Marked, Chapter Twenty-Nine

I feel drained. It feels like it's been the longest day of my life, and it's just barely past noon. Despite the mid day, the angle of the sunlight streaming through the southern windows of the library tell unmistakably that it's November in New England. The air in the library almost feels chillier than outside, although I'm sure that's more because I'm not walking in direct sunlight now. I pick a book more or less at random from the nearest shelf and meander over to where Nax is seated. I don't see Chalmer with her, but her relaxed demeanor indicates that he probably just went to the restroom or something. I pull out a chair and take a seat next to her, opposite the side of her where Chalmer's chair is still parked close to hers.

She glances at me, furrows her brow, then frowns. "Something is wrong. What happened?"

"Barely known me a few days and already reading my body language, huh?" I deflect.

It isn't very effective. "Young humans are always far more transparent than they think they are. It would be adorable if it was not so irritating. What. Happened?"

"Father DiMaggio believes someone broke into the church," I answer. "I watched him lock the door but it was unlocked when we got there. He called the police but since I'm a runaway..."

"You believed it wise to not be present when they arrived," she finishes for me. "An understandable decision. But you are still agitated. Why is this still a concern?"

"Why? Well, among other things, my fingerprints are all over the place. Especially the kitchen."

"Fingerprints?" As I open my mouth to explain, she holds up a hand. "Fingerprints... as a means to identify you." She frowns thoughtfully, looking closely at her own fingers. After a moment, she asks, "How is a fingerprint left on things to be found?"

"Well, skin oils, actually," I start, but Nax nods her head decisively.

"Ah. In a city this size, that your fingerprints can be used to identify you, implies that your patterns are rare? But no, that they would check for them so ubiquitously that you think they will search for them. Which implies that... every human has a different pattern? How do they find them?"

"Uhh..." I wrack my brain, attempting to remember the last time I saw a crime drama on TV. "I think they use powder to stick to the skin oils left behind."

I get the feeling Nax is only half listening to me as she looks at her own fingertips. She then reaches out and grabs my left hand, pulling it over to compare to her own. "Fascinating..." she murmurs.

"How is it you don't know about fingerprints?" I ask, trying to not look as uncomfortable as I feel with a woman holding my hand. In a public library.

"Dragons do not have them, and there are other ways to determine the prior presence or absence of someone in a place." She shrugs, still examining my fingers and palms. "Perhaps it is a technique in use by Khorvarian inquisitives; I have never asked of their strict methodology. Most times when I want something found and can not be bothered to do it personally, I hire a dragonmarked member of House Tharashk." She aims a sidelong look at me. "Another set of powers you may eventually develop."

Hopefully not too soon; if the pattern so far holds up, then I want to expand and explore the healing stuff more fully beforehand. Although... "What's an inquisitive? You use the word like a noun."

"Freelance finders who track down lost and missing persons, or occasionally things like unfaithful spouses and mysterious thefts." She lets go of my left hand and grabs the other, looking it over intently. "Occasionally when they gain enough notoriety they may be hired by the city itself for problems that especially vex or confound those in power. Morgrave University in particular has been known to do so."

I'm starting to feel more than a little self conscious. There's only a handful of people around but I think all of them have looked at least once, and my face and ears are burning in my embarrassment. "So they're Eberronian private investigators, then?" I respond, trying desperately to act like I'm not self conscious.

"As good an approximation as I can guess," she confirms. After about ten more seconds, Nax finally lets go of my right hand. I try to nonchalantly sit back straight in my chair as though I hadn't been half twisted in my seat while she looked over my palms like some kind of fortune teller. "I will search for more on the topic at some point; the organization tactics of this library are somewhat odd but consistent."

"Dewey Decimal," I reply. "It's standard across the U.S."

It's now that Chalmer returns, carrying several more books cheerfully to stack up in front of his already cluttered space at the table; the expression on his face is one of innocent glee. "The art of alchemy here is absolutely riveting in its breadth and intricacy!" he announced with a hushed excitement. "They've isolated fundamental particulates in nature and created nonmagical, consistent processes by which to purify and concentrate them or their compounds-"

"That's a lot of books," I interrupt, gesturing to the stacks that are already there. "You really should put some of those on the return cart."

Chalmer's expression at this is a combination of affront and a childlike, wounded brand of disappointment, the sort of disappointment an eight year old has on Halloween night when told 'no, she can't have all her candy tonight.' The memory of Emma's almost tantrum that night has intermittently embarrassed and amused me for a long time. And, in the last year's time, set off an aching pain in my heart for that friendship we used to share.

Heedless of my emotional pangs, Chalmer protests, "But this library is enormous! I might never find these texts again!"

Nax smirks at him. "I have already memorized the titles and their locations on the shelves; you might ask me."

"Lady Naxylotrium, I couldn't trouble you with something like that." He seems sincere about it. His sincerity only makes his next sentence more annoying to me on a vague level that I'm fully aware is rather selfish of me. "That you've given me the opportunity to even set foot in a library of other worldly knowledge such as this is magnanimity beyond imagining. No other human has had the chance to gaze on this collection of writings!"

