An inferno erupts from the facility warehouse like an immense tidal wave, the impact shaving the surrounding trees of their leaves, turning their wooden skeletons black as soot. The dry grasses on the forest floor immediately catch the spark and erupt in flames as well. The sight would be spectacular were it not so devastating.
The sound of police sirens cuts through the panicked mumbling of the Agency personnel who'd managed to escape the explosion—which, thankfully, had been all of them. If anything, their rogue supernatural had given them ample time to evacuate to the nearest road before blowing the facility sky high.
The heat of the sun on Ava's brow is settling behind her eyes, making her wince behind her aviators. She leans into her cellphone, listening intently to Agent Sarhan's instructions.
Unit Bravo's handler had been in another state on Agency business when the attack occurred. Her cool collected demeanor could be mistaken for nonchalance if one did not know Rebecca all that well, but that could not be further from the truth. In reality, Agent Sarhan, like Ava, is simply adept at categorizing each of her racing thoughts into the useful and the not so useful.
Panic: understandable, appropriate, not very helpful.
"The facilities in the surrounding towns are sending over cars to pick up the staff here," she says. "As for yourself and your team, Agent du Mortain, I trust you still have the keys to my apartment. Until we can get you to a more secure location, that will be your base of operations. We still need you to keep an eye on Wayhaven."
Ava holds in a sigh—hesitating as a helicopter passes overhead—before replying, "If you'll allow me to suggest; I believe it may be crucial that my team and I to go after the rogue supernatural and deploy another team to watch Wayhaven. We know the target better than anyone and any time wasted could lead to an attack on another Agency facility—one that will not be as prepared as we were."
There is a loud pause on the other side of the phone. "No. The Agency has determined that your team is too close to this case. You've been unassigned."
Ava bites her tongue. She can't muster up a single word of protest. Rebecca is right, of course. This case has broken all of Ava’s rules—emotions gushing out of her in an ugly goop that clings to everything around her. That doesn’t mean that she is not operating with utmost professionalism, rather that her professionalism is scabbed over an unclean wound.
"I'll contact you again later today after things have settled down." Click.
The sirens are deafening now as an arsenal of fire trucks arrives at the scene. Watching Wayhaven PD arrive is almost like a mirage in the desert. Even today, Ava nearly expects the swish of a pastel skirt and the scent of sweet vanilla sugar to wash over her.
Instead, her gaze settles upon Detective Poname, who navigates her way through the crowd towards the vampires. Her hair, warm black curls tucked into a topknot, looks as though the August heat has sapped it completely dry, with stray strands plastered against her glistening forehead. She’s hardly dressed for a walk in the woods, wearing a sleeveless white blouse over a pair of neat black slacks. And as she steps off the asphalt and into the dirt, she has the gait of a child walking around in her mother’s heels.
Ava's focus is briefly caught by the sound of an annoyed scoff to her left, where Morgan is leaning against a tree. She appears to be holding an unlit cigarette between her fingers, staring at it thoughtfully. Nat gives her a stern look and she pockets it rather than lighting it. Farah is fluttering from one person to the next like an anxious bumblebee. When she catches sight of Tina, she rushes over.
Natalie’s eyes meet Ava’s in understanding. It seems she’d overheard the conversation with Rebecca—at least in part.
“What the hell happened?” Tina exclaims.
“See for yourself, Sweetheart,” Morgan replies. She winces at the sunlight that floods her eyes when she attempts to look at the detective and turns her gaze back to the ground. It’s bad enough that she hasn’t been able to find any reprieve from the obtrusive scent of burning wood.
Tina frowns at the at the plumes of smoke blanketing the trees and the ominous glow from deeper within the wood. The firefighters have already gotten to work putting out the monster of a wildfire crashing through the trees like a rampaging beast.
Farah’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand it. Why would she burn it all down?”
Nat hums in agreement, but her gaze, as a gentle hand, remains squarely on Ava’s face. She looks placid but the cracked screen of her phone tells a different story.
“Well,” –Tina pulls out her notebook and pen—“could it be she’s got orders from some bigger… uh…” She very conspicuously checks around for anyone who could be listening to their conversation. “Maybe it’s the vampire who turned her. Could be Murphy, right?”
