“It is…” Caleb stretched his fist skyward and lowered it to check his watch, “7:54 pm. So, I was about twenty minutes off. Not bad considering the circumstances.”
Against all odds, they made it to Derek’s apartment building without trouble, aside from a grumpy cat who had to be put back in her carrier. Caleb had taken over wearing the cat backpack in exchange for Jeremy carrying the duffle bag. A strap over each shoulder was vastly more comfortable than anything rubbing against his back, so even though the duffle was heavy, it was a fair exchange.
The area surrounding the university was in absolute disarray. Most protestors were from campus and had returned after fleeing the riots. They sat on curbs and benches with wide, shell-shocked eyes or gathered around to recount the events in dramatic fashion, arms flying about and tones harsh and hurt. Water bottles were being handed out for people to flush their eyes and soothe their throats. A few people directly summoned water to help others flush their eyes. The cops milling around eyed them. The people casting spells eyed them back. Tension tightened in the air.
There was a truce, for now. Both sides were still surprised by how quickly and intensely violence broke out. The cops held their assault rifles close to their chests. The civilian’s eyes followed their every move. Everyone was too anxious to toe the line again so soon after having found it. A few cops even slung their guns around their backs and helped where people collapsed on the grass with more severe injuries than pepper spray exposure. Injuries that were not so serious they had to be taken to a hospital – they were all full and turning people away, anyway – but still frightening enough that some knowledge of first aid helped.
No National Guard members seemed to be present here. They were still perusing the streets to control the riots. As tense as the atmosphere was, their absence made it measurably less volatile.
The apartment building’s lobby was devoid of the activity buzzing outside. The silence echoed as the glass doors shut behind them, loud after the constant din of the city. Traffic, sirens, and the hum of air conditioners used to be the backdrop that would fall away when entering a building. Air conditioners still hummed, but the pepper of gunfire and shouts had replaced the other sounds. Jeremy’s ears had never felt so blessed by silence before.
It was not the fanciest apartment building. No attendant waited in the elevator to select the floor for them, although, given the circumstances, they may not have shown up for work today. Still, it was much nicer than Jeremy’s old building, which badly needed renovation or, at least, a deep clean. Not anymore, though.
They rode up to the fifteenth floor in silence. Moria stood extremely still. Nervous energy poured off her in waves. It was as if she moved at all, she might fly off the handle and lose her mind. Jeremy knew a little of how she felt. He had felt the same anxiety when approaching his apartment earlier in the day, and he had not even anticipated a reunion with a loved one. Through their distorted reflection on the door, he watched Moira stare at the numbers ticking by. Caleb picked at his fingernails.
When the doors opened, Moira flew down the hall. She pulled her keys out of her backpack as she went. They jingled excitedly. It was the first real noise since they stepped into the apartment building. Jeremy winced at the sound. It was not out of place in the hall with its line of apartment doors, but like many things that used to be normal, it already seemed strange. Yesterday, he left his car in the middle of the street after a dragon crushed it. No police had come to direct traffic. No tow truck was called. He had not informed his insurance company. Likely, the car was still sitting there in the middle of the street next to the dragon carcass. He was glad he did not have any payments. He wouldn’t continue making them anyway.
Jeremy did not have a car anymore. He did not have an apartment anymore. Moira did not have these things, either. Many people no longer had these things, evacuated away from their homes, or had their businesses looted during riots. Something simple, like using a key to get into an apartment, suddenly felt foreign.
The door swung open. The apartment was dark and quiet. Curtains were drawn over the windows. In one of the rooms, a clock ticked faintly. A dirty mug sat in the sink, but the apartment was spotless otherwise. It was not the apartment of a college kid. The furniture was minimal but elegant. Art hung on the walls, not posters, but actual framed artwork that one might buy from a gallery. The guy had a bona fide stand mixer sitting on his counter.
Jeremy was not in the habit of making quick judgments about people. He recently concluded that it was essential to trust your first instincts about someone, but he still preferred to gather a collection of data points from which to assess a person. Despite this and the fact that he had yet to meet Derek – he was conspicuously absent from the apartment – Jeremy took an immediate liking to him. Anybody who kept an apartment this nice had to appreciate structure, which Jeremy valued above almost everything else. As long as Derek wasn’t a human-sacrificing, old-money dickwad, they were going to get along just fine.
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“I thought you said your boyfriend was in college,” Caleb said, obviously picking up on the same cues Jeremy was. He stopped to inspect one of the artworks, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “How old is he? Is he like your sugar daddy or something?”
Moira, who had not moved from the doorway, took a tentative step forward. If anything could spur her into action, it was her irritation with Caleb’s inflammatory remarks. She scoffed at him and ripped a porcelain vase out of his hands after he picked it up. “I’m a Feldman. I don’t need a sugar daddy. I am a sugar daddy.”
