Chapter Forty Three
The following days and nights passed in a blur, with the both of them being so busy. She would explore the city she lived in by herself, stumbling through her words whenever she was forced to talk to a stranger. Though she messed up addresses and mumbled her orders at the nearby Starbucks, she survived. No dragons approached her on the street that she knew of. She took comfort in being just a face in the crowd.
Then, one evening, her world was upset again. She had just slipped on the bar’s tee shirt and was sitting at the table, watching Dustin as he drank his strong coffee. Scissors sat in her hand and she itched to use them, but she wanted Dustin to help her.
He was reading a letter he had gotten in the mail, or maybe it had been slipped under their door. She didn’t know how he got his missions from the other chaos, only that he did. He whipped out his phone and said, his voice very apologetic once the person on the other end picked up, “Kristy? We quit.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, staring at the phone had had just snapped shut.
“I was under the assumption that you would follow me on my missions,” he looked up from his cup of coffee, “To keep me from doing anything regretful. Was I mistaken?”
“No,” she said immediately, not able to format everything she wanted to say. She liked this place. She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that she’d live for centuries if she were careful, and that meant the odds of her coming back someday were high. It help much.
“I’ve been relocated to Chicago, set to move right after today’s mission,” Dustin stood up, “Do you need to pack?”
“Not really,” she looked down, clenching her teeth together. She didn’t like this arrangement, but she was bound to it by more than just her word. Evan’s contract, and the consequences, were clear in her mind. Dustin had to keep doing his missions, he had to do exactly as his bosses said, and he had to be efficient. She had to make sure that he stayed the chaos lapdog, “All I have to bring is tea and clothes. Do you have a spare suitcase?”
“I have a spare.”
“Good, I’ll pack later,” she decided, “Where are we going on this mission?”
“You’re coming?”
“I have to make sure you don’t, in your own words, do something regrettable,” she shrugged, handing him the scissors, “Help me cut my hair?”
“Why do you want to cut your hair?”
“It’s too long,” she said, looking out the window. It was snowing; the small tufts of white clinging to everything it landed on.
“Fair enough,” he took the scissors from her and herded her into the bathroom, “And we’re going to Anathaem.”
Fledgling Page 44