A Cup of Normal by Devon Monk Page A

somewhere,” said as she tucked his card into her pocket and waved at the wall where the waterfall roared. “Should be just left of the waterfall.”
    Gary pulled his mask down over his face. “Not my first day at the rodeo. Good luck, and I hope to see you next week.” He popped a snorkel breathing piece into his mouth and headed for the waterfall.
    Libby watched him disappear into the spray, then held the cup up to her nose. It didn’t smell like dirt at all; more lemony with a pinch of something warm and minty — menthol — no, eucalyptus, added to it. It was a pleasant scent.
    “I don’t know where she is,” Fabritus said.
    “Perhaps she’s trying to locate a broom. Or an excuse.” The woman’s voice dripped with venom.
    Libby ground her teeth. She’d show her a broom. She sprinkled a tiny bit of Normal on the floor, and the room instantly brightened and whitened. Baskets of unfolded towels were replaced by the illusion of neatly stacked terrycloth.
    Nice trick.
    Libby bent and touched the folded towels. She gasped. There was no illusion — the towels really were folded and clean.
    What was in this stuff? She stared at the light dusting of Normal on her fingertips and wished she had a microscope.
    “Libby?” Fabritus sounded worried.
    Whoever that woman was, she was doing a good job of ruffling his feathers.
    Just keep her in the living room for a few minutes more, she thought as she headed for the kitchen.
    She spread Normal through the kitchen, the dining room, hall, bathroom and bedrooms. Fabritus kept the woman, whose voice was familiar, in the living room, explaining to her that the house really wasn’t tilted, the floor really was carpet, and all the rest of the mumbo-jumbo behind the actual properties of the vortex, overlay realities, and the gyro they’d built to stabilize it all.
    Libby dashed madly around the house, tossing lemon-scented dirt everywhere. Pictures that had never been level evened out, curtains swung straight, carpet nap stood up and dust disappeared from corners. Libby chuckled, giddy with the power of Normal. She stopped in front of the bathroom mirror and sprinkled a little dirt on herself. Her hair smoothed, her shirt and jeans unwrinkled and she felt just a little more amiable about the world. She looked put together, calm, perfect.
    Looking good, Lib, she thought.
    Gary wasn’t kidding: this stuff was concentrated. A little Normal had taken care of the entire house and there was still a tablespoon at the bottom of the cup. Enough to handle the living room.
    Libby strolled down the nice even hallway into the living room, the cup hidden safely behind her back.
    “There you are,” Fibritus said with obvious relief as she entered the room.
    Libby stopped short, staring at the woman he’d brought to their house.
    “Your mother?” Libby sputtered. “The investor is your mother?”
    Fabritus’s mother, Andrea, perched on the edge of the overstuffed blue gingham couch, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, as if trying to touch as little of the room as possible. Her perfect fake black hair was cut in the newest wedge style and made her look ten years younger in her tailored jacket and fitted skirt.
    “Libby,” she said through a clenched smile that made her look ten years meaner, “we were just talking about you.”
    Libby put on her own fake smile and waded through jungle grass to the couch. “So good to see you, Andrea,” she said throwing Fabritus a panicked look.
    He just gave her that we’ll-talk-later eyebrow raise.
    “I know most people don’t like to mix business with blood,” he said, “and usually I agree. But I truly do believe our grand vision of the future and our grand invention is more than qualified for the money Dad put aside for me when he passed away.”
    “It’s grisly how you harp on about that money,” Andrea said. “Why he’s barely been gone a day.”
    “He’s been dead fifteen years, Mom,” Fabritus said, “and I’ve