I looked to the bright blinking lights of the sky and then down to Frankie Gardiner's bare hands. It was time to say goodbye. I could ride the wind currents home. Stowaway in a passing car. It wasn’t often that having a body hindered my movements.
“I need to go,” I whispered. Closing my eyes and exhaling softly.
“Why?” A male voice replied. The tone was innocently curious, I recognized the rough timber immediately.
Warren Davenport.
Feigning nonchalance, like he hadn’t just given me the jump scare of a lifetime in a gas station parking lot, I rested my elbow on the door of the semi.
“What are you doing here?” I tried to stay calm even though my heart was racing.
Davenport gave me a long look that seemed to ask if I was mentally sound. “I tracked you.”
“I went for a walk.” I waved my hand to gesture to the empty pumps. “I wanted to stretch my legs. See some sights.”
He sniffed the air. “You smell like blood.”
“I’ve got eight pints of it,” I said. At least I thought that humans had that much. Duane had certainly bled a lot.
Without another word, Davenport strode past me and threw open the door of the truck. He sniffed the inside of the cab; his eyes were narrowed and his expression severe despite not finding anything suspect.
I silently crossed my fingers and thanked The Balance for cleaning up my mess.
Davenport turned back to me, he leaned over until his nose was an inch from mine.
“Tell me the truth.” He commanded in a brusque tone. “Why did you leave?”
I avoided his eyes. “I wanted to.”
“Why?”
I shrugged.
“That argument would work if you were twelve. You're not. Try again.” His jaw rocked from side to side in anger.
“I could be twelve.” I joked.
His eyebrow twitched.
“I'm not, though.” I offered a lame smile.
“Mara...” Davenport said in warning.
I exhaled deeply and took a step back, turning to face the roving headlights on the freeway. “I haven’t done anything. I'm stuck with your Hunters until we find out who is behind the attack, but there hasn’t been any progress. It’s boring. Tedious. I wanted to go back home. I just wanted a moment’s peace!” I hissed.
Davenport rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders deflated. “It wasn't because of what we almost did?” The question was surprisingly innocent.
I batted his question away. “Please.”
“Mara, we have made progress.” Davenport's hand dropped to his side. “We’ve identified the Demon responsible. We’ve got patrols in the City, Queens, and Maywood. Circling the warehouses that we think the killer used to summon the Demon.” He implored. “We’ve been interviewing every Hunter in the compound. I have personally interviewed over a hundred people.”
My lips parted. “Oh.”
“You are an asset. You're not trained. You're not a Hunter. Your job is to be visible and to try and lure the Summoner out.”
I rubbed my thumb against my bottom lip. “I know that.”
“Somehow, you have also found time to grow close to some of my best Hunters.” Davenport continued with a wry smile. “If you wanted a more active role in the investigation, you just had to ask.”
Davenport's soft look faded and returned to the stern dark expression I was used to.
“Is that the only reason you left?” He queried delicately.
I decided to go as close to the truth as possible. “I had to eat.”
“And what, pray tell, do Mimic Sidhe feed on?” His brow quirked.
It felt like a test. I searched my brain. Dead Ringers were rare, but not an unknown breed of Fae. “That’s private,” I said.
He grunted and looked down at his watch. “Dermot Dirk requested a meeting. He wanted an update on your progress in person.” Davenport informed me. “If you want to withdraw, I’m sure he could send another mercenary.”
A petulant part of me wanted to stamp my feet and throw a tantrum about being replaced. I had run away, hadn’t I? In my starving haze, I had come too close to tearing into the Hunter’s and releasing chaos. To hurting someone and leaving a trail back to my demonic leanings.
Maybe it was for the best.
“There’s a motel on the edge of town. We can stay there for the night and set off in the morning before traffic gets bad.” He suggested, somewhat distant.
I shifted from foot to foot. “Traffic in the City is always bad.” I stifled a laugh.
“You chose to live there.” He shrugged.
I bit back a smile. “Yeah.”
“Come on,” Davenport unlocked his SUV. “Let's get a few hours of sleep before I deliver you back to your boss.”
We got some food from the Drive-thru, which Davenport hadn’t let me eat in the car. I had to wait, forlornly glancing at the bag as the burgers got cold.
The motel wasn't the worst, but you couldn’t have paid me to look at it under a black light. Some things are better left unknown.
Davenport had requested two rooms, but the motel only had one twin left, leaving us in a dated room that belonged to the seventies. With A TV that didn’t work, and a shag carpet that belonged in the Mystery Machine.
I crawled onto the bed and made 'gimme' motions with my hands—like a grasping toddler—until Davenport handed me the greasy bag.
I ripped into my burger like a hungry wolverine. The commander looked intrigued if a little disgusted. I wiped a bit of ketchup from the corner of my mouth with the back of my wrist.
“How did you become a Hunter?” I asked, after I had swallowed a mouthful of food.
“How old would you say I am?”
“Don't change the subject.” I chided.
“Seriously. Answer the question.” Davenport rested his hip against the writing desk.
“I don't know? Thirty?” I took another bite of my burger. “Do you always have to lean?” I gestured to his position with my burger.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m over two hundred years old.”
I gave him a faux round of applause. My food-laden hands dulled the sound.
“How old are you?” He asked.
“Rude, much.” I pulled out a pickle from my burger and placed it in the wrapper. “I don't know how old I am. Older than Yeshua—you call him Jesus. I lost count a while ago.”
“You lost count?” He repeated back dully.
I stuffed a handful of fries into my mouth. “Uh-huh.”
“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Davenport said, his brow creased in thought. “How did you come to work for Dirk?”
“I’m a refugee.” I wiped my hands on a paper napkin, before easing myself back and rubbing my belly. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
Davenport took a single fry and chewed it.
“Were you from Tír na nÓg originally then?” He asked after a moment.
I rolled my head on my shoulders and made a vague hand movement. I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I gave him the best answer I could. “I’m from all over. My family liked to move around. Never settling.”
“What happened to them?” Davenport walked over to the other twin bed and removed his shoes methodically before climbing on top of the comforter.
“They died.” My voice was hollow.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “I’m the last one left. I escaped into the Human Realities. I was clueless then. Dirk took me in, gave me a job. Fed me.”
“And you can't go home?” He rested his head on the pillow and looked straight up.
I did the same. “When they were killed...” My eyes stung. “No one cared. No one did anything. The Queen of—” I had been about to say Wrath, but I stopped myself. “The Queen did nothing until the same evil threatened her Court.”