Page 7 of Magic Forsaken
I released that breath and looked back at Kes, who remained frozen by the window. “I guess I have work,” I told her apologetically. “Will you be okay on your own again?”
She managed a tremulous nod. It had taken every bit of courage she had to help us escape, and I could see each new challenge taking a toll on her. She needed a break. A place where she could breathe in safety. I only hoped I would be able to provide that eventually.
“You could take the kids out back once the sun goes down,” I suggested. Logan would need the connection with the earth for at least a short time, and Ari could use a moment to get the zoomies out. “But dinner first.”
Ari cheered. Kes nodded. Logan unfolded from the bed and stood, weaving back and forth on his long, skinny legs.
Somehow, I promised myself. Somehow, I was going to make this better. For all of them.
The backpack provedto contain a pair of black jeans, a black button-down shirt, and a pair of solid black sneakers, all of which at least fit better than the clothes I’d worn to my interview. After I slipped into the bathroom to change and pulled my hair into a low ponytail, we trouped down to the dining room and selected our dinner from the large basket filled with cup ramen, cup soup, and cup oatmeal. Not exactly top shelf nutrition, but it was free and no one would go hungry.
There was also a bowl of fruit and massive urns filled with coffee and hot water. Unusual amenities for a hostel that had clearly seen better days, and I wasn’t about to complain.
While the kids ate and Kes pretended to pick at a cup of oatmeal, I poured myself a cup of coffee and listened curiously to the news blaring from a tv in the corner of the room.
It was human news, of course, but every once in a while, the humans picked up on a story that might impact local Idrians and added it to their rotation, sort of like an afterthought.
“… our correspondent reports that Oklahoma City will soon be playing host to an unusual gathering, and one that has local authorities on edge. Bianca Bellwether has the story.”
The view switched to a perfectly styled blonde woman standing somewhere that looked oddly familiar. She’d been talking for about ten seconds before I realized it was the building just across the street from The Portal—a six-story brick cube with numerous windows, old-fashioned lamps on the facade, and a general air of emptiness.
“Here in what was once home to a popular Italian restaurant, renovations are underway in preparation for what our sources say is called simply ‘The Symposium.’ But no one we’ve beenable to interview seems to know who is in charge, or even why this gathering is taking place. All we’ve been able to determine is that Idrian leaders from all over the country will be arriving here at some point during the next few weeks, and while there is no reason to believe that this Symposium will not be peaceful, many are wondering whether it heralds a change in the status quo for human/Idrian relations. While the city has thus far maintained a position of neutrality towards local Idrian residents, there is now an air of caution on the part of government officials as we wait to learn what, exactly, this means and whether there is any reason for concern. Back to you, Andrew.”
My eyes narrowed as I stared at the screen, not really paying attention when Andrew turned the spotlight over to the sports anchor, who immediately began droning on about the local college football teams.
Was this why Faris had hired me?
And what did that reporter mean by “Idrian leaders from all over the country”? Did she have any idea what she was talking about, or was this just humans catching wind of a rumor and running with it?
I needed to find out. Because the very last thing I could afford was to run into someone who might recognize me or the kids. Someone who might have reason to know what I’d done.
At least I had a bit of time to figure out the truth. And if this “Symposium” actually posed a danger to our safety, maybe I could fake being sick for a few days.
This might not be bad news, I reminded myself fiercely. It had nothing to do with us. We were safe now. Out of reach of the courts.
We were embarking on a new life, and no matter what I had to do to make it reality, we would not be fugitives forever.
The sun was settingas I headed out, walking back down Sheridan Avenue towards The Portal in my new uniform. Sadly, black made my hair even more eye-catching, so for the walk I covered it with a dark ball cap and wore one of my flannel shirts as a jacket.
The Bricktown area was considerably busier than it had been during the afternoon. Pedestrians, streetcars, pedicabs, and even a horse-drawn carriage clogged the streets. Which was perfect for me—even though I clearly wasn’t dressed for a night on the town, it was far easier to blend in with the crowd. No one spoke to me, or even seemed to notice me until I slipped in through the back door of The Portal and looked around, hoping either Nico or the Irene he’d mentioned would greet me.
I was out of luck.
Instead, I was greeted by a slender, slightly stooped, gray-skinned man—a gargoyle in his human form—who gazed at me with a fixed expression of disdain. He wore a velvet smoking jacket over loose linen pants, while his feet were clad in a pair of fuzzy slippers. And on his shoulder…
I was still staring in confusion when he folded his arms and glared at me sternly.
“Who are you?” the gargoyle demanded, as the hairless pink blob on his shoulder shifted and yawned, revealing sharp white teeth and a pink tongue. Apparently it was a cat—a very hairless cat.
“I’m Raine,” I told him, wondering whether I’d accidentally gone in the wrong door. “I was just hired today. I’m supposed to ask for Irene.”
“Hmph,” was his clearly irritated response. “I will take you. Touch nothing.”
Apparently, the Waffles test was onlyoneof the intensely weird things happening at The Portal.
I followed the gargoyle—and the cat’s twitching tail—down a narrow hallway, past several doors and a set of stairs leading up to the second floor. From ahead, I could hear voices and the upbeat melodic buzz of music—either a DJ or a live band.
We went through a swinging door to the left, into a tiny kitchen area, where a tall, slender woman with green hair seemed to be bending the laws of physics. A dryad. Pretty sure she only had two arms, but she was working so fast, she appeared to have four. Maybe six.