A faint smile crossed her lips as her eyes moved from his damp hair to his mud-caked shoes. Given he looked like a bum and undoubtedly smelled like one too, her not running away screaming was an absolute win.

"Rough night," he said. Any attempt to explain himself would lead to more questions. "The shop isn't open yet."

Her eyes darted towards her purple-and-green sneakers. She spoke in a low voice. "I know, but I was wondering if, maybe, the job is still open?" 

"It is."

She glanced up briefly, biting her lip. "Do you also hire off the books?"

He folded his arms. Not that he was opposed to the idea. The more he could operate outside the law, the fewer traces he left. In a digital world, it wasn't so easy to start anew with another identity. But what was her motive? Was she too young to work officially, or in need of quick cash, or both?

Actually, he was too tired to care. "I pay seven euros per hour."

"Seven-and-a-half?" Her voice rose as she added. "I also would like to get paid daily, if that isn't too much trouble."

He chuckled, not expecting her to be the type to bargain. "Deal. I would shake hands, but..." He gestured at himself. "Let's do that after I've taken a shower."

"Much appreciated. You smell like you have crawled out of a sewer."

She had no idea.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and opened the store. As she lifted the shutters, he brought the stack of newspapers in. 

"The work's straightforward," he told her. "Take out yesterday's news and put these ones in the rack. Same with the magazines. Out with the old, in with the new. When you're done, there are boxes with candy bars in the stockroom." He pointed at the door in the back. "Replenish the shelves by the counter. I recently took out any expired bars, so no need to worry about that. Check the drinks too. If you want coffee, you can make some in the kitchen." He gestured at the door behind the counter. "Ignore the mess."

Asking no questions, she began to take out the old copies. Impressed by the work ethic of his new apprentice, or assistant, or whatever the word was humans used these days, Vidar retreated to the privacy of his kitchen. Crusty dishes from three days ago sat in the sink. An open bag of bread still on the table, crumbs everywhere. He wrapped his phone in a threadbare towel. Perhaps, once it was dry, it would magically switch on again.

Then, he took off his shoes and strolled up the stairs, heading for the bathroom. His knees ached in protest. His head was woozy. Normally, he hardly felt his age, but in the past twenty-four hours, all he felt was how old he really was. He didn't understand why. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened during his wolf night. 

He stood still and blinked. In fact, other than feasting on a juicy rabbit he had caught, he hardly remembered what he had done as a wolf.

Blaming his tired mind, he stripped naked and stepped into the shower. As soothing hot water rinsed him clean, he slumped against the tiles, watching the dirt disappear down the drain.

Showers were such a brilliant invention. And to think he had opposed and mocked them as they became commonplace in the second half of the last century. An unnecessary luxury for those who wished to smell like a walking soap bar. But now that he was used to the waterfall of warmth and comfort, he couldn't imagine living without one. 

Humanity smelled better, and he smelled like a human. Win-win. 

He yawned loudly as he slowly soaped himself. His eyelids tugged. So drowsy. Closing them for a moment wouldn't harm anyone. Just a couple of seconds...

Has the trickster been tricked... Do I know...? 

A flash of red eyes. A shadow lurking in the dark. He ran and ran, yet the voice followed him.

Do I know...? Vidar, who tricks the trickster?

Vidar? Vidaaaaaar?

Am I freezing, Vidar?

Kludde's screeching voice rang in his ears as he woke up with a start. Cold water soaked him. He was lying down, curled up. Disoriented, Vidar turned off the tap. He brushed his hair out of his face. How long had he been asleep?

He rushed out of the shower. He was wide awake now.

A few minutes later, dressed in his last clean pair of jeans and a chequered flannel shirt he had found at the back of his closet, he stumbled back into the kitchen.

To his surprise, the girl with the blue hair was standing by the stove, a spatula in her hand. The omelette in the pan had a delicious gold-brown colour. A deep black coffee dripped through the filter into the pot below.

The clock above the door read a quarter to seven; he had been asleep for half an hour.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I did everything you asked, and then I waited for you to return, but you didn't. Not doing anything while you pay me seemed wrong, so I went in here and found some eggs in your fridge. You looked hungry."

She looked spooked, as though he had caught her doing something wasn't supposed to do. Bold as the move was, Vidar wasn't angry. He couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to make him breakfast. The sink was empty as well; she had done the dishes too.

