Maybe I should just stop answering the door. Ever again.
But, well, even if I did intend to commit to that (frankly unsustainable) practice in future, that didn’t change the present: Moira, Stanton, and Talsic standing there and waiting for me to let them in.
Mine was the last house on the street, by an empty cul-de-sac. Behind the trio I could see a mini-van using the cul-de-sac to turn around. My nearest neighbour was not driving very well; he was too busy staring at the big black car in my driveway and my official-looking company, in particular squinting to see who or what was standing beneath the swathes of fabric. Hopefully he wouldn’t drop by later to get a closer look (from what I could tell, we hadn’t been on good terms since, after moving in, I’d forgotten to bring by baked goods in response to their own gesture of goodwill).
I did my best to ignore the feeling of prying eyes. With a smile and a sweep of my arm, I gestured the group in, unsure of what else to do. “Welcome back. Time to take my statement, I suppose?”
“Yes,” Moira replied, wryly, first through the door, “among other things, as it turns out.”
Talsic bowed as he passed by.
Stanton came last, and flashed me an apprehensive glance before saying pleasantly, “I hope you had a better chance to rest this time around.” He motioned absently with the box in his hand.
“Yes, much better, thank you,” I said. “Still a bit sleepy, but otherwise? I feel like a new person.”
Perhaps laying it on a bit thick, but it at least extracted a smile from Stanton. Besides, thick was helpful. Now was my opportunity to prove that yesterday’s messy-me was a fluke, and that I was totally ready to go back to work on Monday.
This time, I had been better prepared for hosting (minus Talsic’s surprise appearance), so Moira’s coffee was already ready, and the kettle went off as I ushered the group into the basement. I half expected Stanton to pull the same stunt as last time, but he didn’t. The kitchen felt curiously empty as a result, but I got things set up and ready fast enough that there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Instead, I dwelt on why is Talsic here? Stanton was pretty clear that Talsic would stay at the Guesthouse. Has something changed? Why?
Unsurprisingly, flying around the kitchen in a dither and talking to myself didn’t yield any productive responses. Instead, the best I could come up with was a resolve to disappear into the role of hostess, to firmly slap on a nice, agreeable mask in the face of returning nausea, and to keep that mask nailed on, come Hell or high water. It didn’t exactly help that, when I carefully carried tea and coffee downstairs, I could tell that Stanton was unbalanced by… something, even though there was no clear trace of it now.
When I emerged from the staircase into the low lighting, he was sitting calmly, amiably chit-chatting with Moira—I only caught the tightness around his eyes because I was looking for it. Talsic was watching them, and didn’t seem upset. Just quiet. As far as I could tell, Moira was all business. That was all I could to get a read on before I handed out the mugs and took my chair. No helpful context in sight.
“So, what’s the order of operations?” I asked, deferring to Stanton.
“There’s something we’d like to discuss with you,” Moira said, receiving the go-ahead from him, “and then we’ll go upstairs and take your statement. That should be the bulk of it.”
Stanton gestured to Talsic, as if it was now his turn. Talsic accepted this signal with a grave nod, and sat forward, keeping his shoulders very square.
“I’m afraid I’ve caused something of a disturbance,” Talsic began, in an apologetic tone. “I have been very kindly received by everyone involved, I will freely admit, and I do appreciate the attention I’ve been given. I have no complaint in those areas. However, after staying the night, it would seem as though the Guesthouse is not quite as… comfortable as I was lead to hope.”
He was clearly trying to approach the matter with sensitivity, but still, a dread resignation settled in my stomach with all the delicacy of scotch mints in soda. But I was playing the host, so I smiled and nodded, even as I wondered with a sudden flash of obstinacy what he could mean. Not as comfortable? If it was merely a question of being underground and away from light, well, I would be shocked if the Guesthouse didn’t have the means to accommodate him. That was the entire reason it existed—to find housing solutions for any extra-normal that might need shelter, either through the mysterious nature of the Guesthouse itself, or through the mundane methods of trial and error.
“It’s a little difficult to touch on the reasoning with any true sense of clarity,” he continued, making a wide shrug with his shoulders. “The best I can put it, I suppose, is that the place—CENCA—the Guesthouse—resonated badly to my sensibilities. As if we did not quite get along in some way.”
“Oh?” I asked, pressing further, part curiosity, part continued obstinacy.
