by Nigel Henry
I get past the crowd and give chase, ducking and dodging through onlookers as I tear onto the street. A car slams its breaks a moment before hitting me and the driver leans out of his window to yell. I flip him off and keep running.
Mark's heading toward the southern entrance to Inwood Park. If he gets to the woods I'll never catch him.
I silently curse as I keep running. This wouldn't be a problem if I could sneak my slingshot into the school building. Then I could just shoot him in the leg and catch up while he rolls around on the floor like a baby. But nooo, New York City schools are a violence-free zone. So now I'm going to have to make Mark's face a violence-filled zone when I reach him.
My lungs start burning and my side starts to hurt. I need to end this quickly, so I decide to be creative.
"Stop! Thief! That guy stole my book bag!"
That gets the attention of two middle-aged Dominican men playing chess on a park bench ahead. One of them gets up and tackles Mark to the ground. I arrive right as he pulls the flailing kid up.
In one motion I grab Mark's right arm and twist it behind his back. "That's my bag!" I yell.
"You're crazy! I don't know this bitch!" Mark shouts.
"You want me to call the cops?" The man says to me.
"No thanks, I've got it under control from here. I'm a black belt." I twist Mark’s arm and he winces as I lead him toward a side street. "Let's go have a chat about personal property, buddy."
"What do you want from me?" He asks as I slam him against a wall.
"I want info on Marcela Torres and Camila Fernandez. What'd you do to them?"
"I didn't do nothing! I swear to God!"
"Innocent people don't run away," I growl.
"I ran because Camila's family keeps sending people after me! Everyone thinks I had something to do with her disappearance! I've gotten death threats!"
"And did you have anything to do with it?"
"No! I already said no!"
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because why would I kidnap two girls I dated?! Why would I put a target on my own back?!"
He makes a good point, and he does seem terrified. Still, I have to be sure he's not any kind of monster. I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out the rest of the holy water and drop it over his head.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Making sure you're not a lying piece of shit."
He keeps whimpering, but it's not the screams of agony that would come from holy water. He's not a monster. But that doesn't mean he's clean.
"I'm keeping my eye on you, Mark Bell." I hiss as I let go of his arm and disappear around the corner. "Give me any reason to suspect anything and I'll take your goddamn arm home with me."
SEVEN
"MOM? DAD? I'M HOME!"
I'm ready to collapse by the time I get home from school that evening. Chasing down the runaway boyfriend of two missing women sure takes it out of a girl. And the cheeseburger I stopped for on the way home didn't help either. Let's just say I'm hoping the supernatural takes a night off.
"In the bathroom, sweetie," my mom's voice sounds. "Can you come here?"
I groan and make my way across the house. I find Mom in the bathroom, she's bleeding from the back of her shoulder. The blood is leaking down her back, staining her black tank top and jeans. Gauze, scissors, and thread sit atop the bathtub. Looks like I didn't have the worst evening in the Miller house.
I eye her from the doorway. "Is it serious?"
"Nah, it looks worse than it is. I just can't reach behind me to stitch it up."
"Move over." I slide down next to her and pick up the thread and needle. Before I begin to stitch it up, I pat the wound down with gauze and take a look. The gash is fairly deep, but not wide, and I can't see any bone.
"What happened?"
"Your father and I were looking into some reports of a murder in a public housing project."
"Oh yeah, he mentioned that on the phone yesterday. What'd you find?"
"We found a troll hiding in the boiler room. We took it down, but not before it got me in the back."
"Ouch. Where's Dad?"
"Upstairs. I made him put away the weapons first."
"But you're bleeding. Don't you think that comes first?"
"I told you, it's not as bad as it looks. And you know the rule."
I do. Weapons are not supposed to be kept out in the house. The last thing you want is a nosy neighbor catching sight of big knives or batons. Then you've got the police to deal with, and I don't think they're going to take "monster hunters" as an acceptable occupation.
