“Yes,” I slowly said, reviewing Considine’s conduct.
April was right. Old vampires typically only cared about other vampires and lost interest in humans who they knew they’d lose fast. Considine wasn’t just old, he was legendary. There was no way he’d randomly taken a liking to me.
Which means there’s something to this that I don’t know. But is it something to do with vampires or is he just playing a cat and mouse game with me?
Conversely, I wasn’t sure if I should be more concerned about him or that my instincts didn’t necessarily see him as a threat anymore. How had that even happened?
Binx eyed the wizard. “You sound like the voice of experience.”
“Not me,” April said. “But my Adept.”
Binx shrugged. “Vampires are weird. They’re not as twisty as fae, but they make everything overly complex and dramatic.” She turned towards me and looked me over from head to toe. “You gonna be okay, Blood?”
“Yes,” I said with a confidence I didn’t have.
This confirms that I should tell Sarge and Captain Reese about Ruin. It might mean I get booted from the force, but with Considine acting like this, I could become a liability to the team.
“Are you sure? This is dangerous,” April said. “I can ask my vampire friends—they might have a few ideas about what’s going on.”
The concern in her voice was enough to break my focus.
Wait. I’m actually talking with them. We’re having a normal conversation—well, normal for supernaturals. They’re worried about me! And they aren’t being oddly respectful!
It wasn’t until April widened her stance that I realized I hadn’t answered her. “No—I mean, yes! Thank you. I am okay. I should speak to Sarge about the issue—I could become a danger to our team. I appreciate your concern though. Both of your concerns.” It was awkwardly close to a babble and I must have said something off because both April and Binx snapped to attention, their stances straighter and their expressions serious.
“Of course,” April said. “Let us know if we can do anything to support you.”
Drat. Now they’re both back to that weird differential attitude.
They were respectful—but I didn’t warrant respect. I was a fellow team member not their superior, like Sarge. (If I was a team lead like they said, surely Sarge would have explained the role to me and all the necessary protocol. As he hadn’t, I could only work off the knowledge that no such position existed.)
Was it because I was awkward? Or was it really something I said?
I held in the sigh that wanted to leak out of me. “Let’s change locations,” I said. “We probably shouldn’t discuss team issues… here.”
Binx looked past me to House Tellier—which, thankfully, hadn’t done anything despite Gideon’s attempt to sic it on me. “Understood. We’ll follow your lead.”
Oh, yes. The wall of respect was back in full force.
I wanted to peel my hood off so I could pull at my own hair in frustration. Why do they keep reverting like this? And why am I so bad at this?!
I held in a sigh as I headed for the car. “Regardless, I believe we can safely write in our report that we believe House Tellier is connected to the library fire, if not the culprits behind it.”
“Agreed,” Binx said, her voice flat.
“There’s plenty of indications—between their weird sculpture and the fishy timeline—that we should be able to make a case against them,” April said.
At least my poor interpersonal skills haven’t affected the investigation. But I don’t like all of this… ignorance I have.
I couldn’t tell what made my teammates react like this, I didn’t know what twisted joke Considine was plotting to make him so amused all the time, I didn’t know why Gideon got so weird about an innocent question when he’d been almost idiotically confident with my questions about the library, and I still didn’t know what Gisila was up to and if Orrin had worked at her order.
Turns out, I hate not knowing things—something I never knew from my straightforward days as a slayer.
It’s a sign that I’m growing, I gloomily thought.
When I reached the car, I pulled my radio from my belt and waited for April—our driver for the evening—to unlock it.
As a person, I’m evolving. I hope. I better be or things are only going to get worse…
My churning thoughts continued. It wasn’t until I was doing my regular daytime training two days later that I started to feel better, more grounded.
I adjusted my padded shoulder straps—slightly changing where my weighted backpack put pressure on my frame—as I jogged down the sidewalk.
It was a crisp fall day. A slight overcast meant the sun was hidden so it was chillier than it had been that morning, and the wind was cold enough that I was wearing a headband to protect my ears, which also worked nicely to keep my short, red hair out of my face.
The cold temperatures meant it was ideal to do some weighted runs—something I’d hated doing all summer because it made me extra sweaty both from the additional effort it took to run with free weights in my backpack and because my black backpack sticking to my back made me sweat like a pig.
My lungs ached a little from the cold air, but I was mentally feeling so much better that I barely noticed as I jogged around the new decorations downtown. The city had secured bunches of dried corn stalks around the bases of lampposts, set out bright orange pumpkins, and an assortment of gourds—some green, some cream colored, some orange and green, some with warty bumps, and others with little lumps that made the gourd look ruffled.
I turned the corner, heading down King’s Court Drive. I ran down to a crosswalk and checked both ways before I jogged across the street and into a parking lot.
Connor was waiting there for me, sitting on a bench outside a café called Queen’s Court Café, and holding a paper latte cup.
“Ah, there you are, Midnight Snack.” Connor checked his cellphone. “You beat your previous lap by thirty-two seconds, well done.”
I slowed to a walk and shrugged my weighted backpack off my shoulders, setting it next to Connor on his bench. “Good, thanks for timing it.”
“Of course—woah. For all that is holy—you didn’t have to put weights in your backpack, you could have merely strapped a medium-sized child to you instead. Why do you train with so much weight?” Connor frowned as he pushed my backpack further down his bench.
“I’m training for a marathon. And hiking,” I said.
Connor smirked at me and for a second the curve of his lips was almost predatorial. It was gone so fast, replaced by a smile that had him flashing his pronounced fang teeth, I wondered if I actually saw it. “I’m sure.” He picked up my metal water bottle from where I’d left it on the ground by his feet and passed it up to me. “Are you almost done? You’ve been running for an hour.”