So where was I? Oh right, I’d just signed my lease on an apartment in a building that apparently didn’t exist.
So I wandered back to my car and called a few friends. Almost every one of them called me crazy for having signed on the spot. But what first really tipped me off about the building was that several of them looked it up on their various map apps and said that I was crazy or lying about where it was.
“It’s just an old pile of bricks with a bunch of trees,” Sean had said.
I remembered thinking him crazy for that, but hey, it didn’t matter. I’d signed a lease, now I just needed to get my stuff moved and let my current landlady know.
My landlady was sad to see me go (apparently having tenants who don’t trash the place and pay their rent on time are valued, who knew?), but she reminded me to file for my change of address with the postal service.
And from that point on, I started having trouble.
First, the post office seemed agog that I wanted to change my mail service to the new address, claiming that it hadn’t been in service for a number of years. I even got a phone call wanting to know if I needed them to hold the mail until I was finished building. That was my second big hint. I told them no, just leave it in the mailbox on the fence. There was only one for the whole building, but most of my mail was junk mail, so I wouldn’t miss it if someone else happened to get some of it.
Next, the cable company said that not only do they not service that address, but that they won’t service it. I kept asking why not, but they just kept saying that it’s something to do with the city and I should talk to the landlord about it. It sounded crazy, but I figured I could get by with a WWAN for now until I get it sorted out.
Thirdly, every moving company I called, immediately after I said the address, hung up as though I were a prank caller. I tried re-calling several of them, but they just hung back up again as soon as I said the address. So I resolved to just rent a truck and haul the stuff over myself. I remembered that 3rd floor walk-up and decided to ask my friends for help. Sadly, Jake was working overtime at the hospital, Sean was out of town doing something, Sara was 8 months pregnant, and Tim, Sara’s boyfriend/father of her soon-to-be child, was a pencil (which is to say that I sometimes wondered if he was even capable of lifting a pint, let alone a box of books).
In short, it translated into - I was moving myself by myself and it was not going to be pleasant. I was already half exhausted by the time I got the truck half loaded. I had it for a week, but I figured I’d be half dead before this was over.
If there’s one thing I despise, it’s moving. I end up sore all over and in places that I didn’t know had muscles and tendons.
As I pulled up outside of the building, I looked up towards where I estimated my apartment was (having only glimpsed out of the windows in my fast walk-through). This was not going to be fun.
I did notice that the ‘For Rent’ sign was gone and in place of the sign, a few bits of chain hung in a curious pattern. It was decorative, but not obvious.
I started wrestling the first arm load up the stairs, which seemed to echo slightly at every step. Upon reaching the door, I immediately fumbled for keys before remembering the strange words of the old man. Grasping the door, I turned the knob. It opened easily and swung inward. I all but collapsed with the first load on to the nearest surface (which turned out to be the kitchen counter).
I was already imagining the climb with the rest of the stuff from the truck when I heard a light knock at the door.
I looked over.
A woman who could have been a Futurama Amazonian (albeit not quite so tall) was looking through it and a short thin man could just be made out behind her to one side. He reminded me of Tim, but looked more capable.
“Hello, neighbor. Welcome to the building,” the woman said, waving slightly.
“Hello, uh, thank you,” was all I could manage as I tried to take the both of them in visually.
She was garbed in a fairly standard spaghetti strap top and yoga pants, neither of which did anything to hide her rather obvious musculature. She wasn’t flat chested, nor was she overly buxom or curvy. She just… was feminine and there was no ignoring it.
‘Goddess be praised, I’m not going to die having to move all this by myself,’ I immediately thought.
“I don’t suppose you might be willing to lend me a hand getting moved in,” I asked, hopeful.
“We’d love to,” the short thin man spoke up in a slightly gravely voice of one who has just come away from a death metal concert and sung all the words along with the singers.
From what I could see of him, he seemed to be almost the polar opposite of the woman. He was the kind of person who put you in mind of an accountant or a born bureaucrat. His hair was slicked back and his skin was fair. He bore no facial hair and looked entirely uncomfortable in his jeans and t-shirt, as though a suit and tie would have suited him much better.
“We?” the woman looked at the man with a grin.
“Yes. We. It’s good manners,” the man said, with a gaze that could have re-frozen the ice caps in summer.
She punched him lightly, but he appeared to not sway even a fraction of an inch, as though he were made of stone.
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Over the next hour, we unloaded the truck and I learned a bit more about them.
She was Lucy. She had a much longer more formal name, but said to just stick with Lucy. Only official people ever ask for her by anything other than Lucy. She lived next door with her cat, Milov. She worked at a shop somewhere downtown (which was walking distance for this place or an easy bike ride).
He was Warren. He declined to provide any further name and lived across the hall by himself. He was not exactly a bookkeeper, but was associated with staffing and accounting somehow. He didn’t really say except as little hints. He also didn’t say where, but I ignored that bit. We all have our secrets for one reason or another and we were all just meeting one another.
Much to my surprise, Warren carried just as much as Lucy, despite looking like a lone reed about to face a hurricane.
When I mentioned that I was moving in from just up the road, the pair exchanged glances.
“Really? Out in town? You must be either very powerful or very stupid,” was Lucy’s tactless reply.
“What she means is that it’s unusual to chose to not already live in a building like this,” Warren said in more gravely tones.
“Well, you make do with what you can find,” I admitted.
“Yes, but around baselines? Don’t they get suspicious?” Lucy prompted.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, you don’t look or smell like one of the usual tenants we get here, so that means you’re probably some kind of mage, right?” Warren piped up, still attempting to hold to some standard of manners.
