Chapter Text
At that moment, Laura wanted to express her hatred for several things: airports, timezones, and the fact that the best way to minimise on her already ballooning travel expenses was to spend the night at the airport before her 5AM flight. She didn’t want to pay another night for her AirBnB because first of all, Toronto was expensive, and second of all, being too comfortable meant she probably would have missed her flight.
It was 4:15AM and she had been at Toronto Pearson for seven hours. For the hell of it, she had stopped at every Tim Hortons between the airport’s entrance and the boarding gate, and now she was adamant that she was never going to eat a Timbit again. She was exhausted. It must be a combination of the donuts and being under the airport’s harsh lighting for too long. But she didn’t need to worry about much anymore. She was already where she needed to be, slouched in a seat, waiting for the announcement to board her flight.
Early mornings weren’t Carmilla’s thing, but it was the last day of her holiday and she wanted to have the whole day to herself before she had to go back to work tomorrow. She was grinning and bearing it, as best as she could.
The PA rang clear throughout the departure hall: “We are now inviting the economy class passengers of the Air Canada flight to Los Angeles to board.”
Carmilla glanced up from her book to watch a line of travellers form a sluggish line to the boarding gate adjacent to hers. She couldn’t help but wonder why these people needed to leave for Los Angeles so early in the morning. As far as she knew, not much was interesting there. Then again, she was never the city’s biggest fan. She turned her attention back to her book.
Moments later, the PA sounded off once more: “This is the final boarding call for passengers on the Air Canada flight to Los Angeles. If you are on this flight, please come to the gate immediately. If you need assistance, please approach one of the airport staff to direct you to the gate. I repeat: this is the final boarding call for passengers on the Air Canada flight to Los Ang-”
A woman seated two places away from Carmilla jolted awake, causing Carmilla to look back up from her reading. “Final call?” she asked no one in particular. She looked up at the digital screen by the gate marker, and her eyes widened when the words on the screen confirmed her fears. “Crap!” She scrambled to her feet, digging in her jacket for her boarding pass and bending down to pick her backpack up at the same time.
Carmilla watched as the woman practically sprinted to the boarding gate, and then she went back and reread the sentence she had been reading.
Moments later, the PA announced that her flight to Vancouver was boarding. Carmilla reached for her backpack to put her book away. She reached for a zipper to open a compartment, and instead of the nylon zipper pull, her fingers closed around a foreign material. “What the hell?” she muttered, as she hoisted the bag on her lap. The metal chain where she expected her keychain to be was, instead, attached to a rubber Hufflepuff crest. “What the hell?” she said again, as she looked around the floor and the seats next to her.
“Shit,” she finally said.
This was the only black backpack around, and it wasn’t hers.
Laura would be the first to admit that she was not the greatest at making sensible decisions. But a couple of years ago, when she had a decent amount of money to spend on a backpack, she thought that purchasing a discreet black one was the sensible thing to do. It was going to be her everyday bag after all, to use for travelling and meetings and weekend trips. It was meant to go with her everywhere to everything.
But now she was on a plane to Los Angeles without it. She had meetings scheduled on that same day, all of which would require the hard drives, the laptop, and the other gear she had in the backpack. Ultimately, that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that she had picked up someone else’s bag, which was exactly identical to hers, and because this mess happened in an airport, its rightful owner could be on their way to Kyrgyzstan for all Laura knew.
There was nothing on the outside of the backpack that provided identification, except for a metal keychain of an 8-bit Game Boy, fastened to the same zipper where Laura herself had opted for a Harry Potter- themed one. And like her keychain, this small metal Game Boy didn’t say much about the owner of the bag, except that they were probably a nerd of some kind.
So, not much different to Laura, then.
Laura systematically opened each of the bag’s compartments to see if she could find anything helpful. She tried not to feel too guilty about it; she knew whoever had picked up her bag was probably doing the same thing. There was no passport, phone, or wallet inside, so the bag’s owner also had the good sense to keep those items on themselves.
