The athletic-geared shop I'd requested didn't initially entice Alissa, but Kira was persuasive... or rather, she simply knew which garments Alissa would adore. Through the clean, ergonomically designed displays and racks she maneuvered with just as much surety as she had in the previous shop. When she draped a pair of rutched-butt leggings over Alissa's arm, I tried to watch closely:
Was her skin making contact with Alissa's? Had she made eye-contact to use vampiric compulsion?
Both questions were negative: Kira had practically tossed the leggings over Alissa's arm. She showed no signs of surprise when Alissa cooed over the selection, but smiled broadly, almost smugly, when she was thanked.
Think!
Mind-reading was unlikely; based on the conversation I'd overheard the night previous, there would've been signs of that in the way they'd spoken with each other. Kira wasn't showing any of the typical signs of a supernatural ability in general; unnecessary touching, leaning in to stare into the eyes, extended periods of concentration - nothing.
I was miffed. If I hadn't overheard otherwise, I wouldn't have pegged her as an abled vampire at all. Perhaps the occasional hesitation she exhibited was a sign of something?
With a shudder, I entertained an unpleasant realization. This was likely another passive technique just as Mason's seemed to be; an always-active type of ability. That would explain why there were no activation tics.
I watched as she stared at a v-line waisted sport-skirt, fingers pinching the fabric contemplatively. Her gaze looked past the design, fingers hesitating in their assessment. Despite this, she flicked the hanger up off the rack and handed it to me.
"Wasn't sure if I'd like it?" I probed.
"I'm still trying to put together your sense of style."
"Alissa has liked everything you've dropped over her arm."
"Alissa's..." she trailed off, looking over her shoulder to check on the other two girls where they were rifling through a pile of capri-length leggings, "...she's easy."
"She's straightforward and maybe a tad mainstream, but there's nothing wrong with that."
"Nothing at all."
Kira glanced at where the menfolk had set up shop on the window-bench to play another hand of Bullshit. Mason's eyes darted up warily.
"You study fashion?" I inquired.
"I dabble; I'm more of a consumer than a manufacturer. That's Anne's forte."
"You'd make for an excellent personal shopper; perhaps for some pop singer?"
"Indie," she corrected, eyes sparkling, "Pop is overrated. And I don't like the way they dress."
"You do seem to like academic to boho styles; I've seen you wear both."
"Boho more in the spring and summer, academic in the fall and winter, but the early fall I'll be a little lenient," she admitted, slowing her dancer's gait to move with the conversation, "You know your stuff."
"I dabble."
"Music, dance, fashion, hiking... Mason's right, you are accomplished."
"It's amazing what you can do when you put your phone down."
She hummed in agreement; a short, distracted noise, then, "What are your intentions with my brother?"
I raised an eyebrow, but tilted my head back just a bit under the guise of thought.
"He's my date to the dance," I responded simply.
"But really."
I faced her head-on, affixing an amused smirk on my lips, "I thought you were the younger sister."
"That doesn't mean I can't be protective," she chimed. Her earthen-brown eyes were critical, missing the light edge I heard in her tone. "Do you go hiking at night?"
There's the suspicion I was expecting, I thought.
"Hell no," I skewed my eyebrows in an approximation of shocked confusion, "You do realize we're on the fringe of a wildlife refuge, right? With bears in it? I'm not suicidal."
"We protect our own," Kira said evenly, "Mason's too biased to be properly wary of you but know I'll be keeping an eye out. You can be rather invasive for someone usually so standoffish."
I headed off our amble about the store by turning to face her, "Okay, what's going on? What are you trying to say about me?"
Her eyes raked over my face, all traces of good-humor gone, and even the sharp edges of her pixie cut seemed to bristle.
Yikes, yikes, yikes!
"Hey," Mason's low, even bass cut through the tension. I took a step back from Kira, teeth gritted, and looked away. "Trevor and Will are getting bored of cards; if we walk to the marine life center from here in about five minutes, we should get first crack at the touch-tanks."
"Yes, let's do that," I mumbled, taking the two athletic skirts I had over my wrist and making for the registers.
Mason fell into step beside me, letting the silence settle as I paid.
"You alright?" he finally asked.
"I think your sister implied that I'm stalking you."
