The place positively reeked of magic. It reminded me of being in the forest, or in the presence of Mayor Bodmin: it was covered in older magic, the sort that had been around since probably the dawn of time, and would still be here long after I finally became a statue for good. It wasn’t evil-magic is not good or evil, even the kinds that are forbidden, like blood magic. But it was extremely strong, and if someone wanted to use it for evil...just thinking about it made my fur stand on end. This was why the most powerful monsters-alchemists, sorcerers, elder dragons, sidhe, certain types of demons-all freaked out us more garden-variety monsters. It was people like them who had caused major problems in the past, setting themselves up as gods, exacting horrible punishments on anyone who disagreed with them, and in general causing havoc. Don’t get me wrong, any monster with a mind to can cause havoc; case in point, Desmond Jessup. And we try not to actually discriminate against them, since it was discrimination that drove all of us into hiding, and we know how that feels. But among those monsters history and mythology consider to be bad...these were the Big Bads. So it’s hard not to be wary of them, and in many cases that wariness is justified.
Speak of the devil, as I removed my sunglasses the spell dissipated, and I finally got a good look at the witch herself, who was sitting at an old wooden table in the center of the room. I’d seen her once before, years ago at a diplomatic party that my dad dragged us to in St. Petersburg. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t changed a bit. Still a tall, skinny old woman dressed like a traditional Russian grandmother: old black dress, dark gray shawl, blood red head scarf fastened with a brooch shaped like a skull (the skull is not necessarily traditional)-just how people imagine she looks. Her gray-and-white hair hung underneath the scarf in two long curtains, framing her pale face. Burning red eyes, a long icepick of a nose, and a thin-lipped mouth filled with sharp iron teeth (which seem awfully impractical to me) finished up the ensemble.
The hut, I saw, was a mess. Dust covered the floor, the table, the enormous wardrobe in the corner, the spare chairs, the enormous stone fireplace, the giant mortar and pestle over in the opposite corner-basically everywhere and everything. A tall black sunflower grew in one corner of the room; the ground around it was littered with fallen petals. There were spills and crumbs everywhere, in many interesting hues. Remembering the stories I’d read about Baba Yaga, I wondered if she was going to force us to clean for her. I hoped not.
“Welcome,” she said with a smile that she probably thought looked benevolent. “Who is your lovely companion?”
As if you didn’t know.
“My assistant, Calla Gardiner.” She probably expected me to bow or something; well, good luck with that. Even if I was on my best behavior at the moment, that didn’t mean I was going to go that far. I just stood there as Calla joined me, standing at my side.
“Hello,” she said softly, nodding to the witch while avoiding her eyes.
Baba Yaga made a gesture with an emaciated hand, and two extra chairs appeared at the table.
“Please, sit.”
After a cursory glance confirmed that they were safe, we sat down.
As soon as Calla was in her chair, the witch suddenly reached out and pinched her arm gently. I had to remember Xen’s warning not to start anything so that I wouldn’t swat her hand away.
“Hardly any flesh,” she said in an almost disappointed tone. Her nose twitched, and I remembered that she was reputed to have an exceptional sense of smell.
Calla flinched away. “Sorry. I don’t gain weight easily.”
Baba Yaga withdrew her hand, before abruptly saying, “You are a very interesting person, Miss Gardiner.”
“Am I?” my assistant asked. She glanced up at the witch, unnerved at how closely she was being stared at.
“You have the blood of the vurdalaki in your veins.”
“The-” Then Calla realized who she was referring to, and nodded with a timid smile. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“In all my years, I have never met someone who has bonded with one. Most fascinating.”
Mentally I cursed; it appeared that Calla didn’t even need to demonstrate her eye powers to be interesting to her.
Baba Yaga went on, “And if I did, I would not expect them to have a soul so...relatively unstained. Even though there is blood on yours, it’s hardly as much as I would expect.”
Any ease Calla had been feeling vanished; her face went white, and her heart rate increased at the mention of the one life she had taken. I felt a rush of anger that the witch would dredge up that old wound, and decided to intervene.
“What’s the issue?” I interrupted.
Baba Yaga looked disappointed at my butting in, but she just gave a small nod and said, “There is something I need you to retrieve for me. It is a sword being kept in the home of Koschei the Deathless.”
