Hollow Back Girl

by Olivia R. Burton

  “So, how’s thirty feel?” Chloe asked as Izzy and the kids made a second pass. Stella trailed behind them this time, but I could see her energy was flagging and she probably wouldn’t make it back across the house.

  “Like twenty-nine,” I decided, before wiggling my shoulders uncomfortably. “But more achy.”

  “Aww,” Chloe said, patting my back. “I’ve got more pills, if you want.”

  “Nah, Owen had to head out of town to another job. I’m fine for now. He said he might be back in Seattle soon, though. I might hit you up if it’s real soon.”

  “Gotcha,” Chloe said, leaning back to pull her knees to her chest. After more time passed and Jake and Thomas erupted with laughter, my empathy grasping at their happiness and making me giggle, Chloe leaned in to bump her shoulder against mine. “Did you two talk?”

  “About you?” I asked, turning to face her, seeing the trepidation purring in her like a nervous cat. “Yeah. Though, he didn’t tell me much. He’s pretty good at that.”

  “The best,” she said with a grin and a laugh. “I think you need natural talent to be that smoothly avoidant.”

  “He’s got a lot of natural talents, that man,” I agreed, unable to keep the purr out of my tone. Chloe chuckled and we went quiet for a moment, before she cleared her throat.

  “Did you have any—” She cleared her throat. “—questions?”

  “Um.” I considered, going over what Owen had said in his hotel room, the things I’d wondered about Chloe in the past, and what Kincade had spat at her, intending to cause trouble. She didn’t really want to talk about this, but she was offering, and I had the feeling she’d be relieved if I dropped it, but she wouldn’t be overall happier. I could tell she wanted me to ask, to force her to tell me the truth she’d been tucking away since we’d met. It wasn’t my empathy I was reading, but years of experience counseling people who’d spent too long avoiding the truth. “So many,” I said finally, with a laugh.

  “Should we start with where babies come from?” she offered. I snorted, glad when the tension snapped and crumbled around us.

  “What about just … what’s a Gavel? Are you a Gavel? Is it important?”

  “I was, though some consider it a life-long appointment, but I’m … not anymore. And yes, it’s very important. It’s, um.” She took a deep breath, like she was about to dive off a tall cliff into an angry tide. “I was an emissary of sorts, to a Fairy—that’s capital-F—and I ran … in an interesting crowd.”

  “With Kincade? And Owen? Is Kincade a Gavel?”

  Chloe laughed at the idea, but it was bitter, like the suggestion was beyond ludicrous. “No one would trust her enough to give her that much power. No, you need to have integrity, which she does not. She’d sell her own grandmother to a rabid cannibal if she thought the payment was shiny enough.”

  “I doubt Kincade has grandparents,” I mused. “I think she just burbled up from a pile of horse shit one day.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Chloe said. Izzy marched through again, though without Stella, his pace slowed to accommodate J.J.’s sleepy gait. I wondered how far past his bedtime it was, and if I could gorge myself on more cake after the kids weren’t around to beg me to share.

  “Is that how you know all the stuff you know?” I asked after they’d left. “How you got Evadne to help with the kids?” I gasped. “Were you Evadne’s emissary?”

  “No, no, she doesn’t take Gavels. It’s too … um, complicated to go into, but it’s not something just any Fairy can have. I still have favors to call in here and there,” Chloe said, though she wasn’t being entirely honest, “and I called one in back then. Truth is, I should have just come clean when Sy—er, Laurel and Hardy showed up, sent them packing, but I was … Honestly, I didn’t expect her …” Chloe went silent for a long moment, her eyes distant, frustrated curiosity thudding against me like an angry heartbeat.

  “I’d been out of the game, completely out of the world—except for you and Mel, really, and it threw me. Then you … My god.” Chloe started laughing, leaning her head against her knees as if the thought was too funny to bear.

  “You just started … dealing with them like you knew what you were doing. And by god, you tried your best. I got Mel to help, fed him information where he needed it, tried to stay on the sidelines, but you … you were so inept—I’m sorry—” Cutting off when she saw my expression, Chloe reached out, pulled me into a hug. “But you were. I had no choice but to help for real. It was fun, though. I can’t argue that. It’s why I jumped so easily into hunting Norma when Owen came around.”

  She smiled, her gaze unfocused, like she was remembering the good ol’ times, and I found myself grinning too, caught up in her fuzzy nostalgia.

  “Why’d you quit?” I asked after a bit. “You—I can feel you, you loved what you were doing. Right? Why’d you stop? Why are you sitting in my cramped office putting up with my bullshit?”

  Chloe seemed to shake herself out of it, taking a deep breath. The nostalgia warped, skewed from fuzzy and pleasant to unsure and uncomfortable. Some rumble of a memory threatened to grow within me, a moment I’d repressed from after Chloe and Owen had killed the succubus they’d been hunting. It wanted to declare a truth, a bit of Chloe’s history I’d gained through nasty means, and I took a shaky breath, shoving it down again.

  “That’s a long story,” she said finally. I nodded, understanding that this she really didn’t want to get into—and feeling my own panic at the idea, as well. “But rest assured, I’m happy. You’re a pain in the ass but I love you and wouldn’t wanna be anywhere but your cramped office.”

  “Really?” I asked, though I knew she was telling the truth—even about me being a pain in the ass.

  “Really,” she said, squeezing me tightly.

