In the seconds between waking and sleeping, I assumed my alarm was going off, even though I couldn’t hear it. But as soon as I opened my eyes, I knew that wasn’t it. It was too dark, even for a winter’s morning, and there was also the matter of Cal’s voice insistently repeating my name.
“Jeanne! Jeanne! Jeanne!“
I rolled over with a groggy start to see Cal standing, eyes glowing, legs spread and head down as if he were a dog waiting for an attack. His spikes stood stiffly raised along his spine and his wings were flared.
It would have been intimidating if he weren’t tiny.
I sighed. “Did the kitten try to chew on your tail again?”
“No, Jeanne, you gotta wake up and listen to me, okay? Stay very quiet.” His own voice was barely audible.
I fumbled for a hair tie and sat up straight. Between his stance and his tone of voice I could tell that this wasn’t a game. Either the kitten had turned out to secretly be a shapeshifting monster, or there was something else going on.
Then I heard it—a faint, distant creak. There weren’t many places in my house that creaked, but perhaps the loudest was between the kitchen and the living room.
“That wasn’t Talsic, was it?” I whispered.
Cal shook his head. “I came to get you as soon as I realized someone was inside the house.”
I swung my legs out of bed, smacking my face to further awaken my brain. “Good call. Do you have any intel for me?”
“I don’t know much about humans,” he said. “But it’s a man. Taller than you, I think. I couldn’t see his face or really anything else, because he has coats and masks and stuff.”
“But he is human?”
“As far as I could see or smell,” Cal whispered back.
I nodded, staying for a moment longer on my bed. Still sleepy, I entirely passed over the panic I should have felt and went straight to figuring out our next actions. Likely we’d have a second while the intruder waited to see if anyone had heard his misstep. And then—and then what?
Taller than me meant he’d have the advantage if it came to hand-to-hand combat. I kept my gun in the house with me, but according to regulations it was in a gun safe, and said gun safe was in the kitchen.
I knew I should have gotten another one to keep up here, I thought. It was in the kitchen, because I had figured that it would be a good place to fall back to in case of a frontal assault. Easily blockable openings, a back door, and, if necessary, an extra escape route through the derelict dining room’s too-large windows. That was, of course, assuming I could see the attack coming.
“Did he have any weapons?”
“Not that I could see,” Cal replied.
That could be a good sign, but, well, guns aren’t exactly hard to conceal in winter coats.
As usual, I was already in my regular clothes, clothes that I could easily move and fight in, but they didn’t offer much in the way of protection. I shuddered, a mixture of cold and adrenaline shaking my hands. I had been in combat before, of course, but it’s one thing to be on the field expecting a fight, with back up and a CENCA-issued uniform and protective vest; it’s completely different to wake up in your own bed, protectionless, to an unknown prowler down the stairs. The emotions, unfortunately, were starting to seep in to my calculations.
“What now?” Cal whispered, crawling closer to me.
I could call for backup—except the radio was also in the kitchen. I could call the police, but I certainly didn’t want them involved. Not only was I uncharitable towards them due to past… incidents, they’d also be all over the house in a matter of minutes, and that would not help Cal. Which was the same issue as calling for back-up, too—even if I only talked to Stanton, he’d want to file an official report and do an investigation.
I wasn’t sure if I should be glad or frustrated that the motion sensor hadn’t been installed yet. On one hand, guaranteed back-up. On the other, guaranteed house-swarming. Lucky burglar, really—if he’d come one night later, he would have been caught by entities less worried about keeping a low-profile.
If he was a burglar, perhaps I could just let him steal what he wanted. That would likely be the safest option, since those types often aren’t aggressive unless provoked. Though, he might be upset as soon as he found out how little I had to get stolen. But relying on that assumption was unsafe. I didn’t know if he was a burglar or something worse, and I had Cal, Talsic, and the kittens to protect.
I could hear movement again, now that I was listening for it. The kittens, thankfully, were sound asleep, curled up in their box at the foot of my bed.
That just left Talsic to find.
And my Rimloc. Or at least another weapon I could defend myself with until I reached my gun.
Crouching lightly on the carpet beside my bed, I pulled my boarding axe out from underneath the drooping, disheveled duvet. The edge of it caught a stray moonbeam peeping through the curtains.
