Chapter Eight
Calla has some disturbing premonitions, and, at the brink of despair, I suddenly see the light
I sat at my desk, absentmindedly toying with a pencil. I seemed nowhere closer to the answer than before Greenbriar had brought in her crowd of stool pigeons. There was something vital missing from this case. None of Jessup's minions matched the description of the shadow, who they had also mentioned was small and slight; his bully boys had all been tall, muscular brutes, with no talent for strategic thought. There was always the possibility that Jessup had secretly acquired a smaller, more intelligent minion somehow, but I couldn't see how he'd have managed it after being locked up. But in that case, how could he have done it afterward? I mean, the prison guards were bribable, but after his imprisonment all Jessup’s holdings had been confiscated, and distributed amongst different government officials. I was pretty sure I’d found all his secret caches, and how would he get to them anyway? Maybe he’d been blackmailing the prison guards somehow? But with no resources left, and being locked up in a cell, how could he get anything on them? Gah, how I hated this guy!
I glanced up at Calla, to see how she was doing. She was seated in her chair in front of my desk, and looking rather peculiar. Her eyes were staring vacantly downwards, and her head drooped forward, listless.
"Kid?" I asked, "You okay?"
Slowly, very slowly, she looked up in my general direction. She whispered, "Xen is next. When the shadow man comes next, it will be for Xen."
I stared at her, aghast, until I remembered her telling me that she had premonitions sometimes.
"When?" I asked, trying to remain calm; however, the main part of my thoughts was planning on doing severe damage to several of Jessup's bodily functions should this vision come to pass.
"I-I don't know," she said. Her eyes became focused again, and she looked distraught. "I just saw Xen, sitting and painting, and then the shadow appearing and grabbing at her! It could happen at any time! And-"
She stopped herself, looking at me in a perturbed manner.
"What? What else did you see?"
"You don't want to know," she squeaked.
"Yes, I do, Calla."
"You won't like it."
"That doesn't matter. It concerns me, doesn't it?"
After some hesitation, she nodded.
"Well, if you're having visions about me, I want to know what happens. Whatever it is, I promise I won't get mad at you."
Squeezing her eyes shut, Calla said in a rush, as if trying to get the words out as fast as possible, "I saw you lying on the ground, bleeding. It was in a dark place, and you were hurt really bad in the stomach and shoulders, and I didn't know what to do!"
That was a sobering vision. For several moments, I was unsure how to react. From what she was saying, it sounded like she was seeing my death. But with an effort, I pulled myself together.
"Hey, Calla," I said. She looked over at me, her pupils dilated, though avoiding eye contact.
"Severe injury is not the same as death. Besides, nothing in the future is certain. You might just be seeing a possibility."
Calla looked unconvinced.
"I always see my visions come true. Always."
"Well," I said, trying to be nonchalant, "no sense worrying about it now. We've got a case to work on."
I knew that she wouldn't get it out of her mind that easily. But she was silent. I took the opportunity to call Xen, just in case. After three rings, which made my heart palpitate severely, she finally answered.
"Hello?"
"Xen! You're okay!"
"Yeah...should I not be?"
"...No, not at all. Just making sure."
"Okay, Tristan, what happened?" Her tone was that no-nonsense one that means no beating around the bush, or trying to fudge the truth. I can never hide anything from Xen when she uses that tone of voice, and have already promised never to lie to her anyway. I told her, tentatively, about Calla's vision of the shadow trying to kidnap her. However, I neglected to mention her other vision of my possible death.
"Huh. That's...not good," Xen finally said.
"No. It's not. So I was just calling to, y'know, make sure you were still there."
"Yeah, I'm right here. No evil shadows yet," she said dryly, trying to make it a joke.
"Be careful, please," I said softly.
"I will, Tristan. Don't worry about me."
"You know I can't do that."
"Come on, you have that bodyguard of yours posted right outside my room. What could happen?"
"The shadow is a teleporter. Calla saw him just appearing in your apartment, right next to you."
"Well, in that case, I shall keep my palette knife handy," was the reply. I managed a weak laugh.
"Bye, Xen."
"I'll see you when you get home."
As I hung up, I tried not to think that those might be the last words I would ever hear from her.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
TANSTAV part 26
Chapter Seven part 3
We interrupt this program to bring you a special expose on demons.
Demons are often typecast as some of the scummiest monsters in the world. Mostly they resemble humans, but with some kind of animalistic deformity, such as fangs, scales, animal feet, etc. They are somewhat related to devils, but we're not sure how. Demons have bodies. Devils don't.
Most demons get jobs of power in the monster world, such as becoming politicians, lawyers, soldiers, drug dealers, and other occupations created for the inconvenience of monster and humankind. They seem to get a sadistic pleasure out of torturing others through a plethora of methods, from interrogations to paperwork. Unfortunately, over the years humans have picked up some of their methods (probably thanks to the influence of devils, who can whisper in your ear when you least expect it), and have been using them to plague themselves and others.
Interestingly enough, Asian demons are a lot less inclined towards wickedness than European, North or South American, and Australian demons (there are no demons that we know of at either of the Poles or Canada). They have their own codes of honor, and up until the nineteenth century, some of them would even punish themselves for disgracing their families by disembowelment with their own claws. Some Asian demons have been known to marry humans, and produce half-demon children. The children usually follow the same sort of honor code as their demon parents, and will try to go through life in such a way that they will be able to keep that code, and enforce it on everyone else (such as being a police chief, or similar authority figure).
Imps are a minor form of demon. Less evil, but very bureaucratic and obsessed with literal compliance with rules (though not insusceptible to bribery, thankfully). Typically they are small and black, with beady eyes, warts, fangs, stuff like that. Another name for them is goblins. They love shiny objects, and so will sometimes get jobs as bankers. However, their efficiency and red tape obsession allows them to fit into almost any job.
Not all demons are evil, any more than all fae are good. Regardless, their history and genetic traits have led to that reputation, and many of them follow it to the letter.
And now, back to our program.
We interrupt this program to bring you a special expose on demons.
Demons are often typecast as some of the scummiest monsters in the world. Mostly they resemble humans, but with some kind of animalistic deformity, such as fangs, scales, animal feet, etc. They are somewhat related to devils, but we're not sure how. Demons have bodies. Devils don't.
Most demons get jobs of power in the monster world, such as becoming politicians, lawyers, soldiers, drug dealers, and other occupations created for the inconvenience of monster and humankind. They seem to get a sadistic pleasure out of torturing others through a plethora of methods, from interrogations to paperwork. Unfortunately, over the years humans have picked up some of their methods (probably thanks to the influence of devils, who can whisper in your ear when you least expect it), and have been using them to plague themselves and others.
