“Are you here for these buggers?” Mrs. Leafborne asked, her eyes conveying her desperation to get rid of them.
Amarine squinted up at them, and replied, “Yes.”
“Thank goodness. There’s several nests. They must’ve built them lightning fast when no one was around. Now they’re bold as can be.”
“We’ll get it taken care of,” Tristan said.
Tristan went about setting up a gas tank, connecting the hoses, and testing the release mechanism. Annoyed by life itself, Karena eyed the nest on the ceiling. It was fifteen feet above her. Her blood pulsed, thumbing against the inside of her skin. We are here her elemental essence said. She didn’t want to bother with the gas, with work, life, and everything in general. She flung her hand upwards, and unleashed a vicious bite of cold air at the nest. It froze the scorpionflies that were building it on contact.
“That works too,” Hadrian said.
The scorpionflies that hadn’t been frozen because they had been circling the nest became distressed and zipped around to find the culprit that had silenced their family and friends. Karena fired ice needles at the remaining ones, missing several times, but ultimately impaling all six of them.
“Done,” Karena said.
“We did have a plan,” Amarine moodily said, waving her other hand that wasn’t on her hip.
Karena shrugged.
“Luckily, it’s ice and nothing more. The motifs up there will be fine,” Tristan said, and snapped the heads off of the frozen scorpionflies so that they didn’t come back to life after they thawed.
Karena held open the collection bag and Tristan dumped the bodies inside. They were grotesque insects. Their knobby, black exoskeletons looked like hardened sludge found in the sewers. By using a spell, Tristan dislodged the nest from the ceiling and caught it in his hands, and put it in the bag too. She tied up the bag to later give to the scientists to examine.
They walked into the adjacent room. Desks crouched in rows and books lined up like soldiers against the walls. The room was used by the public who wished to learn more about certain pests and how to get rid of them. They heard the buzzing of the scorpionflies, but couldn’t find them or the nest.
“Mrs. Leafborne, can you show us where they are?” Amarine called as they scoured the room.
“We can hear them, but can’t see them,” Tristan said.
“They have adapted and developed a way to camouflage with their surroundings,” Hadrian said, attempting to evoke a sense of doom to them.
“Yes, yes, on my way,” Mrs. Leafborne said.
She trotted over, swinging her arms back and forth as though in great effort.
“Someone needs to watch the phone. Eve can’t cover the desk yet; she’s headed to a meeting with Captain Valmar and the Council,” Mrs. Leafborne said.
“I can,” Karena volunteered.
Mrs. Leafborne hurried to one of the windows by the far corner, and ran her fingers close to where there was a narrow crack in the wood of the windowsill.
“They found their way in through this crack, and are inside the wall in this area,” Mrs. Leafborne said.
Karena left. She knew she would do more harm than good due to her current mental state. Instead of carrying out the assignment properly, by gassing the flies out or coaxing them out, whatever Tristan had in mind, she might simply freeze the entire wall and possibly cause damage or pipes to burst. Receiving a lecture from Captain Valmar about using her powers wisely was one of the last things she wanted to deal with that day.
In the library room, she heard Tristan rattle on about facts pertaining to scorpionflies and what spells he could use to get them out and kill them. His chatter would’ve made her consider freezing his lips shut. Because he was a wizard, his magical abilities made him perfect for such a difficult job. He could perform spells, whereas the rest of them couldn’t. It was obvious that sometimes it went to his head.
Karena plopped down in Mrs. Leafborne’s chair and twirled around in it. After a while of spinning, she stopped to look at the notes on her desk. They were from Eve, who was Captain Valmar’s assistant, and from calls about cryptids and the details associated with them. A calendar lay to the side with meetings scribbled on it for various people. It looked like there was a lot the receptionist had to keep track of.
Bored, Karena looked at the front doors. It was still early in the morning, and people had yet to start their days. No one would be going through those doors for a while. She gazed across the large area, the paintings, and what rooms she could see into from where she sat. It was a job she probably couldn’t handle. She couldn’t imagine sitting at a desk for the entire six hours of her shift, five days a week. But for the moment, it was nice.
The peacefulness was soon shattered by the ringing of the phone. The peals rang out, clashing against her ears. Before she smashed it, she snatched up the handle piece.
Holding it up to her ear, Karena greeted the caller, “This is the Cryptid Hunting Headquarters of Archelm City, how may I help you?”
“What the hell do you think your city is doing by throwing dead bodies into the Ranarra River? I’ve called every city along the Ranarra River, and they all say that it’s you,” a voice drawled out, brassy, and agitated. “It’s not like we want them down here in the swamps. Do you really think we want them? I’m over here in one of the bayou towns on the border of your crazy nation, and I been seeing them just floating along and then they get tangled up in our fishing nets.”
“Uh—.”
“Don’t start with me. This started happening months ago, and we paid it no attention. We figured it’s just those crazy westerners again, doing something weird, you with your demonic gearcrafting, and strange metal beasts. Your ways are different than ours, and hey, that’s fine, I get it. But quit throwing corpses into the goddamn river, okay? Do you hear me?”
