“They’re beautiful,” I blurted out as I maneuvered into a crouch and started picking up the pages. I was so engrossed in the images that I barely even saw the person we’d careened into.
“Yeah… beautiful.” Genie tapped me on the shoulder. I peered up at her and saw her wide eyes and open mouth directed at the mystery artist. Following her gaze, I glanced over my shoulder to see who she was gaping at.
A young man, somewhere in his early twenties, dusted down a gray tweed suit jacket, shot through with delicate threads of vivid purple that formed checkered squares. A stylish kind of tweed, like something from those old Kingsman films my uncle adored, but mismatched with a white polo shirt that had a fresh coffee stain down the front and faded black jeans that I would’ve described as “dad fit.” He had a nice face, though: unusual green-blue eyes that reminded me of Amazonite, with a dark ring around the iris. His sweeping mane of unruly golden-brown hair had been hastily gelled into submission, and defined, manly features and blonde stubble added to his Tobe-like leonine look. His fair eyebrows knitted together in consternation as he looked down at the stain on his shirt.
He bent down for a pair of rectangular glasses that had survived the fall and cleaned them on the edge of his polo shirt. “I prefer to drink coffee, but maybe the caffeine will sink in via osmosis.” He put the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, and then it was his turn to start gaping like a beached fish as his gaze fell on Genie. “I mean, not that I… uh… mind. No, osmosis is good. Um… accidents happen. It’s nothing. I can just… uh… fasten the button and hide it.”
Realization dawned as I connected that the coffee all over him was my coffee. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry! That was me.” I scooped more papers into my arms, checking them for liquid damage. “I hope it didn’t get on any of these. It’d be a shame. They’re… nice.”
I was thoroughly mortified that I’d doused him in coffee, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention to his shirt or sketches. Nope, my friend had all of his interest. There were very few who could look Genie straight in the eyes and not get stung by the smitten arrow, but it was far rarer for Genie to look into a man’s eyes and get hit too. And, unless I was mistaken, it looked like she’d been hit.
Genie looked toward me, severing their connection. “Sorry about that, and all of this.” She gestured to the sheets in my hand. “We were trying to find the assembly hall, and we weren’t watching where we were going.”
Flustered, he took the papers from me and jammed them into one of the folders. “It’s fine, really. Happens all the time. More than I’d like to admit.” He cast her a shy look, but she was deliberately avoiding his gaze. I knew my friend, and she was definitely in shock. “And they’ll dry out, if any of them are wet. It might make them look a bit older, give them gravitas. You know, like those history projects when you were a kid, where you’d tea-stain a piece of paper and singe the edges to make it look old-timey?” A faint flush of pink tinged his complexion as he sought Genie’s eyes again, but she carried on pretending to be absorbed in the sketches he’d already tucked away. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I? Sorry. I can take you to the assembly hall—I’m actually headed there myself.”
“That’d be great, Mr.—?” Genie waited.
“Nathaniel O’Hara. No ‘mister’ necessary, Nathan’s fine.” He appeared to rally, making a show of pushing the stray pages into the folder. “And who might you be?”
I knew he didn’t mean me, but it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Actually, it did a bit, but only because I wanted to know more about his illustrations. Who was this guy, and why did he have folders of beautiful drawings that matched my own endless sketchbooks? True, we were in a monster-hunting Institute, so it wasn’t exactly odd, but there was something undeniably intimate about his artistry. Each touch of shade and light was painstakingly crafted, the creatures made three-dimensional with skill and thought until they almost leapt off the page.
“I’m Iphigenia Vertis, but Genie’s fine,” she copied him. “And this is my best friend, Persie Merlin-Crowley.”
He adjusted his specs. “Merlin-Crowley? As in—”
“Yep, my famous parents.” I rubbed the back of my neck, bracing for the usual torrent of compliments for my mom and dad. Even here, I couldn’t escape their legacy. I wished I could’ve been more mature about it, but it did tend to grate after a while. Instead, he just furrowed his brow, as if he were more irritated than impressed.
“I corresponded with her a few times when I was younger,” Nathan said, “trying to gain access to the Bestiary for research purposes. All my requests were denied.”
Huh, how about that… Of all the institutions in all the world, I happened to come here and meet the one person who didn’t immediately turn gooey-eyed at the sound of my family name. It was kind of refreshing.
Genie chuckled, though I spotted a subtle blush in her cheeks. “Maybe they know you’re clumsy. Being around all of those glass boxes and narrow walkways would probably push them up to DEFCON 1.”
“I’m the clumsy one? You’re the ones who barged into me!”
“Only because you were backing out of a doorway,” Genie retorted. I wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t teasing him. That tended to be a defense mechanism for her, but it was never easy to tell. Either way, I doubted it would
