Chương 143: B3. 4.1 - An Eventful Shopping Interruption

I stirred my cup of hot chocolate by moving the spoon back and forth. No circular motions—that was against Rule #1. The plump marshmallow floating in the dark brown liquid began to dissolve, making my drink thicker. It should also be sweeter, though I had yet to taste it. A sugar break while enduring the torture that was shopping with Mom and Deen. I was using my left hand to stir just to be safe, hoping that Mom wouldn't notice. For extra precaution, I wore a sweater with long sleeves to cover my palms.

We were in California, but it was February. Wouldn't be too suspicious if I was a bit cold, that I had to wear a sweater.

"You still stir your drinks as your father did," Mom said before sipping from her iced latte. I clenched my teeth. Mom's going to bring up my past again. At least this little tidbit didn't reveal much about my childhood.

"So that's who Erind got her stirring style from," Deen said. She had a green tea in front of her. Something about detox and other healthy mumbo-jumbo. For sure, her drink barely did any of its supposed benefits. It was just to rack up the price.

"I remember discussing with my husband whether stirring in circles or back and forth was better. I believe there was a study that found that the latter wins out. However, it is easier to stir in circles. Much faster, too. And there's no stopping when you reverse the directions of the spoon."

"Not just that," I said.

"I also have to mind not hitting the sides of the cup. Takes more brainpower to stir this way, but I've gotten used to it. Just muscle memory by now."

"Oh, you're an expert at stirring things?" Deen asked with a giggle. I grinned.

"More than you'll ever know." Deen met with me after law school—we had different subjects for the day—and went to pick up Mom from her meeting with a former colleague. Usually, I'd be in my condo by now, watching my movies to recharge my social batteries that were spent for the day. I rarely had this much social interaction outside of Eloyce University. Kind of weird to label going shopping with Mom as a social interaction, but here we were. Not sure why we were doing this. Mom wasn't a big shopper.

She was too busy to think about fashion, so she'd have her assistant decide her outfit for the day. As for me, Deen knew that I mostly did my shopping online. This expedition through stores was probably more of a bonding moment than anything. That was fine and all, but why was Mom bonding more with Deen than with me? The salespeople in stores even mistake them as a mother-daughter pair because of their height. What was I supposed to be? A lost child they had picked up along the way?

"I've noticed that Erind eats ice cream only when it's melted," Deen said.

"Who did she copy it from, Mrs. Hartwell?"

"I honestly have no idea," Mom said.

"One day, Erind simply decided she'd rather microwave the ice cream that I had bought. I didn't question my quirky daughter because I'd never understand her explanations anyway." Mom reached across the table to pat my head. Damn, she had a long arm.

"You could've asked me, Deen," I said.

"I'm right here."

"How did your melted ice cream eating habits come about?" Deen asked. I stuck my tongue out at her.

"I'm not telling because you didn't ask me first." Laughs abound. I was a proper comedian. Maybe I should open a comedy bar for non-humans. The origin of Rule #5 wasn't too complicated. Cute and impressionable child Erind saw someone microwave a metal spoon in a movie. It was supposed to make it easier to eat frozen solid ice cream. I tried it out, as one does when they see something on TV, and stupidly burned my hand. The fuckers in the movie didn't warn me that the spoon would be searing hot!

It may have been a dumb moment for child Erind, but then, I had the brilliant idea of microwaving the ice cream instead of the spoon. Voila, it worked! I felt so proud of my achievement that I kept on microwaving the ice cream until it was a tad more viscous than shake—I liked it this way more than how ice cream was supposed to be. I'd later find out that microwaving ice cream was a normal thing that people did. Just not to the extent of melting into goop.

But in that moment, I felt like a genius scientist—I commemorated my discovery, or rediscovery, by turning it into Rule #5. Nothing to it.

"I just realized something," Deen said. I stopped stirring.

"What? That detox isn't backed by science?"

"You lay off on my detox beliefs!" Deen pretended to frown at me before laughing.

"Anyway, we haven't had our picture taken yet. It'd be a shame if Mrs. Hartwell leaves without any record of her vacation." I shrugged.

