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?"