Chapter Thirteen: Ghosts

 

 

Apart from the lads — Fall and Eclipse also doing their own things around the leisure centre — everyone was enjoying the swimming pools. Even Summer, who wasn’t the biggest fan of water, braved constant dips to stay with Lilah, who, in total contrast with Fall, liked water and swimming.

    Nearing two hours of swim time, Summer and Lilah were talking at the edge of the main pool, the girls’ bodies submerged, staying afloat by laying their forelegs flat on the tiled flooring. Lilah grinned, almost not conscious to Summer speaking, a mischievousness in her urging to pull a prank on the Espeon . . .

    “Look,” the Ninetales said, nodding to something behind Summer. “Another Vaporeon.”

    Summer spun her head around. Indeed there was another Vaporeon, a male, going by their slightly bigger frame compared with Raina’s, happily jumping into the same pool as herself.

    “Guess it’s rare to see two in one day,” she had to say loudly amid the noisy murmurings filling the stuffy air.

    Eevee and its evolutions weren’t native to Tavolous, meaning crossing any one of the species in the street was not very likely.

    When Summer looked back her Ninetales friend had vanished. “Lilah?” She felt someone grab her feet, then, before she could gasp fully, got pulled under —

    Water resonated a low rumbling in her ears straight away. It stung Summer’s eyes to open them, but through squinting she saw Lilah’s blurry face grinning at her. The friends surfaced together, Lilah in a small fit of laughter, Summer gulping recovery breaths.

    “Sorry,” Lilah tittered, her smile losing little vigour. “I couldn’t help myself. . . .”

    Summer wanted to retort the vixen wasn’t nearly as sorry as she was going to be after a quick dunking. . . . But the gap between imagining and actually doing it was more like a yawning chasm. She didn’t feel as though she knew Lilah enough to do something like that — obviously Lilah had more confidence than she did to have pulled her prank. Summer just smiled at her.

    “So this is where you two have been,” said Glacia’s voice, and Summer and Lilah turned their heads to look up at the Glaceon, who was standing on the tiled flooring along with Rose, their fur dripping wet. Glacia had no problem keeping her glass snowflake necklace on whilst swimming. “We’re gonna have one more go down the tower slides then start making a move.”

    “You wanna come with us?” Rose asked brightly.

    “Where are Dawn and Raina?” Summer enquired with a swift glance around the large pool.

    “Err . . .” said Rose thoughtfully. “They might be in the hot tubs, that’s where I saw them heading like ten minutes ago.”

    “Sure,” said Lilah cheerfully, “I’ll give ‘Deep Darer’ another go —”

    And as Lilah heaved herself out of the water, Summer hurriedly said, “Me too!” and also climbed out.

    How the tower slides worked was two large tube slides were attended by one member of the leisure centre’s staff each, in this shift’s case two Floatzels — a male and a female — on duty, defined with yellow polo shirts tailored to fit them, the word Staff stitched in red on the front and back. In one of the tower’s top corners was a small TV monitor showing live images of the pool in which both slides ended at. The Floatzels’ primary job was to ensure said pool was clear before sending the next Pokémon down their respective slides.

    When Summer, Lilah, Rose, and Glacia climbed the wide tower stairs they met a queue three quarters of the way up; this was the centre’s most popular feature swimming-wise. Summer and Rose shivered through the wait, water clinging to their fur. Fortunately the line moved decently, conversation among the four mostly distracting the Espeon and Leafeon from the cold. Almost at the top with only a wait of two Pokémon ahead of them, Rose contemplated on which slide to go down: the blue one titled Shallow Swimmer on a sign above the tube, or the red one called Deep Darer. Both slides were designed for Pokémon of average size — quadrupeds, ophidians, and other non-bipedal species were allowed, granted they could swim freely — able to take weights up to one hundred and thirty kilograms. She settled on her preferred slide, Shallow Swimmer, which was smoother than its neighbour, and when the Patrat waiting to go was given the okay nod from the female Floatzel attendant she gestured Rose over.

    Before the slide started there was a half-tube section with a short, level straight, serving as a waiting zone which flowed into the enclosing tube and down into an immediate left. Rose stepped into the groove and sat down, water gushing from two holes behind her.

    “Excuse me, miss?”

    The Floatzel pulled her gaze down from the TV monitor, raising her eyebrows inquisitively at the Leafeon. “I was wondering, is it okay if my sister went too?” Rose asked.

    “Well . . .” began the Water-type, “usually only parent and child ride together . . .”

    “Oh pretty please?” Rose implored with her big, starry brown eyes, her persuasive cuteness very much staying a part of her charm at sixteen.

    “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” smiled the Floatzel. “Which one’s coming?” she asked, her eyes flicking from the Espeon to the Glaceon still in the queue.

    “The Glaceon, please.”