"You're a good worker—already employee of the month," Vidar joked, aware of the tension. "And to think that I don't know your name."

"Kira," she said under her breath as she slid the omelette onto a plate. 

"I'm Vidar."

She nodded. No remarks about the name being peculiar or not Belgian. From the toaster, she grabbed two pieces of bread and put them in a basket he hadn't used in years. 

He sat down and began to eat while she poured him coffee. She didn't take any for herself.

"You can have some too," he offered.

She waved his remark away. "No, it's fine."

"You deserve it—you saved my morning."

A light blush formed on her cheeks. "I'm vegan, and I don't like coffee," she said shyly.

"Not liking coffee is such blasphemy, but, vegan life, I get it," he said between chewing. His love for nature was bigger than his desire to be silent. "Back in the day, people had a couple of animals roaming around in the fields close to the farmhouse. A chicken laid eggs until it was old, after which it ended up in a stew. They had a good life, not packed together, thousands of them together or stuck in cages where they can't even spread their wings. It's cruel."

"It is." She turned towards the clock.

"If you have to leave, that's fine. You can work before and after school—I'm flexible."

"I... err... I don't go to school."

Vidar raised his hands. "Sorry, thought you were younger."

She only smiled. Maybe she was a high-schooler after all.

He decided not to pry any further and to show her his phone instead. "I dropped it last night. Since then, it no longer switches on. Maybe it's the battery, but I'm not sure."

"I'll have a look."

She didn't have to say he was an idiot. Just the look on her face when she took the phone out of its leather cover was enough to know he had messed up. She pushed the power button. 

When the screen didn't light up, she did a trick with her nails. The phone clicked open. She grimaced. 

"Do you have rice?" she asked.

"I do." He cocked his head. "Never knew phones needed food."

She giggled as only teenage girls could. "You're such a Boomer, Vidar. The rice can dry your phone—it sucks up all the liquid. It'll take a day or so."

"Oh," he said. Not having a phone for so long bothered him more than he dared to admit.

She was scrolling on her phone. "I see here that putting it underneath a lamp helps the evaporation process."

"But, will it work afterwards?"

"Perhaps with a cotton swab, I can remove the sand and..." She grimaced again. "... whatever muck is in there."

"It's worth a try. Those plastic bricks are expensive."

"Plastic bricks," she repeated, lightly chuckling and shaking her head. An eye-roll was not far away. Then her face turned serious. "If you need to reach someone urgently, you can always use mine."

He was grateful for the offer. Years ago, Mo had made him get rid of his fateful landline, said it was a waste of space and money. But without a phone, he couldn't reach the Ifrit and discuss the next steps. "Just a quick call, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead. I never use my minutes, anyway." She handed her unlocked phone to him.

Since Mo's phone number was the only one he used, he knew it by heart. As he waited for his friend to pick up, he went into his shop and opened the cash register. He switched on the terminal. Five minutes before the first customers would pop in.

"Hello?" croaked a sleepy voice on the other end.

"Mo, it's Vidar. I found Kludde, but I'm none the wiser. He spoke of a trickster outsmarting him."

Mo let out a loud yawn. "Isn't he a trickster?"

"There are others, too many others."

"True." There was silence. "We should go to Viviane's grave, Vidar. See who or what has been snooping there. We desperately need a good lead."

"We need a car for that, Mo. That's all the way in Saeftinghe."

Mo sniffed. "I'll take care of it. Tonight, six-thirty at your place. It's your turn to arrange pizza."

"Pizza it is."

When he turned around, Kira stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. How much had she heard?

"Buddy and I play D and D," Vidar said. He didn't know what the abbreviation stood for, but he had heard Mo successfully use the excuse on a colleague of his.

She shrugged. "Whatever happens between two consenting adults, it's not my business."

Although the urge to protest was high, Vidar resorted to silence. If Kira believed he was into strange sexual acts, that was all fine with him. It beat the alternative of her finding out he was an immortal god.

He took the book about Antigone from the counter. "Here, you've been a real help this morning, making breakfast and letting me borrow your phone. I appreciate it."

"You can deduct the cost from my pay," she said.

"It's a gift," he insisted.

Her head low, she crawled back into her metaphorical shell. "I don't do gifts."

Vidar stroked his beard. "Well, then you can work for it. Given the sudden interest in local history and legends, I want you to scour the shop for any book or comic book on the matter. It's time we put them on display and earn some extra money."

And do some research as well.

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