Three Immortals Walk Into A Bar...

Clyde

As I waft over the landscape, a bit of the mist in the clearing predawn sky, I observe in amazement how varied the destruction is. There has clearly been a brutal storm across the entire region. Everywhere are the signs of fierce wind and rain. Water pools in every crevice. Tree branches are scattered everywhere, and many trees and power lines are downed. Billboards are damaged. Windows are shattered. The storm left its mark everywhere.

But where the actual tornadoes were spawned, and threaded their destructive paths across the landscape, it is a warzone. Like what happened to the Adabelle, and the surrounding area where we walked this morning to find my men. Buildings demolished, cars overturned, rubble strewn about looking like bombs had rained down rather than water.

The most extreme damage is intermittent and random. One block is spared, and the next is pulverized. Fate is fickle and cruel. Some will suffer tremendously as a result of last night’s events.

Including me, I suppose. My beloved Adabelle is gone, and a grueling and unwelcome process of rebuilding lies before me.

However, the most important part of my life remains. The Adabelle may be gone, but not my love for which it was named. I look forward to seeing her.

As I touch down in the garden behind our home, and rematerialize into my physical form, I see that we are thankfully in one of the regions with typical storm damage. The building is intact. I’ll have to get roof inspectors out to check the tiles for damage, but our home remains in one piece. The garden has suffered a great deal of damage, though. The trees are stripped of most of their leaves. Most of the foliage on the grounds is battered and a great deal will have to be replanted. Some fencing sags to the ground. But this is all reparable.

I glance towards the east, and see that the sun has not quite crested over the horizon. I have only minutes before I must go inside.

The welcome sound of the back patio door opening causes me to spin around. There she is, my love, her long, straight dark hair, her exotic eyes, her creamy mocha skin. The loving expression on her face. I could never in a thousand years tire of seeing this beauty.

I quickly go to her, and we meet halfway. She wraps her arms around me, and I breathe in her delightful aroma. She has always smelled so good to me. And tasted even better.

“Is it really gone?” she asks. If possible, I think she loves the Adabelle even more than I do.

I sigh. “I’m afraid so. A tornado stayed directly overhead for something like forty-five minutes, and it just shredded the entire thing. The only thing intact was the vault in the basement. Luckily we had managed to get everyone in there, so the guests stayed safe. Rescue crews were arriving just as I left.”

She looks at me, compassion clear in her eyes. It is one of the things I have always loved the most about her. Her compassion, and her courage. She is so extraordinary.

Speaking of extraordinary people, I haven’t told her yet who I spent the evening with. This should entertain her. I plant a kiss on her lovely cheek, and say, “It’s almost sunrise. We need to get inside. And I have to tell you about everything that happened.”

We walk inside, arm in arm, and I sense how sad she is. “If it is any consolation,” I tell her, “the story about last night has some pretty funny parts. I met a couple of real characters. I can’t wait to tell you about them.”

“Really?” she asks dubiously. “I can’t imagine what might have been funny during a tornado, but sure, give it a try.”

“I can guarantee that you’ll be laughing before I’m done telling you this story,” I say. We are heading through the house towards the stairs leading to our below-ground suite, where I prefer to spend the daylight hours.

She sniffs doubtfully.

“Oh, you don’t believe me?” I ask. “I tell you what. Let’s make a bet. If I can’t get you to laugh, you get to have the final say in any modifications during the rebuilding of the Adabelle.”

She smirks at me. “And if I do laugh?”

I grin. “Well, you’ll have the final say anyway. But really, this is a great story, it isn’t all just tornadoes and destruction.”

We enter our private chamber. “I can hardly wait,” she says, smiling, and we cuddle up together on our big comfortable bed.

“Well,” I start, “when I was flying over the airport, I saw a disturbance in the shadows below.”

Gregor

I had intended to make it back to the airport as quickly as possible, but if my long life has taught me nothing else, it is that things don’t usually go as you might expect.

I assured Clyde that I would help get the guests sorted out, and this takes many hours. The first responders seem to think that I am in charge here, I suppose because I am the person who met them as they first arrived. They keep coming to me to help coordinate with the guests, and I end up helping everyone climb out of the basement with the ladders which are eventually brought, and then try to assist with arrangements for their lodging. People keep approaching me with questions and problems for me to solve. I’d hate to see them all just end up in a shelter, that hardly seems adequate after the elegant accommodations they had been enjoying before the storm struck.

It takes some doing, but eventually all the transportation and lodging has been settled, at some personal expense to myself. It doesn’t matter, I certainly have plenty of money, but I suppose Clyde would be amused to hear that I ended up spending a lot of it while he sheltered from the daylight.

I hope that I get the chance to speak with him again, but I don’t know when that might be. I am the last person to leave the Adabelle site, as I climb into a shuttle taking those of us who need to arrange flights back to the airport. It is mid-afternoon by the time I get there.