Laura opened the main compartment, which contained a rolled-up black hoodie, an Android tablet in a case, and a hardbound notebook. She pulled the notebook out. It was a day planner—perfect. She opened to the first page where the contact information was usually kept. It was filled in with meticulous handwriting in jet black ink. A breakthrough. Small bursts of relief began to settle her stomach.
The planner—and the backpack—belonged to one Carmilla Karnstein, who also wrote down her mobile phone number, email address, and an address someplace in Vancouver. It must be an office address, if Laura was thinking of the correct downtown street. But that was irrelevant. What mattered was the backpack’s owner lived in the same city that Laura did, which would make returning it easy.
The next challenge was figuring out where her backpack had ended up.
Upon being saddled with a stranger’s bag, Carmilla decided she would wait for the boarding queue to pass by examining its contents. There was no money, phone, or passport, so Carmilla assumed it belonged to the harried woman who almost slept through final call. She remembered that the woman had at least her travel documents with her.
Carmilla was looking at the woman’s rather impressive collection of hotel ballpoint pens when her knuckles knocked against a small tin case. Mints? She took it out of the bag. It was a plain matte black rectangle with hinges on the short side. She opened it to find a stack of glossy business cards.
Laura Hollis
Film Editor and Videographer
Vancouver, BC
Carmilla nearly sighed in relief. That was good news. At least she lived in the same city as the bag’s owner, who also happened to be the person who accidentally picked up her bag. She flipped the card over to find Laura Hollis’s contact details. There was no use contacting her at that moment, since she was on a plane to Los Angeles.
And so Carmilla replaced the tin of business cards back in its pocket and zipped the bag close. She stood up, slung it over her shoulder, and joined the queue to board her flight.
Later that day—but really, earlier again, because of time zones—Carmilla placed the stranger’s backpack on her couch. She kicked off her sneakers, collapsed into an armchair, and dug her phone out of the pocket of her jacket, which she had unceremoniously discarded on her coffee table.
As soon as she turned the phone screen on, the device connected to her apartment’s WiFi. The notifications came in, mostly emails and messages on Slack. She opened her email app and was surprised to find an email from Laura Hollis .
The subject line: I believe I have your backpack???
The email was rambling, with profuse, repeated apologies for picking up the wrong backpack. Thankfully, it also contained what Carmilla actually wanted to know. Laura Hollis was only in Los Angeles for the night, and would be returning to Vancouver the following afternoon. That meant it wasn’t long until the bags were going to be with their respective owners. There was also an accompanying photo of Carmilla’s backpack, with her 8BitBoy keychain prominently displayed. The email finished with another apology, and a plea: I’m so so so sorry that I took your backpack, and I’m just hoping that you also took mine…
Carmilla rested her phone on the armrest. She leaned forward and grabbed Laura Hollis’s backpack from the couch. She snapped a photo of the Hufflepuff keychain. And then she opened the side pocket where the business card tin was located. She popped the tin open and took a photo of the inside. She attached the two photos to a response email, and, with a smirk on her face, began to type:
I believe these are yours? Sweet business cards, by the way .
“Oh, this must be her!” Laura exclaimed as her phone lit up and buzzed against Betty’s dining table.
Betty, who was busy doing dishes, barely looked up from the sink. “Great,” she intoned, with the barest hint of interest. She was always the coolest head in a crisis, even back at university. Back then, she was the best person to have around when Laura was freaking out about leaving an essential piece of gear on the way to a shoot. Some things never changed.
Sure enough, the email was from Carmilla Karnstein. The first thing Laura did was to open the attachments. Yup, her and Carmilla definitely swapped bags. She closed the photos and proceeded to read the email. There was a conspicuous absence of a greeting. A sign of bad manners, Laura remembered her dad saying.
I believe these are yours? Sweet business cards, by the way.
First of all, it’s not really a big deal that you picked up the wrong bag. It just so happened the two of us sat next to each other and didn’t realise that we had the same backpack, and we both didn’t secure our stuff properly. Not anyone’s fault. It was the crack of dawn after all.
Secondly, I’m happy that you will be back in Vancouver tomorrow. When will be a good time for us to be reunited with our bags? The sooner the better, right? I noticed that you have a laptop and several hard drives in here. I’m assuming that they’re essential equipment for the work that you’re doing.