Interestingly enough, Asian demons are a lot less inclined towards wickedness than European, North or South American, and Australian demons (there are no demons that we know of at either of the Poles or Canada). They have their own codes of honor, and up until the nineteenth century, some of them would even punish themselves for disgracing their families by disembowelment with their own claws. Some Asian demons have been known to marry humans, and produce half-demon children. The children usually follow the same sort of honor code as their demon parents, and will try to go through life in such a way that they will be able to keep that code, and enforce it on everyone else (such as being a police chief, or similar authority figure).
Imps are a minor form of demon. Less evil, but very bureaucratic and obsessed with literal compliance with rules (though not insusceptible to bribery, thankfully). Typically they are small and black, with beady eyes, warts, fangs, stuff like that. Another name for them is goblins. They love shiny objects, and so will sometimes get jobs as bankers. However, their efficiency and red tape obsession allows them to fit into almost any job.
Not all demons are evil, any more than all fae are good. Regardless, their history and genetic traits have led to that reputation, and many of them follow it to the letter.
And now, back to our program.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
TANSTAV part 25
Chapter Seven part 2
Calla's eyes grew to nearly the size of wagon wheels; for a moment, she was speechless.
"You don't have to answer just yet," I assured her. "Think about it for a while."
"What would I need to do?" she squeaked.
"You'd help me in my investigations."
"Like Dr. Watson?"
"Not exactly. I can write my own memoirs. But you could go ask people questions for me, visit crime scenes, pretty much the same stuff I do. People are more likely to talk freely to a harmless-looking girl than a big, scary gargoyle."
Calla half snorted, another large step for her.
"You're not that scary."
Suddenly, I spread out my wings to full length; standing up to my full height, I bared my fangs, exposed my claws, lunged forward slightly, and roared, "OH, YEAH?!"
The girl screamed in fright, and flung her arms up in front of her. Without warning, I felt something slam into me, knocking me backward into the wall!
For a few minutes, all I could do was lie there and try to get my breath back. I managed to lift my head up and look at Calla. She was huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around her chest, rocking back and forth. Finally, she looked over in my direction. Seeing that I was staring back, she uncurled from the fetal position, and crawled forward.
"Are you okay?" she whispered. "Please don't be hurt."
"I'm fine, just a little winded," I replied, managing to pull myself up.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"
"No, I'm sorry for scaring you like that. I forgot."
"But I should have had more self-control!"
"Kid, you've been through an incredibly traumatic experience. I'm not surprised that you're a little shell-shocked."
"But Doctor Higgins has been treating me! He was supposed to get me all better!" She looked down helplessly.
"Patience, kid. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know."
"What's Rome got to do with it?" Calla muttered. However, she smiled a little, so I knew things were okay for now.
I avoided mentioning the previous conversation for a few days. No sense opening old wounds, and it might be good to let her think it over. So it surprised me when, on April 13, Calla asked, "Do you still want me to be your assistant?"
"Only if you want to," I replied.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't mind. I mean, you can't be everywhere at once, and it might be nice for you to have an assistant-"
"Calla," I interrupted, "what would you like to do? Quit worrying about what I want."
"I-I'll do it, if you like."
"But what do you, personally, want?"
"...I want to make you happy."
I gave a small sigh of amused exasperation. Blushing, Calla finally stammered, "I think I would enjoy being your assistant."
"Good. That's all you had to say, kid."
The next day, I took Calla with me to the office. In order to get her started, I had her read over the facts of the case, while I sorted through old files, and organized my desk. Occasionally she would ask me questions, but for the most part we both worked in silence. It was nice to have someone with a fresh view of things there; maybe it would help me find some extra clues. Suddenly, in a remarkable display of good timing, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," I called, with a feeling of deja vu.
In came Greenbriar, followed by an imp, a Fonin woman, and two mouse men, all of whom looked exceedingly nervous. Greenbriar glanced curiously at Calla, who looked up when they entered, then quickly back at the papers on her desk.
"This is Calla Gardiner, my assistant," I announced. "Anything you need to say to me can be said in front of her. Calla, this is Morgan Greenbriar, head of H.N.M, and..."
"The eyewitnesses. Jared, Grace, Timothy, and Nigel," she said, indicating each of them in turn.
The two of us exchanged pleasantries, while the foursome clustered together in a huddle, eyes darting in all directions. To make them feel better, I got up from my desk, crossed the room and closed the door.
"That won't work," Timothy muttered. "The shadow sees all, knows all. We'll be next, I know it!" His whiskers trembled in fear, and he was absentmindedly tying knots in his tail.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," I declared. "Now, I'm going to need statements from all of you about what you saw. Calla, would you mind?"
Nodding in understanding, she touched a spell we’d purchased earlier that would record things other people said. It turned green, indicating that it was on.
They all said pretty much the same thing-during lunchtime at the center, they had been heading for their usual eating corners, when they saw a dark form appear out of nowhere (soundlessly), grab Whitechapel, and disappear just as soundlessly. The only real variation was that Grace had been going to join Mr. Whitechapel; apparently, he was her boyfriend, making her the most distraught out of the whole group.
"You've got to find Clarence, Mr. Wormwood," she pleaded, "You've just got to!"
"I shall certainly do my best," I promised.
"See?" said Greenbriar as they were leaving, "I told you it would be all right!"
"Only now we can expect repercussions from the shadow," moaned Timothy, apparently the self-declared nay-sayer and prophet of doom. I hoped he would be proven wrong.
Calla's eyes grew to nearly the size of wagon wheels; for a moment, she was speechless.
"You don't have to answer just yet," I assured her. "Think about it for a while."
"What would I need to do?" she squeaked.
"You'd help me in my investigations."
"Like Dr. Watson?"
"Not exactly. I can write my own memoirs. But you could go ask people questions for me, visit crime scenes, pretty much the same stuff I do. People are more likely to talk freely to a harmless-looking girl than a big, scary gargoyle."
Calla half snorted, another large step for her.
"You're not that scary."
Suddenly, I spread out my wings to full length; standing up to my full height, I bared my fangs, exposed my claws, lunged forward slightly, and roared, "OH, YEAH?!"
The girl screamed in fright, and flung her arms up in front of her. Without warning, I felt something slam into me, knocking me backward into the wall!
For a few minutes, all I could do was lie there and try to get my breath back. I managed to lift my head up and look at Calla. She was huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around her chest, rocking back and forth. Finally, she looked over in my direction. Seeing that I was staring back, she uncurled from the fetal position, and crawled forward.
"Are you okay?" she whispered. "Please don't be hurt."
"I'm fine, just a little winded," I replied, managing to pull myself up.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"
"No, I'm sorry for scaring you like that. I forgot."
"But I should have had more self-control!"
"Kid, you've been through an incredibly traumatic experience. I'm not surprised that you're a little shell-shocked."
"But Doctor Higgins has been treating me! He was supposed to get me all better!" She looked down helplessly.
