Adagio was a godsend in the difficult weeks that followed. Diapers, bedtimes, cooking. Mostly she minded the children while Granny Smith plugged gaps in the farm and business. Plenty for the old woman to do regardless, and Adagio wasted no time in learning the simpler tasks to help ease her load.
The siren dribbled information for the old matriarch, continuing to play her hand well. She had no home or family of her own to go back to. It was strange, yes, but Adagio didn’t and wouldn’t want her name on any wills or bank accounts. Nor did she want payment for business errands or anything like that. Food and the guest room was enough, along with the chance to repay the invented kindness Pear Butter once showed her.
The funeral was perfunctory, but they always were. Distant relatives arriving out of obligation, their annoyance salty on Adagio’s tongue. She heard a few whisper warnings to Granny against the convenient stranger, but seeds of trust had already sprouted.
Adagio watched the children at home while Granny attended to the burial. The shock had worn off by then – they toured her around the orchard, proudly showing off short cuts, bird nests, and chores she soon would be helping with. They sat down for lunch in a particularly pleasant clearing and she sang to them with the baby in her arms. No magic this time, that was saved for sad evenings and scary nights.
A few weeks later, Granny deemed them ready to visit the grave. It was more serious than sad, with the dry-eyed children stepping up to speak as though their parents could hear.
...And perhaps they could. During their long journeys through Equestria the sirens had seen ghosts and visions of afterlifes both heavenly and otherwise. Adagio did not doubt such things existed on Earth.
‘A stolen life.’
She rallied. ‘Not stolen. I did not take this from them.’
It became Adagio’s turn to stand before the tombstone, and a thrill of silent fear went through her heart.
‘Please look after my children.’
An out, an excuse. An offering for any vengeful ghosts who might be watching.
“I’m doing what you asked,” Adagio said. Granny was escorting the kids to the car, perhaps to give her privacy. “They need me, and I’m here. There’s nothing wrong with me getting something out of it, is there?”
The stone offered no reply. Not even a breeze or cloud gave any sort of omen as she turned back to the others.
It didn’t take long for the early buds of love to blossom fully, for Adagio made herself easy to love. Eager to learn, eager to help. Happy to sing at the children’s request so long as they ate their peas, happy to hold Apple Bloom all night during her fits of colic. The cynicism of running a business came entirely naturally to her, letting her take more and more of the load to let Granny focus on the farm. The preference was only noted with amusement by Granny, who didn’t let her dodge quite all of the farm work.
Nor was it all sappy feelings with the family. One day while Granny was driving a delivery, Adagio found herself called in to Applejack’s school, thence to summon Applejack to the dining room.
“Reading lesson, squirt,” Adagio set a letter down in front of her. “Out loud. I’ll help you with any of the hard words.”
A demerit for picking on another kid. Specifically, shoving a worm in another girl’s face three times.
Applejack’s constellation of freckles twisted into a scowl. “That’s Rarity. I hate her.”
“You’re being a bully,” Adagio said.
That proved a magic word. Good lessons from her family (most of all her kindly elder brother) had instilled Applejack with a marvelous aversion to becoming a bully. She howled for forgiveness, breaking down so badly Adagio turned to magic song to calm her down.
It all resolved well enough from there. Macintosh was happy for Applejack to do all his chores that evening, and a call to Rarity’s parents showed the girl cried over every little thing and they were more interested in gossiping with Adagio than holding a grudge.
Applejack got it in her head the same night to be extra nice to Rarity the next day. Adagio helped her write an apology letter that went to school with a fistful of picked dandelions.
She returned home with a blue ribbon tied into a bracelet around her wrist.
“Rarity gave this to me. I like her.”
Rarity proved the first friend little Applejack brought over, though they quickly learned to stick to indoor activities on muddy days. Mac’s friends proved an unruly mob, wolfing down the food Adagio served (albeit with many polite ‘thank yous’) thence to run off for boyish games of running and yelling. Applejack tended to play with one friend at a time, likely owing to their differences. With Rarity, it was odd games of Action Jacks married to Bobbie dolls. Rainbow, racing and swimming. Sweet Fluttershy, playing with the chickens.
Adagio mused on her adopted family one day, holding Apple Bloom up high to look down on her. “Mac’s a boy, and Applejack is… basically a boy. No one but you to pass on my feminine siren wiles to, but that’s alright. You’ll grow up to be a girly girl who’ll go perfume shopping with her auntie, won’t you?”
Apple Bloom beamed down at her. “Gra’na.”
She called everyone ‘Gra’na,’ much to Granny Smith’s delight. Adagio would go on to lose second place to ‘Mackee.’ ‘Ajee’ was Apple Bloom’s third word, ending that little race in a draw between her and Applejack as they couldn’t tell who the baby meant.
And then she had ten words, twenty, fifty. Macintosh joined a little league. Applejack began writing in cursive, and when the teacher saw what she wrote about Rarity they sent another letter home.
“I hate her,” Applejack groused.