"Memories. If you're familiar with that concept."

"Don't be snippy with your best friend, Erind," Mom said. To Deen, Mom whispered loud enough for me to hear.

"Erind doesn't like her picture taken. She's always been like that, my grouchy little introvert."

"Fine, let's take a picture," I said. I wasn't going to push an argument with Mom because that was against Rule #13, and I wasn't in the mood to plot a navigation course around it. Could a monster come to disturb us instead? I'd much prefer fighting Adumbrae than getting bullied here. Deen asked the barista to take a picture of us. I forced my cheek muscles to pull up a smile, raising my cup to pretend that I was about to drink. Not sure why I did that pose.

With Deen in the picture, I shouldn't have bothered to look cute.

"Such an adorable photo," Mom said as Deen showed her the phone.

"Share that with me."

"Oh, I'll add you on Snippet, Mrs. Hartwell," Deen said. My best friend and Mom on social media? Just what I needed, I sarcastically thought with a groan. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. I sipped my hot choco to bring some warm joy into my grumpy body. The sugar immediately perked me up, and the slightly bitter taste of the chocolate cut into the richness. Maybe I should be a cacao farmer instead of a lawyer.

Add a sugarcane plantation and a dairy farm, and I could have milk chocolate— that's the dream.

"Erind, I sent the picture to you, too," Deen said.

"You should post it and tag me."

"No way," I said. That was against Rule 17: Don't post on social media. I didn't want to leave a permanent record of any face I wore on the internet to avoid potential clashes with future faces. My childhood getting brought up by Mom was the sort of problem I wanted to avoid. I only had Snippet because Deen forced me. Even without Rule #17, I still wouldn't post our picture. People would wonder why I posted a picture of Deen on my account; no one would notice that I was also on it.

And a lot of experts say that being on social media was bad—I was an upstanding example that people should follow.

"You and your vendetta against social media," Deen said.

"I don't have a vendetta." Deen exaggeratedly scrolled through her phone.

"Social media may have its negatives, but it all depends on the usage. For example, I can follow the news all in one place."

"Getting your news from social media, huh? Very responsible."

"Like this one…" Deen blinked a few times. Then she looked up at me. That look. Something was up.

"It says here that the police broke up the PCM rally in San Diego to arrest their leader. It looks like it escalated into violence. Dozens injured. Possible deaths." I gasped, displaying a concerned face.

"How horrible! Was their leader arrested?"

"It doesn't mention here. Most likely, not. That would've been the headline."

"What is this PCM matter?" Mom asked.

"Do you know someone who attended this rally? You know that I don't want you joining radical groups, Erind." She didn't add 'dear' or 'sweetie', showing how serious she was.

"We're not involved with the PCM, Mom. They're this group that started in La Esperanza and branched out. Got lots of their members doing crazy stuff at San Diego." I explained that the PCM always rallied in the city, accusing government officials of being Adumbrae. Their activities surged in the aftermath of last month's Adumbrae attack. Lately, however, there were rumors that the PCM was involved in Adumbrae stuff. All their protesting was supposedly a cover. This should be a good enough summary for Mom.

I glanced at Deen—we were thinking the same thing. Or maybe not; I didn't have mind-reading powers. Not as regular Erind, anyway. But it was more than likely that she was also wondering where Auron Cohenn had run off to. Would he go to the Adumbrae who supplied him with anti-Adumbrae tech? This Euphonia person? The PCM was another possible loose end, specifically, their leaders.

Their second-in-command, Wavy Actor, I forgot his real name, and their half-monster, literal head scientist, Cecilia, knew Myra's identity. I had killed Wavy Actor and Cecilia. Super dead. But did they tell Auron about Myra? If yes, Auron could trace our identities—Cecilia might've seen our faces and heard a mention of my name when we 3Bs attacked the PCM laboratory. All of this was the fault of the annoying Fletcher sisters!

I bear no blame whatsoever, even if I wasted time yapping about my Pino transformation at the PCM lab.

