She would pull at this thread until it unraveled.
Or until she did.
The Council of the Gate.
The Gate of the Everdark.
And then, above ground (and who knows, maybe below ground?) this Dark Star company…
There had to be a common denominator and Abigail was determined to find it. She had to admit to herself, though, that today had been a lot. She’d encountered a haunted school, met a Kelpie named Gwen, dealt with possessed dogs, found herself sucked underground, abducted/coerced by a gnome named Kompis, shrunk to an embarrassing and dangerous size, and then to top it all off was reunited with her father, who was not only ALIVE but the King of the Kelpies.
Goddammit, she was hungry. And she had to pee.
Abigail often marveled at all the movies and books she read, all about intrepid heroes who fought against the forces of darkness, all while seemingly immune to the needs and limitations of the body. She often wondered, as people were fighting and clawing their way through seeming oblivion, what people did about eating.
Or peeing, for that matter.
She was happy for more than one reason that the Council of the Gate dismissed her. While she momentarily considered researching the lore surrounding the Gate of the Everdark, if any existed at all, she simply didn’t have time. She had to find out more about this company that was ransacking the swamp above her head.
Jilliup, the member of the Council with the fox ears, had been the nicest to her. She’d allowed her to present her idea to the council, as spontaneous as it may have been in its creation, yet it was really the only course of action she could take. She couldn’t keep parlaying with the Council, as she knew she’d end up knee-deep (or neck-deep, as the case may be) in some sort of contractual agreement out of which she wouldn’t easily be able to wiggle.
Plus, she had to pee.
She somehow convinced the Council to allow her back to the mortal realm, all in the interest of investigating Dark Star, yet she suspected they were half as tired of her as she was of them. Humans and Fae rarely got along before one or the other got insulted or became lunch - or both. The boundaries existed between the two for good reason and she suspected that it would provide for complicated politics if they made a snack, or even an example, of the daughter of the Kelpie King.
Jilliup exchanged a look with Belinda, who, with a snap of her fingers transported Abigail aboveground, but not before relaying the particulars of their common plight, and subsequently, the agreement they were about to come to.
“You have 48 human hours to stop the intrusion upon the Gate of the Everdark. You, Abigail Herant, are hereby compelled to bring us a satisfactory answer and conclusion to this horrendous intrusion upon our land and sacred gateway. Should you fail in this quest, your father, Charles Malcolm Herant, will be executed - by Red Caps.”
Belinda paused, most likely for dramatic effect.
The Fae and their drama - Abigail had her fill of it about a decade ago.
Belinda continued.
“And you’ll be dessert.”
Abigail could only quickly look at her father, who had a helpless look in his eyes the likes of which she’d never seen, as Belinda snapped her fingers. Not all Fae had the power of teleportation of living creatures and Abigail knew those who did were powerful indeed.
But not as powerful as the damn pressure in her bladder.
As soon as her head stopped spinning (a side-effect of teleportation) Abigail took stock of her surroundings. Back in the swamp, or what was left of it, under a night sky. She could tell by the sliver of moon that had been shaved from it that at least a night had passed, or two, since the Full Moon itself.
Goddamn Fae time.
Abigail scooted behind the excavator she’d seen before, despite being the middle of the night and most likely no one being around, and pulled down her britches, signing in relief as she relieved herself.
Nature had been calling for about an hour and she was more than happy to take the call.
Abigail pulled up her pants, and as she buttoned them, heard the audacious growl of her stomach. She had to eat something or she wouldn’t be much good to anyone. There was only one place she could go.
The Deep Dive.
A 24-hour diner located not too far away, Abigail quickly made her way to her car and found herself speeding to the greasiest of spoons with fervor. Was she hungry for food, or was she hungry for actual human contact? She didn’t know.
She didn’t care.
Abigail glanced at the time on her dashboard.
3:33 AM. She snorted. The Universe, apparently, was in no shortage of irony. It seemed, truly, that it was the force that made the world go 'round.
She pulled into the Deep Dive about 15 minutes later, the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights a welcoming port in her storm. Her stomach rumbled in agreement.
As she stumbled in the bell on the door clanged loudly, letting whoever was working that they had a new customer to feed. The smell of greasy diner food and cheap coffee - her favorite - punched her in the nose like a rowdy neighbor. With little chance that Abigail’s eyes would be bigger than her stomach, she pulled up to the counter and waited for the figure at the end of the counter to notice her.
The waitress, apparently unfazed by someone walking in at 4 in the morning, looked up at her cell phone, sighed, and walked over, menu in hand.
“Coffee?” she asked brusquely.
Abigail replied, perhaps more quickly than was polite, with a “Yes, please,” eager to get the feasting underway. She was about to put the HANG in “hangry.”
As soon as the waitress turned to grab Abigail a mug, the bell on the door rang. Abigail instinctively turned her head, shocked to see two men walk in the door. They didn’t notice her, turning towards the other end of the diner, away from the counter towards the privacy of a booth. The first she didn’t recognize, a construction worker wearing a denim jacket with the Dark Star logo stitched boldly on the back, was followed closely behind by a man she did recognize.
Principle Dexter.
Would the twists and turns of her past few days ever straighten out to an open road?
She doubted it.
Abigail’s suspicious mind immediately went into overdrive. What in Hades was Principle Dexter, the guy who was worried about the spiritual activity at the high school, doing here with a construction worker from Dark Star?
Her stomach growled again.
She had a choice to make.
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