The Elementalist

13. Seeking Solace-1

Seeking SolaceVoi sat with her elbows on the vanity next to her bed as she vacantly watched pedestrians outside going about their business: a woman robed in furs giving her poodle its daily walk; a businessman bumping into her with his face buried in the newspaper then fumbling to recover; a red striped cat people-watching from a frosty third-story window.

Those people—why, even the cat—all lead happy, normal lives, Voi reflected glumly, propping her head on the palm of her hand. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

She went downstairs, pausing at the telephone on the console table. In a few minutes, she was able to reach Adam at the airfield. Doing her best to sound weary, she coaxed out a grudging report of the business since her absence: no customers, no tours, no profits. Deep down, she knew there was only one other option that could possibly make up for the loss—dangerous as it was.

Voi hung up the phone. How could she tell her friends? Recently, she’d warned the curator of the likelihood of her taking a temporary job, which hadn’t gone over too well. Dammoir Lamónd plainly stated that she couldn’t guarantee Voi’s job would be waiting for her if she returned. Still plagued with the problem of tracking down the missing vases, the curator needed someone to take on the extra responsibilities this entailed. Someone would have to fill Voi’s position, should she choose to leave.

The aviatrix sniffed at the thought of this. Ungrateful elitenne. The snooty Borellian purist was just waiting for a chance to give Voi the boot. Because not only was Voi an emelesiac, she was also a half-breed and a college drop-out—the banes of high Borellian society of which, of course, the emigrant curator still fancied herself to be a member.

However, working for the government would pay even better than Voi’s two current jobs combined, according to Mr. Callahan. If necessary, Voi figured she could satisfy her love of art elsewhere.

She sighed, glancing at the telephone. She expected Paul would take the news especially hard and was avoiding him for precisely that reason. Even so, she needed the courage he often inspired in Voi to face whatever challenges confronted them. She needed to know that taking this job was the right thing to do and perhaps, more importantly, reassurance that doing so wouldn’t damage her friendship with the former barnstormer.

Voi decided to call Adam back and see if she could reach Paul. Successful, she asked to meet with him at the café near the Tribune building—suitable middle ground for the two, Voi surmised, as she lived further uptown than he did, where crime was lower though the cost of living was higher.

How much longer would she be able to enjoy her stylish townhome if she didn’t take Mr. Callahan’s offer?

Wrapped in her leather trench coat, Voi took the trolley to the corner of Main and Sixth Street. She then walked the rest of the way to Lime. Catching sight of the café, she took a deep breath then forged across the street with her head held high.

Paul was sitting inside near the window, rubbing his hands together as he nervously observed the Maelt patrons surrounding him. He wouldn’t have noticed Voi approaching beneath the bill of his cap were it not for the wooden chimes over the door, at which he turned.

Hoping to be greeted with a smile, Voi’s delighted expression faded when she only received a glare.

Paul turned back around in his seat wordlessly.

Taken aback, Voi cautiously approached his table. He didn’t look up when she stopped in front of him. Regardless, she took the chair opposite him, breathing in the bitter, nutty scent of South Darmoilen brew with a slight wince.

Paul sipped carefully from his porcelain mug, keeping his gaze focused on the table. “Interesting choice for a meeting place, if you ask me,” he said, looking skeptically over his shoulder.

“I thought we could meet halfway.”

He licked the remnants of his drink from his lips. “So, I hear you’re doing better, apparently.”

“I suppose you heard that from Secily.”

He nodded, his expression vacant, his eyes averted.

“I didn’t realize you two were on speaking terms,” Voi said brightly. Secily didn’t care for Paul and his over-confident demeanor; likewise, Paul didn’t care so much for Secily, whom he believed to be “one of those snooty, sourpuss academy girls who thinks she’s too good for ‘plain’ men, now that she’s so educated,” as he’d put it once. Of course, this was all after getting slapped for landing an unsolicited kiss on Secily’s lips.