Two weeks later, Adagio walked in to find her making a Christmas card for the girl.
“Rarity let me try her lipstick,” Applejack explained. “I like her.”
December didn’t look too merry at first. There was no getting around that the farm lost its two most productive workers. Granny Smith had braced the kids for a quiet Christmas.
Instead, Adagio sold her car and made it a loud one. A good baseball bat and cleats for Macintosh, an army of Action Jack figures for the little tomboy, a DVD player and full Golden Girls collection for Granny. Apple Bloom’s cut was saved for when she could form an opinion.
Adagio, to her full surprise, got a pair of name-brand pumps courtesy of Granny’s own secret funds. Somehow she had noticed that Adagio missed the finer things in life, just a bit. Nothing she ever spoke out loud. Just sighing looks as they passed fashion stores on the way to secondhand shops, and models on magazines at the pharmacy.
Adagio… didn’t quite know what to make of it. She fiddled with the shoes, running her hands along their shiny purple spikes, long into the night of Christmas Day. It felt uncomfortable, somehow, trying to ponder how she felt.
So she stopped, and went to bed.
The cash flow had stabilized by next Christmas. A heady, fun day of apple liquor with Granny and watching the children run around like maniacs. Sappy as it would be to admit, even the love tasted spicy and warm that day.
Yet that was not singularly unique anymore. A year of living off love had taught Adagio to sense its subtitles. Not tasteless at all, but hearty and filling. Like how a human addicted to processed sweets would think a well-made cake bland until they take the time to slow down and enjoy it. Love could be peppered by hard work, marinated by play, sweetened by time spent in relaxed affection, made just a bit vinegary when there were scoldings or fights. Adagio became such an expert that she could sense when there were hard days at school, or guilty secrets being kept. These would lead to questions and answers, leaving the humans to marvel at how sharp their auntie was.
The next Christmas came. Then the next, the next…
Adagio’s hopes for Apple Bloom to be a girly ally were dashed as soon as she could walk. Applejack had mimicked and inherited Mac’s affection for younger siblings, and the two happily took her out on adventures through the orchard during the day, then to war with their Action Jacks before bed. Apple Bloom took pride in her red hair, though, which at least gave Adagio something to work with. The pink hair bows she gave one birthday proved the biggest gift-win of her life.
Long hours in the office, broken up by Granny Smith reminding Adagio to eat. T-ball games for the growing Apple Bloom. Junior track meets for Applejack, watched by the young, prissy Rarity sitting in the bleachers.
Poor Mac’s first breakup. Adagio took him out for ice cream, and sang to him on the way home. Her powers were weaker than ever. Some days she didn’t even feel any magic in the words, yet it calmed the others all the same. Strange.
Songs to Applejack after a bad fight with Rarity. Songs to Granny in the hospital, recovering from her hip replacement.
“I’m getting old,” Granny grumbled.
“Aren’t we all?” Adagio laughed.
Granny gave her a curious look at that, for among them all Adagio had been unchanged. Granny’s steel-gray hair was turning slowly to white, the children were growing as children do.
But Adagio had only been with them for five years (five years?), and the lack of change was not yet worth commenting on. Give it ten, fifty, a hundred, and there would be no denying it.
Strange, though. The five years passed by so… slowly. The rest of Adagio’s immortal life was a blur, yet she could still feel the infant Apple Bloom in her arms. She could recall so clearly the myriad little games they played in the orchard, the long evenings of drinking and penny-poker with Granny Smith.
Ten, fifty years. What then? Adagio supposed the gig would be up. She would have to
Disappear.
Move on to another family for ten or fifty years. The experiment was a success. No more need for bedbug hotels and greasy bars. A new way to live.
So why did she hate to think of it?
A few weeks later, Granny made her a chocolate cake and Macintosh swept the house without being asked. Applejack made apple chicken saute, a dish Adagio loved because Applejack poured her own love into it (made a little spicier today, because she was thinking about Rarity). Apple Bloom drew a picture of all five of them together.
They had noticed Adagio was feeling down. No siren-sense required.
“Anything you want to get off your chest?” Granny asked after the kids went to bed. They sat out on the porch, sipping apple liquor.
Adagio opened her mouth and half a truth tumbled out. “I wish this could last forever.”
“Nothing does,” Granny replied. “Not even you, young miss.”
Adagio looked sharply at her. Did she know… no, she couldn’t.
Granny settled down on her rocker. “You won’t be young forever. I won’t be old forever. Hopefully by the time you’re my age, one of the kids will be ready to take over and you can retire properly.”
“Do you wish you could retire?”
“I wish my son was still alive.” Granny shrugged off the old wound. “But if wishes were fishes and yadda yadda. The work is keeping me young, honestly. If I had nothing to do I’d sit in this rocker til Judgment Day. I’m just glad you’re around to chase these kids.”
“They’re a delight,” Adagio said.
Another truth. She shivered.
“I wish they would stay small.” Then she wouldn’t have to go.
