}Once the Backdoor slammed shut behind him, Ewan relaxed. That had been too close… way too close. It wasn’t just that his desire to brutally kill and devour his co-worker was pushing him to the breaking point—but had Brenda come outside only a moment earlier, she would’ve caught him puking. She would’ve seen him swallow the clot. And had she done so, he would’ve had to kill her, right then and there.
He liked to tell himself that she wouldn’t understand… that the old legends had long since faded into obscurity, their remains watered down and scattered throughout children’s fairy tales. If Brenda had seen him swallow that black clot, she wouldn’t have known what it was or why he needed it inside of him. In fact, it might’ve been a good thing—if she had seen him, she would probably have left him alone after that, and his craving for roast nurse would’ve been easier to control.
That sort of thinking, however, had led to too many problems, too many unnecessary deaths over the years. There were too many curious people in the world—too many people willing to go to any lengths to discover why a guy might re-swallow something he’d just barfed up. Ewan didn’t think Brenda was one of those people… but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
Once, back in the day when legends were still taken seriously, a woman had all-but gotten him killed with her curiosity. He couldn’t remember her name (it might’ve been Akua, or something like that), but he remembered her body—she had been dark-skinned, and round, and soft. On bathing days, she smelt like honeysuckle—on regular days, she smelt like sweat and lady-parts and damp earth. Ewan remembered most of the women he’d loved like that—by scent and feel. He could only remember the few most recent by personality and name.
When he had loved the girl Who-Might’ve-Been-Called-Akua, he had still been going by his birth-name—Simon. He hadn’t quite figured out the benefits of changing his name every once in a while, and this had nearly led to his downfall. Might’ve-Been-Akua had caught him re-swallowing the clot, after he had eaten some of his mother-in-law’s vegetable stew, just to be nice. He had told her it was nothing—he had begged her to keep it a secret. And she had, until some travelling merchants came to their village, and an old wool-seller had recognized Ewan (then Simon) as her long-dead stepfather.
Luckily, she was known among the other merchants for her bad eyes and slight insanity, so most everyone figured she had finally snapped. Unluckily, Might’ve-Been-Akua had been paying enough attention to the legends to realize that all signs pointed towards Ewan being inhuman.
“Tell me, Simon,” she had asked him later that night, when they were lying in bed together. “Were you really that old woman’s stepfather?”
He was in love. He’d thought he could trust her. “Yes.”
“So you’re immortal. Or you can just… live for a very long time.”
“Yes to both, actually. It’s complicated.”
“You can explain later.” She’d paused. “There are only two types of creatures that can live that long—demons, and angels. Which are you, Simon?”
“Promise you won’t get mad?”
That had been enough. She’d run from their bedroom, sobbing and convinced that she was damned for marrying a demon. He could’ve easily silenced her—but he didn’t. He watched her leave, heartbroken, and when the mob arrived to kill him a few hours later, he was gone.
Almost forty years ago, the last woman he’d loved had also discovered the truth about him. He had tried killing her—had even gone as far as to have had her throat in his hands—but in the end, he’d let her go and opted for faking his own death to keep her from spilling the beans. Ewan had dismembered people, torn out their guts while they watched, and even eaten someone from the toes-up in order to keep them alive as long as possible… but he would never harm a hair on the head of someone he loved.
Brenda was a different matter.
⥈
As Jen drove over the bridge, past the second toll-booth, and through the streets that led to suburbia, she retreated into silence, much to the apparent displeasure of her passenger. She had thought about strapping Kael into the back seat, but either he didn’t understand the concept of a seatbelt (despite her repeated demonstrations), or he just didn’t want to wear one. Jen guessed the latter, and left the ‘Tra to his own devices.
After all, she reasoned, there’s no way he’ll be comfortable sitting properly with his wings getting in the way.