"Patience, kid. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know."
"What's Rome got to do with it?" Calla muttered. However, she smiled a little, so I knew things were okay for now.
I avoided mentioning the previous conversation for a few days. No sense opening old wounds, and it might be good to let her think it over. So it surprised me when, on April 13, Calla asked, "Do you still want me to be your assistant?"
"Only if you want to," I replied.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't mind. I mean, you can't be everywhere at once, and it might be nice for you to have an assistant-"
"Calla," I interrupted, "what would you like to do? Quit worrying about what I want."
"I-I'll do it, if you like."
"But what do you, personally, want?"
"...I want to make you happy."
I gave a small sigh of amused exasperation. Blushing, Calla finally stammered, "I think I would enjoy being your assistant."
"Good. That's all you had to say, kid."
The next day, I took Calla with me to the office. In order to get her started, I had her read over the facts of the case, while I sorted through old files, and organized my desk. Occasionally she would ask me questions, but for the most part we both worked in silence. It was nice to have someone with a fresh view of things there; maybe it would help me find some extra clues. Suddenly, in a remarkable display of good timing, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," I called, with a feeling of deja vu.
In came Greenbriar, followed by an imp, a Fonin woman, and two mouse men, all of whom looked exceedingly nervous. Greenbriar glanced curiously at Calla, who looked up when they entered, then quickly back at the papers on her desk.
"This is Calla Gardiner, my assistant," I announced. "Anything you need to say to me can be said in front of her. Calla, this is Morgan Greenbriar, head of H.N.M, and..."
"The eyewitnesses. Jared, Grace, Timothy, and Nigel," she said, indicating each of them in turn.
The two of us exchanged pleasantries, while the foursome clustered together in a huddle, eyes darting in all directions. To make them feel better, I got up from my desk, crossed the room and closed the door.
"That won't work," Timothy muttered. "The shadow sees all, knows all. We'll be next, I know it!" His whiskers trembled in fear, and he was absentmindedly tying knots in his tail.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," I declared. "Now, I'm going to need statements from all of you about what you saw. Calla, would you mind?"
Nodding in understanding, she touched a spell we’d purchased earlier that would record things other people said. It turned green, indicating that it was on.
They all said pretty much the same thing-during lunchtime at the center, they had been heading for their usual eating corners, when they saw a dark form appear out of nowhere (soundlessly), grab Whitechapel, and disappear just as soundlessly. The only real variation was that Grace had been going to join Mr. Whitechapel; apparently, he was her boyfriend, making her the most distraught out of the whole group.
"You've got to find Clarence, Mr. Wormwood," she pleaded, "You've just got to!"
"I shall certainly do my best," I promised.
"See?" said Greenbriar as they were leaving, "I told you it would be all right!"
"Only now we can expect repercussions from the shadow," moaned Timothy, apparently the self-declared nay-sayer and prophet of doom. I hoped he would be proven wrong.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
TANSTAV part 24
Chapter Seven
In the interests of all parties concerned, I make a proposition
The vanished monster in question was a Fonin, by the name of Clarence Whitechapel. Age 23, brunette, 5'6", 125 pounds, with wings like a golden eagle. No prior records, no real status in the world, nothing to distinguish him. Since Senator Skald was 55 years old, rather gray, 8’4", and over 300 pounds, there seemed to be no connection, besides their both having golden-orange eyes, and how much of a connection could that be? I asked, "Did anyone at your center see anything? Any clues?"
"A few people did say they saw something, but it sounds crazy."
"What was it? This could be important."
Greenbriar looked slightly embarrassed, but she said, "They claim that Mr. Whitechapel was sitting in his usual corner, eating lunch, when they saw-saw a black, shadowy figure appear, and grab him by the shoulder. Then they both vanished."
"Huh." That didn't sound too crazy to me. What it sounded like was some kind of teleporter, with a tendency towards clichés.
"What type of shadow? Like a Reaper?"
"No, not exactly. It was wearing a hooded cloak, but they said, in the brief glimpse they caught of it, that it looked more substantial than a Reaper, less billowy."
"May I meet these people, and hear it from them?"
"Well, Mr. Wormwood, the fact is, they're afraid that if they come forward, the shadow will come after them next." Her pale face had chagrin written all over it.
"That's not an unreasonable fear," I said. She looked surprised. "Well, since it obviously has the ability to appear out of nowhere and steal people, whatever it is, I'd say their fear is justified. However, tell these anonymous tippers that if they will tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to capture and subdue it." Greenbriar nodded.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wormwood. I shall let you know in a week or so if I have made any progress in convincing them." With that, she got up and left, closing the door behind her.
When I returned home, I noticed that the light was on (I quickly slipped on my shaded glasses, in order to protect my corneas), and that Calla was examining the portrait hung over the sofa.
"Is this your-" she began to ask.
"Yes, that's my family," I interrupted. She turned her head in my direction, with a raised eyebrow. I gathered it was due to the fact that my use of the phrase 'that's my family' was in almost the same tone of voice I would use to say 'that's a pile of rotten, maggoty horse flesh.'
I moseyed over, and she turned back to the picture. It showed the drawing room of my house back in Tarascogne, Massachusetts (a monster suburb of Boston). It had two blue velvet curtains hanging from the wall, and a blue-and-gray marbled floor. Standing before the curtains were my parents, my siblings and I.
"What are their names?"
"These two," I jabbed a claw at the two young female gargoyles on the far left, "are my sisters. Jeannette and Florence."
Jeannette was wearing a pale lavender kimono with blue flowers. Her black hair, which she got from Mom, was hanging loosely down over her shoulders. Florence, standing on her left, had on a knee-length black dress with a golden belt. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand, signifying the fact that she had just become engaged to Dominic Valdez, one of the richest gargoyle diplomats in Spain.
Next to them, as I indicated to Calla, was Mom. She wore a blue gown, and held my youngest brother, Ned, in her arms. By some strange genetic quirk, Ned had acquired small black curls (which neither of my parents had), and they, coupled with his gray fur, fangs, bat-like wings, and tail, gave him the appearance of a very strange demonic cherub. To the left of Mom were my younger brother Elijah, my older brother Arthur, and, behind both of them, with one hand clapped possessively on Arthur's shoulder, was dear old Dad. I involuntarily clenched my jaw at the sight of him. There he stood, looking self-important and in control, with confidence that he was the master, and we merely his puppets, to jump when he pulled the strings. And, of course, on the far right of the picture lurked a rebellious sixteen-year-old, scruffy and unkempt when compared to the others, red eyes set in a fierce glare. That's right, me. In an attempt to shame me for my facial expression, Dad had the painting set up in my room after its completion. And for some reason, when I finally left home, I had taken it with me. I guess it was to make his plan backfire.
"You're the only boy who isn't clean-shaven," Calla remarked.
