“Hey,” a girl's voice greeted him, startling him out of the monotony of his task. “Do you want to go on an adventure?”
Devlin's head snapped up from the sleeping mat he was repairing. What was the lantern girl doing in the men's sleeping section? Didn't they have strict rules about that?
“What do you mean?” He offered his customary frown, hoping it would chase her off.
It didn't. She remained rooted to the spot, one hip jutted out as she leaned into her walking stick. “I can take you to see the old lanterns,” she replied, adding in a whisper, “you know, the dragon from the other night?”
To the girl, it might've looked like he was casting about for reactions, wondering whether they'd get into trouble for crossing that imaginary line. In truth, Devlin searched for his father.
Since he was nowhere in sight, Devlin found himself answering, without much further thought, “Sure.”
Why did you agree?
Mentally, he cursed at himself even as he followed her. Why was he so drawn to this girl? Given the chance, she would undoubtedly be just as destructive as the rest of her kind. She'd destroy everything she touched, too.
Era. Her name is Era, his unhelpful mind supplied.
Devlin bit his lower lip and followed her out the side door.
The snow rose to mid-shin where it hadn't already been trampled by hurried feet on their way to the outhouse. Once they turned, however, there were only two or three sets of prints to follow. He stepped into them carefully, ill at ease as he followed this path the humans had made. Era, on the other hand, shuffled straight through, the plastic bandages made from what his father called shopping bags shielding her legs from the dampening effects of the snow. Devlin had no such protection.
It wasn't as though he minded the cold. He only worried she would notice. Before their great civilizations finally fell, most humans didn't know immortals still existed on Earth.
Devlin's father wanted it kept that way. Humans, he said, hated what they didn't understand.
And so, Devlin tried to blend in. Even if it meant donning gloves and coats he didn't need, or insulating his boots. It made him uncomfortably warm, as he was now, following Era. He longed to drop face-first into the snow and cool off.
“Are you alright?” she asked, grasping the guide rope as she turned around. Her brow was furrowed with one of those peculiar human emotions: concern. Given what they had done to the Earth, it was bizarre that one of them would ever feel this way over something as minor as falling behind.
And he had fallen behind. Devlin was roasting. “I'm fine,” he said stiffly, all too aware of the sweat trailing down his brow.
“Whatever you say,” she muttered. “Just—don't have a heart attack out here.”
A heart attack. Devlin wished he could laugh. He wished he could tell anyone why that was so funny. Because at times like this, with heat building in his body, he could almost believe he had a warm, flesh and blood heart.
As they continued on, the distance between him and Era seemed to lessen. She was slowing her pace. Whether it was for his benefit or because of the steep slopes, he could not guess. He had heard humans could be caring like that, though he'd rarely seen the evidence firsthand.
Your breakfast this morning, his traitorous mind reminded him. Everyone fussed over you.
He told his mind to be quiet. They're good to me because I did something for them. Not out of any inherent kindness. Humans didn't know the meaning of the word. Kindness was rebuilding his life again and again, just to carry out the final mission of the true immortals. It was justice wrapped in dedication.
As he thought this, he collided with Era's back. Her free hand flailed wildly.
The girl fell to one knee in the snow, her grip on her walking stick all that saved her from falling backward. And that free hand—for some reason, Devlin was holding it.
“Whoa, there,” she exclaimed, already standing and dusting off her flannel-patched jeans. “Somebody was lost in some serious thought.”
Devlin's brow creased in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Looks like you had a pretty bad storm happening,” she said with a laugh, “right up here.” To his horror, she reached up and tapped his forehead with her glove.
Devlin frowned, waving her away. “I wasn't thinking anything.”
“Sure, you weren't.” Era gave him one last studious glance before turning toward the low building's door. “You're a strange one, Devlin Song of the supply team.”
Devlin would've crossed his arms if he weren’t still burning up. How was he acting strange? He wasn't supposed to stand out.
Era pulled a collection of keys from her pocket and opened the door. The wind had drifted the snow high against the building, providing some relief for Devlin as it filled in the gaps between his shins and his boots. He almost didn't notice that Era held the door open for him.
“Chop chop,” she said, one of those mystifying and dark-sounding human expressions. He slipped in ahead of her, even though the room was pitch black.
The door snapped shut behind them. In the darkness, he was suddenly aware of her breath, of the heat from her nearby body. It was too much. Devlin squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out all the repulsive sensations being near a human brought.
The familiar click of a lantern had him peeling open one lid. Era had found it by touch, bringing dim light to the room, along with the acrid scent of linseed oil.
Both eyes now open, he gaped at what it shone upon.
These were lanterns—bits of human craft. Not efficient for lighting the night, but there to be enjoyed for the colors they brought. The festivity.
“The koalas used to live here,” Era said, not at all awed by the brightly colored lanterns displayed around the room, “I think.”
“How do you know?” he asked, his gloved hand reverently trailing the cloth and wire likeness of some fantastical beast.
“I'm a keeper,” she said, shrugging.
From what he understood, keepers did a wide variety of jobs, cleaning and maintaining the habitats. “Does that—does that mean you take care of all these?”
“Heck no. They're a lot more useful in parts.”
Devlin's heart sank. Only then did he realize how fast it was beating. “It wasn't so useless last night.”
“I never said I'd disassemble all of them.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What now?”
Devlin shifted his weight. “What do you mean, what?”
“You've got that look again. Like you disapprove of everything. No—like you hate it.”
She was uncomfortably close to the truth.
“It seems a shame, is all,” he muttered. His eyes caught on a wild assortment of colors and stitching. Almost instinctively, he knew without unburying it from the pile that it was a phoenix lantern.
“When you're done admiring, help me find one with long wire segments.”
He briefly glanced back at her. “What for?”
“The wires get repurposed for habitats.”
Of course. More destruction, so the humans could live better. Era set the lantern on the floor as she pulled out a figure—a squirrel lantern, with giant, bright eyes. It captured the squirrel, somehow, a creature of alertness and vulnerability.
He felt a strange pang in his heart when Era pulled out a knife and began to cut through the fabric, skinning the lantern so neatly he almost thought it could be reconstructed.
It never would be. Yet he watched her fold the fabric cover with care, setting it atop a crate instead of casting it onto the floor.
Devlin's back stiffened. He shouldn't be here with her like this, helping her. The next time Era asked him if he wanted to go on an adventure, he would be sure to say no.
Except, for some reason, when she asked him again a few days later, another “yes” flew out of his mouth.
What in the immortal realms was wrong with him?