Sevan parks beside me, taking off her helmet and shaking out her raven hair. It falls to the middle of her back after she takes the ponytail out. I cannot imagine how uncomfortable it must be to ride on a motorcycle for four hours, but she doesn’t seem put out or bow-legged from the trip.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” she says under her breath.
We enter the front of the store, passing the “Man-Eating Clam” display at the entrance. The entire area is landlocked with not a trace of a natural body of water for hours, but people still come in to buy seashells, knowing nothing of what lies on the basement floor of the massive store. Does one building need to contain this many seashells? Of course not. The one-story structure is so long and deep, it could be divided into several smaller stores and made into a strip mall. But Sargis is the best, so operating a seashell shop as a front for trapping supplies is just about perfect for him.
The elevator always has a sign in front of it that claims it is out of order, but we make our way to the back of the store anyway. Once we’re sure the three people in the store aren’t in the area, we punch in the word “Trap” on the keypad next to the closed doors and step in once they open.
I can’t help my smile when Sargis’ whimsical twang chimes overhead in the slow-moving box. “Welcome to the Trapper’s Paradise—your home away from home.”
“What are you grinning about?” Sevan asks me. “We’re about to see if we can talk a seasoned trapper into believing everything he thought he knew about vampires is wrong.”
“I haven’t been here in years, but it’s still the same. I missed this place.”
Sevan raises a brow at me, as if I’ve said something ridiculous. “O-kay,” she says, drawing out the word to give it two syllables.
Avet leans on the wall beside me, speaking to Sevan. “He’s been out of the game for three years.” He motions his finger around to indicate the place. “Keran used to live here with Sargis in his home in the back of the store.”
Sevan’s eyes widen. “I didn’t realize you two were close.”
My smile can’t be helped, even as I drudge up the grim topic. “Sargis took me in when I first learned about Bel’s creatures and had nowhere to go. He was my foster father.” It’s the most I will carry on about my sad childhood.
Sevan’s mouth forms an “O” shape. “I didn’t realize you were the kid. You’re the boy Sargis took in?”
“The one and only.”
Sargis gave me answers and a home when I was twelve and orphaned, so when I am lost on a case, he is the father figure I turn to most often.
“Sargis gave me my first lesson on how to fight a werewolf, you know. First set of throwing knives I got here, too.”
Avet shares my smile. “Ah, memories.”
When we step out into the Trapper’s Paradise, my heart swells. As much as I wanted (and still want) out of the game, there’s a childlike wonder that sweeps over me whenever I see shelves upon shelves of good hunting gear. Nets to trap a shahapet, poisons to take down an al, and knives to gut whatever monster comes at you next.
I grab a shopping bag because there’s no way I am getting out of here without putting a dent in my wallet. It’s been too long, and I’m bereft of everything I might need for this trip.
Plus, some of this stuff is just cool.
I used to stock the shelves for extra money in my teens. It’s a whole different experience perusing the goods as an adult. I straighten the cans of venom as I go, unable to see something in disarray and not fix it. The rows need to be neat and the labels facing front. Obviously.
Avet and Sevan orbit the store in search of Sargis, but I am a kid in a candy store. Golden fish scale powder goes in the bag, just in case. A few other items go into my basket with that same mindset. Actually, almost everything I see could be put in the “just in case” category. A silver-laced net? Don’t mind if I do.
When my bag starts to get heavy, I know I should probably slow myself down.
But then I see he’s got a Dadyan-made blade with a serpent etched into the curved handle on the next shelf. I definitely need that.
Avet’s laughter leads me to the left, though not before I shove two sets of throwing knives in my bag, which is quickly starting to overflow.
Part of me is excited to be back here, playing with the dangerous toys. The other part of me is stalling.
I’m a bad son. I’ve checked in on the phone with Sargis a few times. Three times, to be exact. I call my dad on his birthday every year, and that’s about it. I told him before I left that I needed to be gone. No contact for a while so I could get the trapper’s life out of my head completely. I didn’t do it with an angry spirit, but I cut him off all the same.
I haven’t heard my dad’s voice since I called him on his birthday half a year ago, and even then, it’s nothing to the sound of his cadence in person. “Is that… No! No, it can’t be. Tell me that’s not Keran.” Sargis grins as I turn to face him. He shakes his head at me without a hint of resentment for my bad son behavior.
Isn’t that always his way.
My neck shrinks. “Hi, Dad.”
“Boy, aren’t you supposed to be retired?”