Legends of Mirandis Academy

Chapter 33: Fever Dream

The weather had changed quickly. Duran trudged along, blinking away the flurries that gusted in his face. Normally, Kartsdam Avenue was full of traffic at this hour: rushing past, revving, the odd car thumping with loud music. Now, the only sound was his boots on the sidewalk, shushing a trail through the snow.

It was the end of November, and the city of Far'runa had been hit with a vicious winter storm. A front of slate gray clouds had passed over and dumped several inches of snow overnight. Unexpected, especially so early in the year. At the very end of the street, Duran could vaguely discern the shape of a plow truck, making slow progress. The wind blew a particularly thick cloud in his direction, and Duran lost sight of it.

Snow was gathering in the folds of his massive overcoat and settling into the creases of his scarf. Occasionally, a rivulet of icy water dripped from his mittens and onto his wrist. Duran shivered. Normally, he didn't feel the cold, except maybe on the very surface of his skin. But the chill that gripped him flowed through his body with a viral strength; the same virus that made him pause to cough. As soon as he had collected himself, he continued. He couldn't stop. That would only make starting again more difficult. He set one foot in front of the other, continuing down the street. Only a few more turns, and then he arrived at his destination.

If Duran hadn't known the exact address, he would have passed right by it. As it was, he shifted uncertainly in front of the gate. A collection of bungalows had been constructed in an illogical manner, directly behind and largely concealed by the Kartsdam Avenue shops. Duran tried the gate and found it unlocked. It ground against the pavement as it opened, leaving scores in the fresh snow. Duran shuffled through, put his hand in his pocket, and brought out his phone. He had the house number written down somewhere...

His path took him past half a dozen houses, into a surprisingly deep cul-de-sac. However, there were no picket fences or cleanly cut lawns. Empty laundry lines rattled in the wind. The snow was a chaotic mess of tracks, both human and animal; more than once Duran spied a patch of yellow snow. One house had a yard overflowing with windchimes, clamoring madly with every change in the breeze. One house had a mural on it, impressively painted, of a dragon. A spindly old man sat on his porch, dressed only in a tank top and ragged jeans. He was juggling. He stared at Duran as Duran walked by, and Duran tried his best not to stare back.

Finally, he found the correct house number. Compared to the others, it was a relatively conventional residence, if a little shabby. A sparse number of snowflakes drifted into a metal tub outside the door, which was filled with dirt but no plants. There was a ragged piece of paper taped to the door, which had thick black lettering on it: No solicitors. Leave packages by mailbox.

Duran smiled. He recognized the handwriting immediately.

He knocked. There was activity behind the door—Duran could faintly hear it—but while it sounded intense, he couldn't glean anything else. He waited patiently. It took a while for the door to open, and for a pair of intelligent green eyes to survey him from behind several lock chains.

"Oh! Duran?"

"Hi, Luna." Duran coughed and drew his coat around him more tightly. "Could I get your help with something?"

"Jesus, of course. Come in. Come in!" With astonishing speed, Luna withdrew the bolts on the door and opened it all the way. She winced as a blast of wintry air infiltrated the house. "Duran, did you walk here?"

"It was an emergency," Duran told her.

"It must be." Luna held out her hands to take his coat, and gave him a sharp glance when he refused to remove it. "It's a Wednesday, Duran. What are you doing out of school?"