"That should be all, Manneke." The middle-aged trucker lady took a pen from the breast pocket of her white and blue jumpsuit. She spoke with a thick, local accent, the type that schools tried beating out of the children for most of the twentieth century until politicians and linguistics worried about the decline of Flemish dialects. "Sign here."

Vidar scribbled a V and a loopy O.

"Allé, have a nice day," she said.

"You too."

Just as she slammed the door of the blue van, a mop of blue hair turned the corner.

Kira kicked her foot off the ground, approaching faster. The skateboard sucked to her shoes as she leapt onto the pavement. She zigzagged, narrowingly avoiding the moving van.

She catapulted the board up, landing a good metre from Vidar. Out of breath, she said. "Sorry, I'm late."

"You're here now." Vidar lifted the pack of newspapers with one arm and carried a small box of books in the other.

Once again, Kira was apologising without any reason. She came and went as she pleased, working more than Danny ever had. And costing less too, if he didn't count the apple-granola breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen.

She placed her skateboard against the counter, then tightened her ponytail. She opened her backpack, a tiny yellow bag with googly eyes and drawn-on eyebrows.

"I know you said it wasn't my fault, but I felt so bad for frying your phone." She took out something flat, glittery and silver. "It's not much, but you mentioned not using it much, so I thought you could have my old one. It's a bit slow, but it works, and uses the same charger."

He hesitated to take it, mainly afraid the silver would burn his finger. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, he braced himself for the sting.

"Thanks," he said through gritted teeth. His skin touched the glitters, but there wasn't the slightest tingle or prickle. He brushed over the rough texture-fake. Nickel.

"Sorry about the cover. It's not very manly."

"It's... fine." He touched the button on the side. Instantly, the screen lit up.

Enter SIM PIN, you have 3 remaining attempts.

"Oh, the code is 1-2-3-4. I reset it for you, but you'll have to change it, of course," Kira said, already taking the ten copies of De Standaard newspaper.

Vidar entered the numbers. "What's wrong with 1-2-3-4?"

"Everything," she intoned. "Don't tell me you use that code?"

Vidar let the silence answer for him.

"Oh my god, Vidar, change it. It's like having a lockless door. People only need to push, and they're in."

Humming, he scrolled through the chromatic icons of apps he would never use. Fine, he would change it to 2-3-4-5. How else was he going to remember the combination? He already had too many things to worry about and memories that got lost in the maze of his brain.

"Remind me to change it later," he told Kira as he heaved the box onto the table and practically tore the flaps.

Not that book again.

The shirt-shredder stared at him with sparkling eyes. In the corner, the faded silhouette of the wolf still howled at the moon. Five copies, and two of a sequel featuring a fanged lady in her underwear sitting seductively on what seemed to be a wolf's fur. Shirt-shredder, wearing a tank top now, stood behind her, holding a stake above her head.

Kira burst his personal bubble by leaning over the box. "You sell that kind of stuff?"

"People buy that."

"But there's so much of that for free online."

"You can read books on the internet now. For free?"

She stood on her tiptoes to pat his shoulder. "I'm sure these have seen an editor up close."

"Hmm, something for your Book Tiktik?"

"BookTok," she corrected him. "Oh, no, only quality books at @SkatergirlKiraReads. Got any suggestions on what to cover after Antigone? I wanna stay local, make sure people come to the shop instead of ordering it online."

Vidar turned towards the 'Local Legends and Myths' display they had set up a couple of days ago. His eye fell on the short book he had been leafing through when researching Lange Wapper, but after meeting the shapeshifter, it would be better if the world left him alone. Perhaps he should remove the book altogether.

He skimmed over the smurfs. Those blue dwarfs in white pants and white pointy hats were already too famous. Instead, he picked up a modern version of 'The Fox Reynaert', on the cover a fox with mean-looking eyes and pointed ears. Why do research alone if you can have the internet helping you?

"What's it about?" Kira asked.

"A wandering schemer who's always up for some mischief. He fooled so many his adventures are known across all of Western Europe."

"Ew, talking animals. Sounds as crazy as werewolves with abs."

"You know, back in the day of yore when animals spoke, that fox escaped the gallows."

Kira snorted. "Spoilers."

"What's that?"

"Well... you told me the ending, spoiling it," she talked slowly again, as though he wasn't very clever.

He raised his eyebrows. "Who says it's the end?"

"Alright, challenge accepted."