I give Chalmer a flat, unamused look that is fifty percent, 'I'm a human too' and fifty percent 'it's my Mansion that got you here, not hers' which I admit is pretty childish of me even as I'm feeling it.

"Uh, no human from Eberron," he corrects hastily as he catches sight of me.

I huff a tired laugh. "If you think this is big, it's got nothing on some of the really big libraries, like New York, Los Angeles, or Houston. Even Boston's is a good deal larger than ours. And the absolute last word in libraries in the United States is the Library of Congress."

I may have erred; both of them all but transfix me with their stares. Nax tilts her head slightly. "Tell us more."

---

By the time five rolls around I'm absolutely dragging. The sun's gone down a half hour ago. Relating what I knew about the Library of Congress-- which wasn't much beyond the name and its purpose-- led to us finally getting a time slot on one of the computers. As I'd expected, Nax picked up the basics of web browser and search engine use in short order, although her typing skills are at best lackluster. I suppose she can't be good at everything. Chalmer is lagging behind her a bit, although by the standards of anyone but Nax he's learning almost unnaturally fast.

I huff a giggle as it occurs to me that my standards for what constitutes unnatural have become a bit skewed.

Nax sits back in her chair as she looks over the wiki entry for New York City. "I had thought you exaggerating, even as I had been confronted with the scale of this city," she says softly.

"It's considered a megacity," I reply. "Because of all the other surrounding cities that expanded into each other to the point that most people just count them all as New York."

Chalmer stretches his back and groans. "It's been an enlightening day, and no mistake. A population so vast and not a spark of magic to support them. It seems impossible."

"We can go to some of those places," I suggest. "You can see them all for yourselves."

That's actually a nice thought. There's not really a lot of reason for me to just stick around Brockton, after all. I've never had the chance to travel, but there's really no reason I couldn't. With my Mansion I could be back here in seconds if the need arises, and I could return where I left off at any time. It's actually a very liberating idea. I could still do work here in the Bay, and try to make things better for people, for my home town, but also see the rest of the country. Maybe even the rest of the world, the rest of TWO worlds.

That feels like something I'd like to work toward.

"Nax?" I say.

Her mildly amused, patient smile tells me she was watching me think. "Go ahead."

"Since you're showing me around Eberron, it's only fair I show you around America. I don't know as much-- I've barely left Brockton more than a few times-- but my Mansion is uniquely good for it." I shrug. "I should probably find a way to earn some money on a steady basis that I can use here, though. There's going to be expenses beyond food and lodging. Like travel. We can't just fly at night like in Eberron, because there's too many people that could see us; I know you have invisibility but I don't know if that works against radar, and that's in use everywhere because of airports."

"Money should be no issue for you. Can you not use Clothier's Closet to simply create clothes you can sell?" Nax responds with a raised eyebrow, wearing an expression between impatience and concern.

"I... can, except it brings up the question of where they actually came from. And there's restrictions on selling things made by powers, I think. Plus, the clothes wouldn't have tags on them like commercially produced clothes would." Although, now that I think of it, hand crafted clothes, like crochet and knit things, would be easy to bypass that particular problem. "Okay, maybe not so big a problem after all," I admit after a moment, "if I can get a booth at a swap meet."

Neither of them asks what a swap meet is. I'm weirdly grateful for it.

---

By the time quarter to eight rolls around and the library announces it's closing soon, I'm nodding off at the table; I've been awake for quite a while. I really should have taken the time to get in a nap earlier but after how draining today has been I couldn't bring myself to leave the library again.

"Taylor. We should go."

I look up at Nax and Chalmer, and give a tired nod. I look in the direction of the door to the Mansion, but Chalmer adds, "Unwise. We were seen entering this morning; we should likewise be seen leaving as well."

That makes sense. And if I wasn't so sleepy, I'd probably have figured that out on my own. Nax tugs my arm up, helping me to my feet as I stand from the table. Chalmer is already carrying the last of the books from the table to the return cart, to the surprise and clear gratitude of the man already at work restocking shelves. The three of us walk out the front doors and down the steps, avoiding the cracked and damaged spot where Nax landed this morning.

Who am I kidding. Of course she can see it. As overbearing and arrogant as she can be, Nax has gone out of her way to be comforting to be around. I mean, I barely know her, she barely knows me, but she cares. She genuinely seems to care about me in her other worldly, dragony way. I can see it in how she keeps an eye on me, I can see it in how Chalmer looks to her in how to respond to me.

We walk for a while, as I give basic instructions on pedestrian laws and how to avoid the notice of police looking to pad out their monthly ticket quota with jaywalking citations. Somewhere along the way I realize I haven't recharged Second Wind to use it on myself. Annoying.

Am I just reaching, clutching at perceived scraps of affection? Chalmer's family has served her for nine generations, he said. Is this all just loyalty programming? Am I being handled, like training a wild animal?

The loneliest, darkest part of me is willing to accept that. And I don't know how to feel about it.