I seriously considered bailing on the conference. We had a full day of sessions and they’d gotten delayed thanks to the first speaker going far too long and then everything else got pushed back as a result. That meant I didn’t have time to try to run by Gwen’s house during lunch break and I wasn’t going to have much time this evening after the conference ended before we needed to drive back for the night.
That left texting, but I was pretty sure Gwen wasn’t a huge fan. However, I didn’t really have many options right now.
Me: Good morning, Gwen. I wanted to run an idea Milo had past you. I briefly explained how he could essentially set up an alert that would notify him – and/or them if they wanted – any time any mention of unicorns was made on any electronic device to or from Willen Cove.
Gwen: That actually sounds very helpful, but is there a way to bypass certain people? Sterling and Riven talk a lot about unicorns and I think it would probably be annoying to get an alert every time they decide to talk. Plus, I’d rather not have their conversations spied on, even if it’s about unicorn stuff.
Me: That’s fair, and yes, Milo can put in exceptions. You, Sterling, Alex and her family, your brother, for instance – anyone whom you know is aware and you can trust, there wouldn’t be a need to monitor them. Milo would probably need all their numbers to make bypassing them simpler, but he could do it either way.
Gwen: Sometimes I get a little concerned that techno vampires could, in theory, listen in on any electronic conversation they want to. Do you ever give Milo limitations for what he should do with his powers?
Me: That’s a fair concern, but I don’t think most techno vampires would do that just for fun or to get information to use illicitly. They mostly feed off energy, only looking into specific conversations and stuff if they have a reason to do so. Even if they do come across sensitive information, they’re not particularly inclined to just share it. Techno vampires understand secrecy better than most.
Whether it was their very existence – which even many supernaturals didn’t know about – or the fact that they were all dying of a genetic disease, techno vampires were used to keeping secrets. Many of them rarely interacted with others and only fed off energy without getting closely enough involved to learn other people’s secrets.
Me: But to answer your question, no, I haven’t with Milo. I haven’t felt the need to. He’s a good kid, I trust him. If he ever reaches a point where I am concerned, I’ll bring it up.
Gwen: I see.
I cringed a little, wondering if that meant she didn’t approve of my parenting methods. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if it mattered if she didn’t, because I wasn’t going to change what I told Milo just to make her happy – no, not even to make Gwen happy – but it still kind of hurt my chances of being her friend if she didn’t like what I said.
Gwen: By the way, Sterling pointed out that we go over to my brother’s house when we want to shift since he has several acres fenced in and protected with magic, or we go to Alex’s parents’ island. I’m not sure if those would be particularly practical for a dragon, but you could join us if you wanted to shift.
I looked at the invitation in surprise. Both the fact that she was inviting me at all and that she was inviting me right after her previous lackluster response.
Me: That sounds nice, I haven’t actually shifted in decades, since before I got Milo, because I haven’t had a safe place or the need to do so, but I’m afraid we won’t have time today. The conference is running late and by the time I get out, we’ll have to deal with our hotel and then head home.
I hesitated briefly.
Me: Maybe another time?
I waited anxiously for her response, trying not to appear as nervous as I looked while the next session started. I needed to pay attention to it, but Gwen’s response was important here, because it might help indicate how she was feeling about, well, me. And having me in her life in the future.
Gwen: Decades? I can’t imagine not shifting for that long.
Me: Unfortunately, I’m too large and unwieldy to shift most places. These days, most dragons don’t get a chance to shift often unless they live in remote locations. There’s some islands near me that I could potentially use, but humans sometimes go out and camp on them for a day so I’d have to be careful, and since I don’t usually have a reason to shift, it doesn’t seem worth the stress of hoping I didn’t miss any humans in the area.
I glanced up at the speaker, trying to look like I was paying attention, but my eyes kept flitting back to my phone.
Gwen: That sucks. I suppose many of us have to be careful, but in theory, I could shift indoors if I needed to and was careful about there being enough room. I suppose you don’t really have that option?
Me: Not unless I had a large warehouse or barn or something along those lines.
At one point some years ago, I’d actually thought of buying one for that purpose, but then it had just seemed silly. Buy a large building just so I could shift into my dragon form and then what? Just sit there and do nothing? I couldn’t leave the building or fly or do anything except shift back. It seemed pointless.
Gwen: Huh. I didn’t realize your shifted form was that large. I don’t guess I’ve ever seen it.
I tried not to feel dismayed at that. She had actually seen me, but apparently it wasn’t enough of an impression to remember.
Me: We grow larger each year, so the older we are, the harder to shift safely. Young ones can find more safe areas than adults can as a result.
Considering that I wasn’t even 100 years old yet, I actually wasn’t that large for a dragon. Large, like, bigger than most cars and large enough that I could not attempt to shift indoors without potentially breaking ceilings or walls, but not building sized, for instance. There were some dragons out there that were absolute behemoths if they ever shifted. Which they probably wouldn’t ever do, because people would be bound to notice a dragon the size of a mountain.
That was a downside of being a dragon, I guess. The older we got, the less likely we were to be able to use our dragon forms. They were too unpractical in a world like this. Even by the time most of us were 100 years old, we’d probably never get a chance to shift again. It was sad, like a loss of a part of ourselves that was important to us, but it was also unavoidable. It was just part of being what we were.