If Baba Yaga was Russia’s most powerful witch, then Koschei was its most powerful sorcerer. Legends said that he’d extracted his own soul from his body, and put it where nobody, human, animal, monster or Reaper, could ever find it-making himself basically immortal. He was well-versed in the magical arts, and exceedingly rich. And since he was so powerful, it only followed that he and Baba Yaga would become bitter enemies, constantly squabbling over treasures and territory. In a way, it was a blessing, because if they ever decided to work together, they would probably think to try to leave Russia and take over the world. At least this way they were just holed up in one country.
She dragged me out here to become a part of her petty squabble with Mr. the Deathless?! Heck no, babushka, I am not your errand boy!
I didn’t say that, of course. Instead I asked, “Did he steal it from you?”
Baba Yaga gave me a scornful look at the implication that anyone would be able to steal from her. “Of course not.”
“Has the sword in any way, shape or form been your legal property before coming into his possession?”
She finally realized what I was getting at; her red eyes narrowed into slits, and a slight angry hiss came from her mouth. But she tried to calm down again, and said in a reasonable tone, “You don’t understand. This is not just any sword. It is the sword Kladenets, which gives untold power to whoever wields it. If Koschei has it, think of what he might be able to do.”
And that’s better than you having it, how? I’m not sure which of you is worse, but I don’t need to get involved in this. It’s not my country.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this job is not in my jurisdiction. If the sword is not your property, then I can’t do anything.”
Showing posts with label Esau. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Esau. Show all posts
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
TANSTAV part 37
Chapter 10 part 3
Of course, nothing is ever that easy in my life. Oh, we got home all right, taking the bus. On the way, I even got a bit of strength back in my limbs (though I still needed help walking anywhere). But when we got to the apartment, and were in the elevator, a familiar, noxious smell clogged my nostrils. Don't worry, it wasn't Jessup. No points for those of you who thought it was him, sorry. Instead, it was the cloying stench of campfire smoke mixed with too much hair gel and cologne. I glanced at my girlfriend (it felt so nice to call her that!), and could tell that she could smell it too. Xen looked as perturbed as I was.
"Is that who I think it is?"
"Unfortunately, yes." I hesitated. "If one of you could push the button for the floor below ours, we can slip out, and wait until he goes away."
"Huh?" asked Calla. "Who is it?"
"It's-" Before I could finish my sentence, the doors to the elevator opened, and there he was, standing at the end of the hall. There was no escape.
"You're looking rather...shabby, Tristan. Good heavens, is that blood?"
"Hi, Art," I growled, as civilly as possible.
Yes, as you may have guessed, it was my 'treasured' brother, Arthur. There he stood, in his fancy three-piece business suit, already a successful lawyer at the ripe old age of 23 (Personally, I don't know who in their right mind would want to be a lawyer; everyone knows that was a profession invented by demons, for the purpose of making the lives of others more difficult). His hair was brown, like mine, but his eyes were yellow like our mother's. In my opinion, he used far too much gel, so his hair would stay flat and slicked into place; it had no freedom. He had a black ivory comb sticking out of his jacket pocket, and also a bulge that was probably extra gel, showing just how given to vanity he could be about his hair. Every bit of him, from head to toe, was absolutely spotless and tidy. It reminded me so much of Father, I could barely restrain myself from hunching my shoulders and glaring at the floor, my typical pose during one of his lectures.
"What are you here for?" I asked, stepping out of the elevator, with some help from Xen and Calla. The latter was staring back and forth between me and Arthur; obviously she had figured out the connection between us, and was trying to figure out what would happen next.
"Do I need a reason to come and visit my little brother?" he asked.
"Typically, yes," I replied. I had only seen him twice since my fleeing home; the first time had been to try and persuade me to go back (after finally tracking me down), and the second was to bring me a message from Father telling me how foolhardy I was to try having a job as a detective in a ‘hicktown.’ Neither meeting had ended well.
"So, what's the message now?" The three of us began staggering down the hallway, with my brother walking alongside.
"No message. I merely came to see how you were getting on in life. Making sure that you are adjusting well to a life of poverty."
I didn't believe he gave a shard of granite about my welfare. No, in all likelihood this was him trying to flaunt his wealth, show off how much better off he was than I, because he'd allowed our dad to teach him to heel on command, and I hadn't. There was always an ulterior motive in our family; we make the Kennedys and the Tudors look like the Brady Bunch. The only difference is that, to my knowledge, none of us has ever had an affair, or murdered our brother. But if any of them had, it wouldn't surprise me too much.