“Look this is a mis—.”
“They float on down on the river, and the river dumps them into the swamps. I don’t know if you know anything about where the river flows, but it flows right into the swamps and drains out further out into the ocean. We’re sick of this shit. Don’t you have coffins or cemeteries, you know, where you either cremate the bodies or you bury them into the dirt?”
“This is a misunderstanding. We aren’t doing anything like that as far as I know. We did have a cemetery flood, and there might have been a few bodies that were carried away, if any,” Karena said, rubbing her forehead.
Karena was still mystified by how there had been empty coffins in the crypts. But that had been recent, and it wasn’t like there had been enough of them to justify this kind of a tirade.
The voice on the other end continued, “Don’t get sassy with me. We don’t need no damn dead corpses floating through the bayous. We have enough problems as it is over here. This is a warning. No more corpses. We’re sick of this. This has been ongoing for a year now. You need to bury your dead, understand?”
There was a click from the other side, and the resounding dial tone thudded into her ear. The woman had hung up on her. Bewildered, eyes wide from disbelief at her rudeness and accusations, Karena dropped the phone back onto its receiver as though it was a spider, not wanting to touch it again. She had heard rumors before about how swampland people were crazy, and that phone call had confirmed they were true.
Now more in a funk than before, she crossed her arms and glared at the phone. If it rung again, she was going to turn it into an ice sculpture. She was so wrapped up in her own mood that she didn’t hear footsteps approach.
“Hey,” Hadrian said.
Karena startled. “I didn’t hear you,” she said.
He flashed her a nervous smile, padded around to her side of the desk, and leaned against it, facing her.
“What?” she said.
“You’ve been angry all week. It’s about time you pull out of it.”
“Look, they probably need help in the library room. I’ll help if you won’t. You can sit here instead,” she said,
not wanting to discuss it. As it was, she wanted to get away from the phone.
She tried to slide her chair back away from the desk in order to have room to get up, but Hadrian put his foot behind one of the wheels, which stopped her from doing so.
Hadrian said, “Tristan and Amarine are handling it fine by themselves.”
Silence reigned. She didn’t want to discuss anything having to do with Asher. It was a huge source of embarrassment and anger for her that refused to lessen in intensity.
He continued, “All joking aside, it was a big disappointment,” referring to what had happened with her and Asher.
“I mean, really, a Fire of all people? Why did he have to be a Fire?”
“I guess they can really put on the charm if they want to, who knew?”
“I sure as hell didn’t know.”
“It’s hard to fool you. You can see straight through people.”
Her breath shook as she sucked it in and expelled it out. Tears came to her eyes. She said, “Imagine what would’ve happened if everyone had found out that I was flirting with a Fire and he was flirting with me. I would’ve had to move out of the city because of all the ridicule. I would’ve been talked about for years to come, and on both sides of the feud.”
“Fortunately, no harm was done. Why don’t you give Tristan a shot? He’s very accommodating to you.”
“He’s annoying.”
“How well do you know him? Maybe you’ll like him once you get to know him more. Anyone is better than Asher. I could set you up with someone else, but Tristan would do anything for you. Not many people are like that.”
“Except for you.”
He gave a sad smile, and said, “At least it will put your mind off of this, and get you to stop beating yourself up over it. Because that’s what you’re doing, even though you had no way of knowing.”
“I should’ve known.”
“Everyone else should’ve too. He wasn’t around only you at the party.”
“Tristan suspected something was up.”
“Give Tristan some thought. You never know. Sometimes the unlikeliest of people are diamonds in the rough, waiting to be polished.”
Karena mulled it over. “I’ll think about it. Thank you Hadrian,” she said.
“Yup,” he said, and he gave her a quick kiss on the check. “I hate to see you like this.”
“I’ll get over it.”
Hadrian put a hand on her shoulder, and left to see what was going on in the other room with the nest of scorpionflies. Karena slowly spun in the office chair as she stewed over what Hadrian had said. Hadrian was right, anyone was better than a Fire. Maybe she had overlooked Tristan. After being deceived by Asher, who had posed as someone named Vince, she doubted herself, her perceptions of people, and everything else now.
Chapter 9
Having considered Hadrian’s advice, Karena found herself three days later at the Laughing Pasta Bowl restaurant. Tristan walked next to her as they followed the waitress to their table. He bounced on his toes as he walked, and his arm stole around her. His arm constantly slipped, but recovered to return to its original place, as though his arm couldn’t help but be limp and weak.
“There’s a lot of people here tonight. I was hoping for a more romantic atmosphere,” Tristan said, swinging his head around to look at the clustered groups of people in there.
“It’s our first date, nothing more.”
“Right, right. I meant that, I just…. you know, wanted it to be quiet and without a lot of busyness.”
They sat down at their booth. The waitress handed them the menus, and promised to come back with water and a basket of garlic bread. Karena pretended to study the cozy restaurant with its dark, wooded interior and impressionistic paintings on its walls. Due to the chilly night outside, everyone was bundled up in layers, but not her. The cold didn’t affect her. For some reason, she wished she had worn long sleeves because she felt too exposed in her ruffled tank top.
