by Mary Dublin
She glanced stiffly over her shoulder, uncertain whether he meant it as a compliment or not. It was hard not to recall her past experiences with the hunters, becoming more involved with every monster that surfaced. It made her stomach churn to remember there had been a time she had convinced herself she was nearly an equal amidst their partnership. An honorary hunter.
She snapped back to the present when she felt herself being moved. Jon had lowered his hand to the dashboard, palm flat.
"He could be a while. You don't have to sit in my hand the entire time."
"Oh…" She hesitated a second too long, then recalled that hurting his feelings wasn't something she should be fretting over. Making it a point to look relieved, she eagerly scooted to the edge of his hand and stepped away from it, confirming whatever assumptions he had about her preference to keep some distance from him.
From there, she was hesitant again about what to do with herself. Jon was far away enough that she could see his face. She averted her eyes, but he was much harder to avoid now unless she turned her back on him completely. Which would mean turning away from the werewolf's office building. With a sigh, she took a seat on the dashboard where she could peer at the building, halfway facing Jon.
Sylvia was quiet for a time, peering at Jon in her peripherals. She thought she'd never see him again. In fact, she'd made it a point not to. Sitting in a car with him and actively avoiding eye contact was more surreal than she could say. The case would be over soon enough, though.
"Any idea what's next for you after this one?" The question exited without permission, but she couldn't take it back. Her eyes flicked to him twice before they settled. It was so hard to look at him and not the scars.
Watching him lower his chin more and more to meet her gaze somehow made her feel smaller than when she'd been sat atop his hand.
"That's assuming we finally catch him," Jon snorted.
Sylvia didn't hesitate. "You will."
Jon stared at her, lips parted. Sylvia was transfixed for a moment, basking in the way those brown eyes were fixed on only her. It was too much like the way it had been before. The moment passed, and Jon shrugged plaintively.
"Cliff and I have some money saved up from doing jobs for the landlord over the last year," he said. "A C.E.O is gonna be a front page tragedy. It'd be smart to get on the road soon as possible before this kill has a chance to hit the news. After that… I guess we'll see where we end up."
"You're leaving?" Sylvia blinked away from Jon to stare at the enormous building. Her insides suddenly felt weak, though she knew it was foolish. Whether they were in the city or not, she wasn't going to see them. It made no difference.
Except when they were in the city, she at least knew where they were. If the urge ever came, she could fly by the apartment building and check if their car was there. Check that they were still alive. She stifled those thoughts and all the hurt that came with them. With what the hunters were planning to do, they had to leave.
"I've thought about going beyond this city a few times, but…" She smiled wryly and shook her head, forcing her eyes back to Jon, if only to prove to herself that she was strong enough to look. "I wouldn't know where to begin."
"It'd be a long flight on your own," Jon conceded. Then, "Aren't there other fairies out there somewhere? Other villages?"
Sylvia had to fight off a smile, recognizing that curious glint in his eyes. He couldn't help himself.
"There are," she confirmed with a nod. "We didn't get many outsiders visit our village, and most that did come were nomadic. I didn't know much about what was far beyond the Edge until… well, until I went to explore that old human house. Coming across another village would be pure luck."
She hesitated, reminding herself that she wouldn't be berated for such thoughts the way she would be at home. Her former home. Freedom came at a steeper price than she could have ever imagined, but it was hers now, and she couldn't help but feel like it was going to waste.
"Finding another village would be nice, but… those fairies who aren't tied down always seemed so happy." Traveling far away felt far less frightening when the idea wasn't confined to her own warring thoughts. She wet her lips and looked down at her hands, wings flickering. It was so strange being able to actually talk about it with someone. "They made it out there, so it isn't impossible."
