by May Dawson
Once when Liam and I were camping, he told me a story as we sat around the fire about a sea monster that dragged people to the bottom of the lake that he and my father had killed. A dozen people had stories about the ‘mermaid’, and I’d asked him why no one ever talked to the press about it.
“People don’t want to believe,” he had said. “And we don’t want them to either.”
“Well, stall them,” the cop said. “We’ve still got to explain these charred bodies. The mayor is—”
“We’ll sort it out later. Give her to the Feds.”
The cop flashed a look my way—like this was my fault—and I shrugged at him. When he got up, his chair scraped angrily across the floor. He was a big guy, but he still managed to flounce crossing the floor to follow the other guy out. I caught raised voices, just for a second, before the door clicked shut behind him.
The Feds?
There weren’t any Feds.
But there was that black sedan that had been parked across from my house, that had driven past the police car. I didn’t know who the hell they were, but they had found me.
Maybe they were some kind of rescue.
Maybe they weren’t.
I had to be prepared for anything, no matter how much I felt bone-tired. I shifted in the chair, taking stock of myself. My feet were cut and bruised from the pavement. I’d chose bare feet over high heels for that fight, but now, I’d be slower if I had to run. I was still dizzy, and I was a bit undone.
When the door opened again, it was the second cop, the one that interrupted, who took the lead into the room. Behind him were two men in suits. One of them must be in his fifties or sixties; his face was chiseled, and he wore a nicely cut black suit with a crisp white shirt. He made me think of an old James Bond.
Behind him was a young man with a big jaw and chiseled cheekbones. His dark blond hair was neatly gelled, but when he crossed his arms over his chest, the sleeve of his suit jacket slipped up just enough to expose the edge of a tattoo.
He studied me with wary hazel eyes, and I studied him back. Feds didn’t have those kinds of tattoos. He might be a Hunter, or he might be something worse.
“Glad you brought her in,” the old man said to the police officer. “We’ve been hunting for her everywhere.”
There was the faintest emphasis on the word hunting.
The old man gestured for me to stand up and turn around. Reluctantly, I rose to my feet.
“Deidra Ainsley, we’re transporting you to the FBI office to question you regarding your involvement in multiple bombing attacks in multiple states. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”
“Yeah,” I cut in. “I’ve watched Law and Order too.”
The man snapped a pair of cuffs onto my wrists.
“You know these aren’t real cops, right?” I asked the police officer standing in the doorway, who looked at me with suspicion written across his face. I jerked my jaw at the kid who stood across from me in his stiff black suit. “Look at how young that one is. Does the FBI have interns now? From high school?”
I hoped this was a rescue mission, but I wasn’t convinced it was. I’d like to at least leave a trail.
If anyone cared enough to find me anyway. The thought made my blood run cold. I didn’t have anyone left in the world. I had friends, sure, but no family. I had my uncle’s ex-girlfriend, and my gal pals who didn’t know anything about the Hunter world. But Liam was the last person who loved me.
The
Last
Person
Who
Loved
Me.
Each word echoed in my mind. The image of my uncle staring up at the stars lodged in my brain, along with flashes of other memories: his face, alive and laughing; the patient intensity on his face as he corrected my form in the dojo; the way he’d rub his hand across his five o’clock shadow when I exasperated him.
The man behind me started to say something, but the memories made my stomach clench all over again. I leaned over and puked. There was nothing left to come up, but the pretty boy in the suit still leapt back.
“Sorry,” I said. I wished I could wipe my mouth. No dignity when you’re being arrested for a series of bullshit bombings, apparently. “Still pretty upset about watching my uncle murdered before my eyes.”
No one answered me.
The old man took my shoulder and gently shoved me ahead of him toward the door.
Chapter Eight
A few minutes later, I was headed out of the police station and toward the back of the black Rover. Apparently, the local cops weren’t that curious about how not-policey this vehicle appeared to be.
I craned my head to check the bumper, which held a standard plain white license plate. “Is this a rental?”
No one answered me, but I hadn’t thought they would. The old guy swung open the back door. The younger one cupped his hand over the top of my head, shoving me down into the passenger seat. With his fingers against my hair, prickles raced down my spine. I didn’t like being touched so intimately. We were so close that I breathed in the clean, fresh scent of his aftershave.
I pulled away, sliding across the leather bench seat in the back. I glanced at the seatbelt, then leaned forward, because the cuffs hurt when I leaned back. “Aren’t you going to—”
“Nope,” the young guy said.
This didn’t feel right.
As I lunged back across the leather seat, he shut the door in my face. The two of them climbed into the front seats—and pulled on their own seatbelts, the assholes—while I debated my next move. I didn’t want to stay here at the police station. Maybe I had a better chance with them for now.
I waited until we had cleared the parking lot before I leaned forward and demanded, “Who the hell are you guys? I can tell you’re not cops.”
“We’re Hunters,” the old man said. “We’re here to help.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Because I could have used your help oh, two hours ago, before Liam was killed by those things.”
