and slow, Chrysanthemum Dowling was curled up in bed with her eyes shut, cheek pillowed on one hand and breaths coming with gentle steadiness.
Hardly daring to believe it, Warlock fell silent, bracing for his cousin to sit up again and throw herself full on into some new antic.
It didn’t happen. She shifted in bed, eyes still closed and lips just slightly parted.
His cousin could be much less aggravating when they weren’t butting heads over bedtime, Warlock decided. On some odd impulse, he reached forward and adjusted the blankets around her, tucking the edges more snugly about her. Brushed some hair out of her sleeping eyes.
Chrysanthemum stirred, sighed, and slumbered on.
Thank you, Nanny, Warlock thought with all the relief in his heart. And at last, he took out his phone again to start playing Minecraft: remaking the world according to his desires, just as Nanny Ashtoreth had always promised him he would.