    Unsure why the Floatzel was gesturing her, Glacia made her way over to the blue slide. “Hop in, Glace,” said Rose, smiling up at her.

    “Is that all right?” Glacia asked the Floatzel, who nodded.

    As the Floatzel returned her attention to the monitor, Glacia slipped into the groove behind Rose and sat down; Rose’s insides fluttered with excitement.

    “You ready?” Glacia asked her, white water spurting past them all the while.

    “Mm-hmm,” nodded Rose.

    A few seconds later and the Floatzel watched the Patrat zoom from the tube into the end pool. “Lie flat, please,” she told the sisters.

    They did so, the back of Rose’s head resting on Glacia’s tummy. Finally, the Floatzel gave Glacia a gentle push, sending them on their way; Summer could hear their cheers echoing down the slide. Although she was standing side by side with Lilah, Summer let her go ahead when Deep Darer freed up. The male Floatzel waved Lilah over. She positioned herself in the red groove, and very shortly her Floatzel instructed the same as his female counterpart had with Rose and Glacia. Laying flat on her back, she received a push then disappeared from Summer’s view.

    The Deep Darer’s Floatzel barely had his paw up a second when Summer approached and sat within the groove. She couldn’t put her paw on what was making her restless sitting here . . . waiting. Ordinarily, she would gladly wait her turn to go . . . but an uncharacteristic confliction within her wanted to surprise Lilah, to ride down with her. . . . Giving in to this cheeky temptation, Summer looked up at the Floatzel and committed herself by asking, “D’you have the time?”

    “Sure,” the Floatzel obliged, checking his black, waterproof, digital wristwatch strapped around his left arm’s blue, pointed fin. “It’s quarter past — hey!” Summer had lurched forward, lying flat as the flow of water carried her into the sharp right turn and away. . . .

    Red was the only colour inside the water slide, encompassing the rider from wind, rain, and harsh sunlight while it coiled and weaved outside; sunlight still shone through the sturdy PVC. Summer swooped around a long, calming left corner that suddenly straightened into a fast drop. Her stomach tickled as she graced through a serpentine-like part. Exiting another corner she saw Lilah half way down the slide’s longest straight, which, remembering from her two earlier goes, curved into a pitch-black section. . . .

    Lilah never anticipated dainty paws appearing on either side of her head . . . “Huh?” She leant her head back so that her sopping tuft flowed through the stream of water and she caught a view of Summer smiling at her over her lissom body.

    “Lonely?” said the lilac-furred cat casually.

    Lilah laughed. “Not anymore — hold on!” she said, grabbing both of Summer’s hind paws and pulling her nearer. Summer blushed as Lilah laid her head against her tummy, not letting go of her paws.

    Into darkness they went, the lack of sight heightening their tactility as they began spiralling. They left the spiral into a tight serpentine, then one last right turn. The blackness lifted and, with a finishing cheer each, the friends were ejected from the red tube, splashing together in the isolated pool.

 

An elderly Simisage sat on a bench outside the leisure centre, reviewing some of his photos taken on his instant print camera strapped around his neck. A Simisage’s age and vitality could be determined by their fur, which would typically be rich green in colour and wiry in healthy Simisages. This Simisage’s fur however was greying, most visibly at the tip of his bush-like crest growing from his head, as well as his bushy eyebrows.

    Taking photographs of the day-to-day goings-on in his home town was the Simisage’s favourite hobby, if it were of Pokémon, trees, flowers, the buildings, old and new, or the marketplace. Today he had been photographing streets and was currently preoccupied comparing the differences in atmospheres between quiet Market Street and busy Williams Street. Minding his own business, he couldn’t help but raise his eyes at a quarrelling pair leaving the leisure centre, seven others following them.

    “. . . because it’s all utter rubbish, Hothead,” the Ninetales was saying exasperatedly to an odd-coloured Flareon.

    “Oh yeah?” he sneered back. “Hang out with Legendaries on a regular basis to know that, huh?”

    “I’m not even bothering if you’re gonna get stupid about it . . . Then again, you are stupid enough to believe Legendaries have no gender. . . .”

    “What about Magnemites and other Pokémon like that, then?” Fall carried on his argument. “If they don’t have those bits maybe Legendaries don’t either. And anyway, there’s science behind it . . .”

    Lilah rolled her eyes.

    “Okay, firstly,” she said, “Pokémon like Magnemite are inorganic life forms. How they reproduce is something I frankly don’t give a toss about. Legendaries, on the other paw, are exactly like me and . . .” she dropped her voice to a mumble, “this is debatable . . . you. They’re born flesh and blood from a mother, with beating hearts, real desires, emotions, sensitivity . . . respect for their fellow Pokémon. . . .”

    Fall narrowed his eyes at the grinning vixen, having caught on her dig at him.

    “How’s about we agree to disagree?” negotiated Glacia, coming alongside them and smiling.

