Page 48 of The Slug Crystal
As if on cue, Alex emerges fully from his shell, pressing against the glass of his terrarium as though eager to join the conversation. I wonder, not for the first time, how much he understands of what's happening around him. Does he know we're in Venice? Does he recognize that we're trying to helphim? Or is his snail brain consumed with simpler concerns—food, moisture, safety?
"Get some rest, Alex," I murmur, tapping the glass gently. "Big day tomorrow."
Everyone hears me and reacts differently. Ben smirks, Luca looks thoughtful, Marco nods as if speaking to snails is perfectly normal, and Jake... Jake watches me with an expression so tender it makes my chest ache. For a moment, despite the cramped quarters and the competing tensions, I feel strangely at peace, surrounded by this odd collection of men who, for their own reasons, have committed to helping me fix my magical mistake.
"Alright," I say, standing up and nearly bumping into Luca in the process. "Let's figure out these sleeping arrangements for real. I don't know about you guys, but I'm exhausted."
As we begin the awkward dance of determining who sleeps where, our elbows and knees constantly colliding in the tight space, I catch sight of our reflection in the small mirror above the dresser, five people and a snail, crammed into a room meant for two, embarking on a quest that seems more absurd by the hour.
And somehow, despite everything, I wouldn't have it any other way.
12SPIRITS, SPILLS, AND NEW LEADS
Thursday,5:53AM. Dawn breaks over Venice like a held breath finally released, golden light spilling across the maze of canals and weathered buildings. I wake to find Jake already dressed, sitting on the edge of his bed, studying something on his phone, his profile sharp against the gentle morning glow filtering through our window.
The terrarium sits on the dresser, Alex's blue shell visible as he explores a fresh piece of lettuce I placed there the night before. Four men and a snail in Venice, this wasn't exactly how I'd planned to spend my week. Desperation makes people do strange things, including gather new travel companions.
"Morning," Jake says without looking up. "I've been mapping possible areas to search." His voice is careful, neutral, as if last night's bed-sharing negotiations never happened.
I sit up, combing fingers through my tangled hair. "Any brilliant insights?"
"Venice is small but dense. If we split up, we can cover more ground." He finally looks at me, his expression softening. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like someone trying not to fall off a mattress the size of a pizza box," I reply, which makes him smile.
A knock interrupts us, and Ben's voice filters through the thin door before he barges back into our tiny, cramped room. "Rise and shine, Team Snail! Marco's found us a café that makes something called 'the best cappuccino in all of Italy,' which is either true or a deeply effective marketing strategy."
Is everyone else on this trip a freak? "Why is everyone up so early?" I ask as I notice Jake and I are the only two left in the room.
"I was too excited to sleep," Ben says. "Marco was working to connect with his University contact to see if he could get us any leads. And I think Luca just wanted to make sure he woke up early enough to have time to style his hair."
Chuckling, I shake my head and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I shuffle through my suitcase. "I think I might need to go shopping for some extra clothes today," I mutter, barely having any options for clean items left.
"Me too," Jake agrees. "We'll work it into the schedule later. Just go get dressed."
We meet the others in the narrow hallway, and everyone seems surprisingly alert. Luca looks unfairly refreshed in a crisp linen shirt, Marco adjusts his glasses with scholarly precision, and Ben bounces on his heels like a kid on a field trip. I clutch Alex's terrarium, which I've started carrying in a canvas tote bag padded with hotel towels. Like the Venice equivalent of a snail car seat.
Over breakfast at a standing-room-only café, we huddle around a map that Marco's marked with colored pens. "The Festival officially ends Sunday," he explains, "but many vendors and performers stay through the week. The city will still be quite... lively until late next week."
"So, what's the plan?" I ask, burning my tongue on espresso that's approximately the temperature of the sun's surface.
Jake taps the map. "We split up. Cover more ground."
"Divide and conquer," Ben agrees through a mouthful of pastry. "Classic strategy."
Luca nods, leaning close enough that I can smell his cologne. "I'll speak with the water taxi drivers. They know everything in this city."
"I have colleagues at the university who might have connections to the... alternative spirituality community," Marco offers. “But I have not heard back from them yet. I will continue to try to get in touch.”
"Great," I say, feeling a spark of hope. "Jake and I will check the vendor stalls. Ben, you're good with people. See what you can charm out of the tourists and locals.”
Ben winks. "My specialty."
“Let’s make sure we all have each other’s numbers so we can keep each other updated,” I say, pulling out my phone. Then I realize I don’t have any service. “Ugh, no service. But you four can swap, and I’ll stick with Jake if you need to reach me.”
Number swapping ensues, then we part ways outside the café, the morning sun already hot against my skin. The narrow streets teem with people. There are tourists with maps and selfie sticks, locals carrying shopping bags, vendors setting up stalls along the canals. Evidence of the festival lingers everywhere. There are faded paper lanterns strung between buildings, confetti ground into cobblestones, and the occasional mask discarded in a corner.
Jake walks beside me, his stride matched to mine as we navigate the labyrinth of alleys. "You really think we'll find her?" he asks quietly.