“If this had been a table with chairs, I would’ve pulled the chair out for you and let you sit down first,” Tristan said, tapping his fingers on the menu.
“I appreciate the thought.”
“Chivalry is becoming a lost art.”
Karena didn’t think so, but she didn’t want to engage in a meaningless debate. She held the menu up to study.
Tristan continued, “I was surprised when you asked me out because you’ve rebuffed me before. But the guy should make the first move in showing his interest; it’s his obligation to do so. You could’ve been more subtle.”
She lowered the menu and raised an eyebrow at him.
He stuttered, and glanced away. “I meant to say that I’m flattered that you asked me out. I’m sure you wouldn’t be so bold as to offer that to other guys, unless you felt so strongly,” he said.
“I thought it would be good to see if there was a spark between us. If not, then not, but we can still remain friends.”
“I’ve always held in my mind that we were more than friends.”
Karena squirmed on the inside. The waitress came back with her small notebook in hand. She looked at Karena, expecting her order first.
But Tristan spoke first, “I’ll take the chicken parmesan bowl with spinach noodles. And she’ll take the chicken parmesan bowl with the garlic spaghetti noodles. She has similar tastes to mine, though a touch different, which isn’t a bad thing.”
Karena stared at him. Her mental processes slammed to a screeching halt. She was too shocked to be outraged. All she could feel was a horrified numbness. None of her previous dates had ordered for her without consulting her about what she wanted. It wasn’t only rude and dismissive what Tristan had done, but outright controlling. Who was Tristan to decide what she ate?
The waitress paused her scribbling.
“No, I won’t take that, and I don’t have similar tastes to you,” Karena said to him, and then to the waitress, “I apologize for the confusion, but I’ll take the fettucine with salmon and please add extra cheese on top.”
“Perfect, sounds great,” the waitress said, snatched up their menus, and fled from their table.
Before Tristan could say anything, Karena said, “Anyways, how’s the house doing? I’ve never been in it, so I wouldn’t know. It’s been a long project in the making for you, but there can’t be that much stuff left from your grandfather to throw away or fixing up to do.”
“Sorting through and getting rid of all of his stuff hasn’t been as productive as I would’ve hoped. The basement is a disaster, and there are poltergeists that still visit. I have yet to determine what objects they’re attached to,” he said, clasping his hands so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“I thought you had said that you were going to get rid of everything before you moved in, but you’ve been living there for a while now, and it sounds like you haven’t made much progress with that.”
“I planned on doing that, but plans do change. It turns out that there’s quite a few keepsakes in his stashes.”
“How much have you gotten rid of though? He was a hoarder. You said before that there were piles of useless stuff stacked to the ceiling. You’ve had more than two years to throw most of it away after you inherited it.”
“I’ve gone through enough of it,” Tristan said, wringing his hands. “Now what about you?”
“With what?”
“Your hobbies and training.”
She shrugged and said, “I haven’t really taken up any one hobby. I volunteer here and there, or visit the horse stables on the outskirts of the city when I can, or I read more books on cryptid hunting. I socialize a lot with friends, and just take it easy. I try not to stress, or get worked up over anything.”
“That can’t be everything. I know you’ll tell me your secrets when you trust me more.”
“What secrets?” she asked, thoroughly lost. The conversation had taken a sudden turn into awkward-ville.
“Everyone has their secrets. I know you do too
. I’m sure you do other things besides the ones you just told me.”
Karena blankly looked at him, not knowing how to bridge the gap in communication he had singlehandedly created. What was there to say? That it seemed as though he was coming up with make-believe stories in his head about her? Or that he sounded like a creep? She touched the silver fork and spoon in front of her, and willed herself to press on with the date.
Karena asked, “And what secrets do you have to tell?”
“I’m an open book,” he said, leaning forward.
“What about regrets?”
“I wish I had tried to understand and get to know my grandpa more when he had been alive. I find it interesting that I feel closer to him after his death than all of the years prior to this passing,” Tristan said, and he paused before continuing, “Sometimes I think I can hear him breathing when I’m in his house.”
“Breathing?!”
Tristan shifted in his seat. “Maybe that’s going too far,” he said.
“That sounds like demonic possession or occupation.”
“No, it’s not. It’s just the house and the stuff in there that makes me think that.”
“So why did you move in? You said it was unlivable and that the house needed to be gutted to its frame.”
“I cleaned it up.”
“But yet, you didn’t throw away most of his stuff.”
“You would have to see it to understand.”
She nodded, pretending to agree, even though she didn’t think that there was a chance in hell that she would ever understand.
“So, Hadrian still seems to be part of the loser club. He doesn’t have a girlfriend. I guess good looks can’t fix some things,” Tristan said.
Through gritted teeth, she said, “We’re all a part of the loser club, Tristan. And don’t ever talk about Hadrian like that in front of me.”
“I’m glad you two didn’t hit it off. It’s a victory for me, who knew.”
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