The Morning Flower Page 8

  “Wow. That’s still a long time,” I commended him. “I bet you know all the regulars.”

  “I know many,” he conceded.

  “What about Indu Mattison?” I asked. “Have you seen him around lately?”

  He shrugged and shook his head sadly. “I’m not so good with names.”

  “If only I had a picture,” I muttered to myself.

  The only thing I had to go on was Rikky’s basic description—tall, sorta good-looking, salt-and-pepper hair, maybe forty, and eyes that were either brown or green. Bekk claimed she had no pics of him, and her description varied slightly—tall, black-and-silver hair, hazel eyes, and fit for his age, which she put somewhere between forty and sixty.

  Donovan moved on to taking care of his other tables, and I turned my attention back to Rikky and Pan. They were waiting for their turn, with the other team chucking their kasteren axes at the target, and Rikky was leaning against Pan, resting her head on his shoulder.

  I grabbed my drink and went about exploring the rest of the bar. I planned on sipping the drink—it was stronger than I was used to—but as I weaved out of the Red Room into the Dark Corner, I felt increasingly intimidated. I’d never considered myself small—I was average height and more than a little overweight, so “petite” had never really been the proper descriptor for me.

  But now all the Omte seemed to tower over me—and not just the broad, bumpy ogres, but young women and lanky teens.

  As I made my way out of that dim, dank section of the bar, my straw was coming up empty, and I realized that I’d accidentally finished my drink much faster than I’d meant to. I left the glass on a table as I made it into the Mudhole, where Loretta Lynn blasted out of the speakers.

  I don’t know how long I wandered through the Ugly Vulture, passing through each crowded room, before I started having the most surreal feeling. I didn’t know if it was the liquor or the thumping bass of the rapcore version of an old troll war song. Or maybe I was overwhelmed and claustrophobic because of all the large bodies surrounding me. But I was suddenly completely untethered. I wasn’t moving at all, but it was like I was floating away from myself, away from everyone.

  Like I wasn’t really an Omte. Like I wasn’t really a troll.

  Like I wasn’t even real.

  “Ulla.” Pan’s voice behind me pulled me back, and then his hand, gentle on my arm, grounded me. I turned to face him. He stared down at me, his dark eyes somehow darker, feeling endless but warm and safe and—

  “Are you okay?” he asked, and I didn’t know how long I’d been staring up at him.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I managed a smile, and then I was grateful for his hand, still on my arm, tethering me there with him.

  “Rikky had one too many cocktails and she isn’t feeling so hot, so I’m thinking we should get out of here.” He leaned in closer to me, his voice rough in my ear. “If that’s cool with you.”

  “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Pan started to walk away, and I grabbed his hand, afraid of losing him in the crowd. He glanced back over his shoulder at me, long enough for me to see his smile, and he squeezed my hand as he led me through the crowd.

  14

  Summer

  I collapsed back on the daybed, watching the fireflies dance above the water beyond the screen of the guest room. Rikky had put on Donna Summer when we got back and insisted on dancing with Pan around the living room. She invited me to join them, and I did for a bit—twirling around with her to “Dim All the Lights”—but the weight of the day wore me down, and I excused myself to my room.

  I slipped out of my dress and into an oversized T-shirt, and I clicked on an old copper fan, even though the air had a chill to it. Then I sprawled out on the bed to watch the fireflies and wait for sleep to take over.

  It didn’t, even though the music was turned down—so Donna sang Summer more quietly of how love never came easy. A moment later there was a soft rapping at the storm door, and I sat up to see Pan.

  “Are you still up?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.” I sat up, pulling my legs to me and my shirt down to hide my bare thighs. “You can come in and sit down if you want.”

  “Thanks. Rikky passed out on the couch,” he explained apologetically as he sat down beside me. “I thought I should let her sleep.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to his elbows, and the top few buttons were undone, making him seem more relaxed than he had been earlier. More relaxed and more handsome, to be honest.

  Pan lifted an arm, ruffling his black curls, and his shirt rose up, revealing the smooth olive skin over his taut abdomen and hips as he stretched. He put his arm behind his head, and I had to pull my gaze away from his exposed flesh.

  “It really is beautiful out here,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I replied, like I’d been busy admiring the view outside instead of checking him out. “Yeah. It really is.”

  “Sorry about tonight,” he said at length.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I kinda ditched you at the bar. And we didn’t really spend much time looking for that Indu guy. The whole night kinda seems like a bust for you.”

  I laughed. “It wasn’t a bust. I learned some things. Kinda. I think.”

  “Very convincing,” he said, which only made me laugh harder. “I was hoping to spend more time with you.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. I thought there’d be dinner and dancing, and that it would be a good time.”

  “You know, we are together now. We can still have a good time.”

  His eyebrow arched sharply. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yep.” I stood up and extended a hand to him. “There’s still music, so there can still be dancing.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.” Pan grinned as he took my hand, and he got to his feet before slipping an arm around my waist. “I’m still not the best dancer.”

  “To be fair, I haven’t taken any dance lessons since the last time we danced.”

  “Well, I can never be too sure with you. You’re always up to one adventure or another.”