    “Sure,” said Lilah, “if the only agreeing is I’m factually correct, or that Hothead’s an idiot who still believes ‘science’ so outdated kiddies in school point and laugh at it.”

    Eclipse, Simon, Dawn, and Summer laughed.

    “I can’t imagine birds like Moltres without genders, Fall,” said Raina, with a non-judgemental smile at him.

    “I always thought Legendaries didn’t have genders. . . .” Rose meekly admitted, but no one seemed to have heard her.

    “Don’t look at me,” Glacia said when Fall rounded on her. “I used to believe it when we were kids . . .”

    “My, my,” laughed an ambling Simisage, his hunched form causing his camera to sway. “What an exotic young bunch!” he stated upon reaching the group, casting his sights through them.

    “Can we help you . . . ?” said Glacia slowly.

    “Mm?” smiled the Simisage, turning to her. “Oh. Forgive me for being forward, but might I take some pleasure in photographing you youths?”

    “Why would you want to take our photos?” Fall asked him, a slight wariness in his question.

    “Oh no, no, no,” said the Simisage quickly, shaking his head. “You misunderstand. The one photograph of all of you is my request, with your consent, and if you deem the moment appropriate.”

    Lilah gave a soft snort of levity. “Appropriate?” she mocked.

    “Can you not feel it?” the Simisage suddenly exclaimed, his smile broadening with blissful ignorance at Lilah’s mockery. The Ninetales and a few of the others had jumped a little in surprise. “Yes!” he said, clutching his hand into a fist and staring at it, “A perfect shot’s been waiting here, I know it! This is the right time, the right weather, the moods you are all in right now define your own unique personalities — I simply must be allowed to capture this moment!” Passion coursed like hot blood through the simian’s veins, inspiration twinkling in his old eyes.

    “Nutjooob,” Eclipse said to Glacia out the corner of his mouth, leaning sideward all the while keeping view of the Simisage. He heard Glacia throat a snicker.

    “You must really like taking pictures, huh, mister?” piped Rose with her sweet smile.

    “Oh, anyone can take pictures, my sweet,” the Simisage said, taking his camera in his hands and walking next to her. Rose’s attention was directed to the camera’s digital screen as the Simisage shared professional-level pictures with her, the Leafeon engrossed as he flicked through them; he stopped on one of an incomplete structure of sorts. “What do you see here?” he asked her.

    “Well . . .” started Rose, “a building site, I guess.”

    “Do you want to know what I see?” he said, their gazes meeting. “A beginning. . . .” He looked back at the image. “Here I see more than a frozen instance in time . . . I see a tale of an exhausted, but altogether, determined workforce on a whistle-stop schedule. It’s been a long and sticky morning, but lunch hour is almost upon them . . . the hopes of quenching their thirst, above everything else, so very near now.”

    Gaining a better appreciation for how sunny it was in the photograph, Rose noticed the Machoke builders were sweating, a clear fatigue in their expressions she previously overlooked.

    “Photographs capture memories we hold and cherish dearly . . .” the Simisage continued quietly. “A remembrance of what was. . . .” He took a step forward, turned to face the group, and crossed sights with the lot of them with a single sweep of the head. “Friendship is a powerful magic that connects us, no matter the distance . . . And should hard times test this bond, one only need remember what is always there. . . .”

    He smiled and held up his camera expectantly. Rose turned and beamed at Glacia.

    “Do we even have a family photo?” the Glaceon asked Fall.

    “No,” Fall replied. “Not since. . . .” His voice briefly failed him.

    The time of their previous family photo whisked him to their old home in Appleage Hamlet. . . . It was the same week as his whole family’s photo, his mother and father included, when the serene settlement came under attack . . . Acacia’s life cut short protecting her children. . . .

    “Erm . . .” Fall’s voice quavered but he pushed himself to summon enough inner strength to outrun the pain catching up with him. “Not since Mum was alive.”

    “Then let’s change that!” exhorted Dawn.

    “Totally,” Simon agreed a keen nod. He sat down and brought a paw to his eyepatch. “But I’m not wearing this —”

    Already fleshy pink, the gouges were healing well; at best, Simon could squinch for a short period. Enthusiastic chatter started amongst the majority of the group; Summer was telling Lilah to be in it with them, jokingly trying to coax her into wearing her “smart” glasses; the Espeon was gratified when Lilah slipped out and put on her eyewear, happy to be photoed.

    “All right,” Glacia told the Simisage, speaking for the group. “Where d’you want us?”

    “There ya go!” said the Simisage, irrefutably pleased. “Right — hush, hush, now,” he quietened them, frowning in search of a suitable background. “Marvellous!” He spotted a still path leading into a densely-packed group of trees, a short distance away from the leisure centre building. “Would everybody be good enough to reposition there?” he requested, pointing to the path.

    Other Pokémon’s talks deadened as they strode toward the trees.