It was an old weapon, presumably from the early 1700’s, with a blade on one side and a spike on the other, both nicely balanced on long wooden haft that ended in an unusual steel-and-leather grip. I had gotten it from one of my first cases, an underground smuggling ring dealing in mithecal weapons and tools. It had a few rewrites on it (which I’d asked Drake to renew a couple months ago), but nothing major. Right now, it had the allure of being the easiest weapon to hand. Sure, I had others, but I hadn’t got around to properly setting them up, and half of them were at headquarters since they weren’t officially mine. So this was going to have to do for now.
The irony of it wasn’t lost on me, either—historically, boarding axes were mostly regular tools, occasionally seeing use as back-up weapons in case of unwanted boarders. I might not be at sea, but I was missing my gun and, until I knew more, it was fair to assume this intruder was about as desirable as a pirate from ye olden days.
“Do we have a plan?” Cal whispered.
“We should be able to scare him off pretty easy if he’s just a regular burglar,” I whispered.
“And if they’re not a regular burglar?”
I stood up, hefting the axe to my shoulder. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, I’ll go downstairs and alert Talsic. I’d appreciate it if you could distract the burglar, but remember, don’t let him see you. Just make noise or throw things or something.”
Cal nodded, wings stiffening in a sort of squaring-of-the-shoulders type movement.
I also snagged the night-vision goggles from my bedside table, easing its drawer open as carefully as possible to avoid its telltale squeaks. Since the cleaning incident, I’d decided to keep the goggles easier to hand, and turns out that was a smart idea.
Putting a finger to my lips for Cal’s benefit, I padded softly to the door and carefully twisted the knob, edging it open, centimeter by centimeter. One of the kittens stirred in its sleep, making a cute little mrrp sound that, thankfully, wouldn’t be loud enough to reach outside the room, not unless the intruder was something like an extra-normal, at which point we’d have other problems than kittens.
Cal trotted through the doorway, his current size and lightness making little to no noise. He’d have more trouble once he got to the hardwood, but he had his ways.
I followed after him, slower, crouching a little with the axe held loosely but firmly in hand, making sure to gently roll my bare foot from heel to side of my foot to toe. I knew this house better than any intruder would; I knew where each creaky floorboard lay and how to bypass it—but he would be tense, on the lookout, especially if he knew I was home.
Easing my way to the head of the stairs, I peaked out between the wooden railings and searched for any kind of figure, half-hoping there to be nothing.
Hope failed me. There, in the living room, by the case table, was a shape that wasn’t supposed to be there.
The dark, broad figure was hunched over my case table, strewn with old notes and files from past cases and meetings with Stanton. The hunch made it difficult to tell his height—but I guessed medium, taller than me by a little, as Cal had said. The “coat” that Cal had mentioned was little more than a windbreaker with its hood up, which meant he had a thicker one somewhere else, his regular clothes were heated, or he’d rather freeze than lose the advantages of mobility. Instead of regular winter garb, he was clad in dark, unknown colors (night-vision goggles aren’t exactly renowned for their chromatic accuracy), from the top of his drawn hood to the tip of his worn-looking runners. Except it looked like there was something poking out from behind the hem of the hood. Either a very pale nose, or some sort of mask. His build looked slim but muscular, emphasized by a thinner waist and thick shoulders. If I was being unrealistically optimistic, I could hope that his clothes just had dramatic padding, but even that would provide him with an armor of sorts. Due to his advantage in both height and strength, I was going to have a bad time if it came to hand-to-hand combat.
I inched further towards the stairs, dropping low to the ground, and scanned him once again.
There were no immediate signs of a weapon. Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t one, just that I couldn’t see it. He wore a thick belt, though, with a couple of pouch-like things hanging from it. That could mean trouble, or it could mean nothing.
Somehow, my brain flew back to the hooded figure from yesterday. Which was ridiculous, unfounded. Two suspicious things weren’t connected just because they happened close to each other. My mind was just playing an association game because they both had hoods, which was hardly solid evidence.
A clattering sound came from the kitchen. The intruder’s head swiveled around, hand going towards their belt before dropping away. Habit? A hidden threat?
While that knowledge might help later, I had to focus. First, I should let Talsic know about the situation—if he didn’t already. I wasn’t sure of his capabilities, but not only did he deserve to know, him knowing would mean he’d either stay out of my way, or help me and give me the advantage. So it was time for me to get moving.