"But what if something happens?" Jon blurted, giving her something of a reprimanding look. "At your size… I mean, on your own…"
Sylvia raised her eyebrows and gestured down at herself. "It's been over a month, and I've done just fine. It wasn't easy at first, but my size hasn't stopped me from learning how to take care of myself." She hesitated, unable to stifle the urgency to prove to him wrong. "I even got seen, and guess what? It wasn't the end of the world. I can fly. I can get away."
Jon went stock-still in his seat. "You got seen?"
Sylvia felt something threaten to prickle her eyes. He looked so genuinely horrified on her behalf. Forcing a scowl onto her face, she looked at her knees. "What do you care, anyway?"
"Of course I—" Jon stopped short and tore his gaze away. A few beats of audible breathing passed before he spoke again in a softer voice. "Look, I know you hate me, but I'm allowed to be worried about what happens to you."
Before she knew it, she was on her feet, and the words shot out. "I don't hate you Jon, I…" She trailed off and clenched her jaw. She shouldn't have started talking at all. She should have been content to sit in silence while they waited for Cliff. Swallowing hard, she glared at the window. "You didn't seem so worried when you left me in the forest," she said icily. "Now that I actually have a handle on everything… now you're worried?
"Leaving you there was the best thing for you," Jon said firmly. "You were supposed to be safe with your family."
"I was banished, Jon. You heard the oath. I wasn't going to keep punishing Hazel and my mother with that promise. Both me and my family are better off with me being away from them." She gave a dry laugh. "Sure, that bar got too rowdy for me, but that little church across the street from it hasn't given me any issues. Living among humans is safer for me than my own forest."
A scoff of incredulity escaped him as she flourished her hands for emphasis. Once again, she found herself torn between being touched and insulted by the look on his face. She soon forgot altogether, as sharp breeze cut close to her perch on the dashboard—Jon had thrown up his hands in exasperation, prompting her to reel back in alarm.
"Well, I'm sorry I ever let you heal me that day. Would've saved you from all this if you hadn't touched me."
"You're… sorry?" If she was smart, she would have agreed with him straight away. Instead, her heart sank so abruptly that she couldn't hide how horrified she was. Catching herself, she made her expression a mask of anger. She stormed closer to him, stopping right where the dashboard declined. "You were bleeding to death! You're telling me you would have rather died? You don't mean that, so just… just shut up! I don't need you to carry that guilt for me, so get over it. It doesn't help me."
She sucked in a breath and held it in her cheeks when Jon suddenly lowered his face before her perch. Outrage stayed at bay when she realized this was not an intimidation tactic, but rather an earnest excuse to get a read on her face. Brown eyes, each larger than her head, flickered over her once, then stayed on her much smaller emeralds.
"What exactly would help you?" The words sounded bitter. Hurt.
A lump formed in her throat, and it took every ounce of her willpower to not look away in shame. He'd left the window open for her. He'd worried about her, and she was repaying him with venomous words.
It was for the best. She couldn't show him the doubt or weakness writhing inside. He needed to move on, and she had to give him every reason to.
"If you could forget about me," she said in a quieter voice, all the fight gone from her.
This close to his face, she could see his eyes widen in perfect clarity. Her heart ached at the thought that an us w
as still something he wanted. The ache deepened as his expression went vacant, and he pulled back in his seat.
"Fine," Jon muttered. He had nothing more to say after that, resigning his gaze out the window.
Thirty
Three
Sylvia sat the bottom of Jon's pocket, bumping against his chest with each step he took. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wishing the tightness in her throat would disappear. She was doing the right thing… she had to be. If he knew the truth, he wouldn't forgive himself about letting her go. The look in his eyes had told her that much.
She picked at a frayed piece of thread at the bottom of the pocket, noticing when Jon's footsteps changed from the sidewalk cement outside to the indoor tile. Other human footsteps echoed off the floor and put her on edge. She sat up straighter, knowing she had to focus now more than ever.