The wings were the most fascinating part of the boy—he wasn’t wearing a shirt, so she got an excellent view of his back and torso as he had attempted to get into the car. While his arms and shins were rather lithe, his thighs and entire torso was barrel-shaped and muscular. He looked like a keg with limbs. Fine, translucent feathers covered most of his back in an upside-down teardrop shape that almost looked like fur, culminating in a tip at the base of his spine. The places where his shoulder blades should’ve protruded were bulky and muscular and dusted with black down feathers.
The wings themselves were charcoal black and slick-looking—they folded neatly over his shoulders and fell to his ankles like a cape. When he finally sat down, they curled around his front, making it look like he was wearing a gigantic feathered smock. Jen couldn’t stop sneaking looks at him in the rear-view mirror.
She wanted to talk to him—she had never seen a ‘Tra fresh out of the wild. What little she knew about them, she taught to her class in Social Studies. And to top it all off, she rather liked this mutilated young demon; there was something about him that drew her to him, some sympathetic air of mystery he gave off. She wanted to take him home, to help him get on his feet.
But she knew she could never do it.
As much as she felt for Kael, young, alone, and confused as he was, there was no way she was going to jeopardize her first dinner with Arthur in ages by bringing home a ‘Tra. Art wasn’t particularly bigoted against the Datra, but they made him incredibly uncomfortable—he would never hurt one, or go out of his way to protest their presence in the city, and Jen had never known him to be anything but courteous to the ‘Tras he encountered daily, but it was no secret that he distrusted them. To bring one home, especially considering the state their relationship was in, would be more than foolish on Jen’s part.
“Kael,” she began about eight blocks from her house, “do you know what a Datra Shelter is?”
“Gno.”
“It’s, uh… it’s a place where Datra… where they go when they have nowhere to live.” She paused, “I’m, er, gonna drop you off at one.”
It was as if the car went cold—Jen could feel the poor kid’s heart sink. Her stomach knotted; she felt terrible. She knew she couldn’t put a ‘Tra she had just met over her husband’s comfort, she had already done him a huge favour by getting him over the bridge and taking him through town, but...
The silence, which had been bearable before, had suddenly become thick and unpleasant—Jen felt it closing in on her, going in through her mouth and nose and solidifying in her lungs until she couldn’t breathe. She had to say something; she had to shatter the quiet.
“I know a woman who works at the Shelter,” she finally said, the words tumbling out of her on a sudden rush of air, “Susie—er, Susan Weiss. She’s the Support Worker. We were friends in high school, and then her aunt married my uncle, so, we’re, uh, second cousins, I guess. I haven’t seen her in a while, but I know that she, um, she’ll take good care of you. She’s… really nice.”
Jen took a big breath and let it out slowly. She checked the rear-view; Kael nodded in response to her speech but his face was a blank. Jen’s gut twisted again, but this time, the sensation was much duller.
They pulled up in front of the Shelter—Bright Futures: Home for the Datra, as it said on the front of the building. Jen had met the caretaker, Axel Jones, a couple times when she had come in to pick up Susie for coffee. She liked him; he was funny, charming, and seemed to genuinely care for the well-being of his charges. They were always comfortable, always well-fed, and always happy—but most importantly, Axel helped get them good, steady jobs in the public service sector (the only place where Datra could really expect to find work). Jen knew that if she dropped Kael off at Bright Futures, he’d be better off than he would be anywhere else.
She helped Kael out of the car and led him into the lobby. He lagged behind, obviously uncomfortable and confused in his new surroundings. While Jen went up to the receptionist’s desk, he slumped into one of the chairs in the makeshift waiting room, his left wing outstretched and spread out on the coffee table.
“Hi, Darla,” Jen greeted the receptionist, a reed-thin woman in her late fifties. Darla Paulson tucked a lock of salt-n-pepper hair behind her ear and looked up from the computer screen. It took her a moment to recognize Jen, but when she did, she was all smiles.