Nat crosses her arms. “Well, she wouldn’t be very useful to him as a vampire. But that… could be the case.”
“Would make sense,” the human continues. “The Agency has dirt on both of them, so they torch the place to erase all records.”
The four vampires watch Tina curiously as she speaks.
“It’s not the most solid theory, but—”
“It doesn’t matter either way, detective,” Ava cuts in. “We’re no longer assigned to this case.”
Tina’s jaw drops. “Huh? They can’t do that! On what grounds do they just take our case and give it to someone else?”
Ava’s shoulders tense up as annoyance settles in her teeth. It weaves itself within her muscles. She shares in Tina’s frustration, and yet, feels a distance between the two of them. Tina’s lack of subtlety only serves to draw attention to the shoes she still hasn’t filled, and it feels like a hammer against a sore joint.
Morgan raises a brow at her. She takes one look at Ava’s face and decides against answering Tina’s question, lest she risk mentioning the elephant in the room. Instead, she pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between her lips.
“Anyone got a lighter?”
The sound of catchy pop song blasts from the human guard’s headphones as they patrol the deserted land around the Agency bunker. Their demon partner winces as they stretch their leathery wings and tries to shift their attention from the music to their surroundings.
The night shift’s a pretty cushy position as the location is remote enough that Agency enemies rarely manage to find it. Often the only sounds for miles around are the wild animals and insects. Occasionally, Agents will return at odd hours of the night, but this bunker is more of a research station than full-fledged facility. The nearest Agency supernatural Unit is a town over. It doesn’t make nights in the Mojave any less cold, though. The demon shivers and rubs their gloved hands together.
The human smiles, holding out a cigarette. “To warm you up?”
The demon sighs and graciously accepts it, allowing their partner to light it for them. They take in a generous inhale and allow it to fill their chest with some much-needed warmth. They let out a satisfied hum and shake off the cold.
“Thanks,” they croak. “Can’t wait to get this over with.”
“You got any plans for today?”
“Aside from sleeping for a long, long time?” the demon replies.
The human snorts and leans back against the metal guard hut, grimacing as his suit absorbs the condensation that had gathered against the surface. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
The demon cracks a smile. “You and Derek don’t have plans for Trixie’s birthday?”
He snorts. “Nah. At least, not today. I have Tuesday off, though. Might get her one of those fancy dog cakes, though. Real gourmet shit.”
“You humans really have something for everything, huh?”
“What? You don’t have doggy birthday cakes in the Echo world?” the human teases.
“Nope.” They take another drag of their cigarette, allowing their foot to tap to the beat of the music still booming from the human’s headphones, which hang idly around his neck.
They sit in comfortable silence, until the human’s music starts to grow louder.
The demon sighs and shoots a glare at their partner. The human drops the headphones again to give them a quizzical expression.
“Could you turn that down?”
He frowns and removes the headphones, holding them out to the demon. The music hasn’t stopped, however; it is only getting louder and louder. As the demon turns their head, their pointed ears perking up, they realize the hypnotic drum beat is not, in fact, coming from their companion. They’ve got visitors.
They look back to see the human giving them a knowing look. They weren’t told to expect anyone. The pair begin to prepare their weapons. It could just be some humans on a joyride through the desert, oblivious to how close they are getting to the Agency station.
The noise only gets louder, accompanied by the sound of not one, but several automobiles.
The guards exchange another look. They’re under attack.
They see the blinding headlights first, and then the dust cloud that begins to fill their lungs. And once the dust settles, they are surrounded by a group of at least half a dozen vehicles. At the center is a black convertible jeep, while the rest are black chrome motorcycles, gleaming in the spotlights.
The motorcyclists are the first to dismount, but they do not remove their helmets, opting to keep their identities hidden. From within the jeep, a pair of figures rise out of their seats and drop to the ground, their boots kicking up more dust as they hit the dirt. Their faces and hair are obscured by shapeless black masks. They seem to be the leaders as the motorcyclists watch them through their helmets.
