Something got in. I put my senses on high alert but I don’t smell anything that would indicate any supernatural involvement. Our wards are calibrated to allow supernatural entities free passage, but humans are blocked. If our wards are down and humans can find us, that’s a risk that the Council will need to know about immediately.
Protocol says I should call for backup, but the more I study the van, the less threatened I feel. I am fairly certain there’s only one person in there. And honestly? I just don’t get a threatening vibe from someone who would drive a vomit-colored van with a t-rex sticker on the back that reads: “My pet dinosaur ate your stick figure family.”
I chuckle under my breath. Whatever they are, Supe, human, or something else, they sound like my kind of people.
Walking towards the van, a peculiar sort of feeling starts in my core. I feel as if I’ve been caught on a hook and someone is reeling me in. But, instead of fear, I feel a sense of contentment wash over me. My intuition screams that this place, this person, this ugly van, is important to me and I can’t stop myself from walking faster.
I peer through the back window but it’s too grimy to see through. Walking along the side of the van, I pass the back window and I can hear a heart beating very quickly and then a bloodcurdling feminine scream sounds from inside the van and a cascade of white foam covers me from head to shoulders.
I freeze, sniffing the foam carefully. It’s fire foam. The person inside sprayed me with fire foam. Which makes no sense as I was not, and am not, on fire.
Then my brain clicks. Self-defense. I scared the van resident.
“Ma’am? Ma’am I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to check to see if you’re ok. You’re a long ways out here.” I call out, wiping the foam off my helmet and jacket as best I can.
There’s no answer from the van. I see a stuffed animal in the window of the passenger side and I start to worry. Are there small humans involved? Are they hurt? Is that why the person is so defensive? That would make sense. I have no pups of my own but mothers are the fiercest warriors I have ever encountered.
I try again.
“Are the kids ok?” I yell, gesturing towards the van and hoping a show of compassion towards her young will calm the warrior woman inside..
“What?” she calls back. She sounds calm but confused. I’m less worried that she’s going to attack.
“The kids?” I point at the van again and give her a wide smile to reassure her that her pups will be safe.
“No kids. What? You think just because a woman drives a minivan, there must be kids involved? I’ll have you know Betsy has substantial cargo space in her back end. You wouldn’t believe what you can fit back here. It’s exactly what EVERY woman needs!” She yells back.
Clearly, I’ve offended her somehow. But I’m also distracted by the implication of putting things in back ends.
For god's sake, Darren. You’re fully grown, not an idiot pup. Pull it together.
She’s silent for a while and we both eye each other warily. Or at least I assume that’s what she’s doing. I can’t actually see her fully through the tinted, grime-covered windows. She doesn’t ask for assistance and I start to wonder if she should just be left to her own devices. It’s not like she’s hurting anything. Her and this ‘Betsy’ person. They seem to be just fine on their own and not a threat. I could call the Council and have them deal with it.
“So, you’re all fine? You and....Betsy? Sorry to bother you. I’ll leave you to your morning.” I actually turn to walk away and make it halfway to my bike before she calls out. The curious feeling in my chest pulls at me, encouraging me to stay, but I fight against it.
“Um, actually? Can I borrow your phone? I need a tow truck.” She calls out in a small, irritated voice.
A smile covers my face when I turn around, already reaching for the small phone in my pocket. An almost primal level of pride fills me at the knowledge that I can do something to assist her. I’m tempted to jog the remaining distance back to the van, but decide against it on the basis that one never wants to seem too eager.
The van door slides open, and the occupant peers out into the sunlight with suspicion weighing her every move. Her long hair is sticking out every which way, she reaches up to push a reddish-brown curl behind her ear and I see a small silver skull hanging from her earlobe. I catch myself staring.
This woman is intriguing.
She has big brown eyes, flecked with green and gold, framed by long lashes and she is careful to lean away from me. I have not yet earned her trust. She reminds me of a doe I once saw. Beautiful but skittish.
The woman is busy dumping out the contents of a large purse on the seat next to her. I watch with fascination. There are so many things in this bag, I can hardly imagine how heavy it would be to carry: gum, candy, cough drops, pens, wallet, bobby pins, tampons, ketchup packets, headphones, a parking validation sticker, mace, a portable pulse oximeter, and a crystal pendant.
She grumbles and I want to laugh. She makes the cutest noises. The feeling in my chest grows stronger, drawing me to her.
“So, my name is Darren.” I start. “You won’t get service out here,” I say conversationally.
She looks up from where she was fastening some sort of necklace around her neck. “Veronica. But most people call me Ronnie. If there’s no service, why the hell did you give me your phone? Why not
