I sat there slouched my silhouette joining my beds shadow both slowly rising, chasing away the fading light, which in truth wasn't all that different from my usual routine. But when the light started its return the following morning, instead of getting out of bed and grabbing my jacket from the closet to press it before work, I just watched the light stretch across the room, Mr. Jones's words echoing in my memory.
“You will either fly high or crash hard.”
“seven million dollars. How am I going to break even, much less fly, with that kind of debt on my hands?”
Sunlight now filtering through my blinds and lighting up my apartment. I lifted the piece of paper that sealed my fate, my grip still tight from the night before.
I remember the talk surrounding this case; most people said it was approved as a favor to the client due to the irresponsible handling of such a high-profile case and how Wachowscy, the former head of the Underwriting Department, fought to get it approved before disappearing. And I tend to believe it. After all, who wouldn't want to help out the son of Lloyd Evercrest, aka Facet the Dimensional Mind?
Now it's my problem but unlike Wachowscy, I am a professional; I don't do favors, I do my job and I always do it well.
My resolve set, I packed my few belongings, placing the file and my suit hanger in a briefcase I kept for work doing my best to keep my form's weave tight as it attempted to roil with the shifting of my resolve and worry.
Once that was done, I headed for the door taking one last look at my home before closing the door for the last time; my key sat on the bedside dresser, the closet still as empty as when I moved in, the kitchen in pristine condition and my made bed perfect except a slight dent warn in from years of me sitting there every night, to most this wasn't much but to me it was the only slice of normal in my life
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I closed the door and pulled one of the cheap flip phones I keep in my jacket to call the only cab service that would deal with xenos as I made my way to the apartment's private parking garage.
Exiting from the fourth floor, I saw a cab that looked like any other taxi service—a yellow cab with a checkered pattern on its side and a glowing taxi sign mounted on the roof. However, a small almost translucent logo of an M and R overlapping in the side mirrors marked it as a Meta Ride cab.
As I approached the cab, the rear door on the driver's side popped open beckoning me to climb in.
The back set itself reminded me of a booth from an eighties-style diner with its red coloring and almost plastic texture. The cabin around me was all dull gray except for the reflective black paint both hid and separated the driver and me.
As the door closed, a click filled the cabin before a heavily augmented, almost mechanical voice came over the speakers.
“Are you Alastor?”
“I am Alastor, yes.”
“Confirmation number?”
“8163.”
A pause, probably to check if the code matched. “Accepted. And where is your destination today?”
“4975 Hunts Point Rd, please.”
“Alrighty, it will be about a twenty-minute drive, so don't get too comfortable back there.” With that, the cab started its way to Evercrest Manor.
On the road now, the cab was dead silent, typical for Meta Ride. Their drivers tend to wisely stay out of the way of their clients. After all, when you serve both supporters of the guild and those who directly oppose it, you don't want to be caught in the crossfire because of some wannabe hero or villain with a big mouth—or worse, lose a cab due to one with a brash attitude.
Then something peculiar happened. A click filled the cabin before the robotic voice returned. “Sorry about this, but there will be a fifteen-minute delay through I-90.”
“Why are we changing route?”
The speakers clicked again. “Kelpie and Druid are currently battling on the Evergreen Bridge.” The black window between us lit up with live news footage from above the fight.
The scene showed what looked more like a battleground of gods than a fight between xenos. A titan of water and seaweed stood in the middle of the now-bisected Evergreen Bridge, golden chains seeming to pull power from the very essence of the titan they attempted to bind.
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Druid cast spell after spell, some bolts slamming into the titan's chest trying to get at the xeno at its heart, others cutting tentacles of seaweed frames and watery flesh that kept trying to pull civilians trapped on the bridge into the water.
Kelpie and Druid are both rank B, mystic class xenos, and their current clash showed it. Druid pulled his power from the energy of nature, and Kelpie from how many people she could pull under. Each battled to gain the upper hand, the struggle itself entertaining to watch as both individuals grew in power and got a better feel for the other's abilities.
“This just in,” the reporter's voice superimposed over the sound of battle and the whirring of the news helicopter as our drive continued. “The guild has sent word that Nautilus is on his way to hopefully turn the tide of this battle.” Nautilus, a newer guild member but still a rank C Chimera, is not someone to take lightly.
The buzz of the speakers pulled my attention from the screen as its volume lowered. “We will be arriving at your destination soon. On behalf of Meta Ride, we thank you for your patience during this delay.”
The speakers buzzed again as the automatic message finished playing, and the screen in front of me returned to its previous volume.
“Nautilus has arrived and appears to be digging into the chest of the titan.” The camera feed zoomed in on the red carapace-covered figure of Nautilus, sitting in a fresh dent in the center of the titan's chest. Its watery skin trying to wash him away as the eight spindly arms on his back embedded deep around the crater anchoring him and with the help of Druid binding or destroying every tentacle or limb the titan generated he could freely rip chunks of seaweed from its chest, attempting to do more damage than it could regenerate. Kelpie’s pale skin and the glow of her dark green eyes faded in and out of view as they struggled.
