A Shimmer on Sunday

She didn’t seem to hear me, but used the light on the acrylic glass for a mirror to check her bangs. Her computer flashed something, the screen faced the other way so that public couldn’t view it. The immigration official fixed her glasses while viewing what had come up. Air Conditioning pumping through the vents proved to my ears just how large the Valon Customs Entry Port was. Much bigger than Brentwood.

“It looks like you’ve overstayed your visa.” She looked in my direction, but it was clear that her eyes were focused on the glass. Not much communication was going to happen here.

I already knew the outcome of this, but I needed to play the part in case she did pay attention. “But I’m coming in to the city. I wasn’t even on a visa.” The air conditioner spun down leaving a hollowness in the vents. My question didn’t even make it through the glass. Wouldn’t have mattered anyways as she wasn’t hearing anything I said.

“You’ll have to take it up with Deportations Department.”

The custom’s official made a gesture without even looking and motioned towards a room off to the side. Door sign read simply: Customs Official: Deportations Department and a hallway window showed a dark room without anyone inside. Usual furniture was there, not tidy, not messy. Just an office and no one was home.

Kind of like who I was dealing with now. But I guess that’s what I get for trying to get through to the Valon city on a Sunday Night. Perfect.

She pulled out a stamp gun and reached out for my hand. Quickly, I looked behind me. No one was there. I flipped my wrist over, and projected a fake arm. Tangible to the touch, but there was no way in hell I was going to get that tracker injected into me. Plus, I had another passport in the storage unit I could use to get out of the country if she remembered to put a date on her stamp.

She grabbed my fake hand and injected into it a tracker. In a monotone, and completely rote manner, she fixed her bangs and recited a well trained phrase. “You’ll have to report back on Monday during working hours. If you don’t report back my 5pm tomorrow afternoon, you will be in violation of city immigration code and subject to search and seizure followed by banishment.” She didn’t even look at my passport. “You can go.” She handed me back my hand. No date on the passport stamp.

“Mam, have a nice night.”

No answer. None was needed. I got exactly what I wanted and she got to return to her mirror.

As I put away the passport, I knew that this mission was going to be a success and that I had finally made it into the city. But I looked up and saw a camera trained on me. One that I hadn’t shut off.

--

About 20 minutes away by tread, a large hand reached for the keyboard. The screen had been enlarged to watch the camera of a Valon City immigration official dealing with a tourist. But his Valon Hunter training told him that he was looking at a werefinder. Tensions had grown tough between the cities of Valon and Bramblewood, and the question of possible werefinders moving in to disrupt communications between the shipment ports had placed everyone on high alert.

“Jarvs, who comes in at 2am on Sunday night?”

Jarvs turned around to answer and his ears twitched as he drew in a smile. “Do you think you have one?” He responded.

“Well-“ As the hunter began to respond, both Jarvs and he watched as the individual on the screen cautiously looked around and projected an arm for a fake tracking implant.

Jarvs picked up the radio. “Vrai, this is immigration office. Vrai, over.”

A crackling picked up on the radio speaker. “Go for Vrai.”

“Potential werefinder entering in to immigration terminal 7. Five and a half farthings tall, grey fedora, sapphire skin, white beard, light grey trench coat, white collar shirt, blue tie, dark tan valise briefcase.”

The werefinder paused. It was clear he was sensing something. Jarvs stopped talking and the two watched the monitor. Then he looked straight up, right at the camera and began running.

“Stay here.” Jarvs said and he grabbed a hat from the coatrack. He ran out of the office and the alarms started going off as he ran down the hallway. “Son of a bitch has tripped the shimmer wards.”

--

The Customs official looked up to the alarm, finally broken from her entrancing hair. The air behind her head shimmered and what looked like a shiny, silvery strand of hair was pulled out from her head.

--

The camera was clearly watching me and I knew that the time was up. Immediately, I started booking it. If I could make it through the first set of doors, I would be able to cast into a tread as I’d be outside of the wards. But before I could make it to the door, the shimmer alarms started going off. Immediately. I knew.

It’s interesting how the pawn knows he’s the pawn. Life is always a serious game when you are the one being played. Somehow, I’m going to have to face a shimmering charge even though I had never even learned that trick.

I stopped. Clearly, someone had followed me through and was using me as cover to be able to shimmer through the wards. It had to be someone who did not want to be found and could not risk holding a tangible body in order to get through customs. Everything would be pinned on me and whomever this was would be able to wait until the wards were being reset and simply meander through. The only chance I had was to prevent myself from leaving until I found whoever had come behind me from Bramblewood.

The age old tale of these two cities was going to have to be played out in a travel customs entry port, and I was hopefully the protagonist.