Jon had stiffly relayed Cliff's text message to her in the car. There were too many cameras around to get close enough to the alleged werewolf's office, which meant they had to get him to come out. All Sylvia had to do was make sure she felt the instinctive sensation that a monster was nearby, and they would be absolutely sure that they had their mark.
She was still shaky on what exactly a "fire alarm" was, since Jon had mostly muttered his impromptu plan to himself while thinking it up, but she trusted he knew what he was doing. At least enough that she didn't have to initiate anymore conversation with him.
Not far into the building, he stopped walking. She could still feel him moving, looking around. Not for the first time, she wished she had some way to talk to him while she was hidden away. Though she was leaned right up against his chest, they might as well be in two separate worlds at the moment.
"Are you looking for any office in particular?" A young woman's voice, crisp and cheerful, came from right behind Jon's left shoulder.
Sylvia grunted softly as he spun on his heel to face the voice, the motion making her stomach lurch.
"The bathroom, actually." This one was Jon's voice, and it rumbled oddly through her and above her simultaneously.
"Ah. Right across the lobby. Men's on your left."
Jon took off walking immediately, that same urgency in his stride. Sylvia frowned up at where Jon's face would be. What on earth could be of use in there?
Luckily, the journey involved only one set of stairs and a brief "excuse me" from a passerby. Another door opening, and a different sort of tile under Jon's feet. Then silence.
"No one in here right now," Jon muttered, a decibel Sylvia knew was meant for her. She wasted no time in shooting to the top of the pocket and pushing at the flap to let her voice carry higher.
"Is now really the best time to use the bathroom?" she couldn't help but blurt.
Jon nearly laughed. "I'm not here for that."
Sylvia ducked down again as he made for the last stall on the left. She had a difficult time getting a look at what he was doing the way he was moving around. By the time she wriggled her way to the top again, Jon was standing on top of the toilet, a roll of paper held in one hand. The other hand held a lighter. Before she could ask what he was doing, he brought them together. Smoke blossomed as the two met, a slow plumage of flames running along the thin paper. Her eyes were wide as saucers as he held it up in the air toward a round button sticking out of the ceiling.
"What's that?" Her heart raced to see the fire growing in power and size along the bundle.
"Fire alarm," he breathed back. Seeming to realize something, he looked down urgently at her. "Cover your ears."
Sylvia opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a deafening scream. The scream was inhuman in both decibel and volume. She let out a cry that was lost to the chaos, falling to the bottom of Jon's pocket. She curled up small with her knees to her chest, hands clapped over her ears. There was a new rumbling that had to be Jon talking to her, but she couldn't make out the words over the din.
Her world jumped as he leapt from his perch, and she was too busy covering her ears to grab hold of any fabric. The smell of smoke became weaker, leaving her to assume that fiery beacon had been discarded in the last stall. He was moving fast again, jostling her enough to make it impossible for Sylvia to stand. Her only comfort was that he was moving toward the exit—and stars willing, away from the noise.
The door slammed open, but it was not Jon who'd moved.
"Hands in the air!" a stranger's voice roared with authority.
Jon stopped immediately. "I'm just trying to get—"
"Yeah, I know what you were doing, punk. Hands behind your head."
The pocket lurched violently as the man laid his hands on Jon, trying to corner him against the wall. She had nowhere to squirm away when one of those meaty hands landed squarely on Jon's chest, directly over Sylvia's hiding place. She tried to loose a scream, but the air had been entirely seized from her lungs. The pressure was severe, with both sides moving to intensify the sensation. Her back was going to break, she was certain of it.
Then, all at once, the pressure lifted and all movement ceased. Light blossomed overhead, illuminating the scraggly threads she was clinging to for dear life. A hand crowded in to take hold of her. She had no strength to fight it off.
"Are you okay?"
She went limp with relief when the enormous face she was held before was a familiar one. Sylvia turned her head to the side. A hefty security guard lay sprawled out on the floor, a rather large red mark covering the side of his face.