The taller of the two figures rolls their shoulders as they walk slowly towards the two guards. They cock their head to the side. “Outta the way, kids. This isn’t your fight.” Their voice is modulated to a feminine robotic monotone.
The demon scowls, standing their ground. “Identify yourselves.”
“Trappers?” the human mumbles, sneaking a quick glance to their partner.
This comment is caught by the smaller of the two leaders. They throw their head back in laughter. In the time it takes the human to take a step back towards the guard hut, the smaller of the two rogues closes the distance between themselves and the demon.
“You wish.”
With enough force to shatter ribs, their boot connects with the demon’s gut, sending them flying towards the metal door. It dents inwards and strains against its hinges.
The taller of the two rogue supernaturals moves towards the human and grips his hand in their chin. “Go to sleep.” Unable to resist the pheromones, the human’s eyes grow heavy and he collapses to the ground in a heap.
After confirming that the demon is out cold, the taller of the two removes her mask, shaking out her braids. The vampire, whose name is Violet, rubs the frustration out of her eyes. “That was overkill.”
The smaller one removes her own mask, revealing a shock of bright rose-pink hair, illuminated perfectly by the jeep headlights. She smooths it down before coming to stand beside Violet over the unconscious demon.
“They’ll survive,” she says, reaching down to drag the demon out of the way. “Now, c’mon. We don’t have a lot of time before they get a Unit over.”
#
The West Coast Agency Facility has their own Unit Bravo on the scene already when Wayhaven’s Unit Bravo arrives. Waiting for their arrival are the two guards, the demon and the human. Blistering anxiety shoots out of them in waves as they each struggle to get their stories out.
Agent Abla Marjan, a young jinni woman with short chocolate brown hair and round, protruding eyes, sizes the two of them up the way a large dog observes a kitten. She purses her lips, unimpressed.
“And how many of them did you say there were?”
“Five? Maybe six?” the demon says, scratching their head.
“No,” the human man interjects. “There were at least ten.”
“So anywhere from five to…” Abla sighs and shakes her head. “twelve rogue supernaturals?”
Commanding Agent of Unit Bravo, a jinni man with a cool countenance, stands before the shack entrance to the Mojave station. He lifts his aviators over his closely cropped black hair as he examines the wreckage. The door has been ripped clean off and sits discarded a few feet away. The interior of the shack is bare save for a few storage cabinets and a table, all of which have been knocked over. The true entrance of the facility sits exposed in the center of the small room. The door is too heavy-duty to have been yanked out of place, even by vampires, but the rogues managed to get it open nonetheless.
“All clear out here, Hadi.” Another jinni agent peeks inside. His bright golden eyes survey the room, following the trail of blood, both demon and human on the ground.
Hadi gestures to his second-in-command, a fourth jinni agent. She finds her way to his side with an elegant swoop and leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Likely the same group of rogues we crossed paths with in Vegas,” she reports.
He clicks his tongue. “Of course, it’s them.”
He rubs his temples at the memory. Agency Units are meant to operate as under the radar as possible to avoid suspicion from humans. The Agency liaisons do a spectacular job covering up for supernatural activities with local law enforcement when that’s needed, however, in an ideal scenario, they’re in and out before the humans suspect a thing. Rogue supernaturals, on the other hand, tend to operate by their own rules. Many prefer anonymity as that has the benefit of hiding them from the Agency. Some kill their witnesses, and some lurk in the shadows.
And some hijack a Las Vegas headliner show and go viral on the internet. It’s a good thing most humans will believe in anything before they believe in the supernatural.
It was chaos. They’d wrought complete and utter havoc upon the unsuspecting populace. Unit Bravo could only guess at their motive. At a glance, it seems to be “for the laughs” Yet looking at their latest stop on their tour of destruction—an Agency research outpost—there has to be something more. Questioning the staff is the first step in understanding what the group is after.
Hadi’s phone vibrates in his pocket.
“Who is it?” His companion perks up.
He examines the caller ID for a moment before frowning. “East Coast”
She shrugs. “Tell ‘em to leave it to us. Just because they made the mess doesn’t mean we can’t clean it up.” She twirls one of her braids gently between two long fingers. “Besides, I thought they got unassigned from this case. Something about a conflict of interest.”