"I don't want you anywhere near this PCM group, Erind," Mom sternly said, wagging her finger at me.

"I know that you have a firm belief in standing for what's right, but joining their rallies is not the way."

"I wasn't going to join them! Deen and I reacted to the news because we always see PCM members around the city, causing traffic and stuff with their rallies. While we're annoyed with them, it's still horrible that they clashed with the police. And… And people have died." That was me, kind-hearted Erind. Where the hell did Mom get the idea that I stood for what was right? It must be the time we spent apart. She was having an idealized vision of me.

"Very horrible," said Deen, continuing to read on her phone.

"But they shouldn't have attacked the police. The warrants were out for their leaders. I don't know the specific charges, but news articles alluded to Adumbrae-related activities. The rumors seemed to be true."

"Well, I do hope that all of the PCM has transferred to San Diego or elsewhere," Mom said.

"San Diego is a couple of hours away from here, isn't it? But we don't know if they have members left here. This city doesn't sound safe for—""Doctor Hartwell?" A plump woman with heavy makeup and elaborately curled hair tapped Mom's shoulder.

"It is you!" Right, Mom has a PhD. I couldn't even remember what it was about. Felt odd to hear someone call Mom a 'doctor'.

"Don't you remember me?" asked Broccoli Head. Her head sort of looked like reddish broccoli.

"We met at a convention in Maryland a couple of years ago, Doctor. I'm Merlinda Holton from AeroGuard. Our CEO, Boyle, introduced me to you. Ah, you must've forgotten about me because there were so many people at that time. You were like a superstar!"

"Merlinda? Of course, I remember you," Mom said, even though she definitely didn't. In contrast, everyone would remember Mom. She was all hugs and fake kisses that didn't land on the cheeks. Wouldn't want to have her lips powdered by Broccoli Head's makeup.

"We had productive talks with Boyle and AeroGuard at that time. How are you?"

"Quite lovely," replied Broccoli Head.

"I've recently left AeroGuard. Let me tell you all about it. I didn't know that you were in the city."

"I'm here on vacation to visit my daughter." Broccoli Head extended her hand to Deen.

"You're so beautiful and tall, just like your mother." Deen hesitantly accepted the handshake while pointing at me with her other hand.

"Erm, I'm a friend of Mrs. Hartwell's daughter."

"Hi, there," I said, raising my cup of hot chocolate to Broccoli Head. Just sitting here, being the adoptive daughter of the Hartwell family. That was why I looked very different compared to Mom and Deen. Entertaining.

"I'm so sorry." Broccoli Head turned pink. Her cheeks. Not her hair.

"The height—""Among other things," I cut in. Mom leaned towards me.

"Merlinda and I are going to chat for a bit. Is it alright, dear? We won't take long."

"Take your time, Mom. You're on vacation. Chat with people and stuff." As soon as Mom left, Deen whispered, "Follow my lead. We're not in danger."

"Danger? That Merlinda woman isn't—wait." I lowered my voice to match hers.

"Did your Guardian Angel tell you anything?" Deen nodded once.

"There's no need to fight." She nudged her head at one of Broccoli Head's companions who stayed behind. He sat on the chair that Mom had left and took off his fedora that was pulled low over his head. A middle-aged man with pronounced eye bags, clean-shaven, with a closely-cropped hair like those in the military. Had I seen this guy somewhere before?

"Auron Cohenn," Deen said, holding my knee under the table. This could be her gesture to calm me down. The PCM leader? Adrenaline shot through my system. It could also be the sugar from my drink. This was unexpected, and very welcome. I'd rather deal with this than shop with Mom. Looking past Auron, I saw Mom happily talking with Broccoli Head and other people on the other side of the cafe. Why was Auron here? To be fair, San Diego wasn't too far away.

His followers were a distraction so that he could return to La Esperanza. The new haircut threw me off for a moment. I really sucked with faces.

"Amber Deen Leska," said Auron.

"Erind Hartwell. I apologize for the interruption." Deen squeezed my knee. The PCM knew who we were. Our list of people to kill had extended by a mile.