"I like being a little scruffy," I replied.
"How long ago was this taken?”
"Four years."
"You weren't very tall, then-oh!" As soon as Calla realized what she'd said, she clapped a hand to her mouth, and turned scarlet. Her eyes slid fearfully in my direction. I merely chuckled.
"It's okay, kid. I was a little slow to reach my growth spurt. Good observation."
Taking her hand from her mouth, she smiled shyly. Calla turned her head back to the picture, and said after a moment, "You know, without your goatee, you would probably look a lot like your father."
"Don't remind me," I grumbled.
"Why not?"
"It's... complicated."
"Okay."
I appreciated the fact that she didn't try to grill me for information. However, her curiosity appealed to me.
Suddenly, Calla threw me completely off-guard by asking, in hesitant tones, "Tristan, why don't you and Xen get married?"
"Wha-how-why-" I stumbled, sounding like an idiot, and being fully aware of that fact.
"Well, you love her. And I can tell she loves you." She began to look alarmed. "Have I asked you a question I shouldn't have?"
"No, no, it's fine! I just wasn't used to your being that direct."
"I've been curious for a long time. Sorry, that was too-"
"Calla, there is no harm in asking me questions like that. I'm not going to hurt you for being curious." I sighed. Finally, I said, "We want to. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But I’m waiting to ask her at least until after October."
"What happens then?"
"She turns 20. That seems a more acceptable age for her to get married at." Granted, it would still be pretty young, but I already knew she was the one for me, so there seemed to be little need to wait.
"Oh."
There was a slightly awkward silence. Then I cleared my throat.
"Calla, how would you like to become my assistant?"
In the interests of all parties concerned, I make a proposition
The vanished monster in question was a Fonin, by the name of Clarence Whitechapel. Age 23, brunette, 5'6", 125 pounds, with wings like a golden eagle. No prior records, no real status in the world, nothing to distinguish him. Since Senator Skald was 55 years old, rather gray, 8’4", and over 300 pounds, there seemed to be no connection, besides their both having golden-orange eyes, and how much of a connection could that be? I asked, "Did anyone at your center see anything? Any clues?"
"A few people did say they saw something, but it sounds crazy."
"What was it? This could be important."
Greenbriar looked slightly embarrassed, but she said, "They claim that Mr. Whitechapel was sitting in his usual corner, eating lunch, when they saw-saw a black, shadowy figure appear, and grab him by the shoulder. Then they both vanished."
"Huh." That didn't sound too crazy to me. What it sounded like was some kind of teleporter, with a tendency towards clichés.
"What type of shadow? Like a Reaper?"
"No, not exactly. It was wearing a hooded cloak, but they said, in the brief glimpse they caught of it, that it looked more substantial than a Reaper, less billowy."
"May I meet these people, and hear it from them?"
"Well, Mr. Wormwood, the fact is, they're afraid that if they come forward, the shadow will come after them next." Her pale face had chagrin written all over it.
"That's not an unreasonable fear," I said. She looked surprised. "Well, since it obviously has the ability to appear out of nowhere and steal people, whatever it is, I'd say their fear is justified. However, tell these anonymous tippers that if they will tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to capture and subdue it." Greenbriar nodded.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wormwood. I shall let you know in a week or so if I have made any progress in convincing them." With that, she got up and left, closing the door behind her.
When I returned home, I noticed that the light was on (I quickly slipped on my shaded glasses, in order to protect my corneas), and that Calla was examining the portrait hung over the sofa.
"Is this your-" she began to ask.
"Yes, that's my family," I interrupted. She turned her head in my direction, with a raised eyebrow. I gathered it was due to the fact that my use of the phrase 'that's my family' was in almost the same tone of voice I would use to say 'that's a pile of rotten, maggoty horse flesh.'
I moseyed over, and she turned back to the picture. It showed the drawing room of my house back in Tarascogne, Massachusetts (a monster suburb of Boston). It had two blue velvet curtains hanging from the wall, and a blue-and-gray marbled floor. Standing before the curtains were my parents, my siblings and I.
"What are their names?"
"These two," I jabbed a claw at the two young female gargoyles on the far left, "are my sisters. Jeannette and Florence."
Jeannette was wearing a pale lavender kimono with blue flowers. Her black hair, which she got from Mom, was hanging loosely down over her shoulders. Florence, standing on her left, had on a knee-length black dress with a golden belt. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand, signifying the fact that she had just become engaged to Dominic Valdez, one of the richest gargoyle diplomats in Spain.
Next to them, as I indicated to Calla, was Mom. She wore a blue gown, and held my youngest brother, Ned, in her arms. By some strange genetic quirk, Ned had acquired small black curls (which neither of my parents had), and they, coupled with his gray fur, fangs, bat-like wings, and tail, gave him the appearance of a very strange demonic cherub. To the left of Mom were my younger brother Elijah, my older brother Arthur, and, behind both of them, with one hand clapped possessively on Arthur's shoulder, was dear old Dad. I involuntarily clenched my jaw at the sight of him. There he stood, looking self-important and in control, with confidence that he was the master, and we merely his puppets, to jump when he pulled the strings. And, of course, on the far right of the picture lurked a rebellious sixteen-year-old, scruffy and unkempt when compared to the others, red eyes set in a fierce glare. That's right, me. In an attempt to shame me for my facial expression, Dad had the painting set up in my room after its completion. And for some reason, when I finally left home, I had taken it with me. I guess it was to make his plan backfire.
"You're the only boy who isn't clean-shaven," Calla remarked.
"I like being a little scruffy," I replied.
"How long ago was this taken?”
"Four years."
"You weren't very tall, then-oh!" As soon as Calla realized what she'd said, she clapped a hand to her mouth, and turned scarlet. Her eyes slid fearfully in my direction. I merely chuckled.
"It's okay, kid. I was a little slow to reach my growth spurt. Good observation."
Taking her hand from her mouth, she smiled shyly. Calla turned her head back to the picture, and said after a moment, "You know, without your goatee, you would probably look a lot like your father."
"Don't remind me," I grumbled.
"Why not?"
"It's... complicated."
"Okay."
I appreciated the fact that she didn't try to grill me for information. However, her curiosity appealed to me.
Suddenly, Calla threw me completely off-guard by asking, in hesitant tones, "Tristan, why don't you and Xen get married?"
"Wha-how-why-" I stumbled, sounding like an idiot, and being fully aware of that fact.
"Well, you love her. And I can tell she loves you." She began to look alarmed. "Have I asked you a question I shouldn't have?"
"No, no, it's fine! I just wasn't used to your being that direct."
"I've been curious for a long time. Sorry, that was too-"
"Calla, there is no harm in asking me questions like that. I'm not going to hurt you for being curious." I sighed. Finally, I said, "We want to. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But I’m waiting to ask her at least until after October."
"What happens then?"
