Blog 4: Phoenix

There was someone trying to get into the building when Elwood was retreating to his room after a visit to the diner. Since it was late, Elwood half expected it to be his doom immersed in the darkness of a moonless night, mouth ajar with a toothpick between his canines, holding a shotgun with a death toll higher than the reaper himself. Instead, it was a young woman in a dark blue hoodie with red hair. Not the kind of natural red which looked a bit like ripe sun-kissed orange, but the red died on the flags that bore the Starry Plough. Surrounding the woman was an army of slimy green amphibians. She was buzzing one of the apartments when one of the croaking beasts hopped near one of her sneakers.

“...kick you straight to the moon if you don’t fuck off,” she mumbled.

The frog lazily closed its left eye and exploded its chest into a small bubble. This seemed to infuriate the woman who reared back her right leg preparing to punt the slimy thing down the street when Elwood dropped one of his books. The woman forgot herself and turned around to locate the source of the sound. Rage drained from her face, and a cold seriousness set upon it.

“Do you live here?” she asked.

Elwood nodded picking up his book.

 “I’m looking for Lyra Banks, is she here?”

“No, left a couple of days ago. She told me, if someone was looking for her, that they should talk to Mr. Evans,”

“Fine, where can I find him?”

“In the cemetery,”

The woman cursed under her breath running her hands through her red hair. As she did so, Elwood noticed a strange stark white constellation tattoo on her forearm, one of a different shape than Lyra’s but their likeness was uncanny.

“Why are you looking for Lyra?”

“She’s my…” the woman waved her hands in a circular motion trying to think of a word, suggesting their relationship was complicated “Whatever, why did Lyra talk to you? Who are you? How do you know her?”

“We’re old friends? I’m Elwood Clark,”

“Clark…Was your mother Ursa Clark?”

“Yes…” he said.  

The woman’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“A blank,” she mumbled “How remarkable.”

“Pardon?”

 “I’m Pheonix, Orthros tribe, circumpolar nocturne,” she said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

 “We have much to discuss,”