    “More to the left,” fussed the Simisage. “Get those in the middle central with that footpath, beneath where the trees overhang. . . .”

    Black lamp posts stood dutiful at intervals along the path, awaiting to combat dusk; a pair of these lamp posts were also situated on either side in front of the first trees, the leaves of which touching to create a sort of natural archway.

    Jabber resumed as the group shifted, bunching together in a disorderly arrangement with the exception of Summer, who sat pertinaciously beside Lilah. Mellow sunlight dappled through the swaying canopies, the afternoon air warm and lazy. Not any of them were camera-ready, much too engaged with each other —

    “Everybody ready?” announced the Simisage, capturing the eight Eeveelutions and lone Ninetales in his camera screen, finger squeezing the button.

    An overwhelming itch behind Simon’s ear compelled him to scratch it, Raina recoiling in distaste. Meanwhile Rose was too busy wrestling Fall to notice, her forelegs hugged around Fall’s mane and using her weight to try and bring him down; he easily withstood her playful attempts, grinning smugly. Eclipse, Dawn, and Glacia did turn to the Simisage’s forewarning, but only Glacia smiled like you normally would: Dawn posed flirtatiously, as though for a profile picture she intended to use on a dating site; Eclipse, absolutely embarrassed, flared pink and slapped his muzzle, slanting his head in disregard. “Say Chespin!” said the Simisage, and only Dawn and Glacia did so as he took the snap.

 

Dark ivory clouds loomed above Appleage Hamlet, the evening sky a variegate of beautiful oranges. Enveloping the tiny community was a forest alive with birdsong, isolation making it a place of tranquillity. Outsiders largely walked Appleage by, most not bothering to look twice at the wooden signpost pointing up the half-mile dirt path that led to it. Not that there was much to see or do here, literally a few bungalows scattered hither and thither, having a population of twenty-nine. Residents who weren’t retired commuted to their places of work in the closest town eight miles east, going there also to shop and socialize.

    Appleage prided itself on being a changeless, tight-knit community, neighbours regarding each other as family, new faces a rarity. Mrs. Valenti, Appleage’s oldest resident, recalled last year’s newest arrivals, a Meowstic and Glaceon husband and wife couple and their seven adorable children, the Glaceon pregnant with their eighth cub. Such a considerable number of incomers initially unsettled the locals, all of whose worries revolved around the “racket” and disturbances so many kids would surely make. That might very well have been the case had both parents not respected the welfare of others, raising their kids to be mindful whenever they played outdoors.

    Another ordinary day in a young Flareon’s life was reaching its end. Hours of playtime spent running around, hiding and seeking in the airing cupboard, and fending off his brothers and sisters in an all-against-one attack sure tuckered him out. He had collapsed head first into a cushion on the family sofa in the living room, looking fixedly at a family photo standing on a side table when an irritating, tuneful voice called his name.

    “Faaaall!”

    Fall pressed his face into the cushion and muffled, “Give me strength . . .”

    “Mum asks can we watch our sister while she checks on dinner.”

    Fall turned on his back. His recently-evolved Glaceon sister was standing in the doorway, beaming at him. “Which one?” he asked flatly.

    “Rose, duh!” jeered Glacia.

    “Isn’t Dad — ?”

    “Working late,” Glacia cut-off her brother’s moan, her cyan eyes inspecting the ceiling.

    Sighing in defeat, Fall slowly sat up, mumbling his annoyance. (“‘Fall do this, Fall do that . . .’”)

    “Plus I think she needs changing nappies,” Glacia casually informed him, now on their way to their parents’ bedroom.

    “Better not!” said Fall, alarmed.

    Glacia rolled her eyes.

    “Don’t worry,” she reassured, “it’s only a number one.”

    In the master bedroom, a young, attractive, Shiny Glaceon mother was currently tasked the job of changing her Eevee daughter, Rose’s endearing fidgeting, excitable smile, and cute babbling, as was inevitable, melting her heart — she could not tame her affections any length of time longer and rushed a full-scale tickle offensive on Rose’s fluffy tummy.

    She had set Rose on a changing mat on top of the room’s desk, Acacia herself standing on her hind legs on a chair, looking over the Eevee cub.

    “. . . I got the tum tum! Mummy’s got the tum tum!” Acacia was cooing in a silly voice, baby Rose in a fit of adorable giggles. “Tickle-tickle-tickle —” She bent headlong into Rose’s midriff and blew raspberries, Rose helpless to resist her ultimate weakness.

    “Mum?” the voice of Acacia’s eldest daughter reached the mother Glaceon’s ears.

    Acacia stopped and glanced over her shoulder; Rose quickly recovered from the tickling and went back to looking about, limbs twitching randomly. Smiling, Acacia turned and sprung from the chair, approaching her son and daughter.

