The tree-lined paths eventually merged, and at the next plaza the marsh-side path also met with their course. At the end of the park, they met with Concord Street and followed it onto charming little South Adgers Warf, one of a few remaining streets still paved with the ballast stones once used to weigh down ships light on cargo. Then they turned left onto East Bay at the southern end of the famously colorful lane of houses known as Rainbow Row, and followed the outermost sidewalk, which eventually became the Battery Wall.
The Battery seawall traveled nearly the entire length of the peninsula’s curvature where a beach had once stood, protecting the city from the mighty Atlantic storms. Some of the largest, most opulent historic homes also stood here, normally a gleaming spectacle in the sunshine; but not today.
Dense clouds rolled in from the South. Wind-whipped whitecaps dotted the harbor. Weather patterns always felt larger than life in the Lowcountry, and Bernard usually considered that to be part of its appeal. The sun was more colorful at dawn and dusk, and brighter at midday. The clouds were bigger, the sea air smelled better, the winds were wilder, and the rains fell amidst the palmetto fronds and dense woods with a tropical appeal. In summer, it was a reprieve from the incredible heat—in a month, he’d be praying for days like this.
Right now it felt as though fate were sweeping down upon them, from the stars so far beyond the gloomy clouds; a gathering omen of things to come.
Where East Bay turned right and became Murray Boulevard there stood a large statue dedicated to the Confederate soldiers who defended Charleston at the Battle of Fort Sumter, which was still faintly visible in the distance across the harbor. They turned before they reached the statue and strolled through the enticing shade of White Point Garden, sheltered by the wide, beautiful canopies of mature live oaks.
It was a quiet day, with so much of the city’s crowds gathered around the Market, shops, Marion Square, and live performance venues. They walked past other monuments dedicated to war heroes across the centuries, and one to Stede Bonnet and the other pirates who were hanged roughly on site. Mireia paused at the grand historic bandstand gazebo, drawing out a disposable camera from her purse to take pictures of them all. She briefly lamented that she’d forgotten it back at the Waterfront Park, where she could get much better lighting on such a dreary day, but the majestic old trees of White Point were still a spectacular backdrop.
As they neared the end of the path, they crossed back over Murray to the Battery.
Where the Battery walk ended, they turned and headed North on Tradd Street. There, they had two options: the first was to continue on Tradd, which was quiet and residential—part of the neighborhood known as “South of Broad.”
The second option was to turn left onto Chisolm, follow it to Broad Street, and turn right to follow Broad past the waters of Colonial Lake to King Street, where the commercial district began, so Mireia could resume her shopping mission. It was a busy two-way street lined with historic architecture, which bisected the peninsula, separating its most famous residences from the rest of the city, and ended at the Old Exchange Building.
They’d never been here, and Jez was feeling adventurous. Bernard wanted to see the neighborhood. Mireia wanted to be somewhere meant for sightseeing, but she was outvoted. They continued on Tradd for just over half a mile to King.
From King at Broad, they spent the rest of the afternoon following Mireia in and out of clothing stores, watching her try on clothes, fondle saccharine trinkets, and spend her savings. By the time they saw Market Street again, Bernard was dead on his feet and ready for dinner. He had his mind on a pub off South Market, where one of his classmates worked.
Their families had given them the funds for something much nicer as part of Mireia’s graduation gift, with her and Bernard’s parents pitching in to help Jez, since her family wasn’t as solvent for such an expensive occasion, but the teens preferred the homier atmosphere of smaller establishments. Bernard and Jez in particular shared little interest in fine dining experiences. They agreed to eat somewhere at least a little fancier tomorrow, however, for their parents’ sakes. They would never live it down if, given the opportunity to go eat a high-class meal, they chose burgers and po’ boys at bar & grill joints all weekend.
After dinner, they headed back up to North Market to find dessert at Market Street Sweets.
For once—just once that day—Bernard wished Toby had been paying attention, and not skipping around the harbor with the dolphins. Bernard himself had been window shopping until the last minute, when Mireia nudged his arm, saying, “That looks like Loren, up ahead. Not sure who he’s with.”
Jez looked up, froze, and glanced up at Bernard. “I’m making this your rodeo if you want to talk to him, Bern. Looks like he’s got some friends.”
Loren, Saara, and three others were hanging around the entrance to the same store Bernard had intended to enter. Her couldn’t be sure, but he thought one of them might be the same farmer who had glared at the doctor that morning in the coffee shop.