For me to safely go down the stairs, I would have preferred the intruder to be in a different room, where he couldn’t see me, but, well, beggars can’t be choosers. I had to trust to the darkness and his turned back, and move as quietly as I knew how. So, taking a metaphorically deep breath (I couldn’t risk that noise), I crawled to the stairs and cautiously, one limb at a time, began to descend, backwards, on all fours (well, all threes, since one hand held the axe). Spreading my weight, keeping to the wood I knew was solid and silent, staying as low as I could, I moved like an awkwardly encumbered spider. Most of my attention was on my movements, but I kept half an eye on the figure, ready to jump up and into action at any sudden moves.
Finally, the sweat of taut nerves dampening my hair, I made it to the mid-stair landing. This was in something of an alcove, so I was out of view.
The wood floor was cool under my feet, firm and trustworthy. I rested a moment, leaning my shoulder against the wall as I shuffled my feet into a better position, readjusting the axe.
Another clatter from the kitchen. For a moment, I winced, hoping that Cal wasn’t breaking anything—but that was hardly my biggest concern at the moment.
Movement from the living room, the soft brush of shoes over carpet. Sneaking my body forward, from knees to a lying position so that I’d be out of a regular line of sight, I poked as little of my head out as possible to watch the intruder. He had turned to face the kitchen, a hand reaching into his jacket.
I held my breath.
I let it out again, gently, in relief, as he pulled out nothing more than flashlight.
Then he produced a baton from the side of their belt I couldn’t see, and I bit back a groan of disappointment. There went my hopes of him being fully unarmed. He moved softly, efficiently into the kitchen. For a moment I wavered, tempted to make a dash for the kitchen and attack while the intruder’s back was turned—but I had to trust Cal. He’d been on his own for a while before I’d met him, and he was good at hiding. He could handle this.
Instead, I’d better use the moment he’d given me.
Making sure that our new friend stepped through the kitchen threshold before I moved, I quietly pushed myself upright in one fluid motion, stepped lightly down the remaining stairs, and made a quick, short dash to the basement stairway. Once I’d made it to the shelter of the stairway wall, a step or two down, I stopped and listened. There was another noise from the kitchen, and what sounded like the banging of a cupboard, an muffled oath. Nothing to indicate I’d been heard.
But I’d have to work quickly. I didn’t want to leave Cal alone with an unknown aggressor any longer than I needed to. I tiptoed down the stairs, scanning the room for Talsic as I went.
He wasn’t on the (plush) mattress CENCA had sent over, nor on the couch where he sometimes napped. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I bit my lip, wondering if I needed to check in the bathroom.
A hand appeared out of the darkness from beside me, grabbing the wrist that held the axe.
With a sudden lightning burst of adrenaline, I sucked in my breath, tore my hand away, stepped back, and raised the axe over my head. Talsic raised both hands placatingly.
My shoulders slumped in a relieved release of tension.
Talsic put a finger to his lips, and pointed upstairs. Having done that, he gestured for me to come into the corner with him.
I considered leaving, now that I knew that he knew. But instead I nodded acknowledgement and stepped closer.
We promptly discovered that we had a barrier to communication. The basement was right by the living room, with no door between us and the intruder. I didn’t dare whisper. Hesitantly, I set the axe down against the wall. It was a long shot (and I was far from fluent), but Moira had been teaching us sign language to help us better understand with Martins. I signed at Talsic.
“Can you fight?“
Talsic stared at me blankly.
“If you understand this, please nod your head.“
He stared for a moment longer, then shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly in a gesture of confusion.
I bit back a sigh. Instead, I resorted to a simpler, more universal form of “signing.” Jabbing my finger out, I pointed first at him, then his corner, making a stop or stay motion. Then, I pointed to myself and waved towards the axe and the upstairs. Hopefully, that would be correctly interpreted as “stay here, I’m going up to fight the intruder with my axe.”
Talsic shook his head forcefully. He opened his mouth before thinking better of it. Glancing around the room, he pointed at the lamp in the middle of it, then at me, then upstairs.
I squinted at him. Clearly, he was trying to say something, but other than him maybe trying to tell me to turn the upstairs light on, I had no clue what. In the back of my mind, Cal’s possible predicament was a growing pressure.
Talsic tried again, slightly modifying his gestures and adding a kind of circular motion, but I returned his confused shrug from earlier. Finally, he pulled a piece of folded printer paper out of somewhere in his robe-like clothing, and a pencil. I remembered now—when I’d moved in, I’d stocked paper, pens, and pencils in random locations of the house, so that if ever I had a sudden burst of case-related inspiration, I’d be able to record it no matter where I was in the house. My grim determination had been overly optimistic. I rarely went anywhere in the house other than my room and the kitchen, or the living room if Stanton was over to talk about a case, so I’d never touched the caches. Atleast someone got use out my scheme.