“If I may,” Moira interposed, “he really did seem uncomfortable. We can’t figure out why, but it was causing a lot of anxiousness.”
Talsic tilted his head towards her in acknowledgement. “That is true. Perhaps… well, I can’t say. But the experience put me in mind of your kind offer from yesterday. I don’t suppose I could take advantage of it?”
No, you can’t, was my first thought, almost startling me with its burst of fright. But I had already decided my role, and, well, if I refused, I’d have to have a reason. “I’m already housing a fugitive, sorry,” wasn’t likely to work very well. In a twisted sort of positive, the fact that I had been afraid of this since opening the door had allowed me to keep my composure.
“I see,” I said, taking a long sip of tea to re-orient myself. The taste was comforting, but it failed to sooth my stomach. “Of course, take advantage as you like. My house is open to anyone who needs it.” There was a bitterly ironic edge to that statement, but, despite my turmoil, I liked to imagine I was being sincere. “There isn’t any bed down here, but I’m sure we can figure something out to everyone’s satisfaction.”
With a glance around the room, I could see that Moira agreed, unbothered—but I had an inkling that “everyone’s satisfaction” was excluding Stanton.
It was only an inkling, but, again, I could tell. His open and easy agreement felt… fake.
“I don’t require much in the way of accommodation,” Talsic offered. “I think the couch will do fine. Or perhaps even just a pillow to rest my head, on the floor. While my kind often prefer softness above you humans, I have much experience in sleeping outside my home, due to the nature of my job.”
An old, tired part of me felt a tug of curiosity. What was his job? Why did they need softer beds than humans? I guess, from looks, we had softer stuff around our bones to cushion us than they did. But now wasn’t the time to ask questions. And that part of me was buried deep enough under more pressing concerns that it subsided almost as soon as it appeared.
“We also plan to send some help and materials over,” Stanton added in. “You taking him in is on behalf of CENCA, really, so it’s as much our job to host him as it is yours.”
My attention strayed to the box now balanced on his knee. “That would be appreciated,” I said, meeting his eyes. “If we could get some sort of mattress—a soft one—that would be a good start. I’m not sure about food…?”
“I can subsist fine on normal human food,” Talsic said. “I’ll need the occasional supplement, but no need to worry overall.”
“You haven’t had me cook for you,” I resisted saying. “You might worry later.”
“We’ve made a list of dietary considerations,” Moira affirmed. “We’ll send that and some supplements over with a bed, and whatever else you might need.”
Part of me wanted to petition for food on my behalf as well, but I didn’t want to push CENCA’s hospitality further than necessary. Besides, asking for meals would require me to admit that cooking wasn’t my strong suit, and to two of the three people who brought in actual meals to work instead of sandwiches.
In my defense, my sandwiches are tasty, if not high cuisine.
“Apparently, though, you humans make a lot of food with cow milk,” Talsic added. “Silveries don’t eat that, and seem to react badly to it.”
My faint hope of subsisting on mac and cheese went out the window. Did that mean sandwiches were off the table, too? I suppose they’d be edible without cheese, but—
Focus on the actual issues, please, I told myself. Like ‘how am I going to keep Cal in my room for the next month’?
Perhaps I should have considered my hosting abilities a little more before making my generous offer. Not that I had expected it to be accepted.
After a few more rounds of more small talk, Stanton called Moira and I back to the point. “Well, I’m glad that seems to be well under way,” he said, absentmindedly rubbing his knee, “but we do have other work we’ll need to get to. I hope you don’t mind us stealing your host for a bit, Feldspar.”
Talsic bowed.
We went up to the kitchen. Stanton pulled the door closed as Moira began pulling equipment out of her bag for a video interview. It wasn’t much—mostly just a camera that looked little more powerful than a webcam, and small clip-on microphones. But there was apparently a process to it.
“First, before we get into your statement,” Stanton said, sitting down with box in hand, “are you sure you’re actually okay with taking on a guest right now?”
I was prepared for this question, at least. Carefully, I clasped my hands in front of me and tilted my head, as if in thought. “Well, I’ll admit to being a little daunted. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really think through all the implications when I offered. But, still, I made the offer and meant it. And if he’s having trouble adjusting to the Guesthouse, and feels more comfortable here, then I don’t mind spending extra time to work something out. It could be considered as an extension of my taking on his case.”
