Bun-girl Chloe giggled, but her face grew severe and cold the second she laid eyes on me. The switch was jarring, like she had turned off her humanity. Was that what Hunters did?
Good thing I wasn’t human.
Chloe darted forward, her left knee twitched a second before she raised her leg to roundhouse kick me. Bitch was like Bruce Lee.
Frankie might have been a judo champion, but I was not.
Instead, I closed my eyes and focused on what I did know. Moving like smoke. Fleeing. Hiding.
Being the lowest of the low meant that I had spent many years avoiding more powerful Demons. I had no qualms about crawling away on my metaphorical belly if it meant that I still got to crawl away.
I folded in half, feeling the whisper of movement in the air currents, instead of using my host’s eyes.
Chloe stuck hard and fast, but I dipped and weaved. Dropping to my bum and then crab-walking backward, she raised her foot high, to use the power of the swing to aim a kick to my crown. I dropped and rolled.
Though the Hunter was tiring, Chloe didn’t stop. The rest of the matches had stopped; everyone had turned to watch as a lithe girl, half of Frankie's size, marched after me with the confidence and bearing of a Kung Fu master ogre.
I received a glancing blow of my shoulder and felt a sharp ache immediately. If I hadn’t turned at the last minute, Chloe would have broken my collarbone.
Maybe I should have let her. It would have stopped the fight, and I would have been able to go and eat cookies.
Though my demonic healing would be a big flashing sign.
“Don’t run away!” Hugo bellowed, hands cupped around his mouth.
“Sometimes, running away means you live!” I wheezed. Running away was the reason I was alive, and my siblings weren’t.
“Someone finish it!” A hooting male called from the sidelines.
Chloe stalked towards me with renewed vigor and a cold smile. An unfamiliar feeling hit me—I didn’t want to lose.
I wanted to finish the fight, but I didn’t want Hugo to see me on my ass under the triumphant smirk of Bun-girl and her flirty eyes.
I reached down inside myself. Molding my darkness into a blade. I searched for her hidden fears, tasting them on my tongue like licorice. Chloe reached forward to grab me. I let her. The second her hand touched my skin, I stabbed into her mind and took control.
Piloting two people at once was worse than being split down the middle. I had enough energy to pull Chloe's hand back and form a fist. She dropped like a sack of potatoes as the woman punched her own nose. I heard it crunch. I pushed her off me. Our backs were turned. It had all happened so fast, I was confident that no one had seen Chloe's random act of self-mutilation.
I raised my hands up and whooped. Turning back to the group.
“I won!” I danced from foot to foot.
Hugo had his head in his hands, but Remi's head was thrown back in roaring laughter.
Davenport and his infamous Team P left the camp that afternoon to check out the suspected summoning spots in Maywood and Queens. I hadn’t realized that every person I had gotten close to within my time at the compound was a member of Davenport's inner circle.
For the second day in a row, I had no one to tease. Even the stupidly observant Dr. Lee was part of the commander’s dream team.
I had phoned Dirk to give him an update. 'Nothing has happened. Everything is boring. I want to go home.’ As usual, the Fae Lord was unsympathetic. He had made a list of potential monsters to pass onto Davenport and even went as far as suggesting that I researched them when Team P was away. I laughed down the phone for several minutes.
I was slothful and unashamed of it. Why people expected me to behave outside of my nature, I would never know.
I debated stealing a car and driving to Lacey's in Maywood to get my drink on, but drinking by myself was just sad. Instead, I used my stolen cellphone to Google: ‘how to make prison wine.’ I took some bread and fruit from the salad bar of the mess hall during dinner and occupied my time by trying to make my own alcohol.
It was past midnight when I felt like my world had ended.
My vision swam and shook. My stomach lurched. Every cell in my body was filled with a manic energy that demanded that I needed to RUN. To find something. Someone. To do something.
I had never felt such drive in all of my many years of existence. The only thing I felt passionate about was self-gratification and getting the Hell out of Dodge when things went south.
The feeling was a fishhook in my heart, pulling me closer instead of demanding I flee. I rose from my bed, a puppet without control of my limbs. I blinked, and I was outside, dressed in my bra and panties with the cold biting September wind chilling my meat-suit to the core.
I blinked again; I stood in front of the officer's quarters. I followed the sound of frantic shouting. Grunts. And then the bone-chilling scream of someone in pain. Someone that was having their insides sliced and diced. A deep agony that had no name.
My feet slapped against the linoleum. My chest heaved out of breath, and my arms beat faster and faster as I took the stairs at a gallop.
I needed to see.
I needed to help.
I skidded to a stop when I saw a group of people gathered around an open doorway. Davenport and Hart, arguing in hushed tones. They stopped and stared as I pushed past them and burst into the room, following my gut.
Hugo Sinclair laid on the bed. Pale instead of his usual golden. His eyes screwed closed; his forehead was clammy. He was naked, black veins like charred meat spread up his legs. Smoke lifted into the air.
I pressed my hand to his shin, feeling the infection. It was pain, fire, and desire.
My heart ached. Hugo started to scream, but his lips locked shut; the sound was muffled by his clenched teeth. I swept forward and pushed my hands against his cheeks. His eyes flew open and stared into mine.
I hadn’t noticed Remi, at the top of his bed. His hands hovered over Hugo's naked chest and then down over his diseased veins. Remi Weber's fingers were tipped with feathery blue lightening. Unfamiliar tasting magic that tried to push back the affliction. A witch of some sort.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and flopped to the floor beside the prone incubus. Hugo's eyes darted around wildly until I took his hand.
He relaxed.
I closed my eyes and pressed our linked fingers to my forehead.
“What happened?” I rasped.
“The same creature that took out Team C,” Davenport said from the doorway. I was too drained to startle and turn around. “Hugo took a hit. It escaped before we were able to get a lock on what it was.”
I nodded slowly. My eyes still clenched shut. Hugo was part Demon. He would be okay. Wouldn't he?
Remi sat back and slumped in the chair by Hugo's bedside. “There isn’t much more I can do. He has to heal on his own now. I recommend we let him sleep.”
Davenport nodded and gave me a look.
“I'm not leaving.” I jutted my chin.
He glanced at Hugo and my clenched hands. He nodded slowly, sadly, and turned on his heel. Soon, it was just Remi and me.
“He’ll be okay,” I whispered. To reassure myself rather than anyone else. Out of all of the Hunters, I felt like I had most in common with Hugo. We had a shared heritage, and although he restrained his and tried to change his nature, I had a soft spot of the quiet man.
Remi tried to smile but failed. That was when I knew it was bad. He soon fell asleep, leaving me alone with a pained but unconscious Hugo.