"She turns 20. That seems a more acceptable age for her to get married at." Granted, it would still be pretty young, but I already knew she was the one for me, so there seemed to be little need to wait.
"Oh."
There was a slightly awkward silence. Then I cleared my throat.
"Calla, how would you like to become my assistant?"
Sunday, September 9, 2012
TANSTAV part 23
Chapter 6 part 4
After her bout of hysteria had subsided, I got Calla to eat some soup. Because I was feeling kind of hungry again, I ate some too. We sat at the kitchen table, munching in silence. Then I noticed that Calla was watching me eat, eyebrows furrowed.
“What is it, kid? Expecting me to be slurping it up like a savage jungle beast?”
“No. I-I just noticed that you’re left-handed, like me.”
“Actually, I’m ambidextrous.” I demonstrated by effortlessly switching the spoon to my right hand. “But Xen’s left-handed.”
“Who’s Xen?”
“My...friend. She’ll show up at some point.” I continued, “Getting back to what I was saying, many monsters are left-handed. It’s no big deal to us. It’s probably part of the reason why humans used to think it was such a taboo, and sinful thing; primeval memories associated the two.”
Calla murmured, “I see,” and inhaled a noodle so fast it flipped her on the nose as it went in. She managed a small smile at that.
When we finished, she went back to bed; and, finally admitting defeat, I did too. When I awoke, it was 7 in the morning. Normally, I would have gone to work now; however, Ishida had said that Calla was to be in my care. And, since she was forbidden to leave this apartment, I was unsure if that meant that I had to stay here too. Reluctantly, I called him to find out the exact details of her incarceration.
After about 3 rings, his voice came grumpily through the receiver.
"What is it, Wormwood?"
"Since the girl has to stay here, do I have to too?"
"Huh? What- Oh. Yes. Yes, until further notice, you are temporarily relieved from working with us. Only go out if you can get someone to replace you."
Silently, I punched the air.
"Thanks, Chief."
"My pleasure," he said dryly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."
"Oh, wait! I forgot to add: I got her set up with a psychiatrist. Dr. Higgins. Does she have to stay here for those too?"
"...I'll send a message to Dr. Higgins to make it a house call," he sighed. And with that, he hung up.
For three weeks, I spent most of my time in my apartment. Xen came over as often as possible, in order to help look after her, and every other day, Higgins came for the therapy session. I don't know the exact nature of his treatment, since I usually took those times to go to the station or work on the case, but I do know that soon Calla was looking a lot better. The bruises faded, and having healthy meals made her look less cadaverous. Xen went out shopping for her, and bought her some new clothes, which fit her frame a great deal better. Furthermore, she responded well to the therapy. I think Higgins might have cheated a little, using some kind of spell to calm her nerves, but if it did the trick, I was okay with it. Within two and a half weeks, Calla's serious brown eyes began to lose that haunted look. Not completely, but to an acceptable degree. A few times, I even made her smile. A small, timid one, but a smile nonetheless.
However, while she may have been improving, my case was going nowhere fast. I watched the tape, and it showed zilch. At 8:30 am of that day, Jessup was still in his cell, lying on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The list of enemies brought no clues whatsoever, since they all had alibis, and were not known for having any motive for kidnapping that I could find. I brought the magic samples down to the station, and a mage (not Fleming, thankfully) found out that the one outside the senator's house and the one in the elevator had both been used for teleportation. The one in the cell had been a hypnotism spell. That certainly made things suspicious, but it wasn't really concrete evidence. We still couldn't find out who the fragments had come from, and I was sure Jessup wasn't gonna talk. It was possible to use a spell to force the truth from him, but it had the side-effect of shattering the person's mind. As delightful as that would be, it was also highly illegal. Dang it.
Anyway, the three weeks were soon up. Calla went to the police, made her statement, and the case was officially recorded and filed. Since she was a legal adult, and had no known relatives and nowhere to go, I took her back home with me. Well, that’s not the only reason. Our laws have a special clause called the Mercy Clause, installed by President William “Billy” Bones back when he was in office, regarding people who kill in self-defense. If they have true remorse for their actions (we have ways of confirming that), and it’s clear that they hadn't planned to kill the person beforehand, they can avoid time in prison if they can instead be put in the custody of a trusted relative, or the equivalent, to make sure they don’t get into trouble again. As there was no one to fulfill this role, to her knowledge (her mother had left when she was eleven, and she didn't know where she was, and the judge and Ishida preferred to just get this over with, rather than spend time looking for her), I stepped in as her non-official guardian.
Now that she was no longer under house arrest, Calla was allowed to go stay at Xen's place while I went to work. With a small sigh, I headed for the office. It was a Monday, so of course my spirits were already rather low (not to mention it being April, the cruelest month), without the added weight of having no information regarding the senator. I slumped at my desk, and doodled furiously on my legal pad. Suddenly, I heard a knock at my (newly repaired) door.
"Come in," I called.
The door opened, and in came that freaky zealot I'd met in the street!
As soon as we saw each other, I could tell she recognized me. She flushed to the roots of her hair, and for a moment looked as if she were about to beat a hasty retreat. But after a moment, she composed herself, and entered. I, however, was slower to adapt, and gasped "You!" in a strangled tone.
Standing straight at attention, Freaky Zealot Girl said calmly, "Mr. Wormwood, I have a case for you."
I rolled my eyes. Why else would she be here? However, I decided not to comment. Remembering my manners, I said, "Please take a seat, Miss..."
"Greenbriar. Morgan Greenbriar."
Without further ado, Miss Greenbriar sat down in the chair across from me, and said, "I need your help. One of the people I have been caring for at my center has vanished without a trace, and I would like you to find him."
I must admit, my eyes popped slightly. Two people missing within three weeks of each other, in the same city? That sounded too close to be a coincidence.
After her bout of hysteria had subsided, I got Calla to eat some soup. Because I was feeling kind of hungry again, I ate some too. We sat at the kitchen table, munching in silence. Then I noticed that Calla was watching me eat, eyebrows furrowed.
“What is it, kid? Expecting me to be slurping it up like a savage jungle beast?”
“No. I-I just noticed that you’re left-handed, like me.”
“Actually, I’m ambidextrous.” I demonstrated by effortlessly switching the spoon to my right hand. “But Xen’s left-handed.”
“Who’s Xen?”
“My...friend. She’ll show up at some point.” I continued, “Getting back to what I was saying, many monsters are left-handed. It’s no big deal to us. It’s probably part of the reason why humans used to think it was such a taboo, and sinful thing; primeval memories associated the two.”
Calla murmured, “I see,” and inhaled a noodle so fast it flipped her on the nose as it went in. She managed a small smile at that.
