7. Back then
Back then
Bertram still remembered the day he first met Helena.
He, Jennie, and Urghk had just moved across the country.
A prestigious university was starting a Magizoological Ethology department and Jennie would be its inaugural chair.
She agreed to teach classes one or two semesters a year so that she had plenty of time to continue her own research projects.
She needed the freedom to do in situ research, but she also decided that some structure would be good for her.
Before she had Bertram, Jennie apparently had a habit of disappearing in the middle of the night and calling the next morning from—for example—Borneo to explain that she had an idea for a study on orangutans that simply couldn’t wait.
Once Jennie had a child, she managed to rein her impulses in enough to give at least a week or two notice before disappearing.
Chairing this department would further curb her wanderlust, Jennie hoped, or so she had told Bertram and Urghk.
But the university was in a particularly human-heavy location, and Bertram wasn’t comfortable with that.
Jennie read as human at first glance, as long as she wasn’t smiling broadly enough to reveal her fangs.
Urghk, on the other hand, was all monster.
His large tusks protruded from his mouth even when he wasn’t smiling (although this was rare—Urghk was almost always smiling).
His emerald-green skin was also a dead giveaway, at any distance.
Bertram didn’t like the way humans scowled at Urghk and cowered until beautiful Jennie flashed them a charming (closed-mouthed) smile and put her hand on Urghk’s shoulder, as if to say, “Don’t worry, the monster is mine.
” It never seemed fair to Bertram. Of his parents, Jennie was by far the more dangerous.
But it was Jennie who had all the glamour, all the wealth, all the instant appeal.
Urghk’s charm shone through the moment you talked to him, but too many humans were unwilling even to say hello.
Jennie offered to outfit Urghk in finer garb, to at least show high status in his first impressions, but he refused.
He had taken the title Count of Roussillon reluctantly.
He didn’t want money or status or influence.
He just wanted the Countess.
That’s how Urghk was—simple, kind, and madly in love with Jennie.
Made happier by the scent of tilled earth and the heat of the forge than he was by any wealth.
Endlessly proud of Bertram, his biggest defender and supporter.
So, for Bertram to move to a human area and see so many eyes glaring at his father—his kind, protective, loving, gentle father—made Bertram’s blood boil.
Jennie was insistent that things would get easier with time, and Urghk didn’t really care what strangers thought of him one way or the other.
But Bertram was agitated, on edge, frustrated, and moody all the time.
He was also fourteen, which didn’t help matters when it came to agitation and moodiness.
Jennie insisted they explore their new neighborhood, discover fascinating things to do and delightful places to go, things that would cheer Bertram up and persuade him of the charms of his new hometown.
And so it was that they found themselves walking through a park one fine summer day, eating sorbet and enjoying the weather.
Bertram and Jennie made it a competition to see who could spot the most birds, and Urghk deliberately sowed discord by starting a debate about whether it should be the highest number of individual birds or the higher number of disparate species.
They paused in front of a fountain to make a wish. Jennie closed her eyes to put all her effort into this silly human superstition, but Bertram didn’t believe enough or care enough to do so.
That’s why he was the first to see her.
Across the way, sitting on a bench, this chubby little human girl kept staring at his family.
Bertram wanted to make a face at her, to bare his sharp upper teeth and crooked tusks.
If she wanted to look at him with that wide-eyed, frightened stare, if she wanted to regard him as a monster, then he would give her something truly monstrous to look at.
It would be satisfying to watch her squeal and run away, would serve her right for gawking so hatefully in public.
Instead, Bertram settled on glowering ominously at her.
She continued staring.
Then she turned and whispered something in the ear of the human man beside her on the bench—presumably her father. Now he was staring too. The father pulled the little girl to her feet and gave her a small nudge toward Bertram’s family.
She walked all the way over on unsteady legs, looking as if she might faint. If she was that scared of them, she should have stayed across the way and minded her own business.
But, no, within moments she was before them, staring up at Jennie in particular with wide eyes.
“I-I-I’m so sorry to bother you,” the girl stammered out. “It’s just—I was—I was wondering—I saw you all the way across the—I didn’t want to—I don’t want to make assumptions or—or pry into your business, but I just wanted to ask—”
Bertram steeled himself for it. “Do you eat People?”’ “Is it safe to have trolls here?” “Oh, they’re orcs, not trolls? What’s the difference?”