"I'm doing fine, thanks," I said dryly. "I've just cleared up a particularly nasty case, and I'd like to go lie down now, so if you'll excuse me-"
Arthur finally seemed to notice Calla and Xen. He frowned.
"Who are these?"
"Xenobia Keller," Xen introduced herself.
"Calla Gardiner," Calla squeaked. "I'm his assistant."
"Keller...Keller..." Arthur mused the name, ignoring my assistant altogether, ticking me off even more. Finally, his eyes lit up.
"You were our neighbor! That girl that Father always wanted Tristan to stay away from--"
As he realized what he was saying, and what this meant, he cut himself off. His face became shocked, as he scrutinized the way Xen was supporting me, and how my arm was draped around her shoulders. She started to move away; being seen showing affection in public embarrassed her. I only clutched her tighter to me. Since we had basically let the imp out of the bag, there seemed no point in hiding things now.
"Tristan," said Arthur in a strangled tone, "am I to understand that you are in a-a physical relationship with this-this-"
"I am here, you know," said Xen testily, "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not. And typically, I refer to myself as a chimera."
"And to answer your question, yes, Arthur, she is my girlfriend," I said, standing up as straight as possible. "Actually, to be accurate, she's my fiancée now."
I thought my brother was about to have an apoplectic fit. His face went dark gray (the gargoyle equivalent of blushing, or going red with anger), and he gasped, "You can't do this, Tristan! You can't sully your bloodline by marrying a half-breed freak!"
"I can, and I will!" I shouted. "Don't you dare call her a freak!"
I stepped free of the girls, and advanced in his direction, fists clenched. Except for some staggering, I was able to keep my balance.
Arthur, though good in a verbal debate (which is just a fancy word for squabbling, in my opinion), and a hero on his high school air hockey team (by which I mean literally in the air), has never had to be in an actual fight before. Ever since I became a detective, and even before that, I've had several. I was pretty sure that, even if I couldn't actually take him, I could at least give him a good wallop or two.
My brother was unwilling to stay and face me. He pushed past us, and headed for the elevator.
"Father will hear about this!" he called back over his shoulder. "He will be furious!"
"Good! I hope so!" I shot back. "Tell him he and Mom are invited to the wedding, too!"
The elevator doors slammed shut on Arthur's furious expression. Xen looked at me.
"Are they really invited?"
"It doesn't matter," I replied with a shrug, "They're not gonna come, anyway."
About a week later (after I finally got a new phone), the dreaded call came. A fierce voice said through the receiver, in response to my query of ‘Hello?’, "What is the meaning of this news I have heard from Arthur?!"
"Hi, Dad, nice to hear from you too," I said, after a moment. I had regained most of my strength over the week, and was feeling unusually bold. Of course, if Dad had been there in person, I would probably have cringed and shrunk before him, like I had back home.
"Don't be impertinent, Tristan! Are you or are you not intending to marry that girl?!"
"...Yes. Yes, I am going to marry Xen. In October."
"I forbid it. And I forbid you to continue having that-that human as an assistant."
There was no pleading, no threatening, no explanations, just forbidding. I snorted in disgust.
"I’m not your puppet, Dad. You can't stop me. I love Xen, and am going to marry her, whether you like it or not. And Calla needs me, I can’t send her away. Besides, she’s a mage. She’s not an exact human."
"Tristan, if you ever wish to set foot in my house again, or see even a penny of your inheritance, you will comply with my wishes!"
"Okay. Then we are agreed. Bye." And with that, I hung up.
Needless to say, I have not heard from him, or anyone else in my family, in the past three months. But, since I have received a raise from the chief, as well as a rewarding payment from the Jorgensen and Skald families, and Xen's paintings have become incredibly popular (it's amazing what sudden fame will do for you), meaning she is getting more money too, I don't especially care. Of course, there are times when I wish things could have been different between us...Oh, well, water under the burning bridge, right?
Jessup was sent back to prison, with security around his cell (and everyone else's, for that matter) increased tenfold, so hopefully nobody can escape, or be smuggled out, again. Despite his pleading insanity, Fleming was convicted, and also sent to Chernabog. This has all given me immense satisfaction. So now, I can only sit in my office, or in my apartment, and wait for my next case to arise.
