“Abby’s a field investigator. She’s on a job in Minnesota.”
“How’d you meet her?” When he didn’t get an answer to that, Jason gnawed on the inside of his cheek and nodded slowly. “Part of your new Chicago life, huh? By the looks of it, that life may not be so good for you.”
“Why do you say that? I’m in better shape than ever.”
Jason no longer tried to mask his disapproval. “You smell like you’ve been sleeping in your car.”
That was because of the newest batch of soap Paige had cooked up. The stuff was supposed to hide their scent from shapeshifters, but it wasn’t exactly minty fresh.
“You’ve got scars and bruises all over the place,” Jason continued, pointing to the marks left behind by Cole’s sparring sessions and the many times he’d been forced to trade blows with creatures that had recently become Internet celebrities. “I don’t even know what to make of this,” Jason said as he grabbed Cole’s wrist so he could get a look at his hand.
The scars from Cole’s weapon crossed his palm. They were thick in some places and stretched thin in others. Thinner layers of scar tissue formed a web pattern on his flesh that reacted like an allergy to shapeshifters and Nymar. It was a good early warning system, but not much of a fashion statement.
“Did you burn yourself?” Jason asked. “Is this from a disease? Drugs? What happened, Cole? Is it from that accident in Canada?”
Cole broke his friend’s grip with ease. “I can still type. That’s all you need to know.”
“Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
Once his pulse slowed down, Cole asked, “Have you seen the stuff on the Internet about those wild dogs in Kansas City?”
“You mean those videos with the ‘werewolves’?” Jason asked while framing his last word in air quotes.
“Yeah. I’m one of the people who kept those things from tearing through Kansas City and probably a few other nearby cities.”
It was the complete truth, and it went over as well as a stick of phony dynamite at an airport security check.
“I’ve held onto your job for as long as I could,” Jason said dryly. “We can use your ideas and the designs you’ve done so far, but only as a jump-off point. Digital Dreamers no longer has the funds to pay for outside consultants when we’ve got plenty of fresh talent on-site.”
“You’ve sure got the funds for a fancy new break room and a bunch of new programmers,” Cole griped.
Jason steeled himself and replied, “Your consulting check is waiting for you downstairs.”
“And what if I have some more ideas about that new project?” Cole asked.
“Then you join the team.”
“What about Hammer Strike? The people on the forums are crying for more levels.”
“If you put something together, I’ll consider it. If we use your templates, we can pay you the standard fee. I know the fans will appreciate your input.”
Cole nodded as his anger began to dwindle. Oddly enough, relief soon took its place. He hung his head low and chuckled softly. “I’ve never been fired from anything. This sucks.”
“What else can I do? Times—”
“Save it. My check’s downstairs?”
Jason nodded. “And there’ll be more Hammer royalties coming. That should tide you over while you clean up after those dogs in Kansas.”
“Kansas City,” Cole said.
“Sure.” No matter how many freshly hired faces were watching, none of them were close enough to hear Jason say, “The moment you decide you’re finished doing whatever it is you’re doing, there’ll be a spot for you here. Any one of these kids can carry the torch of our game licenses, but none of them can come up with new stuff as good as yours. Pull your head out of your ass, get it back into the game, and we’ll make ourselves richer.”
“Our
Jason winked in a way that proved he didn’t wink very often and followed up with an awkward nudge. “Wait till you see the check that’s waiting for you downstairs. It’s got your most recent royalty statements for Hammer Strike and the downloadable content. Not too shabby considering all the griping on the forums.”
Now that he got a look at the more familiar Jason beneath the executive mask, Cole said, “I’m sorry I left you in a lurch. Things have come up that are pretty important.”
“They must be. When we were starting in this business, you said this was all you ever wanted. Now, you’re willing to let go of the dream. Please tell me it’s worth it.”
“It is.”
“Then I guess that’s all there is for now. Are you staying in Seattle long?”
“No,” Cole lied. “I just wanted to touch base here and try to sell you on the idea of making me the highest paid independent contractor in the industry. Since that plan tanked, I’m gonna snag some coffee and be on my way.”
Cole didn’t leave the building right away. He and Jason were sidetracked by an old fighting game collecting dust in a corner away from the newer version that was fresh off the boat from Japan. They played without once discussing anything more important than what perverted uses they’d find for the other’s virtual corpse after the next battle.
It was nice.
When it became uncomfortable again, Cole excused himself so he could walk to the HR Department and collect his check. That was even nicer.
“Hot damn,” he sighed when he looked at the amount that made him wonder if he wasn’t the biggest idiot on the planet for turning down the rest.
He went straight to the bank to deposit his check. After that, he drove past his old apartment building on Yale Avenue, ate at one of his favorite burger joints, drove past the electronics stores he used to frequent, and even swung past Nora’s place. She wasn’t home, which was probably for the best. It had been a long day, so he checked into a hotel and crawled under the sheets. The next morning, he headed east.
Abby would only be on her assignment for another couple of days, and now that he was so close to meeting her, Seattle faded into mental clutter. Cole covered some serious ground in a short amount of time. After a few strenuous days and several near-misses with maniacal semis, he made it to St. Cloud, Minnesota. Once he realized just how close he was to his exit, he gave Zakk Wylde a rest and checked his hair in the rearview mirror. After fussing with the tussled mess, he swore to buzz it off again as soon as he could get a hold of some shears.
The land on either side of I-94 was thick with trees and took him directly between Middle Spunk Lake and Big Spunk Lake. Cole did a triple check to make sure he’d read the signs correctly, indulged in some juvenile laughter, and checked his GPS. According to the female British voice who’d gotten him this far, he needed to drive for another 1.2 miles and take the next exit. He did just that, followed her prompts along the side roads, and then patted the little monitor lovingly when he realized he would have been irrevocably lost if he’d followed his gut instincts.
“Thank you, Romana,” he said, naming the British GPS voice after the companion from a classic
The restaurant was a little place that took up the first floor of a two-story brick building marked by a single wooden sign. Judging by the frillier curtains and knickknacks in the upper windows, the second floor was someone’s residence.
Cole parked along the street and got out, leaving his varnished wooden spear on the floor behind the passenger seat. Having been treated with shapeshifter blood, the weapon was able to change its shape when commanded to do so by its owner. It took a lot of practice to get the spear to twitch, but he was getting the knack of it. One of the most practical tricks he’d recently learned was to make the weapon collapse into a more manageable size so it could be carried and hidden much easier. He always kept the weapon close, but decided it could wait in the car for a change while he lived his life. He walked in front of a large picture window, and before he got to the restaurant’s front door, Abby was rushing outside to greet him.
“There you are! It’s great to see you in person!” she said excitedly.
Abby wasn’t much shorter than Cole’s six-feet-and-some-odd inches. Dressed in jeans that wrapped nicely around slender legs and curvy hips, she moved almost fast enough to make smoke appear from the soles of her white sneakers. Despite the fact that it was a warm August day, she wore a thin cotton button-up shirt over a dark brown tee adorned with the logo for the Midwestern Ectological Group. His eyes naturally took in the sight of her