    Next to Glacia, who was eight-years-old, the adult Glaceon was a fair amount bigger as well as taller. And unlike Glacia, she wore items of jewellery: a glass, pale-blue snowflake necklace attached to black, waxed cotton cord, and a gold wedding ring on her left forepaw’s middle toe.

    “Right,” she began, “Rose only needs to be powdered before she’s changed — talcum powder and a fresh nappy are on the desk. Mwah, mwah” — she gave Fall and Glacia a quick, grateful kiss on the cheek each — “thank you, sweethearts —”

    Fall wiped his cheek as his mother dashed out the room, kisses plainly gross to him. Glacia had already jumped onto the desk chair and was smiling brightly at her baby sister, both forepaws pressing down on the desk for support.

    “Rose, cutie,” she said excitedly, because Rose was facing the wall. The Eevee’s right ear flickered and she found the source of the noise, forepaws outstretched and giggling to grab her sister. “Well hello there, stinky,” teased Glacia, touching paws with her. “Can you say ‘Glace’? Say ‘Glace’?”

    Rose seemed to have found the slight seriousness in Glacia’s expression funny, for she gave a full laugh.

    “She’s not even a year old yet,” lectured Fall, bumping Glacia aside as he joined her on the chair, Rose’s cuteness not triggering the same smiling response like with Glacia. Glacia threw her hip into him.

    “I’m trying to teach her,” she growled.

    “You’re wasting your breath,” Fall retorted. “Wait ’til she’s a bit older.”

    His gaze fell on Rose. She bared a blotchy, cream-coloured birthmark uniquely resembling a love heart on her tummy. A soul of pure innocence glittered behind every blink of those sweet, chocolatey eyes . . . surely Arceus could not have blessed them with a healthier or more perfect cub Eevee. Fall knew Rose had a bright future ahead of her.

    “Fall, you’re such an old fart!” Glacia ruined his pleasant contemplation. “Stop putting a downer on everything. Oh whatever —” she added, silencing his retaliation, “hand me the talcum powder.”

    “’S’ all right, I’ll do it,” Fall mumbled.

    He took the bottle in his paw, turned the cap, but then stopped, looking from Rose to the bottle then back to Rose. “Er . . .” he dithered. “D’you put it on her or the nappy?”

    “Give it here,” grumbled Glacia, snatching the bottle from him with a bitter glare. “She’ll wanna be flipped over.”

    Gently, Fall rolled her on her tummy, Rose giggling at him doing so. In this position Glacia applied a small amount of powder to Rose’s bottom.

    “Mum usually does it this way . . .” she explained. With that task accomplished, she set the bottle down. “Pass us the nappy, then.”

    “Hold your Ponytas.” Fall slid the nappy across the desk and Glacia took it.

    The nappy’s design had a hole in it to allow a quadruped’s tail, even ones as bushy as an Eevee’s, to slip through for a comfortable fit. Fall watched in quiet amazement as Glacia expertly donned Rose into the nappy.

 

    Jayce, Fall and Glacia’s Meowstic father, made it home shortly after half past six, apologizing profusely as he entered through the back door into the kitchen, closing it shut behind him.

    “Manic day,” he panted, shaking his head and dumping his brief case against the nearest wall. “Absolute manic. Twenty minutes past seven,” he said, raising his left paw and patting his right onto it, “Julie phones in sick. Fine, no worries — means I’ll need to ask about if anyone wants overtime. Managed to get Kim on ’til five — happy days. So there I am eating my lunch, aaand,” he patted paws again, “Stuart’s ‘a little poorly.’ So ’e buggers off home and — grrr!” He growled at the floor. “Manic.”

    “Well my day’s not exactly been a cake walk,” Acacia commented grumpily. “What with the housework, eight children to mind, no husband to help . . .”

    Jayce gave a small sigh, as if just realizing his wife might very well have had her own paws full. “Sorry, babe,” he said, planting an apologetic kiss on her lips. He held her by the shoulders, lovingly rubbing her left one. “I’m gonna make it up to you . . . All of you, I promise. . . .”

    How was Acacia supposed to stay cross at that lovable, sorry face? Jayce worked as a manager for one of the region’s most successful supermarket retailers, Goodwin’s; the family owed living here, in Appleage, to his promotion of last year. The Meowstic had worked his way up the ranks from scratch, beginning out as a shelf stacker for a number of years, hard work and commitment sailing him through to the position of team leader, then eventually manager over the course of fourteen years.

    Acacia and Jayce had first met in Jayce’s third year at the store on a blustery October day. Acacia, eighteen back then and the envy of virtually every girl around her age group, had moved into town with some childhood friends, dreams of taking acting classes at the local college and making a name for themselves in the world of acting. Finding herself having to do the shopping alone one day, Acacia strolled into the closest supermarket to where she lived, carrying with her a shopping list and an empty backpack. Most supermarket policies offered staff shopping assistance for Pokémon who requested it, appealing greatly to the elderly and quadrupedal Pokémon for obvious reasons.