He winced.
"I don't mess around with stuff like that. I know what it's like to no longer feel safe in your own home - "
My voice cracked and I clamped my mouth shut. Mason shifted on the spot, betraying a mild impatience, but recollected himself as my eyes were drawn to the movement.
"Want to get a head-start?" he asked, "We'll put the clothes in my car and go."
"Sure."
With a quick word to Catalina, we exited the boutique, dropped off the bags, and headed West. The drizzle turned to mist, but the oppressive cloud cover was unending, like long heavy curtains in the sky. He took up position between myself and the street then offered his elbow. Given the thick jacket, I felt comfortable enough to rest my whole hand and wrist on the crook.
"Sorry about Kira," Mason apologized softly, "She's just worried about me."
"Why?"
"I did talk to my family about how you bullied me when we first met," he admitted.
"Bullying and stalking are two ends of a spectrum, don't you think?"
"Kira is more watchful than the others, in her own way, and also more eccentric. She's usually right about things, so it goes to her head."
"Right about things?"
"She's really good at predicting how people will act," he explained, staring ahead thoughtfully.
Prediction? I cocked an eyebrow dubiously.
"I don't appreciate the accusation," I said shortly.
"I know. I'll talk to her."
"I..." guilt twisted my stomach, "I do know how it feels, though. To feel invaded upon."
Mason stayed quiet, gaze fixed straight ahead as I sorted through what I wanted to say. And found, to my surprise, that I don't want to lie to him.
"For me... for us it was a... home invasion... in the middle of the night, completely unexpected," I murmured, feeling my throat go dry as I continued, "My family isn't the type to roll over helplessly. We fought back. Some of us... failed. I couldn't tell you how or when the fire started during it all. It just devolved into a complete disaster and... we lost everything."
To his credit, he didn't interrogate me. I knew better than anyone that the explanation missed a significant amount of detail, but I didn't think that I could yet muster the courage to pick apart those memories even on my own time. Yet, to tell the story with even a modicum of truth sent a little trickle of relief through my veins.
"How long ago?" he asked softly.
"Last year or so," I fibbed.
"Not long."
"No. It's still very raw."
"Your father... well, if ever there was a time for family to come together, this would be it."
I glanced over, but found only a mild frustration. His accusatory gaze linked with mine, but softened when he read my anxiety.
"Everyone deals with grief differently," I excused.
"You need someone."
"Coach Carter recommended someone," I remembered as we crossed into the parking lot of the center, "Scott Murphy. He recently lost his daughter."
"You probably need professional help," he reiterated.
"I don't think I'm amenable to that right now."
It was hard to talk to a human therapist about a supernatural world beyond their imagination. I'd end up the one doing the placating. Unique therapy options had been available to me back home, but that was before it had all been burnt to ash.
I squeezed his arm and he looked over into my face, his eye-line just a few inches above my own. The melted silver bursts at the center of his eyes glimmered warmly as he softly appraised my mood, apparently concerned with what he found there by the furthered skew of his brows.
"You can talk to Paul, perhaps, or Claire?"
"No," I blurted, just a little bit too quickly, "Conflict of interest and all. They might end up advising you against dating someone with so many red flags."
"They're exceedingly non-judgmental," he said lightly, pulling me into his side as another walking couple approached opposite us.
We lapsed into comfortable silence as the two humans brushed by, coming from the docks beyond.
"I'll pick up your ticket," Mason said, his wallet in his hand as he said this to negate any argument.
"All six dollars worth," I chuckled, eying the prices on the poster, "How chivalrous."
"Then again, I do believe in gender equality, so perhaps - "
"I was teasing."
I lightly pinched his bicep through the jacket. The receptionist smiled at the pair of us as Mason forked over the admission fee.
"Wash your hands prior to engaging with the touch tanks," she instructed, nodding to us as we broke away from the counter.
Inside was cozy, still smelling mildly of saltwater and fish despite the clean-floor sign that had been set out. Informational posters and placards adorned the walls beside each respective tank.
"C'mon!"
Mason pursed his lips, but followed me to the sinks. He washed up beside me, but proceeded to simply watch me stick my hands into the cool water of the shallow touch tank. The bottom was scattered with various rocks among which little strips of sand wound.
