“No,” she said without hesitation “he died that night. Maybe not his body, but his soul. It’s still out there, whatever took my dad from me. I think that thing’s still out there. And one day, I plan to find it and kill it for what it did.”
“Why are you helping me?” I asked, sensing our encounter at the bar wasn’t entirely chanced.
“Like I said, to build a list of favors from you.” She grinned, but it was shallow and forced. “You are the infamous Joseph Hunter—the killer of killers—are you not?”
If she knew my full name, then she knew the stories that accompanied it. She knew about the Nephil and about magic and that one had probably cursed her father.
“If you know that, you know what kind of person I am. Which means you’re only interested in me for one reason—to complete a job for you. That’s why you wanted dinner? Turn here.”
Dakota almost missed our corner. She took it fast, tires sliding on the wet asphalt. She corrected and straightened the vehicle with ease.
“Left on 45th,” I said.
“The Fabulous Forty, eh? Fancy.”
Yeah, I thought. Very fancy for a bartender. “You familiar with Sacramento?”
“Not much, but it’s almost Christmas. As an out-of-towner asking the locals what to do, nearly everyone says to walk through the Fab Forty and check out the lights.”
“They are quite amazing.”
“See,” she said, turning to me and grinning, this time with less effort. “Not a bad guy.”
I scoffed. “Oh, really? Christmas lights are the standard for good and bad now? Didn’t know that, Sandy Clause. I must be the greatest guy in the world, then.” A moment of silence passed. “Dinner?”
Dakota nodded. “I’ve spent the past twenty years trying to figure out what happened to him. And it boiled down to two things—he snapped from some pressure I never knew existed, like the media said, or he was cursed. And I refuse to accept the fact that my father, a man who loved harder than anyone in this world, would do what he did. So, I dove into demonology and religion, into myths and legends. I researched the supernatural in our world, spoke with self-proclaimed experts. The deeper I went, the more credible the sources became. Then, your name started appearing.”
She had intentionally sought me out for my skill set. “How long did you look for me?” Unlike the Nephil or other Acolytes, she couldn’t track me through magic. Which meant she had to find me through more shrewd means—much like Xander had. Did I really leave that obvious of a nonmagical trail?
“This my turn?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“About four months,” she said, taking the turn. “I meant to approach you last week, but I couldn’t. I’ve been following you since, more or less.”
“So, you didn’t have friends with you at the bar tonight?”
“I didn’t want to seem desperate.”
“I think it’s… yeah,” I said, pointing out her driver’s window and across the street. “It’s that house there, without any lights at all. Pull up a few houses to stay out of sight. You know, pretend like you’re still stalking me.”
She giggled. “I didn’t even have to try that hard. Between the way you drank and your hangovers and the focus you poured into creeping on that family, I don’t think you would have noticed a tyrannosaur walking up behind you.” Dakota pulled her car to the curb and turned off the ignition.
I scanned the street for the car Xander and I had used, but I couldn’t locate it. “What do you know about that family?” I asked.
“What family? The one you kept stalking?” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Derek and Marie Anderson. They couldn’t have children on their own, so about seven years ago they adopted a little girl. Named her Melanie. Recently, both the husband and wife began counseling for reoccurring nightmares. Melanie—Mel, as they called her—also saw a counselor. Apparently, she displayed odd behaviors at school, and her artwork upset the teachers.”
How had I not known about any of that?
“Mel’s your daughter, isn’t she?” Dakota asked.
The question gut-punched me, and I lost my breath for a second. I coughed. “No,” I said after a moment.
“I think so,” Dakota continued. “Despite your infamy, your name lost power five years ago. My contacts believed you dead, that your past and your accumulated enemies had finally killed you. But no one knew for sure. I’m not good at a lot of things, Mr. Hunter, but I can dig. Your wife died seven years ago, shortly after your daughter’s birth. That’s when the Andersons found a daughter. For two years after her murder, you terrorized Sacramento and the surrounding areas for information about her killer. When nothing came up, you decided to hang your hat on the revenge business and move closer to Melanie.”
I licked my lips. My entire mouth felt too dry.
“I’m not the only one who found out, am I?” she asked. “The Anderson’s were murdered tonight. Melanie was taken. Your past has caught up with you, hasn’t it?”
Why did her father let her live? I thought. If cursed, what had he been able to see in Dakota beyond a meal? I would have to figure those questions out later… or not. I had about two hours to find my daughter, after which I would have to worry about Hephaestus and the other Nephil, too. If I lived long enough to help her, then sure, I would ask why daddy allowed her to live. Until then, I didn’t really care. I had to make sure no further interruptions hampered me in my search.
“I need to know something,” I said. “How obvious was my trail? Will investigators searching the Andersons connect Mel to me? Will people in the neighborhood know my face, describe my car, anything?” If Dakota had figured it out, would a detective? And if so, what did that mean for me?
“Yes,” she said, reaching into the center counsel and removing a leather case. She flipped it open to reveal a homicide detective badge.