“I heard the ring leader is the kid of one of the Agency higher-ups,” the golden-eyed jinn Agent recalls, the vertical slit of his pupil gleaming mischievously.
Abla slides in after him. “I heard she’s dating an Agent.”
Golden-eyes snorts. “Not anymore, I bet.”
Hadi shoots them a look, holding up his still vibrating phone. “I have to answer this.” He turns around and walks up to the battered window of the shack. He straightens his back and clears his throat before answering, “This is Commanding Agent Ghufran...”
The glass door of the station shuts behind Farah as she glides in, lifting her sunglasses into her hair. She gives Doug a wink before leaving a box of donuts on the reception desk. “Morning, kiddo.”
The boy is already eagerly opening the box and checking the goodies out. He still spares the radiant Farah a thorough look while greeting her. “Hey, Farah!”
“I’m in to see the good detective,” she says.
“Oh, Tina?” he says, distracted. “She’s in her office.”
She beams at him. “Thanks!” Before he can reply, she’s already halfway through the station. The handful of volunteers are too busy to acknowledge her presence. As beautiful as the women of Unit Bravo are, Wayhaven has already come to accept them as familiar faces, and, while many still vie for their attention, they are less of a spectacle than they used to be. They still keep to themselves, mainly interacting with either Tina or Verda, while Rebecca handles almost everything else.
The door to the lead detective’s office is already open when Farah arrives. She lets herself in, finding Tina engaged in discussion with Captain Sung.
The captain has really aged in the years Unit Bravo has spent in Wayhaven. The bags under his eyes have deepened and his jowls have become more pronounced. He has lost none of that distinctive posture however. His back is straight as a board as he speaks to Tina. It’s no wonder he and Ava get along quite well considering he’s one of the few humans who don’t know anything about the supernatural that have been allowed to get close to the vampires.
Of course, ‘getting along well’ where Ava is concerned just means that they exchange brief pleasantries over email whenever they correspond on work-related matters. That means they like each other—though Ava would never admit that so many words.
Tina looks frustrated, with a look on her face that indicates she’s been holding in an interjection out of respect to the captain and that this has been very painful for her.
“And please, Detective Poname, don’t curse out the press when they inquire about the situation. We do have a code of conduct to follow as officers of the law.” He concludes with a lingering stare at the detective, then he turns around, giving Farah a curt nod as he passes her. “Agent Hauville.”
“Captain Sung,” she greets with a grin.
With a quick flick, she shuts the door and takes a seat.
Tina looks almost relieved to see her. The tension teeters at the peaks of her shoulder blades. “Hey, sweetness.”
Farah leans in. “What was that all about?”
This draws a sigh from Tina. “Well, don’t let anyone tell you Wayhaven’s boring,” she says with a bitter smile. “There was a break-in this morning—and a suspicious death. Body’s down in autopsy with Verda to check if there were any signs of foul play, but—” She drags the word along her tongue, averting her gaze towards the pile of documents beside her.
“You think it’s a rogue supernatural?” Farah says with her head in her hands.
“Well, yeah!” Tina shrugs. She pulls the top file off the pile and opens it on the desk in front of Farah.
The vampire scoots her chair forward to take a closer look. There are crime scene photos inside depicting a pretty small apartment living room. There’s a bit of a mess but nothing out of the ordinary. There is a pair of mugs on the coffee table. There are photos of the body, a young man in his late 20s at most, lying down on the couch. In fact, had she not known these were crime scene photos, she’d have thought the man was sleeping soundly. There are no visible marks on him that indicate he may have been attacked.
Farah lets out a long, thoughtful sigh. “So, there were no signs of a struggle, even though the killer broke in?”
“That’s the thing!” Tina jabs the folder with her index finger. “The perp isn’t the one who broke in! The body was found by a kid who was breaking in. He turned himself in to report the body. We’ve got him down in questioning, but so far, he doesn’t know much more than we do.”
“You want me to call it in?” Farah offers, pulling out her phone.
“Nah,” Tina replies. “I think we need more evidence before involving the Agency.”