“Jennifer!” she exclaimed. “How nice to see you! Are you here to see Susan? I’m—Oh! I hardly noticed you there, young man!” Darla got out of her chair and leaned over the desk towards Kael with a broad, crooked smile. “Welcome to Bright Futures!” She sat back down and beamed at Jen. “I’ll call Mr. Jones and tell him you’re here right away!”
Darla leaned forward and pressed a button on the Communications Panel. “Jones to lobby—repeat, Jones to lobby,” she said loudly into the CP’s mike. The words echoed, coming out of every intercom speaker in the building at once. Darla smiled at Jen, turned back to her computer, and began humming softly under her breath.
A few minutes passed—Jen avoided making eye-contact with Kael and he avoided making eye-contact with her. The clack-clack of Darla’s manicured fingers typing on the desktop, combined with the receptionist’s incessant humming, filled the silence with an unbearable cacophony. Finally, when Jen could stand it no longer, in walked a man with neatly combed brown hair, a thickish moustache, and a friendly smile—Axel Jones, caretaker at Bright Futures.
“Good to see you, Jen!” he grinned at her and gave her a peck on both cheeks. “How’ve you been?”
“Just great, Axel,” she smiled back, but didn’t return his kisses, “You?”
“Absolutely fantastic,” Axel put a hand on the desk and leaned towards Kael, who was giving him a strange look. “But enough with the niceties—who’s this handsome ‘Tra you’ve brought me?”
Jen gestured for the Datra boy to get up. “This is Kael, Axel—I brought him over the bridge. I’d take him home myself, but… you know, there’s no way I could take care of him.” She didn’t have the heart to tell either Axel or Kael that Arthur was her real motivation. Somehow, it felt wrong to admit it.
“Of course not,” Axel waved a hand. “You’ve got your job, you’ve got your kid… hell, even your husband needs to be taken care of,” he winked at her.
Jen laughed it off. “Yeah. Are there some papers I have to sign, or something?”
Axel turned to the receptionist. “Darla, hand me a drop-off form, please,” he nodded his head to Jen as Darla searched for the requested paper. “It’s only a formality,” he told her. “Technically, you were the boy’s first guardian… I just need it on record that you were the one who brought him in. He’ll have to sign the entrance waver, too.”
Darla passed them two pieces of paper. Axel tapped the dotted line at the bottom of one and gave Jen a pen. “Just initial there,” he said with a grin.
She did, and stood there a moment as Axel brought Kael to the second paper and tried to explain to him how to sign it. “Write your name, you understand?” he said gently. “Here’s a pen… yes, perfect.”
Jen glanced at the line—Kael had signed it in strange, runic letters. Axel didn’t seem to have a problem reading it; “Kael Pemei,” he sounded the name out and gave Kael a winning smile. “Alls náts-vúlr, Kael. Welcome to Bright Futures!”
“I didn’t know you spoke ‘Tra, Axel,” Jen raised her eyebrows in surprise.
He chuckled. “Just a little,” he pinched his fingers together. “All I said there was well met. No big deal.”
Jen laughed, then turned and gave Kael a wan smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you home,” she said, still feeling a bit ashamed. “But… well, I have too much on my plate to be able to take care of you. You’ll be happy here, I know it.”
He met her eye and returned her smile. “Hhank you, Keng,” he said. Thank you, Jen.
She offered him her hand. He looked at it a bit strangely, almost cautiously, before finally grabbing it and giving it a small shake. Jen was glad—she hadn’t been sure if hand-shaking was commonplace among the ‘Tra or not. Apparently, it was—or enough so that it prevented a weak cliché.
“I’ll come see you next week, if you’d like,” she offered.
He nodded. “Huh.”
As she left, Jen found herself feeling much better. Kael would be fine—she’d done the right thing by dropping him off. And now all that was left was to return home, where, for the first time in three months, her husband would be waiting for her.
“So far,” she said to herself as she started the car, “this has been a pretty great day.”