Click marked the end of the broadcast for me as the cabbie's altered voice returned. “Sorry to interrupt, but we are outside your destination and they won’t open the gate. What do I tell them?”
Looking away from the now blank screen, I saw we were now surrounded by a seven-foot hedge, forcing us to either drive through the large filigreed gate in front of us or back up the way we came.
“Tell them I’m from the bank.”
I assume the cabbie used some kind of exterior speaker because a moment later the gate pulled apart, sliding into the surrounding hedge, and I got my first good look at the grounds.
A stone road divided two acres of perfectly curated grounds, the hedges I saw at the gate running along the whole property like a wall of green, and it all surrounded a French Country-styled manor. Its exterior was a harmonious blend of stone and stucco, with muted colors complemented by the thin frames of its arched windows and the dark tiles of its steeply sloped roof.
Pulling into a rounded driveway surrounding what looked like a small olive tree, my door popped open on its own as an all too familiar automated message played. “You have arrived at your destination. We hope you have had a safe and enjoyable drive. Should you ever need a ride, we hope you choose Meta Ride again. Thank you.” This message is wholly unnecessary as they were the only service that offered taxis to xenos who couldn't hide their mutations traits.
Click. “Alastor, your total comes to thirty-five dollars even and will be charged to your account. Please choose Meta Ride again, thanks.” I swear, if there was any other taxi service for xenos, I would use it solely due to the lack of professional behavior of Meta Ride drivers.
Grabbing my briefcase from the seat beside me, I stepped out, brushed the wrinkles out of my suit, and strode over to the grandiose inset dark oak door. The clicking of my shoes against the stone steps joined the echo of the gentle rumble of the taxi's exit, the sounds seeming to cut through the entire silence of the grounds.
Reaching the front door I moved for the doorbell, however before I could press it, the door started to slowly, lethargically, open revealing a slouched young man with a cup of dark coffee in one hand, a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, slippers on the wrong feet, shorts, and an undershirt like he had just crawled out of bed, the whole ensemble completed with a very expensive-looking robe that was half draped over his shoulders.
“So, you’re Bridget’s replacement, huh?” He sounded like he was in pain with every word.
“Yes, my name is Alastor Lamont, but you may call me—” I didn’t finish my sentence as his free hand started to wave semi-frantically in front of me.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, can you please not shout right now, man? My head is killing me.”
“I wasn’t shouting…”
“Alex. My name’s Alex and you probably weren’t shouting, but still, any chance you could speak a little quieter, Al?” He said, turning and heading further into the manor.
Did he have a hangover? This idiot knew the bank was sending someone today and still got wasted. He had to be the first to go after I spoke with Mr. Evercrest with staff like this it was no surprise that the debt had been constantly on the rise.
“Speaking quieter is not an issue, but my name is Alastor, and I would prefer you use it. If that’s too formal, you may call me Mr. Lamont,” I added, following him into a rounded entry hall with hallways that seemed to stretch forever on both sides.
“Fine, Alastor, whatever. Can we talk later? I feel like I’m walking through a world made of glass, alright.” This kid was getting on my last nerve to the point where my weave was nearly unraveled in some places.
“That’s not a problem. I can assure you we will be speaking later. I just need a word with Mr. Evercrest, so if you could point me in his direction, I would be very grateful.”
The kid just turned to look at me. I assume the sunglasses made it hard to tell, but the way his brows furrowed together made me feel like I had just said something incredibly foolish.
“Is he not available right now?” I probed, his expression showing no sign of change.
“My name is Alex,” he said slowly like he was talking to a child.
Maybe he had more to drink than I first thought. “Yes, you told me already.” Maybe I should make him lie down somewhere and sleep it off.
“My name is Alex, as in Alexander.” I froze. “You are, Alexander Evercrest”
“Yeah,” pain clear in his voice, “Lloyd Evercrest is your father.”
Alexander just stood there for a moment taking a slow drink of his coffee before responding, “Yeah that’s dad.”
This can't be right. A man like Lloyd Evercrest would have raised his son to certain standards.
“You’re the son of Lloyd Evercrest?” a pause, the pain in his expression seeming to increase, “Yup.”
I can’t believe this is my client. The Evercrest name is pretty much known worldwide.
“Look, I can see you're…” pausing, he raised his glasses, revealing squinting prismatic eyes focusing for a moment before he continued, “eh swirling, and I feel like crap, so let’s do this later, alright.”
I had to pause and attempt to collect myself before responding. “Yes, I believe that would be for the best. When would you feel up to it, Alexander,” he recoiled like I had just thrown scalding water at him.
“It’s just Alex, man. And how about tonight at dinner,” he said turning towards the left hallway, “your room is down that hall, first door on the right,” he said with a vague gesture to the opposite hallway.
“That works for me, Alex. But when is dinner?” not even attempting to hide an overly dramatic sigh, he turned to look at me.
“I don't know, seven thirty Ish. We can talk then, alright,” he said turning back and shuffling away at what I could only assume was the fastest pace in his current condition.
Well, that explains why this case hasn't been handled yet, but hopefully tonight I can start to get things in order with Alexander. So I headed off to find my room and prepare for tonight’s meeting.