When we finished, she went back to bed; and, finally admitting defeat, I did too. When I awoke, it was 7 in the morning. Normally, I would have gone to work now; however, Ishida had said that Calla was to be in my care. And, since she was forbidden to leave this apartment, I was unsure if that meant that I had to stay here too. Reluctantly, I called him to find out the exact details of her incarceration.
After about 3 rings, his voice came grumpily through the receiver.
"What is it, Wormwood?"
"Since the girl has to stay here, do I have to too?"
"Huh? What- Oh. Yes. Yes, until further notice, you are temporarily relieved from working with us. Only go out if you can get someone to replace you."
Silently, I punched the air.
"Thanks, Chief."
"My pleasure," he said dryly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."
"Oh, wait! I forgot to add: I got her set up with a psychiatrist. Dr. Higgins. Does she have to stay here for those too?"
"...I'll send a message to Dr. Higgins to make it a house call," he sighed. And with that, he hung up.
For three weeks, I spent most of my time in my apartment. Xen came over as often as possible, in order to help look after her, and every other day, Higgins came for the therapy session. I don't know the exact nature of his treatment, since I usually took those times to go to the station or work on the case, but I do know that soon Calla was looking a lot better. The bruises faded, and having healthy meals made her look less cadaverous. Xen went out shopping for her, and bought her some new clothes, which fit her frame a great deal better. Furthermore, she responded well to the therapy. I think Higgins might have cheated a little, using some kind of spell to calm her nerves, but if it did the trick, I was okay with it. Within two and a half weeks, Calla's serious brown eyes began to lose that haunted look. Not completely, but to an acceptable degree. A few times, I even made her smile. A small, timid one, but a smile nonetheless.
However, while she may have been improving, my case was going nowhere fast. I watched the tape, and it showed zilch. At 8:30 am of that day, Jessup was still in his cell, lying on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The list of enemies brought no clues whatsoever, since they all had alibis, and were not known for having any motive for kidnapping that I could find. I brought the magic samples down to the station, and a mage (not Fleming, thankfully) found out that the one outside the senator's house and the one in the elevator had both been used for teleportation. The one in the cell had been a hypnotism spell. That certainly made things suspicious, but it wasn't really concrete evidence. We still couldn't find out who the fragments had come from, and I was sure Jessup wasn't gonna talk. It was possible to use a spell to force the truth from him, but it had the side-effect of shattering the person's mind. As delightful as that would be, it was also highly illegal. Dang it.
Anyway, the three weeks were soon up. Calla went to the police, made her statement, and the case was officially recorded and filed. Since she was a legal adult, and had no known relatives and nowhere to go, I took her back home with me. Well, that’s not the only reason. Our laws have a special clause called the Mercy Clause, installed by President William “Billy” Bones back when he was in office, regarding people who kill in self-defense. If they have true remorse for their actions (we have ways of confirming that), and it’s clear that they hadn't planned to kill the person beforehand, they can avoid time in prison if they can instead be put in the custody of a trusted relative, or the equivalent, to make sure they don’t get into trouble again. As there was no one to fulfill this role, to her knowledge (her mother had left when she was eleven, and she didn't know where she was, and the judge and Ishida preferred to just get this over with, rather than spend time looking for her), I stepped in as her non-official guardian.
Now that she was no longer under house arrest, Calla was allowed to go stay at Xen's place while I went to work. With a small sigh, I headed for the office. It was a Monday, so of course my spirits were already rather low (not to mention it being April, the cruelest month), without the added weight of having no information regarding the senator. I slumped at my desk, and doodled furiously on my legal pad. Suddenly, I heard a knock at my (newly repaired) door.
"Come in," I called.
The door opened, and in came that freaky zealot I'd met in the street!
As soon as we saw each other, I could tell she recognized me. She flushed to the roots of her hair, and for a moment looked as if she were about to beat a hasty retreat. But after a moment, she composed herself, and entered. I, however, was slower to adapt, and gasped "You!" in a strangled tone.
Standing straight at attention, Freaky Zealot Girl said calmly, "Mr. Wormwood, I have a case for you."
I rolled my eyes. Why else would she be here? However, I decided not to comment. Remembering my manners, I said, "Please take a seat, Miss..."
"Greenbriar. Morgan Greenbriar."
Without further ado, Miss Greenbriar sat down in the chair across from me, and said, "I need your help. One of the people I have been caring for at my center has vanished without a trace, and I would like you to find him."
I must admit, my eyes popped slightly. Two people missing within three weeks of each other, in the same city? That sounded too close to be a coincidence.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
TANSTAV part 22
Chapter 6 part 3
Carefully, quietly, I opened the door to her room a crack. Then, once I remembered that there was no need, since none of the lights were on, I opened it all the way. I saw Calla lying curled up under the covers, with just her head sticking out. I slipped in, and approached. She looked better; the bruises had faded substantially, and her face had become relaxed in sleep, making her look like a little kid. But she was way too pale, in my opinion; even though gargoyles don't like to go out in the sun, it's perfectly natural for humans to do so, and Calla was practically the color of a sheet of paper. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also the fact that she looked ten pounds underweight, if not twenty. I also noticed several wet trails down the sides of her face. Because she was lying down on her back, they had come from the corners of her eyes, trickled down over her ears, and soaked her pillow. I sighed. Poor kid. It seemed a shame to wake her, but this was important. I tried not to imagine all the possible negative repercussions that could occur.
I reached out, and gently poked her in the shoulder, mindful of my claws. At once her eyes flew open, and involuntarily met mine for the first time. The moment they did, one of the strangest experiences of my life occurred. Thoughts flew into my mind which were not my own; I felt strange alarm, confusion, and sudden horror in my heart.
What's happening? Where am I? What-
Oh. It's him. The strange man-or gargoyle, I guess-who saved me from-
Oh, no. No! Got to stop! It's too late, but maybe I can convince him it's a mistake!
Why hasn't he tried to break the connection? Isn't he shocked and disgusted? He's not even scared!
It was suddenly clear to me what was going on. I was hearing Calla's thoughts! And after a moment, I also realized that she was hearing mine! It was then that her eyes snapped shut; her thoughts and feelings vanished from my mind. She began trembling violently, hands clutching convulsively at the blanket. Moisture spilled out from behind her eyelids again.
"Have you always been able to do that?" I asked curiously.
Her eyes fluttered opened again. She looked in my general direction, bemused.
"You-you don't mind?" she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with tears.
"Nah, lots of monsters can do stuff like that. Granted, I don't know of anyone who can trade thoughts with someone else, but heck, there's a first time for everything. In fact, I think it's kind of cool."
"That's because you don't have it," she whispered. "I can't control it, and it never turns off. If I ever look someone in the eye, that happens. Always. So I just learned not to do it."
"Well, with me, it doesn't matter."
I placed a hand on her shoulder, and gently shook it. She flinched slightly at the contact, so I withdrew my hand. Should have remembered she might not be ready for that.