"So, who had the final word?" I ask. "You or Dad?"
"Me. Knife into the back of the neck."
I'm impressed. "Back of the neck? That's a difficult target."
She laughs. "It was a lucky shot." She winces as I start stitching the wound. "How's the new school?"
"It fine, I guess. If you don't count the whole 'missing students' thing."
"Find anything yet?"
"Not yet, although I did have words with an ex-boyfriend of the missing girls. Oh, and I killed a troll in the park."
"You came across a troll? During daylight? That's odd."
"I KNOW! I don't know what's gotten into them lately."
"Well, what about the two kids that we saw at the nursing home? They seem nice."
"Ariana and Will? They're okay I guess. Ariana's the bubbliest person I've ever met. And Will's cool, but I think he's kind of a show-off."
"Still, it's good that you're making friends. I want you to have some sort of a normal life. That's part of the reason we gave you the Honda."
I finish stitching her up and cut the thread. "All done."
She gets up and moves over to the mirror, examining my handiwork. "Your needlework is getting better," she notes.
"Well, we keep getting injured. It's either get better or die."
She smiles a sad looking smile and runs her hand along my face. "I didn't want this for you. I never wanted this violence for you."
"I know, Mom." My parents both do what's necessary to keep the city safe, but that doesn't mean they like it. Mom especially. Sometimes, during the ride home after a job, I'll see her drift off for a second. I think in those moments she's envisioning what life would've been like had Patrick survived.
I wonder about that too, a lot. This isn't my dream life: constantly fighting, constantly in danger. Hell, I'd love to live an actual, normal life. One where my biggest worry is whether or not to join science club.
But then I remember that revenants and trolls and werewolves are still out there. And I only have to think about Patrick to be reminded of what happens when no one stands up to them. So like it or not, this is my life. But that doesn't mean it has to be the only life I share with my mom.
"Did I tell you I'm good in Biology?" I say. "The teacher asked me to join science club."
Her faces brightens. "Really? Are you going to do it?"
I take her hand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and I'll tell you all about it."
EIGHT
THE NEXT TWO days prove to be utterly useless. I check in on six more teachers, including the principal, Mrs. Bowens. That one was tough to pull off. I had to pretend to have clammy hands and then give her a holy water handshake. Let me tell you, she was not pleased about that. There might be a few detentions in my future. But as displeased as she was, Mrs. Bowens wasn't a demon, and neither were any of the other teachers.
I won't lie, I'm not happy that I wasn't able to wrap this entire case up neatly during my first week. Supernatural or not, there's something that's making kids vanish, and I don't want it getting anyone else before it gets the chance to say hello to my crowbar.
I sulk about the case the whole weekend, even when I meet up with Ariana and Will to start SAT prep. Yup, that's right; in addition to tracking down monsters, I've got to start thinking about applying to college. And yes, I know that Tech has their extra year program, but come on; c
an't I dream of living in an on-campus dorm just once?
Getting back to the case, one teacher I haven't been able to test yet is Mr. Foster. Not for lack of trying: the surly bastard won't give me the time of day outside of class. Forget about a holy water handshake, I'd be lucky to get a word in with him. It's as if he decided he hated me the moment I walked in late to his class on the first day. THE FIRST DAY. And I was a new student! The nerve of some people.
I'll have to change up my strategy if I'm going to test him. So I come up with a plan. It's not a good plan by any means, but I think it'll work. I'm just going to wait until the school day is over and I'm going to run into him outside of the building.
That will almost certainly get me either a detention or a parent-teacher meeting, but it'll be worth it to make sure Foster's not anything worse than a mean high school math teacher. Besides, I think my parents will be on my side for this one. And at the very least they won't be able to say I don't commit to my missions.
I resolve to run with my plan that Monday. I make sure to fill my water bottle with holy water before I leave—seriously, we've got to send Pastor Martin an Easter present for the number of water bottles he blesses for us—and slog my way through another school day. Ms. Birch has us learning about the respiratory systems of mammals, while in English Ms. Moore enthralls us with a reading of Shakespeare. Yay.