    Typically, Acacia wouldn’t trouble anybody for help shopping, but being on her own compelled her to request so. Spotting a Meowstic employee working down an aisle, she decided to go and ask him. Right off the bat, the Meowstic found her wordlessly beautiful, swallowing slightly wide-eyed and almost not able to stutter “Y-yes” when she asked if he could help her with her shopping. As they shopped, the Meowstic’s shyness barrier became apparent; Jayce’s failure to return his name after Acacia introduced herself meant she needed to resort to his work vest’s name badge. Fortunately for him, Acacia adored shyness in guys, and after a short while she had charmed some personal details from him, learning he was nineteen and living by himself in a small flat.

    With his psychic powers, Jayce had a shopping basket follow them around; milk, bread, and other such groceries floated from the shelves into the basket, delighting Acacia. It saddened her she could only make a short shop, her backpack space limiting her to the basics she and her friends needed. But Jayce insisted he fetch a shopping cart, help the Shiny Glaceon do her full shop, and even escort it to her home . . . Well, she was hardly able to decline such a selfless offer, now was she?

    “Well you can start,” Acacia told him, smiling as she sat down to loosen her husband’s tie, “by laying out the table. Then you can call your children for dinner, do the washing and drying up afterwards, tuck Simon and Dawn in, then read them a bedtime story before they go to bed. And if you play your cards right . . .” she continued, lifting the tie over Jayce’s head and throwing it into the open washing machine to her right. She leaned forwards, closer to him. “I might let you give me one of those amazing backrubs later. . . .”

    “Lucky me,” cheeked Jayce.

    Their lips came together, sharing in tender kisses. Jayce had begun caressing the back of Acacia’s head with a paw when revolted child voices chorused, “Ewww!”

    The adults faced the door leading through to the hallway. Two of their Eevee children, Dawn and Simon, stood in the kitchen doorway, both pulling those classic sickened faces.

    “They were kissing!” Dawn wailed at Simon.

    “Yuck — gross!” cried Simon.

    “Ah, come ’ere, ya little scamps!” said Jayce unabashedly, holding his arms out wide — and with a charge of “Daddy!” Dawn and Simon pounced him to the floor, tails wagging. He groaned under their weight. “You lot get heavier every day. . . .”

    Using Psychic, much to the Eevees’ enjoyment, he lifted them up, setting them down as he got to his feet. “So what have you guys been up to today?” he asked, a spin of zing in his tone.

    “We played hide and seek!” chirped Simon.

    “Fall hid first, he was really —”

    “Fall was really good!” Simon interrupted Dawn, earning him a glare. “We were seeking for ages, but I,” the Eevee placed a proud emphasis on the word, his smile turning smug, “found him in the airy cupboard.”

    “No you did not!” shrilled Dawn. “I saw his tail sticking under the door!”

    “Yeah but I actually found him,” Simon argued back.

    “Only because of me — !”

    “Now, now,” said Jayce firmly, foreseeing an argument, “let’s not fight.”

    Dawn and Simon shifted as they stared each other down. Then, Dawn threw on her innocent face and pottered up to her father.

    “Sorry, Daddy . . .” she apologized in, what she knew was, her cutest manner. Simon watched his dad give her a hug, but wasn’t remotely fooled by her “sorry” act; she cast him an inconspicuous glance over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue.

    “Dinner smells good. What’ve we got?” Jayce enquired.

    “Beef, mash, and veg,” answered Acacia from the worktop, concentrating on stirring gravy in a measuring jug; she had poured piping hot kettle water into a quarter jug of gravy granules, not having the time to make proper gravy.

    “Be a good girl and call your brothers and sisters for dinner, yeah?” Jayce told Dawn.

    The Eevee seemed only too happy to help, her mouth opening in a smile and tail wagging. She zoomed into the hallway, making for the living room where her remaining siblings were —

    “I’ll help!” said Simon brightly, rushing to the small stall near the worktop. However, before he could hop atop it, a light blue glow defined his body and he hovered backwards.

    “Why don’tcha go on and wait in the backroom,” Jayce lightly suggested, his eyes reverting to their normal spring green after freeing his son.

    “Fine!” Simon suddenly snapped. “Who wants stupid Simon’s help anyway?”

    He shot out the kitchen, Jayce left stupefied and at a loss of what to do.

    “What was all that about?” he asked of Acacia, his voice quite a lot higher.

    “He’s five, dear,” Acacia said, and Jayce recognized that distinctive tone of irritability. “Maybe if you spent more time with him you’d know Simon’s much more sensitive than he’d have you believe.”

    Her words had come over him like a stray ocean wave over a dried out sea shell, washing over him.

