She could have done anything with those looks, captured any attention. That woman could star in movies or rule the world, but Mel knew why she was on a dirty stroll wearing cheap clothes and too-high heels when her eyes flicked Mel’s direction. They flared the same spring green Mel saw when she had seen the man upstairs.
This woman was hunting the bad men.
Mel turned her attention to the car again, wondering why the person inside glowed yellow. A brief exchange of words between the woman and the car’s occupant ended with her getting into the car. It sped up a little, done with the shopping part of the night and eager to enjoy what had been purchased.
Sucking in a breath, Mel narrowed her eyes at the passing car, willing herself to see what was important. As had happened upstairs, everything slowed down, time stretching out for her examination. The man inside was a flaming yellow shape, little flames twisting and twirling behind him as the car moved. Just as the green smears in the apartment had led her to the tools of that man’s trade, yellow smears danced along the car, visible through the metal and plastic. The yellow led to the tools of this man’s trade.
The smears were most vivid at the trunk and in the well of the rear seat. A hammer. Another hammer. A roll of wide tape. Gloves. Other things.
Her eyes darted to the driver again. His fiery head was turned away, talking to the woman in white. The tilt told her he was amusing, charming, very good at seeming normal. The way his hand moved to clasp some imaginary tool for a moment on the steering wheel told Mel he was eager to use the hammer.
Time started to speed up again, shifting back to a more normal pace. Mel’s glimpse through the rear window let her see the woman’s green lit eyes flicker. It was too far for normal vision, but she knew the woman was smiling and meeting her gaze. Mel saluted with a finger to her brow.
One of the grey prostitutes across the street was looking at her, in her eyes something feral and not quite sane. This wasn’t a safe place to stand around and stare at people who didn’t like to be stared at.
Tucking her head, she set off toward her car a few blocks away, keeping her steps firm and unafraid. Passing the bar, she looked in despite wanting to keep her face hidden. The young couple was still there, the man returning to the table with a pair of freshly drawn drafts.
No, something wasn’t right.
This man was also a dim yellow, though the yellow was increasing with every microsecond. A swirl of something with a different density danced amongst the bubbles inside one glass. Mel halted, already lifting a foot to return to the door. There was something in that beer and that man was bad. Before her foot left the ground, the young woman at the table turned her head and met her gaze. Green flares of light were just coming to life and a white glow began to spread along her face.
Another one? How many were there?
Ahead of her, a young man rounded the corner. His pants were too tight and his face too young to be out this late. A male prostitute joining the fray.
She meant to turn her face away. He didn’t need to be stared at, but the moment his eyes locked on hers, his entire body flared with white light. He winked one green eye. Another hunter? This was ridiculous.
Mel kept walking, no longer interested in looking around. How many men could disappear without notice? Maybe this was a special night or something. A holiday where all the green fire-eaters came out to play. Mel’s step faltered as she had a thought. Were they here for her? Baby had given her the address. Had she let others know a new one of whatever they were would start her work? Was the tribe welcoming her in their own way?
In a way, that was a nice thought. A welcome basket with an instruction manual would have been better, but still…it was nice.
Turning the corner onto the street where her car was parked, Mel checked for hazards automatically. This street was off the stroll, but close enough to be a good spot to ambush someone leaving for a quick mugging. Her car was two blocks away and this would be a particularly bad time to get beaten to a pulp. She was carrying over a hundred sheets of paper with data collected by a team of child sex traffickers on their clients and operation. A lot of names and a lot of incriminating information.
A rustle of noise above made Mel look upward. From the roof of a six-story building across the street, a shape was falling. Mel’s shout died in her throat when she saw wings spread wide around the falling shape. Black wings against a dark sky.
Baby landed with familiar ease in the street, one leg bending in front of her, the other just behind her to absorb the impact. It was practiced, casual, a thing she did without thinking. Baby straightened, her wings efficiently folding behind her. No longer was she a girl of somewhere between ten and twelve. Instead, she was a teen, all slender, sharp angles like any teen after a growth spurt. Her eyes were the same though, wide and grey and hinting at storms to come.
“Hello, Mel,” Baby said, walking toward her. Her voice was different, a little less high and child-like. “I hope you had a nice evening.”
Vikings?
Mel gaped like a fish, a thousand thoughts and questions warring