  Thanksgiving felt the same at thirty as it did at twenty-nine, although I appreciated not getting into a screaming match with my father. I even appreciated all the vegan sides that Chloe brought to the table, especially since three of them had the word, “candied” in the name.

  Chloe and I flew home together, but Izzy disappeared the day before we left. She explained that Izzy doesn’t fly on planes but that we’d probably run into him back in Seattle at some point. Business was back to normal almost immediately, both at work and in my personal life. Standing in line at The Internets, I glanced over, noticed a plump, shapely girl with short dark hair and pretty eyes exit the bathroom area. Pleasure swamped her as she realized halfway across the restaurant that she’d forgotten to button her fly.

  I watched her leave, winced when Mel stepped out after her. Snarling at him from my place in line, I felt when he caught sight of me; the swirling, scalding heat I’d felt since walking in was slightly dimmer, but still there. Lifting a brow over a smug smirk, he sidled up, easing like a greedy lover into my personal space, though he knew better than to touch me.

  Mel is a very good-looking werewolf, the exact opposite of poor Pumpkin-face. He’s got at least a head of height on me, boosted slightly by expensive shoes; his hair is dark, normally perfectly styled above his bright blue eyes. This afternoon, however, it was mussed, his royal blue shirt miss-buttoned right above his sculpted pecs. I just thanked my stars that he was wearing pants.

  “Did you just have sex in the bathroom with that poor girl?” I asked. Mel lifted his hands in what he probably considered a delicate, beguiling shrug.

  “I never kiss and tell, Gwen. But yes. We did. In several positions.”

  “Ugh,” I grunted, shaking my head. I had to resist the urge to wipe the feeling of his pleasure away from my skin because it made me feel like he’d splashed me with acid. “That’s so unsanitary. Both for you and the bathroom.”

  Mel frowned down at me, a spike of irritation clouding his otherwise happy psyche. He didn’t complain, though. Something moved within his emotions that I didn’t quite catch before he sighed, looking to the front of the line. The succubus owner of the café noticed us speaking, gave an amuse
d little grin at our sniping, and then thanked the customer she was helping for coming in.

  “Where were you the last two weeks? And why are you all beat up?” Mel asked, after a bit. I could feel worry in him and it reminded me we were friends, despite the fact that I could barely stand him. I also realized he’d effectively cut in front of three other people by joining me in my place in line. I didn’t fight it, finding I’d sort of missed him in a weird, masochistic way that I didn’t entirely want to examine or admit.

  “I joined a secret, underground fight club. I came out on top.”

  “Was the prize a cake the size of the Space Needle?”

  “Why do you think I won?”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, making me laugh.

  “Your girl, my ass,” I spat back, still laughing.

  “I’ve still got some time for your ass,” he offered, as the customer ahead of us glanced back curiously, taking her credit card back from Madeline. “You wanna join me in the bathroom?”

  “Gross.” I spat apathetically, elbowing him. Mel laughed as we stepped up and Madeline glanced between us.

  “Usual, Gwen?” she asked. I nodded, enjoying the gust of humor blowing through her, as it had the pleasant side effect of washing away some of Mel’s caustic lust. “I could have it brought to a specific stall if you guys are going to be busy.”

  I wrinkled my nose at her suggestion. “Now you’re not getting a tip”

  “You never tip.”

  “I’ll give you both a tip,” Mel purred. Both Madeline and I looked at him, matching identical looks of disappointment on our faces. Mel only grinned, looking between us as if he had all the confidence in the world that one or both of us would break, yell, “Take me!” and strip off our clothes right there.

  When neither one of us did, Mel just lifted his hands in dual finger-guns, shot each one of us in turn, and headed for the door. I turned back, tried to hand over my debit card, but Madeline waved me off.

  “I heard about what you did in Montana. It’s on me.”

  “You … how did you hear?”

  “Word about you is getting around. You know,” she said, her gaze taking on a serious intensity, “that you’re so helpful. It’s appreciated.”

  I heard the sound of glass sliding across wood and looked down to find that there was a fat slice of cake sitting in front of me on the counter. I looked back up to her, brows up. What did this mean, exactly?

  “For being helpful,” Madeline reiterated, letting the moment lie for a beat. “Now get out of the way, you’re holding up the line.”

  “Oh,” I said, grabbing the plate and stepping to the side. “Thanks.”

  I made my way to a table toward the back, staring down at my tasty gift and wondering if I should be happy about the free cake or worried that my name was being passed around the preternatural community. How wide did this go, I wondered. Was it local, just the Pacific Northwest? Did it go further? Should I have been worried about being accosted for help from some Southern belle mermaid hoping to bag a prince?

  I was going to have to ask Chloe if I had anything to worry about—and if mermaids even existed.

  I took a seat, lifted my gaze to the wall, and tried to decide how I felt about this development. It wasn’t exactly like I had my hands full with my human clients. My schedule was pretty open each day. Did I want more trouble, though? Did I want creatures I didn’t yet know about showing up at my doorstep asking for help? Would that be something I could handle, or would I just go completely nuts?

  As I stabbed into the cake and shoveled a giant bite into my mouth, I considered that if this was how they paid me, I was open to the possibility either way.

  About the Author

  Olivia is a vegan thirty-something living just outside of Seattle with a clowder of cats and a stink of litter boxes. She enjoys vexing her kitties, cooking, watching action movies, and making up collective nouns for things that don’t already have them (like a “stink of litter boxes”). You can find her and all information about her different series at OliviaRBurton.com.