“Because she simply wouldn’t see it, Mr. Green.”
He shot a glance at the massive deadly insect remains.
“Okay, but how? Seriously. It’s right there?”
Valentina swept her hand in a flourish reminiscent of a stage magician.
“Exactly,” she said. “This is why I say you are a cryptonaturalist. It is a vocation, certainly, but it is also an attribute. These creatures are not hiding behind trees or lurking in fogbanks. Such creatures rarely bother with conventional stealth. They are hiding behind mindsets, behind ways of thinking. And yet…”
Valentina tapped the edge of the newspaper article.
“Not knowing about such organisms is not the same as being outside their sphere of influence. Much in the way the people who think of themselves as distinct and separate from nature remain utterly dependent on nature for their form, function, and day-to-day survival.”
Green paced and gently pinched the bridge of his nose. It felt spongy and swollen.
“I’m having a hard time buying this for the same reason I don’t buy conspiracy theories. People just don’t keep secrets. Especially not interesting or dangerous secrets. Why isn’t all of this stuff very public knowledge? Even if I couldn’t show somebody this moth, I could take pictures of it. I could, I don’t know, make a plastic mold of it or something.”
“There are publicly operating cryptonaturalists and cryptozoologists. They share public theories about cryptids. Yetis. Sasquatch. The Loch Ness Monster. Mothman. The squonk. Some real. Some less so. In your estimation, are these public experts generally well-respected and valued members of mainstream culture?”
He stopped pacing.
“No, they are not.”
“And yet, would you say, given your experiences already, that those of us with the aptitude for perceiving such nature should endeavor to make a serious study of the subject in order to better understand our world and, in some cases, mitigate harm?”
Green thought of the man who opened his storage garage in New Jersey and made headlines as mummified remains. He thought of the dried blood speckling his own steering wheel.
“I mean, yeah. Of course. Real is real even without widespread acceptance.”
“There you have it, Mr. Green.”
Green’s fingers slid into his pocket to find the acorn.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Another frightening smirk.
“Then, let us start here. I am offering you an apprenticeship. A job, of sorts. A time-honored, symbiotic professional arrangement. I could use the help. You could use the training and experience.”
Green’s first impulse was to buy time to think about it, dodge any immediate answer or commitment. He could think it over in a hotel room with hot showers and a little card listing nearby pizza delivery options.
Yet…if he did that…he knew he wouldn’t come back. And, from there, a series of convenient compromises would lead him by the hand back into the sort of life he had just risked so much to escape.
He prepared to feel the acorn’s influence.
Instead, he saw the face of his old friend, Mr. Reynard. He saw the photos of his loves and adventures sitting on his bedside table. The old man winked at him.
You deserve better.
He reached for bravery he felt sure he didn’t possess. It answered anyway.
“Could I stay here? For now? As part of the arrangement?”
“I was planning to suggest the same thing.”
“Do we…I don’t know…discuss payment?”
Valentina chuckled softly.
