“…Stay tuned next for a safe landing, a joyful reunion, and an extended conversation. And as always, goodnight, Night Vale…goodnight.”
The red ON AIR light in the recording booth goes off, and Cecil powers down his soundboard and removes his headphones. Normally he has an entire end-of-show routine bordering on ritual—thank his current intern for their hard work, perform a short prayer at the station bloodstone circle, spend a few minutes fussing over Khoshekh and the other cats in the restroom, maybe drink one last cup of coffee while shooting the breeze with whoever else is in the break room if the crossbows have been properly loaded with appropriate anti-air missiles—but today he just shouts a thank-you to Intern Jasper before heading out the doors.
An SUV, recently purchased as a more sensible alternative in the desert to a minivan, pulls up with perfect timing as he steps out onto the street, and the passenger side window rolls down. “Hey, Hot Stuff. Going my way?”
“Hey, Carlos.” Cecil smiles at his husband as he climbs into the SUV and leans over for a quick but intense kiss, then twists around to turn a bright grin onto the other love of his life. “Hi, buddy!”
“Dada!” Esteban gives him a smile to rival the sunset and kicks his feet in their new shoes together. Carlos has dressed him in a crisp little button-up shirt and tan slacks that make him look like a junior bank manager, except for his floppy hair that defies all attempts at taming with a comb, the telltale pink stain around his mouth that says he’s had his afternoon snack fairly recently, and the lack of antennae. He clutches the stuffed giraffe that’s barely left his side since Janice gave it to him for his first Bloodstone Day, and he’s strapped in and ready for anything.
Cecil wrinkles his nose at their son, making him giggle, then turns around and fastens his seatbelt. “When does the plane get in again?”
“It’s due in about forty-seven minutes. We should have just enough time to get there and meet them.” Carlos barely waits for Cecil to get buckled all the way before he takes off. “I think you’ll like Jonny. He’s very smart. Has a master’s degree, I think, but last time I talked to him he was a little vague about what it’s in. He’s the Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute.”
“What’s that?”
Carlos frowns slightly. “An Archivist? Kind of like a Librarian, but with fewer tentacles. More likely to be human.”
“No, I mean the Magnus Institute.” Something about that name tickles at the back of Cecil’s brain (not literally, thank the gods). He’s heard of it. Somewhere. “Is that in…Luftnarp?”
“No, London. England,” Carlos adds. “It’s…I’m not sure exactly what it is. I think they study the supernatural and the paranormal. We can ask when they get here. His partners work there, too, from what he said. We’ll have to take them to Pine Cliffs while they’re here—they’ll be very interested in that, I think.”
“Hmm.” Cecil glances out the window as they pass City Hall, being draped in its black velvet shroud for the night, and voices the question that’s been nagging him for the last two weeks. “How did I not know you had a cousin?”
He tries to keep his voice neutral, but a little of the hurt bleeds in. Carlos reaches over and squeezes his hand comfortingly, running his thumb over Cecil’s wedding band. “It’s not you, sweetie. I wanted to tell you about my family, but after seeing you with Abby and Janice, and even Steve, I just—I could see how much family means to you, and how important yours is to you. I was afraid you’d want to meet mine, and my parents are…it’s complicated. Jonny’s the only family I really have worth talking to, and we lost touch after his grandmother died and I moved here.”
“Wasn’t she your grandmother, too?”
“No. Jonny lived with his father’s mother. Mama and Aunt Sarah were sisters. Our abuela died when we were still pretty young.” Carlos sighs. “Aunt Sarah died not long after that. Those two things are not necessarily related.”
Cecil hums. “How old were you? And how old was your cousin?”
“I was nine. Jonny was…it was summer, so he was four, almost five.”
“Oh, wow,” Cecil says, startled. “I didn’t realize you meant that young. I-I thought you meant when you were—you know, teenagers.”
Carlos shakes his head. His eyes flick up to the rearview mirror, then he says in a low voice, “Uncle Walt died when Jonny was two, Cece. I don’t think Jonny even remembers him. I didn’t know him all that well myself. I was only six or seven, and, well, we lived in America. I think I only actually met him three times.”
Cecil swallows on the lump in his throat. He grew up without a father, too, and in a very real way he grew up without a mother as well, since she was hardly ever there. He wishes he had a grandmother to raise him—maybe his relationship with his sister wouldn’t have been so fractured if she hadn’t had to be his parent as well—but more than that, he wishes he had parents he could remember and be proud of. It’s why he tries so hard to be involved in Esteban’s life as much as he can.
Trying to be neutral, he asks, “How long has it been since you saw him?”
“In person?” Carlos hums the way he usually does when contemplating a particularly thorny scientific problem. “More than ten years, I think. Time is—”
“I know. Time is weird.” Cecil flashes Carlos a smile, which Carlos returns.
“Mm-hmm. But I’m pretty sure it was somewhere between ten and twelve years. He turned nineteen while he was visiting me, and it was…five years before I came to Night Vale? More or less? So if his experience of time matches up with ours, it’s been eleven years since we saw each other in the flesh.”
“Have you seen each other in the spirit? Or in the incorporeal?” Cecil asks. “Maybe in dreams?”
Carlos gives Cecil that look he’s familiar with, the one of fond indulgence mixed with mild worry, a worry that has been steadily decreasing since they got married. “Things don’t work like that outside of Night Vale, sweetie.”
They make good time to the airport, which is still pretty small despite being international now. Carlos finds a spot to park what they’ve affectionately dubbed the Desert Whale, then heads inside to check the arrival board while Cecil unbuckles Esteban from his car seat. Esteban wants to walk, even though he hasn’t really learned how to do it on his own yet and still has to hold onto something while he tries, and since he’s the third person and second male to have Cecil completely wrapped around his chubby little finger, Cecil lets him totter along on still-unsteady legs, at least until one of the Sheriff’s secret police cars careens around the corner and zooms over the crosswalk just as they’re starting to cross. He hasn’t moved so fast in ages, snatching his son up and cradling him to his chest, but the car misses them and continues on its way. Cecil’s heart is still pounding, though, so he carries Esteban the rest of the way.
Carlos is waiting at the scientifically perfect spot, where he can keep an eye on both concourses simultaneously in case there’s a last-minute gate change but can also see Cecil and Esteban coming towards him. He smiles, but there’s a nervous energy to it. “The plane should be arriving in about seven minutes. Factor in time for them to get off the plane, depending on how far back they’re sitting, and time to walk down the concourse, and they should be here in fifteen to twenty-three minutes.”
“Will you recognize them?”
“I hope so. Even if it has been eleven years.” Carlos shrugs. “If nothing else, they’ll probably be the only strangers getting off the plane.”
Cecil nods. Strangers don’t often come to Night Vale, at least not on planes. Tourists come occasionally, but they usually drive or arrive on the bus. Carlos is right; even if he can’t recognize his cousin, they’ll probably be able to guess who they are, even in
“Mmm…” Esteban kicks his feet and squirms, trying to get Cecil to let go of him. Carlos takes him, making one of the silly faces that usually makes both of them giggle as he swings Esteban up above his head briefly, then brings him back down and rocks him back and forth. He starts humming, then singing. Cecil recognizes it as the song Carlos only really hums when he’s nervous, or scared, or the specific kind of lonely Cecil can’t help him with. He never knew there were words to it.
“Oh, dear, what can the matter be…?”