Micah leads me towards a pavilion, and kids screech and shriek as they spot me. “The eggs,” he hisses, and I turn to him with my brows drawn.
“What?”
“The eggs! You need to hide the eggs!” As amusing as it is to observe him simultaneously try to scold me and smile at the humans, my annoyance flares.
“They should’ve been hidden already! If I hide them now, they can literally just watch me. It’ll be the worst egg hunt in history, because they’ll know exactly where they are.” He scowls,which means he one hundred percent hadn’t considered that, but is too proud to admit it.
“Fuck,” I groan, dragging my hand over my face. “Okay, new plan. Are there limits to your magic here?”
“Some. What do you need me to do?”
“Can you hide these with your powers?” I gesture towards the basket, and he cocks his head curiously, but nods. “Alright, follow my lead.”
We walk underneath the shadows of the pavilion. For a moment, I consider walking away and just forgetting any of this ever happened, but then I catch Micah’s eyes.
“Goddamn it, I’m so fucked,” I mutter, and I climb on top of a table.
“Attention!” Heads whip in my direction as the white noise of indistinct conversations fades to a dull murmur. “Thank you all for coming to our first official egg hunt. I’d like to take a moment to introduce myself… I am the Easter Bunny!”
Fuckingcrickets.
The crowd is completely silent, until a guy whispers, “I chased a guy in a BDSM bodysuit a few weeks ago that claimed the same thing,” and the other man beside him chuckles.
“The Easter Bunny isn’t real,” a kid shouts, and I narrow my eyes at the dirt-smudged smirking preteen.
“Yeah!” another snot-nosed child adds, and a chorus of them yells their agreement. My eye twitches at the sound.
Why did I agree to this, again?
“Is that so?” I ask, waiting for the devil spawns to get quiet. “Well, if I’m not real, then how do I do…this?” I glance at Micah as I snap my fingers, and the eggs disappear from the basket.
Gasps and murmurs ring out from the crowd as I gesture towards the greenery of the park, the flowers just beginning their blooms. “Go on, then. The hunt is on!”
Children scatter and parents eyeball us warily, but soon, we’re alone in the pavilion other than a few loitering under the shade. “That was smart thinking.” Micah crosses his arms, watching the kids run and laugh as they collect the hidden eggs.
“I have my moments.”
“You have more than your moments, Xal,” he says as he reaches for me, but when my eyes meet his, he cringes and pulls away. “Nope… nope, sorry. Icannotlook at you without this visceral fear telling me to flee. Coming from an Archangel, that is really saying something.”
Kids run and play as the sun peeks through the clouds, and soon many of them are returning to the picnic area to crack open their finds. Micah has such a look of pride on his face that I can’t bear to remind him that to these people, I am nothing more than another shmuck in a rabbit costume. I’m just one more person pretending to be something I’m not.
“Excuse me, could we get a picture?” a woman asks, and I turn to see her kid standing beside her with chocolate smears on his mouth and a runny nose.
“Ugh—”
“Of course!” Micah shouts over me, and I glare at him before clearing my throat and forcing a smile. Regretting every decision I’ve made in life that brought me to this point, I drop onto a bench and let the snot-nosed child scramble into my lap. To my absolute horror, a line of children forms.
One after another, the squirmy, sweaty little shits climb onto my leg while their parents snap pictures. They coo about how their overgrown sperm are so cute and being so good.
Wish someone would compliment me for eating candy and doing literally nothing.
My cheeks ache from the fake smile plastered across my lips when a young girl approaches with tears running down her face. “He’s scary,” she whines, and for the love of everythinggood in this universe, I do not want that weeping monstrosity anywhere close to me.
“She doesn’t have to—” I start, but her mother hooks under her arms and plops her into my lap as the child screeches unholy sounds into my ear.
“It’s just a costume,” the woman says in a sugary sweet tone. Despite the banshee-like shrieks and vibrant crimson hue of her child’s terrified face, she snaps photo after photo. Heaven for-fucking-bid her hellspawn’s tantrum deter from her Pinterest board. No better way to show you’re a great mommy than lifelong mental trauma, after all.
Micah steps over with a broad smile. “On the contrary, this is therealEaster Bunny.” The child’s screams climb in volume as I glare at him, and the mother scoffs loudly at both of us.
