𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄

Pt 11: The Haven

"So, do you have a plan for somewhere to stay?" Kingston asked as he and Griffith dodged the crowds, ignored for the most part.

"Yes," was the only reply he received.

"Where is it?" he pressed, folding his arms over his chest.

"You'll see." Kingston huffed in frustration and heard Minerva mimic the noise from his shoulder, possibly mocking him. It wasn't easy to keep up with Griffith despite the ease in keeping track of the Atlantean, his height and coat making him stick out from the rest of the crowds. Brightly coloured stalls and shops lined the streets, windows displaying breads and pastries, distracting Kingston. He almost lost Griffith a few times, but Minerva would get down from his shoulders and tug him in the right direction whenever he went astray. Kingston almost wished they were still connected by the rope so he couldn't be so easily lost. Soon the city bustle died away and they were on the outskirts of San Marino, the houses older, more run down. Creepy, even. It reminded him a bit of the wharf back in Brooklyn, but it seemed eerie for some reason, tension hanging over the virtually silent street like a shroud that choked Kingston too much for him to break by speaking. Griffith seemed to know the place like the back of his hand, twisting down corners almost before the librarian could catch him, like a ferret squeezing into prairie dog tunnels.

After a while, they came to a building with a crooked top that looked like it was bending in several directions, like a piece of art by Maurits Escher — an optical illusion. An old wooden sign hung above the door, still for lack of wind. It read La Tana del Lupo, which Kingston roughly translated as The Wolf's Den, with a red wolf carved into the wood underneath the painted letters.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Kingston asked, looking up at Griffith and moving slightly behind him, away from the door.

"Of course it is," he replied, glancing over his shoulder at the librarian. He had his hand lifted, about to push the door open when he lowered it. "Never mind. You don't happen to have a cursed object handy, do you?"

"Why would I —"

"Right, of course. Humans don't do that. You don't wear enough pockets."

"Why would I be carrying one around, anyways?"

"To curse someone, obviously. You know what? A curse might be a bit too permanent if we don't know how to break it." The Atlantean was speaking nonsense. Again.

"What are you talking about?" Kingston asked cautiously. Griffith ran his hand through his hair in thought.

"This is a haven for people who...well, non-humans, essentially," he said.

"And...?" the other pressed.

"Humans aren't allowed. Any humans caught in the Wolf's Den usually don't remain human, or sometimes even alive. So if you fancy being turned into a faun or an undersized centaur or dead, go ahead and walk in there. But we need to go in there. Orion is hunting us and this is the only place we'll be safe from him. I can't go back to that cell." His breathing was heavy.

"What about the people that accidentally wander in?" Kingston asked, too horrified to be insulted. Griffith shrugged.

"I believe that some are fortunate enough to have their memories wiped of the event and sent out."

"Like in Men in Black?"

"What?" Griffith looked confused, so Kingston dropped the matter and stepped away from the door a bit more.

"Never mind. What are you going to do about me, then?"

"I was planning to find a way to turn you into something else —"