by Alex Gates
I think that worried him, because he changed the subject. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” His footsteps tapped the floor as he continued pacing. “Cops stopped you, but didn’t arrest you. Automaton found you, but didn’t manage to capture you. And you think you escaped through… what? That unexplained shadow magic you used against Medea?”
“Don’t know,” I said, thinking about the void I’d found and how I passed through it and arrived here. I licked my lips, shy of what I was about to say. “Teleportation. But that’s not possible except with the Nephil.” I hesitated for a second, opening my eyes. The room was too bright, too painful to bear, so I closed them again.
Before Xander had the chance to question me further, a knocking sounded at his front door.
I squinted my eyes open and stared at the now-quiet door. “Am I awake?” I asked Xander, hoping I hadn’t slipped into another nightmare.
He furrowed his brow, but kept his attention fixed on the foyer. “What?”
“Who’s at the door?”
After learning that Hephaestus had located me through one of his Automatons, I wasn’t surprised to see Xander pull back his sports coat to ready one of his radiant weapons—a Beretta formed from the legendary Holy sword, Ascalon. It hung just above his waist from a shoulder holster. He crossed the living area and carefully leaned into the door to peek through the peephole.
I hefted up from my seat, ignoring my aching head and pulsing skin. Without a weapon near me or any magic to readily access, I just stood there like a lump on a dick—unseemly and very noticeable. Xander unlatched the chain lock, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door.
I held my breath as he revealed a woman. She had dark-blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her blue eyes glistened like sun reflected off ice. She wore blue jeans that—in the words of a country song—were painted on her, and athletic shoes. Her black blouse plunged low at her chest—much to my eyeball pleasure.
Dakota Clark, the mysterious woman who had entered my life the night my daughter was murdered, waved a Sacramento Sheriff’s Department badge in front of Xander’s face. According to her unverified story, she’d recently transferred to SSD as their latest and greatest homicide detective. She said that after hearing about me and my talents, she had applied for the job.
That’s right. She had a massive lady boner for old Joey Labrador, and she couldn’t help but move to my stomping grounds to get a fuller whiff of what I was cooking. The first paragraph of her restraining order doesn’t end there—she’d spent months stalking me, learning about every facet of my life just so she could use that information to manipulate me into helping her find her Cursed father. Talk about daddy issues, am I right? I’d found my very own Harley Quinn.
“Can I help you?” Xander asked, barring her entrance with a hand on the door.
“Xander, I presume,” she said, clipping her badge to her waistband, extending her hand to greet him.
Like someone who has never been laid in his life, Xander rejected her gesture and said, “Why is a detective from SSD at my front door?”
Dakota’s lips lifted into a half-grin. “Well, technically, I’m not a detective right now. Off-duty. He hasn’t told you about me?” she asked, glancing past Xander at me. “I thought I left more of an impact.” In a lithe, graceful movement that left even Xander stuck in cement, she ducked under his arm-bar and stepped into the condo. “Wow. MIS must really compensate their employees. Beautiful place you have.” As she scanned the living room and kitchen, her eyes fell on me, and there they stayed. “Do you know you’re harboring a suspect wanted for multiple counts of murder, arson, evading arrest…” she trailed off, as if implying the list could go on forever if she felt like it.
“Joey, you know her?” Xander asked, turning around.
“Well, not in the biblical sense,” I said. “She’s more like someone I know of.”
“Xander,” Dakota said, ambling into the living room and sitting on the sofa beside me. She smelled like sunshine and coffee. “As I mentioned, I’m not here on police business. Go ahead and pull that wedgie loose.”
“How did you find me?” I asked.
Dakota shrugged. “Since your house burned down, I narrowed your location to a few different spots. When I received a call from an officer in this area reporting a suspicious male who matched the description of Joseph Hunter, I figured you’d shacked up with Xander.”
“My legal name isn’t on the lease,” Xander said, still stuck in the foyer. “No one knows I live here. It’s MIS protocol. My employers don’t even have access to this address. How did you find it?”
“You sneaky little bastard,” I said, nudging her arm and snickering. “You tailed the tail, didn’t you?”
She bit her lower lip, confirming my statement with her big, blue eyes. I was back in the lounge two nights ago—my mind cluttered, my hands cold and damp, my stomach a nervous wreck of hummingbirds.
“During my initial reconnaissance, I noticed someone else tagging you from the shadows. Wary that one of your old enemies planned to kill you, I followed the potential threat back to his house—which was here.”
“Wait, what?” Xander asked, finally shutting the door and taking a step forward. “When did this happen?”
“Maybe four months ago,” Dakota said, “when the name attached to the lease didn’t yield consistent results to your life, I dug deeper, tailing your movements straight to you work. Your receptionist was all too eager to provide your name and contact information.”
“You’re crazier than a bagged cat,” I said.
“Is that a pussy joke?” she asked.
A heat flushed over my face, and I stammered to defend my poor choice of simile.