Thirdly, please take extra caution with the tablet in my bag. There is a lot of sensitive information on there that can’t be released to the public just yet. The last thing I want is a careless mistake leading to a leak. It’ll be way more trouble than just a case of swapped backpacks.
Thank you very much and I hope to see you soon.
Carmilla
“I don’t know what to make of this person,” Laura said.
“What do you mean?” Betty asked.
“She’s like, nice and polite, but there’s like, a layer of passive-aggressiveness there.”
Betty snorted. “Oh, you would know that, wouldn’t you, Hollis?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laura asked. When Betty simply stared at her, she waved the comment off. “Anyway, this is confusing. I can’t tell if she’s pissed off at me or what.”
“People come off weird on email sometimes,” Betty said. “I’m sure she’s perfectly fine.”
“And, listen to this!” Laura read out Carmilla’s final paragraph, the one about the tablet and the “sensitive information”. When she finished, she laughed. “I mean, doesn’t that sound passive-aggressive? Aren’t we all working with sensitive information?” She huffed. “ Careless mistake .”
“Laura, people are always rubbing you the wrong way online,” Betty said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, that was actually a smart thing for her to say. Now you know that you’re carrying precious cargo and she’ll feel reassured that you’re going to take proper care of her things. Why don’t you tell her about all the work you have stashed on those hard drives of yours?”
“Oh, yeah!” Laura had more than a handful of already-released web series episodes on those hard drives, but getting those leaked would not be good for her reputation as a trustworthy freelance editor. “Should I try to be equally passive-aggressive?”
“I doubt you have to try .”
Laura chuckled, shrugging off Betty’s snarky comments. “Thank you for always believing in my abilities, Bets,” she said, before flexing her fingers to compose a reply.
The plus side of Carmilla’s job was that she didn’t actually have to turn up to work if she didn’t want to. And because she was backpack-less, and frankly, still exhausted from the stupid business meetings in Montreal and Toronto, she decided to call her secretary.
“Hi, Perry, it’s Carmilla,” she said.
“Carmilla!” Perry’s voice was high-pitched and cloying, and though she had been Carmilla’s secretary for two years, even a week without hearing it meant that Carmilla had to get used to it again. “How was your flight?”
“Stressful and boring, as flying always manages to be,” Carmilla said.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy to be back in the office tomorrow,” Perry said.
Carmilla exhaled loudly. “Uhm, about that,” she said. “I had a bit of luggage trouble at the airport, and I have to be home to sort it out… So I’m going to have work from home for at least the next couple of days.”
“You’re supposed to be meeting with Lilita tomorrow. Debriefing, remember?”
“Tell her I’m not feeling well,” Carmilla said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She knew that there was no reason for her not to turn up to the office tomorrow, since she had everything she needed there, but she simply couldn’t be bothered . And when Carmilla wasn’t bothered, she would use any excuse. “Just send her inevitable list of things for me to do my way, I’ll work on them from here.”
Perry’s tone was clipped: “Fine,” she said. “I hope you feel better soon!”
“Thanks, Perry,” Carmilla said. “I owe you one.”
“Sure you do,” Perry said. “Bye.” She ended the call.
Carmilla was about to toss her phone to the other end of her couch when it alerted her to an email. It was from Laura Hollis. She must have been on the edge of her seat, waiting for updates on her backpack—and judging by the amount of hard drives that she had, Carmilla understood why.
Hi Carmilla , the email began, Thank you so much for deciding to bring my backpack with you! I’m so happy it’s somewhere safe.
Laura, Carmilla learned, liked to be long-winded. After the incessant thanks, she then proceeded to give Carmilla a very wordy message that basically boiled down to: Lose the hard drives and my job is screwed and your life is screwed . The whole email was then concluded with more thanks—it was people like Laura that gave Canadians the reputation they had—and then, to Carmilla’s disgust, a series of emojis that just made everything too cheerful and excitable.
Carmilla raked a hand through her hair. “Jesus Christ.”
