When I was a little girl, Granny told me that one should always dress up when an important event occurs. A funeral, a wedding, and a meeting with someone new. (Births, she says, are rather chaotic and in the end no one cares who’s wearing what. I’d have to agree.)

I dunno if that covers ‘meeting the FBI in an internet café for undisclosed reasons’ but I’m gonna assume so.

I wear my ‘dizzy’ dress, it’s a pattern that zig zags all over in various shades of orange, black and white. I’m told it looks like one of those optical illusions, where you’re never quite sure if what you’re seeing is right or not. I have a red belt around it, making it flare out around my calves, some neat sandals that I forgot I owned (I’ve painted my toes in electric blue, gotta flex my paint skills!!), and a straw hat with a ribbon around it. Plus my sideways purse, since I have no pockets...my phone should be in today at least! I spritzed my hair with water so I have my curls bouncing under the hat as I hurry out of the house, waving at Larry as I pass by.

Hey, I may not be able to intimidate him back, but dammit I’ll out-fashion him.

The café isn’t as crowded as it was that night I had rushed inside. There’s slightly bored baristas, a man at one computer looking at a long string of numbers, clicking every few minutes. Two girls near the book, one of them eagerly whispering to the other, probably trying to impress upon her how much she absolutely needs to read this one book right here. At one of the tables sat a man in a tuxedo looking suit, sunglasses, and a bad haircut that let his black hair point up like a bad anime character.

Is my life turning into an anime? I don’t even have funny colored hair! I wonder if I can choose...

He goes to stand but, you know, I’ve got excellent conclusion-drawing skills so I’m already at the table by the time he gets up. He coughs into his hand, placing it on the back of his chair. “Apologies, I assumed that you would be unable to find me.”

I look around very slowly at the nearly empty café, then back at him. “You shouldn’t hide so well.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t reply, instead gesturing at the seat across from him. The seats are curled metallic types, pink for some reason, makes you feel like you’re at a tea party. He sits back down across from me, his hands resting on the table as I crossed my arms. “I didn’t know what you liked to drink.”

“A Café Latte with three shots of caramel, one chocolate, and sprinkles.” He stared at me for a moment, and as if quite confused but still willing to go, he slowly raised up from the chair. I break out into a giggle-snort, the kind that hurts your face and cheeks when you’re done. “I’m not serious! Don’t even think they’d entertain ya if ya asked ‘em. Red Bull and a half a cup of unsweet tea.” He still looked like he was expectin’ another laugh on him, but off he went to the baristas. I place my purse on my lap, I read one time some lady had hers stolen right from her side when she had it danglin’! Not chancing that! I’m already down a phone, don’t need to heap on a bank card with it!

He comes back with the red bull tucked under his arm, a half cup of tea and his own black coffee. The moment he gives me mine, I pop open the can and start pouring it into the cup after popping the lid off. I replace it, then swirl it around for a while. He looks like he’s trying to decide between bein’ concerned or tryin’ ta look it over. Wiiiimp.

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I pop the lid back over, down a gulp, then set it back down. “A’right. Shoot. Watcha want?”

He clears his throat again-if he’s sick I’m gonna launch him into the river for getting ME sick-and straightens his tie. “On the way back to our headquarters, a few agents mentioned seeing you come up from the side of the river. We were...concerned.”

“ ‘Bout what?” I mutter, sipping at my drink. I know what he means, but I like making things hard for people I don’t know.

“Well, the brain eating amoeba, for one thing.” He laces his hands together, and my eyes are drawn to the cup of coffee cooling against the side of his arm, then back up at him. “Plus it was very late, they claimed, and foggy.”

I click my tongue, slowly swirling the tea again in my hand. “They weren’t concerned enough to stop and ask, were they?”

He doesn’t respond, but he lets out a slow breath as if he’s talking to a kid who won’t tell who ate the last cookie. “Why were you so close to the river? That’s all we’d like to know, if we have to consider you patient zero, if we have to have the hospital check you out.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “I’m allowed ta not ask permission from no one to be out late, and I certainly ain’t gotta tell you. You ain’t my mama.” I narrow my eyes at him, and the skin next to his eyes twinge. I still can’t see his eyes.

“It is merely concern, I assure you. Besides,” he pointed at my casted hand, the dark purple faded by now despite my attempts to keep dust and dirt from it, “I’m quite certain you didn’t have that when the agents spotted you. Did you fall in? Did someone hurt you?”

I grumbled, my fingers flexing in the cast lightly as I roll my eyes. “I fell an’ tried ta catch myself. Just a dumb accident, lay off.”

“I see.” Mister Illoky said, although it sounded like he didn’t see at all. He took a slow sip of his coffee, place it back down on the table. “Well, beyond the amoeba, we’re also investigating...sightings.”

“...sightings?”

“Indeed. Fisherman and tourists saying they’ve seen something in the river.” He shrugs casually, but beyond that, nothing else changes. “While that’s not our primary objective, we’re asking citizens to keep an eye out if they work near or go near the river.” He takes out a card, another one with his name, but with his number as well, under it. I take it in my hand, fiddling with it as he talks about how I should call them if I see anything.

“Did you say they said it was foggy?”

He paused, staring at me for a moment. I stare back, the card between my fingers tightly to the point it’s creasing. “Did they say it was foggy when they saw me?”

“Ye-Yes, yes, it was foggy and hard to see,” he stammers, a break in his armor. I twiddle the card, almost spinning it between my fingers, my lips in a creased line.

My dad says when I frown, I look like my Granny, all tall and steady in a roarin’ sea. (Never did appreciate the sentiment, used to pitch a nice little fit and whine if he said that, hah.)

“Funny,” I say, popping open my tea again to take a sip, “As I recall it, the fog-which was only in one place, mind you-had already rolled on over by the time they spotted me.”

He doesn’t say anything, watches me watching him. A manual clock ticks by somewhere, or maybe that was just a trick on the ears, somethin’ you’d hear in some silence, I suppose. Eventually, he stands, leaving his coffee on the table. “Call us, if you see anything,” and like a coward, he walks away.

Before he can enter his car-all sleek and black like a cliché villain-I stand in the opening of the café, whistling sharply at him. His head snaps up, and I look at him, clutching my purse by my side, the tea mix already drank and tossed in the trash.

“You left me for dead, without a thought for what life I had, and I hope that rots on your soul.”

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t expect him to. He gets in his car, and off he goes, but damn him if he thinks I’ll forget this.

I don’t have a fucking clue what they’re dredging at the bottom of the East River for, and maybe I’m a bit slow on the uptake because of that, but they brutally shoved me in the middle of their plans and I won’t take that lyin’ down.

The East River is Dahlia’s (temporary) home. Even if she and her...clan? Pod? Family? Avoid the divers, eventually they’ll get found out. Or they’ll succumb to the brain eating amoeba (does it attach onto mermaids? Or is it only a human disease?), or whatever large thing’s swimmin’ in the river.

I slip the crinkled card into my purse. I’ll at least warn Dahlia, try an’ get her to move ‘em a little early and out of the way of the FBI. And then, well...

Mister James Illoky has made a grave miscalculation thinkin’ I’d die in the river, and he’s going to regret it.