If only they’d matured alongside their garden.

Delores, “You Live and You Turn, Volume 3 of the Turnip the Volume Series”

MJ had followed the ghost's directions to the letter. He'd approached the horned maiden in coach D seat 30 and had used humor to break the ice. He'd conversated with her long enough to win her trust and had even managed to appear "wise." Beneath the gold-caged lights and tilted banter, it felt good to flash a little sarcasm here and there. Living in the Midwest had admittedly turned MJ placatory to a nauseating degree.

He'd wanted to give the conversation his full attention, he really did, but MJ's true focus lie several rows behind his newfound friend. The monkeys were acting up again.

"Brandon," thought MJ, "leave your little brother alone. You know he needs to take a nap. No. No! Sit down. Sit! N-."

"Feel to be rude on your own time, stud."

The wizard's conversational companion came back into focus.

"Apologies, HM," said MJ. "What were we talking about?"

"Psshh!" said HM. "Keep up, Mellow Jazz! We were talking about my POWERS!"

"Right." MJ's gaze drifted again to the triplets. Bailey had given up on sleep and was now thwacking his brother's head with a snow globe. "Riiiiight," said MJ again. He bit his lower lip as he watched Becca grab both brothers by their tails and dangle them over the narrow, leather seating.

"Heartburn?" asked HM. "My maker usually gets that same face after eight rounds of kielbasa surprise."

MJ watched Brandon stick the snow globe in his mouth.

"Yeeaaah," said MJ. "Um, I am so, so sorry but, I think... I think I-"

"Antacid?" asked HM. "You're fake, right? Can't you just," she hunched her shoulders and swept her hands out before her, "magic something up?"

MJ grimaced. "You seem to have a real handle on magic," he sighed. "I'm sorry but... I think something bad's about to happen."

"Kielbasa surprise kind of ba-?"

OOOOOOO!!

MJ looked up to see Becca wielding a knife.

"Honey!" shouted MJ. "Sweetheart! What do I always say about cutlery?!"

HM raised both eyebrows. Becca hissed.

"Becca!" MJ abandoned his seat and his acquaintance to work his way towards the chaos. "You put that down THIS INSTANT, young lady!"

Becca lifted the knife above her head.

Back when MJ was just a few hairs shy of a mustache, he'd begged his supervisor (then aged 3) to take him to school. He too wished to discuss shapes and colors. He too wished to taste glue. What he didn't see coming was Ronny Giabatti and his stolen pair of adult scissors.

MJ remembered that day for two reasons. One, he'd learned that pointy things could hurt. Two, it was the only time he'd ever heard Delores scream.

It was with that same jolt of terror that MJ raised his voice now.

"NO!" he roared.

Or so he thought.

His mouth had formed the word "no," but his ears received a different word. It was as if some invisible force has molded his speech midair.

In a voice that matched his own, he heard the word "THROW!"

The knife, which in hindsight, was a decorative masterwork, cleaved through the air like a sickle during harvest. Somehow, left of logic, it changed course mid-air towards a slew of unaware train passengers.

The wizard's scream tore from him pained and incoherent as the knife ruthlessly raked Delores' cheek before landing somewhere behind her with a sickening thud.