“I’m just a technical consultant,” I said, feeling confused, like there was something I was missing.
“As a job, sure, but magic’s more than just a job. It’s practically a calling,” Warren said.
“Well, since you ask, what are you two?” I tried, hoping to get some hint as to what they were talking about.
“I’m a noble lycanthrope of the Third House,” Warren said, bowing slightly.
Lucy rolled her eyes.
“I’m an unbound Jinn,” Lucy said, a kind of a smile crossed with a smirk on her face, like the feeling was there, but not fully shown.
“Very funny,” I tried.
“No, really,” Lucy said, before snapping her fingers and a small puff of reddish smoke burst from her fingertips.
It took me several moments to register what I thought I was hearing. My mind headed into my boxes of books and searched for one it knew to be there… Bulfinch’s Mythology… no, that wasn’t right. One Thousand and One Nights, no that wasn’t right either. But somewhere in the mix of all that, my mind went back to my Dungeons and Dragons monster manuals. Strangely, this was a help.
“So… you’re like a genie?” I tried to not make an immediate Aladdin joke.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. But don’t think about that baseline joke in asking for wishes,” Lucy said, shaking a finger pointedly, but with a tight grin on her face.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, sticking my tongue out at her finger.
“And I don’t know if you’ve been around other lycanthropes or not, but no, I am not hairy wolfman and no I do not get to decide when I change,” Warren said, clearly lacking the humor that Lucy and I were sharing.
“So what do you become?” I asked.
“He turns into a dire weasel!” Lucy exclaimed.
Warren’s glare could have frozen a volcano, but seemed to do absolutely nothing to Lucy.
“She is correct, at least in terms of the modern parlance. We are a noble house, stretching back over 500 years,” Warren said rather proudly.
“So you’re a giant weasel and you’re a non-wish granting genie, got it,” I said, waiting for the punchline, figuring they were both putting me on for some reason.
“Alright, well, we told you what we are, now you tell us. What kind of mage are you?” Lucy prompted, her face betraying nothing but an honest interest.
“I’m not a mage or magician of any kind,” I said, expecting this to still be some kind of joke.
“Really? Well, you don’t smell like a non-baseline, so you’ve gotta be a mage. The only other thing you could be would be a baseline and you couldn’t be one of those,” Lucy said.
“Why not?” I was intrigued to see where this is going.
“Have you never lived in a safe house before?” Warren asked, his face contorting a bit.
“Noooo… can’t say that I have,” I said, still not following where this was headed.
“You, a mage, have never lived in a safe house? Wow, I’m surprised you were able to be that suppressed,” Lucy said, her face clearly astonished.
“How so?” I prompted.
“Well, everyone knows mages have to blow off energy or else they tend to accidentally start setting fire to stuff,” Lucy said, gesturing widely.
“Oh well I usually exercise for that,” I decided to try and play this game.
“Oh, not like that, silly, but you know what I mean,” Lucy said, sticking her tongue out at me this time.
“A safe house is one of the few places that people like us can live without dealing with the mundane baselines,” Warren said, as though reading from a manual.
“Well, I try not to be too mundane,” I tried, still hoping to get Warren to smile.
“Mundane would be welcome. Unfortunately, we get a lot of unusual around here, even for the average safe house,” Warren said, glancing over at Lucy and then around the rest of the apartment.
“Anyway, could I bother the two of you further to help me get the rest of my stuff? I’ll order us some food and beer,” I asked, hoping to return to this fun dialog later.
“Certainly. Although you will likely need to go pick it up and neither of us drive,” Warren said, answering for the pair.
“Why? Does nobody deliver to this area?” I was a bit confused.
“Not here, certainly,” he answered almost blankly.
“Something to do with it being a safe house?” I prompted.
“Something like that, yes,” was Warren’s deadpan response.
“Well, either way, I’ll get some pizza and beer arranged for. Requests?” I shrugged.
“Extra cheese and an IPA,” Warren moved to the door.
“Can we get it with half triple pepperoni and spinach?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t see why not, although I can probably just make it a whole one, just for you, Lucy,” I said. “And to drink?”
“Are they still making those alcoholic fizzy drinks in a can?” she asked, appearing to be quite happy about getting a whole pizza to herself.
“Indeed they are. Any particular flavor?” I asked.
“Nope. Just something nice and bubbly,” Lucy said, almost bouncing out of the door and down the stairs.
--
Three hours, many boxes, three alcoholic beverages each, and at least two slices of pizza in each of us (although Lucy had managed to get through half of her pizza, while Warren and I had split one), I could reasonably say that at least for this move, things weren’t so bad. And my neighbors, while apparently quirky, were definitely helpful.
“So, anything I need to be aware of with this place?” I asked.
They looked at one another.
“Not really. It’s a well-run building, or so I’m told,” Lucy said, shrugging, a motion that seemed to test the tensile strength of her shirt without apparent effort or concern.
“Indeed. And while my change does tend to be on the, uh, louder side of things, please don’t worry about me. It’s all rather normal, for better or worse I’m afraid,” Warren said, having loosened considerably after his second can.
“I’ll keep that in mind. I do tend to listen to my music a bit loud at times, so if that’s ever an issue, just knock on my door,” I said.
Lucy and Warren left a little while later after some minor discussion about the general area around the building and I was left with my piles of stuff in my new apartment.
I still couldn’t help but wonder what the catch was with this place.