Of course, nothing is ever that easy in my life. Oh, we got home all right, taking the bus. On the way, I even got a bit of strength back in my limbs (though I still needed help walking anywhere). But when we got to the apartment, and were in the elevator, a familiar, noxious smell clogged my nostrils. Don't worry, it wasn't Jessup. No points for those of you who thought it was him, sorry. Instead, it was the cloying stench of campfire smoke mixed with too much hair gel and cologne. I glanced at my girlfriend (it felt so nice to call her that!), and could tell that she could smell it too. Xen looked as perturbed as I was.
"Is that who I think it is?"
"Unfortunately, yes." I hesitated. "If one of you could push the button for the floor below ours, we can slip out, and wait until he goes away."
"Huh?" asked Calla. "Who is it?"
"It's-" Before I could finish my sentence, the doors to the elevator opened, and there he was, standing at the end of the hall. There was no escape.
"You're looking rather...shabby, Tristan. Good heavens, is that blood?"
"Hi, Art," I growled, as civilly as possible.
Yes, as you may have guessed, it was my 'treasured' brother, Arthur. There he stood, in his fancy three-piece business suit, already a successful lawyer at the ripe old age of 23 (Personally, I don't know who in their right mind would want to be a lawyer; everyone knows that was a profession invented by demons, for the purpose of making the lives of others more difficult). His hair was brown, like mine, but his eyes were yellow like our mother's. In my opinion, he used far too much gel, so his hair would stay flat and slicked into place; it had no freedom. He had a black ivory comb sticking out of his jacket pocket, and also a bulge that was probably extra gel, showing just how given to vanity he could be about his hair. Every bit of him, from head to toe, was absolutely spotless and tidy. It reminded me so much of Father, I could barely restrain myself from hunching my shoulders and glaring at the floor, my typical pose during one of his lectures.
"What are you here for?" I asked, stepping out of the elevator, with some help from Xen and Calla. The latter was staring back and forth between me and Arthur; obviously she had figured out the connection between us, and was trying to figure out what would happen next.
"Do I need a reason to come and visit my little brother?" he asked.
"Typically, yes," I replied. I had only seen him twice since my fleeing home; the first time had been to try and persuade me to go back (after finally tracking me down), and the second was to bring me a message from Father telling me how foolhardy I was to try having a job as a detective in a ‘hicktown.’ Neither meeting had ended well.
"So, what's the message now?" The three of us began staggering down the hallway, with my brother walking alongside.
"No message. I merely came to see how you were getting on in life. Making sure that you are adjusting well to a life of poverty."
I didn't believe he gave a shard of granite about my welfare. No, in all likelihood this was him trying to flaunt his wealth, show off how much better off he was than I, because he'd allowed our dad to teach him to heel on command, and I hadn't. There was always an ulterior motive in our family; we make the Kennedys and the Tudors look like the Brady Bunch. The only difference is that, to my knowledge, none of us has ever had an affair, or murdered our brother. But if any of them had, it wouldn't surprise me too much.
"I'm doing fine, thanks," I said dryly. "I've just cleared up a particularly nasty case, and I'd like to go lie down now, so if you'll excuse me-"
Arthur finally seemed to notice Calla and Xen. He frowned.
"Who are these?"
"Xenobia Keller," Xen introduced herself.
"Calla Gardiner," Calla squeaked. "I'm his assistant."
"Keller...Keller..." Arthur mused the name, ignoring my assistant altogether, ticking me off even more. Finally, his eyes lit up.
"You were our neighbor! That girl that Father always wanted Tristan to stay away from--"
As he realized what he was saying, and what this meant, he cut himself off. His face became shocked, as he scrutinized the way Xen was supporting me, and how my arm was draped around her shoulders. She started to move away; being seen showing affection in public embarrassed her. I only clutched her tighter to me. Since we had basically let the imp out of the bag, there seemed no point in hiding things now.
"Tristan," said Arthur in a strangled tone, "am I to understand that you are in a-a physical relationship with this-this-"
"I am here, you know," said Xen testily, "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not. And typically, I refer to myself as a chimera."
"And to answer your question, yes, Arthur, she is my girlfriend," I said, standing up as straight as possible. "Actually, to be accurate, she's my fiancée now."
I thought my brother was about to have an apoplectic fit. His face went dark gray (the gargoyle equivalent of blushing, or going red with anger), and he gasped, "You can't do this, Tristan! You can't sully your bloodline by marrying a half-breed freak!"
"I can, and I will!" I shouted. "Don't you dare call her a freak!"
