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Bowl-A-Rama
"I honestly didn't expect it to be so easy," I murmured, continuing the conversation with Layla’s sword. “I mean, let’s face it, the witch is usually a bit more on her toes.”
Shaking the post-transport stress from my limbs, I pulled a tiny hand mirror from my pocket and checked over my face and skin. My skin had taken on a slightly yellow color and my eyes had gone pale, but I was otherwise fine.
I could never quite figure out what made my appearance change. I suppose getting torn apart and put back together is explanation enough, but it never seemed to happen to any of the main characters in sci-fi movies or books. Well...maybe once or twice. At least my version of teleportation didn’t put me at risk of mutating into a man-sized insect or getting stuck under the thumb of a psychotic self-aware video game.
Anyway.
I recalled the portal into the form of my top hat and sat down in the middle of a brown courtyard. Not a bad landing pad, if I do say so myself.
An old disused hospital sat in front of me, the building sagging in disrepair. Several others stood around it, a few towering apartment buildings and the long side of what used to be a school. Across the way was the broad side of a gym, two huge rolling garage doors carved into the brick. Everything was rusting and creaking and cracking, each building mirroring the sad state of its neighbor.
My jacket’s pocket was ripping.
Jules’ sword was heavier than I ever imagined. It was like trying to drag a brick around in a sack made of lace. I had to get her sword out of my pocket before it tore completely. Luckily, Turtle Island was the perfect place to land; not only could I safely drop Jules’ emasculating sword off at my apartment, weapon number two was most likely hidden somewhere in one of the island’s many ‘secret’ underground vaults.
I took a breath and sat back, waiting for someone to show up. Usually the welcoming party was more on the ball. They must have been busy today. I didn’t mind. You learn the truth behind patience being a virtue in my line of work. Getting a chance to breath was also appreciated.
I leaned back and looked up at the clouds, a few scattered puffballs marring the happy blue sky. There were rumors among the non-human Terrans that some of the pirates had figured out how to camouflage their flying ships in a cheaper, more economic fashion. I hadn’t seen any of this new ‘green camouflage’ tech, but the thought of it made me wonder which one of those white, puffy things were really clouds.
I glanced back down at the hospital, admiring the level of magical fortification the current residents had managed to complete. It was mostly Keeper work, but I’m sure the maintenance staff helped out where they could. Still, creating a reality-altering bubble was always impressive no matter who was behind it. Ensuring anyone outside the veil only saw what they were meant to was also a tough magic to weave; the magic camouflaging the island had to determine if you were human or otherwise and adjust what you saw accordingly. It didn’t work one-hundred percent of the time, but maintaining a magical sight-altering bubble and keeping the local Terrans out is the main reason Keepers had moved onto the island in the first place.
A flutter caught my eye by the hospital doors. A pixie had appeared, speeding towards me with a determined look on his face. A blue star shone in the center of his thick, red uniform, marking him as a Giver—which was really just another name for a nurse.
The pixie buzzed his face right up to mine, eye-level but laughably so since his body was only about as long as my arm. His green eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked me over. The smattering of freckles and boyish haircut made the suspicious glare seem out of place and cut the intensity of the look in half, but shorty managed to pull off an air of authority when he held out his hand and demanded, "Papers."
I fished around in my pockets, surprised I was even asked for them at this point.
"All creatures coming into the island have to display the proper papers, or they will be rejected," he buzzed, little wings vibrating faster in annoyance.
"I know, I know," I grumbled, pushing a few pairs of chopsticks further into my pocket’s expanse. "Give me a minute."
My skin shivered as I touched something greasy and wet. I refused to think about what it could possibly be, digging further down. A fob watch, skewers, something dried up and a coarse bundle of horsehair later, I finally presented my Resident Papers to the infuriated talking bee, who had resorted to twisting his flight pattern into frustrated figure-eights.
Snatching them from my hand and straightening up, shorty held the papers at arms length and scrutinized every single detail. He made a spectacle of checking the info on my papers three times and evaluating whether or not my picture really looked like me. His OCD finally satisfied, he returned my papers with haughty superiority and stated, "all Residents are to carry their cards in plain sight at all times. Why isn’t yours displayed?"
I shrugged. “Must’ve lost it.”
A single red eyebrow jerked into a point.
I let out an annoyed sigh as I shoved the papers back into my pocket. “Look, I’m clearly not a danger here. You saw my papers. Was anything out of order?”
After another moment of skeptical silence, shorty finally huffed. “I suppose not. Let’s get you into the hospital. You do remember that everyone is to go through the hospital before entering the island, correct?"
"Calm down, Keeb—," I answered, cutting off my snarky answer a moment too late. If he thought I was unfit, I’d have to sneak in through the back way and I preferred to stay out of the sewers if I could. I forced a respectful bow. "Of course I know. I've lived here for years."
"If you knew the drill," he fussed as he swung around and headed back to the hospital, "then where is your card?"
“Oh bug off,” I grumbled to myself. He snorted, the high-pitched sound awkwardly full of derision and anger. But he didn’t stop moving towards the hospital.
Pixies.