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.

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?"