Hoping he could just slip past them, Bernard quietly cut behind the group, heading right for the door, intent on seeing if there were any praline samples behind the counter. He could smell the crisp candied brown sugar patties from the street.
The farmer grabbed his arm. “Oh, hey kid—sorry about this mornin’.”
Bernard pulled away. “No skin off my back, man.”
He stepped back, raising his hands defensively as he explained, “Y’see that fellow you was talkin’ to . . . I don’t care if it’s 3am on Christmas morning. You call one of us, wouldya? No good ever came of someone like that.”
Bernard shrugged, intending to be on his way, “He seemed alright to me.”
“He’d have you thinkin’ that,” a woman chimed in, “But take another look at that proper-bred billionaire. Folks like him come from the wealthiest families in The Void. Frat-boy Prince could tell you anything he likes, ‘cause he’s got nothin’ to lose if he’s sent home. He’s got no business usin’ our resources, ‘cause there ain’t no way in hell he needs ‘em—and it’s clear he ain’t sharin’.”
The man added, “You call HQ and tell ‘em you need a non-emergency medic, and they’ll know not to send him. The worst you’re likely to get is a papercut, anyway.”
Another man chimed in, “Don’t tell him that! He’s Spec Op, y’know.”
“Oh,” he said, “That’s right, I forgot.”
“I am?” Bernard asked.
“Do tell,” Mireia said, shooting a look at Loren, who, along with Saara, appeared alarmed with this turn of conversation.
“We’re support for S.O.,” Saara corrected in an undertone, drawing their group further from the doorway before she quickly introduced herself to Mireia and Jez.
Loren added, “Yeah, don’t go scaring my new hires, ‘kay? We’re research and support.”
“Riiiight,” the second man said, taking her cue and lowering his voice, “ ‘Cause no one’s ever gotten hurt on this case.”
“This is different,” Saara said firmly.
The three of them looked concerned, and the woman put a hand on Saara’s arm, saying quietly, “Look, hun, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but around here nobody who knows anything believes that’s the case.”
“Not if you keep talking about it!” Saara hissed at her.
“They have a right to be informed,” she argued.
Saara put a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her to leave as she cast a meaningful glance to the others. “Stop scaring our people.”
Mireia leaned in, catching her eye, “Oh, there’s nothing you can tell us right now that’s more terrifying than what we already know.”
Loren and Saara both seemed confused for a moment, until the light dawned in their eyes, and Loren’s jaw gaped, searching for words.
“So you know why we’re here,” Saara said plainly, though her expression was sympathetic.
Mireia nodded, “Yes’m, I’d say we’re pretty clear on that.”
The first man smiled, “Hey! ‘Least they’re all grown this time, right?”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“Except for my sister,” Bernard said, “I sure hope none of this follows me home.”
Loren looked like he wanted to vanish.
“You have a sister?”
“You people have been following me for over a decade,” Bernard said, “You mean to tell me you don’t know? She’s ten.”
All three of them backed up a step or two.
Loren turned to leave, “I came here for candy.”
Saara grabbed him by the shirt, “And I said you’re going to make yourself sick! Come on, let’s grab a drink,” to the other three agents, she added, “We’re not even supposed to be having this conversation.”
“. . . Sugar . . . ,” Loren said wistfully, gazing at the door.
The second man asked, “What if this turns into . . . you know . . . last time?”
“If you’re worried, then stop talking about it,” Saara said again, “And never mention it again. Understand?”
They all nodded, and the woman said, “Of course, Saara. Shadow Op.”
“Not one word of rumor.”
The second man folded his hands in front of him. It seemed casual, but his voice was tight with an air of formality as he said, “Of course. Not a word.”
“Didn’t hear nothin’,” the first one said.
Saara gave a nod, and the three of them resumed casual conversation as they said their farewells and departed—all at different times, in separate directions. Bernard wouldn’t have noticed it, but he could feel his new companion in the back of his mind, and he made a point of noticing.
~So they will not seem like they are together. Just a coincidental meeting of like-minded people.~
Saara pulled Loren toward the hotel. Once they were gone, Bernard decided that after coming back from the dead and eating four helpings of peach cobbler, a few treats wouldn’t hurt the Marasuchus. Though if he could recklessly put away food like that, it was likely that Loren wouldn’t have had much self-control, had he gone in himself—something that Saara also probably knew.
