My eyes were so bloodshot I looked like I’d spent the last twenty-four hours sampling blunts with Snoop Dogg.
After leaving Bridget’s place, I’d gone straight to Dad’s where I spilled out everything. He wasn’t the best person to go to in a crisis, but he tried his best. I ended up sleeping on his couch. Well . . . trying to sleep. I tossed and turned until I woke up with a neck that felt like it was trapped in a vice. The 4am drive back to my apartment was not how I’d expected to start this day.
What a perfect way to begin my new career as a senior special agent.
Stepping out the elevator, I entered the bullpen of offices and tried to find my desk. Snaking my way through the labyrinth of cubicles, I tried to avoid all the curious looks I was getting from the other agents as they caught sight of my tired face. But I doubted they would’ve looked any better if they’d just found their fiancee in bed with a crusty old millionaire.
At last, I found my cubicle which was, thankfully, situated in the back left-hand corner out of sight. I slumped into the creaky office chair and lay my forehead on the desk. This was officially the second worst day of my life. I was convinced I’d aged thirty years in the last twelve hours. I swore that my insides were rotting away from the misery chewing through my entire body.
I lay there for a long while, unable and unwilling to move. It wasn’t until I heard the click of high heels approach my desk that I raised my head to see a young intern with a clipboard in her hands.
“Agent Hawthorne?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve been summoned.”
“That sounds ominous.”
From her clipboard, she pulled out a note and handed it to me. Damn. It was ominous. I was supposed to report to the Occult Crimes Division.
“You’re to meet Chief Harris in his office at nine o’clock. And on your first day, too.” She stopped and smiled. “That’s quite an achievement. Details are on the note.”
“Nine o’clock,” I said to myself, looking down at my watch. It was two minutes to nine.
“Shit!”
Leaping out my seat, I ran down to the elevator, the note held tight in my hand like the golden ticket that would get me into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. In a way, it kind of was a golden ticket. Nobody got invited to Harris’s office unless they were the creme de la creme, and for special agents to get invited on their first day? That was fucking unheard of. A thousand thoughts rampaged in my head.
Am I in trouble?
Am I going to be recruited into some special program?
Shit! Am I going to be sent to chase down a terrorist?
Then another thought crossed my mind.
How am I supposed to see him looking like this?
As the elevator doors opened, I ran out into the foyer of the top floor and slapped my hands on the receptionist’s desk.
“Where’s Harris’ office!”
“Um . . . Good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry, ma’am, can you please just tell me where to find Chief Harris?”
“Last room on the left,” she said, pointing into the distance. “Have a good day.”
I jogged down the hall, my shoes slipping on the tiled floor until I arrived at Harris’ office. I practically tumbled through the door.
“Hello . . . ” came a masculine voice. It was about as welcoming as the sound of broken glass being rubbed by sandpaper. The man it belonged to looked formidable. I didn’t want to screw this up. Not on day one.
“You must be Special Agent Hawthorne,” he said, barely looking at me from his stack of paperwork. “Please, take a seat.”
Only now did I come to realize there was someone else in the room. I caught sight of a long, bright pink mane, and vivid green eyes that looked unnatural. The slender figure was clad not in the official uniform of the FBI, but a cropped leather jacket on top of a black t-shirt.
“Hey . . . ” came a bored voice from the mysterious figure.
“Hi.” I wasn’t sure whether or not I should reach over to shake her hand. For all I knew, she was an informant. Or maybe she was Harris’s daughter, home on break from college.
That had to be it.
I settled into the seat next to her, unable to take my eyes off of her for very long. Despite her disheveled appearance, she was stunningly beautiful in an almost otherworldly way. Like she didn’t quite belong in the room with us mortals. Her skin shimmered like she’d been sprayed with the finest diamond dust. I found my hands begin to sweat with nerves.
Get it together, man! That’s the chief’s daughter!
My gaze was only pulled from her when I felt Harris lean in close to me. Then came the sound of him sliding a file across the table.
“Thank you for being here,” he said. “And congratulations on your promotion.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m honored to make it to senior special agent.”
“Ooh, you’re extra special?” said the young woman. “I’m just a lowly special agent.”
She smiled to show she was joking and crossed one lithe leg over the other. Her jeans were so ripped up that it was a wonder they stayed on. Then I saw the sidearm resting against her hip. It was impossible to miss. It was a standard-issue Glock just like everyone else’s, except unlike everyone else’s, this one was gold-plated.
“Special Agent Logan Hawthorne,” said Harris, clearing his throat. “This is Agent Elena Rivera.”
A mess of hot pink hair turned my direction. So she definitely wasn’t the chief’s daughter. That made things less weird. I gave her a courteous smile, which Elena neglected to return.
“I’m so pleased to meet you.”
The mocking tone of her voice was impossible to miss. She wasn’t pleased to meet me in the slightest. And those eyes . . . those fucking eyes. It was like they were staring right into my soul.
Harris looked uncomfortable in her presence. If she could rattle a bear of a man like him, then what hope in hell did I have?