Then, hesitantly, she looked up into my eyes again. She seemed less afraid now. I felt waves of relief emanating from her, and almost something resembling happiness. Of course, I had to ruin it by thinking, Did her dad know about this?
Suddenly, my mind was set upon by a memory. A very vivid, bad one.
A big man, eyes bloodshot and wicked-looking, a bottle clutched in one meaty hand, advancing towards me.
"So there you are, you little freak! What'd I tell you about going out, huh?!" he barks.
There's nothing to say. I was here; he just was too drunk to notice. Maybe better to stay silent. Silence works, sometimes. Better than talking back, anyway.
"ANSWER ME!! Don't just stand there and ignore me, answer me! And look me in the eye when I'm talking to you!"
No. Too risky. Only time that happened, when we shared thoughts, could barely move for days afterwards. It was after that when he started calling me a freak. Better just to close eyes, and hope it's over quickly. Blackness as eyes slide shut, shake head no. Suddenly, pain as he backhands me to the floor. Then feel his boot catch me in the ribs; thankfully, not hard enough to crack. Just enough to bruise, I think.
"I-told-you-to-look-at-me! Look at me, you freak, look at me, d n you!" He's grabbed my throat, hard, and jerked me up again. Now he's trying to force my eyes open with his free fingers. It hurts, of course. I resist, though; what's wrong with me? Why even bother? Sooner or later he'll get his way, anyway.
Without warning, a strange feeling, one I have never really experienced, begins in my stomach. It's a sort of...burning, as if my insides are on fire. There's a roaring in my ears, and my hands are clenching. It takes a moment for me to place it; odd, since I've been the brunt of it from another source for so many years. It's called anger.
"No," I whisper.
"...Excuse me?" His voice has become quiet. Normally this would scare me more, since it means there's a storm coming. But right now, I am far too angry to care.
"No," I say, louder. "No. I won't. You can't make me." I open my eyes, and suddenly twist myself out of his grasp, and jump away. Shocked, he mutters something unrepeatable. This is the first time I have ever defied him, and he's unsure how to react. But then, like an enraged bull, his instincts take over. Getting to his feet, he charges, swinging a fist. I manage to duck.
"Stop it!" I cry.
I don't see his other fist coming. It catches me right in the eye, knocking me back.
He advances, the bottle on the ground, forgotten.
"You dare talk back to me, you freaky maggot?! I'll teach you to-"
"No you won't!!" I've had enough. I'm not going to take this anymore. This is the end.
I scream at him, "Go away! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
With that shriek, I feel something strange and terrible burst out of me. There's an exploding sound, like ten million cannons going off at once, and something slams into me from above. Then darkness...
I pulled out of her head (figuratively speaking), jerking my own away. When I looked back, Calla had hunched into a ball of misery, sobbing hysterically.
"I didn't mean to," I managed to make out. "I didn't mean to!"
Gently, I put my arms around her shoulders, and just held her. I decided to hold off on asking her to hold the magic, on the instinct that it would not go well.
Carefully, quietly, I opened the door to her room a crack. Then, once I remembered that there was no need, since none of the lights were on, I opened it all the way. I saw Calla lying curled up under the covers, with just her head sticking out. I slipped in, and approached. She looked better; the bruises had faded substantially, and her face had become relaxed in sleep, making her look like a little kid. But she was way too pale, in my opinion; even though gargoyles don't like to go out in the sun, it's perfectly natural for humans to do so, and Calla was practically the color of a sheet of paper. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also the fact that she looked ten pounds underweight, if not twenty. I also noticed several wet trails down the sides of her face. Because she was lying down on her back, they had come from the corners of her eyes, trickled down over her ears, and soaked her pillow. I sighed. Poor kid. It seemed a shame to wake her, but this was important. I tried not to imagine all the possible negative repercussions that could occur.
I reached out, and gently poked her in the shoulder, mindful of my claws. At once her eyes flew open, and involuntarily met mine for the first time. The moment they did, one of the strangest experiences of my life occurred. Thoughts flew into my mind which were not my own; I felt strange alarm, confusion, and sudden horror in my heart.
What's happening? Where am I? What-
Oh. It's him. The strange man-or gargoyle, I guess-who saved me from-
Oh, no. No! Got to stop! It's too late, but maybe I can convince him it's a mistake!
Why hasn't he tried to break the connection? Isn't he shocked and disgusted? He's not even scared!
It was suddenly clear to me what was going on. I was hearing Calla's thoughts! And after a moment, I also realized that she was hearing mine! It was then that her eyes snapped shut; her thoughts and feelings vanished from my mind. She began trembling violently, hands clutching convulsively at the blanket. Moisture spilled out from behind her eyelids again.
"Have you always been able to do that?" I asked curiously.
Her eyes fluttered opened again. She looked in my general direction, bemused.
"You-you don't mind?" she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with tears.
"Nah, lots of monsters can do stuff like that. Granted, I don't know of anyone who can trade thoughts with someone else, but heck, there's a first time for everything. In fact, I think it's kind of cool."
"That's because you don't have it," she whispered. "I can't control it, and it never turns off. If I ever look someone in the eye, that happens. Always. So I just learned not to do it."
"Well, with me, it doesn't matter."
I placed a hand on her shoulder, and gently shook it. She flinched slightly at the contact, so I withdrew my hand. Should have remembered she might not be ready for that.
Then, hesitantly, she looked up into my eyes again. She seemed less afraid now. I felt waves of relief emanating from her, and almost something resembling happiness. Of course, I had to ruin it by thinking, Did her dad know about this?
Suddenly, my mind was set upon by a memory. A very vivid, bad one.
A big man, eyes bloodshot and wicked-looking, a bottle clutched in one meaty hand, advancing towards me.
"So there you are, you little freak! What'd I tell you about going out, huh?!" he barks.
There's nothing to say. I was here; he just was too drunk to notice. Maybe better to stay silent. Silence works, sometimes. Better than talking back, anyway.
"ANSWER ME!! Don't just stand there and ignore me, answer me! And look me in the eye when I'm talking to you!"
No. Too risky. Only time that happened, when we shared thoughts, could barely move for days afterwards. It was after that when he started calling me a freak. Better just to close eyes, and hope it's over quickly. Blackness as eyes slide shut, shake head no. Suddenly, pain as he backhands me to the floor. Then feel his boot catch me in the ribs; thankfully, not hard enough to crack. Just enough to bruise, I think.
"I-told-you-to-look-at-me! Look at me, you freak, look at me, d n you!" He's grabbed my throat, hard, and jerked me up again. Now he's trying to force my eyes open with his free fingers. It hurts, of course. I resist, though; what's wrong with me? Why even bother? Sooner or later he'll get his way, anyway.