“You’re—you’re—”
A vampire, Bertram thought. Maybe she would even mean it in an excited way.
Or, if they were really lucky, she might ask if she were meeting The Countess Roussillon.
Maybe she’s just a little girl who knows she’ll never get to meet a real-life princess, and a real-life countess seems like the next best thing.
“You’re her, aren’t you?” she stammered out.
Yes, Bertram thought, a little human girl who thought a countess was like a dress-up doll, someone who got to wear expensive jewelry and look glamorous all the time. Which, in all fairness, Jennie did.
“It depends on which ‘her’ you mean,” Jennie said.
“Doctor Roussillon,” the little girl said breathlessly.
“First Person to chronicle the pocket realm Leopardoptera Maxima, and recorder of more than five dozen species therein. Author of five papers on Vulpes aves cavus, three on Vulpes aves lagopus, two on Unicornus unicornus, three on Phoenix cassicus monseratus, and one each on Dracona auguri, Dracona pgymaea, and Gorilla gorilla. Member of three different Magitaxa Advisory Groups of the Coalition of Magizoological Sanctuaries. Two-time keynote speaker at their annual conference.”
Bertram’s jaw dropped.
“That . . . seems more or less correct to me,” Jennie said, sounding surprised and delighted.
“I think she might know your resume better than you do.” Urghk chuckled.
The little girl dropped her bag to the ground and rummaged around in it. “I really am so, so sorry to bother you. It’s just if you turned out to be who I thought you were—and I hadn’t at least—I just never would have—would you sign my book?”
She extended a battered copy of Flying with Foxes: My Journey Into the Heart of a Colony.
“Certainly!” Jennie beamed. “That’s how I met my husband, Urghk, you know—this is Urghk—”
“Hi, darlin’,” Urghk said.
“And our son, Bertram,” Jennie continued, though Bertram said nothing.
“Urghk was an underground turnip farmer in the same cave system as the foxes lived. Helped me out when I got lost, and we’ve been together ever since.”
“Oh, I know,” the girl said. “Unless it’s creepy that I know, in which case, no, I don’t.”
Jennie smiled and opened the first page of the book. “Oh, I don’t have a pen—”
“I do.” The girl pulled one from her backpack and handed it to Jennie.
“I always have a pen, a pencil, an eraser, a reusable water bottle, a camera, and a pair of binoculars. I can tell most species apart at a distance, but I find when I’m trying to identify subspecies of flying animals—particularly the migratory ones I don’t see regularly—it’s useful to have binoculars.
Supposedly, you can catch glimpses of Plaphigale ingramemnon in this park this time of year. ”
“The long-tailed planijay,” Jennie said with a smile.
“Yes. I prefer to use their scientific names in the style of human-developed taxonomy for maximum precision since their common names can vary so greatly—for example, if we were referring simply to the butterfly which the Plaphigale ingramemnon’s wings resemble, it may be called the tailed jay, but it could also be called the tailed green jay, or the green triangle, or the green-spotted triangle .
. . but everyone knows what butterfly is being discussed if we refer to it as Graphium agamemnon—”
The girl stopped speaking and blushed furiously.
“I mean, obviously you know all this,” she said quickly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“You’re very smart, aren’t you?” Jennie asked.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said the little girl, but her tone made Bertram think that she did, in fact, “know about that.” His suspicion was confirmed when she quickly added:
“I did skip two grades, though. I’m starting high school this year. I’m only twelve.”
Jennie smiled. “My Bertram is starting high school this year too. He’s also incredibly bright, like you.”
Bertram snorted. He made good grades and tested well enough to be starting a science-focused program at a prestigious high school come September. But he wasn’t going to high school at twelve, and frankly he didn’t relish the idea of being “like” this annoying little girl at all.
“Bertram, say hello. This is—sorry, sweetheart—what did you say your name was?”
“It’s Helena. Helena de Narbon,” she added, with a playful smile. “Just so you’ll remember, when you read my papers one day.”
Jennie laughed. “You wouldn’t be headed to Titania Science and Tech, would you?”
“Oh. Um. No. I actually did get in, and they offered me a partial scholarship, but . . . um . . .”
Helena stared down at her feet.
Her feet, wearing beat-up, secondhand shoes. Bertram could guess what the rest of her sentence would have been.