I stepped free of the girls, and advanced in his direction, fists clenched. Except for some staggering, I was able to keep my balance.
Arthur, though good in a verbal debate (which is just a fancy word for squabbling, in my opinion), and a hero on his high school air hockey team (by which I mean literally in the air), has never had to be in an actual fight before. Ever since I became a detective, and even before that, I've had several. I was pretty sure that, even if I couldn't actually take him, I could at least give him a good wallop or two.
My brother was unwilling to stay and face me. He pushed past us, and headed for the elevator.
"Father will hear about this!" he called back over his shoulder. "He will be furious!"
"Good! I hope so!" I shot back. "Tell him he and Mom are invited to the wedding, too!"
The elevator doors slammed shut on Arthur's furious expression. Xen looked at me.
"Are they really invited?"
"It doesn't matter," I replied with a shrug, "They're not gonna come, anyway."
About a week later (after I finally got a new phone), the dreaded call came. A fierce voice said through the receiver, in response to my query of ‘Hello?’, "What is the meaning of this news I have heard from Arthur?!"
"Hi, Dad, nice to hear from you too," I said, after a moment. I had regained most of my strength over the week, and was feeling unusually bold. Of course, if Dad had been there in person, I would probably have cringed and shrunk before him, like I had back home.
"Don't be impertinent, Tristan! Are you or are you not intending to marry that girl?!"
"...Yes. Yes, I am going to marry Xen. In October."
"I forbid it. And I forbid you to continue having that-that human as an assistant."
There was no pleading, no threatening, no explanations, just forbidding. I snorted in disgust.
"I’m not your puppet, Dad. You can't stop me. I love Xen, and am going to marry her, whether you like it or not. And Calla needs me, I can’t send her away. Besides, she’s a mage. She’s not an exact human."
"Tristan, if you ever wish to set foot in my house again, or see even a penny of your inheritance, you will comply with my wishes!"
"Okay. Then we are agreed. Bye." And with that, I hung up.
Needless to say, I have not heard from him, or anyone else in my family, in the past three months. But, since I have received a raise from the chief, as well as a rewarding payment from the Jorgensen and Skald families, and Xen's paintings have become incredibly popular (it's amazing what sudden fame will do for you), meaning she is getting more money too, I don't especially care. Of course, there are times when I wish things could have been different between us...Oh, well, water under the burning bridge, right?
Jessup was sent back to prison, with security around his cell (and everyone else's, for that matter) increased tenfold, so hopefully nobody can escape, or be smuggled out, again. Despite his pleading insanity, Fleming was convicted, and also sent to Chernabog. This has all given me immense satisfaction. So now, I can only sit in my office, or in my apartment, and wait for my next case to arise.
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?"
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
TANSTAV part 9
Chapter Three part 3
Xenobia Keller (or Xen) is- well, technically, she's not my girlfriend. My parents disapprove of our even being friends, because she's only half-gargoyle (her father is a Yoon), and an artist, to boot. The funny thing about my family: to put it nicely, we're old-fashioned, and to put it truthfully, we're snobs. My father is this big politician in the monster world, and has these ideas about "preserving purity of the species," and "unsullied blood," and a whole bunch of rubbish like that. But, having known Xen basically all my life, I feel that species or blood doesn't matter worth a darn in this world. This difference of opinion is part of what has led to my father and I barely speaking to each other in the past two years. And, since my relationship with him is already strained, I usually avoid bringing up Xen in conversation (since he usually starts ranting about what a bad influence she is), and certainly never call her my girlfriend. If he knew the strength of our relationship, he would explode with rage. And as entertaining as that would be, he would probably disinherit me first. I like having a little money on the side for when Ishida is slow with my paycheck.
Xen, due to her Dark Fae blood, is smaller and more delicately-boned than most gargoyles, coming up to my shoulder. She hates the fact that she looks fragile, since she is personally tough as nails. Her hands and feet are rather big, and she can climb like a Yoon, which I think is awesome. Other indications of her heritage are her hair, eyes, wings, and tail. Not that there's anything odd about her having them. But her hair is red on top, and brown on the bottom. It looks like she dyes it, but she doesn't. Typically she leaves it at shoulder length, which I love. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of purple, and look huge in her small, heart-shaped face. Xen's wings are brown and furry, and her tail has brown stripes, like a lemur. Lastly, Xen has the healing powers of a Yoon; however, her blood and tears can only be used on gargoyles.