They arranged to meet at a Starbucks. It was Laura who came up with the idea. She thought it would be the most convenient place, since it was the closest to Carmilla’s office. She got there twenty minutes early, in case Carmilla was the kind of person who was ridiculously punctual, ordered a drink and took a seat.
It was 3PM. Laura watched the door, wondering if the next person who walked in was Carmilla. Carmilla Karnstein. What an unusual name. Laura couldn’t form a mental image of her that made sense. Judging by the items in her backpack—and the fact that she carried one—Carmilla seemed to like nerdy things. Judging by the tone of her emails and her small, orderly penmanship, Carmilla seemed well-off and well-educated. And judging by the location of her office, Carmilla seemed to have a fancy job. Fancier than Laura’s, anyhow.
She understood that people were complex, but she couldn’t imagine what a person like that would look like.
Laura sat there for another fifteen minutes before deciding that she should probably check up on Carmilla. She took her phone out and was prepared to send an email when a woman her age walked through the Starbucks doors, wearing a black backpack with a Hufflepuff keychain.
The woman was wearing sunglasses, which she took off as soon as her gaze found Laura. Specifically, the backpack by Laura’s feet. She approached the table. “Hey there. Sorry I’m late,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “You must be Laura.”
“Hi!” Laura got to her feet. “And you must be Carmilla.” She held her hand out for Carmilla to shake, and Carmilla did so. Firm handshake, she noticed. Well-practised, but lacking in enthusiasm. The handshake of a corporate drone.
Except Carmilla didn’t look like a corporate drone. She wore skinny fit, army green cargo pants, faded black Converse high tops, and a rumpled grey v-neck under a slightly oversized denim jacket, with its cuffs folded. And she was attractive . Laura was almost embarrassed to have noticed it immediately. But really, how could she not? It was a once in a lifetime experience, having a luggage mishap involving someone who looked like a Greek goddess. Or, at least, like someone on those Vancouver street style Instagrams that Laura occasionally browsed but never had the inclination to follow.
“Uh, do you wanna get a drink or something?” Laura managed a nervous laugh. “Three o’clock slump, and all.”
For the first time, Carmilla smiled, albeit a small one. “Sure, why not? It’s not like I want to go back to work anyway.” There was a passing flash of mischief in her eyes. She took her—no, Laura’s —backpack off and put it on the chair across from Laura. “Excuse me, I’ll be back.”
Carmilla hated Starbucks. Granted, this was only the second or third time in her life that she had been in one, but there was nothing going on in that place that could potentially change her mind about it. She had no idea why she agreed to meet Laura here. Well, it was easy to find and it was only around the corner from her office, so maybe that was why.
She ordered a tall—it was what they called their second smallest size, ridiculous!—soy latte. Soon enough, the tacky styro cup was in her hand, with Camilla Sharpied on it by the university student behind the counter. She made her way back to where Laura was seated.
Laura had her own backpack on her lap, while Carmilla’s backpack was on the empty chair. The first impression that Carmilla had of Laura was that she looked way too young. Way too young to be catching a flight to Los Angeles at the crack of dawn. Maybe that was why she picked up the wrong backpack in the first place. She looked about the same age as the teenagers who have flooded into the Starbucks for the after-school rush, their bulky schoolbags ensuring that they took up twice as much space as they should. The fact that Laura was happily sipping on one of Starbucks’s over-sugared concoctions only contributed to this impression.
Carmilla placed her drink on the table, then lifted her backpack so she could sit down. She watched as Laura opened the padded case containing her hard drives. “Taking inventory, are we?” she asked.
“I’m just happy that they’re back with me,” Laura said. She zipped the case shut and placed it back in the backpack, which she put on the floor by her feet.
Carmilla didn’t miss how she placed her foot through one of the shoulder straps. It was a precautionary method neither of them remembered to do at Toronto Pearson a few days ago. She took a sip of her latte and winced at the nearly-soapy consistency of the steamed milk.
“You don’t seem like the biggest Starbucks person,” Laura said.
“You’re astute,” Carmilla said, only with the slightest inflection of sarcasm. She nodded at Laura’s half-finished drink. “Is that one of those,” she cleared her throat, “frappes?”