Talsic began sketching what I interpreted as a rough map of my house, mostly focusing on the basement, the stairs, and the landing beyond the stairs, with a mark for the beginning of the living room and the kitchen door just inside. Two dots populated the corner at the bottom of the basement stairs, which I assumed signified us. Poking me with the pencil, as if to make sure I was paying attention, he drew a smooth, continuous line from one of the dots, up the stairs, and to a more sheltered spot on the mid-stairs landing, where I’d rested earlier. Then, he poked at his own chest, and pointed again to one of the lamps. He drew a line from his dot to where he had placed a circle for the lamp, then back to his hiding spot.
Okay, so, he wanted me to hide upstairs and he’d turn on the light and hide again down here? What would that do?
He looked up at me, checking to see if I understand.
Turning the light on would be insanity. Either the intruder would run, or if, as I feared, the intruder meant violence, he’d come to check out the light.
The answer dawned on me even as Talsic began drawing again.
He scribbled an angry dot in the kitchen, then a line from it to the stairs, circled a spot in the middle of the stairs, and, with two quick slashes, drew two more lines from our hiding spots towards the top and bottom of the stairs.
Talsic wanted to set a trap.
If the intruder was hostile and wanted to track down the inhabitants of the house, he’d have to check out the light. Depending on his caliber, he might know it was a trap—or, after a due amount of caution, he’d figure that he’d better check it out anyway, and go down the stairs. If Talsic and I simultaneously sprang at him while he was on the stairs, he’d be outnumbered and stuck on awkward ground between two hostiles. Simple, but effective.
It looked like Talsic was better than a fighter—he was a strategist.
I’d really have to ask him more questions about his job later.
I nodded sharply to let him know I understood. We’d have to move, now. I hadn’t heard anything from the kitchen in a bit, and it wouldn’t do to have him catch me on the stairs.
Unsure of what else to do, I offered Talsic my axe, as he didn’t have a weapon. I wouldn’t either, now, but I’d have the advantage of higher ground, and also maybe time to scrounge around and find a broom or something. If I moved fast enough, I could maybe grab the high-tech hunting spear I kept in the bathroom closet.
Talsic hesitated, then accepted the axe. As he slid his hand along the haft, touching the rewrites on the handle, his horns glowed dully.
I’d have to unpack that later. Maybe with those questions about his job.
Creeping on all fours again, I got to the top of the stairs and looked around. I couldn’t see the figure anywhere. Carefully, I eased my head out, relying once again on staying out of lines of sight.
Still nothing.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I focused on my sense of hearing, trying to catch anything—the scrape of his runners on the kitchen floor, the weight of his tread shifting the floorboards, his breath.
Nothing.
While that didn’t mean it was safe, exactly, it at least meant this was the best chance I was likely to get. Fast would be more useful than silent, since we were trying to lure him over here, anyway; I rose to my feet, sidled up the last few stairs, and quick-stepped past the short wall and into my alcove.
I promptly discovered a second use to the night vision goggles, beyond sight.
A brief instant before my brain processed what was going on, I saw a figure crouching in my intended spot, and the intruder’s baton smashed into my head. It might have solidly knocked me out if it hadn’t cracked, instead, against the goggles. The goggles went flying, and I tumbled back, half-stunned. By years of muscle memory more than conscious thought, I raised my hands above my head, stumbled a few steps back and fell into a crouch—most people, if not deflected by a weapon, try to hit the same spot twice. In support of my point, I half-heard, half-felt the whoosh of the baton swinging overhead.
So it felt safe to say that our intruder was a hostile.
Shaking my head, trying to clear it, I backed away, eyeing the basement stairway that loomed behind him. I could either try to lure this guy downstairs, or Talsic could come up and help me—but it looked like the trap wouldn’t work anymore.
I blocked the next blow with my forearm. Pain flared from the sting of it; I staggered from the force. It was a wonder my arm wasn’t fractured. It was also a pity that I’d lent my axe to Talsic.
Dropping to the ground and rolling, I came up by the umbrella stand to my left. There was only a small travel umbrella in there, but I snatched it out and ducked again, just avoiding another wild swing. There was a skidding sound as their foot connected with my night vision goggles.