Without preamble, I swept Xen into a hug. Because of our different schedules, I hardly ever got to see her. I tried to enjoy every opportunity I got; burying my face in her hair, I inhaled the lovely scent of her wild rose shampoo. I heard her give a small, contented sigh as her fingers played with some of the hairs on the back of my neck. When we finally came apart, she said, "Good to see you too, Tristan."
"Thanks. Now...what was the question again?"
Xen rolled her eyes. "What were those people here for?"
"It's a long story. It's a small issue with a case." With that, I related the events of the day.
"Three weeks?" Xen was as flabbergasted as I had been.
"I know. But under the circumstances, it was the best deal I was likely to get out of him. I'm thinking of having her see Doc Higgins."
"The shrink?" she asked skeptically.
"He's not that bad! He helped Larry, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's had almost a year! It will take years for the kid to fully recover from this!"
"Ishida doesn't care how much recovered she is, just so long as she can talk to him about what happened."
"That heartless, cruel-" Xen stopped herself before she could call him something naughty. I thought he deserved it, but admired her self control.
Suddenly, Xen asked me, "When did you eat last?" She gave me a disapproving frown.
"Last night!" I protested.
"And you haven't had breakfast yet?!" Xen was horrified. "It's almost noon! I'll make you some soup."
"You don't have to-"
"Tristan, you are not starving yourself. I forbid it. Both you and Calla, when she wakes up, are going to have some food in you, if I have to break every bone in your body!"
With that, she went to the kitchen, and began digging through my cupboards. We've known each other long enough for her to do breaches of etiquette like that.
"When is the last time you went shopping?!" she scolded. I shrugged; typically I don't worry much about things like that when I'm working.
Despite my deficiencies in foodstuffs, Xen was able to scrounge up salt, pepper, an old can of chicken broth, and a cooking pot and spoon. She went to her apartment, which is next door to mine (conveniently enough), and brought back celery, a green onion, soy sauce, minced garlic, ground ginger, eggs, and noodles. Setting these down, she scrubbed down my kitchen, and then started cooking. Soon delicious smells were emanating from the pot as she tossed in and stirred different ingredients. As she stirred the soup, I came up behind her. Gently I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then stroked her neck, feeling her shiver.
"You're beautiful," I whispered in her pointed ear. I traced her jaw with my claws.
"And you are being very distracting," Xen scolded (though she did smile).
"Sorry." Caressing the side of her face one last time, I moved away to the sofa, so I could watch her from a distance.
Finally, the soup was done. Xen ladled out two bowls, turned off the stove, and brought our dinner over, along with two spoons. After saying grace, we dug in. Let me tell you something: Xen cooks the best food I have ever eaten. She can make the simplest meal taste like heaven, just by adding a dash of pepper, or a sprig of rosemary, or something like that. If she weren't focused so much on her art, she could be one of the greatest culinary chefs of the monster world. Before I knew it, my bowl was empty, and I wanted more. I quickly went and refilled the bowl.
"Don't forget to save some for Calla," Xen admonished.
"I dunno, this is so good, we should just eat it ourselves. She need never know."
"Tristan..." Xen gave me a no-nonsense look. I grinned impudently, and after a moment, Xen did too.
I finished the second helping, and started to get up for thirds. Xen caught my tail in one hand.
"Oh, no you don't, Mister Greedyguts!"
I tried to tug free, but Xen is stronger than she looks. So instead, I turned around and scooped her up, off the sofa. Xen gave a mild exclamation of surprise, but did not seem especially displeased. In fact, when I lowered my face to hers, she seemed as happy as I was.
Xenobia Keller (or Xen) is- well, technically, she's not my girlfriend. My parents disapprove of our even being friends, because she's only half-gargoyle (her father is a Yoon), and an artist, to boot. The funny thing about my family: to put it nicely, we're old-fashioned, and to put it truthfully, we're snobs. My father is this big politician in the monster world, and has these ideas about "preserving purity of the species," and "unsullied blood," and a whole bunch of rubbish like that. But, having known Xen basically all my life, I feel that species or blood doesn't matter worth a darn in this world. This difference of opinion is part of what has led to my father and I barely speaking to each other in the past two years. And, since my relationship with him is already strained, I usually avoid bringing up Xen in conversation (since he usually starts ranting about what a bad influence she is), and certainly never call her my girlfriend. If he knew the strength of our relationship, he would explode with rage. And as entertaining as that would be, he would probably disinherit me first. I like having a little money on the side for when Ishida is slow with my paycheck.