Paul’s bravado, Voi mused with bittersweet nostalgia, had lessened considerably around Secily since then.

He glanced up from his coffee mug. “We aren’t, but I figured the two of you were. I thought I’d give her a call.” At Voi’s quirked eyebrow, he added, “Still have her number from that one time you loaned it to me.”

Voi tilted her head. “Paul, I never ‘loaned’ you that number.”

“Not knowingly, anyway.”

She shook her head. “No wonder she can’t stand you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shifted in his chair. “Anyway, some guy called the field the other day to make sure that none of your ‘coworkers’ came to visit your house. He said you’d swooned and bumped your head on something hard, and now you were on bed rest under medical supervision. So why not take her to the damn hospital? I said.

“Well, he says that one time you made a specific request to receive care from your house if anything ever happened to you—something about ‘nosocomephobia’ or some other hogwash.”

Voi frowned. “Noso-what?”

“Nosocomephobia. He said it’s an ‘irrational fear of hospitals.’ I said that didn’t make a lick of sense because you regularly go to see your doctor, and then he tried to explain how your fear was ‘specific to larger institutions,’ not private offices—something to do with the last time you visited your Aunt Clara?”

Voi was just as clueless as he was. She sighed, realizing she’d probably made a mistake revealing her ignorance of the term. “I see,” she said, massaging her eyes.

“Do you? ‘Cause I don’t. Look, I may not have a doctorate or know my phobias, Voi, but I can diagnose bullshit just fine.”

“Paul, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my accident sooner. I’ve just been… well, I’m not sure what, exactly.” She shook her head. “You must think I’ve been avoiding you.”

He set his mug down. “You could say that.”

Voi sighed, unsure how to proceed.

Paul took that worry off her shoulders, only to replace it with a new one. “So… who’s the private eye-lookin’ guy that’s been visiting you for the past few days?”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve been watching my house?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly come inside, could I?”

Voi’s mouth hung open.

“I get the lady. She’s a nurse; I talked to her on the phone. She’s nice. But him I don’t get.” His eyebrows bunched together. “You haven’t gotten mixed up in some kind of shady business, have you?”

“He’s a journalist, Paul.”

“Journalist, huh?” He sniffed then leaned back in his chair. “Boy, that’s rich. I mean you were on bed rest, for saints’ sake. What’s so damn important that a journalist couldn’t wait to weasel another story out of you?”

“He’s writing a story about my father.” Heavens knew how she hated lying to him, though she couldn’t state the real reason for Mr. Callahan’s presence. However, if Paul was already suspicious, then chances were that other people had started to wonder about them, too. “He didn’t realize I was on bed rest. He’d tried setting up an interview with me a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t up to it at the time.” She shrugged. “I got tired of sitting in bed all day. So, seeing how I had nothing else to do, I figured why not give the man an interview? He wasn’t all that bothersome, really. Nicer than most…” She recalled how he’d almost choked her to death then sighed.

Boy, she’d really gone out on a limb this time.

Paul studied her. “Your pop’s been gone for, what, eleven years now? What kind of story is a journalist gonna write about the old man that hasn’t been written before?”

“Well,” she said tentatively, “he said he was looking into the soldiers who fought at the heart of the pirating threat in the Borelli Jungle. He was curious about their mission as well as some alternate theories as to why Tryste was so heavily besieged—besides looting the recently uncovered ruins, of course. You know how vague the military was about the exact nature of the soldiers’ objectives down there.”

“Yeah,” said Paul. “Secure the region and protect the civilians, in that order. So what, now this reporter smells a conspiracy? Trying to see if he can’t figure out the mystery behind the disappearance of your old man’s unit? Is that it?”

She gestured helplessly. “That’s what he said, Paul.”

He stared at her for a while, though she couldn’t read his expression. He was too busy attempting to read hers. “Bullshit.”

Voi gasped. “Paul!”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” He leaned back, tugging his cap further over his eyes. “You always were a horrible liar, Voi. Good thing your livelihood doesn’t depend on it.”