In retrospect, it probably would have been a lot easier for my life as a whole to have stopped after “I’m a little daunted.” Stanton would have understood, and almost seemed to be hoping for that response. But, well, I had already gotten too settled into what I felt I had to do, so I kept going and sealing my fate to Talsic’s.
“We’re here to help people, after all,” I added, for emphasis, “and it would feel like I was tossing that out the window to refuse him over a little discomfort—especially when it seems like it should be pretty easy to resolve? Since I have CENCA’s support.”
“Alright.” Stanton hardly seemed satisfied by my answer, but at least he was willing to accept it. “I figured you’d stick to your guns on this, so I took the liberty of bringing a prototype from Welder. It’s not set up yet—you’ll have to go to him for that—but I thought we could get a head start on things so you’d be more familiar with your options.”
Moira clipped a mic onto me, and stood fiddling with the little pack attached to it. “Thankfully Drake was already working on this prototype for a different project,” she said with a chuckle, “otherwise I don’t think we could have hoped to set it up until next month at the earliest.”
Whatever it was, she seemed in on it. I wasn’t sure if that more reassured or concerned me.
Stanton slid the box across the table. “I do appreciate your openness in this situation, and I agree that Feldspar might feel better here, but I do think there are other factors to consider. We don’t know him, and we don’t know if we can trust him, so leaving you here by yourself would be a frankly unnecessary risk.”
The thin cardboard box was roughly the size of a new phone case. That’s what I guessed, at first, but there was no branding on the box, and ‘phone’ didn’t feel consistent with the way they were talking. When I picked the box up, it was far heavier than even an old-age phone should be. Something of this weight (and likely density) indicated a Mithecal object—doubly so if Drake Welder was involved.
Sure enough, upon slipping the object out with a dull clunk, it was a heavy metallic… brick, for lack of a better word, made and forged according to CENCA specifications and etched in faint glowing lines, which told me Mithae was present but not activated. The focus symbol, from what little I knew, looked like a cross between wind and… weight? Something to do with movement?
“It’s essentially a motion-sensor based surveillance system,” Stanton said. “Don’t ask me how it works because I haven’t the faintest idea, but what it’s supposed to do is track and record movements within a specific area. In this case, the house.”
“Oh.” Oh no. “How precise is it?” I asked, turning it over in my hands to avoid looking at either person in the room. Noticing my hands were starting to tremble, I put the brick back down carefully, spinning it on the polished wood in an attempt to appear lighthearted.
“Very precise,” Stanton said with a pleased smile. “It might not catch a mosquito—yet—but it could see a pillow falling. Which isn’t exactly the best comparison, but you get the idea.”
Would it see wings flapping? A dragon changing its size?
“Which, it’s not like… a monitor,” he continued. “There won’t be someone watching all the time, for example, and it will give you your privacy. It’s still unclear how it records data, too, but according to regulations, those records won’t be kept unless you agree to it. Basically, its purpose is to keep track of where people are in the house, and send alerts for anything unusual. If you accept this as a security measure, on Monday you can work with Drake to determine what people and what level of activity are normal for the house, so that it will factor that out. So as long as you or Feldspar are just going about your day, neither of you have anything to worry about. But if there’s a sudden spike in activity—if, for example, a fight broke out, or a gun is fired—then we’d get an emergency alarm. Or if it seems like there’s an intruder, if there’s a new person in the house that hasn’t been cleared, or if there’s something like a burst of Mithae. Stuff like that.”
Simple, clever. Not good. But if I told Drake that I had a dragon in the house, that was going to cause more problems than solve them. “What if a squirrel gets in through a window?” I asked with as good of a laugh as I could muster.
“It would catch that,” Stanton said with a grin, “we will want ways for you to cancel the alarm, too, so that we don’t send out the cavalry to fend off a loose rabbit.”
“This could probably have some good applications for pest control,” I said, trying to add on to the joke, trying not to think about the ‘pest’ in my bedroom.
“You could say that’s how it’s already being used,” Moira remarked drolly. She paused. “Not saying that Talsic is a pest, but like, if he turned out to be dangerous, et cetera.”
“Of course,” I agreed, rubbing sweaty palms on my jeans.