Farah snorts. “Babe, I am an Agent.”
“You don’t count.”
With a musical laugh, Farah asks, “And you want me to help with the investigation, Lady Detective?”
Tina shrugs and arranges the files on her desk. “I could really use the help!”
“I’d love to.”
The next destination is the morgue, where Soloman Verda is puzzling away at the body. The two women step in quietly, waiting for Verda to acknowledge them before speaking. He places a gloved hand on the victim’s neck and seems to be intently scrutinizing a spot just under his ear.
“Bizarre…” He turns his back on them and walks off to a terminal behind him attached to test equipment. He holds a report up to the light. “And fascinating.”
“What’s up, Doc?” Farah asks, leaning over the body. Though his skin appears waxy under the fluorescent lights compared to the police photos, he nonetheless looks like he could wake up at any moment.
Without looking up at them, he says, “I’m shocked your Agency didn’t get to the victim before us. This one here? He’s not human.”
Tina and Farah exchange a look before attaching themselves to the sides of the autopsy table, examining the victim’s corpse. There is not much the pair of them can determine on a visual inspection alone. He looks human enough—he has grey-toned brown skin with silky black hair that ends at his chin. He has a heavier build and no obvious inhuman features.
“Don’t glamours fade if the supernatural dies?” Tina asks, tearing her eyes away to search for the answer in Farah’s face.
The vampire shrugs. “There are supernaturals who look pretty similar to humans.” She gestures towards herself half-heartedly.
“His name is Maher Alwasim,” Verda elaborates. “Or rather, that’s the name on his ID.”
Tina runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “His ID is fake. All the personal documents we found were fake. He’d built up an entire identity and was keeping meticulous records of it, but none of it checks out. Which only means, that this man is essentially a stranger—a John Doe.”
Farah gives this news a quizzical look. “Verda,” she calls out. “How do you know he wasn’t human?”
Finally, Verda turns to face his guests. “I had to run blood tests to determine if there were any toxins in his system. It’s hard to tell if there’s anything foreign in the blood when the blood itself is foreign.” He stands at the opposite side of the autopsy table and rests his hands on the cool metal. “That, and his bone structure is quite magnificent—and absolutely inhuman.”
Tina leans in. “How so?”
Verda grins, his glasses glinting I the light. “Take a look here.” His hand presses into the victim’s neck. It is difficult to see what he’s trying to show her at first. He gently tilts back the victim’s head and runs his finger down his throat. “See these ridges?” His fingers run through what appear to be rings underneath the man’s skin. “It’s hard to say what these are without dissecting him—and I’m not dissecting a murder victim to satisfy my curiosity—or an x-ray of the body.”
“If you had to guess, what would you say those are?”
Verda sighs and shakes his head, rising to adjust his glasses. “Hard to say. It seems more like bone than cartilage—very solid.” He reaches around with his other hand to the back of the victim’s neck. “This part I’d wager is the most delicate part. It attaches directly to the spine.” His hand runs through the middle of the throat where there is a dip. “That is his throat—just in there—his trachea, esophagus… you get the gist. So, these bones are protecting his throat. Reminds me a little of a snake, actually.” He smiles with thinly veiled excitement. “Makes me wonder if this structure allows the neck to expand in a similar way. Perhaps his jaw has more flexibility than a human’s as well.”
With a short laugh, Tina remarks. “Damn, you got all that from a physical examination without cutting the guy open?”
Farah, however, is not as engaged in this discussion as Tina is; she is already tapping away at her phone. “The rest of the team is on their way. They’ll be taking the body to the Agency and we’ll be conducting our own autopsy,” she says slowly, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Also, Ava wants to know if you can e-mail her your test results.”
“You can tell Agent Du Mortain that the results will be in her inbox within the hour,” Verda replies. “As for our man here, I’ll make very sure he’s ready to be picked up by your people.”
Tina puts her hands on her hips and allows the realization to sink in that she’s more in the dark than she’d originally thought. It runs through her skin and exits her body as a sigh. “Thanks, Verda.”
“You’re very welcome, Detective Poname.” The title feels heavier than ever.