I didn’t think they had night vision themselves. Their blows, while powerful, weren’t precise, and as I stood for a second, out of range, getting my bearings, I saw their head turn a bit too far to the left before locking on to me. And there was the flashlight from early. Clearly his eyes had adjusted to the dark, though, as barely a fraction of a second later he advanced, trying to trap me in the short hall leading to the front door.
The chances of my umbrella withstanding one of our intruder’s haymakers were negligible, and I had about a second before I was stuck in a very bad position. Fumbling with the umbrella’s velcro fastener, I stepped to the side, opened the umbrella in his face, and shoved bodily past him.
Tangled for a brief, blinded second in the darkness and the umbrella, he floundered, and I took the opportunity to dive into the kitchen.
Cal appeared immediately from the counter, eyes shining like candles in the night.
“Are you—”
I silenced him with a finger to my mouth. He nodded, then, with a grin faintly illuminated by his eyes, nudged the box on the counter beside him.
My gun safe.
I planted a grateful kiss between his ears, grabbed the case, and squeezed myself as far back into the shadow of the counters as I could.
There was no question of whether or not I could get my gun out and ready—I could do that with my eyes closed—just a question of whether or not I could do it before I was interrupted, or before either Cal or Talsic got caught in a serious attack. Optimistically speaking, I had about a minute before I got hunted down and, in the meantime, I had no idea if Talsic would stay put and try to lure the guy down, or if he’d come up to join the fight. He was a strategist, but I didn’t know what kind, or what his priorities would be—his own personal safety, or the safety of the group?
Fingers flying quickly over familiar territory, I pulled the key out from it’s “necklace” under my shirt, opened the safe, disabled the trigger lock, refilled both ammo chambers, and double-checked that everything was in place and calibrated properly. Copper and silver bullets were supposed to be used on dangerous extra-normal creatures, not humans, but I didn’t doubt that a silver bullet would kill almost anything with a pulse, mithecal or not.
But where was the intruder? Every second I’d been prepping my gun, my ears were strained for any ghosts of movement, my eyes ready to catch any variation to the kitchen’s shadows—but there was nothing. Cal remained hunkered down on the counter by the door. I could see his wings occasionally flutter in agitation, but apparently he hadn’t sensed anything dangerous, or he would have left his post to hide.
There was a crash from the basement.
I gritted my teeth.
I’d been a fool.
Not finding me, the intruder would naturally examine the closest available exit and hiding spot—the shadows and stairs. And so, either he’d attacked Talsic, or Talsic had attacked him.
Springing up, I dashed to the basement, making my way down the stairs while trying to make sense of the night-obscured struggle. I could see two indistinct shapes moving, lashing out, hissing with effort; someone tripped over the fallen end table. I caught a brief glint of horns.
“Sorry about this, Talsic,” I called, hoping he’d catch my meaning. Both shapes twisted to look at me; I squeezed my eyes shut and flipped the light switch on, already raising my gun.
Opening my eyes after the sudden flood of light, I blinked and squinted until I could see Talsic on the floor, axe raised in a defensive position and his other hand pressed over his eyes. The intruder stood beside one of the stuffed chairs, tense and drawn up, the baton in one hand and a wickedly serrated knife in the other. I couldn’t tell what his reaction to the light was—a pale mask obscured his face, a twisted, exaggerated theater mask with smudges of purple; a dark film over the eye sockets covered any trace of the face beneath. His clothes were dark, orangeish-red under a dusty green windbreaker, so dark an orange they were almost brown—cargo pants, hooded turtleneck, and all. His thick belt was black and studded with pouches.
Whatever kind of burglar or psycho he was, he was at least committed to the bit. I mentally dubbed him Green Hood, and moved on to more important matters.
“Drop the weapons,” I said firmly, steadying my gun hand on my free forearm. “I have a clear shot, a good aim, and a dislike of trespassers. So why don’t you do us all a favor and cooperate?”
He shifted, hand moving down towards his belt.
“I’m only not shooting a warning shot because I don’t want to mess up my house,” I said, cocking the second barrel’s hammer, “but consider this the equivalent. Put a hand to your belt, and you lose that hand.”
Green Hood stilled.
“Now that we’ve got that established, let’s try this again: drop the weapons.”
While he hesitated, Talsic took the opportunity to right himself, standing beside me with the axe casually balanced against his shoulder.
