The Better Part of Darkness

THE BETTER PART OF DARKNESS Kelly Gay

For my grandparents:

Herman & Mary Keaton

Alfred & Joan Hogan

Thelma Dear

CHAPTER 1

“You told a two-thousand-year-old oracle to prove it.” Hank kept pace beside me, nursing his bloody nose with a handful of fast-food napkins I’d pulled from the glove box earlier. “I mean, do you ever think before the words spew out of your mouth, Charlie?”

“Yeah, all the time.” I jogged up the four brick steps. “If Alessandra didn’t have to act like a know-it-all, then I wouldn’t have to say things to her.”

“She is a know-it-all!”

A tired huff escaped me as I opened the front door to Hope Ridge School for Girls and fixed Hank with a deadpan look. “You’ve been whining ever since we left.”

He swept past me, riding high on his martyrdom. “I’m not whining, I’m complaining. About you. And your incredible talent for pissing off people way more powerful than yourself.”

I was exhausted from another sleepless night, and Hank’s bitching grated on my last nerve. “Well, what do you want me to say, Hank?”

We strode at a fast clip down the empty hallway, passing Emma’s homeroom door. Hope Ridge was my daughter’s school. I’d been there hundreds of times in the last four years. But never like this.

Granted, the call that went over the wire was for paramedics, not ITF. The only reason we’d come was to make sure everything was okay. Otherwise we’d be over at Thumbs Up having a late breakfast.

“How about I’m sorry,” Hank was saying. “Sorry, Hank, for always getting you punched, kicked, cursed out, et cetera, et cetera …” He dabbed at his nose a few times. The bleeding had finally stopped. “I don’t know why they always hit me when you’re the one who—”

Two school security guards blocked the restroom door. Hank had the good sense to end the conversation as we approached.

“She’s in there,” one of them said, holding the door open.

I nodded my thanks, stepped inside, and immediately froze. My lungs deflated on a stunned exhale. “Shit.”

Hank let the door close behind us, gave a quick once-over of the victim on the floor, and then studied my shocked face. “What? You know this girl?”

I stared down at the female body curled into a fetal position, one hand under her cheek, as though she’d simply decided to lie down on the ugly green-and-white tiled floor of the girls’ bathroom and take a nap.

Numbness and disbelief stole over me. I blinked hard, wanting to erase what I was seeing, wanting to go back to this morning and somehow change the course of events that had led to this.

“Charlie?”

I didn’t answer. My voice wouldn’t come.

Hank knelt by the right shoulder of the girl, rested one arm casually across his thigh, and stared up at me. Annoyed wrinkles creased the corners of his mouth. Nothing unusual. Hank looked at me like that all the time.

“Hello? Earth to Madigan. What the hell’s with you today?”

I did a mental shake to regain my clarity. Didn’t help much. I knew what I had to do. Investigate. Gather information. But I couldn’t remember how to begin. Nothing had hit so close to home before. Hank’s big form made the teenage girl on the floor look so small, so childlike … so innocent.

“Wait a second,” he said as it dawned on him, “October tenth. Your favorite day of the year. How could I forget? An entire day of you being loopy as hell.” He sighed and raised his perfect face to the ceiling. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Uh, you invaded my world, my city, my life. How’s that for starters?” I shot him my trademark smile—cynical and slightly twisted.

Yeah, October tenth was my favorite freaking day of the year. The thirteenth anniversary. The day heaven and hell came out of the closet. Literally.

It wasn’t a day one tended to forget.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah,” I answered automatically.

I had to regain control of myself. I was good at my job and now it meant more than ever because I knew this girl. I’d practically watched her grow up. I’d just seen her this morning, for God’s sake.

“Yeah, I know her. Don’t you recognize her?” My voice didn’t break, but my heart hurt like a sonofabitch. “Amanda Mott. She’s” —I swallowed—“wasEmma’s friend and babysitter. Big sister, really …”

Hank gave a solemn nod. “Thus the ‘shit’ comment.”

“Thus the ‘shit’ comment.”

“She have any illnesses you know of? Depression? Unstable?”

“No, nothing like that. She’s a good kid, Hank.”

His troubled sigh echoed in the sterile bathroom. I watched him turn his attention back to Amanda’s body, leaning closer—too close.

I knelt down. “Jesus, Hank, are you sniffing her?”

Blue topaz eyes met mine, and he hit me with a full-on grin. Sometimes, when he did that, it stole my breath for a split second. He dragged his fingers through thick, wavy hair the color of sunshine on gold and then frowned. “You don’t smell that?”

I leaned closer and sniffed. “Uh, no.”

“Figures,” he muttered. “You people are so out of touch.”

Oh, did I mention? Hank wasn’t human.

All part of the policy. Integrate. Work together. Build relationships. Hank and I have been partners for three years now, both assigned to the ITF—Integration Task Force—which has pretty much taken over the policing and monitoring of all immigrant beings … whether from here or somewhere else.

No one had been happy about being assigned to work with an off-world partner. In fact, there wasn’t a law enforcement officer out there who’d been comfortable with the new assignments. But we soon saw the necessity. With the influx of any alien, illegal or otherwise, crime rose. Better to have the insider knowledge to deal with it.

Hank was a siren. Particularly useful in police work. Criminals, suspects, witnesses—they all wanted to tell the truth just to please him. All he had to do was take off his voice modifier. Developed by Mott Technologies and made of thick iridescent metal with two balls at the ends, similar to a Celtic torc, the voice-mod adjusted Hank’s supernaturally alluring voice into something we mere mortals could handle without embarrassing ourselves. And it wasn’t just women. Men, kids, babies, animals, you name it. Any living creature was drawn to Hank like he was the village piper. I liked to call him the village idiot, but, hey, that’s just me.

Hank’s expression became serious, his frown deepening. He reached out and put two fingers on the side of Amanda’s neck and then closed his eyes. I waited, knowing not to interrupt. Hank was right, for the most part. Humans were more out of touch in the psychic sense, though ITF had begun hiring any psychically-inclined officer they could get their hands on. Off-worlders, however, were blessed with an overabundance of senses.