Of course, there are more delays. My flight was in fact rescheduled. And departed hours ago. So I have to wait in long lines before I am able to speak to an agent to make new arrangements. So do thousands of other people. I am not the only traveler stranded by the storm. I finally am able to purchase a first class seat on a flight heading to New York, but it won’t be leaving until after midnight. I have another eight hours or so to spend in the airport before I can board the plane.

Well, I finally have some news to impart, so I pull out my phone. Wolk gives me Clyde’s number, and I send him a text with my flight information, telling him that it was a great pleasure to meet him, and that I hope to get the chance to see him again sometime. And I promise to scrupulously avoid touching him ever again.

In a couple of minutes, I receive a reply text: “How about right now?”

Clyde

I won our bet, of course. She was laughing appreciatively during the more unbelievable parts of my story. I know that she understands the part of the story about Levant, and how cranky and growly he was the whole time. But I don’t think she entirely believes the bit about the Seer.

“What, do you think I’m fibbing?” I ask her, clutching my chest and laughingly pretending to be mortally offended. “You impugn my honor as a gentleman, my dear!”

She opens her mouth to respond, but before I get to hear whatever delightful witticism she is about to come up with, my phone buzzes.

I grab it off the side table, glance at it, and say, “Ah-ha!” I thrust it triumphantly in front of her face. “That’s him! Look!”

She reads the text from Gregor. “Let’s go to the airport!” she says excitedly. She believes me now. “I want to meet him!”

That gives me pause. He’s exciting, and interesting, and very friendly, and quite unique. And unpredictably dangerous. “Um, I think it would be better for you to stay home,” I tell her.

Her brow furrows. “I thought you liked him,” she says quizzically. “Don’t you trust him?”

It takes me a minute to find an answer. “I do like him. I really do. But he managed to accidentally touch me several times, without meaning to harm me at all, and I don’t think that he even understands the extent of his power. I’m willing to risk being near him, but only for myself. At least until I understand him better.”

I can tell that she wants to argue, but she holds her tongue. She thinks for a moment. Then she says, “Fine, I won’t go, but I expect you to invite him to come here for a visit next time he’s in Atlanta. I want to meet him someday.”

I grin, and respond to Gregor’s text.

In five minutes I am mist again, traveling back to the airport, as the sun sinks lower in the afternoon sky. Being able to assume this form during daylight hours is a great boon.

I don’t rematerialize until I have made my way into the airport, drifting along the ceiling until I reach the gate where Gregor is waiting for his flight. The airport is incredibly crowded, the delays of yesterday stacking up with today’s scheduled flights to create twice the chaos as usual. I am able to appear into the crowd without anybody noticing.

The seats are almost all taken. Gregor is standing, leaning against the window looking out over the tarmac, probably watching the constant ballet of planes coming and going.

I approach, but not too close. From several feet away, I say, “I hear you stayed all morning to help out with the guests. I’m very grateful.”

He spins and smiles at me. “I was happy to do it,” he says. “And I am very glad to see you again, my friend.”

“Likewise,” I say. I glance around the crowded area, humans bustling around noisily. This is not the best place to hold a private conversation about delicate and secret topics. As much as I would like to resume our question and answer session, I certainly don’t want to have to do it by shouting from ten feet away and having dozens of humans listening in.

He looks to the side, then back to me. With a smile, he says, “Follow me.”

I quirk my head at him curiously, and come along behind as he quickly leaves his gate. I am again following him, to wherever he might be leading. At least this time we aren’t clambering over rubble to the sound of growling. He walks for several minutes, not glancing back to see if I am behind him. I suppose that his guardian angel would tell him if he had lost me. I wonder where we are going. Back to a bar perhaps?

Ah, I begin to see. At the very end of one of the branches of the huge terminal, there is a gate which does not appear to be in use. Neither airline personnel nor passengers are in the area. Apparently no flights are scheduled from here, and he is taking us someplace where we can talk in relative quiet. As we get to the gate I see that one of the windows in the boarding area is covered by a sheet of plywood. There must have been storm damage to this gate. Nobody else is around.

Gregor turns to me with a smile.

“Brilliant!” I tell him. “I suppose we have your guardian angel to thank for this?”

“Indeed,” he says, and waves his hands over to the rows of vacant chairs. “Care to have a seat?”

“You first,” I say, and when he selects a seat, I take one across from him and several feet away. I don’t want another careless mistake.

“So,” I say, “have you seen our friend here?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Wolk says he’s not here at the airport, or anywhere nearby. We have no idea where he went. Maybe he plans to just ride that motorcycle to wherever he’s going.”

“Hm,” I shake my head. “I doubt it. I’ll bet that he just found some dark spot to lay low until the sun sets. He couldn’t be riding a bike during daylight hours.”

“Ah,” he responds. “True, I suppose. Who knows, maybe he’ll show up here tonight and we can offer to buy him a drink.”

We both erupt in laughter. My goodness, I like this man so much. Too bad he’s such a threat to me. Although, maybe now that we have the chance to talk some more, presumably without being interrupted by any natural disasters, I can learn some more about him, try to take the edge off the danger.

“So,” I grin, “where were we when our slumber party was so rudely interrupted?”