Before I had the chance to blurt out some retort, she said, “Apparently, two officers—just down the street, mind you—had detained a man that fit Joseph’s description. Before they had the chance to question the suspect, another man arrived and brutally attacked him. Funny thing is, the officers reported that they discharged their weapons at the assailant, but nothing happened. No blood. No wounds. Not even recognition that he had been shot. Then, they blinked, and both perpetrators had vanished into thin air. Strange, right?” Dakota leaned a few inches closer to me and inspected my face with the soft touch of her fingers, sending chills down my spine. “You don’t look too terrible.”
“Believe me,” I said, my voice a rasp, “that’s not even the worst compliment I have ever received.”
The three of us sat in silence for a second. Dakota’s hand remained on my battered face, our eyes exploring each other.
Xander shattered the thick silence by clearing his throat, asking yet again, “Who are you?”
“Is he always like this?” Dakota asked me, tearing her attention—and fingers—from me.
The stored tension in my body released as I exhaled for the first time in hours. “All he does is nag and repeat himself,” I said. “You’d think my throbbing head occurred after getting pommeled in the face. Nope. It’s from his insipid voice.”
“I’m Dakota,” she said, standing up to greet him and extending her hand once again. “I’m the one from the Snake Head Lounge who stood on the bar and roll-called for any Elizabeth to show up.”
Xander nodded in remembrance. “You introduced us to Dr. Tacet, to—” he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. We all knew what he had meant to say. To hide Melanie’s body.
“Speaking of,” Dakota regarded me, “the doctor has finished with her body. What should we do with it? Derek and Marie have been released to Mr. Anderson’s parents.” Those were Melanie’s adopted mom and dad, who had also died that same night. “They’ll coordinate and schedule the memorial services from there. Once I know a date and time, I’ll share that information with you. Would you like Mel to be included in that?”
“No,” Xander answered for me. “Have Dr. Tacet bury her in a private mausoleum within his cemetery. I’ll front any of the costs. Make sure her tombstone has her
real name. Melanie Selene Hunter. As for the death certificate, as far as the world knows, she’s missing.”
I licked my lips, thankful for Xander. No one would go looking for Melanie in a graveyard, and burying her in a private area prevented the public from stumbling upon her name. “What did he say? Did he connect her to me?” I asked.
“No,” Dakota said. “And no one will. Unless we’re tipped off or we get lucky.”
Getting tipped off by Hephaestus or Hecate sounded pretty likely to me. What better way to capture or kill me than to force me into a jail cell where I couldn’t run or hide?
“You cleaned up the scene that night? At Medea’s?” Xander asked.
Dakota nodded. “Yeah. The that next morning, I was there on official business. And at the Anderson’s just before that. We didn’t find any evidence of Joesph’s or your involvement at either place.”
“Did you find any evidence, any suspects at all?” I asked, hoping she’d found something that we had missed in our rush to exit Medea’s house before someone called the police.
“Whatever we did or didn’t find is classified information pertinent to two separate homicide cases. I can’t release that evidence to civilians.”
I chuckled. “Bullshit. What do you want for it?”
“We made a deal already. I cleaned up the crime scene in Medea’s basement and arranged for your daughter’s body to be taken care of by Dr. Tacet. I held up my end of the deal. Now you need to help me find my father.”
Ain’t life a pocket of sunshine?
Xander scoffed. “Joey’s going to help you find someone? He can’t even find a pair of pants in the morning, in his current state.”
“In my defense, all my pants are burned to ash.”
“For my sake,” Xander said, “not his—did you find anything regarding a woman—”
“I know what you’re implying,” Dakota said. “I know of the Nephil. Of Joey’s recent troubles with Hephaestus and Hecate. If I did possess any information, though, what incentive would I have to pass it over to you?”
“You think you have the ability to locate and detain a Nephil?” Xander asked her. “Detective, if you have any information at all, you’d find it in your best interest to hand over. Not only for your own safety—this falls within MIS jurisdiction.”
Dakota glared at him for a beat. “MIS has no jurisdiction,” she said. “They’re a privately owned entity.”
“Please, don’t fight anymore,” I moaned as I tried to stand. The world whirled around me, and I fell back onto the sofa. “If this is about who gets to spend more time with me, there’s plenty of Joey to go around. But… if we’re speaking of a sexual scenario here, then there’s more Joey reserved for the pretty lady—and I’m not talking about you, Xander.”
Still glaring at Xander, Dakota ignored me. “If Mel’s death was supernatural in any way and not just your run-of-the-mill, cultist-psychopath child sacrifice, than SSD wouldn’t begin to understand how to process and investigate that case, let alone have the necessary skills to find relevant evidence to lead them. If I collected anything at all from the crime scenes, it wasn’t as a homicide detective. Do you understand me, Mr. Shells?”
“Do you guys think I might have suffered a concussion when the Automaton kicked me?” I asked. “I mean, all the lights in this place are on, and that window is wide open, allowing the sunlight to flood the apartment. Isn’t all that brightness bad for concussions? Your constant bickering doesn’t help, either. In fact, it reminds me of my childhood, when mommy used to yell at daddy. She’d get so mad and would beat him down. But he stayed with her, he continued to subject me to that tyrant. And you know who I hate more between the two of them? Him. I hate him for keeping me there. That’s who.”