Anemones undulated to some unseen current and little hermit crabs scuttled between the rocks. Immediately I went to brush my fingertips along the magenta-tipped fronds of the anemone. It bent toward my fingers, wrapping a little tendril halfway around my fingerpad.
"That's unusual," Mason noted with a frown, "Don't those usually pucker when touched?"
"Maybe it's used to being poked," I suggested evasively, letting the little creature pet my fingers as I reciprocated.
It brushed and lapped at my skin, enticed by the magic beneath it. Creatures of lesser intelligence - those that weren't human or human derived - often had higher base instinct. They could sense occult danger more quickly or conversely, recognize pure residues of magical vitality. Not all magics were the same, of course. Sacrificial magic often left residues of negativity that gave off danger signals to animals just as potent as the ones vampires usually gave off.
But what of a vampire that actively avoided harming humans? Granted, still he fed from animals, but so did I. That at least, was understood by nature. Yet here was a vampire, outside the laws of nature, doing his best to abide by the natural cycle of life despite his instincts; did it balance out? Could an animal recognize good intent in a normally-monstrous occult?
A little set of minnows took advantage of my thoughtful stillness and darted forward, moving expertly about the anemone. They nibbled at my unclaimed fingers.
"They really like you," Mason chuckled incredulously.
His green eyes sparkled in amazement as he watched the little creatures. I'd even attracted a shy hermit crab who frequently retreated into his shell at the slightest change of current.
"You try," I ordered.
He flexed his fingers and furrowed his brow in concentration. Fingers clamped together flat, he sliced very slowly into the water as if cutting into glass. I raised my eyebrows at him, trying to stifle a little giggle. The moment he began to move in my direction the minnows fled. The glimmer in his eyes dimmed and the corners of his mouth twitched downward.
"I don't get along with most animals," he said apologetically, moving to extract his hand.
I grasped it quickly. His eyes snapped up to my face, but I pretended to ignore that despite the stuttering of my heart. I ran my fingertips along his knuckles, cupping the hand with my own. It was chilly, but not nearly as frigid as the ocean-water on my skin.
I scooted closer to him until I stood in front of him with his long arm reaching around me. He started, shifting his weight to one hip, maintaining a bit of cautious distance between us. It's not enough to move him completely out of range. I glanced at him, apologetic, but he stared back, lips parted in intrigue as he waited for my next nonverbal instruction.
"Here," I whispered, reaching for the hermit crab with my free-hand. "This one may be okay with it..."
At my offering of a flat palm, the hesitant little guy was less reserved. With his little, flailing antennae he poked the folds and lines of my hand. The little bristles on his legs prickled upon my skin like microfiber, sticky but not unpleasant. His big-claw worked, experimentally opening and closing on places he might find purchase; the web of skin between my thumb and palm and the chunky fold of my palm over the flexion creases.
"C'mon, little fella."
The little creature finally found a purchase on the flat of my hand. He pulled his reddish-brown shell along behind him as if it weighed nothing, continuing to feel out the terrain with his little whip-like antennae.
Slowly, so the water didn't wash him over, I toted him to where my other hand cupped Mason's. I completed a little basin using Mason's hand as my other half. Our little guest halted progress, his little eyeballs swiveling to assess this new situation.
"Hermit crabs are omnivorous scavengers," I explained in a low whisper, "They'll eat whatever they find, dead or alive, plant or meat, as long as they can make it small enough to fit in their little mouths."
The perfect pet for a nearly-dead occult, I added inwardly.
Mason was transfixed by the little crab as it began to scoot toward his half of our cupped hands. With a long, pointed leg, it poked his palm and brushed an antennae over one of the flexion lines. Without turning my head, I examined Mason's expression out of the corner of my eye.
His face was awash with child-like wonder, his mouth relaxed in awe and his eyes wide and shining with amazement. When the crab finally extended a hefty claw to pinch experimentally yet unsuccessfully onto one of his palm creases, his lips spread into a lopsided, wondering smile. Infected, a little smile alighted my own mouth.
A lethal, supernatural predator enraptured by a hermit crab.
A small part of me wanted to laugh. A larger part yearned to commit this oddly tender moment to my memory.