I'm the first one out of the building when the final bell rings, rushing to beat the crush of students from all three schools. I position myself near the door, open my water bottle, and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Half an hour goes by with no sight of Mr. Foster. I'm beginning to get annoyed when Ariana and Will come out. I can't have them spot me, so I turn my head and pull my jacket hood over my head. Thankfully, they don't seem to notice me as they walk on by, leaving me to wait.
And wait.
Another half hour goes by. God, what is taking this guy so long?
I look around the school grounds. Most of the students have gone home by now, leaving behind a few stragglers. At this, my plan's looking busted. There's no way I'll be able to play off being clumsy on an empty stairwell.
You win this time, Foster. But mark my words: I will douse you in holy water before the week is done.
Dejected, I walk back to my car and pull out my phone. I dial Ariana. Maybe she's up for a trip to Teddy's. It rings three times before she picks up.
"Hey girl, what's up?"
"Hey, wanna see Brooklyn?"
"Sure, what do you have in mind?"
"I dunno, we could—"
Before I can finish, out of the corner of my eye I see some movement from the school building. I glance back and see Mr. Foster, heading toward the subway.
"I'll call you back," I say as I hang up and get out of the car. I start to follow Foster down the street, keeping my distance and making sure my hoodie is pulled up over my head.
Now, I'm sure there are better ways to test this guy than to follow him to his house. But I'm also sure that if he is some kind of evil creature, he'll need to let his guard down at some point. That point is probably when he gets to his own home. So, for now, I tail him.
He enters the subway station, and I'm a few moments behind. It's hard to stay hidden in here, as there's no place to duck and hide. It's almost as if the people who run New York City subways don't want you to be able to follow someone without getting spotted. Luckily, Mr. Foster doesn't turn around once, allowing me to pay my fare and join him on the subway platform just as the train rumbles in.
He gets on at the very front of the first car. I get on at the end of the same car and pick a seat farthest from him. I then try to play it cool, pulling out my phone and putting my earbuds in. If he glances over, it'll look like I'm sucked into my phone just like everyone else. I even fire up a game of Fruit Crush, although I'm too busy keeping an eye on Mr. Foster to actually play.
We're on this train for what feels like forever, and I watch as the stations roll by. 181st Street, 125th Street, 59th Street. Times Square—yuck. Foster stays seated the whole time. Where does this guy live, anyway? At this rate, I'll take the train all the way back to Brooklyn. God, I'm glad Mom and Dad gave me the Honda.
The train starts to get crowded at 34th Street, and I'm having a hard time keeping Foster within my sights. Reluctantly, I give up my seat to a little old lady—no, I'm not cold-hearted, but there's a dude sitting next to me and everyone knows the rule of the subway is guys give up their seats first—and try to move closer to Foster.
I feel a hand on my butt, and I turn to see a well-dressed man looking in any direction but mine. Asshole. See, this is why I hate riding the subway. He's lucky that I need to track Foster silently, otherwise I'd have broken his hand. Still, that doesn't stop me from leaning into him.
"Keep your fucking hands to yourself before I remove them," I whisper. The fucker's face shows shock, but then he has the gall to lie to me.
"I didn't do anything." he says.
Goddammit. I have to remind myself that I don't kill humans, no matter how monstrous they may be. "Yeah? Well, make sure it stays that fucking way."
We pull into West 4th Street, and even more people get on the train. It's packed now. I look back to Mr. Foster, he's still on the train. Maybe he does live in Brooklyn. That'd be a terrible commute. Suddenly I'm understanding why he's always so damn gru—
A hand squeezes my butt again. This time my reflexes kick in and I grab the asshole's wrist and twist until I hear it snap. He opens his mouth to scream and I cover it with my hand.
"You yell and I'll cut your goddamn hand off, do you understand?"