    “You’re right. . . .” he softly admitted, continuing to gaze down the hall where Simon had ran. Acacia turned to him. “Tomorrow,” he told her with a strength sounding very obdurate, “I’m going straight to Roger Creel and telling him I’m taking two weeks off to spend with my family starting Monday.”

    “Oh he’ll never give you two weeks on such short notice,” Acacia muttered, being realistic.

    “Won’t he?” said Jayce, grinning. “Bloke owes me for putting off my holiday before Easter to help ’em out. And our sales forecast only predicted a forty thousand pound profit for this week, so it’s not exactly like the store’s gonna be heaving. If he says no after that —” he shrugged, “he can find someone else to tread on.”

    “Jayce . . .” breathed Acacia.

    “You and the kids are my everything, and for too long I’ve neglected the responsibilities of being a parent. That all changes today — beginning with making it up with Simon. . . . And you know something else?” he added as he started down the hall, turning to look at his Glaceon wife whilst taking slow steps backwards, his voice ringing vigorous potency. “We’re having a proper family holiday too. Get the ole laptop out tonight and see what’s about.”

    In all the twelve years she’d known him, Acacia had never before felt as attracted to Jayce as she did this very moment. This wasn’t the kind of attitude she had become accustomed, and as her Meowstic husband marched confidently after his son she found him incredibly sexy.

 

A still, warm night fell around Appleage, birds now asleep among the tree branches, black canopies rustling under a white moon otherwise obscured by roving clouds.

    A mighty, bipedal, dinosaurian Pokémon’s footfalls pounded the dried, muddy ground. Appleage lie between two towns roughly thirty miles apart, adjoined together by a wide dirt path in the heart of a forest. The path itself had been forged and maintained through the forest resultant of decades’ worth of commuting Pokémon; it was often travelled by during the day.

    Walking behind on either side of the lumbering giant were a pair of shorter, far less bulky, identical figures. They appeared to be hunching; the virtual darkness made it difficult to tell. A streak of moonlight was allowed to illuminate the path in a cloud’s passing, helping to identify the trio.

    The following Pokémon were Toxicroaks, dark blue, bipedal frogs armed with a deadly, venom-coated red claw on the back of their hands. The Pokémon leading was a Tyranitar, a fierce carnivore heavily armoured by osteoderms as tough as rock. The dark green Rock-type towered above the Poison types, standing more than two metres tall. There was something of a cold, almost degenerate, tenacity in his eyes, each step taken with clear purpose.

    “Is it much further, Vasco?” grunted the Toxicroak following on the Tyranitar’s right.

    Vasco did not respond straight away. “We’re close. . . .” he said in a deep, unfeeling voice, his sights not deviating from ahead.

    “Good . . .” droned the Toxicroak who asked, a twisted grin shaping his mouth. “Can’t wait to shed blood. . . .”

    “That cop will soon regret ever arresting my brother,” said the other Toxicroak darkly. “Hey, Vasco? You ever kill a Scyther before?”

    Again, Vasco’s response came delayed. “First time. . . .”

    Though relatively youthful and without a scar to spoil his appearance, there could be no mistaking this Tyranitar for any other but the future destroyer of Kesgea Village. In this time, Vasco’s body had yet to sustain the injuries his older self bared: None of his back or tail spikes were broken off or damaged. His claws were still sharp to stab, and his upper and lower set of canines were countable whenever he spoke.

    “And you’re sure that Scyther lives in Appleage, Sven?” the first Toxicroak asked his twin brother.

    Sven rotated his head to face his brother, his sinisterly yellow eyes almost aglow in the gloom.

    “Nash,” he said with threatening calm, “nobody ruins our biggest heist to date then locks my brother behind bars and gets away scot-free. . . .” Grinning, he added, “Oh I’m positive. . . .”

    Together, Vasco, Nash, and Sven made a living in the crime of robbing jewellers all around the region. Each heist would be meticulously planned beforehand. The first step involved a three-way scout of a new town or city, regrouping at a prearranged place after their sweeps to report their findings. If more than a single jeweller was found they would go by previous experience to eliminate whichever they assumed carried the greatest risk, taking into account such factors as security and location. Before commitment could enter the equation, it was necessary for the three to better inspect their target, inside and out, typically having one of the Toxicroak brothers pose as a browsing customer while in actual fact taking note of internal security, e.g. cameras.

    Usually, there was no job they could not pull, operating at night when the shops were closed and other Pokémon in bed. But you’d likely be wondering Vasco’s role in their undertakings; a two hundred kilogram Tyranitar in a jewellery shop occupied by expensive necklaces and watches in glass displays would certainly result in a smashingly bad time. No, Vasco served more like an insurance policy in case anything went wrong, ready with his formidable attack power should legal resistance interfere. For more than twenty heists his strength proved unneeded, the criminals getting away with hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of jewellery over a period of just a few years. Unneeded . . . that was up until their previous attempted heist three weeks earlier.

