As if I had a choice about the devil dog.
“Appreciate it.”
“And Marty, I saw the Agency. You tell Sterling that if he needs me, that me and my boys will be there to help rebuild.”
“I’ll tell him.”
I left and easily found Betty parked in the back of the auto shop. She stood out from the other cars like a scoffed penny in a group of shiny gold. I got in and sank into the seat. Betty honked the horn. When I tried to start her, the engine wasn’t even turning over. Betty was pissed.
“I know I was gone for so long. Please forgive me. I’ll get you some of that high-end, all natural oil.”
I tried to start her again and this time she cooperated.
“That’s my girl.”
I drove back to the Agency. I hadn’t been back since I blew it up. Wreckage and the scorched marks around it greeted me. The only thing we’d salvaged from it were our case files. Sterling kept those in a spelled cabinet that could survive fire, flood, winds or any other natural disaster – hence them surviving.
I got out of the car and walked towards the Agency. Seeing the utter destruction brought my guilt and fear to the surface. I’d taken our home and place of employment away from all of us.
I headed back to Betty, when I heard a familiar voice say, “Marty girl.”
I couldn’t hold back my smile as Rat ventured out of the shadows of the Agency. He was always good at blending into his surroundings. I hadn’t even noticed him until he spoke.
I forced myself not to hug the scrapper.
“It’s good seeing you too, Rat.”
“We was worried. When we saw what happened here, we thought you were gone and dead.”
Tears filled his eyes and his voice trembled from holding back emotions. Rat was as tough as they came despite his young age. He was born on the streets and never left. It was Rat and the other scrappers that took me in when I ran away from my father at fifteen. Without them, I wouldn’t have survived a week.
Muffin barked, breaking up our reunion.
“And you have your own devil dog! Aren’t you some biggie deal now?”
“I’m still the same Marty and I’m sorry to worry you all. There was no way to warn you and the others.”
“I get it. Someone’s been asking around about you. Same one as asked about the necklace.”
“The Mage?”
“Yes, the Shadow Man.”
Ice shot through my veins at his words. It was followed up by an overwhelming sense of desperation and fear for his and the other scrappers safety.
“Listen to me. I want you and the others to leave, leave and go under. Do you remember the tree in Reflection Park?”
“Yes.”
“Dig under the northern side of the tree. You’ll find enough money and gold to keep you and the other scrappers hidden. No matter what, stay away from the shadow man.”
“What kind of trouble are you in?”
“The kind you don’t want a part of. I’m not playing, Rat. Leave now and tell the others. I’ll get word to you when it’s safe. He’ll hurt you or worse if he finds out that you are connected to me. I can’t lose you guys.”
“How long until we can see you?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try my best to make sure all of you don’t have to hide for long. Just be safe.”
Rat stepped forward. He opened his arms up at his side and I knew he wanted to hug me. I wanted the same, but it wasn’t safe. My father had already made a connection between the scrappers and me. He could be watching us even now.
“Bye for now,” he said before scampering back to Downtown to bring the others to safety.
Once he was out of sight, I pulled out the address to the Jamison’s house. I needed to start making some progress on at least one of my cases – assuming the Jamisons didn’t cancel their case again.
If I didn’t find a distraction, then my heart would break or I’d blow something up.
8
The Jamison’s lived in a neighborhood for “normals,” called Colechester Commons. Entering their neighborhood, I saw that it wasn’t unique or noteworthy in any way. It was typical suburbia made up of cookie cutter houses, white picket fences, and children running around playing.
Much like supernatural communities, non-magical beings also liked to stay in close proximity to others like them. It harkened to the darker and bloodier times where survival required people and creatures to gather in numbers for the safety. Although, it really just made them sitting ducks. And even now, if a supernatural wanted to hurt a normal, grouping into one neighborhood certainly wouldn’t prevent it.
As I got out of Betty with Muffin, I got several curious looks from the neighbors and some that were borderline hostile.
I stopped at the door and knocked. No sooner did my fist connect to the door, then it was wrenched open mid-knock — making me off balance. I quickly stabilized myself and forced a fake smile on my face.
“Tell me you have some news,” said Mrs. Jamison.
She had dark circles under tired eyes. Her faded blond hair was streaked with gray and her willowy build was rounded out in the hips. She was the dimmer version of her youthful beauty.
“May I come in?” I asked.
“Oh yes, please do. Where are my manners?” she said. “Please follow me. Floyd is around here somewhere.”
She escorted me to a living room and gestured to the couch. I took a seat and barely restrained a groan from the feel of it. The couch had a concrete level of softness. Mrs. Jamison must be pissed off to torture me with sitting on it. The floor looked more comfortable.
“Floyd, the investigator is here,” she shouted before sitting on the edge of a chair facing me. I noticed how she sank into the chair, so the couch was special in its uncomfortableness.
“What news do you have for