He nods, his face showing shock and pain. "Good," I say. "Now you're going to get off at the next stop and if I ever catch your smarmy ass touching another woman again, I swear to God, I'll make today look like a good day. Now get the fuck away from me."
He backs toward the train door, nursing his broken wrist tenderly. He looks like he's ready to say some choice words to me, so I fix him a glare that says I'll break something else and he clams up real quick.
The next stop is Chambers, and he gets off faster than you can say "pervert". Oh, and just my luck, Mr. Foster is getting off here, too. I fix my hoodie again and wait a moment before exiting the train myself. Foster is moving pretty quick through the platform. Now he wants to rush. Couldn't have done it an hour ago?
I keep behind him as he exits the station and heads out onto the street. We're in lower Manhattan now, one of my least favorite parts of the city. Everything is tall buildings, speeding taxi cabs, and men in suits talking on Bluetooth headsets. God, don't they realize how stupid they look? Unless you're a monster hunter communicating with your parents, Bluetooth headsets make you look like a douche.
Anyway, I follow Foster down Church Street. It looks like he's heading toward the World Trade Center, but at the last minute, he takes a turn down a side street. I wait a moment before following, but when I do I bump into a gruff looking white guy in a puffy jacket.
"Sorry," I say as I try to move past him. He slides into my path.
"Don't be sorry, sweetie."
Goddammit, really? Is it open season for perverts in New York today? Did I just miss the memo to stay home?
I'm about to say something when two other guys step out from a doorway. They're also dressed in puffy coats. One of them has a knife.
"All right, sweetie," the main asshole says. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. Just give up your phone and your wallet and you can be on your way."
I can't help but roll my eyes. Is this a mugging? Are these dicks actually trying to mug me? I know the answer to this, but don't they know who I am?
"I really don't have time for this right now, fellas," I say. One of them reaches for me, and I grab his arm and twist it. He screams and I kick him away. "Just walk away."
"Oh, God, my arm!" the newly broken thug screams. "She broke my arm! Fucking kill her!"
"Goddammit, they n
ever just walk away. Don't say I didn't warn you."
While Idiot Number Three nurses his arm, Idiots Number One and Two rush me. Idiot Number One tries to wrap me up in a bear hug tackle while Idiot Number Two tries to slash at my neck with the knife. Two-on-one. If I was anyone else I'd be scared. But I spend my nights fighting things that make these two look like the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy. I'm faster and stronger than both of them and they're about to find that out. Painfully.
I hit the floor on my back before Idiot Number One can touch me and bring my feet up into his gut. He doesn't have a chance to exhale before Idiot Number Two lands on his back. I bring my feet over my head and send them both sailing overhead. They crash against a dumpster in a heap as I get to my feet.
Crack!
Idiot Number Three slams his good fist into my jaw, sending me stumbling to the side. I see sparks and taste blood in my mouth. I run my tongue over all of my teeth to make sure none of them are loose, and then I spit out blood.
"You're gonna die, bitch!" Idiot Number Three says. This mutha...
I'm done playing, so I charge in and show what you can do with two working fists, slamming a left into his stomach and a right into his jaw. I then bring my elbow around to his temple and he's out like a light.
I'm rubbing my jaw as I face the other two idiots. This is going to swell. Shit.
Idiot Number One regains his senses and charges at me. I sidestep and crash my elbow into the back of his neck. Idiot Number Two tries to gut me from below, but I grab his arm and wrench it around until I hear his shoulder pop. Then I introduce his nose to good ole Doc Marten.
I look around me at the three men, all moaning and groaning on the floor. Then I walk over to Idiot Number One. He's the one who started this and the only one without anything broken or dislocated. Let's fix that.
"Listen up," I say as I grab his pinky finger and twist it. "I don't care how bad your sob story is. You're done trying to mug people." I take out my phone and snap a photo of his face. "This is going to the police and to every store owner in the area. I'd suggest you find a new city."