  “Yeah, that does sound like me,” I agreed with a laugh.

  It occurred to me, with his hand warming my back, that it wasn’t the chilly night air causing goose bumps to form on my skin.

  “You’re cold,” he said in a low, husky voice.

  “I’m okay,” I said, but when he wrapped his other arm around me, I didn’t protest. I pressed myself gently against him, letting his body warm me, and I looped my arms around his neck and rested my head on his shoulder.

  “Since tonight didn’t go the way I planned, I’ll have to make up for it by taking you out when we get back to Merellä.”

  “That sounds great,” I said. “But I don’t think tonight turned out all that badly.”

  “That is true.”

  I waited a moment, giving myself a chance to quell the butterflies in my stomach and build up my courage before saying, “You know … the night’s not over yet.”

  “No, it’s not,” he murmured.

  He pulled away from me, enough that he could look into my eyes. By then we’d given up any pretense of dancing. We were standing together, arms around one another, as the cool twilight air firefly-flashed around us.

  The air felt thicker, and time seemed to slow—it felt like minutes between the desperate thumps of my heart.

  And then—as I held my breath and he leaned in toward me—Rikky suddenly made a loud retching sound from the living room.

  “Oh, shit.” Pan grimaced. “That doesn’t sound good. I should go make sure she’s okay.”

  “Yeah.” I stepped away from him.

  He started toward the door but stopped and looked back at me. “Once she’s settled and okay, should I … do I come back here?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled at him. “I’ll be up.”

  “Pan!” Rikky shouted. “Panny, I need your help!”
>
  15

  Social

  I woke up in the daybed, cold and alone. The house was silent, other than the chatter and songs of the animals and insects that surrounded us. Last night, I’d stayed up for a while (or maybe just a bit?), listening to Rikky bemoan all of her life choices—particularly the ones that led to her throwing up on the floor and requiring Pan’s help to clean it up—all while he reassured her in soft comforting words.

  Now the sun was coming up, chasing away the chill of the previous night, but the thick fog lingered on.

  I didn’t want to leave my room yet—I told myself it was because I didn’t want to disturb Pan and Rikky, and not because I was afraid of what I might walk into—but I couldn’t sleep, so I went about gathering the things I’d left strewn around.

  Eventually nature called, and I crept out of my room. On the way to the bathroom I walked past the couch, where I spotted Pan sleeping alone. He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, and his shirt was unbuttoned and open, exposing his tanned stomach and smooth chest. I was dimly aware that I was staring, but in my defense, he looked far hotter sleeping than anyone had a right to.

  After I went to the bathroom, I braved the outdoor shower—spider and all. By the time I was done, exiting the bathroom wrapped in a pair of threadbare towels, both Pan and Rikky were awake. Rikky was in the living area, straightening up, while Pan made breakfast.

  “Good morning!” Rikky chirped, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was awkwardly clinging to the towels wrapped around me. “Sorry about last night. I feel like I put a huge damper on your investigation. That wasn’t what I planned to happen, but the night got away from me, you know?”

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it,” I replied amiably.

  “Do you want some gator-egg hash, Ulla?” Pan looked back over his shoulder at me.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m good.”

  “What are your plans for the day?” Rikky stopped folding blankets long enough to brush her dark auburn bangs from her eyes. “I don’t have work today, so I can help you with whatever you need.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t know for sure yet. I’m trying to meet up with someone today, but nothing’s set,” I explained.

  “Well, let me know. I’ll be doing stuff around here. Washing windows, cleaning cages.” She waved toward the skylights, acknowledging the splatters of bird droppings on the windows. “Maybe work on some projects.”

  “I’ll make sure to get my stuff out so it’s not in your way,” I said, since the porch I was sleeping in doubled as her workroom.

  “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve got stuff to do, you should focus on that,” she insisted.

  “Rikky,” Pan said in an admonishing tone. “Will you stop talking and let Ulla get dressed?” He gave me a sidelong glance over his shoulder—it was brief and chaste, but my skin flushed anyway, a wave of heat with a prickle of goose bumps.

  I lowered my eyes when he looked back at the food he was cooking, and I only nodded as Rikky offered apologies and I hurried to my room.

  Honestly, I don’t think I really breathed again until I was leaning back against the door, my palms flat against the cold metal. My crush on Pan was definitely intensifying, but I was determined not to let that get in the way of what I needed to do.

  So I got dressed and got to work figuring out how to get in contact with Eyrun Gundt, formerly Holt. Her daughter Tindra had died five years ago, with Indu Mattison listed as the father on the census records. Right now Eyrun was the only living connection I had to Indu.

  Other than Bekk Vallin, who I suspected had been about as forthcoming as she was going to be. She had given me more information than other Omte would have, and I hoped it was enough to lead me closer to the truth.

  The first step was pulling out my Moleskine notebook. I had copied down all the information when I had been at the Postkontor, and I grabbed my cell phone to do a little sleuthing. Thankfully, Fulaträsk had much better reception and appreciation for Wi-Fi than Merellä.

  When I flipped through pages, I paused when I saw the message that Jem-Kruk had left for me before he’d gone.

