“Nothing. No pain or injury.” I rubbed the center of my chest. “No scar.”
“None of the other bodies have visible wounds or markings?”
“No idea. No entry or exit wounds.” I said. “It could have been magic.”
“Mara.” The way my boss said my name was no-nonsense. “This is why I chose you. You are smarter than you let on. You just need to focus.”
I groaned. “Focusing is boring as fuck.”
“Mara.” He repeated my name to get my attention back. “If you do this, I will shorten your contract by five years.”
I inhaled sharply. Dirk laughed.
“That got your attention, didn’t it?”
Chapter 5
Mandatory therapy with Dr. Lee. I fanned myself with the post-it note that had been tacked to my door that morning. A luminous green square of paper that filled me with horror and morbid curiosity.
It was early morning. For the first time, ever, my days had structure. Mess Hall for breakfast. Therapy and then rewatching the same boring video to try and unearth clues to a group of Hunter deaths.
People died all the time. It was hard to muster up any sort of enthusiasm for finding their killers. Especially when the people who had died made their living killing my kind.
But Dirk had faith in me.
Which was strange, because I was an inherently lazy and selfish creature—but somehow, having someone believe in me made me almost want to live up to their expectations.
I shrugged into a large and shapeless hoodie, with the Davenport Halfway Camp logo on the front. I managed to carrel Frankie's frizz into a messy bun on the top of her head—which had taken longer than I had thought possible.
My stomach gurgled and churned, reminding me that my host's body needed fuel. I hurried out of the room and past the dojo. People were already training despite the early hour. No one waved, and I was thankful that Frankie was an introvert because it meant that I didn’t have to make small talk with suspicious people.
More people were awake than I had expected. (Did nobody sleep in?) Dogs barked in the distance, somewhere off the beaten path. I sniffed the air, tree sap and bacon from the Mess Hall. Someone called out a command. The words unclear. Another dog bark.
Animals, as a rule, did not like Demons much. I loved dogs, even if they didn’t like me. I'd made an Instagram account, so I could scroll through hundreds of cute puppy videos. I followed the sound of barking into the woods. My sneakers crunched the bracken, announcing my arrival. The snap of a twig and the rustle of a brush.
A row of kennels came into view, nestled between the trees and surrounded by a waist-height picket fence. There was a water trough. A familiar towering figure was moving in a line, pouring kibble into the metallic bowls. The sound rang out like hailstones on a tin roof.
I cocked my head to the side while I tried to remember why I recognized the bulky man in fatigues. Orange eyes glanced up and met mine. Sergeant Hart. The man that had sniffed me.
I swaggered forward and rested my elbows on the fence. “Where are the pups?” I called out.
His lip twitched before an expression of suspicion settled on his face like an old friend. “Grub’s up!” Hart bellowed. The occasional barking became a cacophony as a sea of brown, black, and brindle crashed around the edge of the wooden kennel building. A red-faced man jogged after them.
“Dammit, Hart!” He scowled. “We were in the middle of an exercise!”
“8am, Skully!” Hart said, without emotion. “Breakfast for the K9.”
Skully huffed and marched back around the building, muttering under his breath.
I beamed down at the sea of dogs, scrambling over their food.
“I didn’t think you liked dogs.” Hart studied my smile like an unknown entity.
He must have meant Frankie. My smile slipped a notch. “I love dogs. They don’t like me much.”
Hart hummed as he knelt down to stroke the head of a Rottweiler with an undocked tail. “Right.”
I straightened. “I should get some breakfast for myself.”
Hart nodded stiffly. “Okay.”
A man of few words. I turned on my heel and walked away. Glancing down once at the mass of animals that were too occupied with their food to acknowledge my darkness.
The therapist’s office was located behind the Mess Hall in a log cabin, with a beautifully carved overhang and a rocking chair. The curtains were drawn. My unlaced combat boots echoed against the wooden stairs as I walked to the front door.
I raised my hand to knock, but the door swung open before I had an opportunity to.
“Birthday cake!” I blurted out when the man with violet eyes opened the door. His face did not move from its expression of professional courtesy.
“Hello, Corporal Gardiner.” He replied. “My name is Dr. Lee.”
“Okay.” I nodded, dumb. He really did smell like a birthday cake. Vanilla frosting and rainbow sprinkles. I had no idea what kind of Supe he was. I had never encountered anything like it.
He smiled politely and stepped back, ushering me into the cabin. Dr. Lee did not invite me to sit, but he did take a chair next to the bookcase. His own notepad laid on the side table, forlorn and desperate to be used.
I glanced at the neatly arranged chairs. Huge Queen-Anne backed Chesterfield’s that belonged in a Gentlemen's Club. I ignored them and chose the plaid couch that was pressed against the wall. I punched the cushions and sank into the seat. I swung my legs over and rested my head against the armrest.
If I was going to do therapy, I was going to be comfortable.
The framed degree on the wall from a fancy college stated that Doctor Lee's name was Ahn-Jae Lee. Korean, I would guess. Based on the cookery books written in the Korean Alphabet, resting on the bookshelf behind his head.
He was young. Tasseled hair that implied that he cared about other things, but was somehow cute. His eyes, while gentle, bored into mine. Watching my every move.
Had Davenport told him that I wasn't Frankie Gardiner? Unlikely.
“I'm here because Davenport told me I had to be,” I said. “I don’t plan to bare my soul.”
Dr. Lee's lip twitched. “We can talk about anything you want to talk about.”
I rubbed my chin. “Can I call you Jae?”
“Can I call you, Frankie?”
“Okay,” I said.
“Do you like your job, Frankie?” Jae Lee asked.
My gaze flicked over his shoulder. I focused on a particularly exciting spot on the wall. “Do you have to report anything I say to Davenport?”
Jae rolled his head from one shoulder to the over. “That depends. As my patient, I am subject to doctor-patient confidentiality. However, if something that you say implies that you will bring harm to yourself or others, I have a professional responsibility to share it.”
“But, you report directly to Davenport?” I asked in a clipped tone.
“He is my commanding officer, yes.” Dr. Lee confirmed. His brow creased.
“I'm not really Frankie Gardiner.” I blurted out. “I’m an imposter that your boss has hired to bait the traitor in the camp into revealing themselves. I'm not a sniper. I'm not a Hunter. I'm not even a particularly good... Person.” My words babbled out as I twisted my hands in my lap. “I’m the least qualified person to do this job, but my boss says that he believes in me, y'know? And even though Dermot Dirk is kind of a Grade A asshole, I don’t want to let him down. But being Frankie is exhausting.” I sagged down into the couch. When I glanced at Dr. Lee, his lips had parted to form a small O. He quickly rearranged his face.