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He flashed a brief smile and strolled in uninvited, clutching a bottle of champagne, followed closely behind, as usual, by Ms Ever. After briefly examining the view through the window, he popped the cork and drank straight from the bottle. “I see you’ve recovered.”
“I’m fine,” she said curtly.
“When are you going back to work?”
“In a month or so.”
He downed half the bottle in four big gulps. “Are you sure you still want to be a cop?”
“Being a cop is all I’ve ever wanted.” Was this why he was here? Had he come to back out of their deal and strip her of her position?
“I read the report of what happened to you in Stealth’s lab and your mysterious infection. I find it pretty interesting that the doctors couldn’t figure it out, and yet you recovered so quickly.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She replied, warily, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. “Like I said, I’m fine.”
He inched toward her while finishing up the last of the bottle. “I heard a rumour about Stealth... can you tell me if it’s true?”
“What’s that?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ms Ever also slowly encroaching on her from the other side. Her already hammering heart sped up.
“He was a creature called a Drifter; something I’ve never heard of. Which is odd, because, like I said, I know everything and everyone in my city.” He loudly cracked his knuckles and his neck. “I confiscated his body. It’s at my house now. I have scientists dissecting it for study.”
“No! Burn it!”
“Why?” His cruel indifference hinted that he already knew the answer.
“That’s confidential information in an ongoing investigation.”
The two of them continued to advance. “Or maybe, you don’t want me to find out Stealth’s secret ingredient to Minute Magic?” He chuckled hoarsely. “It’s too late, I already know. But there is one small detail from your interaction with him that I’ve yet to find out.”
In one swift movement, Ms Ever sprung forward, clasped hold of Leona’s arms, and twisted them behind her back to restrain her. The sound of shattered glass echoed in her ears, making her jump, as Horne smashed the champagne bottle on the coffee table.
Lifting her shirt, he used the jagged edge of the broken bottle to slowly carve a line across her midriff. She howled—not in pain, but in horror—as blue sludge oozed from the wound.
BOTH MS EVER AND PRESIDENT Horne shrank back as if burned. “Hades, it smells like she’s rotting inside,” exclaimed Ms Ever, using the pretty, cashmere scarf to cover her nose and mouth.
“So, I was right,” Horne whispered. “He infected you. You’re one of them, now. You’re a Drifter.”
“This can’t be!” Leona sank to her knees and wept bitterly. Her tears tasted foreign; earthy and sweet on her lips. “I don’t want this. Help me!”
“I’m afraid it’s irreversible,” he replied matter-of-factly.
The initial panic slowly subsiding, Leona tentatively touched her stomach with trembling fingers. To her amazement, the cut had already closed completely. There wasn’t even a scar.
“Who should we call?” Ms Ever asked, her voice quivering.
“No one. No one can know about this! Do you hear me?” Horne grabbed his assistant by the throat. Leona’s nausea surged remembering Stealth doing the same to her.
“Yes, sir.”
Leona lay fetal on the floor listening to them, confused and ashamed to be alive. The very thing she had fought against for two years was pulsing through her veins. Glass shards were scattered on the plush carpet; she briefly considered slicing her throat and ending it all. But what would be the point? She knew she’d just recover.
Propping herself up on her arms, she turned to face President Horne. “Kill me and burn my body.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Then have her do it,” she urged nodding to the vamp, “she’d love it. She hates me.”
“She does what I tell her to do. And she’s never going to lay a hand on you again.” He gave Ms Ever a sidelong glance. Ms Ever nodded, meekly. “You’re going to work for me now.”
“Never!”
“You will or I’ll tell your daddy and all your cop-buddies that not only are you a Supernatural now, but you’re a walking talking sack of Minute Magic. They’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”
His threat hurt more than having her skin sliced in two. She screamed at him in a fit of rage, “You wouldn’t dare!”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t test me, Drifter.” He hissed. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do: you’re going to resign from the police force, and—”
“I can’t—”
“Shut up and never interrupt me again!” his fist slammed down heavily on the stiff, leather couch next to him. The whole place seemed to tremble. “You’re going to resign, and you’re going to tell anyone who asks why that you’re suffering from severe PTSD. Then you’re going to start a private investigation agency. Except, it’ll be a front. You’re only investigating the cases I give you.”