“Unfortunately, this gadget is still being developed,” Stanton said. “There may be a few knots to work out, but that was partially how I was able to get it out on loan, as a sort of field test. The Mithae techs need more raw data. But while it can catch most of the periphery of the house, it’s limited to about two and a half storeys. So, since it’d be looking at the basement, it wouldn’t be able to reach the attic.”
“So the squirrels up there should be safe,” I interrupted, a sudden burst of hope shining through the net closing around me.
“For the time being,” Stanton replied, dousing cold water on the small spark. “They are working on a better model, but this is still experimental. And, of course, I’d like to make it clear that this safety measure is totally optional on your part. But I would recommend it. Right now you don’t have a phone or way of communicating in case of an emergency, and so this would link you up to some kind of back-up in case you need it. Also, even if you did have a phone, it would be wise to have some sort of security set up. While Feldspar seems like a fine person, we don’t know him or why he’s here, and you live alone. Besides, well, it might be nothing, but…” he hesitated, glancing up at Moira, who was fiddling with something connected to the camera stand. “I can’t point to anything specific, but I have a strong feeling that he’s hiding something about how he ended up here, or, worse, is lying about it. Now, that might have a perfectly reasonable explanation, and we’re not owed all the details of his life, but it makes it harder to trust him.”
“Hmmmm.” Somehow, when he said that, I realized that I had gotten the same impression. It wasn’t the impression that he was lying, exactly, but that something was making him uncomfortable, and it was something he hadn’t told us.
“So you don’t have to accept this, but I would encourage you to consider it.” He rubbed his neck with a rueful smile. “And only partially because I had to call in a favor to be allowed to borrow it. Until Monday, though, we will have regular check-ins via a radio we’ll be leaving here. Ideally, I’d like to have actual eyes on you when possible, at least until we’re more sure of Feldspar’s credibility, but, well, you know how CENCA can be with their resources.”
“Speaking of which,” Moira interjected, “I, at least, am on more of a time limit today.”
Stanton nodded. “Right. I’ll leave this… gadget here with you—whatever Welder called it—and with it, a manual that you can read to get a better idea of how it works. You don’t have to make a decision until Monday. And it’s not activated, so, for now, no worries about it watching you. At the same time, there’s no alarm system for if there’s an emergency, so be careful, and remember to check in through the radio.”
“That sounds fair,” I said. So I have until Monday to figure out how to not be suspicious when I turn it down.
“I think we’re ready for that statement, though,” Stanton said, and at my agreement, Moira clicked the camera on.
* * *
Thankfully, the statement didn’t take long, and I had spent most of the morning rehearsing it. At a nod from Stanton, Moira took over the questioning, but it was mostly just generic questions to prompt my memory.
I described how, not long after Stanton left, I got an anonymous call saying that something weird was going down at Winchester Drive; I admitted to going by myself, saying that, in the moment, I told myself I was just checking it out. No use calling in back-up to chase shadows, etc. But then I found the fugitive there, opening a portal that I proceeded to describe as closely to the CENCA manuals as I could remember (Moira prompted me for more specific details, but I pretended to confess to it being a blur, which was only partially untrue). Then I leaned further into the narrative Stanton had accidentally suggested, of my trying to be a hero in the face of my waning reputation, and still not calling back-up. Then Stanton showed up, I tried to stop the portal with elixir from my Rimloc, and the rest was history.
Looking back now, if there’s one thing I truly regret about this whole messy affair, one specific instance that weighs on me beyond my consistent twists to the truth—it would be the statement I gave to Moira and Stanton. By that time, I didn’t like that I was having to lie to people. But ‘lying’ mostly involved hiding facts and bending truth, not outright, well, lying. Not saying that lying by omission is better than lying by commission, but it at least feels less worse. More excusable. And there I was, fabricating an entire tall tale, making up facts about a caller that didn’t exist, lying and saying I already threw away my old phone so there wasn’t any way they could trace the non-existent call, telling them how desperately I wanted to catch this dangerous traitor, how the idea of him running loose sickened me.
And I had to do it with a straight face.
There wasn’t anyone in on it. I couldn’t be reassured by someone else that what I was doing was right, or that I was lying well, nor could I take comfort in the hope that not everyone was fooled. I couldn’t rely on Stanton to interpret my body language and see that I wasn’t only upset about how hard I’ve been struggling at my job. I couldn’t trust him, and I had to make him trust me, because anything else would be the end of everything. I had to lie, and I couldn’t even have the relief of lying badly. I had to speak falsehoods with a straight face to my coworkers and my partner, and, worse, had to endure and celebrate their acceptance and support.