  If you ever want to say hello—to me or to Eliana—come find us.

  X Jem-Kruk

  My fingers grazed the jagged lines of his name, and an image of him the last time I saw him swam in my head. At the Midsommar ball he’d looked especially handsome, with his lush hair in braids and his mesmerizing eyes on me.

  He took my hand in his. “And if we don’t meet again, I want you to know that I truly enjoyed knowing you while I did, Ulla.” He bent down and kissed my hand, and I swear I nearly swooned.

  I shook my head, clearing away the memory, and I turned the page in the notebook. Jem-Kruk might be my friend, but he might very well be my enemy, and either way, daydreaming wouldn’t help me find him or Eliana or anyone.

  With my phone in hand, I got ready to do a little sleuthing. Bekk’s files had given me Eyrun’s address, but I didn’t want to show up at her house unannounced and start asking questions about her dead daughter’s absentee father. So I went searching through social media to find her.

  Kingdom rules varied on social media use, but all of them frowned on it. Some tribes—like the Vittra—actually made it illegal. That didn’t stop trolls from posting, but usually they did their best to mask their real identities and hide their more supernatural attributes and locales.

  And then there were the occasional troll social-media stars, who seemed to enjoy hiding in plain sight. One of the most popular “beauty influencers” was a Trylle who owed her looks more to supernatural genetics than to blending techniques. Then there was the Skojare who dabbled in the cosplay community, where her gills passed for convincing makeup and prosthetics.

  Eyrun turned out to be neither, but after a half hour of searching various terms, locales, and media forums, I finally stumbled onto pictures geotagged near the address Bekk had given me.

  That’s when I discovered MommyBogger—the name being a play on words for Mommy Blogger, since she was recording her life as “a stay-at-home mom living a country life in the bayou.”

  Her aesthetic seemed to be one part educating others on her “natural” life, hunting-and-gathering and raising “barefoot boys,” as she put it. The other part consisted of carefully shot rustic pics—twine ribbons, mason jars, sunsets, and oversaturated puddles.

  The pictures showed the nice life of a pretty young mother. One picture featured twenty-five candles for her birthday. Her two boys—Sylver, the older one, a toddler but very big for his age, and Glade, a baby with fat rolls on his thighs and mud in his dark curls—were her life.

  There were a few photos that referenced Tindra. A stark picture of a rainbow, another of a wilting flower. Both had very short captions, unlike her usual wordy ramblings about the scent of rain on leaves. Miss you today and every day, Tindra Rosemallow.

  This had to be the right Eyrun, so I opened the direct message and typed up a vague request.

  Hello Eyrun,

  I’m looking for my birth parents. I’ve been working with the Inhemsk Project, and I’m in Fulaträsk now. I was hoping to be able to meet with you while I’m here to ask you a few questions. I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.

  Thank you,

  Ulla

  I hit send. And then I waited.

  16

  Health

  The house was nearly hidden in the fog. Eyrun Gundt’s stylish little cottage—“a supersized tiny house,” according to her profile—sat on dry land, unlike most of the homes in Fulaträsk. It was right on the edge of the city limits, where the swamp bled into the skeletons of long-abandoned farms. A dirt road connected the house to the outside world, so we’d considered driving the Jeep, but it was much faster taking the airboat.

  Eyrun and I had messaged back and forth a few times, and despite some initial hesitation, I finally convinced her it would be better if we talked in person, and we agreed to meet. Rikky was b
usy tending to her animals, having discovered an injured possum just that morning, so Pan and I headed out together.

  When we pulled up to her house, Eyrun was standing on the porch at the edge of the water, her arms folded over her chest and a nervous smile on her face. The first thing I noticed was that she partook in some deceptive photography. Nothing was an outright lie, exactly, but she’d employed flattering angles and strategic lighting to hide her long nose and her wide frame, as well as mask the chipping paint and more dilapidated aspects of her homestead.

  “You find the place okay?” she asked us as we tied up the boat.

  “Yeah, it was exactly where you said,” I assured her.

  Once we’d finished with the boat, we walked up the short trail to the porch. Eyrun hadn’t moved yet, standing at the top of the steps as she looked down at us. “You are the girl I was talking to online, right?”

  “Sorry, yes, I’m Ulla Tulin.”

  “And I’m Panuk Soriano with the Inhemsk Project.” Pan stepped forward, extending his hand as he did, and Eyrun shook it tentatively.

  It was his credentials that had finally gotten her to agree—head researcher at the Inhemsk sounded a lot more impressive than my title as “random intern.”

  “Eyrun,” she replied tightly. “Should we go inside?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  “My husband took the boys to the park,” she explained as she led us into her house.

  Inside, it was small, bordering on cramped. The front door opened into a kitchen overflowing with spices, home-canned vegetables, window herb gardens, and multitudes of specialized and antique utensils, overflowing from shelves and hooks and cupboard doors held shut with industrial-sized rubber bands.

  The kitchen spilled into the living room, with a small round table straddling the two rooms. Beyond that was a love seat, a wood-burning stove, and an unreasonable amount of family photos, toys, knickknacks, and crafts stuffed into every corner.