“No luck there,” Granny chuckled. “They’re Apples. They’re gonna be tall as trees before they’re twenty.”
Her face changed, wincing with tightly closed eyes before giving a wan smile. “Hell, twenty… I might make it there for Mac, not so much Apple Bloom. It’ll probably be on you to walk ‘em down the aisle when the wedding bells ring.”
A knife twisted in Adagio’s gut. She laughed. “Don’t say that. You’ll outlive all of us.”
“No chance. I’m next. I better be, after I had to...” Granny paused, shook her head, smiled stubbornly. “I’m just glad we got you, girl, in case they’re still growing when I go. You were an angel back when things were rough. You still are.”
An angel, a guardian angel. It was more than irony that tugged up Adagio’s lips into an honest grin. “Of course I’ll stay. As long as I can.”
She hadn’t meant to let the last part slip out.
“Got somewhere to go?” Granny asked.
Adagio dodged. “We all do, in the end.”
“Reckon so.” Granny let the rest slide.
They sat in silence a little longer, listening to the nighttime sounds of their orchard come alive.
“By the way,” Granny said with a twisty little grin. “You’re young and all so I doubt this is a problem. You’re okay with Applejack being gay as a gaybird, right?”
“Was worried you weren’t.”
“Heck, us Apples don’t have time for nonsense.” Granny downed her drink and scowled. “They tried to warn me off’a you back then, at the funeral. But look at them, not one other Apple has visited since then save ones as old as me. Way of the world now, I guess. But you, girl. If you’re here digging gold, you’re doing a bang bad job of it.”
“I don’t want your gold, Granny.” Adagio shrugged, staring off into the darkness.
“Don’t care. You deserve it.” Granny refilled her glass. “You’re in the will now, so deal with it.”
That weekend they visited Granny’s lawyer, signed a few forms, and that was that. Adagio was an Apple in the eyes of the federal government.
It changed nothing, and everything changed. She taught Macintosh how to drive, Applejack to shave her legs, Apple Bloom how to pitch a ball (Adagio had learned a few tricks on that end after the first two kids). Both Mac and Applejack started spending free time away from the farm, running with different circles of friends. Apple Bloom began bringing over a duo, and the three got into more mischief than all the others combined.
Eight years, going on nine. Plenty of time, no need to think about leaving.
Applejack looked so scared, her face still the child’s face Adagio once sang to sleep, though now she stood tall as Adagio’s chin. She twisted her shirt like a dish towel, her freckles burned in shame and fear.
“Auntie, Granny, I...”
“We know you’re gay, finish your peas.”
Granny nodded. “Yep.”
Mac nodded. As did Apple Bloom, who was in a phase of mimicking his every move. “Eeyup.”
Adagio took Applejack out for ice cream the next day, and imparted a few lessons in being a proper ‘gentleman’ to any dainty purple-haired ladies who happened to catch her eye.
They went out again three months later. Some teen drama happened and Applejack burned her bridges with all her friends.
Adagio could have handled this one better. “Friends come and go, AJ. But your brothers, your granny, and I will always be there for you.”
Applejack remained inconsolable. Adagio sang her to sleep that night, though the magic had long left her voice.
At the time, she thought she made the right move. For the next year, evenings Applejack used to spend with her friends were turned to the farm, growing her into the labor and business. Only after Applejack reconnected with her friends did a certain light return to her face, and Adagio grasped she had been wrong to steer the young woman away.
It happened right when magic returned to the world – at least a silent, subtle wave of magic that any human would sense as a mere shift in weather. Nothing changed, except for the everything that was always changing. Mac studied how to take their business online, Apple Bloom broke an arm learning to skateboard, Applejack reclaimed and doubled her old friend group. Adagio worked all afternoon to cook for their parties in the barn, for which Applejack was always duly grateful.
Her pink friend commented that Adagio looked like a high schooler herself. Adagio laughed it off as a compliment, then stared into the dark that night.
This time, no one joined her on the porch. Granny now preferred an early bed to liquor and cards.
Change, change, everything changed. Except Adagio. Someone had noticed, and someone would again and again until it was obvious to all.
Then it would be her turn to change. Another city, another family.
Not too soon, though, with luck. If she could keep the scam going until Apple Bloom was a grown woman, that would be good enough. At least, it would have to be. So her thoughts turned, padded by the gentle nighttime noise of crickets and birds.
Then a new sound came. She gazed to the city though she could not see it through the trees. Memories rose up of prey in dark oceans and seedy bars. No human could hear it at this distance, nor did Adagio with her ears. She sensed it like a thrum under the water, yet a thrum marked with the predictable rules of music such that her instinct pulled her to sing along and add her own embellishment to the frugal chorus.
Adagio did not sing. Yet she stared, for there was message in the music, this familiar song from familiar sirens. A song of dark hope, fueled by the fury it sparked in those humans close enough to hear. The source of its renewal was close. A font of power, and when it was theirs, they would hunt across this world with no wizards or heroes, and never go hungry again.
And Adagio realized she was out of time, after all.