But what could I do? Even now, if I had the power to turn back time, what would be the alternative? Tell the truth, on camera, in front of witnesses? Maybe you could say that I should have told Stanton from the beginning, and maybe you’d be right, but that recorded statement wouldn’t have been a trusted confidence—it would have been alerting all of CENCA to my crime.
What else could I do but lie? So I did. For Cal, and for myself. And I guess I’ll have to live with that.
As I knew he would, Stanton kept coming back to the caller. “It’s odd that she called you, and not CENCA,” he mused. “Who has your number?”
“No one, really,” I said with a helpless shrug. “Just co-workers. I’m… not a very social person.”
“And we can’t even check your phone to see if there’s someone you’re forgetting,” Moira sighed.
“Still, the call could be a good lead.” Stanton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know what it would lead to, but it’s definitely worth checking out. It’s especially interesting when paired with our hypothesis about someone helping Agrabeth. Would that mean, then, that our person turned on the dragon to call you? Or was this related to some bigger plan? Or was it really nothing more than a concerned citizen doing their part?”
“I guess if someone turns up on the news having been mauled by a dragon, we’ll know it was betrayal.” Probably not the most helpful comment I could have made, but I felt like I had to say something. And I knew Cal. There wouldn’t be any dragon-mauled bodies showing up. Well, it was unlikely. I had a sudden, striking image of a completely unrelated dragon choosing the worst possible timing to make an entrance.
“Hopefully we can find the involved parties before that happens,” Stanton replied drily. “And before Agrabeth finds safety somewhere else.”
“He could be halfway across the country by now,” I offered with a sigh. Maybe we should stop looking.
Stanton shook his head. “He could be, but somehow I doubt it. He returned to a site he’d already used, far later than would make sense, which suggests a pattern of some kind—perhaps it’s a particular spot that he needs, or maybe it’s just how criminals return to the scene of the crime. But I think he’ll be around here, somewhere. Especially if he has someone here to help him; he wouldn’t want to give up that advantage. There’s no guarantee he could coerce another victim into helping him somewhere else, though I suppose there also isn’t a guarantee that he couldn’t.”
“So you think whoever is helping him is doing it under duress?” I said, in lieu of protesting that Cal would never.
“Well, I do like to hold out hope for humanity,” Stanton laughed. “I suppose someone could be helping him for fun, but that’s less likely than coercion. Delusion is also possible, but I don’t think we should assume that, either. We know from our contacts that he’s never left Skailorn before, so it’s not like he’s meeting up with an old friend. Over here, CENCA has been widely and thoroughly distributing its warnings, meaning that people know about him and how dangerous he is. Ergo, while we can’t entirely dismiss someone not right in the head being excited to help a criminal, it’s simpler and more straightforward to operate as though they’re being forced into it—at least until we have evidence to the contrary.”
“Helping him for fun,” “delusional,” “dangerous,” “not right in the head.” It was almost too much to bear. But what if we did have evidence to the contrary? Obviously, I couldn’t say that outright, but maybe I could put a good word in, start to subtly influence Stanton to see that there were possibilities he had overlooked. Maybe he could find that “evidence to the contrary” on his own, and maybe I wouldn’t have to lie to him forever. I could feel my pulse skyrocketing. “That… that does make sense, but, like, what if—”
Moira got there first, unaware of my halting attempt and far more direct. “That still confuses me, actually. CENCA doesn’t usually put out this wide of an alert about suspects, but the Calernon Agrabeth stuff was—still is—shown everywhere. Which, as an aside, would also make it hard for him to travel. But, anyway, isn’t he practically a baby by dragon standards? He doesn’t even have much Mithecal power right now, since his horns aren’t fully grown in. So why all the fuss?”
I clamped my lips shut, more sick to my stomach than ever.
“He’s still a dragon,” Stanton pointed out. “While it’s been ages since they regularly interacted with other dimensions, we still have the records from those times, and they are not pretty. There’s a reason every culture has folktales about them. Even a young one can be extremely dangerous. Besides, this particular dragon is from the royal bloodline, if distantly, which means power, and, like young snakes, it’s quite probable he doesn’t know how to control that power yet.”