Xen, due to her Dark Fae blood, is smaller and more delicately-boned than most gargoyles, coming up to my shoulder. She hates the fact that she looks fragile, since she is personally tough as nails. Her hands and feet are rather big, and she can climb like a Yoon, which I think is awesome. Other indications of her heritage are her hair, eyes, wings, and tail. Not that there's anything odd about her having them. But her hair is red on top, and brown on the bottom. It looks like she dyes it, but she doesn't. Typically she leaves it at shoulder length, which I love. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of purple, and look huge in her small, heart-shaped face. Xen's wings are brown and furry, and her tail has brown stripes, like a lemur. Lastly, Xen has the healing powers of a Yoon; however, her blood and tears can only be used on gargoyles.
Without preamble, I swept Xen into a hug. Because of our different schedules, I hardly ever got to see her. I tried to enjoy every opportunity I got; burying my face in her hair, I inhaled the lovely scent of her wild rose shampoo. I heard her give a small, contented sigh as her fingers played with some of the hairs on the back of my neck. When we finally came apart, she said, "Good to see you too, Tristan."
"Thanks. Now...what was the question again?"
Xen rolled her eyes. "What were those people here for?"
"It's a long story. It's a small issue with a case." With that, I related the events of the day.
"Three weeks?" Xen was as flabbergasted as I had been.
"I know. But under the circumstances, it was the best deal I was likely to get out of him. I'm thinking of having her see Doc Higgins."
"The shrink?" she asked skeptically.
"He's not that bad! He helped Larry, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's had almost a year! It will take years for the kid to fully recover from this!"
"Ishida doesn't care how much recovered she is, just so long as she can talk to him about what happened."
"That heartless, cruel-" Xen stopped herself before she could call him something naughty. I thought he deserved it, but admired her self control.
Suddenly, Xen asked me, "When did you eat last?" She gave me a disapproving frown.
"Last night!" I protested.
"And you haven't had breakfast yet?!" Xen was horrified. "It's almost noon! I'll make you some soup."
"You don't have to-"
"Tristan, you are not starving yourself. I forbid it. Both you and Calla, when she wakes up, are going to have some food in you, if I have to break every bone in your body!"
With that, she went to the kitchen, and began digging through my cupboards. We've known each other long enough for her to do breaches of etiquette like that.
"When is the last time you went shopping?!" she scolded. I shrugged; typically I don't worry much about things like that when I'm working.
Despite my deficiencies in foodstuffs, Xen was able to scrounge up salt, pepper, an old can of chicken broth, and a cooking pot and spoon. She went to her apartment, which is next door to mine (conveniently enough), and brought back celery, a green onion, soy sauce, minced garlic, ground ginger, eggs, and noodles. Setting these down, she scrubbed down my kitchen, and then started cooking. Soon delicious smells were emanating from the pot as she tossed in and stirred different ingredients. As she stirred the soup, I came up behind her. Gently I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then stroked her neck, feeling her shiver.
"You're beautiful," I whispered in her pointed ear. I traced her jaw with my claws.
"And you are being very distracting," Xen scolded (though she did smile).
"Sorry." Caressing the side of her face one last time, I moved away to the sofa, so I could watch her from a distance.
Finally, the soup was done. Xen ladled out two bowls, turned off the stove, and brought our dinner over, along with two spoons. After saying grace, we dug in. Let me tell you something: Xen cooks the best food I have ever eaten. She can make the simplest meal taste like heaven, just by adding a dash of pepper, or a sprig of rosemary, or something like that. If she weren't focused so much on her art, she could be one of the greatest culinary chefs of the monster world. Before I knew it, my bowl was empty, and I wanted more. I quickly went and refilled the bowl.
"Don't forget to save some for Calla," Xen admonished.
"I dunno, this is so good, we should just eat it ourselves. She need never know."
"Tristan..." Xen gave me a no-nonsense look. I grinned impudently, and after a moment, Xen did too.
I finished the second helping, and started to get up for thirds. Xen caught my tail in one hand.
"Oh, no you don't, Mister Greedyguts!"
I tried to tug free, but Xen is stronger than she looks. So instead, I turned around and scooped her up, off the sofa. Xen gave a mild exclamation of surprise, but did not seem especially displeased. In fact, when I lowered my face to hers, she seemed as happy as I was.
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