I sighed heavily. “You have until the count of three, and I will shoot if there’s any funny business before or after I do so. One. Two. Thr—”
Before I could finish, before I could even react, Green Hood launched both weapons simultaneously in an impressive economy of motion. There was barely any movement to track, and then the knife was whizzing towards my face. I pulled the trigger, throwing up my free arm to shield myself as I did so, knocking my gun off-target.
I shot again, trying to steady myself as the knife slashed my sleeve and my skin—but Green Hood had already barrelled forward, shoving past Talsic and I and pelting up the stairs.
Growling out a garbled expression of frustration, I got my balance back just in time to trip over Talsic. By the time we untangled ourselves and started after him, the kitchen door slammed shut. Without pausing for a coat, I dashed out the door on his heels, cold snow biting at my feet. There were footsteps, rushed and shuffling through the snow, and a small drop of blood—I must have winged him.
A car started on the street.
I flew out to the sidewalk just in time to watch a plateless silver hatchback peel out of the cul-de-sac, tires screeching. For a split second, I saw another mask, so identical to Green Hood’s that I almost thought they were the same person. But no—Green Hood was in the back, crumpled from where he’d dived in.
And then they were gone.
I kicked the side of my house in impotent irritation—immediately regretting it as my numbed, bare toes flared with pain.
No plates. That’s what I’d been hoping to get, more than another shot in. Even one in this neighbourhood was practically begging for police intervention, and, failing that, it wasn’t like I had a plan for what to do if I shot Green Hood down on my front lawn. But information could be used, and now I had none.
Sort of.
Taking in a deep breath of the freezing air, I tried to calm my mind, reviewing what I did know, now.
Whatever this was, it had been planned. You don’t just happen to accidentally use a plateless car during a robbery or home invasion or whatever, nor do you accidentally happen to have matching masks, weapons, and someone who knows how to use them.
And this hadn’t been a solitary action. There were at least two people involved, the getaway driver and Green Hood. Were they the only ones? What was this even about? One quick glance at my house versus the others on this street demonstrated that I was clearly not this neighbourhood’s richest occupant.
So burglary was probably out. Meaning that they’d had a specific reason in singling my house—or me—out.
Ugh.
I sucked in another icy breath.
The cold was getting too much, even for me, so I trudged my way back into the kitchen, more angry than shaken. My wet feet left trails on the linoleum as I stomped in, closed the door behind me and tested the locks. They still worked. Green Hood must be a lockpick, which was a less than comforting discovery. For good measure, I put a few chairs in front of the door. I didn’t think that would do much to prevent entry, but the sounds of falling furniture should wake Cal or I up.
Speaking of which…
I turned, scanning the counters. I saw Cal for a brief second, and then he slipped into a cabinet as Talsic entered the kitchen. Talsic looked down as the cabinet door gently bumped closed, but he didn’t investigate further.
I bit back a sigh of relief.
“So, it seems our new friend got away,” Talsic said. He sounded calmer than I was feeling right now, that was for sure.
“Yeah. Seemed like he had help, too. For… whatever it was they were doing.” I gestured vaguely at the house.
“Very odd,” Talsic mused. “Is there anything missing?”
That was an excellent question. As soon as he asked it, I noticed that the dining room door was ajar, a dark crack formed in the dimness of the kitchen wall. I usually forgot it was there, at the far end of the kitchen, always closed. If they’d been searching for something valuable, that’d be the last place to find it—I didn’t even have a table in there. There was a nice cabinet against one of the walls, but that didn’t have anything inside it. Mostly the so-called dining room was just an open, empty room that would have (maybe) seen more use if I knew more than two people I’d be willing to invite over. But, still, if our intruder had gone in there, it was worth checking out what he’d seen, and if he’d messed with anything.
Out of habit, I tried to holster my gun—but since I wasn’t wearing the holster, I kept it in hand as I crossed the room and pressed the door open.
I didn’t know what I thought I’d find, in the dark, vacant room, but either way I got more or less what I expected: nothing. Talsic, however, hummed in curiosity and pushed past me, squatting down beside something I couldn’t see. Too bad my night vision goggles were lying on the floor near the living room. I could at least see enough to realize he was holding something out to me.
It was a folded piece of paper, smooth to the touch and almost silky. Fancy paper, not printer paper. There was some kind of texture to it, too, and with what little light there was in the room, I could just make out some writing.
“Odd.” I said, wondering if Talsic remembered I couldn’t see in the dark. I’d have to look it over tomorrow morning.