The mechanical click of a smart-phone shudder clipped my train of thought short. The pair of us looked up. Kira stood opposite the tank, looking into her phone-screen to appraise her handiwork.
"We should put him down," Mason rasped as if he hadn't spoken in years.
"Sure," I agreed, guiding his hand with both of mine until our knuckles brushed the sand.
We parted our basin slowly so the little guy had time to get purchase on the new terrain, then extradited ourselves from the tank entirely. Mason's eyes fixed on the rippling surface of the water as he shook out his hand.
"Not so bad," I probed.
When he finally looked at me, his eyes blazed with unspoken emotion. The intensity seared me, but I couldn't bring myself to look away. In fact, I felt an answering emotion stoke hotly in my chest, allowing an unusual boldness to take the reins.
Hand still wet, I reached for him, nudging the side of his palm with my fingertips. He was quick on the uptake; interlacing his fingers into mine.
"I hate to break it to you, Sara," Trevor said, coming up behind Kira to examine the photo, "But Mason looks like he loves that crab more than you."
"So he'll still be fond of me even when I'm crabby."
Allie snorted.
"We'll definitely need lunch after this," Catalina said, dipping her fingers into the tank we'd just vacated.
Will mirrored her a little more indelicately, causing a splash.
"Fish sticks," Alissa joked, abstaining from the activity to take pictures.
I took out my own phone one-handedly and snapped some of my own photos as Mason and I perused the other exhibits.
"Which ocean animal is your favorite?" I asked, examining a deep sea jelly as it squeegees through the water.
"Tough question. We have yet to fully explore the ocean."
I gdve him a withering look.
"Fine," he chuckled, affixing his gaze on the jelly, "Probably the orca; they're family animals... or maybe seahorses. You?"
"Do yellow-eyed penguins count?"
"Penguins spend a good amount of time in the ocean," Mason allowed, "Why?"
"They're known to be loudmouthed and sassy."
"You have a lot in common," he tilted his chin up in thought as I glared, then, "That's pretty specific animal."
I pursed my lips, but didn't turn my face away to hide the frustration. He examined me and I caught sight of a little, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"I went through a phase of wanting to become a marine biologist," I shrugged finally.
"Why'd you change your mind?"
"I just changed my mind frequently as a kid."
"Some people continue to change their minds well into their bachelor's programs."
"Well, that's too late to be deciding."
"No way; it's never too late."
I snorted.
"What?" he pressed, miffed by my sarcasm.
"I can tell you're a rich kid."
"How?"
"It's just a very rich-kid thing to believe; that it's 'okay not to know what to do'. Higher education is expensive."
"Are you in need of money?"
I bit my lip, chagrined, "No, my family was well-off too, it's just..."
"Bruno was your older brother, right? Had he gone to college?"
"My family had a low-tolerance policy for theoretical-type degrees. Even for STEM programs we needed to be careful. Programs that didn't put you into hands-on classes by the end of the first year were frowned upon. "
Mason's brow furrowed.
"My cousins, triplets, each had a talent in the arts," I explained slowly, smiling at the memory of those three little-ones, "They each wanted to go to college for their chosen art. Gianna had wanted to go for music, Rosa for painting, and Valentina for dance. We have a lot of respect for the arts, but you're not supposed to choose an art as your calling.
"Many of us already engage with the arts; they add richness to life, after all. So each of the triplets had to convincingly argue how their chosen degree could significantly add to the community in some other way."
"It seems really obvious to me how art of any kind can benefit a community."
Not 'a' community, I thought, 'the' community.
"It was an integral hobby that brought us together, but was just that: a hobby. More emphasis was put upon other vocations."
The wrinkle between his brows deepened, "Your whole family operates like this? It sounds-"
"Don't you dare say 'cultish'," I growled, glaring over at him, "We weren't a cult."
"And there's the past tense again."
"We're not in contact with them anymore. It's complicated."
"But you have extended family you could reach out to. Given the circumstances -"
"I shouldn't have even brought them up," I cut bitterly, inwardly kicking myself at the excessive candor. "Forget it."
It was risky talking about my late relatives. Not only was it nonessential, but there were too many opportunities to get caught. He'd find out that they were dead too. Mason visibly chewed on his tongue, eyes betraying a raging curiosity, but managed to stifle his questions.