“Why do you need a P.I.?”
“Surely, you’ve noticed this city’s recent rebel outbreak? Specifically, Supernaturals, conspiring to overthrow my kingdom and return to their realm.”
“If they want to leave, then just let them go.” Leona shook her head in confusion. “what difference does it-”
“They’re mine!” He yelled over her. But his rage was coming in bursts; he immediately resumed his composed, pitiless gaze. Like Jekyll and Hyde. “I can’t expect you to understand, and you don’t have to. Do what I say. I’ll provide you with the details of your first assignment later on in the week.”
With that, he left, trailed by Ms Ever who seemed smaller somehow. He was right, if he could get away with the slow extermination of the human race, there was nothing she could do to stop him. If her family and colleagues found out about her transformation, they would disown her. Maybe even put her down.
Getting unsteadily to her feet, she teetered for a moment, before grabbing a knife from the kitchen. Slowly, deliberately, she carved out the patch of stained carpet where she had bled. Unsure what to do with it, she stashed it in her nightstand drawer until she could discreetly take it somewhere to burn.
THOUGH AGONIZING, SHE learned to live in the wreckage of her new life. Just over a month had passed since announcing her resignation to her father. The disappointment etched on his face as she told him had been gut-wrenching; he had hung up on her before she could even finish her fake explanation. Her brothers had been a little more understanding, but she figured they were probably in denial, believing she’d come to her senses in a few months and re-join the family business.
And so she shared a very minimal amount of what she did for a living. And maybe, since it was still in the field of protecting the public, they didn’t see her as a complete failure. She told them she spent her days covertly taking photos of cheating spouses as evidence for their divorce attorneys or investigating corporate embezzlers. Only she – and President Horne – knew that is was a lie. Every night, she sped down Everest Avenue, drifted under Carmine Bridge, and zoomed through Markel Tunnel to Sector C-3 to complete Horne’s assignments. Like a camera flash. Like a ghost. She wondered if people even felt a breeze as she rocketed passed them because they sure couldn’t see her. And she liked it that way, didn’t she? Only to be seen by the people that mattered?
As personal penance, every night she visited her father – her former Captain – on his lunch break. Sitting on the precinct’s concrete steps bathed in the soft glow of the neon lights, they reminisced about the good old days when dragons flying overhead in the bleak grey sky was an anomaly; people-watching, creature watching... ad watching. She now viewed the seemingly innocent thirty-second hybrid commercials for what they really were – manipulation - and Horne for what he was: a monster.
“I’m so sick of Horne pushing this crossbreeding malarkey down our throats every day.” Grumbled Captain Cynane. “They make it seem like it’s a crime to have a homegrown, no bells and whistles, human kid. I don’t have horns or wings and I turned out fine. And you’re fine.”
“Yeah, dad I’m fine.” She sipped her coffee, not saying more.
“You still seeing that one guy, what was his name again?”
“Danny.”
“You and Danny still a thing? I like him.”
“You only like him because he’s a cop.”
“What else do I need to know? If you’re CCPD, then you’re family.”
She cleared her throat, averting his eyes. “We broke up.”
“That’s a new record. How long did this one last, two weeks? Two and a half?”
“Dad, I’ve got other stuff to worry about besides finding a spouse.” She insisted.
“And how’s work?” he pried, as she stood to leave.
She massaged her neck, hesitating.
“Work is going really well, dad.”
They hugged, and the Captain headed back inside. She was about to take off when on the edge of her periphery she spotted the stern, cold eyes of a hooded creature staring at her, heading her way. She didn’t move, as it slowly threaded its way through the disgruntled crowds going to work, going to dinner, going, going, going— too busy to notice. It didn’t blink when his eyes reached hers; she had a sudden urge to run.
TFO.
“Can I help you?” she asked, hoping her voice wasn’t shaky.
“I see you. I’ve seen you for a long time now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She took a step away from him. Partly out of fear, but mostly because he reeked of booze. No one wanted to see what a drunk TFO was capable of.
He took another menacing step toward her. “I know what you are.” His words slurred. “You’re not one of them,” he pointed to her father’s building, “you’re one of us. And our time is coming. You’ll see. Our time is coming!”
