little girls.” His breath was fetid with whiskey and something sour. Scott leaned away from the odor and let Padme handle the situation.
She held up her arm and pulled back the sleeve. A roundish patch of scars, both raised and dimpled, marred her forearm. Scott recognized it as a healed bite-mark; one that would have been a vicious injury to produce such a scar. He’d seen photographs of the very same mark—on a series of corpses allegedly dispatched by the top XBestia enforcer.
“This was a gift from Lupus,” Padme said coldly. “When you see his brand on a person who is not dead, my advice is to run, not walk, in the opposite direction.”
“Lupus?” The shorter of the two asked. He shot a look over his shoulder at Mouse, who began wiping down the bar as if she hadn’t been avidly watching to see what would happen.
“And,” Padme continued. “It would be best if you forgot you ever met such a person.”
Both men began nodding, quite agreeable now. They backed away, and when they left, they were walking, but it looked to Scott like they wanted to take Padme’s advice and run.
Scott took a bite of his chili. It was delicious, but as Mouse had warned, very spicy. He took a long sip of his Coke and spluttered, “Hot!”
Chapter Twenty-one
It was a good thing her father slept like a hibernating bear every night. As long as Bryn avoided the squeaky floorboards scattered throughout the old house, it was no problem packing her car. The little Hamster didn’t hold much, but she took only what she needed, plus her mother’s photo album and a few other keepsakes. Tucked at the back of the album, she found the Christmas cards from Carla she’d stashed away each year. After her mother passed, Carla tried to stay in touch, but her father discouraged it. Bryn accidently discovered that first Christmas card unopened in the trash, so she made a point of sorting through the holiday mail each year before her father got to it.
The address on the envelope changed every couple of years and it seemed to Bryn that the handwriting got sloppier, too. The message had over time remained the same, however. “You will always have a place to stay if you need it.”
Bryn needed it.
Technically, and ironically, she’d turned eighteen that day, so she wasn’t running away. After what he’d done, her father didn’t deserve any sort of goodbye other than a terse note letting him know she hadn’t been kidnapped again. But then, he’d know that already, given his role in her first abduction.
Bryn had finally peeked out the window. The news vans had gone for the night, but the XIA agents were parked right out front. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking she could run for it—this wasn’t holovision—she wouldn’t be able to shake them no matter what she did, and pitting her compact car against their souped-up sedan would make for one ridiculous chase.
She’d found a lightweight beige cashmere scarf among those of her mother’s things she’d been allowed to keep. It covered her head pretty well, except for the odd quill poking through. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she flashed on Padme the first time she’d seen her. She, too, had worn a scarf to hide her alteration. Bryn had assumed from her appearance that Padme was a modest Middle Eastern young woman. At one point in the Pakistani girl’s life, that had probably been true.
Bryn’s father slept on the opposite side of the house from the garage. She pressed the garage door button, wincing as it went through its rumbling, grinding process. After the door was fully up, she listened for a moment. Her father’s snores reverberated down the hall. She flipped on the light, went past her car and down the dark driveway to the agent’s car. The woman in the driver’s seat rolled down the window.
“Hi, Agent Yang,” Bryn said.
“Is everything okay?”
“Not really. Today was my eighteenth birthday.”
Yang’s left eyebrow lifted
She held up her arm and pulled back the sleeve. A roundish patch of scars, both raised and dimpled, marred her forearm. Scott recognized it as a healed bite-mark; one that would have been a vicious injury to produce such a scar. He’d seen photographs of the very same mark—on a series of corpses allegedly dispatched by the top XBestia enforcer.
“This was a gift from Lupus,” Padme said coldly. “When you see his brand on a person who is not dead, my advice is to run, not walk, in the opposite direction.”
“Lupus?” The shorter of the two asked. He shot a look over his shoulder at Mouse, who began wiping down the bar as if she hadn’t been avidly watching to see what would happen.
“And,” Padme continued. “It would be best if you forgot you ever met such a person.”
Both men began nodding, quite agreeable now. They backed away, and when they left, they were walking, but it looked to Scott like they wanted to take Padme’s advice and run.
Scott took a bite of his chili. It was delicious, but as Mouse had warned, very spicy. He took a long sip of his Coke and spluttered, “Hot!”
Chapter Twenty-one
It was a good thing her father slept like a hibernating bear every night. As long as Bryn avoided the squeaky floorboards scattered throughout the old house, it was no problem packing her car. The little Hamster didn’t hold much, but she took only what she needed, plus her mother’s photo album and a few other keepsakes. Tucked at the back of the album, she found the Christmas cards from Carla she’d stashed away each year. After her mother passed, Carla tried to stay in touch, but her father discouraged it. Bryn accidently discovered that first Christmas card unopened in the trash, so she made a point of sorting through the holiday mail each year before her father got to it.
The address on the envelope changed every couple of years and it seemed to Bryn that the handwriting got sloppier, too. The message had over time remained the same, however. “You will always have a place to stay if you need it.”
Bryn needed it.
Technically, and ironically, she’d turned eighteen that day, so she wasn’t running away. After what he’d done, her father didn’t deserve any sort of goodbye other than a terse note letting him know she hadn’t been kidnapped again. But then, he’d know that already, given his role in her first abduction.
Bryn had finally peeked out the window. The news vans had gone for the night, but the XIA agents were parked right out front. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking she could run for it—this wasn’t holovision—she wouldn’t be able to shake them no matter what she did, and pitting her compact car against their souped-up sedan would make for one ridiculous chase.
She’d found a lightweight beige cashmere scarf among those of her mother’s things she’d been allowed to keep. It covered her head pretty well, except for the odd quill poking through. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she flashed on Padme the first time she’d seen her. She, too, had worn a scarf to hide her alteration. Bryn had assumed from her appearance that Padme was a modest Middle Eastern young woman. At one point in the Pakistani girl’s life, that had probably been true.
Bryn’s father slept on the opposite side of the house from the garage. She pressed the garage door button, wincing as it went through its rumbling, grinding process. After the door was fully up, she listened for a moment. Her father’s snores reverberated down the hall. She flipped on the light, went past her car and down the dark driveway to the agent’s car. The woman in the driver’s seat rolled down the window.
“Hi, Agent Yang,” Bryn said.
“Is everything okay?”
“Not really. Today was my eighteenth birthday.”
Yang’s left eyebrow lifted
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