They took their time in the store, perusing the vast, colorful selections of bulk candy filling wall-to-wall bins and heaped within the tops of large barrels. An assortment of sugary handmade treats beckoned from behind a glass display, filling the store with the delectable smells of an enormous variety of pralines, fudge, and chocolate-covered confections.
Once they were done, they delivered a bag right to Loren’s door (with help from Toby), where they were promptly assaulted with a barrage of heartfelt thanks and gleeful hugs. Genuine tears of happiness appeared in his eyes when he realized there was peanut butter fudge in the bag, and he immediately settled himself at the table with it. Bernard hadn’t been sure if he should have chocolate, but he’d been hoping peanut butter and a few others would be alright.
“Congratulations Sparky,” Mireia said, “I think he might actually enjoy food more than you do.”
Saara rolled her eyes, “Well, you certainly found the shortest path to his heart. Right through his stomach. His metabolism has enough trouble supporting him. . . .”
“If you have any complaints about our choices,” Jez said, “It was all on Bernard’s advice.”
Saara crossed her arms as she watched her partner settle back in a chair by the window with a lollipop full of mealworms in one hand, a chunk of peanut butter fudge in the other, and a smug look on his face. Beginning with the fudge, he cheerfully took his time to enjoy every moment of it.
“He actually did really well,” she quietly admitted, “Even if I’m still going to blame you all if my partner short-circuits.”
Loren held up a portion of fudge, “You have to try it, Saara. I’m telling you, this stuff’s worth its weight in solid gold.”
“What is it?” she asked.
The teens stared at her, and Mireia asked, “You’ve never had fudge before?”
She shook her head, “What is it?”
Loren called out, waving the piece in the air, “Sugar, Saara. Pure, buttery sucrose. Just eat it.”
She walked over, took it, turned it over with an air of wonder, tasted it, and her eyes widened, stunned.
Loren explained to the teens, “It takes a lot of energy to change forms, so we crave all the terrible things we’re not supposed to have by the time we’re done. We have two options at that point: eat the way we’re supposed to, or give in to your human temptations. Since we don’t generally taste things in the same way you do—many carnivores in particular have no native use for non-meat products—as human beings we’re especially fond of things like candy, ice cream, and pizza.”
He finished off the fudge in his hand, licking his fingers in a state of bliss.
Bernard held up a sugary praline, “So this would be worth a fortune off-world?”
“Yes! Plenty of people will do almost anything just to taste it. Some folks with the right constitution would sell their souls for pure cut cane. Think of big herbivores with tough beaks that can handle grinding the stalk.” He handed Saara another piece of the fudge, in answer to a pleading look in her eyes, before he started on the lollipop.
She took the fudge and sat down, mesmerized, before she looked up and asked, “By the way: you said you’d been told . . . why you’re here?”
The teens nodded, and Jez told her, “More than we would have liked to know.”
Mireia added, “But everything we needed to know.”
Loren lifted his free hand to the ceiling, “I’d complain that your friend did my job, but I guess this makes it easier, because there’s plenty more we need to talk about. Where is he, anyway? Is he here?”
Bernard shook his head, “No, he’s been out in the harbor since this afternoon. He says we’re safe for now, and he’ll let us know if anything changes.”
Saara snatched the bag of candy before Loren could stop her, and asked, “So, how do you feel?”
“Angry,” Mireia said, “Terrified. Worried. I think those are all appropriate adjectives.”
Jez nodded, “Basically, yeah.”
“Overwhelmed,” Bernard said, as he started on the delicate praline, savoring it one little sugary bite at a time. It wasn’t an antidote to their situation, but it made him feel a little better, nonetheless.
“I’m sorry,” Saara said, digging through the bag curiously, “Really. I am.”
She meant it, genuinely, as odd as it was for her to say it while fishing through the bag for more sugar.
“It’s a nice sentiment,” he said, “but you’re really not the one we need it from.”
She nodded once—and Bernard began to notice a pattern in the way her people performed the motion, “I suppose that’s true.”
“Aren’t you also being dragged into this against your will?” he asked.
“We are, but we volunteered to be here, knowing the risks. You did not. If I wanted to back out, I think I would have done it after working with Loren, last year. The Everglades case was par for the course—”
“The hell it was!” Loren snapped, lowering the lollipop to glare at her, “That man was charged with poaching and terrorism! We could have been killed!”
