The Chronicles of Ether Drive 7'

                         To Be or Not to Be Zen

At the House of the Winds, the furry ones were making the most of a sunny day, each doing what they did best: Mistral was siesta-ing. He was a true professional in the matter; no one could ever do it more professionally than our dark kitten with his Parisian airs.

Sirocco was striving to be a diligent pupil of Aeolus. Truth be told, he wasn’t very good at it, but he was giving it his all to learn how to count:

— O-one, t-two, thr-three, f-four, fi-five, se-seven...

Mistral, without even opening an eye or making a move, cleared his throat:

— Ahem, kiddo! I guess Anemo’s kibble wasn't enough for you! Where did you leave number six? Did you eat it?

Aeolus took a deep breath:

— Come on, focus!

— O-one, t-two, thr-three, f-four, fi-five, s-six, ei-eight, n-nine, te-ten, e-eleven, done!

This time, Mistral opened one eye and raised his head slightly, in a casual sort of way, but immediately returned to his "siesta" position as if his head weighed far too much for his strength.

— You could drive even this zen little mouse crazy!

— Zen? What’s a zen? Aeolus, are you zen? I mean, is that a... a species or a breed?

— Listen to him, Aeolus! He watched an hour of "Animal Planet" and now he thinks he’s a biologist. He only counts on two paws up to eleven because he’s always eating a digit!

Aeolus wiped a tear, coughing lightly.

— These allergies are killing me... and you, Mistral, you haven't even brought me my promised coffee bean! To be zen, kiddo, like me, means not losing your cool—to be able to function even without coffee on a fickle day with five seasons in one...

— Five? Which five? Come on, Aeolus, the ginger one has made a fool of you too! I’m leaving before it rubs off on me!

And with a single leap, the black kitten moved onto the fence.

— Come on, kiddo, let’s be zen just the two of us and let the others be jaded and insufferable!

— What are jaded ones? Some kind of pigeons belonging to Noel?

While "jaded ones" were being counted outside, in the kitchen, Anemo and Fleur were having a working session. The adult-child roles seemed interchangeable; the little girl appeared to be taking notes in a notebook with a colorful cover. She had the serious face of a nearly well-behaved little old lady, looking at Anemo with an endearing indulgence while he recounted, with excitement and without a shred of shame, the whole mess with Daisy Queen's dog’s "twin."

— Really? Are you actually serious? Mrs. Daisy thought it was a literary experiment?

— She did! And when I asked permission to include her in...

"Soy un hombre muy honrado que me gusta lo mejor"

From somewhere beneath a heap of papers with maps and silly sketches, Anemo's cell phone didn't just ring like it was about to cause an earthquake; it sang with the voice of Antonio Banderas—a sign that on the other end of the line could be no one else but Archibald Peter Stone, his editor, responsible for bringing a scatterbrain like Anemo back down to earth.

— Shh, it’s the "grounding" man!

— Anemo! the voice thundered. I hope you haven't slacked off and that you have something for me. What you sent this morning is... extraordinary, wonderful... if you keep this up, we’re "divorcing"! I can't even tell if your detective is a wimp or a lovestruck teenager! And your coroner would think "cord" is the masculine of "cordon" or a musical instrument, not the heart. I should have left you to your love poems!

Anemo moved the shouting machine away from his ear for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and, with the zennest of zen, replied:

— Stone, you know I’m a scatterbrain; I sent you the wrong thing by mistake. It was, you’re right, a total mess!

With the elegance of a pianist, he pressed Enter and smiled at the little girl to reassure her.

— I just sent you something else, "The Chronicles of Ether Drive"... We’ll talk later, I’m in a meeting right now!

— Are you mocking...

— Ups! I think it cut out... What were we saying, curly-top?

Fleur looked him over, worried, from head to toe.

— Was it bad? That Mr. Arbalest is very stern!

— He thinks he shot me down, Fleur, but we know better.