Caleb arched one brow as he watched her storm into the bedroom. He turned to Jeremy, who opened the fridge with a shrug. It was fully stocked with eggs, yogurts, vegetables, decently organized sauce bottles, and a steak waiting to be cooked. Jeremy’s mouth watered at the sight.
Moira crossed the room to go into the second bedroom. Jeremy and Caleb’s heads swiveled as they watched her pass by. She poked around in what appeared to be a functional office space. Caleb set Atticus’s carrier on the ground and unzipped the top before Jeremy could stop him. Atticus darted away. Finally, Moira came out and collapsed on the couch with a sigh.
“No note.” She put her hands over her face.
“Listen,” Jeremy parked himself on the coffee table before her. He picked up her hands and held them. “Have you called everyone who might know where he is? His parents? Do you have any of his friend’s numbers?”
Moira shook her head. “I’ve texted all his friends I know. Nobody’s heard from him since the day before everything went to shit. And his parents disowned him. They wouldn’t know where he is. Even if they did, I doubt they would speak to me.”
“Okay, well.” Jeremy looked around. It was eight now, which meant it would typically get dark soon. Yesterday, it did not start getting dark until one in the morning. That meant they still had about five hours until night fell, and goblins began popping out of random alleys to attack them. He was unsure if this was enough time to get to Uncle Howard’s penthouse. He did not take out the map to check. They were in a safe, neutral space where they could spend the night without too much worry. Plus, asking Moira to instantly move on from trying to find Derek to focus on getting to her uncle’s place instead felt cruel.
“There is some food in the fridge.” He offered, “How about we cook it up and spend the night here to regroup?”
Moira nodded. Jeremy squeezed her hands and let them go. She took her backpack off and set it beside her feet. There was a blanket folded over the back of the couch. She dragged it down and wrapped herself up in it. As soon as Jeremy stood up from the coffee table, Caleb came over to sit on the couch beside Moira. He’d found the TV remote and used it to turn on the news.
They watched the updates silently. Jeremy flipped on the lights in the kitchen and pulled the steak out to salt it while he chopped some vegetables to sauté up. Derek also kept his knives in perfect condition. Jeremy’s opinion of him rose. He hoped he was not a human-sacrificing, old-money dickwad. He hoped he wasn’t dead somewhere.
He brought plates of food out to the living room space. Caleb, who’d sprawled out on every inch of the couch that Moira’s curled figure was not taking, pulled his feet off the coffee table and sat up. They ate in silence. Only the urgent voices of news reporters and the clinking of cutlery across plates filled the apartment.
Caleb finished his food with a satisfied sigh and set the empty plate on the coffee table. He rested his elbows on his knees and peered at the TV screen.
“I haven’t seen a weather forecast this whole time.” He said, “Are they even still doing those?”
“No,” Moira chewed and swallowed a piece of asparagus. She turned down the steak, reminding Jeremy that she did not eat meat. “All the satellites and whatever they use for their forecasting got all messed up. That’s old news. I can’t believe they are only giving the people around Chicago 48 hours to evacuate.”
“Things must be getting pretty ugly for the people fighting around the gate.” Jeremy said, “I haven’t seen a news reporter on the ground this time. They aren’t even flying drones over it anymore. Have you seen any more footage about what is going on there?”
Moira shrugged, “No, but the rush is probably because the people at the top are feeling the pressure actually to do something. People are panicking. They will only listen to so many press conferences about relief efforts and avoid using magic when nobody has any clue what to do about the issue. So they have to take action.”
“Seems like their so-called action is causing a lot of the panic.” Caleb pointed out.
“I never said it was the right thing to do.” Moira stuffed another piece of asparagus in her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. She pointed her fork across Jeremy at Caleb. “I’m just saying that’s probably why they are pushing it so quickly.”
“Maybe we will find some answers at your uncle’s apartment, then they can start addressing the real issue and informing people to put out the panic,” Jeremy said.
“Maybe.” Moira suddenly dumped her plate onto the coffee table. Her knife and fork clattered loudly against the ceramic. She threw off the blanket and jumped to her feet, “Maybe one of the neighbors knows where he went.”
She was out the door by the last word. Jeremy looked at her plate. Not even half her food had been eaten. He finished his plate with a sigh. Caleb took it from him and started washing the dishes while Jeremy hunted for plastic wrap. Once he finally wrapped Moira’s food, he put it in the fridge. The way things were going, it wasn't a good idea to waste food. Grocery stores stood empty, and the network to resupply them was paralyzed. Yet, Moira left half hers uneaten. She probably did not even taste the food as she ate. Her mind was obviously on other things. Jeremy did not blame her.
“Hey,” He turned to Caleb, “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Sure. In my back pocket.” Caleb held up his soapy hands. Jeremy pulled the phone from his pocket and typed in the passcode. He dialed his parents. By the time he finished letting them know he was not dead and hearing more about their canning exploits, Moira returned sullen and upset. She poked around in the freezer for a tub of ice cream, then sat on the couch with them and watched some more of the news.