In the evenings, rain hammered against the metal lid and kept me awake with only my thoughts to pass the time. When the bruises began to heal up on their own, I ventured out in search of a newspaper, but I didn’t find any articles about a murdered club owner or a building fire.
That Darius guy must have realized that someone knew about his plan, and executing it meant putting himself at risk. His henchman knew what I looked like, so I wasn’t taking any chances with walking the streets in the Breed district.
The rain eventually tapered off and the temperature cooled down, making it the kind of night when you could see a trail of frosty breath on a hurried walk home. I brushed the dirt off my coat and headed to a human diner called Ruby’s. It stood out on the corner of the intersection with its red neon sign. I only came in on Tuesdays because that was when business was slow and Betty worked a double shift. Betty McGuire was seventy-eight, tough as nails, and still dyed her hair red. I had to admire a woman with six grandchildren, two great-grandchildren, and a soft spot for girls like me who didn’t have a place to go.
There was a small parking lot in front and along the right side of the building. The inside had an L-shaped layout since the kitchen was hidden in a room behind the counter. Rotating pie displays and old-fashioned décor added a nostalgic touch. You could either order something to go at the front counter or find a seat and have a waitress take your order. There were a few small tables and booths to the left of the door, but usually the only people who used them where those waiting for takeout. Chrome barstools with red vinyl seats ran along the counter, which went to the right and then stretched halfway to the back where the seating area was. Some people liked sitting at the small round tables in the middle, but I preferred the privacy of the booths alongside the windows. Ruby’s was the kind of place you could peacefully sit and enjoy a cup of coffee on a rainy day.
I headed toward the back and chose my favorite booth, shoving my bag beneath the table and against the wall before dusting off the red vinyl seat. Despite how much I loved Ruby’s, it was always a shameful walk to the back. I felt like a stray dog with its tail between its legs, coming in to beg for scraps.
Betty spotted me from behind the counter and waved. She deserved a gold star for heroism, and I hoped her children appreciated her half as much as I did. She always brought me a hot meal, whether I wanted it or not, and took it out of her own paycheck. Knowing that, I only came in as a last resort.
Fifteen minutes later, my stomach was doing a happy dance. Steam rose from my coffee cup as I finished off my last chicken strip, and I turned my attention out the window, watching two birds splashing around in a puddle.
When someone entered the diner, I glanced up at a silver-haired fox of a man walking through the door. He looked old enough to be my father. His hair, combed back in a soft wave, had dark grey undertones that gave him even more character. His beard was nicely groomed, longer around the chin and mouth area. I often wondered what I would have looked like as an older woman if I hadn’t stopped aging at twenty-five.
The busboy collected the dishes off a nearby table and loaded them onto a cart. When he disappeared into the kitchen, the older gentleman headed in my direction—no detours, no rest stops.
I sensed his energy as he approached. I didn’t know what Breed he was, but we had stronger energy than humans did.
Instead of going to the bathroom, he stopped at my table. “You’re the Shadow, and I’m interested in hiring you.”
I choked on my coffee as he sat across from me. “The what?” While I wiped my mouth with a napkin, I studied him closely. English wasn’t this man’s first language. “Do I know you?”
Amusement danced in his steel-grey eyes. The lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes showed he was an expressive man, and not quite as old as I first thought.
He laced his fingers together. “Let’s not play around,” he said, a thick Russian accent rolling off his tongue. While he spoke gruffly, there was a cadence to his voice that was like warm brandy. “You’re the one they whisper about—the one who kills notorious men. Rumors of your existence have a lot of men pissing in their pants.”
I warmed my hands on my coffee cup, trying to figure him out. Energy from Breed varied on many levels, and I couldn’t ascertain what he was from that. “Why did you call me the Shadow?”
“You do not know?” His brows arched, deepening the grooves in his forehead. “I am looking at an urban legend who has taken down some of the most elusive outlaws that not even the authorities could catch. People call you the Shadow because no one has seen your face, just hair spun from midnight. Some call you the angel of death, others call you the Ferryman.”
“Shadow is better,” I said, swirling a fry in a pile of ketchup. “Ferryman sounds like we should be on a gondola in Italy.”
His pale eyes ruled out a Vampire or Chitah. He still hadn’t flared, so unless he was concealing his energy, I didn’t think he was a Mage either.