The two of them exchanged a look.
“I’m sorry, Deidra. I wished Liam hadn’t been Hunting alone all these years. I wish we’d been able to help.” Malcolm’s voice was calm and soothing.
It just pissed me off.
“Liam wasn’t alone,” I snapped. He’d had me. For all the good I’d done him. “Well, thanks for the rescue, I guess. You can drop me off at Gretchen’s.”
The old man shook his head. “They were going to charge you with crimes you didn’t commit so they could make sense of what happened there. They’ll re-arrest you if you don’t disappear.”
“I will,” I said. “Trust me. I don’t really want to hang around.”
“We can put you back there if you want,” the old man told me calmly. “I don’t want to take you to the academy against your will.”
“I don’t want to go back to jail,” I snapped. “I want you to drop me off. I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
“Pull over,” the old man told the young guy.
The young guy heaved a sigh but pulled the car over to the side of the road. The interior lights of the car came on as the old man opened his door.
When I pressed my face against the glass and tried to get a look at where we were, all I could see was my own reflection. My updo had fallen out. My hair was tangled around my face and my eyes were bloodshot and dark-rimmed. I looked as young and stupid as I felt. My reflection freaked me out, and I looked away.
The young guy was staring at me in the rearview mirror, and our gazes met. His hazel eyes were gold-flecked and curious, but there was something weird about the intensity of his gaze and the unforgiving set of his nicely-shaped mouth. He looked at me like I was dangerous.
What the hell was going on?
The old man swung open my door and held it open with one hand still braced on top of the frame. He looked at me with sympathy, not fear, and that was worse.
I leaned forward; my shoulders and back ached and my hands were going numb from having my hands cuffed behind me. “I’m pretty sure it’s cruel and unusual to leave me in a car like this.”
“I’d shake your hand, but I’m not letting you out of the cuffs until we get to the academy,” he said. “But I did want to look you in the eyes when I introduced myself. We’re Hunters, and we knew your uncle. My name is Malcolm, and you are safe with me, Deidra.”
“I might believe that if I weren’t in handcuffs.”
“That, my dear, is because I’m not sure we’re safe with you.”
“Oh, you can trust me,” I assured him. “I mean, you just told me that you were a good guy and I’m supposed to believe that, right? So it goes both ways. I am a good girl. One hundred percent harmless.”
He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you are a wonderful girl. But your magic is a danger, to yourself and others.”
“Magic?” I asked. Oh my god, I’d been kidnapped by lunatics. Maybe this wasn’t better than being with the cops. “I don’t have magic.”
“You’re not supposed to have magic,” the guy in the front seat muttered.
“What’s his deal?” I demanded, sticking my foot between the door and the frame before Malcolm could close the door. “What’s his name?”
He hesitated, sighing under his breath, but didn’t slam the door on my foot. He had a soft side. I could work with that.
“His name is Cade Dane,” he said. “And you can trust him too.”
“We can all trust each other,” I said. “Awesome. And you can…”
I twisted in my seat so he could reach the cuffs.
“It won’t be long now,” he said, and the door slammed shut.
I twisted back to face front, disappointed.
“Not your first time in a cop car?” Cade asked. Man, he didn’t like me much, and he didn’t even know me yet.
“Not your first time being an asshole?” I asked. My gaze wandered around the backseat as Malcolm climbed back into the passenger seat. I searched intently along the seats for anything that might serve me as a weapon or help me break out of these cuffs. Nothing. Not surprising, but still disappointing.
Malcolm gestured for Cade to drive. Cade glanced over his shoulder at the wide-open, dark country road behind us, then jammed his foot down on the accelerator. When the car jumped forward, I was pushed back into my seat.
My hands were really beginning to tingle, falling asleep now, and I cursed as I leaned forward again. “Maybe take it easy, hotshot? Some of us don’t have seatbelts back here.”
“Yeah,” Cade said. “If you try anything, we’ll crash.”
“I’m not going to try anything,” I said. “Good grief.”
There was a long pause while I obsessed over what these crazy people had said. Magic. Then I asked, “Hypothetically, if I was going to try something, what might it be?”
It had been a long night and I was tired. Maybe this guy had some good ideas he wanted to share about how I could bust out of here.
“I know this is an unsettling introduction to Hunter society,” Malcolm said kindly. “But I hope you’ll find you can trust us. An untrained witch with your kind of power is dangerous.”
“Pardon?” I asked. I once saw a meme that said pardon was the polite British way of saying what was that you just said to me, you little bitch? Now I used it a lot.
Malcolm glanced over his shoulder at me. “You are a witch, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I said. “Yeah, of course. Sure.”
I’ve heard that word a lot before, but with more of a b-sound at the beginning.
Cade glanced at Malcolm. “Come on, you aren’t really buying this, are you? She has no idea what’s going on?”
“I believe her,” Malcolm said, which made a surprising amount of relief flow through my body.
“Whether you believe me or not,” I said, “do you think I could get to bed sometime soon? It’s been a very, very long day.”