“Meaning he’s especially dangerous.” Moira nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “I suppose that makes sense.”
Unless size-shifting was included, I’d never seen Cal use his magic.
“It’s a pity he’s using his power destructively,” Stanton sighed. “There aren’t many records of what you might call philanthropic dragons, but they always had a profound effect on the worlds they touched.”
That was a positive sign, right? He wanted Cal to be good. Right? Maybe I could still bring things around, plant some seeds of doubt in Stanton’s mind. But all I could do was sit still and try not to throw up.
“I’m not as well versed on the fauna side of the extra-normals,” Moira admitted, “but I suppose I should brush up on it if I’m going to be of any help around headquarters. That seems like all you guys ever get involved in.”
“Well, it does seem that flora can’t move around dimensions as freely as their creature counterparts,” Stanton said with a laugh, accepting my mic from me, helping as Moira started dismantling the set-up in a business-like manner. “But we’ll see what we can find for you. After we get back to headquarters, though.”
“I’m sure Mr. Martins will be thrilled to explain it all to me.” Moira laughed back. “Starting with the creation of Mithaedrir and what the first animals are theorised to have been.”
And so, they were leaving.
Before I could push past my nausea to grasp at the vague hope of persuading Stanton towards compassion, or before I could process everything enough to figure out what kind of questions I should be asking them, the two of them were bundling themselves out the door. They only stopped long enough to pop into the basement and wish Talsic well.
While Moira climbed into the passenger side of the car, Stanton dug a portable radio out of the back and returned to where I waited.
“Let’s say to check in at 1900 hours, and from then on every 12 hours. Does that work?”
I nodded dumbly, still striving to wrangle my nerves back to normal. “That should be fine,” I found myself saying. “I typically get up at around 6, so I’ll be up in time.”
Stanton nodded, then paused, looking me over. “You seem a little… quiet, for lack of a better word,” he said, frowning. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?”
Another out. Maybe I should have taken it. Instead, I bobbed my head up and down. “I’m a bit tired after the statement, but mostly I think I’m just trying to fit together a game plan in my head. But I’ll be okay. If anything goes wrong, I’ll call it in on the radio. And then on Monday we’ll have the extra assurance of the motion sensor, contraption, thing.” Why did I say that? That was implying I was accepting it, which was a horrible idea. Cal would hate being stuck in the attic.
For better or for worse, though, that line seemed to reassure him. “Okay. Just let us know if you need any help. I’ll send someone over with a mattress and some food items, but I won’t be able to come back today. Which reminds me, when you come in on Monday, come to my office first thing. There are a few details we’ll want to settle before transferring you to this case.”
“Alright, will do.” I stood, craddling the radio and receiver in my arms, feeling like I should say something else, but with too many topics in my head to choose.
He hesitated again. “I hate to speak ill of someone in need but… be careful, okay, Townford? The sense that he’s hiding something is… bothering me. I don’t think I trust him, and I won’t lie, it feels a little bit crazy to leave you here with him.”
That again. My brain had probably melted in my stomach acid, because I found a contrary sort of protectiveness welling up inside me, in the face of all the false accusations that had been thrown around in the past hour—worse, I let the emotion carry me. “I’ll be careful,” I said, tartly. “I’ll keep an eye on him, but, well, the rule is still innocent until proven guilty.”
Stanton winced, and I instantly regretted my tone. “That’s not what I—”
“I know, I know.” I sighed, choking my frustration down. Stanton might have been causing it, but it wasn’t his fault Cal was framed. “Sorry, I need a snack after all this talk. The statement took a lot out of me.” That, at least, was true.
Stanton looked for a moment like he was going put his hand on my shoulder, but he stuck his hand into his pocket instead. “Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry to keep you out on your doorstep after it all.”
I shrugged. “It’s not too cold out today.”
“You are partially right, though.” There was that tightness around his eyes again. “I want you to be safe, and, well, there is a possibility that’s making more suspicious than I need to be. Like I said earlier, there could be a perfectly legitimate reason why he’s hiding something. I don’t know. I guess… I’m trying to be careful. If something bad happened to… to one of my crew because I wasn’t paying good enough attention to security… that’d be on me. So I’d rather just pay all the attention I can manage.”
