Trident

It’s been an unusual day for me—even before 17-year-old Jack came into the building. The Adept barista at the Java House wrote my real name on my cup on accident this morning, for starters. Amateur mistake on his part. I had to scratch it out with Sharpie, and the taste of my caramel macchiato (with raspberry, always) was tainted with the overwhelming scent of permanent marker.

Then at noon, I got a call from Énas. Extremely weird, even for him. I’m supposed to report to the meeting room at seven, and my nerves can’t stop thinking about it. Of course, I can keep myself busy at the storefront, but there’s always that underlying feeling of dread for Énas that even my mind can’t control.

The afternoon was pretty usual for Trident Insurance. Customers wandering in occasionally, discussing a few options with me, and then leaving without coverage—just as rehearsed. That, at least, was typical. It was rush hour that generally got the company rolling anyway, but today was different. When rush hour ticked by, the agency’s building was abnormally silent, and I could see the cars zipping by on the expressway behind Trident, paying no heed to me. I had to occupy myself by reorganizing the room. Then Jack came.

I saw a filthy, black Jeep pull away from the expressway and make its own way into a parking spot. Tires squealed with an urgency I hadn’t heard in years. I saw him in his grim, dark, timid self swiftly sneak into the shop.

“Welcome to Trident Insurance, how may I help you?” I chirped, a smile plastered on my face. He shuffled his way to the counter, glancing shyly around at the beige cubicles and carpet. He abruptly turned to me, his mouth taut.

“I want...a gift.” His jaw was suddenly set firm, his eyes glazed over with a dark sheen. I tilted my head with fake concern, a sympathetic frown on my face.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but we don’t provide any ‘gifts’ for free. Check out our home insurance program for those types of great deals!”

“You know what I’m talking about. A gift! I don’t care about the cost, just give me a gift and a Rune!” He spat.

My blood curdled. I froze, furrowing my eyebrows and boring my gaze right through his lanky self. He was just a kid. Slowly leaning forward, I propped my elbows onto the granite and gave him a convincing expression of confusion.

“What are you talking about, Sir? Now, if you need coverage for anything: cars, homes, health, life—”

“No! You’re lying, I know it.” He grit his teeth and repeated forcefully, “I want a gift.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but we’re an insurance agency. We don’t sell any gifts. There’s a gift shop on the other side of Newport, if you’re interested.” I replied.

“Not that kind of gift.” Contempt dripped through his answer, stinging me at my nerves again.

“What do you mean? Sir...what’s your name? Do I need to call the police?” I threatened lightly, hesitantly reaching for the telephone on the wall. I was sure he’d go away, then, until he slapped my hand away. The kid rubbed his forehead with his fingers and sighed, sounding more like an old man than a young adult.

“It’s Jack. Listen...” His eyes shifted to my name tag and his lips twitched into a false smirk, “April...I know that you know about you-know-what.”

“What?”

“Look. My name’s on the list. It’s in the book, I know it is. Now, if you and your ‘agency’ could just hurry it up and do it already, that would be great!” He spoke dangerously soft, the threat apparent. I acted pierced and offended, like any good employee—just as rehearsed.

“The only list we have here is of our insurance customers, Jack, and I’m sure you’re not on it just yet,” My faux grin made a smashing reappearance, “Unless you’d like to discuss some of our choices?”

He glared, a fire in his eyes, opening his mouth to speak.

“I know all about Atlan—” I suddenly clamped a sweaty hand on his protesting mouth and pulled him into an empty cubicle, setting him down onto the plastic chair (and setting myself in the boss-chair). I thought about Énas, and suddenly butterflies emerged in my stomach. He would kill me for breaking my act in front of an Inept.

“...who told you about Atlantis?” I hissed.

“None of your concern, April." He whispered angrily, jabbing a finger at me, “But I’m on the list, so you people need to hurry up.”

“Don’t you know about the cost, Jack?"

“I’m ready for it.” I stilled. What?

“It’s heavy, Jack. You won’t be able to undo it.” I offered gravely, thinking about the Sharpie in my purse in the break room. It would be easy to blot out his name from the list if this kid wanted.

“Whatever it is, I want it to happen.” He was a determined one. “I know your motto, anyway: páre dóse."

I narrowed my eyes. Who did this boy think he was? “Smart kid for an Inept.”

“Just hurry up and do it.” Jack snarled.

“If you’re on the list, it’ll happen soon, anyway. It didn’t help at all for you to come here. I’m sure that your information was costly, too.” I smirked with abrupt distaste, ”Tsk, tsk, Jack—so wasteful.”

“How will I know that you did your job?” Ignoring my scoldings, he stood up, about to turn and leave. So he didn’t know, then, but he wanted it. I almost laughed: he knew about everything but that?

“Oh, trust me,” My smirk turned into a sinister grin, “You’ll know.”

“Thanks a lot, April.” He didn’t look back as he walked towards the door, his sarcasm leaving a sour taste in my mouth (although that could have been the Sharpie-coffee concoction from earlier).

“Have a great—” He slammed the door. “—day.”

I stuck my tongue out at him in a childish way, crossing my arms and watching him race back onto the expressway in his battered Jeep.

“It’ll be the last normal one you’ll ever have.” I said softly, willing my permanent marker to glide its way out of my purse behind me and into my hand with my mind like I do. I stared.

Now I look at the clock near the counter: 6:00. Off to Atlantis it is, and off to meet with Énas. It’s an hour early, but the way I see it—better an hour early than a second late when it comes to him.