“Very,” Talsic replied. “Though I suppose we must turn it over to your authorities when we report the incident.” His voice held a strange, almost resigned tone to it.
“Yes, well.” I hesitated. “I mean, maybe. After all, no one was hurt, not really any property damage—”other than the two extra bullet holes in my basement—”and for now, I don’t think anything’s missing. And it’s rather late at night. Wouldn’t want to go concerning the neighbours and all by calling the police. Besides,” I added after vaguely gesturing at the house, “I’m not sure exactly what they could do. Our new friend was wearing gloves, so there are no fingerprints or anything to pull from the scene. So, there’s not any reason to bother them.”
There was a small silence, apparently carved out especially for me to listen to my thudding pulse and contemplate how thin my excuse was. I had to make up some reason to not call authorities in—I couldn’t just tell him about Cal, now, could I?
When he spoke again, his voice held caution. “What about CENCA?”
“Oh, CENCA? Well, there’s nothing extra-normal about this,” I said, quicker than I should, hoping I was right. “And besides, what are they going to do? Dispatch an agent, right? Well, I’m a CENCA agent, so I’m as capable as anyone else to deal with this, really. I’m more familiar with the house, at least.”
“Oh, of course,” he said.
I didn’t like the way he said that, like he was agreeing with something underneath my words, positioning himself as a co-conspirator.
“If they come back,” I clarified, tilted off balance, “or if we find any particularly incriminating evidence in the light of day, et cetera, then I’ll call the police or CENCA or someone. But I think we scared them off pretty good, so I doubt they’ll return. So we should be fine.”
I suddenly felt like I was covering for a crime. Which, technically speaking, I was, but not that way. I could only imagine what Talsic was thinking. Hopefully nothing along the lines of, I don’t know, me secretly being involved in some shady mafia deal or something. I didn’t know if they even had the mafia where he was from.
I wondered if some day I would be capable of holding a normal conversation. Unlikely, with my current trends.
“I leave the matter to your discretion,” he said, sounding… satisfied, like I’d made the right choice.
He wasn’t involved in the mafia back in his world, was he? That could explain why he didn’t like authorities such as CENCA, but, still, that was a bit too far of a logical leap for me to make. There were plenty of reasons why someone would want to avoid the police, as I knew.
“Thank you for your trust,” I replied. “For now, I think we should try and get some sleep. Or, I should,” I added, remembering that he was nocturnal.
Talsic cocked his head, looking towards the rest of the house. “I think the cat children have decided to investigate the noise.”
I tilted my head, confused, before I heard a faint little mew. “I’ll check on them.”
We moved out of the dining room, back into the kitchen. Cal was still hiding somewhere, or he’d made it to a different part of the house. I put my gun back in its safe, sticking the folded paper into the case with it, but didn’t lock it. It would be going upstairs with me tonight, and probably every night for the foreseeable future. Talsic could keep hold of the axe for now.
Stanton’s vague warnings about Talsic flitted into my mind, but, well, he didn’t know I had a dragon who could help me with home security, and neither of us had factored in home invasion. If this sort of thing happened again, it’d probably be better for me if Talsic was armed.
Out past the living room, my toes collided with the night vision goggles. Feeling my way along them, I could tell they were cracked; when I put them on, the left eye glass was staticky. Otherwise it seemed to still work fine, which was honestly impressive considering the blow it had taken. Looking up, I could see the less-mottled kitten at the top of the stairs, contemplating whether he should embark on the downwards journey. I couldn’t see the black-and-white one.
“I think I shall retire and repair the room a little,” Talsic said from behind me. “I hope you get your rest soon.”
I nodded.
There wasn’t really anything to do down here, was there? Still, I went to the front door and made sure that was also barricaded. As I made my way back into the house, a thought occurred to me. I turned, standing in the archway between the hallway and the living room, remembering where I’d first seen the figure: standing over my case table.
I made my way over to it, trying to figure out what could have gotten their attention. It was messy, as usual, but half of the mess was comprised of old copies of past cases that I kept forgetting to archive or throw away. There were some recent papers on Cal’s case—mostly just the bio and the summary. I picked those up and stacked them, tapping them against the table to straighten them. None of those were missing, as far as I could tell, but I decided to take them up to the room with me, anyway—partially for safe keeping, but mostly for me to read over them in the morning. It wouldn’t be the full case file, but it might give me some insight without the risk of being caught snooping at CENCA.