I smiled softly. That, at least, lined up with the Stanton I knew and trusted. Emotions again, this time a bit of warmth that felt as treacherous as my outburst. “I understand that, and I appreciate that. But you’ve given me a lot of support, and I think I can take it from here. If not, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I’ll be careful, but still give Talsic the benefit of the doubt. He deserves that much at least.”
“Right again.” Stanton smiled back. I could see Moira craning her head to get a better look at us, probably wondering if something had happened. In her position, I might have been tempted to apply the horn, but thankfully she was too polite. “And whatever my doubts, I’ve been doing you a disservice. You’ve said you’re alright with this, and that you’ll be careful, and so, well, I should trust my partner.”
He shouldn’t. “I mean, being the leader can put you in a difficult position sometimes,” I said, blabbering. “It’s your job to be doubtful, kind of.”
“Not of my crew,” he replied firmly.
Especially his crew.
Glancing back, he gave a thumbs-up at Moira, who just expressively raised her eyebrow. “Well, we should be going. Is there anything you need to know in the meantime? About the radio, or the Mithecal device, or CENCA support?”
I opened my mouth, hoping something helpful would come out. Horrifyingly, something did. “Do you know the best place to get a cat?”
Stanton blinked, stammering for a second. “Um. I hadn’t thought about it. I can find out, but I don’t know off the top of my head. What brings it up?”
“The, uh, motion detector,” I said, knowing I had to double down. Dismissing it now would be more suspicious. “You were saying how I’d need to clear things with Welder about who and what was in my house and all that. But I was thinking about getting a cat, so that might affect things.”
This was almost as bad as offering to let a stranger stay in my house. At least with this, if it happened it would be entirely up to me. But a little known fact about cats was that they mix weirdly with Mithae. Having one in my house might just be able to cover up any odd, extra movements that couldn’t otherwise be accounted for. Maybe.
“You were thinking about this now?” Stanton asked, still blinking a bit.
“Not exactly,” I said, which was true. I hadn’t been thinking about this at all. “But yesterday I was thinking it’d be nice to have some form of company around the house, I guess. And a dog would be too involved, since I’m out of the house most of the day, and cats are so… just… cute? Pretty? I like them. So, it kind of came to mind as like a what-if scenario? Like what if I got a cat while the motion sensor was activated and all that.”
“I guess it can be something to bring up with Welder,” he said. “He could tell you more exactly what the process would be in case of that happening.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” I said, totally unsure if I would.
And then they were gone. I watched the black sedan pull out of my driveway, holding the radio loosely and managing an awkward wave.
Now, it was time to go back inside before I froze to death, set up the radio somewhere convenient, and hope I could remember to check in now that I didn’t have a phone to set alarms with.
But instead I just stood there, covered by the side of the house and so out of sight of neighbours, letting the cold settle in me from my toes up, and trying not to drown in a slow, almost calm, sense of panic.
What now?
Under normal circumstances, I’d be worried about my capabilities as a host, but, still, two refugees would be fine. I might even enjoy it, and the sensation of directly helping someone instead of trying to prevent worst-case scenarios. But having to pretend that one of the guests didn’t exist might prove to be a little bit… trying. Especially for poor Cal. He felt cooped up enough as it was, with just the house to worry about. Now he would hardly be allowed to make a sound.
Maybe I’d have to go back to square one, and just try and get him out of this dimension instead of trying to solve his problem. Not that smuggling a dragon would be anything like easy with another person living in my house, potentially watching everything I was doing.
And the motion detector? I could not let that happen, and yet I had as good as confirmed it. And what reason could I give for refusing? Especially if Stanton truly had gone out on a limb to get it for me, and especially now that I knew how responsible he felt for my safety. It would be rude to turn it down, add more strain on our relationship. But what relationship did we have now, anyway?
Standing outside in the wind felt cathartic, in a twisted sort of way. Freezing was a problem I could feel, could identify, could deal with by taking a few steps back to my house. Facing Talsic, facing Cal? Lasting until Monday without going insane? Housing people, making meals (Heaven knows I barely ate, myself), keeping up this façade, figuring out where to start with Talsic’s case, seeing if I could further investigate Cal’s case, finding some way around the motion sensor, not imploding my likely doomed friendship with Stanton—that was all going to take a lot more figuring out.
Finally, I took a deep breath, turned around, and went back inside.
To be continued….