“But the one in the Caymans was worse,” she argued, “You didn’t like the Everglades because you were almost eaten by a snake—”
“And chased by alligators!” He shook the lollipop at her. “Which is the last time I ever work a wilderness case in dog form!”
“That man in the Caymans kidnapped a Ryozae child! And he was trafficking cocaine, the rot-fleshed Naka! We were running a dual investigation around a human investigation, and we had to figure out how to get that man out of there once we knew he wasn’t human! He was far more dangerous than the other one! And you and your cowardly ass won’t get on a boat!”
“I was thrown off a cruiser, and I can’t swim worth a shit!”
“You swam just fine.”
“The hell I did! And that’s not what you said at the time!”
She looked down at the bag, avoiding his eyes as she selected a piece of colorful handmade saltwater taffy.z “At least we made it out, in the end, and that’s what matters.”
“All I remember is I thought I was gonna die. And I almost drowned two nights ago . . . I think. I still can’t remember a damn thing.”
She dropped the taffy and stared at him, shocked. “You . . . again? Two—you mean right before I got here?”
“Yeah. That’s how I lost everything, Saara. I was walking back to my car in Beaufort, and the next thing I halfway remember with any clarity is waking up in the back of Mireia’s car the next morning on Edisto. They said they found my sorry ass half-dead on the beach. In my real body. My wallet and my keys must be at the bottom of the Saint Helena Sound.”
Bernard added, “The vultures probably fished him out of the water. There’s not much chance the waves carried him that far, unless someone dropped him nearby.”
Saara’s eyes turned watery as she looked between them, suddenly realizing what could have happened, until she finally set the bag of candy aside and said tearfully, “Thank you. For saving him. I . . . I know I’m hard on him, but that—he . . . he really means a lot to me. I keep a large extended family, but they’re all human. I don’t know what I’d do if anything actually happened to him. I’d—” she swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, “I’d be alone on this planet.”
He wasn’t expecting the sudden emotional response, and didn’t know how to respond to it.
Mireia surprised him. “Of course! We didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into, but we couldn’t just do nothing.”
It was the truth, even if it glossed over and nigh omitted the entire part where she’d been against keeping him in the car.
“But . . . how?” she asked, “How could he have shifted, and not even remember it?”
Loren shrugged, “Even the doc had no answer for that.”
She waved a hand, in a back-handed motion that Bernard realized was wing-like, now that he knew she had feathers. “Oh, that doctor. You should have called a real medic—someone who cares—not that arrogant leech.”
“We can argue about that later,” Loren said, “The point is that something happened, and no one can explain it. The company would have done a forensics sweep, by now, and I still haven’t gotten any results. The doc submitted a tissue sample for testing, because I haven’t been the same since the Caymans. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s got me pretty worried.”
Saara crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, “I wonder if it was him.”
“If it was, I really would be dead.”
She squeezed her arms uncomfortably, “Yes . . . I suppose you might be right, but that’s a problem, too, if it was someone else.” She glanced up at the time, and looked over at Bernard and the girls. “I believe it is getting late, for you? You may want to go to bed.”
Bernard looked over at the clock. It was after ten. The weight of not sleeping the night before descended on him like a brick.
“If I can sleep normally, this time,” he muttered.
“Good luck,” she offered sincerely.
“Oh!” Loren stood suddenly, “Speaking of sleep, I forgot to give you this—”
“Don’t!” Saara suggested.
Loren ignored her. “That doctor left a package at the front desk, but the note inside is addressed to you, Bernard. It’s just an over-the-counter sleep aid. Melatonin. Totally harmless.”
He handed Bernard a brown paper bag, which contained a bottle of melatonin capsules, and a note written in impeccable script, wishing him well and warning him to take it “in single doses only as needed,” and not every night. The doctor’s signature was strikingly elegant.
Loren added, “The front desk said a man with his description came by just after midday. He must have delivered it on his lunch break.”
Saara grumbled around a thick mouthful of taffy, “What a hero.”
Loren’s expression soured. “If you three will excuse us, we need to have a talk about this.”
Saara turned indignant, and Jez said quickly, “Well, we do need to get some sleep, anyway. It’s been a busy day and we’ve got so much to think about!”
Bernard was dazed and numb with exhaustion, and grateful when the girls ushered him out of the room, and towards his bed.
He took the supplement, and slept dreamlessly through the night.