Embarrassed that her bluff had been called, she eased herself back against her chair with a huff.

“Come on, Voi, admit it: you’re seeing the guy. Maker only knows why it’s a journalist, of all the scum of the earth, but there it is. So just cut me some slack and tell me the damn truth, will ya?”

“There you go again being over-protective.” At least an affair is all he suspects… After further thought, she added, “Just because my father hasn’t been around doesn’t mean I need you to step in and fill his shoes.”

Paul stared at her for a moment. “Wow…” Casting a raised-brow look to the side, he leaned back in his chair. “You know what, Voi?” He shrugged. “What does it even matter? The business has already gone to hell anyway. There’s really nothing left to keep you here.”

Tears welled in Voi’s eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“That’s not even the reason you called me here… is it?”

Voi shook her head, sniffling.

“So, what is it?”

She took a breath to compose herself. “I’m thinking about taking another job as a pilot—a contract position that requires I travel. A lot.” As an afterthought, she added, “It… pays well.”

Paul’s face went blank, and his voice was low. “How long have you known about this?”

“Two weeks, maybe?” She shrugged. “I haven’t really made up my mind. That’s why I wanted to speak with you.”

“Wow.” Paul leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. “Okay, so what kind of flying are we talking about here?”

“Test flying. Experimental things. That sort of… thing.” Voi cringed.

“Wait a minute.” Paul held up his hands. “You’re taking a job with the government?” He laughed. In fact, he couldn’t stop laughing. Glances ensued from polite tea-sippers and skeptical paper-peepers—the kind that only the most delirious of spectacles garnered.

Voi sunk down, feeling an overwhelming urge to disappear. If only she knew how.

“I thought that’s what you’ve been avoiding for the past two years!” he hollered.

“Paul, please! You have to understand that with the way things are with the business, I… I need this.”

He pulled his flat cap forward to cover his eyes then shook his head.

“Look,” she said, “I’ve got to look out for myself, too, you know. You said so yourself: the business isn’t looking so good. It’s looking terrible, actually—and quite frankly, I haven’t seen so much as a cent’s raise in the past three years since I was accepted at the museum. I don’t know if I should even stay there anymore.”

Paul’s jaw shifted from side to side as he mulled this information over.

“I’ve thought about this, Paul. Really, I have. I’ve thought about it so much it’s made me sick.”

“So sick you swooned and had to play pretend bed rest making goo-goo eyes and Maker knows what else with some journalist all day?” He scoffed. “Don’t push your luck, Voi.”

Her eyes widened. “Just what are you implying?”

“Look, not once in my years of knowing you have you even remotely come down with so much as a cough, and now you’re sick in bed for three days?”

“Unconscious, Paul,” she said. “For heaven’s sake, I was recuperating. Quite another matter.”

“Right, my mistake.” He tossed up his hands, allowing them to fall back onto the table with a wooden thunk. “Look, maybe this all has something to do with this new job you’re taking, or maybe it has something to do with that f*****g journalist. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither, but something is going on with you, Voi. Shady boyfriend aside, you just aren’t the same these days.”

Some of the people around them had stopped talking. The café owner’s gaze met Voi’s in a moment of recognition, and he sat the tumbler he was cleaning down on the bar to watch the conversation with renewed interest. Voi did a double take as she noticed him but then turned her attention back to her friend. “Listen, Paul—”

“Secily says you haven’t been taking your meds lately and you’ve been avoiding your doctor.”

“That’s not true!”

“And now, all of a sudden, you want to work for the government—even though you swore you wouldn’t take another job from them after doing that s**t airmail stint through the county. Now you’re seeing a journalist? I mean saints, after what they did to your career, Voi, you’d think…” He shook his head, exhaling heavily through his nose. “This doesn’t make any sense.” He pulled his hand over his face, shrugging helplessly. “It’s like you’ve gotten desperate or something, almost like you want the abuse.”