EIGHT: Tiger Shorts

Gorgon didn’t eat the crickets.

Honestly, it was a real head-scratcher. Alden had been so sure that the alien would actually eat them that he’d bought thirty. Of all his ideas, this one was supposed to be the sure thing.

What was the difference between flies and crickets? They were live prey. They were insects. Neither were poisonous. Gorgon couldn’t have come from a universe where they scorned all meat except for Musca domestica; that was just stupid.

Alden was baffled.

But even though he didn’t eat the crickets, Gorgon did seem to like them. When he thought Alden wasn’t watching, he gave the bugs chirping on his desk in their plastic carrier a single, shockingly human smile. Then he’d relocated them all, placing them in various potted plants scattered throughout the lobby.

For a time, Alden toyed with the idea that Gorgon might only be able to eat live prey he’d hunted himself. But there was really no point in going down that path. Gorgon could have chased down the crickets after releasing them, but he didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, their song still echoed around the lobby in the afternoons.

And if the alien needed his prey to be truly wild…well, it wasn’t like Alden was likely to find an elk roaming the streets of Chicago. And he couldn’t stomach the idea of baiting feral cats into the lobby. He had a semi-feral cat at home, and they got along well.

He kept at it, though. Every time he came to class he brought takeout containers full of random food for the alien. One vegan dish, one meat. So far he hadn’t had any successes.

Maybe that fly had just annoyed Gorgon so badly that he’d eaten it out of spite?

In early February, Alden dragged his friends into a carniceria that was becoming all too familiar and stared into the glass case, looking for inspiration.

“You know,” said Boe, while Alden checked the prices on tripe, “I didn’t want to bring this up…but don’t you think you’re focusing on this Gorgon thing so hard because you’re trying to ignore something else?”

“Like what?”

Boe looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Alden saw him exchange a glance with Jeremy, who cracked his knuckles and leaned back on his heels.

“Boe’s talking about your friend’s funeral,” said Jeremy. “You gonna go?”

Alden turned away from them. His breath fogged the glass on the cooler.

“I don’t think so.” He tried to keep his voice casual. “She’s…it’s not like I knew anyone on Anesidora Island except for Hannah. Everyone who will be there was way closer to her than I ever was. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You should go,” said Jeremy.

“You should,” Boe agreed. “Funerals are sucky by nature. I don’t think you being there could make it better or worse for anyone else.”

“Right,” said Jeremy. “Nobody else will care if you go or not. But you’ll care. You’ll be really pissed at yourself when you wake up the morning after and realize you missed the chance.”

There was a long, painful pause. Alden didn’t know how to respond.

“And then you’ll go nuts and try to bust your demon pal out of prison,” Boe said lightly. “Chicago will turn into some kind of hell dimension, and we’ll all die.”

Jeremy glared at him.

“It was getting way too serious. I couldn’t take it anymore.” He shrugged apologetically. “They do tacos de lengua here, Alden. They’re good. Get those. You can eat them for lunch when Gorgon rejects them.”

###

Wordchain class that day focused on the request for a trade of luck. It was the first one Alden’s mother had ever taught him, the same one he’d said in his heart when he was inside Hannah’s bubble.

He always felt a little weird about performing this one, even though he knew it well.

While the teacher gave pointers to Raquel, who still hadn’t gotten over her habit of shouting the words in a near-religious frenzy, Alden tried to control his breathing. He focused on his inflection. He made the delicate curving hand sign he hadn’t been able to make years ago, on that night when he’d really needed it.

Maybe that was why it didn’t work.

Yikes. That was a dangerous thought. Bitter. Childish. He knew from experience that he could spiral down from it into ugly emotions if he let himself. He tried to change gears.

Even if I don’t go to the funeral, I have to call Hannah’s friend back. I can’t just leave her offer hanging forever. It’s rude.

“…em utch ya-cku durz-u hu-morit.”

He finished the chain in a whisper and started again.

A waste. If a tiny slice of luck lands on me today, I don’t have anything important to do with it.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It was ten days until the funeral.

Alden knew Hannah was almost certainly gone. It had been hard to get a straight answer online, but it seemed like only a handful of people had ever received a summons that took them longer than a few weeks to complete. A tiny, tiny percentage.

Sometimes, the Artonans sent a message letting the people back on Earth know that a hero had died on a quest, but mostly they didn’t.

Real dick move there. Why doesn’t the island complain about it?

Alden didn’t even know what kind of quest Hannah had been given. He hoped it was something noble. Something that mattered.

Hannah Elber really, really wanted her life to matter.

More than anyone else Alden had ever met.