Sweeping the mishmash of papers into a disorganized pile (my nominal attempt at organization), I headed back upstairs, Cal’s file under my arm and the gun case in hand.
By this time, the kitten had made it to the mid-stair landing. I wasn’t familiar enough with kittens to know if I should be proud of him or concerned. Either way, I scooped him up as I passed. He wiggled and meowed in protest.
“You can explore further tomorrow, little guy,” I said. “When it’s daytime, and safer.”
Which reminded me—I needed to look through the library catalogue, see if they had any books on caring for kittens. Maybe tonight, since I wasn’t likely to sleep soon. Though, since my phone was so new, I’d have to track down my library card and sign in all over again, and that was always a pain. Maybe I could push it to my growing list of things to do in the morning.
Making it to my room, I closed the door and, after a moment of weighing the pros and cons, locked it. The black-and-white kitten was under my bed, and scampered out when I slid my gun safe in beside him. I scooped him up, too, and set both cats on the bed. They seemed confused, but not upset, and started toddling around. When I’d finished arranging the papers on my bedside table, taken off the goggles, and shimmied under the covers, one of them pounced on my foot.
I snorted, amused, and withdrew my foot, prompting a sudden chase after it.
“Little rascals,” Cal said fondly, appearing beside me.
“Yeah,” I said, and realized I was smiling. They were a relief after the stress of the past… hour? It felt like the whole night was gone but, realistically, it’d only been fifteen minutes or so at the most.
Maybe the kittens had been a good idea.
“Everything okay?” Cal whispered, curling up on the pillow. One of the kittens saw him and went rigid, trying to figure out what to do with this new creature.
“Yeah. Nothing out of place that I could tell, but I’ll go over things tomorrow more carefully Y’know, when I can see and all.”
“Did Talsic have anything to say?”
“No.” I bit my lip thoughtfully, watching as the kitten worked up enough courage to start creeping towards Cal. “I think, somehow, he was glad that I didn’t call the police or CENCA. I’m not sure why. Maybe he’s hiding something, or maybe he just doesn’t feel comfortable around them.”
“Maybe,” Cal fluffed his wings out, getting them better arranged. The kitten jumped slightly. “I haven’t really seen much of him, but he doesn’t seem like a bad fellow. I don’t think.”
“Yeah.” And he had helped out tonight. It was kind of reassuring to know I had immediately available back-up, at least in the event of another intruder.
“So, what now?”
I sighed. “I’ll try and settle down and get some sleep. Listen to music for a bit.”
“Okay. Just, don’t stay up too late. Humans need a lot of sleep.”
That was rich coming from a dragon, but I didn’t contest the point. Instead, I found myself wishing for something I’d almost forgotten—a piano. I hadn’t played for years, but suddenly I remembered how relaxing it was to play, to focus solely on the keys and the melodies and remembering the notes.
Once I financially recovered from buying this house, maybe I could get one. If I lived long enough.
But for now, I needed to turn my brain off.
I could already feel the thoughts clamoring at the edges of my brain, demanding to analyze every second of the fight and the intrusion and Green Hood’s escape, pushing to mentally go over and over every inch of the house until I found something wrong, begging to spin theory after theory about what had happened and why and how I could stop it from happening again. The thought that they might come back kept knocking around in my head, building an urge to stay awake all night, gun in hand, on the living room couch.
But I knew I didn’t have enough information, and I’d need to go over the house, physically, tomorrow. In a rare moment of self-awareness, I knew that if I didn’t sleep, I wouldn’t be as sharp as I’d need to be for both my own personal investigation and work. There was nothing I could do tonight—except rest.
So, desperate to ignore the whirlwind in my head, I dug out my earbuds (startling the enterprising kitten into sudden flight), and, after a moment of hesitation, found an old coloring book and a set of pencils. I wasn’t good, and I could barely tell the colors apart in the dark, but more than anything, I needed something to do with my hands before I got up and started pacing. I turned my nightlight on, too, to make sure I could see the lines without giving myself a headache the next day.
For another hour, I half colored, half played with the kittens, occasionally talking to Cal (who seemed to have no trouble going to sleep, bless him). Finally, I felt like I’d calmed down enough to attempt sleep. Settling more fully under the covers, nudging aside one of the kittens that had fallen asleep at my feet, I turned over, focusing on the music.
Finally, my brain lulled into silence, my eyes closed.
Except, before I fully drifted off, something occurred to me: I knew what was missing.
Talsic’s case file.
To be continued…