When she tried to answer Jon, a pitiful shudder came out instead. She pushed herself to sit up in the curve of his palm and leaned over her knees, taking in lungfuls of blessed air. Her wings twitched, aching so badly that she couldn't spread them all the way yet.
Everything ached, all from a single hand. A few more seconds, a little more pressure… that was all it would have taken to end her.
"I couldn't breathe," she said tremulously, bringing a hand over her eyes. "I couldn't breathe. He didn't even know I was there, and still, he could have…" She trailed off and dropped her hand, gaze trailing back to the guard on the ground. A chill crawled up her spine at the reminder of just how capable of violence Jon was. But he hadn't been the one who'd charged. Sylvia turned to look Jon up and down, though she had a limited view. "What about you? Are you hurt?"
"I'll live. We need to get out of here."
He barely glanced at himself before stepping around the guard's body toward the door. Too late, she realized he had forgotten to slip her back into his breast pocket for cover. She cowered near his chest as each of his hurried steps shuddered through her bodily. It wasn't long before his steps weren't the only ones shaking through her. Other humans charged through enormous tiles hallways, all funneling toward the nearest doors. Some walked right past them. Sylvia backed further into Jon's chest, hands clutching at his jacket.
"Jon," she breathed "What if someone—"
"I'm not putting you back in there. Besides," he added under his breath. "No one here is looking for a fairy."
Sylvia didn't press the argument. She had to admit, after nearly being crushed inside, she wasn't eager to return to the pocket. And he had a point: all the humans staffing the building were obedient to the awful screaming sound. No one paused to give Jon a second glance.
But she still stared with worry at every gigantic man and woman that brushed past.
Jon stepped outside, and that awful screaming sound faded a bit. Warm, fresh air rushed around her, but it couldn't bring her comfort. There were too many giant voices buzzing around them. She could only hope Ronald Spencer, C.E.O was one of them.
"Do you feel anything?"
Though Jon's hand had closed loosely around her when he exited the building, he hadn't lowered his hand entirely. Sylvia suspected it was to keep her within a distance he could hear her voice. It was harder to see through the gaps in his fingers now, his skin turning the sunlight into reddish-pink streaks on her skin.
"Nothing yet," she answered, raising her voice as loudly as
she dared.
She eased away from the security of his chest, bracing her hands somewhere between his index finger and thumb and peering out at the mess of humans outside. Some of them were frantically putting more distance between themselves and the building, while others were idling and staring up at the windows.
It took a great deal of willpower not to scoot back immediately. Even with Jon's fingers shielding her, she had never felt so exposed amongst a mass of humans. But she tried to block out the skittish instinct rooted in her nerves. The massive risk Jon took would go to waste if she didn't focus. She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, promising herself that she would ignore her fear of the crowd when she opened them again.
As it turned out, the problem wasn't focusing hard enough to sense the werewolf; the problem was snapping out of her terrified stupor when she did.
A familiar sensation twisted within her, tinged with revulsion and an innate warning to flee. It didn't matter. With her wings smashed against her mere minutes ago, she doubted she could fly yet. Her fingers dug into Jon's skin, but she couldn't find her voice. The source of the sensation was coming from behind, closing in. Closer, closer. Her breath caught. But the source never quite reached them.
"Jon…" She searched around as best she could from her limited view, scrabbling around to peek through different gaps and pushing to get a better look. Finally, she locked in him: the blonde man from the picture gruffly straightening his suit. Other humans moved between him and Jon, and she couldn't get a clear look at his face, but she knew.
"Does anyone know what happened yet?" Ronald Spencer didn't raise his voice, but his tone had a commanding quality that easily reached Sylvia's ears.
Several humans trailed around him, like a High Council member being followed by his lessers.
"Nothing for sure yet," a woman told him. "Williams swears she smelled smoke in the left wing on the first floor, and others are claiming they heard from others that the microwave in the break room caught fire. Whatever the case, the fire department will be here shortly."