Both Xander and Dakota glanced at me with a mixture of annoyance and confusion.
“He never knew his mom and dad,” Xander said, poking a fat hole through my story. “Don’t listen to him.”
“I know,” Dakota said. “He spent most of his childhood bouncing between group homes and juvenile hall. His longest stint with a foster family lasted two weeks. I did my research. And from what I’ve gathered, you didn’t have the greatest childhood either.”
“Hey, you two,” I said, “don’t fall in love on my behalf. I can see the sparks from here. Unless I’m hallucinating from a concussion.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Dakota said. “Same deal I made with him. You help me find my dad. Afterward, I’ll fork over any information I have regarding the Anderson’s and Mel.”
I guffawed. “She said fork.”
“Maybe he does have a concussion,” Xander said, glaring at me.
“How can you be sure? From my experience, he’s always an idiot.” Dakota placed her left hand on her hip, and for the third time, offered her right hand to Xander. Maybe he kept ignoring it because his palm was cold and sweaty, like mine had been. “What do you say? Do we have a deal?”
Xander scratched the back of his neck and declined her hand again. “I don’t know what Joseph has told you, but he played some kind of role in whatever ritual happened that night. They used his blood, and then killed Mel. Finding Hecate is our number one goal at the moment. We can’t waste time looking for your father. I’m sorry.”
Dakota didn’t speak for a moment.
“You roped us both into your deal,” I said from the couch. They both turned. Apparently, I wasn’t as invisible as they had led me to believe. “There are two things Xander is good at, apart from nagging and bitching. He keeps his word, because he is bound by Gabriel to do so. And he can find a straw of hay—is that right? A piece of hay? It doesn’t matter. You get the picture. He can find that in a needle stack. And there are two things I’m good at, apart from being extremely talented in the bedroom. I keep my word, kind of like Xander’s thing, but not for God. Mostly for me and my unflappable morals. You see, I’m kind of like a modern-day knight. No, no, no. Samurai. I follow my own code, live by own—”
“Joey,” Dakota said, “make your point.”
“Second thing I’m good at, other than the bedroom stuff and keeping my word, is killing things. I once killed an ant colony with nothing but a dried twig and a magnifying glass.” I chuckled with embarrassment. “That’s not true, of course, because I’m not a psycho.”
“You’re doing it again,” Xander said.
“Listen, Dakota. Egghead and I will help you find your old man. Hell, we might even conduct therapy betwixt the two of you to help solve all your daddy issues. But we’re also going to finish what we started.” Wow. This sudden and newfound conviction felt good. I was actually motivated and ready to move my ass off the couch. “Xander’s going to find Hecate, and I’m going to kill her.”
Dakota showed me her profile as she focused on Xander. “Hecate is a Nephil,” she said. “How do plan to kill her?” When Xander and I failed to answer that question, she shook her head. “I have no doubt you intend to keep your word. But how can you when you’re dead?”
“She makes a solid counterargument,” I said. “So, I guess we have to ask ourselves, how badly do we need the evidence she may or may not have found?”
“That’s a risk she’ll have to take if she wants to work with us,” Xander said. “If not, I still know skilled bounty hunters that I could put her in contact with.”
Dakota scratched her pointed chin before curling her index finger into her mouth and chewing her nail. “Do your contacts have pacts?”
“They’re all Acolytes, yes. But I won’t provide you with any information until you hand over the evidence you found.”
“Okay,” Dakota said, nodding her head. “Deal.”
Xander grinned with evil delight. “Not so fast. I’m here on a lunch break, and I’m not taking Joey back to work with me. I’ll meet with you later tonight for the exchange. Until then, you’re on babysitting duty.”
Dakota glanced sideways at me and frowned. I grinned and wagged my fingers at her in a playful wave.
“I’ll take care of him,” Dakota said, staring Xander straight in the eye to emphasize she understood the weight of his promise. She turned to face me. “But I have shit to do, so I can’t hang out here all day.”
Xander pondered it, probably weighing the costs between leaving me alone, taking me to work with him, or having Dakota babysit me outside the condo, possibly putting us all in danger. “Fine.”
Dakota glared at me. “I don’t want to hear any complaints from you. I’m putting more than my job at risk by toting you around. You do what I say without question. We’re leaving—now.”
“But I need to go—” I started.
“Now.”
With that, she pushed by Xander and exited the apartment.
I frowned at him, squinting in the sunlight, and shrugged before hobbling after Dakota.
4
Dakota cleared the garbage and a winter-supply of jackets from the passenger seat of her Prius, tossing them into the even messier and more cluttered back seat. I closed the door to her Prius and settled into the crumb-littered and coffee-stained seat. She had about 347 coffee cups shoved into her cupholders, forming a leaning tower of trash. Peanut shells, gum wrappers, and used napkins served as a temporary mat for feet. A jagged crack ran the length of the windshield, right at eye level, obscuring my line of sight.
I reached over my shoulder to grab the seat belt and my fingers gripped a sticky, gooey substance adhered to the strap. I cringed, but powered through my disgust—and let me tell you something, it took a lot to make me cringe with disgust. After buckling, I tried not to think about what I’d just touched.