I needed quiet. It felt like the blood hadn’t stopped humming through my ears, my pulse hammering so loud I could hear it, since that scream broke the night.
“Yes, of course,” Malcolm said. “You need rest, time to process everything that’s happened.”
“That’s it? She just wants to go to bed?” Cade shook his head suspiciously. “She’s in a car with two men she doesn’t know who could be taking her anywhere…”
I shifted in my seat. “Well, now that you mention it…”
But I did believe these two were Hunters. Hunters were the good guys… although this introduction made me more than a little wary.
“My uncle told me about Hunters,” I said. “How come he never told me about you?”
Cade’s eyes flickered to mine in the rearview mirror.
“Your uncle retired. He hid you from the Hunters, and he hid us from you.” Malcolm said, his voice clipped.
“He didn’t hide me,” I said. “Drama queens. He just didn’t want me to be part of Hunter life, not after losing his brother and my mom.”
“Your parents were killed,” Malcolm said, his voice gentle, but there’s no way you can put parents and killed together in one sentence and not have it sound harsh.
“Yep.” I had read a lot about childhood amnesia and children’s reactions to trauma—via Google—and I should have forgotten everything that happened. But apparently my brain lacked any survival instincts.
I remembered everything about that day. Even the memories of the before were sharp. My dad was pushing me on the swing in our backyard. He could push me so high that my pink sneakers were framed by the clouds in the sky and my stomach dropped at the top of the swing’s arc. I was laughing. Then my mother screamed in the house.
“And then you moved constantly those first few years,” he said calmly. “Until your uncle came here and started the dojo.”
“He wanted to make sure we weren’t found by the vamps that killed my parents,” I said hotly. “He wasn’t hiding me from anyone who wasn’t our enemy.”
“We’re not your enemy,” Malcolm assured me.
“And yet the handcuffs…”
“You have a lot of power,” Malcolm said. “You blew apart half a city block.”
“I didn’t do that.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. How?”
“Your mother was probably a witch,” Cade said. He glanced at Malcolm. “Maybe Liam was just trying to hide her from her extended family. Witches tend to have their own perspective on custody law.”
“True,” Malcolm said. “They would’ve challenged Liam to raise you. And that probably would’ve ended…”
He cut himself off.
“What do you mean, extended family?” I demanded. “It was just me and Liam.”
Despite the ominous way they’ve just spoken of my potential extended family, I can’t help but have my heart seize at the thought of having more family. It’s been lonely growing up without grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. People never realize how lucky they are if they have semi-functional family.
Malcolm and Cade exchanged a look. Then Malcolm said, “We’ll look into your extended family situation, Deidra. All right? For now, just focus on settling into the academy.”
“The academy?”
Cade raked his hand through his hair impatiently. He seemed riled-up. Like he believed I was lying, and he was frustrated Malcolm was entertaining my deception.
It was bad enough to have no fucking clue what was going on. It was even worse when everyone thought I was faking.
“The Academy of the Supernatural,” Malcolm explained. “Young people from all over the country come to the Academy to learn to fight the kind of monsters you encountered tonight.”
“Are there more of those things out there?” I demanded. “They weren’t like anything Liam ever told me about.”
“Tomorrow, you can sit down with Cade and talk about what exactly you saw. He’s a gifted artist, so if it’s not something he can
recognize just from your description—”
“Probably just a vamp,” Cade muttered.
Malcolm flashed him an irritated look without dropping a beat in his conversation. “Then he’ll create a sketch, and we’ll begin researching and cross-referencing to see if we can identify what it is. And then, yes, Deidra, we’ll make sure those things won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“Great.”
“The most important thing for right now, Deidra, is that at the academy you’ll be safe, and civilians will be safe from you as you master your powers.”
“There have got to be other possible explanations for what happened in that parking lot than… than… superpowers.”
Cade snorted. Apparently it was totally normal to talk about magical powers, but it got weird when you started calling them superpowers. Whatever.
“We can explore those tomorrow too.” Malcolm said. “Perhaps after you’ve gotten some rest, you’ll be more… open-minded.”
“Maybe you will,” I snapped back.
“She’s mouthy,” Cade muttered to Malcolm. “This will go well. Nothing they love at the Academy like mouthy.”
“She’ll be fine,” Malcolm said. “She belongs with us.”
His tone was warm and confident. But he was still wrong. I didn’t belong with them. I belonged with my parents, with my uncle. But they were all gone.
I leaned my forehead against the cool class and watched the trees flash by as we drove down long, country roads. My eyes ached, but when I closed them, I couldn’t sleep. It just made the sound of the wet road slipping away under our tires hum even louder in my ears.
Maybe it’s just a dream, I thought, but no matter how hard I squeezed my eyes shut, I couldn’t make sleep carry me away. I hoped I’d wake up in the world where I belonged, where Liam was still alive and this was just a nightmare.
But the droning noise of the tires went on and on, and even though my eyes ached like I was about to cry, no tears came.