I didn’t want to ask what they had been hunting—it must have been significant and dangerous to warrant that many Hunters.
The Hunters swept through the warehouse, their search economical, and their movements came practiced ease.
The camera angle changed.
“That’s when camera one was disabled?” Remi glanced up at Davenport—who nodded.
One by one, each of the Hunters dropped. A dark mark flared on their forehead. It was a rune that I did not know. Not Cyclian, the language of Hell with its circular alphabet and harsh guttural slashes. Something unknown. Fae, perhaps? Ancient, definitely.
It burnt into their skin; the image too grainy to make out. The mark disappeared as quickly as it came, and I wondered if Davenport or Remi were aware of it.
The camera switched again, to Frankie on her belly. Her gaze focused on the sight of her rifle. Her attention wholly devoted to her target. She jolted, like a spooked rabbit, and rolled over just in time for the final camera to go dead.
“Only a select few knew about the mission, but whoever attacked the squad knew their formations and where Frankie would be,” Warren said. “We believe that someone might have infiltrated the base and organized the attack.”
Remi looked at me expectantly, as if he wanted me to fill in the blanks. I couldn’t. Frankie's memory failed at that point—so I went with the most obvious answer. The truth.
“I didn’t see,” I said.
Remi handed the tablet back to Davenport. “Do you have photos of the warehouse?”
Davenport clicked through the tablet until the full-blown image of Hunter corpses filled the screen. Remi hunched over and walked over to one of the computers. He logged on and began to type.
“I don't know why I’m here,” I admitted, whispering so Remi could not hear. “It's not like I can tell you what happened. I wasn’t there.”
“Mimic Sidhe are Fae. You can identify the work of one of your kind. I believe that this wasn’t just one creature. It took planning. Inside knowledge.” Davenport crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at me. “Besides, You are here to lure out the culprit.” He added quietly, glancing at Remi.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I guess.”
“You’re being compensated for your time.” Davenport leaned in. His breath smelt like cinnamon gum. “You will do as I say for the duration of your stay on my base.”
His dominating attitude made my nipples hard. Which was strange because I typically hated authority with a passion.
I squirmed. “Yes, Sir.”
His dark eyes sparkled; Davenport broke eye contact to watch Remi, hunched over his computer, and typing furiously. “I’ll leave you to it.” He said gruffly. “Try to have some suggestions for when I come back.” Warren Davenport walked away, his spine rigid. He did not look back.
I danced over to Remi, leaning over his shoulder like a nosy child. “What ya doing?”
Remi laughed, showing every one of his white teeth before putting his serious face on. “Trying to recover the camera footage. I want to know if the cameras were taken out during the attack or if the footage was tampered with afterward.”
I nodded. “Makes sense.”
He clicked away at the keys. “Do you always let him speak to you that way?” He asked after a second of silence.
“Who? Davenport?”
Remi nodded.
“I like it.” I shrugged. “Hot. Commanding. Just begging to unwind. If my life weren’t on the line, I’d be on him like white on rice.”
“You think whoever attacked you will come back?” Remi sat up.
Ugh. Being Frankie was confusing.
No. I wanted to say. I am a Demon wearing one of your Hunters like meat-suit. If you ever found out, you'd kill me in a second. I might find Davenport attractive, but I can't let my guard down, even for a second.
I said none of that. Instead, I hummed non-committedly.
Remi spun his chair around. He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.
“We'll get whoever did this, Frankie.” He said. “I may joke around, but believe me, I'm going to find whatever Demon is behind this, and I am going to rip their head off. Then I’m going to find the asshole who summoned it.”
I nodded, but inside I felt sick.
Would I be forced to watch one of my brethren die? Could I sit back and let that happen? Demons didn’t need a summoner to visit the Human Realities. Maybe their lack of knowledge would benefit me.
I wished that I could walk away. Just hold my hands up and skip into the sunset—but I owed Dermot Dirk. He'd helped me when I needed it. He'd saved me. I owed him. He was my boss.
I just hoped that whatever plan he had was worth it.
I was as useful as tits on a chicken for the whole afternoon. Remington Weber quickly typed away on the computer. His attention focused on me with the intensity of a laser as I watched and re-watched the video of Frankie Gardiner's squad dying.
Warren Davenport came back when the sun had begun to sink below the tree line of the forest.
“Did you find anything?” The Commander addressed both of us, but his attention was on me.
I swung my legs like a child, allowing my heels to thump into the legs of my chair. “No.”
Remi cleared his throat and turned the monitor of his computer around so both of us could see. He began to play the video of Frankie Gardiner’s team dying.
“Notice how Team C spread out here?” Remi said, pointing to the ground of seven black-clad figures that crouched low in a V formation. “None of them are touching, so I assumed that whatever attacked them must have been able to kill without touching them.”
“Like a Pure-blooded Demon.” My tone was dry. Dead.
“Exactly!” Remi snapped his fingers and flashed a hint of white teeth. “But then, I noticed something.”
He magnified the floor of the warehouse, just under the soldier's feet.
“I thought it was dust at first.” Remi rubbed the corner of his eye. “But, it looks like smoke.”
Warren stepped behind Remi and slapped him on the back. “Good work, Weber—now we just need to look into Demons that have a smoky form.”
My hands began to tremble; I stuffed them in my pocket. I said nothing.
“I’ve got to go.” Davenport glanced at the clock over the windows and frowned. “I expect to see you at tonight's social, Corporal Gardiner. You must show your face.” He gave me a look that didn’t take a genius to figure out.
But I was frozen. My eyes fixed on the still image of the paused video. Black smoke around their ankles.
It couldn’t be a Drude, could it?
There was no way.
I had enough time to have a shower before I heard the emerging sounds of the people making their way to the 'Social'—whatever that was.
Personal hygiene was not something I often had to worry about. Showering was an entirely new exercise. I got shampoo in my mouth. The thick goo tasted foul and stuck to the roof of my mouth. Even when the water went down the drain, the taste clung to my throat.
There were so many items that I did not understand. A pink razorblade rested on a plastic holder on the side of the shower enclosure. The presence of the blade prompted a twenty-minute unsuccessful search for cocaine after I cracked the fuchsia casing on the blade to get to the sharp metal on the inside.
I cut myself accidentally, putting my finger in my mouth to try and appease the harsh sting. Frankie's blood tasted strange, like perfumed flowers. I recognized the taste. It wasn't strictly human. A distant throwback to a hint of magic.