Without warning, a strange feeling, one I have never really experienced, begins in my stomach. It's a sort of...burning, as if my insides are on fire. There's a roaring in my ears, and my hands are clenching. It takes a moment for me to place it; odd, since I've been the brunt of it from another source for so many years. It's called anger.
"No," I whisper.
"...Excuse me?" His voice has become quiet. Normally this would scare me more, since it means there's a storm coming. But right now, I am far too angry to care.
"No," I say, louder. "No. I won't. You can't make me." I open my eyes, and suddenly twist myself out of his grasp, and jump away. Shocked, he mutters something unrepeatable. This is the first time I have ever defied him, and he's unsure how to react. But then, like an enraged bull, his instincts take over. Getting to his feet, he charges, swinging a fist. I manage to duck.
"Stop it!" I cry.
I don't see his other fist coming. It catches me right in the eye, knocking me back.
He advances, the bottle on the ground, forgotten.
"You dare talk back to me, you freaky maggot?! I'll teach you to-"
"No you won't!!" I've had enough. I'm not going to take this anymore. This is the end.
I scream at him, "Go away! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
With that shriek, I feel something strange and terrible burst out of me. There's an exploding sound, like ten million cannons going off at once, and something slams into me from above. Then darkness...
I pulled out of her head (figuratively speaking), jerking my own away. When I looked back, Calla had hunched into a ball of misery, sobbing hysterically.
"I didn't mean to," I managed to make out. "I didn't mean to!"
Gently, I put my arms around her shoulders, and just held her. I decided to hold off on asking her to hold the magic, on the instinct that it would not go well.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
TANSTAV part 21
Chapter 6 part 2
When I finished, Xen asked, "If he's getting out, do you think his cronies have been getting out, too?"
"I haven't seen any evidence of them. But I wouldn't rule it out. Would you mind if I reinstated your bodyguard?"
The look she gave me needed no interpretation.
"Xen," I pleaded, "it's for your own safety! I don't want him getting his hands on you again!"
She still looked unwilling. I leaned my forehead against hers, staring deep into her eyes.
"Please?"
She rolled her eyes, but I followed the plea with a kiss. When it ended, she muttered, "I'll forgive you. Eventually."
I chuckled at the running gag statement. Then I asked, "How's Calla been?"
"Very quiet. I checked her a few times, before I dozed off, and she's still sleeping. I put some sweat on her bruises, so they should start healing up quickly enough. But the real trouble is in here," she pointed a claw at her head, "and here." She pointed at her heart.
"I know," I sighed. "Believe me, I know."
After snuggling for a while longer, Xen made dinner, we ate, snuggled (among other things) some more, and then she went back to her apartment. She needed to go to bed, and I needed to think. It was now 8:05 pm, and I could feel the backs of my eyes stinging, begging for sleep. I went to the bathroom, and woke myself up more by splashing water on my face. Then I retrieved a notepad and pen, and made a list.
I wondered whether to actually count that point, since it was based on guessing, but since I think myself a pretty good judge of character, I was sure it was genuine. I wracked my brain for another certainty, but came up with nothing. So instead I wrote questions.
I groaned inwardly when I saw all the things I would have to find out, but steeled myself. I had taken on this case of my own free will; I owed it to the clients to get the answers. Besides, a detective's got to do what a detective's got to do.
I looked at the kitchen table, where I had placed the evidence baggies so they wouldn't interfere with my Xen-time. In order to distinguish the ones with the magic from each other, I had used different colored markers to place a dot on each. The one I had found on the senator's property had a pink dot, the one in the elevator a blue dot, and the one in Jessup's cell had a black dot. Other than that, the magics looked about the same.
If only I were a mage or an alchemist right now! I thought. Then I'd be able to figure out, just by holding them, what they- I stopped, and looked over at the room where the girl slept. It was worth a shot. I was desperate. The odds of her being able to help weren't thoroughly high. But I'd be turned to stone and smashed before I asked that irritating Fleming for help.
When I finished, Xen asked, "If he's getting out, do you think his cronies have been getting out, too?"
"I haven't seen any evidence of them. But I wouldn't rule it out. Would you mind if I reinstated your bodyguard?"
The look she gave me needed no interpretation.
"Xen," I pleaded, "it's for your own safety! I don't want him getting his hands on you again!"
She still looked unwilling. I leaned my forehead against hers, staring deep into her eyes.
"Please?"
She rolled her eyes, but I followed the plea with a kiss. When it ended, she muttered, "I'll forgive you. Eventually."
I chuckled at the running gag statement. Then I asked, "How's Calla been?"
"Very quiet. I checked her a few times, before I dozed off, and she's still sleeping. I put some sweat on her bruises, so they should start healing up quickly enough. But the real trouble is in here," she pointed a claw at her head, "and here." She pointed at her heart.
"I know," I sighed. "Believe me, I know."
After snuggling for a while longer, Xen made dinner, we ate, snuggled (among other things) some more, and then she went back to her apartment. She needed to go to bed, and I needed to think. It was now 8:05 pm, and I could feel the backs of my eyes stinging, begging for sleep. I went to the bathroom, and woke myself up more by splashing water on my face. Then I retrieved a notepad and pen, and made a list.
Things I Know
- Jessup has gotten out of prison at least once, as is evident by the tracks on Senator Skald's lawn, and the pieces of grass and dirt on his feet.
- Mrs. Skald was not faking her distress; therefore, her husband must really have vanished.
I wondered whether to actually count that point, since it was based on guessing, but since I think myself a pretty good judge of character, I was sure it was genuine. I wracked my brain for another certainty, but came up with nothing. So instead I wrote questions.
- Was Senator Skald kidnapped, or did he go into hiding, or did he leave of his own free will?
- Why has nobody reported seeing him vanish, other than his wife?
- Has he been taken by a political enemy?
- How did someone take him, anyway? Even if he’s an old troll, he’s still got to be pretty strong.
- How did Jessup get out of prison, and back in, with nobody noticing?
- Why would he be involved in the senator's disappearance?
- What do those bits of magical residue do?
I groaned inwardly when I saw all the things I would have to find out, but steeled myself. I had taken on this case of my own free will; I owed it to the clients to get the answers. Besides, a detective's got to do what a detective's got to do.
I looked at the kitchen table, where I had placed the evidence baggies so they wouldn't interfere with my Xen-time. In order to distinguish the ones with the magic from each other, I had used different colored markers to place a dot on each. The one I had found on the senator's property had a pink dot, the one in the elevator a blue dot, and the one in Jessup's cell had a black dot. Other than that, the magics looked about the same.
If only I were a mage or an alchemist right now! I thought. Then I'd be able to figure out, just by holding them, what they- I stopped, and looked over at the room where the girl slept. It was worth a shot. I was desperate. The odds of her being able to help weren't thoroughly high. But I'd be turned to stone and smashed before I asked that irritating Fleming for help.
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