“Frappuccino, yes,” Laura corrected. “I’m regretting having some. I didn’t have work today so I didn’t really need the energy boost. If I have any more, my hands are going to start shaking.” But, perhaps out of habit, she reached for the drink and took another sip anyway.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Carmilla asked.
Laura’s eyebrows knitted together, as if she didn’t understand why Carmilla would be asking that question. “I’m twenty-five,” she said. “I know I look about ten years younger, so…”
“That’s exactly why I was asking.”
“How about you?” Laura asked.
“Twenty-seven,” Carmilla said.
“You look like you should still be at university,” Laura said.
Carmilla chuckled. “I get that a lot.”
“So,”Laura said, “you don’t think they’re going to miss you at work?”
Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to kick me out or something?”
“Oh, no!” Laura shook her head vehemently. “It’s just, it’s very obvious that Starbucks really isn’t your thing, but you must, you know, not like your job that much that you’d rather buy a coffee and waste your time here.”
“I like my job,” Carmilla said. “I just don’t like my workplace very much.”
“I’m confused,” Laura said. “What’s the difference?”
“It’s hard to explain,” Carmilla said. To be honest, she knew exactly what she meant, but she didn’t feel like going over it with a stranger. Instead, she changed the subject. “So, Hufflepuff, huh? That’s a weird choice.”
Laura looked down at the keychain on her backpack, as if she had forgotten that it existed. She looked back up at Carmilla. “What about it is weird?” she asked.
“Isn’t there, like some sort of a Gryffindor-Slytherin dichotomy?” Carmilla’s tone was challenging, but she saw that this only made Laura more engaged in the conversation. “And then, if I remember correctly, the real hardcore fans are like, ‘Oh, I’m in Ravenclaw!’ Then nobody wants to really be in Hufflepuff.”
“Hey, I’m Hufflepuff and proud,” Laura said seriously. And then, “You like Harry Potter ?”
“Yeah, I grew up with it,” Carmilla said vaguely. Liked Harry Potter ? She loved it. “Guess which house I’m in?”
Laura examined her carefully. “Hmm,” she eventually said. “I think you’d be a Slytherin.”
“Sure, yeah, that’s what Pottermore and a few dozen Buzzfeed quizzes told me. But to be honest, I’m still on the fence about that,” Carmilla said. “I feel like I’d be better suited in Ravenclaw based on my interests, but I have a Slytherin approach to most things in life. But the sorting logic has never made sense in Harry Potter .”
“What do you mean?” Laura asked, genuinely interested.
“Like, there are characters who seem to be sorted in their houses because of what they like, and there are some characters who were sorted in their houses because of their personalities,” Carmilla said. “So what really determines your house?”
Laura rubbed her chin. “That’s a good point,” she said.
Their discussion continued on for another fifteen minutes. Carmilla was a nerd; that was something she could admit to herself. But she wasn’t the type to spend her time in deep conversation about Hogwarts house sorting practices with someone who was virtually a stranger. Furthermore, she was sure that Perry was already freaking out about her disappearance from the office—and she didn’t care. It was surprising, but she was enjoying herself. Even the coffee was starting to taste passable.
Whoa. Okay. With that thought, she knew she needed to check herself. “Hey, shit, I gotta go,” she told Laura. “People at the office might start to notice that I’m missing.” She downed the rest of her coffee—okay, it was still crap—and then made sure that she had the rest of her possessions. She slung the backpack over her shoulder, suppressing a smile at its familiar weight against her back. “Thanks for keeping my stuff safe, by the way,” she said.
“It’s no problem,” Laura said. “And thanks for taking care of my things.”
“Not a big deal at all,” Carmilla said. “It was nice meeting you.” With a final, awkward wave, she walked out of the Starbucks, and back down the block to her office building.
When Carmilla entered the lobby, she shoved her hand in her pocket for her entry card. There it was, along with a glossy card. She pulled both items out. As she tapped her way through the security gates, she stared at the glossy card in her hand. It was one of Laura’s business cards. She couldn’t resist smiling. She almost forgot that she took one out before she left the office to meet her. Just for the heck of it.
That was what she was telling herself anyway.