“Alright, let’s get down to business,” said Harris, pointing to the file in front of me. “I’ve heard good things about you, Hawthorne. Your dad was a fine agent too, and your performance over the last few years has been nothing short of exceptional. That’s why I couldn’t think of anyone better than you to join the OCD’s latest task force.”
“Task force?”
Shit, this is serious.
“Affirmative. I know it’s your first day in your new position, but what better way to learn than to get thrown into the deep end?”
He paused for a second to gauge how I was reacting, but I was numb, blank, totally confused. It was always my dream to be brought in on a big case and be selected for a major task force. It’s what all the agents aimed for. But my joy was being eclipsed by a growing sense of nervousness. All thoughts of Bridget were gone now that duty called. But something kept bringing my attention back to Rivera and her unwavering gaze. Something about her was bugging the shit out of me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what.
“I couldn’t agree more, sir,” I replied. “I’d like to hear everything we know about the case.”
“Of course,” said Harris. “I suggest you keep an open mind. This isn’t your average terrorist or serial killer we’re dealing with.”
I nodded, but my brain had questions.
What the hell is an average serial killer? And what could be more serious and difficult to capture than a terrorist?
“Rivera,” the chief began, “perhaps you would like to brief Hawthorne.”
“With all due respect,” I interjected, “a field agent isn’t really in the position to be briefing me on—”
“Hey FNG.,” spat Rivera. “Shut the hell up.” The venom in her voice forced me to the back of my seat. Did this disrespectful little punk just call me the Fucking New Guy?
Yes. Yes she did.
“You’ve been on the case for what, five minutes?” she said, glaring at me. “I’m the expert in this room, so save your questions and comments for after t
he briefing.”
She wheeled her chair closer to mine, carrying her scent along with her. She smelled sweet, but not the cloying kind of sweet. No, there was an earthy edge to it . . . like a picnic of sugar cookies in a flower garden on a summer day.
“There’s one thing I want you to know first,” she began. “I don’t know you, so I don’t like you.”
“Okay . . . ” I wasn’t sure if this was an elaborate joke or not. “I’m glad we got that established.”
Harris flashed me an apologetic look. This was definitely not a joke. How was she getting away with being such a bitch? Especially in front of the chief?
“And another thing,” she continued. “I don’t think you’re qualified to be working on this case. I know Harris said you’re a good agent, but that doesn’t mean you belong in the OCD. This is my area of expertise. I’m the only one around here who knows how this works.”
“Okay, Rivera,” I said with a cocky grin. “Now it’s your turn to shut the hell up. I don’t know who you think you are, but the FBI is in my blood. Every man in my family for the last four generations has worked for the bureau, so if anybody knows how shit works around here, it’s me. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I like you either.”
Her green eyes practically blazed in anger. In that moment, I wasn’t sure if I hated her or was terrified of her. Either way, I didn’t want her near me. I wheeled my chair out of reach in case she decided to throw a fist my way. She seemed more than capable of it.
Agent Rivera stared right through me. I was hoping my retort would have dampened her spirit somewhat, but it only appeared to make it stronger.
“I told you this wouldn’t work out,” she complained to Harris. “I want him off the case.”
Now I was just pissed.
“I don’t even know what the case is!”
Harris sighed and held a hand to his forehead.
“Both of you shut the fuck up. If I wanted to deal with this kind of shit, I’d be running a fucking daycare.” He stood up, circled around us and walked over to the window. Staring out across the skyline of Washington DC, he held his hands behind his back and took a deep breath.
“Apologies for stepping out of line, sir,” I said, earnestly trying not to get fired on my first day. To my surprise, Agent Rivera just rolled her eyes.
“I’m the chief here and what I say goes. You two are the most qualified agents for what this case requires. I couldn’t give two shits if you get along or not. You will be working together. Am I making myself clear?”
He turned around and we both nodded.
“Perfectly clear,” I said. “Now can one of you tell me what the case is?”
“Goblins,” replied Rivera. “We’re gonna go hunt goblins.”
My brain was drawing a complete blank.
“Goblins? Is that code for something?”
Harris returned to the table, sat down and spread his hands down over the wood.
“Hawthorne . . . You ever been to the Smoky Mountains?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, lucky you. It’s where you’re heading right now.”
“But, sir . . . can you tell me what a goblin is?”
He turned to Rivera and they shared a solemn glance.
“Faeries,” he said, looking me dead in the eye. “You’re hunting faeries.”
4
Elena
What an absolute ass hat, I thought as I looked at Agent Hawthorne. He was tall, handsome, and a total dick.
Why exactly did Harris think this arrogant frat boy would make a good partner for me in this case? In fact, why did he think I needed a partner at all? Nobody in the whole of the FBI knew more about goblins than me. So why did he have to bring in this clown who looked like a page torn from the dress code section of a 1950’s training manual?
I studied his clean-shaven face and neatly trimmed dark hair, mentally preparing myself to hear him call women dames or broads. The dark blue suit wasn’t insanely expensive, although it had been tailored to look that way. It barely concealed his thick, beefy arms. The color made his blue eyes pop, unnerving me with their twinkly sapphire effect. I was a fiend for sugar, it was true . . . but I was obsessed with anything that sparkled.
