Riley Fisher’s dark eyes stared down at mine, her hand tangled in Frankie's mahogany waves. Anger was a fire that animated her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her chest was heaving.
I tried to pull away but was yanked back. Her hand was still tangled in the back of Frankie's long hair. I held onto my control with a harsh grip, my inner Demon floated to the surface and demanded that I rip her apart and feast on her terror.
“How dare you!” She snarled. Spittle flew from her lips and landed on my cheek.
“It’s just a cooler. Chill out.” I reached behind my head to untangle her fingers, but she gripped tighter. She would never know the inner battle that I had just won. It was the only reason she was breathing.
“You’re laughing and having fun, swanning around like you’re Queen Bee of the base, Frankie Elise Gardiner, but your team is dead! My Harvey is dead.”
She dragged me down to the floor; my arms flailed as I tried to break free from the tiny woman with strength like an ox. Her leg reared back; she kicked the back of my knee, forcing me down onto the floor.
“You should have done something!” She bellowed. “Harvey should be alive!”
I wanted to unleash the force of her own subconscious against her. I could taste her buried fears. Being crushed. Confined spaces. I wanted to warp her mind into a living nightmare. I closed my eyes when I felt the blackness leak into the whites of my host's eyes.
I reached back with sure fingers. No longer content to allow the grieving girlfriend her moment. I gripped her hand and squeezed until I felt the bones creak.
Frankie's mind told me to make an example. She was a Private, and Frankie was a Corporal. I pulled her hand and twisted until I felt every one of her fingers threaten to dislocate. I felt numb. I opened my eyes, finally under control.
She screamed like a banshee and broke free to cradle her hand to her chest. I'd stopped short of doing real harm.
“You need to leave, Riley Fisher,” I said in a low and even tone. I was very close to killing her. The buffet table was full of silverware, and it wouldn't take much to grab a knife and jam it in her eye socket.
She glanced around as if she had just remembered where she was. Her face was red; her eyes shined with tears. Someone rushed forward to rub her back and make sympathetic cooing motions. I did not care.
I’d never spent so long in one body before. I was at my limit.
My eyes darted around the room, locating the exits. I could slip into the bathrooms and leave Frankie's body behind. If I was lucky, I could be back in the East Village by tomorrow night.
Come to think of it, didn’t Hugo have an apartment in NYC? He lived right across the hall from me. Maybe I could hitch a ride when he left the base.
Davenport strode over just as Riley Fisher was led away, with her head down and her diminutive figure making everyone look on in pity. The Commander did not look happy.
“You did nothing wrong.” He assured me; he looked like he was chewing on nails. “But if you were Corporal Gardiner, I’d sign you up for mandatory therapy with Dr. Lee. Because of the adjustment period after your injury. And for starting fights.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t start that fight.”
“But you finished it.” Davenport crossed his arms over his chest.
Remi had been pushed to the edge of the crowd, and he battled to reach me. “She’s not going to be punished.” It was a statement and not a question. If looks could kill, Remington Weber would be standing over Davenport's corpse.
“Therapy.” Warren clipped. He turned on his heel and left.
Remi rubbed his bald head and scanned the crowd. “I tried to get to you, but two of Riley's team grabbed me.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Remi growled.
“It’s over now.” I nudged his shoulder. “I'm going to go.”
Remi tried to protest, but I was done.
I'd found a cell phone in a coat on the back of a chair. I knew Dermot Dirk's phone number by heart. Still, it was a childish move to phone my boss and demand that he come and pick me up.
I was trapped in a vice. Having a body was fun for a short while, but the stress was getting to me. I was balancing too many plates at once. I didn’t do well with situations where things were expected of me. Drudes had a bad reputation for a reason. We had limited attention spans. We didn’t play well with others.
“Dermot Dirk.” The lilting voice of the stubby Fae rang out as the phone connected. I jumped and almost dropped the small device.
Who answered a phone with their full name? How pretentious.
“Dirk, it's Mara.”
He sighed heavily. “No.”
“I didn’t ask for anything,” I argued with a pout.
“Whatever it is, no.”
“Come on! Dirk! Please.” I whined.
“What is it?” He asked, put upon.
“This is too much. I can't stay here.” I looked over my shoulder as I ducked behind one of the buildings and pressed my back against the wall. When I was sure I was alone, I laid out my issues. “I’m a nightmare Demon in a compound full of Hunters. I'm wearing a sniper. I'm hours away from Manhattan and I. Don’t. Like. It.”
“Did you discover anything about the homicides?” Dirk sounded bored.
“Are you even listening to me?” I hissed, covering my mouth with my cupped hand, so my voice didn’t travel.
“All I hear is whining,” Dirk said.
“I think I have something to whine about!”
“Phone me when you've made progress.” He continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
“Don't hang up. Dirk. Please.” I pleaded. “I swear, I’m this close to slipping up. Why did you think I could do this?”
It was a valid point. My other jobs had involved wearing politicians while doing embarrassing things and ensuring I was photographed. Or stealing incriminating documents. Not weeks of subterfuge.
“Mara.” His fatherly tone stopped my racing thoughts. “You are the only being that could do this. There was no one else. Someone targeted Team C, and Davenport needs to know why.”
“Why are you doing favors for the Hunter’s?” I sniffed. Dammit. I was old as the cosmos, but I was stress-crying. I pinched my wrist when smoke began to escape out of my pores. The pain helped me to reign it in.
“Davenport helped to contain the London Fissure,” Dirk said. “A lot of people owe their lives to him. Demons too.”
The London Fissure had been a crack that had formed when Hell had attached itself to the Human Realities over a year ago. Numerous creatures tried to slip through. Including the ancient evil had that destroyed my kin. Hunters had ensured the speedy evacuation of that part of the city.
Dermot Dirk had a family in London. The Hunter’s had probably saved their lives with their actions.
I wished someone had been around to save my kin when they had needed it. I wished that I had been strong enough. Instead, I had done what I did best. I had run.
Just like I wanted to do now.
“I’ve watched the video,” I spoke barely above a whisper. “There’s a dark shadow. It looks like smoke.”
“A Drude?” Dirk jumped to the same conclusion I had.
“All of the Drudes are dead.” I forced all emotion from my voice. “Something flashed on the bodies before they died. Writing, but I didn’t recognize it. Not Cyclian or Enochian.”
“That rules out Angels and Demons.” Dermot Dirk sounded thoughtful. I hummed in agreement. “What about Frankie's memories?”