Vidar stacked the copies of the werewolf books, then placed the box in the storage room. On his way back, Kira was strangely eying De Tijd, the financial newspaper, which made him chuckle inwardly. At least, there were matters in this world that were an enigma to her too.

Grabbing the phone from the counter, he turned to the kitchen. "I'll be a minute," he said to Kira.

"Change the pin," she said, still distracted by the financial news.

Vidar poured coffee into his snowman mug, then sat down, pressing the blue icon with the banana-shaped handset. A list of foreign-looking numbers appeared on the screen. In the right corner popped up another circle with ten dots stacked in rows of three.

A good guess. He entered Mo's number.

It rang once, then twice.

A chirpy voice greeted him. "Ewa, this is Mo..."

"Morning, Vidar here."

But Mo kept talking. "I'm currently in the land of the dead, which means either sleeping or washing corpses. Take your pick. Leave a message or call later. Except when your name is Sinbad-you got what you wanted. Warranty expired a while ago, my friend."

A high-pitched beep rang in his ear. Stupid voicemail.

Vidar pressed the red icon, then scanned the screen. No, he didn't need Chrome, nor a Calculator, or a Calendar. What in the Allfather's name were Discord and Duolingo? Facebook. No. Instagram. No.

Messages! Yes, that was what he needed. He tapped the markup balloon. Part of a conversation with 0411 00 20 16 from 21st of July popped onto his screen.

Your uncle's an ass. You should report...

That wasn't meant for his eyes. Quickly, he started a new chat and retyped Mo's number.

The keyboard that slid onto the screen had a few characters he wasn't used to seeing in Dutch. German ü, ö and ä, but a Portuguese õ too.

When he typed 'New phone Vidar', the phone changed it to 'Nüüd telefon Vidar'

Wanting to change it, his finger slipped. The message was sent.

"Oh, come on," he grumbled.

Angrily, he rewrote the message, but the words kept changing. His old plastic brick made sense-this was rubbish.

Then the phone trembled in his hands. An upbeat beat blasted out of the speakers, the singing eerily haunting. Mo's number appeared on the screen.

He pressed the green icon as though his life depended on it.

"Thank the Allfather it's you."

"You need a smartphone for dummies class, Wolfie?" The grin on the Ifrit's face was audible.

Vidar scratched his throat, stretching to close the door with the tip of his toes. "My old brick made more sense."

"That's because the impeccable service of Mo industries prepped it for you. You should have told me you needed a new one. Could have arranged a cheap one."

"I'll get the hang of it." Since he heard Kira shuffling around, he decided to keep his conversation with Mo cryptic. "Anyway, I met our lanky friend. Scratch him off the list-he's innocent."

Mo clacked his tongue. "You're sure he didn't enchant you with his trickster business?"

"He's a permanent eight-year-old who prefers the company of fish."

"Children can be brats."

"He's not."

"And the stories about him?"

"Makes you wonder who's really the villain," Vidar said in the breath of a long sigh. "The city scares him, Mo. Our perpetrator is clever... this guy... not a lot of light upstairs."

Mo snorted, snot shooting up his nose. "Fine."

He didn't sound convinced.

"If you don't believe me, you can always join me on my next visit, play some cards with him while we eat candy and drink soda."

"Hang on, why do you wanna return to him if you think he's innocent?"

Vidar stammered. "Because... I might have..."

"Another charity case?"

"It's not-"

"Honestly, you attract too many strays, Wolfie. It's like you have a God-complex."

"Well." He lowered his voice. "I am."

Mo grunted. "For a God of Silence, you talk too much. Especially so shortly after sunrise."

Vidar hummed.

"And now you're gonna stay silent just to spite me."

Vidar let out a longer hum.

"Point taken, Wolfie." There came a crack and a groan from the other end, as though Mo was getting out of bed. "Look, when all of this is over, I'll meet your new friend. I'm busy right now. You wanna help me get in Eshu's good graces? His minions claim it's needed to get in his good graces."

"I have another lead. Our lanky friend mentioned Reyn-"

From the shop came a piercing screech and a clatter. A panicked girly voice yelled, "VIDAR!"

Not caring whether he ended the conversation with Mo, Vidar dropped the phone.

"Wolfie? Hello?" Mo said as Vidar stormed into his shop.

Words: 1.658 (total 20.532)

20k reached! I haven't reached the end of the novella. There are still roughly 6/7 chapters to go before the end.