So, where do I need to go to lodge a complaint against the city again? 'Cause the moron who's supposed to thaw the icy stairs did a shit job. I don't know how many times my feet have tried to bid me farewell already, and we're only halfway through. I can't even see the end of the staircase even after craning my neck. Only bare branches looming over the path greet me. I'd even dare say that those darn, snowy steps stretch toward the sky and beyond. I'm surprised no one's slipped and injured themselves yet.
Well, seeing how crowded the stairs are, it's only a matter of time.
Gentle hands land on my shoulders, and I glance at Jordan. A scarf wraps his neck, and the collar of his coat climbs over it. He's wearing a black beanie, the wool weaved into big strands. But no matter how many layers he wears, it doesn't prevent the cold from reaching the exposed skin of his face. His nose and his cheeks are bright red—it's dumbfounding how an old patriarch like himself is not immune to winter and gets to bear the same hell as I do.
I guess "Fallen Angels" aren't from freezing lands. Not like much is known about the demon realm, to begin with.
"Careful there," Jordan hums, and I lower my eyes to the next step. There's a shiny layer of ice I hadn't noticed, thanks to the kids running around and not caring about slipping and falling. I know tumbling down hundreds of stairs wouldn't hurt them much—at worst, it'd leave a few bruises—, but it's still not something I want to witness, thank you very much. "Looks like the staff neglected to take care of the stairs. A bit odd, considering they should've been expecting quite a crowd today, with the discount and all."
Right, that was careless of them. With all these families with rowdy kids… Is the city that interested in being sued?
"Are you sure it wasn't done on purpose?" Jonathan yawns. He's walking at the rear with us, while the kids run upfront, dragging the exhausted James along. "Slippery stairs are, let's say, a well-documented danger of winter, and no one's dumb enough to ignore it."
Fair point. Every winter, there are always a few incidents resulting from a cunning layer of thin ice. Everything and anything can become a hazard if it's slippery. Miria fractured her tailbone once, thanks to light snow on the doorstep. Her pained scream had been melody to my ears back then.
But, y'know, I'd rather not hear my own scream.
"These mutts are wittier than usual," Jonathan snorts, and the corner of my mouth twitches. Stereotypes aside, he's got a point. Most likely, that's another trick the lycans came up with. Just another way to hide people's death behind an unfortunate accident. There are hundreds of steps, and the victims' falls could excuse a "trauma" at the head. If the lycans did make this place a hunting ground, enlisting at least one staff member into their rank would be the first thing to do.
Otherworldly beings, who care about not being caught, are used to conceal their activities. I've read about these kinds of cases too many times to bother counting. I'm not even surprised. Though, hopefully, we're just being paranoid right now. I don't want to have to be suspicious of the staff members on top of everything else. But I'll have to be. We don't know how many cultists there are and where they've infiltrated. Such a pain in the ass.
"Anyway," I close the subject for now, "any news from Lyon?" I eye Jordan. His phone hasn't rung once, so logically speaking, the answer is likely to be a "no". Still, I ask.
"No, none." Jordan shakes his head.
A frown creases my brow as I pull out my phone. We were supposed to meet with him at the entrance of the stairs, but he wasn't there and he hasn't been answering our calls. We waited for half an hour before we climbed on our own.
Of course, I've sent a text to my brother, asking if he knew where the guy is, and, like Jordan, I've received no answer.
My screen is empty of new notifications.
***
Now that we've reached the summit, the trees don't shield us much, and the wind blows, whistling through the branches. It's not too cold, though; it's a bright day, and the sun's beating down on us.
But that's not important right now.
"Elois, Ellena!" I shout at the top of my lungs, and the runaway gremlins jolt. The children look over their shoulders, blinking their big, round eyes. Their legs are oddly steady on the skates, even though it's their first time ice skating. They've already in the middle of the frozen lake, and I can barely see them amid the people whooshing around. They were so excited that they forgot to drag James and Jonathan with them. "Stay in sight!"
"But, Dad, you're too slow!" Ellena whines, and Elois nods. These brats… They're usually plastered against my legs, but now that they've got a new shiny toy, they don't care about their dad anymore. "We're not babies, we won't go far!"
That's not the problem! We're in the middle of hunting crazy fucks who abduct kids, and as far as I know, you two are kids! Even if you're technically older than me, you're children in the eyes of your species—not like I can't tell them that. If I do, I fear they'd want to play bait, 'cause it looks "fun".
At times, children have a weird conception of "fun".
And since James and Jonathan are playing bait, they're going to throw the tantrum of the century. Being excluded from the "game" would be unfair, after all.
I swear, kids and their priorities.
"I know you're not babies," I sigh before adopting a coaxing tone, "but I'd like to skate with you, but if you're too far away from me, I can't." They blink their eyes, unmoving, so I go for my trump card. "It makes me sad."
And here we go. It does wonders, and the kids dash toward me. Seconds later, I lose balance, thanks to rockets pouncing on my legs, and the only reason why I don't crash into the snow bank is because Jordan holds onto me from behind. His chest cushioned my fall.
He's been sticking to me like my shadow today, huh?
A snicker prickles my ear, so I peer at James. He responds with a grin and a shrug. OK, fine, he's been their plaything for almost ten days in a row. It's my turn to suffer.
Meanwhile Jonathan… Well, Jonathan has decided it's nap time. He's curled up atop the snow bank, snoring softly. Pal, I'm not so sure a pile of compacted snow makes for a great mattress. No matter how many layers of clothing you have, it's still cold.
Jordan smiles at me before letting go and picking up his "oldest son", cradling him into his arms. Jonathan doesn't even flinch, his body no better than a rag doll.
The proverbial headache is pounding at my temples hard today. Nothing's going the way I want.
"Dad, Dad!" Ellena calls me, her cheeks leaning against my stomach. "We want to skate to the other side of the lake. I've heard someone say there's a pretty pavilion over there. Can we go see it? Please?"
"Please!" Her brother joins the begging.
"Sure." There's nothing I can do but agree. These two have made it their duty to find cute scenic spots to take pictures with me. They want to fill up their treasure box with photos of us, they said. "Just, don't go too fast. I'm slower than you."
The brats tend to forget I'm human, and not a demon.
They grab my hands in tandem and lead me further onto the lake. Now, they're not going fast, but they're skating at the pace of a snail. Dunno whether to laugh or cry at that.
Well, it makes it easier for me to scan the area.
Even if Lyon isn't with us, we've got our way of identifying lycans. Now that I know what I'm looking for, I won't be misled a second time. If I catch a glimpse at wolf ears or tails, I'm going to tattle to Jordan ASAP.
There's no escaping today.