    Of course, the three didn’t manage to get away with their crimes for many months without cunning, laying low after each heist — using the time to sell on their goods to interested traffickers — and moving to a new destination where the authorities would not suspect them. Even so, records of their every robbery were stored on the police’s database, and it was through this police were finally able to make a breakthrough.

    Police Constable Douglas Sutton, a Scyther officer of six years’ service, was on break one morning with a friend Gothitelle call taker when they were discussing the region’s jewellers’ robberies. Never expecting to uncover anything, Douglas asked her to bring up the records on her computer, basically a weighty box with a tiny glass screen and slow processing speeds in these days. To begin with, they could find no connection between earlier robberies, jewellers apparently targeted at random with large, inconsistent time gaps between each one. But then, whilst analysing the four latest robberies, Douglas spotted something, a pattern progressing south-east down the region, the gaps closing to as short as a few weeks.

    Using this discovery, the Scyther and Gothitelle speculated the nearest city to be the criminals’ next target. And despite only going off a supposition made by sketchy deductions, Douglas’s superior granted him command over a team of undercover police officers, permitting him a full month to carry out an investigation within the suspected city. It pained Douglas having to leave his wife and son in this month, but he knew he had to do his duty.

    Three uneventful weeks in the city turned up nothing the Scyther and his team were hoping for; the closest thing being attempted theft of a woman’s purse, one of Douglas’s undercover officers fortunately nearby at the time and able to apprehend the wrongdoer. But on the fourth and final week, just as the Scyther was ready to admit defeat, a leap forward! An officer had reported a group of males — specifically, a Tyranitar and a Toxicroak duo — behaving “oddly” . . . seeming particularly interested in a jewellery dealer’s. . . .

    When night fell on that day, Douglas and his squad suited up, their portable law enforcement radios tuned and on standby, and their uniforms kitted out with melee-resistant vests. They had to endure a gruelling five hour stake-out of the jeweller’s until Vasco, Nash, and Sven made an appearance in the very early hours of the morning. Everything was in place — they merely had to wait for the three to force entry in order to make the arrests.

    It impressed Douglas how the Toxicroaks dealt with the outside surveillance cameras by splatting them with a nasty sludge shot from their mouths. With the cameras an issue no longer, the Tyranitar approached the shop and let one of the Toxic Mouth Pokémon climb up his back; the increased height allowed the frog to jump onto the shop’s roof. The Toxicroak disappeared for a few minutes before emerging out the back door. Swinging his black empty backpack around to open its main compartment, he signalled his brother into the shop. Readying to cram his backpack also, the second brother looked up with a start when a voice yelled “Freeze!” and a half-dozen figures sprung from various hiding places.

    “You’re all under arrest for —” Douglas began but suddenly had to fling himself into a dive to avoid the Tyranitar’s destructive Hyper Beam, which lit the immediate area with the strength of a dawning sun briefly before striking a building and exploding in a blast of dust and brick. Douglas caught himself with a clanging of his scythes as the tips met block paving.

    Looking around, he saw chunks of brick and mortar dropping from a crater made in one of the build’s corners; he heard someone swear, and a blue glow enveloped the crater to hold other pieces of loose debris in place. It was costing the Girafarig officer of Douglas’s team to do this. In the confusion, Vasco had called a retreat, shaking the ground as he tore toward a backstreet only blocked by a single Krookodile officer, who was roughly thrown over Vasco’s back — Sven followed, stopping for an instant to wave his brother over with a yell of urgency. Determined not to let Nash get away, Douglas raced after him, his clear wings beating so fast they became a blur, propelling him with such speed his foot claws barely touched the ground —

    The Scyther rammed hard enough into the Toxicroak’s back he knocked him down, pinning him with the dull flat side of his right scythe.

    “Let them go!” Douglas called to the Krookodile, whom was on his feet again and in pursuit of Vasco and Sven; the crocodilian stopped before getting far, a mix of confusion and anger on his face as he turned to Douglas. “We haven’t the manpower to subdue that Tyranitar,” Douglas rationalized, all the while wrestling to keep the Toxicroak down.

    Fortunately, Douglas managed to convince his squad their safety was his top priority, and that letting the Tyranitar escape was a guaranteed way of insuring that; he refused to put any of their lives at risk in a dangerous confrontation. And at least they had one of the criminals in custody. Maybe if Douglas were to coerce him — strike a deal to lessen his punishment — he’d even be willing to assist the police. . . .

    Vasco, Nash, and Sven had not long been walking in silence when a shape on the path ahead emerged from the shadows.

    “Is that a sign?” asked Nash, frowning as they neared the vertical shape indeed looking more and more like a signpost.

    It was the wooden signpost directing to Appleage Hamlet, a short walk up a dirt path standing between them and that Scyther cop. . . .