The speaker asked a question, making me jerk back to the present and try to pay attention again. Once it was safe to look down, I saw Gwen had already responded.
Gwen: Well, next time you visit Willen Cove, we’ll try to get you out to the island or to my brother’s place. You should have some place you feel safe shifting, plus I think Sterling will never let me hear the end of it if he doesn’t get to see a real life dragon at some point.
Had I not been in the middle of a serious police conference session on serial killers, I’d probably have laughed. I could probably say the same thing about Milo wanting to see the unicorns’ forms.
Me: I will do my best not to disappoint him.
Me: Maybe I can come over some weekend with all the kids. Jace would probably like to see me, too, and Elyse might like to feel.
Elyse hated traveling, normally, but for a chance to feel my dragon form, she probably would be okay with it.
Gwen: Sounds like a plan.
I felt relieved, lighthearted. Gwen seemed to be fine with planning to see me again. That was promising.
I remembered as the session finally ended – and I could remember very little of it – that I’d promised Milo I would confirm whether or not Gwen was agreeing to be my friend before leaving today. I almost didn’t want to, out of fear she would say no, but this conversation had seemed pretty promising and it was better to have clarity about where we stood, right?
I tried to muster up my confidence as I wrote my next text.
Me: Does that mean you’ve decided to allow us to be friends again or do you still need time to consider?
After sending that text, I waited anxiously, unwilling to even pretend to pay attention to the next session. I needed to know what her answer was.
Gwen: It’s weird how insecure you get when it comes to me.
I didn’t know what kind of answer that was.
Gwen: Yeah, we can be friends again. Seriously, I thought we were already there when we had dinner together but if you need me to spell it out, yes.
I felt a tremendous sense of relief fill me and a weight lifted from my shoulders. She was willing to let me stay in her life. I still didn’t know if romance would ever be on the table, but honestly, that wasn’t as important as just the fact that she was giving me a second chance.
I definitely wasn’t going to waste this.
~~~~~
Jace sat down across from my desk and shoved a printed copy of a newspaper article at me. “Look at that. Just look at it!”
I decided not to question why he was at my work in the middle of the day and instead turned my attention to the article, frowning as I skimmed it. “They’re planning to shut down the homeless shelter on 9th Street?”
Jace threw his hands into the air. “What about all the people where that’s their only place to go? Sure, it’s summer, they’re not in danger of freezing to death,” he rolled his eyes, “but what about the kids? What about the people with medical needs? How is this okay? Why is everyone not upset about it?”
I thought about pointing out that he was the one who worked at City Hall and had access to people who actually made the decisions on this, while I did not, but he was on a roll and I didn’t want to stop him.
“People just want to ignore the ‘problem populations,’” he ranted. “If you don’t like poor people, or disabled people, or trans people, or whoever, just pretend they don’t exist. But then to go on top of that and try to take away what little resources they have? Look,” he jabbed his finger at the article, “they say they don’t have the budget for it. You want to know why they don’t have the budget for it? Because the mayor wanted to throw an extra party this year and decided to take the funds from that account! Now there’s nothing left.”
I glanced at the article again, confused, then back up at him. “How did you know that? It’s not in the article.”
“No, I figured it out on my own. I knew they had the budget for it last year and the money had to have gone somewhere, so I backtracked the money and figured out which account suddenly had an influx of funds that equaled almost the entire budget for the homeless shelter.” Jace shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Can you imagine that, though? Wanting to throw a party for rich people that costs most of the budget for a shelter for an entire freaking year? The waste! It’s insane,” he fumed.
I leaned back in my chair thoughtfully, wondering if Jace hadn’t gone into the wrong career. Maybe he should consider life as an investigative journalist instead. I could just imagine the scathing pieces he’d write to deal with a situation like this.
Although…he didn’t necessarily have to change careers to do that.
“So why not say something?” I suggested. “Write a letter to the editor, post something online, whatever works. Get people to see where the money went, prove what it’s being used for. You’re probably not the only one upset about it, but even more people would get upset if they realized why it’s being shut down.”
Jace paused his anger long enough to look surprised, then bit his lip. “You think? Would that really work?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly, “but at least people would learn the truth. Maybe there would be enough pushback they’d change the budget. Maybe people would band together to start an online petition or even fund it themselves. Maybe people would decide not to reelect her and vote for a new mayor next time who cares more about the homeless population.”
“See, I could fund it myself, for part of the year at least,” Jace admitted, “but it’d use up pretty much all of my money that I use to help other people, so I wouldn’t be able to help anyone else again, plus I’d rather the city do it. I feel like if I make an anonymous donation, they just get bailed out for the mayor being selfish. I want to make the mayor own up to what she did and give the money back to the shelter where it belongs. Yeah,” he nodded to himself, “I’ll try the article. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just – just open my own shelter or something, but first I have to try to make them listen. Thanks, Dad!” He leaned over the desk to kiss the top of my head – which he could reach since I was sitting down and he was not – and snatch the article back before rushing out of my office in as much of a whirlwind as he had entered.
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