“I’m sorry,” Hawthorne said, looking in between Harris and me. “For a second there I thought you just said we were going to the Smoky Mountains to hunt faeries.”
He was trying to force a laugh, but he also looked as though he was on the verge of cracking up.
“Yep,” I replied seriously. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
He held my gaze for a second, then burst out laughing.
“Oh, I get it. Very funny. A nice, big practical joke for the special agent on his first day. I bet you’re not even the chief, are you? And you, Rivera . . . I bet you’re not even an agent at all, are you? Who are you? The girl that brings the sandwiches?”
I leapt to my feet.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“Alright, alright!” interrupted Harris. “Both of you calm down.”
“Calm down? This guy’s a fucking meathead, chief!”
“Hey!” moaned Hawthorne. “Don’t you dare call me a fucking meathead. You’re the one rambling about goblins or some shit and—”
“Enough!” yelled Harris. “If you both don’t shut the fuck up immediately, I will knock both your skulls together . . . after I write up each of you for insubordination!”
We both fell silent, shrinking into our seats.
“Look, Hawthorne, I understand this is difficult for you to comprehend,” said Harris. “But this is all very true. The Occult Crimes Division works on cases involving devil worship and witchcraft, but that’s just scratching the surface. Your case involves another . . . dimension, if you will. It’s a world that remains largely hidden from the one you’re familiar with.”
That appeared to pique Logan’s interest, and I watched as his ears perked up.
“You won’t have heard of this world,” said Harris. “In fact, only twenty-five people within the bureau have ever heard of it. And with you on board, that makes twenty-six.”
I could see the realization fall across Hawthorne’s face as he came to discover that maybe this wasn’t a practical joke after all.
“Wh—what’s it called?” he asked. He sounded like a child asking about the reality of Santa Claus. Harris gave him a slight smile and looked deep into his face.
“It depends who you ask. Some people call it Faerieland. We just call it The Hollows.”
For a long, excruciating moment, there was nothing but awkward silence in the room as Hawthorne processed what he had just heard.
“The Hollows?”
He glanced over at me as though he hoped I could give him some much needed clarity. All I could do was nod in agreement.
“Everything originating from The Hollows falls within my area of expertise,” I told him. “So if you don’t believe in magic, you better start real soon. Or, you know, you could just go back to running sting operations on counterfeit checks, or whatever it is you’re good at.”
Hawthorne’s mouth hung open as though he was trying to catch flies.
“No . . . ” he said. “This can’t be right. You’re just messing with me on my first day in my new position. This is all some kind of elaborate joke, isn’t it?”
But the look on my face told him it wasn’t.
“Seriously?” he asked Harris, pleadingly. “You expect me to believe all of this is real?”
“Hawthorne, listen,” said Harris. “I understand your reticence to believe in certain matters, but the OCD is a very real division that deals with real cases. There’s no room for practical jokes or time wasting. Rivera? Tell your new partner why he’s here.”
I flipped open the file and showed Hawthorne the same spreadsheet I had only become acquainted with myself that morning.
“Missing children,” I said. “Hundreds of them. The disappearances started in the
Smokies but they’re moving south and west and at a hell of a rate.”
“Child abductions? That’s what we’re really investigating?”
“It is,” I said. “And we need to get moving right away. I don’t have time for you to keep questioning who I am, or whether the world we’re investigating is even real or not.”
“Understood,” he replied, but I could tell there was a massive wall of skepticism behind his eyes. “I gotta ask . . . what makes you such an expert in these crimes?”
I brought the palm of my hand to my face. It was like the meathead didn’t even hear what I’d just said.
“Rivera has insider knowledge,” explained Harris. “And she’s worked on numerous cases in the OCD. Everything from exorcisms and poltergeists to UFO phenomena.”
“Get outta here,” Hawthorne snickered.
“It’s true,” I said. “And I don’t care if you believe me or not. Right now, all that matters is that we track down these missing kids and find the little faerie shitbag that’s abducting them. Are you in or not?”
Hawthorne stared into space for a long moment, clearly wondering if he’d lost his mind. It wasn’t every day I got to witness a human having their entire belief system shaken to the core, so this was a real treat for me. Right about the time when I thought he’d completely dissociated, he turned his eyes towards me before glancing down at the spreadsheet. I knew what he was thinking. Whether faeries were real or not, kids were going missing. Hundreds of them. It didn’t matter if he believed us; the numbers didn’t lie.
“I’m in,” he said. “I can leave as soon as you need me to.”
“Good,” Harris beamed, standing up and clapping his hands together. “You’ll both fly out first thing in the morning. I’ll set up a rental car after you land in Tennessee.” He paused and glanced at Hawthorne’s long legs. The motherfucker was tall—taller than anyone else I saw around the office. “It’s a couple hours drive from Knoxville to get to where you’re going. I’ll try to get you something with plenty of legroom.”
“Nice. I’ll drive,” Logan volunteered before I had the chance.
Wiretaps & Whiskers (The Faerie Files Book 1) Page 4