Thief in the Twilight

Artist in Residence

The cab pulled away from the curb, the driver either appreciating the tip we had handed him with the fare or admiring us in his rearview mirror. Whichever the case, he wasn't watching the road as a riot of horns conveyed anger at his antics. I ignored it and instead took in the building rising before us.

Honestly, it looked like what it had been in the past: an old warehouse or a unit in an industrial retail complex. Two, maybe three stories, blocky and drab, the only windows high up on the walls and consisting of several square panes. The single outward sign that this building -- and possibly the whole area -- was going through gentrification was, well, the sign. Above the somewhat elevated metal door, reached via a short concrete ramp, was a tasteful neon sign glowing a deep navy. To the world and sundry, it broadcast that we were standing in front of The Lost And Found. At least the name suited the spot we were looking for. I expect the area further fit what the guests to this event thought of as 'retro' and 'chic'.

I glanced sidelong at Kris as he straightened the collar of his loosely buttoned dress shirt, open at the neck and the same claret colour as my midi slip of a dress. He was doing the smart-casual thing, navy suit and no tie, an aesthetic that worked well with his laid-back attitude. Add in roguish good looks, and it was a complete package. I, on the other hand, had to make an effort but had decided that simple was better in the end. That had led me to settle on the cowl slip and matching kitten heel sandals, stylish but not pretentious. We were aiming to blend in, and my final appraisal had me believing we would.

"Do you have any idea who we're looking for? Or, for that matter, why we should expect to find them here?" There was no force to Kris' words; he was just feeling out of sorts. He appeared to have been for most of the day. The night before had run long and he had maybe got four hours of sleep before getting a call from his boss. He was needed up north to address some issue or another. He hadn't told me what it was all about, but I caught him grumbling about 'fair pay' and 'benefits for mythical folk' under his breath when he thought I couldn't hear him. It seemed, and I couldn't suppress a smile at the idea, the elves were unionising. About time, I say.

I wasn't faring much better, to be honest. I had gotten a couple more hours of sleep before forcing myself to be semi-productive. Bea was able to translate my garbled request when she picked up the phone, enough at least to assure me that all was fine on the western front. We were still waiting for the Salem coven to review the contract, but there wasn't a rush on that anyway. Everything else was in limbo for now and my exact words the day before about new jobs were "if the words 'apocalypse', 'ragnarok', 'gehenna' or anything similar do not appear in the job description, it can wait". So, instead of catching up on paperwork like a good employer, I went into the stacks back at my infamous warehouse of the unknown to scour my lists of muscle.

Unfortunately, the abysmally short list now sitting on the kitchen table didn't fill me with festive cheer. I had options, but none of them felt 'three bears' right. I needed a heavy hitter but not someone who would just go into hulk smash mode if things turned bad. Someone with a brain, but still able to go toe-to-toe with a titan, or at the least a small mountain troll, if the need arose. Not mutually exclusive, but not an easy to find combination. That was a problem for tomorrow, the next day, or the one after that, though. Tonight was a jewellery shopping night, and we had just arrived at the store.

"Stop being a grouch, Snowflake. You know how this works. The Fates, Norns, whoever, give me a shove in the right direction and then leave me to figure it out on my own. Sometimes they hit me over the head with it. Sometimes, like tonight, they think making me work for it means I will value the result." Looping my matching purse over one shoulder, I glance at the announcement that has set us on our course this evening. In the usual way of these things, it let interested parties know that one Eleanor Kenna would be showing a collection of her latest work in the space before us. In smaller print, it went on to explain that the show consisted of photos developed using traditional and experimental darkroom methods to 'bring out the spirit of the subject' -- whatever that meant.